Porter House New York

Note: Click here and here for more recent reviews of Porter House New York.

The Restaurant Collection at the Time-Warner Center was meant to be the most luminous assemblage of chefs ever gathered under one roof. Each of its five restaurants was considered a New York Times three or four-star candidate. Some, like Masa and Per Se, lived up to their promise. Café Gray has had its problems initially, but now seems to be flourishing, with a Michelin star to its credit. Charlie Trotter’s restaurant never opened, and a clone of TriBeCa standout Landmarc is to replace it.

Then there was V Steakhouse. With cuisine by Jean-Georges Vongerichten, it should have been a sure thing. But it never recovered from a devastating one-star review by Frank Bruni and a menu featuring $70 steaks. It was the first Time-Warner restaurant to fail, and also Vongerichten’s first failure. Replacing it is—guess what? Another steakhouse.

Porter House New York is run by chef Michael Lomonaco, formerly of Windows on the World. Luckily he had a pair of eyeglasses to pick up on September 11, 2001, or he would have been at work, and would have perished along with 3,000 other people. He’s a popular guy, and he has a lot of folks rooting for him.

Porter House opened over the October 1st weekend. In a show of goodwill, the restaurant offered 20% off the bill for the first week of operation. It would be nice to see a few more restaurants do that while they work out the inevitable early kinks. Plenty of people had heard about it. I had trouble getting a prime time reservation, and the restaurant was packed when we arrived at 8:30 on Friday night.

It used to be that Manhattan steakhouses were so predictable you could write the menu in your sleep. In recent years, a breed of haute steakhouses has emerged, led by such standouts as BLT Steak, BLT Prime, Quality Meats, Craftsteak, and alas, V Steakhouse. These restaurants have the usual steakhouse staples, but more creative menus and a less “clubby” atmosphere.

Like these haute steakhouses, Porter House aims at a broader audience. On Friday night, one of the tables near ours was a family of seven celebrating a birthday. Another was a family of three, including a young child, out for a casual dinner. Neither group would have chosen Sparks or Peter Luger. Porter House has a cool elegance that makes it suitable for a fancy night out, but without V Steakhouse’s gilded trappings that scared away families and casual diners. A buzzing bar area with two wide-screen TVs is another signal that Porter House doesn’t want to be taken too seriously.

The menu, however, is not all that creative. There are a few more seafood entrées than you see at some steakhouses, but for style points it has nothing on BLT Steak or Quality Meats. I ordered the smoked salmon to start, my friend the clams casino—both standard steakhouse dishes. The salmon came with a clever garnish of tomato, avocado and chickpeas.

My friend is partial to the ribeye ($36), so we both had that. It was served off the bone, and although cooked to the correct temperature and nicely charred, the marbling was uneven. Overall, it was well off the pace of the city’s better ribeye steaks. Side dishes were priced mostly at $9. I enjoyed creamed spinach with bacon, but my friend thought that french fries had been left under a heat lamp for too long.

Service was not unfriendly, but has a long way to go. Food took a long time to come out. At the table of seven next to us, one diner got his steak long after everyone else. Two side dishes came out (with profuse apologies) after the meal was almost concluded. At our table, the lemon from my friend’s appetizer course was left behind after the other plates had been cleared. The spinach came without a serving spoon. Mid-way through the meal, our waiter just disappeared for about half an hour.

The wine list is mostly American. It is about as expensive as you’d expect for this kind of restaurant. We were able to find a red that pleased us for around $60, in a peculiar category called “Interesting.” I didn’t know there was a grape by that name.

I think Porter House will do well, as its informality serves a definite need. Judging by the crowds, it has already caught on. But judged in the cold light of day, Porter House is not the creative tour de force of a BLT Steak or BLT Prime, and as a classic steakhouse it’s not preferable to either Wolfgang’s or Strip House.

Porter House New York (Time-Warner Center, 10 Columbus Circle, 4th floor)

Food: *
Service: *
Ambiance: **
Overall: *

Compass

Note: Compass closed in August 2011 to make way for a Greek restaurant, Loi, the brainchild of cookbook author Maria Loi, which is expected to open in the fall.

