“I used to be a writer,” Fran Lebowitz mentions in passing, in the first scene of the first episode of her new Netflix docu-series “Pretend It’s a City,” and she gives this information the weight she feels it deserves – which is to say, very little. That’s her nature; she was, in fact, quite an important writer, and her “Metropolitan Life” and “Social Studies” are among the finest and funniest chronicles of New York life ever published. But the latter was released in 1981, and she has now spent considerably more time suffering from writer’s block than she spent, y’know, writing.
Instead, she makes her living observing daily life (“I’m sitting there, just looking at my fellow man, and this is, most of the time, excessively interesting”) and speaking – giving talks, doing Q&As, appearing on talk shows, and sharing her observations. Her friend Martin Scorsese, himself one of the quintessential New Yorkers, first chronicled these activities in the 2010 HBO documentary “Public Speaking”; “Pretend It’s a City” is basically a series-length sequel to that film, with Scorsese directing all seven of the roughly 30-minute episodes, and “Public Speaking” cinematographer Ellen Kuras and editors Damian Rodriguez and David Tedeschi returning as well. The resulting series is, like the film (and its subject) delightfully grouchy, whip-smart, and riotously funny.
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That opening sequence explains the title, by way of her frustration with New York City’s constant stream (at least at the time) of tourists; she imagines writing a manifesto titled “Pretend it’s a city,” and not just that, but a city “where there are other people! And pretend it’s a city where there are other people who aren’t just sightseeing!” The idea of a city of Lebowitz’s making gives the film its (very loose) structure, as each episode covers a topic or two with an appropriate urban governance title attached: travel (“Metropolitan Transit”), money (“Board of Estimate”), books and reading (“Library Services”), and so on.
But like any great talker, Lebowitz rarely sticks to the subject at hand; each topic is a rest stop on a long, twisty road to another one, and often by the time we arrive at our destination, we’ve come so far (or are laughing so hard) that we don’t remember where we began. Scorsese and his editors are also slyly building a history here, and though the easy-breezy style of the piece makes it seem like they’re winging it, biographical details seep in where they can (she talks about her cab-driving days in the “Metropolitan Transit” episode, for example, and talking about money in “Board of Estimate” leads to some fascinating sidebars about how she currently makes it).
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However, as with “Public Speaking,” her primary topic – in the show, and in her life – is New York City. As with any true New Yorker, she has a complicated relationship with the city; “If there was another place that I could think of, I would have gone there,” she despairs, but she ultimately can’t tear herself away because, as she states simply but accurately, “New York is never boring.” So she has much to say about real estate, and architecture, and culture, and the cost of living: “No one can afford to live in New York. Yet, eight million people do. How do we do this? We don’t know! It’s a mystery to us!” In a strange, surprising way, “Pretend It’s a City” is almost like a travel show, albeit one that only goes to one place; she’s telling you things to look out for when you’re in New York City, what’s great about these buildings and streets. And in a manner certainly not intended at the time of its production, it’s become a dispatch from an earlier version of the city, when people still moved freely, visited libraries, and stood alongside each other at bars and bookstores.
Scorsese mostly sticks to the style of “Public Speaking,” seemingly adopting an “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” philosophy. It’s a show about, simply enough, a woman talking – take that, Scorsese critics – but the pace is rapid-fire, juxtaposing complementary but contrasting settings and scenarios. Rodriguez and Tedeschi again intercut a private, sit-down conversation between Lebowitz, Scorsese, and a third party (Graydon Carter in the film, screenwriter and producer Ted Griffin here) with public appearances and talk show appearances, new and archival. This time, there are also new live interviews in front of packed audiences, conducted by the likes of Alec Baldwin, Spike Lee, and Olivia Wilde. And then Scorsese supplements Lebowitz’s words with little interludes about writers and artists that inspire her (and, it stands to reason, him), and augments her memories with archival footage – historical, educational, and fictional, including even films of his own. (The most Scorsese touch, however, is the inclusion of a clip from one of his favorite pictures, Visconti’s “The Leopard.”)
The director works up clever visual manifestations of her commentary – the best finds her projected onto a screen of Times Square, complaining about walking through Times Square, as she walks through Times Square – and ingenious location work, including letting her walk over the famous “Panorama of the City of New York” (“The other thing I wanted was the rubber suit from Godzilla”, he laughs) and joining her in the stacks of the gorgeous Stephen A. Schwarzmann Building of the New York Public Library to talk about books.
There’s a delightful buddy-comedy element to that sequence, and throughout the series, Scorsese is an excellent straight man – giving reactions, feeding her cues, and so on. Most importantly, he’s a great audience, and it’s striking how often you see her cracking him up: his shoulders shaking in the over-the-shoulder shots of their conversations, a wonderful two-shot in the end credits of episode six where she’s telling a funny story and he’s just doubled over, quaking with laughter. You come away from the series with a sense that Scorsese genuinely loves Lebowitz, as a performer and person – loves spending time with her, loves laughing with her – and that’s the key to “Pretend It’s a City.” If you find her as funny as he does, it’s as uproarious as any show on television.
It is also, I would hesitantly add, a show that does not benefit from Netflix’s binge-friendly model. First of all, like any treat, it should be made to last. But more importantly, as delightful as Lebowitz is, three-and-a-half hours of anyone is a lot to take, and when viewed all at once, her cynicism (and occasional bends toward borderline reactionary positions) can get to be a bit much. Likewise, when viewed in quick succession, the show’s stylistic signatures and editing patterns can begin to reveal themselves a bit more obviously (and, thus, monotonously).
There’s also some question of its conclusion. You may have a sense, at least fleetingly, that for the journey it takes and the time the viewer invests, “Pretend It’s a City” should arrive at a bit more of a definitive ending than it does, a more penetrative final thought, a more fully encapsulating big idea. On the other hand, that would fly in the face of the modest spirit of the enterprise, which does not attempt to be the last word on any of its topics, including Fran Lebowitz. Instead, it is a celebration of this figure, her words (“I have no power. But I am filled with opinions!”), and her city – a recognition of an incredible storyteller, a cheerful curmudgeon, and a true raconteur. [A-]
“Pretend It’s a City” debuts on Netflix on January 8.
