Best NYC Movies Set in 24-Hours

When you read a novel or watch a movie or any standalone story, the timespan it takes place across can vary: the story can take place over a few hours, a few days, a few weeks -- or a few years, decades, or centuries. 

It therefore takes a special skill to tell a story within one day -- 24 hours -- that has an engaging beginning, middle, and end. Obviously the goldstandard of a 24-hour story is James Joyce's 1922 legendary novel Ulysses, a tale of two down-on-their-luck Dubliners, whose lives intersect on June 16, 1904. 

Most movies that take place over 24-hours are action movies -- they're basically lengthy chases, one slambang sequence after another -- that only work narratively over a short period of time. Also, the movie usually has a hook that such and such a thing must be done before a specific time or else a bomb goes off. Non-action movies are harder to tell within 24-hours but some have tried.

Either way, this list of the best movies set over 24-hours is intriguing. 

There are a bunch NYC movies on this list that take place over 24-hours (or less), some of which I've either written about or reviewed over the years: Dog Day Afternoon, My Dinner With Andre, After Hours, Do The Right Thing, Night On Earth, and Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist. 

A couple of other very good set-within-24 hours NYC movies that aren't on this but that I've also written about are New Year's Day and Vanya on 42nd Street. 

Of course NYC is the perfect place to set a story within 24-hours because there's so much to do, and it's so relatively easy to get around, that a lot can happen within a short period of time. I hope many such movies will be made in the future!

Scorsese & Lebowitz Talk "After Hours"

If you love the movies of Martin Scorsese and the comedy of Fran Lebowitz, then check out their conversation from 2022 about what might be Marty's least known NYC movie -- After Hours from 1985 (I blogged about it very briefly in 2008).

Even hardcore Scorsese fans might have missed this one -- unlike his crime movies or period pieces, this is a wacky surreal comedy about a guy who gets lost in Soho at night because of some broad.

That's it, that's the movie.

But it's still worth seeing -- even though you should expect it to be a typical Scorsese movies. I love it, not only because it's a Scorsese movie or an NYC movie but because it's a night movie, a movie set in world of NYC all its own.

As I said in my 2008 post, Mary made this movie after his early Golden Age (Mean Streets, Taxi Driver, Raging Bull) and before his platinum age (Goodfellas, The Departed, etc.). He had just made King of Comedy which was a big flop and he was on the outs with the big studios -- so he made this little independent movie (without regular star Robert De Niro) to show that he was still in the game, still a great talent.

And the rest his movie history. He ended up winning Best Director at the Cannes Film Festival for this and soon it was onto The Last Temptation of Christ, Goodfellas, etc. 

After Hours might not be Scorsese's best or most beloved movie, but it's certainly one of his best NYC movies and it's the movie that saved his career. 

Catherine O'Hara in "After Hours" (1985)

When the notification popped up on my phone that the comedic genius Catherine O'Hara died, I put my phone down and hoped that I was just imagining it. But no. It's sadly real -- she's gone, and our world is a lot less funnier.

The tributes to her career are numerous, and the media and public are recalling her works in movies like Beetlejuice I & II, Home Alone, the Christopher Guest mockumentaries, as well as the great TV shows that bookended her career -- SCTV in the late 1970s/early 1980s and Schitt's Creek in the last twenty-teens. 

But here at Mr NYC, we remember the off-beat work of great talents, most especially involving those related to the city. And in 1985, between her stint on SCTV and her later big hits, Catherine had a small role in the wackiest movie that Martin Scorsese ever made -- After Hours. 

In fact, her future Home Alone co-star John Heard is in it, along with the late Terri Garr. Please check out the Mr NYC After Hours archive -- and remember one of the greatest comic actresses of her era and a movie from a different time in the life of NYC. RIP. 

After Hours

Here's one of the more offbeat NYC movies - Martin Scorsese's 1985 film "After Hours." Basically it's about a guy who gets lost in Soho late at night after a date gone awry. It's kinda dated now (in an error of Metrocards and cell phones he wouldn't have the kinds of transportation and communications problems he does) but it's still a fun, quirky flick nonetheless.

This is one of those movies that Scorsese made after "Raging Bull" and before "Goodfellas." He won an award for Best Director at Cannes for it - 21 years before his Oscar.

Review: "Face Value: The Marla Hanson Story" (1991)

The hottest thing in American popular culture today isn't superhero movies -- it's hours-long true crime podcasts, documentaries, and TV series.

In the last few years, tabloid scandals from the past about Jeffrey Dahmer, Andrew Cunan, Robert Chambers, OJ, and many others (more recently, the Menendez Brothers) have become massive hits in various multi-episode formats. And all of them seem to be about tabloid stories from the late 20th century.

But before the era of streaming and podcasts, where hours and hours could be devoted to telling these trashy tales, such stories would become network TV movies -- and instead of waiting years, these "ripped from the headlines" events became hastily-made, two-hour flicks. 

One such story that, as far as I know, has yet to become a 21st-century multi-hour podcast/documentary/streaming series is about the June 1986 attack of Marla Hanson.

A Missouri-transplant and aspiring model, Marla Hanson was living in a Manhattan apartment, attending glamorous parties, pursuing romance, living the NYC dream, until one day her landlord, who was obsessed with her, slashed her face, ending her modeling dreams. It was a big, scary story about obsession, beauty, and the "face value" of human worth. Her attackers were eventually sentenced to prison, but not until she was, in her words, badly treated by the criminal justice system. 

And this is why the 1991 TV-movie about the incident was called Face Value: The Marla Hanson Story.

This movie falls squarely into the now gone-and-forgotten sensationalist TV-movie with bad writing, bad acting, bad production values, and bad music. It's amazing to think anything this low-rent would get made today but, thirty-odd years ago, this was the stuff that millions of people watched when the big network TV hits went on hiatus.

There are, however, a few interesting things about this movie that make it worth watching (you can see the trailer and full movie below).

First, it's a real-NYC movie that, in its ways, captures the allure and danger of the late 20th century, pre-911 city. 

Second, the cast.

Marla Hanson is played by an actress named Cheryl Pollack, who "had a moment" in the early 1990s. She was in the 1990 movie Pump Up the Volume, a memorable episode of Quantum Leap, and later on was on another show called The Heights. She continued to pop up in TV shows throughout the 1990s until, it appears, she left acting. 

Marla's landlord/slasher was played by an odd-looking, odd-sounding actor named Kirk Baltz. And ironically, the very next year, he'd make movie history as the victim of a fictional slashing -- he's the guy who played the cop who memorably got his ear cut-off in Quentin Tarantino's directorial-debut Reservoir Dogs (while "Stuck in the Middle With You" played in the background). It must have been ironic for him to go, within a year or so, from playing a slasher in a totally forgettable TV movie to playing the most famous slashing victim in movie history -- and in a cinematic classic.