*

A friend and I visited Compass last night (previous reviews here). I believe this was the first time I’ve been seated in a booth. The upholstery is ultra-plush, and I practically disappeared into it.

The $35 prix fixe is one of the better deals in town. The amuse bouche was a small soup. A basket of several kinds of bread rolls arrived, and I could very well have spoiled dinner by eating too many of them. The appetizer was a Butternut Squash Velouté with brown butter. After it arrived, a server sprinkled a pixie dust of pumpernickel, apples and parsnips into the soup. Up next was the Pistachio-crusted duck, with roasted endive and carrot emulsion. Both first-rate. The dessert (yogurt panna cotta) was unmemorable. As always, there were petits-fours after dinner and a small coffee cake to take home.

They recommend wines by the glass to go with each course—perfectly respectable choices, varying from $9–14 per glass. We’d already had a good deal to drink before dinner, so we just had one glass with the main course. The menu on the website is up-to-date. It’s very much as I’ve described it in the past, although I see the porterhouse steak is no longer on offer.

Compass (208 W 70th St., West of Amsterdam Avenue, Upper West Side)

Food: **
Service: **
Ambiance: **
Overall: **

Peking Duck House

Note: Click here for a more recent review of Peking Duck House.

Peking Duck House is a restaurant you visit for only one dish. Their own website puts it admirably: “It’s all about the duck!”

I visited the uptown location (236 E 53rd St. between Second & Third Avenues) a couple of months ago, only to find out that my guest didn’t care for duck. He could have saved me a lot of trouble by mentioning that before we went inside—in which case I’d have chosen somewhere else. Mind you, it wasn’t a bad meal as Chinese food goes. But I wanted the duck, and the restaurant doesn’t serve it in portions for one.

Last night I visited the Chinatown branch. My friend said she was longing for Peking Duck, so I knew I wouldn’t be disappointed again. You can order the whole duck for $43, but in my experience it’s too much duck for two diners to polish off. But for $35 a head, you get soup, a plate of appetizers, half of a duck, a second entrée, fried rice, and fresh fruit for dessert. If that sounds like a lot of food—well, it is.

We were happy to have Shrimp Sizzling Rice Soup as an option. The shrimp gave the soup an unexpected crunchiness. Many Chinese restaurants offer just the usual Egg Drop or Hot & Sour soups, either of which is instantly forgotten. But we won’t forget the sizzling shrimp.

An appetizer plate came with a spring roll, a vegetable dumpling, barbecued beef on a skewer, and the highlight: Chopped Chicken and Pinenuts on a bed of fresh lettuce, which you roll up and eat like a taco. This was a new appetizer to me, and I might just go back and get a whole order of it.

As our dinner included only half a Peking Duck, we were deprived of the usual spectacle of tableside carving. Instead, the kitchen brought out two of the housemade pancakes for each of us, already stuffed with duck, scallions, cucumbers, and special sauce. That succulent duck ran rings around the pale imitation of it that I had at Buddakan a few weeks ago.

I’m not a big eater, and I could have gone home full at that point, but a second entrée was coming. We chose the Peking Lobster with ginger and scallions. It was a whole lobster, still in the shell, but cracked and split open for easy access to the meat. I’m afraid we ate very little of it, but not due to any flaw of the dish. (My friend took most of it home.) A generous fresh fruit platter likewise went mostly untouched.

This excellent repast was just $35 a head. Beers were a whopping $3.50 each. I saw wine at some tables, but I was not offered a wine list, even after I asked about it.

While I would happily recommend the food, the service wins no awards. When I arrived, it was a full ten minutes before anyone took a drink order. And don’t expect them to notice if your drink runs out—you have to flag them down. The restaurant is designed to turn tables in a hurry, so once you’ve placed your order, you can expect the courses to come trooping out of the kitchen with military precision. After a 2004 renovation, the décor is slightly better than Chintatown’s Plain Jane standard, but still pretty dull, especially after you get past the first few tables up front. Tables are packed fairly tightly together, although a less-crowded downstairs dining room seems to offer more elbow room.

