The film is also Creed’s thoughtful ode to New York. His is an ochre-hued city that sounds just as chaotic as it sounds quiet. A rambling man talking to himself on the street or the hum of an approaching train whooshing by—sometimes dulling, sometimes startling—is the same New York in which an apartment in the afternoon can seem near-holy, as if invented for friends to hide in without motive; to keep a secret.
CHEW-BOSE: And the rest? The New York that you’ve painted, was it a collection of stuff you’ve been jotting down in a notebook?
CREED: The New York stuff is my New York. For me, everything in this city happens in passing but it sticks with you. Even last night, I was walking by a guy and all I heard him say was, “Yeah, and he got shot in the leg!” and that was my snippet. So it was important to make New York feel very present but also very subtle.
The rest, HERE.
Years ago, before I knew her, my friend Kate smuggled a hedgehog from Korea back to New York. She named it Louise. When Kate tells the story of how she did it, how she hid Louise and got her through customs, Kate cups her hands and grins a little. Always, it seems, the return of getting away with something or being resourceful, or in this case both, increases with time. It’s an inevitability. Also, Kate’s grin is a good grin because it’s often directly related to mischief, which is after all, the best use of a grin.
I never met Louise because she died of depression, old age, self harm, but I’ve imagined her in the space between Kate’s cupped hands; her long fingers stuck together, Louise no bigger than a small peach.