The colorful history of this Pico Boulevard watering hole is rich with legend. Built as a military outpost in 1874, the original adobe structure was destroyed by Santa Ana winds shortly thereafter and lay in rubble until the turn of the century, when an industrious Mexican woman and her only son built a saloon on the site. "El Arsenal" was destroyed by flood in 1916 and went dormant for a time before reopening as - wait for it - a speakeasy in 1929. Reflecting the Parisian influence of the time, Le Hot Arsenal became the westside's answer to the Folies Bergere, featuring burlesque dancing and other live entertainment for twenty years. But an errant cigarette burned Le Hot to the ground, and in 1950 the bar reopened simply as The Arsenal, where it's been in continuous operation for sixty years.
Given its tumultuous history of reinvention, it comes as no surprise that The Arsenal has undergone two renovations in the past seven years. The most recent appears to have been more of a touch-up than a full overhaul, in which the main bar and patio area were spruced up with a sleek new color scheme and splashes of trendy wallpaper. Both the food and drink menus have also been revamped, featuring quasi-gastropub staples such as faux-artisanal cocktails, beef sliders, mac&cheese (made with gouda, of course) and perhaps most interestingly, poutine fries. Remaining gloriously untouched, however, is the original dining room, which radiates mid-century cool with its deep red booths, handsome wood, warm lighting, and cozy corner bar. It provides a mellow contrast to the newfangled scene directly adjacent, and proves that some things are better left alone.
The Arsenal, 12012 W. Pico Blvd, 90064. M-F 5pm-2am, Sat 6pm-2am. Closed Sundays.
Grigory Perelman, the heretofore unquestioned genius who solved one of the world's most vexing math problems, has refused a $1 million-dollar prize offered for the accomplishment, according to the very dated-sounding Russian news agency InterFax.
Apparently Perelman has a history of declining prestigious awards. In 1996, he refused an award from the European Congress of Mathematicians. In 2006 he rejected the Fields Medal, known as math's Nobel Prize. And just last year, he declined to accept his runaway victory in St. Petersburg's annual Rasputin Look-A-Like Contest.
Perelman actually solved the problem (known as Poincare's Conjecture) in 2006, but the solution is so difficult that the international community of brilliant mathematicians have spent the last four years double-checking Perelman's work. No word as to whether or not the problem will be re-named "Perelman's Bitch."
Remember Jeffrey Jones? Like me, you may have seen him in countless re-watchings of notable 80's-era films such as Ferris Bueller's Day Off, Beetlejuice, and Amadeus. Or perhaps you remember seeing that in 2003 he pled no contest to coercing a 14-year-old boy into posing for a series of sexually explicit photographs (including Naked Cowboy, Naked Stuffed Animal, and Naked Indian.) In any event, he was arrested last week and charged with failing to renew his registration as a sex offender, thrusting his name into the limelight again.
His star had diminished enough by the time of his offense that the headline generated a shrug at best. The whole thing had blown over sufficiently enough that upon a recent watching of Beetlejuice I thought to myself, "Isn't that guy a sex offender? Or was that the principal from The Breakfast Club?" Today that question was definitively answered.
Last night I caught Restrepo, a documentary that follows a platoon of Rangers on a fifteen- month deployment in the Korengal Valley, one of the deadliest regions of Afghanistan. I can't recommend it enough; truly first-rate journalism and a must-see for anyone interested in a deeper appreciation of what is happening at the very front lines of the war.
Given the gravitas of the feature, I half expected there to be no trailers at all. But once the familiar green disclaimer or whatever that thing is shot up onto the screen I settled in for some good propaganda.
The first trailer was for Countdown to Zero, an appropriately melodramatic look at the dangers posed by nuclear weapons in a post-Cold War world. Brought to you by the filmmakers behind An Inconvenient Truth (a fact that they waste zero time in mentioning) the film is chock-full of foreboding quotes from world leaders, near-miss anecdotes from global security experts, and histrionic images of nuclear annihilation - from sophisticated computer models to the classic A-bomb mushroom cloud. Throw in cameos by everyone from Hans Blix to Mikhail Gorbachev and you're right smack in the cerebral wheelhouse of your average NPR-listening audience member. I could tell it went over well by the potent mix of fear and outrage that emanated from the crowd at the Landmark.
The second was for another Afghanistan documentary, this one focused on the life and controversial death of NFL-star-turned-Army Ranger Pat Tillman. While Tillman's story is fascinating, it's been covered exhaustively since his death in 2004 (most excellently in Jon Krakauer's Where Men Win Glory: The Odyssey of Pat Tillman.) So even though the trailer does an admirable job of trying to ratchet up the suspense of a vast military conspiracy to suppress the truth, it ultimately doesn't work if we already know the truth. Running this trailer ahead of Restrepo makes sense, but almost too much sense. It was kind of like "Hey, when you're done watching this film about how fucked-up it is in Afghanistan, check out this other fucked-up shit that went down over there, too."