I didn’t write  a review of my visit to the uptown location, but as I recall the service there was a bit more polished.

Peking Duck House (28 Mott Street between Pell and Mosco Streets, Chinatown)

Food: **
Service: Fair
Ambiance: Fair
Overall: *½

Barbuto

Barbuto is one of my old favorites (earlier report here). Although it is on the edge of the Meatpacking District, Barbuto is far more civilized than most of the area’s other restaurants, so I was happy to go back. Temperatures on Saturday evening were just nippy enough that the big garage doors were down. The restaurant was busy, but not full.

I started with roasted butternut squash ($12), followed by the excellent whole grilled black sea bass ($21), which had a nutty crunch. My friend had the salt cod cake ($10), which she loved—it was not too salty, despite the name—followed by the oven roasted chicken ($17). We added a side dish of sautéed greens and ricotta ($6). Although the food was solidly prepared, I noted that there is still no bread service, which seems to me a peculiar omission in a restaurant of such ambition.

We were irritated to find that the wine list had few reds under $50, and indeed many well over $70. It seems to me that at a restaurant with entrées in the high teens and low twenties, good bottles under $50 shouldn’t be so hard to come by. We settled on a $40 bottle that was adequate, but unimpressive.

After dinner, we headed over to Brandy Library for a brandy tasting and some gougères. We should end more evenings that way.

Barbuto (775 Washington Street at West 12th Street, West Village)

Food: *
Service: *
Ambiance: *
Overall: *

Dressler

Note: Dressler closed suddenly in June 2013 after a rent increase.

*

Frank Bruni raised eyebrows in June, when he awarded two stars to Dressler, a Williamsburg newcomer that—from the description—seemed to be simply a solid neighborhood restaurant. Whether it deserved those stars I’ll get to in a moment. But Bruni put Dressler on my radar screen (and apparently lots of other people’s), and last night I finally got to see for myself what the fuss was about.

When you think of restaurants in Williamsburg, Peter Luger springs to mind. But just a block away is Dressler, and better yet, it doesn’t take three months to get a prime-time reservation. Williamsburg is gentrifying by the minute, and Dressler’s arrival could very well signal that the neighborhood is primed to become a dining destination (for something other than porterhouse steak, that is). It’s just one subway stop into Brooklyn on the J train, and a four-block walk from the Marcy Avenue stop.

Williamsburg still has a ways to go, however. Other than Dressler and Peter Luger, virtually every other storefront on this section of Broadway was locked tight on Friday evening. Many buildings are still covered in grafitti. Walk just another block west of Dressler, and suddenly the neighborhood starts looking a little scary. (I’m not saying it is scary—only that it looks that way.) We might have said the same about TriBeCa 25 years ago, or what is now Lincoln Center 50 years ago.

Dressler is certainly packing them in, and not with a neighborhood crowd. The generally young clientele have heard the buzz, and are coming from all over town. The host told us as much, when he said, “All our reservations are running late, because a subway train got stuck.” Indeed, we were not seated until about 20 minutes after our reservation time. But we were immediately impressed by the friendliness of the staff. At many hot restaurants, the hosts act like they’re doing you a favor to even notice your existence. At Dressler, they apologized profusely, several times, for the delay.

The restaurant is in a deep, narrow storefront. It seats about 60. Black cast iron filligree on the chandeliers and wall decorations put an unusual slant on standard bistro décor. Those chandeliers were enough to captivate us all evening long. Brown paper takes the place of table cloths, in a space that is rather tightly packed. With plenty of exposed hard surfaces, the noise level is on the slightly uncomfortable side of loud.

