Life in a large city is all push-pull 24/7, but an additional push-pull one finds in both New York and Los Angeles -- we'd also argue Vancouver, Toronto, Miami, and Chicago -- is the constant thrum of filming taking place deep in the neighborhoods.
The push, of course, is that parking is hard for residents. Damn hard, we'd say, and that's just the way it is. When massive trailers hauling lights and cameras and duct tape in various sizes and costumes roll in, the locals' cars need to roll out, at least for a few hours. And, also, the walkie-talkies, loud, at the crack of dawn. We're just saying.
The pull, of course, is the potential for major star sightery, and the thrill of being able to call the folks back home and tell them to watch for your building, your favorite coffee shop, the particular tree your dog favors. And if you find out a show or movie that you're anticipating is filming in your 'hood, well, there's a frisson of electricity that shimmers through the brain that is unmatched by any other experience. It's brief, the euphoria, but potent. Fame, and being fame-adjacent. Someone needs to harness that power for good, or thermal energy, or something.
Francis X. Clines considers, entertainingly, this New York-y, LA-ish phenom in the New York Times. We're just jealous he got to see Frank Langella. Mr. Langella should play Dracula again. Vampires are back, etc.