Then there's Marla's love interest. He's played by a very handsome actor named Dale Midkiff. His career caught fire in the 1980s when he played Elvis in a TV-mini-series, and then was in the 1989 hit movie Pet Semetary. But big screen stardom elluded him and it was back to TV. Not long after making this Marla Hanson TV movie, Dale starred in a very silly but massively entertaining show called Time Trax. It was about a cop from the year 2193 who is sent back in time to 1993 to find criminals who escaped from his time, hiding out the past, and sending them back to the future -- and justice. After Quantum Leap, it was my favorite time-travel show ever (although nowhere as good as QL), and he was really good in it. It only ran for two-years but it was fun to watch (interestingly, Time Trax premiered on January 20th, 1993, the same day that Bill Clinton became president).

As for Marla Hanson, after this horrible incident, she appears to have gone on and lived a nice quiet life. She married, had a child, worked briefly as a screenwirter, and seems to have had no interest in having a public profile in the almost 40-years after she was thrust into the headlines. And good for her! 

These days the network TV movie seems to be a thing of the past. But this movie capture an era of TV, and NYC, that seems both far in the past and very familiar. 

"Around the Town in 26 Hours and 36 Minutes"

In 1974 a very brave Daily News reporter took a marathon ride across the NYC subway system -- and wrote about the entire journey.

Reprinted here for the first time anywhere, go back in time and take the trip of a lifetime around a very different NYC.
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AROUND THE TOWN IN 26 HOURS AND 36 MINUTES 

New York Sunday News March 31, 1974 

The Lefferts Blvd. Station at four in the morning could be the loneliest place in New York. Or maybe just the coldest. Wind blows across the elevated tracks. I look out the train – suspended here – waiting for the return runs to Manhattan. Outside the night is dark except for some metal lamps on the deserted platform. Bare light bulbs form little circles of heat in the cold air. I am absolutely alone. Reflected in the train windows are its baby-blue walls splashed magenta and orange with graffiti. Beyond them I can see the black tops of trees, the low buildings of Queens stretching west toward Brooklyn. Far off, a yellow glow indicates Manhattan. Shivering, I cross to the open door and step out onto the platform. It is very still. A quarter moon hangs over Ozone Park, where all sensible people are asleep.

It might be warmer below near the token booth. Perhaps there is even a candy machine. But if the train should suddenly pull away…? No, I decide. Even if there is a machine, it won’t be working. There are some 6,600 vending machines in the New York Subway System. I know of four that work. The Interborough News Co. owes me eighty-five cents. Dear Sirs … I begin composing a letter in my head – then stop. If I give the locations of all the stations where I lost coins yesterday, they’ll think I’m mad. Some of those stations are 50 miles apart!

It seems to me that I have been here an eternity. I look at my watch: 20 minutes. This wait could ruin my chance at the world record. It stands at 21 hours and 8 minutes.

The first subway riding record – traveling the entire system of routes for a single fare – was set October 27, 1904: IRT Opening Day. The subway, an historic 9.1 miles, extended from City Hall to Grand Central, turning west across 42nd Street to Times Square, and then up Broadway to 145th St. After an official opening trip by city dignitaries – with Mayor McClellan holding a silver controller – followed by several hours of invitational rides, the subway was opened to the public at 7 p.m. 111,881 passengers paid a nickel each to ride that day. Scheduled time for an express was 26 minutes; the local took 46. Although those early riders were conscious of making history, it is doubtful that they had any thoughts of setting track records. It was just too simple.

The new subway generated appendages almost yearly. It reached Brooklyn via tunnel in 1908. The success of the IRT encouraged more construction. The Brooklyn Rapid Transit (after 1923, the BMT) began operations in August 1913, and the city-operated IND was opened Sept. 10, 1932. Under the dual contracts by which the city had financed construction of the privately operated IRT and BMT, it had also retained the right to purchase them. In 1940 both were acquired for $326,248,000. The three lines were unified under city control on June 12 of that year.

Two days before unification, Herman Rinke, a curious and still indefatigable electric railroad enthusiast, decided to tour the existing system for a single five-cent fare. He had no thought of setting a record. With unification, the IRT-operated 9th Ave. El was scheduled for demolition. His trip was a 25-hour sentimental gesture. It turned out to be the first recorded try. Since that day, 66 people have ridden the entire system in 24 recorded trips. These records are kept in an unofficial file at the TA Public Relations Dept. No one knows how may kids have done it just for fun. The 1961 subway map cited the example of a Flushing youth who had ridden all the routes in 25 hours and 36 minutes for a single token. The TA’s aim may have been to point out the scope or convenience of the subway, but that record – set Jan. 25, 1957, by Jerome Moses, 16 – instead seemed to invite competition. During the 1960s, subway derbies became a fad with urban students; 11 of them were completed during the peak years of 1966 and 1967. On April Fools Day of 1966, the M.I.T. Rapid Transit Club began a highly publicized ride. They had used a computer to route their attempt and informed the newspapers. On April 2, they were feeling foolish by 1 hour and 1 minute. And Geoffrey Arnold, who had held the 24 hour, 56 minute record since 1963 when he was 17, remarked “Pacific St. was a ridiculous place to start.” That June, nine boy scouts from Troop 290 in Queens further shamed the computer by logging 23 hours and 18 minutes. And on Aug. 3, 1967, 16-year-old James Law, with six buddies, rode from 168th St., Jamaica to Pelham Bay Park in 22 hours 11½ minutes; a time cited in the current Guinness Book of World Records.

When the Bronx Third Ave. El was closed in August 1973, subway route mileage was diminished 5.5 miles. On Oct. 8, Mayer Wiesen, 35, and Charles Emerson set a “modern record,” riding over 230.8 route miles, changing trains many times, and passing through the 462 operating stations, in 21 hours and 8 minutes. A record which looks as if it will stand unless I get out of the Lefferts Blvd. Station.

At 8 yesterday morning, I am just starting out, entering the 168th St. terminus of the Jamaica spur, an old elevated line taken over and extended by the BMT. The 1893 span between Alabama Ave. and Cypress Hills may be the oldest el track still in continuous use. The train I board is one of the oldest also: rolling stock built in the mid- 1930s. Sixty-watt bulbs light the cars. Hanging down from the ceiling are fans with black blades. I make my way to the front car, intending to ride looking out the window next to the motorman’s cab, but a handsome black kid, about 13, has got there first. He stands, hands in his pockets, nose to the glass, alert, ready to “drive the train.” At 8:03 we head toward Manhattan – looking down long streets of old houses, over expressways clogged with morning traffic, rattling past Cypress Hills Cemetery where miles of tombstones cast small, neat shadows in the early light. At Broadway-Myrtle, I change to the M train, yoyo-ing up and back to cover the Myrtle Line – past houses whose third-story windows, with pulled blinds, are often no more than six feet from the train.

