The subject of this documentary kinda reminded me of Andy Warhol, another serious artist who masqueraded as an eccentric boulevardier. And also like Warhol Cunningham was a bit too comfortable around the New York glitterati for me to want to spend ninety minutes with him. (It's not that the New York glitterati are worse than, say, the San Francisco or Indianapolis glitterati. It just seems that way) Consequently, right around Lady Astor's one hundredth b-day bash I decided to pull the plug. Give it a C plus.
PS...I am amazed that someone who did that much night time bike riding in Manhattan managed to make it to eighty seven.
PS...I am amazed that someone who did that much night time bike riding in Manhattan managed to make it to eighty seven.