On Film, the Crescent City Is a Star
By Stephen Hunter
Washington Post Staff Writer
Saturday, September 3, 2005; Page C01
Down there at the edge of the continent, lodged on melty, unsubstantial land, lush and Frenchy, all undulacious with the cascades of flesh and the jewellike glisten of a sweat track down a dancing gal’s downy back, tropical, fragrant, voodoo-y New Orleans, at least in certain imaginations, isn’t a city but a joint, a joint where anything is possible.
That’s why most folks went, and that’s why the moviemakers went.
But not all of them. Sometimes you can learn about a place from the movies they don’t make about it. For example, back in the 1950s when our cities regularly were being squished by reptilian, insectoid or off-planet life forms, virtually no monster movies were set in New Orleans. No Tyrannosaurus r’s tripped the light fantastic down the sidewalks of New Orleans. The reason why is obvious: A 27-foot-tall carnivore on Bourbon Street — who would notice? Some old boy would just say to Mr. Tyrant Lizard King, hey bro, take a load off, have an absinthe or seven. And that dinosaur would think it over, then belly up to the bar and ask the man to start pouring. (more…)