9:15. Manhattan comes into view from the Williamsburg Bridge. The huge building blocks that pile its shore jut powerfully at the sky. Below, the East River is gray. It is a postcard approach. The train “zooms-in” like a 1940s movie – so familiar that I almost expect to see titles flash across. No matter. The Manhattan skyline still makes me gasp.

10:00. I am changing trains in Brooklyn when I see the kid from the Jamaica el again. We grin in recognition. “Hey,” I shout, “Are you doing the system too?” As the train doors shut, I see him nod. He swings off to Coney Island, while I race up in search of the Astoria train. On the DeKalb overpass I spot a snack bar and buy a Coke for breakfast. Aside from some coins in my jeans, a notebook and map, I have decided not to carry anything – sort of an urban Camp Fire Girl.

11:12 – En route to Flushing on a blue World’s Fair train. To my left Shea Stadium passes; while off to the right lies Flushing Meadow. The ribbed Unisphere and skeletal towers of the ’64 Fair rear up out of the flat landscape – fossilized like dinosaurs.

12:05. Returning to Manhattan, I change at Jackson Heights for the newer IND. On the underpass is a Nedicks – coffee and a hot dog – breakfast is shaping up. I am wiping mustard off my fingers when I reach the underground Roosevelt Ave. platform. On May 2, 1970, this was the site of the first subway fatality due to collision or derailment, in 42 years; two GG trains collided during evening rush hour, killing two passengers and injuring 71.

1:55. The F train to Coney Island is one of the new, longer R-44 models: pristine and elegant, with seats of muted orange and yellow. Panels of fake wood are set into its walls and fluorescent lights line the ceiling. Just before the doors close, a chime sounds – rather like the Avon doorbell. The advertising cards, color transparencies lit from behind, glow. These are the poshest cars to travel the subways since No. 3344, “The Mineola,” rolled through in 1904. No. 3344 was the private coach of financier and IRT organizer August Belmont. His car had real wood, mahogany, with velvet-draped picture windows so that guests could enjoy the flashing signals while white-coated stewards broiled steaks in the galley and served iced champagne. Above them, Empire ceilings arched, pale green and gilt; the washroom windows were stained glass. If one cares to make a comparison, the Mineola can be found in the Branford Trolley Museum at East Haven, Connecticut.

I am about to succumb to the quiet style of these long, air-conditioned cars, when I notice that the doors between them are kept locked. Existing subway tunnels were built for 60-foot cars, more the size, if not the décor, of the Mineola. These new, 75-foot units do not mesh properly on curves; the space between cars becomes dangerous. Motormen, conductors, and presumably transit police, have keys, but New Yorkers are naturally leery. Many feel that being trapped in one car could become a risky situation.

The IND Coney Island line becomes elevated for a brief span entering Brooklyn; the highest point in the system, 87.5 feet above street level, is at the Smith and Ninth St. Station. Here the view is open in all directions: back toward postcard Manhattan, out into the harbor. Little automobiles crawl over the arched expressway ahead; below, the Gowanus Canal and Red Hook. Too soon, we are underground.

At Church St. the line ramps upward again, joining the 1919 BMT el track at Ditmas Ave., where it emerges and begins the long approach to the ocean. Coney Island, cold and closed, decorates our passage. Orange and green spokes of the Wonder Wheel circle blue sky; flags and bits of banner blow. A deserted but honky tonk air prevails. We pass the roller coaster, webbed and delicate in the afternoon light. The air is bracing.

2:54. The Brighton Line heads back to Manhattan, for a while paralleling the sea. Short views down streets end in ocean. The pastel acres of Brighton Beach Baths stretch, patterned, toward the sand. We stop at Sheepshead Bay before heading northwest, traveling over the old ground level tracks of the 1890s Brighton Railroad, widened in 1907 to cut through the tree-hung backyards of Victorian mansions facing Buckingham Road.

3:15. At the Prospect Park Station hundreds of high school kids mill, going home. Cops range the platform and one accompanies us onto the Franklin Shuttle. The kids are wonderfully natty; boys and girls stride aboard wearing platform shoes that defy balance, pants with big bells, hats, lots of jewelry, elaborate hair-dos. While I am aware that teenagers in groups are responsible for a fair amount of subway crime, I cannot imagine this stylish group doing anything to muss their clothes. Subway history is full of accounts of rampage and vandalism. Two days after the 1904 opening, eight youths armed with buckshot blowers boarded the new subway at 145th St. and proceeded to shoot out the electric lights while doing gymnastic stunts on the straps. Two were arrested at 96th St., the rest escaped. But this was not the first subway crime. That occurred opening night. During the crowded ride north from Brooklyn Bridge Station, someone lifted the $500 diamond stickpin that had been holding down the tie of Harry Barret of W. 46th St. When he reached Grand Central, his necktie was flapping.

3:50. The return shuttle is almost empty. As it approaches Prospect Park again, we pass near Empire Blvd. In November of 1918 it was still called Malbone St. The name was changed after the Brighton Beach Special, jammed with evening rush hour passengers, failed to make a curve at the tunnel there. Five wooden cars, taken over from the old Brooklyn Union Railroad, were dashed to bits, and passengers thrown rapidly along the tunnel walls, literally had their faces rubbed away. Ninety-seven lost their lives, 150 were injured, and for days the accident drove World War I right off the front pages, When motorman Edward A. Luciano gave himself up, he was found to have had only two hours of instruction before being given the controller at Park Row in Manhattan. Earlier that morning – before motormen walked out in a dispute over unionization – Luciano had been a yard switchman. His promotion was sudden – this was his first run. He was acquitted, and the union made its point.

5:02. I am picking up a few stray miles under Rockefeller Center when evening rush hour begins. While I know the total 3.8 million daily subway riders cannot all be taking the D train tonight – it feels as if they are. Jammed shoulder to shoulder, passengers have nowhere to look but up. Above our heads, “Miss Subways” stares out of her poster, giving us a strained smile, “hoping to do some modeling.” Since 1941, when the contest began, over 200 New York working girls have become “Miss Subways.” In the early years, a new face showed up every month. Currently, two winners, out of six finalists, are chosen every eight months by passenger vote. Miss Subways receives a $40.00 charm bracelet dangling silver tokens, and her picture decorates the 6,700 subway cards for a three-month period. I ride standing all the way to 205th St., Bronx. Sheer endurance does not win a girl the title.