Smoked sturgeon ($10) comes in a vertically-stacked dish that also includes a potato galette, frisee, arugula, crème fraiche, and truffle vinaigrette. I can well understand why Frank Bruni refused to share it with anyone else. My friend was pleased with a black mission fig and baby arugula salad ($9)

Seared Ahi Tuna ($24), a new dish on the menu (so the server informed me) also came in a vertical stack, with several kinds of vegetables. Duck ($26) came with both sliced breast and the braised thigh on a bed of risotto. Many restaurants charge as much, or more, for the breast alone. My friend gave it a strong thumbs-up.

Frank Bruni complained that a Strawberry-Rhubarb Crisp ($8) with buttermilk ice cream was so goopy that it needed a straw. That problem (if it ever was one) has been corrected. It was warm and comforting, and we had no trouble eating it with our forks.

The wine list is short, but there are plenty of reasonably-priced bottles under $50. The bread service is unimpressive, with consisting of hard rolls that were probably baked the night before. The service was extremely solid, especially considering that our server appeared to have quite a few tables to cover.

Well, what about those two stars? Quite simply, Frank Bruni is crazy. On the New York Times rating system, one star means “good,” and that’s precisely what Dressler is. We had a great time at a very reasonable price by New York standards, and would happily come back. But when Dressler is lumped into the same category as Alto, The Modern, Café Gray and Eleven Madison Park, it makes Bruni into a laughing stock.

Dressler (149 Broadway between Driggs and Bedford Aves, Williamsburg)

Food: *
Service: *½
Ambiance: *
Overall: *

Onera

Note: Chef Michael Psilakis closed Onera in late 2006, re-opening a more casual version of itself called Kefi, which has since moved to larger digs. The space then became the short-lived Gus & Gabriel Gastropub, before morphing into Fish Tag—all still under Psilakis.

*

In a neighborhood short on elegant dining options, Onera is an oasis of calm. My friend was immediately taken by the cool, relaxing environment. The original chef, Michael Psilakis, has since expanded his empire to Dona (which he shares with Donatella Arpaia), though he remains chef/owner at Onera.

The menu has morphed since my first visit a year or two ago. There’s no longer quite as much emphasis on organ meat—a choice that had put Onera on the map, but apparently hadn’t wowed diners. The cuisine seems safer now, but it’s still plenty good.

The menu remains a tad over-complicated. There’s a choice of “meze” to start ($11 for two, or $22 for five), appetizers ($9–12), salads ($8–9), pasta ($15–17), fish ($23–26), and meat courses ($18–24). Some of those categories could be merged. It would be nice if the pastas were available in smaller appetizer-sized portions.

Anyhow, we each chose a pasta and an entrée. I had the sheep milk dumplings ($16), which were plenty of spicy fun, although slightly cloying in an almost main course-sized portion. My friend chose the Greek risotto ($16), which came with shrimp, spinach, onion, tomato, and feta cheese. I had a taste of this, and it was absolutely spectacular. I was jealous! This must be the city’s best risotto bargain.

Ah well, the haze sets in, and I’ve forgotten the entrées, except that mine was fish and hers was chicken, both well executed and enjoyable. The wine list has an impressive selection of Greek wines at reasonable prices. The bread service is bountiful, and you could easily spoil the meal if you snack on too much of it.

Onera (222 W. 79th St. between Amsterdam Avenue & Broadway, Upper West Side)

Food: **½
Service: **
Ambiance: **½
Overall: **½

Sfoglia

Sfoglia has gotten its share of good press lately. Andrea Strong said, “I would consider a move Uptown for this restaurant.” In New York, Adam Platt was smitten, awarding three stars on his five-star scale.

I was nowhere near as impressed. I started with the cheese antipasto ($10), which comes with crackers and a house-made jam, while my friend started with the creamy polenta ($11). Both presentations were competent, though not revelatory. I moved on to the veal chop ($25), which was a nice hunk of tender flesh spiced with a hint of sambuca. My friend had the fish of the day, which I believe was halibut—a generously sized portion. She gave me a taste, and sure enough the kitchen had gotten it right.

