The Only Living Boy In New York

At a friend's party, Thomas bumps into Johanna with yet another man. He calls her a hooker, but she explains her date is gay. He impulsively kisses her. An affair starts and Thomas begins to fall for Johanna. He tells her that since he was a child, he has aspired to be a writer, but Ethan told him that his essays were only 'serviceable'.

At one such soiree fronted by happening couple Ethan and Judith (Pierce Brosnan and Cynthia Nixon, silver and bronze), clever banter sails around the table like flying saucers. Judith laughs proudly at a particularly pithy sally produced by her son Tom, also an aspiring writer. Tom, the only living boy, etc., is having issues even though he is played by Callum Turner, who resembles Eddie Redmayne cross-bred with a young Richard Gere wearing the serious-minded spectacles that people of intellect are known to do, whether writers or not.

This drama is nicely written, but it's far from original. For one thing, the introduction of a mysterious character lamely foreshadows that character's importance. On the plus side, The Only Living Boy in New York deeply echoes the overall feel of Crossing Delancey, in which an aspiring young woman steeped in the literary world of New York bookstores and publishing also makes iffy choices in her complicated love life. And Mike Nichols' revered The Graduate reverberates in Thomas' aimlessness and his affair with an older woman. The Simon and Garfunkel theme song also nods at that earlier (and better) film. But unlike The Graduate, which at least suggested that its society's obsession with success and materialism was part of a larger social crisis, The Only Living Boy in New York dwells not on Thomas' advantages but on his petty concerns. There's no acknowledgment that the New York City allegedly lacking \"soul\" today probably does so mostly because it's only publishing house owners and successful novelists who can afford to live there. This obliviousness makes the story a little difficult to take seriously.

SUBSTANCE USE - We see a line drawing of an unconscious person with a syringe next to him on the ground, a man makes reference to the temperature it takes to cook heroin properly, a man says that the only thing missing in his adult son is an Opium habit, a man smokes a marijuana cigarette and shares it with a young man, a man makes reference to wine and Quaaludes, and a young woman refers to having been on Molly. Two men drink wine, a man drinks whiskey, a man drinks wine and whiskey in most scenes, people drink champagne at a wedding reception and at a company anniversary celebration, a man drinks whiskey and smokes a cigar on a bench outside an apartment, a woman smokes a cigarette and drinks whiskey in an apartment, and we hear song lyrics that include \"Send out for whiskey, send out for gin.\" A man smokes cigars in a few scenes, a woman smokes a cigarette on a balcony, a woman smokes a cigarette in bed, and a young man says that his father can't get his mother to quit smoking.

So it doesn't matter that the firm has just brought on Yusuf as Of Counsel, Yusuf who was a partner at his last firm and is clearly only missing the title now because the higher-ups have to wait a bit to avoid ruffling feathers. It doesn't matter that he's heading up a case for big tobacco and his fucking sister won't speak to him because his father died of lung cancer. It doesn't matter that he doesn't bring in new clients, choosing instead to wrack up so many billable hours that half the other attorneys think he's a robot. It doesn't matter that he comes home every night to his empty apartment and his empty life and doesn't have the time or the energy to look for anything more--it doesn't matter that he has screaming fucking nightmares about dying alone amidst piles upon piles of legal paperwork.

This is the thing about Yusuf: Arthur should hate him. Arthur wants to hate him, actually. Yusuf is more experienced and more qualified and is clearly only Of Counsel because the firm didn't want to bring someone new in as partner straightaway--his presence at this firm makes it that much less likely that Arthur will get the promotion he seeks. He'd tried in vain to despise the guy when he started, but Yusuf is friendly and calm and brilliant and competent, and Arthur can't help but enjoy his company.

Arthur decides against teasing him, but only because it really is starting to sound like Eames can't breathe at all, and Arthur is having some trouble wrestling down the impulse to bundle him up and take him home himself.

Arthur holds the cup up to eye level, because now that he's gotten himself into this situation he doesn't have much choice. \"Hello,\" he croons, \"you light up my life and are my only joy, and these last few days have been terrible without you.\"

Arthur can't even fight him, can't even pretend to push him off, because Arthur can't breathe. He can't breathe, because he's pinned everything to this one thing and it's a pipe dream, and maybe it's always been a pipe dream and he's so, so fucked. He clings to Eames' shirt instead, buries his face in Eames' neck and breathes in the bitter scent of sweat and dried coffee and having someone to do this for him. And god, god, what does it say about Arthur's life that the only person he knew to come to was the guy who owns the coffee place across the street from his fucking office, a man whose phone number is a mystery to Arthur, what the fuck does that even mean.

Eames tells him ridiculous stories about things she's sent (an air conditioning unit one time and a parakeet another), and that mutates into a discussion of his childhood, and his father, and how guilty he feels sometimes for not going home. They talk through breakfast and through the train ride uptown, and by the time they separate on the street--Eames to open up shop and Arthur to go into the office ridiculously early--Arthur's laughing and loose, relaxed. Eames promises him a latte if he comes in later and wishes him luck suffering through the day, and his eyes only tighten a little when he says that.

And god, god, his voice is so--like he's talking to a skittish dog, and what Arthur wants to do, what Arthur really wants to do, is turn around. He wants to turn around and fold himself into Eames' arms, wants to bury his face in Eames' neck and breathe in, wants to hear Eames say his name over and over again. He wants to hold on because he knows, he knows it's the only thing that will feel good, but--

It only takes Arthur twenty minutes to pack up his office; most of his shit is work stuff, things he won't have to take with him. It's another fifteen before he can engineer his way past Fischer's secretary and slip into his office.

\"I just,\" he says, \"I just--I probably should have led with that second thing, but I'm a little, it's been a bad week and I haven't had any coffee because you ruined me for other coffee because you suck and, oh my god, Eames, Eames, you didn't expect me to be good at this, right Because I'm pretty sure I just insulted you in the process of trying to tell you I love you and, fuck, it's probably really creepy to be saying that anyway but I, you know, I kept wanting to call and come over and as it turns out you're kind of the only thing about my life that isn't complete shit.\"

Arthur levers himself up to sit on the counter and looks around, a smile curling the corners of his mouth. He's leaning against the back wall, which has been covered in chalkboard paint since the day he and Eames realized creating a set menu was useless, since they'd only deviate from it. They tend to make what they feel like--dark chocolate eclairs and rich Sumatra roasts, hazelnut biscotti with creamy white mocha.

I shot this 35mm film portrait of my dear friend Matt while exploring lower Manhattan. We often go on adventures together, and I can't imagine living in the city without him. To that end, I paired portrait with the song \"The Only Living Boy in New York\" released by Simon and Garfunkel in 1970. The track speaks to our friendship and the photographs sense of timelessness. 59ce067264

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