6:10. At 168th St. and Broadway, I change trains again, and descend into the IRT on a hot automated elevator to ride the Seventh Ave. local to Van Cortlandt Park. The ride is through the deepest section of track in the whole system: 180 feet below street level at the 191st St. and St. Nicholas Ave. station.             

7:00. Moving under Harlem on the No. 3, a rather splashy train with big graffiti – mustard yellow and pink predominate. Despite $10 million spent to remove graffiti and 1,562 arrests in 1972, the TA is losing the “spray can war.” I read off the names: Supreme King 219, Snake II, Lopez 138, and amuse myself trying to think up my own subway logo – in case graffiti should become legal. Outside the stations pass, dingy, written all over. Two Black Muslims move in and out of the strap-hangers selling Mohammed Speaks. On this line, I am a “token white” – the pun lifts my spirits.

8:02. TA police range the E. 180th St., Bronx platform where the No. 2 pauses. One boards, walkie-talkie mumbling at his waist. He will be riding until 4 a.m. Since May of 1965, a uniformed transit patrolman has been assigned to every train during these hours.

10:30. I stand in the first car, face pressed against the glass, speeding through a dark, underground world, the lighted coach behind me forgotten, as the black tunnel comes on. Tracks in perspective lines rush, disappearing under my feet, crossing, converging ahead. Signal lights change: yellow – “proceed with reduced speed,” green over yellow – “on diverging track.” Express lines mount, as local tracks sink in the dark. In the distance, tiny orange lights flicker above the tracks, then disappear where track-men carrying lanterns dive into the sidings. Now the square, metal-pillared cut rounds into a tube; we approach the old, 1908, Battery-Joralemon tunnel. Green lights signal us through. I make myself useful peering intently at the dark curved walls, checking for leaks.

1:12. The Wilson Ave. station on the Canarsie line is a narrow, double-decked curiosity: one track occupies each level – the eastbound track emerges, briefly elevated, traveling above the underground westbound span. We pass the deserted platform in half light. It faces – a single track away – the Cemetery of the Evergreens. No one in his right mind would get off at Wilson Ave. at 1:12 in the morning. No one did.

2:30. The A train heads out over the waters of Jamaica Bay, leaving behind the huge glow of JFK that arc-lights the eastern sky. I have made the Rockaway Round Robin on schedule and can relax. Only between the hours of midnight and 6 a.m. is it possible to cover the entire Rockaway peninsula on a single train. This 19th century summer beach resort was linked to the L.I.R.R. until 1956, when service was transferred to the IND. The train moves further out across the vast, dark bay. Only feet below on either side, water laps the narrow trestle. Far out, a crescent of lights veers gently inward on the long railroad stem. Beyond that brilliant curve, the ocean pounds. For miles around the night is black and cold, the water deep. A strange place for a New York subway train.

4:00. And farewell to Lefferts Blvd.

5:30. Waits are long now. The work trains move slowly underground through nearly empty stations, picking up trash and cleaning out tunnels. The New York bars have closed, and some standees on the Hoyt St. platform bear witness to this fact. A heavy black woman joins me; she walks as if her feet hurt, and I suspect she has just got off work. The trains always take a while at this hour, she tells me. We stand together on the platform, unacknowledged sisters, re-enforcing each other. In 1907, the Hudson Tubes were still running Women Only Cars with guards aboard to insure protection. I guess we have come a long way.

At 6:26 the sun rises over Greenwood Cemetery where I am passing, for the second time, over an elderly bit of track known as the Culver Shuttle; 1.1 miles still bear tribute to Andrew Culver, who built a steam railroad to Coney Island that passed over this site in the 1880s.

7:00 – Coney Island for the second time in two days! Crossing the Stillwell Terminal overpass, I go by the employees cafeteria and smell breakfast. On the Sea Beach Line, morning rush hour is just beginning. This is the third rush hour I have ridden through without leaving the subway. The poignancy of that situation might be enough to make one who has dined off Zagnut bars, peanuts, and Lucy Ellen orange slices for two days, get a cramp. I try not to think of hot coffee.

8:10. Changing trains at Union Square I am especially careful, warned by history. The first subway passenger accident occurred here Opening Day, 1904. A Miss Sadie Lawson, 26, of Jersey City, who had been riding north and south for several hours, fell getting off the southbound train and broke her hip. I grab a metal strap and hang on tightly all the way to 42nd St. 

8:25. Times Square. The 42nd St. shuttle contains 2,700 feet of original 1904 IRT track, now isolated. In 1928, the second worst accident in New York subway history happened just south of here on the Seventh Ave. line. A defective switch broke as the ninth car of a 10-car theater rush-hour train was passing over it. The rear wheels switched to a diverging track and the ninth car, running suddenly at right angles to the others, was sheared in two by the steel pillars between tracks. This mechanical “crack the whip” killed 18 passengers and injured 100.

9:30. The Lexington Ave. Express emerges into bright sunlight just before the old Yankee Stadium. Once, under a glaring blue sky, its lacy wood trim gleamed white like decorative icing – a great hollow cake with a short right field. Now, under the ungentle touch of the renovators, the place is growing unrecognizable. At the Woodlawn terminus, the leaves have lost their Fall colors, but on the golf course below, lucky men tee off across rolling fairways. It is a splendid day for riding elevated trains.

10:39. Pelham Bay Park. I have made the trip – on 67 different trains – in only 26 hours and 36 minutes. 26 hours and 36 minutes! The thought that I may be the first woman to complete the ride does not console me at all. But the sun is shining. And I have my logo: Ms. Subways 114.
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You can read this essay and other great ones just like it in How the Camp Fire Girls Won World War II by Rebecca Morris. 

Also, read more 1970s subways coverage from the Village Voice here. 

Interview: Michael Alig on Clubland, "Party Monster", and Building a New Life in NYC

The story of Michael Alig is complex. His life has been one that is amazing, tragic, and hopeful. He was the ultimate NYC “club kid” of the 1980s and 90’s, who made club and party promotion into a recognizable art, and he became famous for it. Then he became involved in a brutal crime and spent many years in prison (you can read more about that here).

Since his release, Michael has returned to NYC, adjusting to a life of rebuilding and redemption in a changed city.  He was kind enough to answer some of Mr NYC’s questions about his past, present and future. Whatever one’s feelings about Michael’s life, his story deserves to be heard.

Tell us a little bit about your background and what attracted you to the downtown club world/party scene of the 1980s and 1990s?