But for all that, the restaurant is not very comfortable. Strong said, “the vibe is soft and sexy.” Well, Strong thinks something is sexy every week. It’s a faux rustic décor that is pleasant, but unremarkable. Our table for two didn’t allow much elbow room. Wine was served in water tumblers. Although it was a white wine, there was no ice bucket.

If I lived in the neighborhood, I’d pay a visit occasionally. Next time I go to the 92nd Street Y, I’ll consider it. But it’s not a dining destination.

Sfoglia (1402 Lexington Avenue at 92nd Street, Upper East Side)

Food: *½
Service: okay
Ambiance: *
Overall: *

Update: In March 2007, Frank Bruni awarded two stars to Sfoglia in the Times. Although entirely consistent with his past reviews of similar places (see Al di Là, Spigolo), it still feels like a one-star restaurant to me.

5 Years Later: Rebuilding? Not.

When I started this blog, I created a category called “Rebuilding” for my comments about downtown and the World Trade Center site. But on the fifth anniversary of 9/11, precious little has been rebuilt. The sum total of the accomplishments at Ground Zero are the replacement for 7 World Trade Center (a gorgeous building, but largely unoccupied); the reconstructed #1 subway tunnel (important, but largely invisible); and the WTC PATH station (which is temporary).

In a fascinating long article called “The Hole in the City,” published today in the Times, Deborah Sontag reviews all of the missteps that have gotten us to where we are today, with Ground Zero still what it was on September 12, 2001: a 16-acre hole in the ground. Several key errors have created this five-year stalemate. Most of them are directly attributable to Governor George Pataiki’s incompetence. He either made the decisions himself, or selected the key people who did:

1. Larry Silverstein. His lease with the Port Authority compelled the agency to replace the office space that was lost on 9/11. Early on, the government could have forced him out. That would have meant the loss of lease payments that total more than $100m per year. But rather than frankly admitting the trade-off, leaders kept dancing around it, hoping the issue would quietly go away. It hasn’t.
2. The Families. Early on, Pataki decided to kow-tow to the families who lost loved ones in the 9/11 attacks. Their near-veto power over the site has been a constant impediment to development. Incredibly, Pataki’s impetuous announcement that the footprints would be considered sacred (one of the 9/11 families’ highest priorities) was not cleared in advance with site planners.
3. Daniel Libeskind. Pataki hand-picked Liebeskind’s ugly site plan, overruling rebuilding officials’ preference for a rival plan. Today, most of Liebeskind’s plan has been compromised out of existence. But his continuous presence has been a constant irritant. Liebeskind had no experience with a project on this scale, and many of his ideas were wildly impractical. Years ago, Liebeskind should have been thanked for his contributions, and sent packing.
4. The Freedom Tower. This massive skyscraper, a symbolic 1,776 feet tall, was supposed to be the site’s iconic landmark. But Liebeskind put it in the wrong place, at the corner of the site that’s farthest from mass transportation, and Pataki refused to move it. The governor presided over the laying of the cornerstone on July 4, 2004. Since then, the stone has been “unlaid,” and put into storage. A costly redesign was mandated after the police department insisted the building had to conform to the security requirements of an overseas U. S. embassy. (These are the same cowards who have refused to re-open Park Row in Lower Manhattan.) It is still not clear whether the Freedom Tower will get built, as Pataki has not delivered on his promise to secure government tenants for it.
5. Culture. I thought it was a great idea to mix culture and commerce at Ground Zero. But of the four cultural tenants the rebuilding agency selected, not one was a marquis name. Pataki ejected two of the four, out of fear that they would showcase unpatriotic content. The remaining two don’t seem to have a prayer of raising the $50m required to build a Frank Gehry-designed theater on the site’s northern edge.
6. Transportation. On the transit front, there has actually been some good news. Construction is well underway for the Fulton Street Transit Center and the new South Ferry Terminal. But to accommodate the former project, almost 150 small businesses lost their leases. A temporary PATH terminal, which cost some $300 million, opened just two years after 9/11. Its permanent replacement, at a price over $2 billion, is now under construction. Developers called it a “downtown Grand Central.” But maybe it’s just wretched excess. Grand Central has 45 sets of train tracks, while the PATH station has just five. The new station will have space for an express train service to JFK airport—another Pataki priority—but there’s no assurance it will ever get built.

