Noemie Lafrance Sends a Brooklyn Virgin Packing


Last week we told you about site-specific choreographer Noemie Lafrance’s latest project Home, a new piece performed at a location just off the Bedford L stop that invites “the audience to explore the body as a place while exploring issues of public and private space.” Evidently both the location and the intimacy were way too much for a Vanity Fair Brooklyn virgin/Feist fan/”bona fide Upper East Sider”/Tory Burch-shod reporter.

Below, a find just a few of our problems with her pretentious piece (The first and most obvious — how have you lived in New York for a few years and never gone to Brooklyn? That’s NUTS!). And while we wouldn’t normally pick apart someone’s writing like this, she made us MAD. So we’re doing this in a rage blackout.

“So on Tuesday night, I boarded the L train (heading away from the West Village) and made my way to hipsterville.” OK, there’s no other way to ride the L train. And the Bedford stop hasn’t been the hub of hipsterville in a really long time. Moving on.

“After narrowly escaping death by skateboard on the Bedford subway platform, I made my way to a rickety building in what felt to me like Brooklyn’s outer banks.” We have some spots in Red Hook (you know, that imaginary place where the last Real World cast lived) we’d love to show you sometime. Preferably around 2 in the morning. Also: There’s nothing funny about rickets.

“As we entered the space, Lafrance was laying on the table, barely clothed, 8-months pregnant, and wearing deer antlers on her head. Displayed down her leg was a miniature wilderness scene made of moss and tiny plastic animals. We all took a seat at the table and waited for something to happen. I was flustered beyond belief, but the setting was so intimate that there was no escaping without seeming totally intolerant and disrespectful.” We actually empathized with you a second here. And then we remembered all the stuff that came before this, and wish her water had broken on your shoe. That happened to Carrie once in an episode of Sex And The City. She’s a Manhattanite too.

“They served us tea, whispered in our ears, and even touched our faces. ” So it was just like hanging around some of the more hands-on old dames at the Carlyle darling…

“I’m not passing judgment. Really, I’m not.” Ditto.

“I have no doubt that Home will appeal to a certain subset of performance-goers, many of whom will find it illuminating and inspiring.” Wait, are we still not passing judgment?

We understand that you probably don’t share much of an audience with us. And maybe your “global friends” who actually know you would find a piece like this funny. But we didn’t. Remove your monocle and take a minute to ponder what left you so “shaken up” after the performance — because around here, that’s what we think great art is all about. Also: If we ever see you hanging around our neighborhood again, you’re in big trouble missy.