I grew up in Middle America, came to NYC on a scholarship to go to college and was fascinated with the amazing mix of different kinds of people, different races and sexual orientations, all living together in one city. Clubland offered for me a more concentrated version of this, with an even more extreme mix of people. 

You were known as the ultimate party promoter. What made you so good at it? What makes someone a good party promoter?

I think I am a good party promoter because I love doing it so much that I would do it even if no one paid me. Anyone who loves their job--I don’t care what kind of job it is, from being a bartender to a garbage man--if you love doing it, you're going to be successful at it. 

What were some of your favorite clubs and parties back in the day -- and what are some of your favorites now? 

Probably my all-time favorite club of all times was Area, a giant warehouse in lower Manhattan that changed themes every six weeks or so--a concept that was cool and exciting at the time because no one had really done it yet. This club also massified the idea of selecting people, one by one, to come into the club the way a florist chooses flowers while making a bouquet. I always had goose bumps when approaching this club, worried I'd never make it past the doorman. Danceteria, Palladium, Red Zone, The World: all super fab. Today there is nothing even remotely comparable to any of these spaces, but The Box, the House of Yes and a place in Brooklyn called Members Only are perhaps the closest thing you'll find to what once was.

What are some of your best memories of the club scene back in the 1980s and 1990s? 

My fondest memories of the club scene from back in the day mostly involve outlaw parties, after hours clubs and other events skirting the edges of what was legal or acceptable. There were clubs like the World that didn’t even have working electricity, we had to attach wiring to the electric poles in order to have lights and heat. Places like Save the Robots would serve alcohol to underage kids at all hours--in complete disregard of the law. You won’t find anything like this happening in today's NYC.

Personally, downtown NYC doesn't feel very "downtown" anymore. The funky, dirty, mysterious vibe of the Village, Soho, and the Lower East Side is gone. Do you agree?

I do agree, not only Downtown Manhattan but all of NYC has become more Normalized and has lost most of its edge. It’s something that's happening not only here but all over the world, as things like the rising cost of real estate causes edgier, mom and pop-type shops to close down and get replaced by big box/chain stores, and the Internet makes it impossible for there to be any real "Underground" scene. You were in prison for many years. What did you learn from that experience and how what kind of perspective on life did it give you? Probably the biggest thing I learned while away was patience. Before going to prison, I was impossibly spoiled and impatient. Demanding, even. If someone didn’t have what I wanted when I wanted it, I would find someone else who did. Spending time in solitary confinement had an amazing effect on this, in that nothing there happens very quickly or without waiting patiently. A book you might want from the library can be had--but only after writing letters to the library clerk--that may take ten days to get a response to. There is something about waiting ten days for a response about a book from the library that will tame even the most jaded and impatient club kid.

Has it been hard to re-enter life in NYC and the club world?

I feel actually very fortunate that people have made it so easy to re-enter both daily life and Clublland in NYC. Not that I have much desire to get back into clubbing--Keoki did ask me to help promote a weekly Monday night event, which I did as a favor for an old friend--and I have done one-off parties here and there. But for the most part I'd like to do daytime work. I have a clothing line called SkroddleFace I’d like to get started; I do a daily web show with Ernie Glam called The Peeew; I’ve been writing and painting. I feel extremely fortunate being given the opportunity to work on so many things, especially considering the difficulties some of my fellow recently released inmates face on a daily basis trying to find work or a place to live.

Can you tell us what you thought of the movie made about you, Party Monster?

I was surprisingly pleased with the way the movie Party Monster turned out. Given the circumstances, things could have turned out a lot worse. If I have any complaints at all I guess I'd say I wish the characters in the movie had been fleshed out a little more, as they seem sort of one-dimensional. It’s possible that my feelings are a result of being so close to the storyline, however, as many young people I speak to say they love Party Monster, that it’s one of their all-time favorite movies. I see that you're writing a book.

Tell us about your upcoming book Aligula.

I suppose the question I get asked the most is “When am I going to release my own version of the story?”, and my answer is always, "I’m working on it." Truth is, I’ve written my own book, the problem is, I tried telling too many stories in one book. Between my own story, the story of post-disco NYC Nightlife, of the introduction of ecstasy and techno music, the rise and fall of Peter Gatien, the Superstar DJ Keoki story, the rise of RuPaul, Moby, Chloe Sevigny and other Clubland Celebrities--there is way too much content here for one book. I need to separate my biography from the other things, and make it into two books. So far, I seem to have been too distracted to get this accomplished. Hopefully this year will be different, and I will get these books done. 

Thanks Michael.

Remembering Mark Harris, A Man of No Talent

I've been a fan of radio host Howard Stern for more than thirty years. What's always made him so great is that, besides being funny and outrageous himself, he always put people on his show who were even funnier and more outrageous than him -- making the rest of us look boring and sane in comparison. 

These were people who, no matter what, would create, in Howard's words, "great radio."

One of them was a bizarre character named Mark Harris.

Mark was a married to an movie actress and comic named Martha Raye, who appeared in silly comedies in the 1930 and '40s, then on TV sometimes in the 1950s, and beyond. She's forgotten today as none of her work was really that memorable but she's beloved by people who love old-timey Hollywood. She died in 1994. 

Martha also had a crazy private life, being married around seven times -- and her last husband was this creepy fellow Mark Harris, a man decades her junior who was obviously a golddigger as well as a conservative Republican gay-hustler-aspriring singer/songwriter/talk show host. 

Mark would pop up on Howard's show for around fifteen years, from the early 1990s, after he'd married Martha, until the mid-2000s, about fifteen years after her death. He was always promoting some horrible song or cabaret act that he was performing, or pitching TV shows that were never going to get made. Howard and the crew would goof on him relentlessly but Mark took it in stride.

Mark was truly a man of great ambition and no talent. In the last decade-plus Mark vanished from view and from Howard's show -- and it was revealed a few years ago that he had died. His life was strange, tragic, and also somewhat magical -- a real only-in-America type. But he left a legacy, one that few of us can say, of leaving behind hours and hours of "great radio."

P.S. After Mark died, I thought the best way to remember him would be with a riff from "A Horse With No Name" by America:

Mark Harris went through life with no talent or fame

But he was really good on Howard's show

When you have no talent no one remembers your name

And there ain't no one but Howard to give you some pain

La la la la la la la

Review: "Eyes Wide Shut" (1999)

The news that Oscar-winning actress Nicole Kidman is getting her second divorce made my mind race back to the early 2000s when she divorced movie star Tom Cruise.

