Toy Story 3 and Baby Cakes

It's hard to believe fifteen years have passed since we took our first trip to Andy's bedroom, meeting Mr. and Mrs. Potato, Slinky dog, Rex the dino, the world Pixar gifted us. Childhood has changed so drastically since the days of Hasbro and Mattel creations. Eight year olds email, text, video chat. The concept of play is different and imagination takes new forms. Walking into the final Toy Story chapter, sliding into my reclining Imax chair and slipping on my 3d goggles, I was transported to an old fashioned playtime, before my ipad replaced my Hot Wheels cars (okay, there were a few steps in between that transition) and our consumer culture took a turn. Rather than expound on the merits of this movie, too numerous to mention, I will simply hold it as an example of what film can be. Magic. Magnification of our souls in images. Unifying. The community of audience members dabbing their eyes in the final scenes were all experiencing a collective nostalgia and catharsis. At an animated film. About mass-manufactured inanimate objects.

In a way, I was the exact target audience for this picture. Someone who grew up with these toys before they became relics, these films before the Pixar empire was founded, who not all that long ago packed up and headed into adulthood. This film was reassuring. We are all in this scary world together, with friends looking out for us.

There is much scholarly discussion about the role of mothers vs. fathers in Disney animated films. Toy Story is exceptional in that, unlike Aladdin, Beauty and the Beast, Pochantas, Little Mermaid, Aladdin, Finding Nemo, etc, the father is absent, replaced by a (questionably) young single man. Yet the film doesn't lack paternal love. Woody and Buzz seem to fill in that void of protecting, nurturing, acting as models of masculinity -- the heroic cowboy and the noble spaceman. What more could a little boy ask for?

Your $22 3d imax evening New York movie ticket goes well with drinking fountain water, but if you are feeling like you can handle another treat-- Baby Cakes on the lower east side. Gluten-free, dairy-free, and/or vegan cupcakes, scones, brownies, cookies that let you be a kid again without as much guilt. Feels like you walked into some five year old hipster's birthday party.

Get Him to the Greek and Press Lounge at Ink48

Last summer, in the tradition of Devil Wears Prada profiles in executive assistantships, Hollywood offered us the smart Funny People with Seth Rogen as a bumbling serf to a narcissistic movie star (played by) Adam Sandler. This year, we have Get Him to the Greek, a bromance chase flick with Jonah Hill as assuming geeky peon tasked with guardianship of aging rocker Aldous Snow in the hours leading up to his comeback concert. The formula for success in this new genre seems to be: 1-identifying with the assistant, whatever ambition is pushing them forward beyond this gig (here, Jonah Hill is an aspiring music producer), 2-situations displaying how the boss character is taking advantage of him/her (insisting Hill hide Aldous' heroin on the plane up his well-you saw the commercial), 3-the impact of the job on both the assistant (love life falling apart) and the destruction of the employer's own personal life, 4-resolution in which the assistant realizes his/her initial goal/moves beyond crappy job with support from the boss who recognized their ingenuity/kindness/etc.

Get Him to the Greek gives us all of these criterion, in front of some silly scenery in London, Vegas, and LA clubs. The goofy cast of bit players work well together -- most notably Puff Daddy as the ultimate label producer giving a hilarious turn. I enjoyed Get Him to the Greek, the grossout humor and send up of affected celebrities. Would have been delighted to get an even faster pace -- somewhat slowed down by sketch-nature of the plot which lessened the stakes. It is "get him to the greek" meaning the show should be the ultimate goal, not just a convenient conclusion. Still, a good one for a rowdy evening. Maybe capped with a drink at the new rooftop lounge at Ink48 in Hells Kitchen. Journey to the sixteenth floor overlooking all of Manhattan. Feel like a rock star on an assistant's salary for the price of a potent cocktail.

Solitary Man and Urth Caffe on Melrose

Sometimes even the most stalwart New Yorker needs to escape the island bubble. For me, a travel to the west coast was just what the doctor ordered. A little R&R, sunshine, vegan desserts, and an evening at the Arc Light cinemas in Hollywood.

The Arc Light allows you to pick your seat ahead of time on a seating chart, shop for movie merchandise, grab a cocktail, and recline in a comfy chair in a stadium-seating style theatre. After a glass of local zinfandel, I was ready to be the most receptive audience ever in these lush environs.

On the bill that evening was Solitary Man, Michael Douglas' return to Wall Street, post-recession automobile mogul who made some unethical business choices both at work and at play. As a character study, profiles in despicable behavior and the women who condone or reject it (Mary Louise Parker, Susan Sarandon, Olivia Thirlby, and Jenna Fischer to name a few), this movie succeeds. I felt I knew these characters and understood their buy-in to the drama. However, the impulse to tie Douglas' character's vices together into a neat little explanation at the end seemed artificial. I wasn't sure where it needed to go, but this didn't work for me.

The film did answer the central question though: Can he--Michael Douglas the actor-- still do it? The answer is yes. And for the secondary up-and-comers: Thirlby, Fischer, and Jesse Eisenberg -- can they hold their own? Absolutely.

Ruminate with the zen-ed out Socal types with a green tea latte and vegan chocolate chip cookie at Urth Caffe on Melrose. Yup, they have valet.