All over downtown, there are large banners proclaiming all the great things that will get built by 2009 or 2010. Anyone who has followed the lack of progress downtown knows the instinctive response: Don’t hold your breath.

Alto

Note: Alto closed in March 2011, along with its sister restaurant Convivio on the same day, due to unspecified “business circumstances.”

*

Alto is the newer of a duo of Italian restaurants by chef-wunderkind Scott Conant. Eric Asimov awarded three stars to L’Impero in December 2002, while Frank Bruni gave Alto a two-star kiss-off in July 2005. For a restaurant helmed by so well regarded a chef, it was a significant slapdown. Bruni seemed almost vengeful in that review, calling Alto “haute and bothered,” but it never really made sense. A celebration for my friend’s birthday provided the excuse to see for ourselves whether Bruni was right.

Alto is named for the Alto Adige a region of northern Italy. It’s a companion to L’Impero, which features the food of southern Italy. But Conant plays with flavors and ingredients, and aside from an emphasis on pasta dishes, one is not really conscious of a focus on Italy. We ordered the seven-course tasting menu ($115) with wine pairings ($75). The server said that the kitchen would substitute freely, but we took the menu as printed. After a delicious amuse-bouche of smoked trout, we had:

Branzino Tartare (avocado, gremolata and preserved lemon vinaigrette)
Poached Black Sea Bass (caponata panzanella and lemon thyme broth)
Veal and Fontina Angolotti (organic baby carrots, baby mushrooms, and parmigiano emulsion)
Risotto with Frogs Legs (summer squash and black truffles)
Roast Suckling Pig (smoked corn, chanterelles and black pepper agrodolce)
Braised Beef Short Ribs (vegetable and farro risotto)
Warm Chocolate Ganache (milk chocolate gelato, roasted peanot froth)

We found the pacing and variety of the dishes, the combination of ingredients, and the quality of the presentation, all impeccable. The first four dishes were unanimous hits. The branzino tartare was meltingly delicious. The crunchy caponata was a perfect contrast to the soft black sea bass. We noted that the risotto ran rings around the one we had at Del Posto (for which Mario Batali charges $50). I found my suckling pig a bit tough, but my friend said that her portion was wonderfully tender. Short ribs, I suppose, were a rote inclusion not quite as exciting as the other items. The staff were alerted in advance that it was my friend’s birthday, and her dessert came with “Happy Birthday” written on the plate in chocolate calligraphy.

Conant has made some changes since Frank Bruni’s two-star review. Some dishes that skewed towards German-Austrian cuisine have been dropped. There is no longer a bottle of olive oil on every table. The menu, formerly prix fixe-only at dinner ($75 for four courses), is now available à la carte. It was a Saturday night, and the restaurant was not full — I suspect they are starting to get desperate. The décor, which Bruni hated, appears to be unchanged. For us, it was elegant, refined, serene—delightful.

We found the service attentive and impressive. Many dishes were delivered with half-moon covers, and the food uncovered with that voila! moment that is so seldom seen these days in restaurants. I was mildly irritated when we ordered champagne, but the sommelier could not explain what it was. (“It just came in and I’m not too familiar with it, but I’ll be happy to help you with any of your other wine selections.”) At $15 per glass, she should know.

There was an addictive selection of homemade breads, but oddly enough they came with no butter, and the bread server’s accent was so thick that we couldn’t quite understand all of the five choices. A couple of the other dishes were dropped off by barely-comprehensible servers. Am I asking too much when I suggest that at a restaurant of Alto’s calibre, a reasonable command of English should be required of those entrusted with describing the food?

These minor complaints aside, Alto did a lovely job on a special occasion. We would gladly go back.