In the 1990s "Tom and Nic" were the biggest celebrity couple in the world. Great actors, huge stars, they made lots of big hit movies (A Few Good Men, Jerry McGuire, To Die For, and many others), and they also made three together, including their last and most notable one, Eyes Wide Shut in 1999. 

I remember when news of this movie was announced. It was a big deal -- the biggest movie star couple in the world making a movie with one of the greatest directors of his time, the Bronx-born Stanley Kubrick. They were making a weird movie, in secret, in England, and no one knew anything about it. The entertainment media of the day was fascinating by what this movie would be -- and the secrecy of its making and content became its currency.

There was also a lot of other drama surrounding Eyes Wide Shut.

A noted perfectionist, Stanley Kubrick spent almost two full years shooting the movie -- keeping these two huge stars off screens and out of other movies, much to the industry's consternation. Various actors kept getting hired, then fired, or replaced because the open-ended schedule made their continued participation impossible. The movie was supposed to be released in late 1998 -- then was bumped to the summer of 1999 where it would compete with the big action movies.

Then, the biggest dramatic moment of all -- in the Spring of 1999, just a few months before the movie's release, Stanley Kubrick died. Suddenly. So this secret movie with the two biggest starts in the world would be the last movie from the directors of Paths of Glory, Dr. Strangelove, A Clockwork Orange and Full Metal Jacket. Wow! 

Then, in July 1999, after all the hype, after reams and reams, hours and hours of coverage, the movie comes out and ... no one cares. It dies quickly. And more than 25 years later it's forgotten -- except for being the last hurrah for Tom and Nic. There divorce two years later would be its coda. 

So what's Eye's Wide Shut about? I still don't know. 

It takes place in Manhattan during Christmas time. Cruise is a wealthy, successful doctor, with a gorgeous, very bored housewife played by Nic. One night they go to a party, flirt with other people, then go home where Nic confesses her fantasies about sleeping with other men. Tom is horrified -- so he goes out walking the strees of wintertime NYC. He meets a friend of his who works in a piano bar and he tells Tom about a masked orgy out of Long Island where the friend plays the piano during all the nooky. Tom decides to go out to Long Island, puts on a Venetian mask, and witnesses all the nooky -- before he's found out, humiliated, ejected from the orgy, and made to fear for his life.

And there's something about hookers in the meantime too.

I love, love, love Stanley Kubrick's films but this one was boring, and his weakest effort. There's really no story, and you're not made to care about any of the characters. It's visually amazingly and it's more like an early-sound European movie than a modern organic film. 

When this movie was being made, and stories about it kept appearing, I was in college, and remember being super excited to see it. Then I graduated, came home, saw the movie that summer ... and left totally underwhelmed. Looking at the movie decades later, it's still lifeless -- and even more depressing considering the horrors we've learned about sexual abuse by rich people in the wake of Jeffrey Epstein.

Still, Eyes Wide Shut is an interesting look at a filmmaker at the end of his life, making his oddest movie ever, in a make-believe NYC at night, with two huge movie stars whose marriage would soon end -- and would gone on to other great movies, as well as more divorces.  

Review: The Who @ MSG

I'm a little tardy in writing this review (darn life gets in the way) but yours truly and the misses had the pleasure of going to see the great, legendary British band The Who at Madison Square Garden on May 26th.

In short -- it was a great show. Roger Daltrey and Peter Townsend are still incredible, even into their seventies. 

In my 'umble opinion, The Who is one of the greatest rock bands in history -- in HISTORY! I tells ya' -- in the Top 5 with The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, and Led Zeppelin -- and I don't know who's #4. The Who have so many hits, so many classic and brilliant songs, that it would probably take a full 48 hours to perform all of them.

But they performed a lot of them: "Pinball Wizard" from Tommy (which I saw on Broadway in 1995 so it was great to see the band do it live), "Eminence Front" (perhaps my favorite song of theirs), "Won't Get Fooled Again", and many others, including songs from Quadrophenia. They closed out the show with a rousing version of "Baby O'Reilly" that rocked the house, with a young violinist ending the show that felt, in some ways, like a passing of the torch from Daltrey and Townsend to the next generation.  

Obviously, in this show, they didn't perform all of their hits (no "Magic Bus" or "My Generation" or "Squeezebox") but we left MSG happy to have seen this amazing band. 

Besides the music, this was the most touching and emotional show I've ever seen.

Most rock stars tell the audience "Hey, great to see you, thanks for coming out," but Pete Townsend went much farther. He told us that he's 77 years old and, after COVID and health problems, he couldn't believe that after more than 50 years with this band that people still want to see him and Daltrey rock out -- especially when there's lord knows how many young artists and bands these days. He was truly grateful, and you could tell how much he and the band really truly loved just playing and singing their music, amazed that after so many decades, so many shows in so many cities, they still get to do this and that we, the public, still want them to do it. 

Great music, great enthusiasm, great artistry -- that never gets old, that is truly timeless.  

One Year of Mr NYC

It had to happen eventually and today is the day -- Mr NYC, this lovely blog, is one year's old. Yes, it's hard to believe that for approximately one rotation of the earth around the sun this blog has existed. Is the world a better place for it? That's for you, gentle reader, to decide.

Here's my first brilliant entry: And so ... here we go again. Read it and laugh (at it, not with it).

I can tell you this: even though I've been blogging about my beloved surface for a year and done almost 300 entries, I've only cracked about 0.000000001% of what makes New York City fabulous. Needless to say it'll take many years (and thousands, hundreds of thousands, nay millions) of entries to even crack close to 1% of everything that makes New York great. But I'll try. Lord knows I will try.

And to celebrate this milestone, I went out and got good and drunk -- yes, this entry was done by a man who is mightily intoxicated (actually it was just an after-hours office drinking binge but it's my own private reason for getting hammered).

So happy anniversary ... to me -- your one and only Mr NYC. Keep reading. I'll keep writing. Let's keep loving New York together.

"This is Not an Exit": American Psycho @ 25

Twenty-five years ago this month a novel was published -- and it drove people crazy.

It's probably appropriate that it was called American Psycho.

You may have heard of it. The term has, quite appropriately, entered the American vernacular. Looking at this presidential race, the GOP is on the verge of nominating one. But the novel was not about politics -- its about America's soul. It centers on a young, handsome, very masculine Wall Street banker named Patrick Bateman who enjoys, in his off hours, clothes shopping, renting video tapes, going to fancy restaurants, and committing horrendous acts of murder.

