Logan - Black Multi
Pump heel 8 cm
THE TRUE STORY OF THE LOGAN
If I ask you where I got the inspiration for the pump I've named Logan, you'll immediately say that it's a tribute to Youtuber Logan Paul, because I shamelessly love that kind of dorky, muscular, closed-fisted man. All to make a lot of money.
Sure, I love California, but not those from Ohio who claim to be more Californian than Santa Monica Beach itself. So this isn't a nod to the man who found himself in difficulty a few years ago for mocking an ancestral Japanese tradition.
No. Instead, we need to take a look at Marvel. The dark side. The adult side. The one about redemption, filiation and alienation.
Logan is Wolverine, but a few years later. When he's retired from superhero life and put away his claws in favor of a job driving limousines. I don't know who writes the comics at Marvel, but they're always coming up with sticky alternatives. In short, the guy now has a shitty life that nothing can justify except a penchant for nihilism, which would explain some of the violence that ensues. So much for the background. After reading that, you might ask, why on earth would you name a film after your own pump?
I do love him. But I make a laugh of it, because there's a lot to laugh at, you'll admit. And if you don't want to do it, I'll do it for you. Because I make firm decisions, despite my Libra sign. So I liked Logan, but I didn't want to be frontal, because behind this "nom de plume" lies a funny story that happened to me with James Mangold, its director.
DREAMING OF CINEMA AND BIG APPLE, AND AGAINST MY FATHER'S ADVICE, WHO WANTED ME TO MARRY A DUDE FROM THE BOONDOCKS, I TOOK MY BELONGINGS, THE CONTENTS OF MY PIGGY BANK, TO BEAUVAIS AND ITS CATTLE AIRPORT. AFTER 3 CONNECTIONS AND 4 DAYS IN THE AIR, I FINALLY ARRIVED IN TORONTO, FROM WHERE I TOOK A SHUTTLE TO NYC. MY PARENTS HAD A COUSIN WHO LIVED IN BROOKLYN FOR EVER. AN ORTHODOX JEWESS KNOWN AS ETHEL. SHE HAD 6 CHILDREN. ALL WERE TALLER THAN ME, AND ALL STILL LIVED WITH HER, SINCE THE PADRE HAD TAKEN OFF WITH THE BABYSITTER TO MAINE.
SHE GENEROUSLY OFFERED ME A WINDOWLESS ROOM IN THE BASEMENT OF HER APARTMENT FOR $600. A GODSEND FOR THE CITY, SHE TELLS ME.
If I ever questioned the price, she'd start crying and asking heaven why the whole world was mad at her, thus putting an end to all dialogue. To pay such a high monthly payment, I had to find a job. And without a work visa, complicated. So, like most people, I started looking in the restaurant business, where the bosses didn't give a damn about legality as long as they could pay us by kicking up our ass.
AFTER TRYING OUT A BUNCH OF EQUALLY CREEPY PLACES, I GOT INTO AN ITALIAN RESTAURANT ON THE LOWER EAST SIDE ON BROOME.
I took the job mainly because it was the one that paid a salary base closest to the norm. The boss was a fat little old man. He looked like a testicle on legs, had wandering hands and a poor sense of hygiene standards. The only good thing about working in this dump was the tips. People seemed to enjoy his cooking and his Nutella pizzas.
THAT'S WHERE I FIRST SAW JAMES. HE TALKED ABOUT MOVIES, SMOKING CIGARS AND LAUGHING LOUDLY. HE WANTED TO BE NOTICED, THIS SELF-CONFIDENT LITTLE CHARACTER. HE DISGUSTED ME AS MUCH AS HE FASCINATED ME. BUT I UNDERSTOOD THAT HE WAS INTERESTED IN ME, BECAUSE HE STARTED STEPPING UP HIS VISITS. GINO, THE BOSS, ALWAYS SENT ME TO HIS TABLE AND ASKED ME TO WEAR EVER SHORTER SKIRTS TO TEASE HIM. WHICH I REFUSED, EVEN THOUGH I LOVED MINISKIRTS. JUST OUT OF PRINCIPLE. DESPITE MY OVERSIZED JEANS, I WAS ABLE TO PLEASE YOUNG JAMES, WHO DEVOURED ME WITH HIS EYES SO MUCH THAT HE LEFT HALF HIS DISHES.
After six months of more than generous tips, he approached me with his hairy hand on mine. He told me he was in the film business (at the time, he was only making short films, but he behaved like a nabob). He made me feel a little sick to my stomach as he babbled to me and didn't dare look me in the eye. He invited me to sit down and have a cappuccino. I did so under the jealous eye of Gino, who wasn't doing anything so he could spy on us.
This James didn't appeal to me in the least, but I was touched by him and, in view of his stammering, I agreed to a first date with him. Then a second. Then, after the tenth, he invited me up to his place. He wanted to dazzle me with his plans and tell me all about his contacts with Hollywood. Out of exhaustion, but also because I hadn't slept with a single guy since my arrival in the US, I felt the El Pao fever rising inside me.
For some, it could have been the 'Foire du Trône', the chance to experience something out of the ordinary, to have a human rabbit on hand. For me, it was too much and sealed my fate. I'd had enough of this cabinet of curiosities. I'd come to the Big Apple to make movies, not to be part of a John Waters movie where every person I met was more neurotic than the last.
I'd never told this story because I was afraid it would put a brake on his career. And I was right, because since then he's made a few acceptable films. Good films that show all his qualities. And I was overjoyed for him when I heard he was taking over the Indiana Jones license. I was convinced he would make a great sequel. But after the two-hour screening, I left feeling disillusioned, as if I'd been robbed of the work. He'd turned it into mush for Ehpad. A monstrosity. That's why today I decided to come out of the woodwork and tell the story of what bound us together, convinced that this unveiling would lead him to refocus and think deeply about what drove him.
WE'VE BEEN TALKING SINCE OUR STORY BROKE. HE'S DOING MUCH BETTER AND IT SEEMS HE WANTS TO DO BETTER FOR A BETTER WORLD. SO? THANK YOU WHO? THANK YOU PATRICIA. OH YOU, WHISTLE-BLOWER AND MAGNIFICENT ARLETTE. HALLOWED BE THY NAME!
The link between the text and this song may not be obvious to you, but for me, it was the right thing to do.
And here it is:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6xckBwPdo1c