After two only mildly depressing trailers, I braced myself for a heavy hitter: war in the Congo and/or Sudan, ethnic cleansing in East Timor, human trafficking in Asia, or perhaps a fresh angle on an old standby like Chernobyl or the Armenian Genocide.
But then came this:
I knew the moment I saw someone light up a cigar with a rolled-up wad of $100 bills for no apparent reason that I was in for something extraordinary. But when I saw that the person in question was Joe Pesci, I literally spit out my Reese's Pieces. Aside from a small part in The Good Shepherd, Pesci hasn't been seen in a major motion picture since the late 1990's. (Bonus if you can name the film without cheating. Hint: It's a sequel. Another hint: It's not Home Alone 2. Final hint: I'll just tell you: Lethal Weapon 4.) He hasn't been in anything good since Casino, and if we're being completely honest, he hasn't been in anything really good since Goodfellas.* Despite his spotty record over the last twenty years, The Pesch (I just made up that nickname right now, on the spot) remains one of my favorite actors. So what the fuck is he doing in this biopic-meets-boxing-flick-meets-international, inter-generational love triangle?
[* = My Cousin Vinny doesn't count. - Ed.]
On its surface, Love Ranch appears to be an ideal comeback vehicle for The Pesch. His character (based on legal prostitution pioneer Joe Conforte) looks exactly as if Nicky Santoro walked straight off the set of Casino, swapped his kitschy 70's Italian duds for some kitschy 70's cowboy gear, drove roughly 500 miles from Vegas to Reno in his vintage Cadillac, and immediately resumed his cigar-smoking, cash-stuffed envelope-opening, hooker-manhandling ways. I don't know if Pesci had to campaign for this part or if it was written with him in mind, but the character isn't that much of a stretch. You can't really tell from the trailer, but I'll bet Joe's character has a bit of a potty mouth and/or a Napoleonic temper as well.
The film co-stars fellow Oscar (TM) winner Helen Mirren, who changes gears from playing such historical luminaries as Queen Elizabeth II of England and Countess Sofya Tolstya of Russia to Madam Grace Bontempo of Nevada, based on real-life madam Sally Conforte. (I also caught more than a glimpse of Gina Gershon playing a down-on-her-luck former beauty turned skank, based on real-life actress Gina Gershon.) Factor in a Spaniard playing an Argentine boxer named Bruza, and you have yourself a full-fledged hot mess on your hands.
The whole thing looks MacGyvered together by director Taylor Hackford, best known for 2004's Ray but who also boasts a deliriously eclectic resume that includes An Officer and a Gentleman (Richard Gere does push-ups! In the rain!) The Devil's Advocate (also known as "That Movie with the Scene Where You Can Accidentally See Keanu's Balls") andSay You, Say Me: The Lionel Ritchie Collection. (Insert your own joke here - I'm confident it's good.) Oh, and apparently he's married to Helen Mirren, which might explain the creative choice to give us a nude love scene involving a 61-year-old woman. Even sheseems repelled by the idea, reminding us that she's old at the 1:19 mark.
I really want to support The Pesch's return to the big screen (or any screen, frankly) but I just don't see myself paying to see Love Ranch. Hey, maybe I'm wrong and come Oscar (TM) season both Joe and Helen will be hoisting their second statuette apiece.
Grade: B- Juggles the film's disparate subplots as well as can be expected. Also love the Old West font in this context.
Telegraphs the Plot Factor: High The only surprise will be how badly Joe fucks up the boxer after he finds out he's been making Argentinian love to his painfully self-conscious wife. SPOILER ALERT - his bodyguard shoots him.
1: adj. marked by an impassive, matter-of-fact manner, style, or presentation 2: n. a completely expressionless face 3. v. to express in a deadpan manner
The colorful history of this Pico Boulevard watering hole is rich with legend. Built as a military outpost in 1874, the original adobe structure was destroyed by Santa Ana winds shortly thereafter and lay in rubble until the turn of the century, when an industrious Mexican woman and her only son built a saloon on the site. "El Arsenal" was destroyed by flood in 1916 and went dormant for a time before reopening as - wait for it - a speakeasy in 1929. Reflecting the Parisian influence of the time, Le Hot Arsenal became the westside's answer to the Folies Bergere, featuring burlesque dancing and other live entertainment for twenty years. But an errant cigarette burned Le Hot to the ground, and in 1950 the bar reopened simply as The Arsenal, where it's been in continuous operation for sixty years.