Written by Bret Easton Ellis, American Psycho was a strong indictment of the 1980s "greed-is-good" consumerist ethic. But the novel also has a clear fascination with it. The book itself is a bit of a slog to read. It has no real story, no discernible plot -- it just drags along, scene after scene, nothing really interesting happening, until your brain goes numb. In between graphic descriptions of Bateman's murders and scenes of him hanging out with his atrociously shallow friends, there are lengthy descriptions of beauty products, electronics, work out routines, and hilarious dissections of forgotten 1980s pop songs like "Hip To Be Square."

The numbing affect of all this is quite intentional. It's what makes American Psycho a strangely brilliant novel. The book wants you to hate it! It wants to dull your brain to the point that the murders are yet just another thing in the banal life of Patrick Bateman. It makes us, the readers, feel almost indifferent to them and it also makes us, in a way, complicit in his crimes as we are in creating a society that nurtures the evil likes of him.

Read it ... if you dare.

Before American Psycho was even published in March, 1991, it had become a scandal. Apparently the book's original publisher dropped it after Ellis delivered the manuscript and the publisher saw what a violent, disturbing "story" it was. Many employees at the publisher refused to work on the book and it was eventually published elsewhere in a first-edition paperback (I happen to own one of these copies). Much of the violence, it should be said, is of a sexual nature -- it graphically describes the mutilation of women and the violence visited upon them makes rape seem almost like a quaint, preferable alternative (it's that vile). This caused various feminists groups to call for boycotts of the novel. Many public intellectuals (like Norman Mailer) and reviewers condemned the book for existing at all and Ellis for writing it. It was hard to imagine, even back then, that a novel -- a work of fiction, after all, mere words on a page, the oldest of old school media, describing things that had never happened to people who had never existed  -- could create such a raucous. But it did. And, naturally, the novel became a bestseller.

In the years since, American Psycho has never fully gone away. There was a movie of it in the year 2000 and now, believe it or not, a Broadway musical, soon to open. Both retellings are not quite as horrendous as the original source material, a perfect example of how something is changed and diluted when it goes mainstream.

As for Bret Easton Ellis, he had written a couple of books prior to this one (most notably Less Than Zero), and several since, but American Psycho is the book that defines him and will probably be his greatest literary legacy.

Why does American Psycho endure? Because it's more relevant than ever. Ultimately this book is not about murder but about the insanity within America, within all of us, about how we live our lives, and about how the ways we try to define our identity in this materialistic culture actually thwart our common humanity. It exposes something within us. And we cannot look away no matter how much we wish we could.

Again, just look at the current presidential race. Can anyone argue that our society is more sane than ever? American Psycho was prescient.

Read on. 

Politics ain't beanbag

There's a special election for Congress in Brooklyn and Queens today. The polls close in less than two hours. It's a very conservative district and it'll probably go Republican tonight. That would be awful for NYC and America but these are crazy times. After all, a Democrat won a special congressional election in upstate New York this past May for a seat that had been Republican for eons. So anything is possible these days. 

These days, what's up is down and what's down is up. Everything's a mess.

The race is between Democrat David Weprin, who has proven to be a lousy candidate, and Republican Bob Turner, your typical Tea Party scumbag. This race basically comes down to this: the district is very old, very conservative, very religious, and very racist. Therefore they hate President Obama. So they think that by voting for this Republican they'll hurt and embarrass the president. Simple as that. 

And, wouldn't ya know, the filthy Republicans are up to their usual dirty tricks. Apparently the Turner campaign is jamming the Weprin campaign's phonez and now the Turner campaign has -- ready for this? -- "served papers" on the Weprin campaign challenging the election results -- and the polls haven't even closed yet! So the narrative the Republicans are trying to set up is this: if we win, great; if we lose, it was voter fraud. Republicans have always been sore losers and now they're sore winners! Scary.

But if the Democrats lose this one, they'll have no one to blame but themselves. They ran a lousy candidate and a lousy campaign. Weprin failed to effectively show what a lying fraud Turner and Weprin made gaffe after gaffe. The good news is that this district is probably not going to exist after next year so, whoever wins, he'll have a short career in congress. And that's the only good thing about this awful, miserable election.

Review: "Wolfs" & the NYC Night Movie

They don't make movies like this anymore -- well, okay, they do, but they don't play in movie theaters anymore; instead, they pop up on streaming.

But it's always great to see a fast-paced, character-centered flick with great movie stars -- especially when it involves them running around NYC.

Wolves stars George Clooney and Brad Pitt -- thirty-years removed from their starmaking roles on the TV show ER and in the movie Interview With the Vampire, respectively -- as two "cleaners" or "wolves" (like the one Harvey Keitel played in that other 194 classic Pulp Fiction), whose job is to mop up crime scenes, dispose of bodies and evidence, and make sure that the guilty get away with it and justice is denied to the victim. In Wolves, this crime scene involves a dead kid, a backpack full of drugs, and a hysterical female District Attorney (played by the wonderful Amy Ryan) who is running for reelection and needs this problem solved pronto. 

The twist in this movie is that these two now middle-aged wolves are called to clean up the same crime scene unbenowst two each other. And when they clean up the scene and get the dead kid's body out of the downtown Manhattan hotel they were called to -- well, it all goes sideways and mayhem ensues when it turns out the kid really isn't dead.

Wolves then turns into a very fun, almost two hour yarn of car chases, shootouts, sleazy nightclubs, oddball characters, snappy dialogue, chowing down in diners, and everything that makes a good pulpy story. Most of all, it's great to see Clooney and Pitt act their hearts out, their chemistry palpable, in an original story not based on IP. It's just an entertaining movie. Remember those?

But other big thing I love about Wolves, as you might guess, its that it's a real NYC and a real NYC night movie. The story starts downtown but before you know it our heroes are zooming around Chinatown and Lower Manhattan, then they're out in the wilds of Queens. It's a movie that gives you a sense of the whole city. 

And the whole thing takes place at night, when the city falls into a sense of sexy mystery, a place of danger and excitement, a whole other NYC. I think it's fair to say that Wolves joins the company of other brilliant NYC night movies like After Hours, Taxi Driver, Night on Earth, While the City Sleeps, the Whit Stillman classics Metropolitan and The Last Days of Disco, The Warriors, Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist -- heck, I'll even throw in Eyes Wide Shut. 

Interview: Lisa Cintrice on Her Adventures in Early ‘80s NYC

Forty years ago, New York City was a very different place. Dirty, dangerous, crazy, and too much fun for anyone’s good, this city was a cauldron of depravity, culture, and craziness. You didn’t live in NYC back then, you survived it – and no one survived it or had more fun in it than Lisa Cintrice.

A great beauty from Long Island and Queens, Lisa endured a rough childhood and made it to NYC, falling quickly into the adult film and club scene. She lived in the heart of Funky Town, a sexy and wild Bohemia, a time and place that has become mythic – although, as she makes clear, it came at a price.