Update: The day before our visit, Eater put Alto on deathwatch, with an over/under of January, noting that “Conant’s investors can’t be very happy with the thin dinner crowds. There’s even a rumor circulating that the venue is up for sale, which, no, does not bode well at all.” I hope it survives, but I must admit the same thought crossed my mind when I saw the number of empty tables on a Saturday night.

Update 2: Since our visit, Scott Conant has departed, and Michael White is now the chef. For an early look, see Randall Lane’s review in Time Out New York.

Alto (520 Madison Avenue, entrance on 53rd Street, East Midtown)

Food: ***
Service: ***
Ambiance: ***
Overall: ***

Four Eyed Monsters

In 2002, Arin Crumley and Susan Buice met on an Internet dating service. Crumley hatched the idea that the two struggling artists would communicate solely through “notes, pics, music and videos.” When they had sex for the first time, they had never spoken to one another, though they had exchanged plenty of post-it notes. A year later, they quit their jobs, went deeply into debt, and made a feature film about their peculiar relationship. It’s called Four Eyed Monsters — Crumley’s term for romantic couples.

The film was accepted by the Slamdance Film Festival and premiered there in January 2005. It has since been seen at 18 festivals. Unable to find a distributor, Crumley and Buice have distributed it themselves. People vote on their website, and if there are at least 150 votes in a city, they arrange for it to be shown there. There are showings in six cities during September. In New York, it will be seen every Thursday in September at the IFC Film Center, 323 Sixth Avenue at West Fourth Street. A friend and I saw it last week.

Without Crumley’s “no speaking” rule, there would be nothing worth watching about the relationship of two New York twenty-somethings. That, and the couple’s very dark sense of humor, make Four Eyed Monsters compelling viewing. Crumley and Buice are so insecure that it would take years on an analyst’s couch to work out their inner demons. But they are able to laugh about themselves and their artistic alienation, without which the film would be an overly precious exercise in navel-gazing.

The film also has an under-current of what one audience-member called meta-narrative. It’s a film about two people who decide to make a film about their relationship, and the film they make is the one you’re watching. Crumley and Buice do a compelling job of dramatizing the early days of their relationship, cleverly mixing animation and live action. Some of the film is a re-creation of past events, and other parts are the actual videos and e-mails that they exchanged while they were dating. It’s no small feat to re-tell your own story, and then act it out too, without boring the audience. Crumley and Buice have managed it.

Early on — it might actually be the first date — their relationship hits a snag that would probably stop 99% of relationships dead in their tracks. That it doesn’t is attributable to two factors. Buice has never created anything on her own that she is happy with. And Crumley wants to get laid regularly, something he has never done before meeting Buice. What begins as a romantic relationship turns into a cottage industry. A series of video podcasts available on their website is partly, made in the film’s same edgy style, blurs the line between soap opera and marketing.

My friend, who is romantic at heart, pointed out that we never see an actual romance. “Do they even hold hands?” she asked? No, they don’t. It is entirely commercial. The relationship and the product have become one. We disagreed on which of the two leads is more appealing. My friend found Buice chilly and sterile, while I had the same reaction to Crumley. While both share the directing, producing, editing, acting and writing credit, it appeared to both of us that Crumley is the artistic mastermind. The no-talking rule, without which there would be no film, was his idea. When it wore out its welcome with her, he insisted on continuing it.

Crumley and Buice attended the screening and took questions afterwards. There’s a small coterie of groupies following their appearances. Someone in the audience wanted to ask whether the couple are still together (there were Internet rumors of a split), but he couldn’t just come out and ask it. Buice finally rescued him, and said they still live in Williamsburg, and sleep together on a twin mattress. Another audience member congratulated them on giving a better answer than they did last time (whenver that was).

Crumley said that we’d seen a new cut of the film, including an improved ending. Some people in the audience thought it still needed work, while others advised them to leave it alone. Buice suggested that perhaps the time was coming to “stick a fork in it,” but Crumley suggested that the tweaking might continue. Do they have another great project in them? Their website links to a short film that Buice did by herself. It’s awful.

Four Eyed Monsters, however, is a clever experimental film, and well worth checking out.