Eventually, Lisa moved away and changed her life.

Lisa was kind enough to answer some questions about her life in early 1980s NYC, and she has some wild stories! She tells us about her early life, a memorable stunt she pulled off in Times Square, a unique record she holds, why she eventually left NYC – and also gives us the best advice about what all of us should do to get a great workout.

Briefly, tell us about your life. Who is Lisa Cintrice?

So Lisa Cintrice was an 18-year old adult actress who worked on 9 adult films and got a lot of publicity from how I got out of the army. I led a sheltered life as Lisa Vanasco and I ended up living the high life in NYC as a young adult actress known as Lisa Cintrice.

In 1981, still a very young woman, you enlisted in the Army but then, before shipping off, managed to get out of it in a way that literally made headlines - and got you TV. It’s a great “Only in New York” story. Even though I’m sure you’ve told it many times, please do share it here if you don’t mind.

So when I was 16 my dad went to federal prison and I got pregnant and married a man that was 26. I was very sheltered and naive. He became abusive very quickly so I left when I was 17.

At that point I had no direction in my life so I joined the army. I had 10 months before I shipped out. My husband's sister knew what happened, actually, she saw him punch me and pulled him off me. 

She asked if she could photograph me to send to her friend who worked with Oui magazine. I ended up getting a layout in Oui, and Peter Wolf took me under his wing and I ended up doing an adult film.

I went to my recruiter to tell him I was doing porn and wanted out of the army. I was told I had to go and I was also told not to link the army to my porn career.

Well, once I told Peter what the army said, he came up with an idea to get me out. Peter Wolf and Richard Milner did a press release where I was going to strip out of an army uniform in front of the army recruiting station in Times Square so that’s what I did.

I also was in every newspaper and magazine in NYC. I was going to be discharged but then I went on the Tom Snyder show. After Tom Snyder the army said if I stopped doing talk shows I would get a general discharge that turned honorable so I got out.

Truly, “Only in New York!” What was early 1980s NYC like for you? Did you find it scary, exciting, both?

I grew up in Queens and Levittown so the city was fascinating to me. I went to the city to shoot the Oui layout and literally never went home.

I ended up moving in with Tiffany Clark, Fred Lincoln, and Jean Silver. It was one big party to me intertwined with filming adult films. I honestly don't know how I survived.

Keep in mind I had just turned 18. Clubbing, coke, dancing at the Melody Burlesque, hanging out at Bernard’s which was across the street. Partied at Studio 54 and other clubs I don’t even remember. I had no fear. I would walk all over the city at all hours of the night not even thinking maybe it wasn't safe to be out alone at 3 AM.

I would end up in gossip columns because I was always taking my clothes off in clubs. Also spent a lot of time at Plato’s Retreat and the Hellfire Club which was an on-premise S&M club.

Those were the days!

Sounds like fun! I’m curious about two movies you made at that time: Mascara, about as NYC as any movie gets (it even has scenes on the subway), and Debbie Does Dallas 2 (a sequel to one of the most famous adult films ever). What are your memories of making those films?

I don’t remember much about Mascara. I remember I worked with Ken Yontz. He was Seka’s ex. I remember Lee Carroll and Tiffany Clark were in it. I haven't watched that one.

However, I do remember Debbie Does Dallas 2. I actually watched one scene and I will get to that.

So Bambi Woods clearly was only doing the film ‘cuz she needed money so it was obvious she didn't want to be there. I did a scene with her in a bath tub and Jean Silver and I bathed her with penis shaped glycerine soap so just imagine what we did with that soap LOL! I got the vibe that Bambi hated every minute of it.

I also had a scene with Ron Jeremy where I was supposed to give him a blow job. I told him I was going to deep throat him and he said not to do that because it was not possible and my teeth my hurt him.

Well, telling me I can’t do something is a sure way for me to do it. So I did it and that blowjob ended up in the book Only the Best by Jim Holliday which rates the best scenes in adult film. I was number 4 of the 5 best blowjobs. Number 5 was Marilyn Chambers and Ron Jeremy.

Now that is a very cool record to have! What made you move out of NYC?

I left NYC to tour with one of my movies and I was doing a lot of coke back then. I had a moment of clarity and chose to not go back to NY because I felt like it was too easy to score coke in NYC. I cut all contact with everybody I knew. I got sober, went to college, got married. I have grown kids, and I reconnected with my old crew a few months ago.

Was is hard leaving the city and the business?

It was hard at first because I didn't have job skills and I didn't want to call my family till I got my shit together which I did. Got sober, went to college, got married, had kids, and life is good.

It was difficult because of the publicity about the army and porn. The only time in my life that I was fired was from a bartending job where someone saw me in Debbie Does Dallas 2. I kept that part of my life private until recently when I finally felt ok to talk about it.

Do you ever visit the city and, if so, what do you think of NYC today? Do you miss anything about it? 

My dad died in 2016 but even though my dad moved to Los Angeles he kept a place in NY so I would go back every so often and see friends and family. I miss New York food the most.

You have a great Twitter account where you mostly chronicle your physical fitness regime. As someone who needs to get in shape, how do you get and stay motivated to exercise regularly – and what do you think makes for a great workout?

I have been lifting weights since I was 19 and I am 58 now. I posted my workouts to keep me accountable and, if it motivates someone, that's even better.

One thing about working out is the adrenaline you feel when your done training. I am addicted to how good I feel after. That feeling motivates me. I plan my workouts a week in advance so I don’t even have to figure out what I am going to do, it’s all on a list  I have good and bad days at the gym. Some days I am stronger than others.

You know you had a good workout when you feel energized. What I tell friends who want to be active is do it for 90 days and stick to the goals you choose. After 90 days it will become like brushing your teeth it will be habit. Think of it this way: there are 24 hours in a day so anyone can spare even 30 minutes to take a daily walk. Start slow and do what you like.

I love running, my husband swims, some friends bike. Do what you like so you look forward to working out. I need to follow this advice!

Is there anything else you’d like to tell us about Lisa Cintrice?

I am finally at a place where can embrace my past and my future. I outed myself to most of my friends that had no idea. I have no regrets. I lived an interesting life, and if no one likes it then, oh well, life goes on.

Back in 1981 there were only about 200 people who did adult films. Now it’s really evolved where anybody can be a webcam girl. I am glad it’s getting to be more accepted. 

Lisa, you will always be accepted! Congratulations on surving so much so well, having so much fun, and creating a great life for yourself. You are truly an inspiration.

Thanks so much for talking to Mr NYC!