On a humid, rain-splotched Valentine’s evening, I tumbled along Circular Quay boulevard to the Sydney Opera House for An Evening with Fran Lebowitz. A far cry from the staid opera- or ballet-going crowd, the uniforms of well-dressed gays, 20-something girl groups, and the occasional ‘older’ couple paraded around the vaulted foyer (think Onitsukas, gaudy wide-brim glasses, tasteful Japanese tailored pants). People looked fantastic and wanted you to know it, and the air buzzed with curiosity.
Having spilt a little wine as we jostled our way to our seats, my friend and I had already attracted the practised disapproval of those beside us. This seemed a fitting start: grumps 1 and 2 would soon be joined by the woman who has made a living out of being a grump, the Lebowitz we were all waiting for.
It wouldn’t be difficult for the gilded, monumental scale of the Concert Hall to dwarf anyone who sat centre stage nearly entirely alone, but Lebowitz made it her living room as she lounged chatting with host Benjamin Law. Almost instantly, her sardonic one-liners loosened up the audience and offered comfort to the singles in the crowd as Law polled the division of people on dates and those who weren’t. On the question of V-Day, Fran said she “thought very little of it”, and indeed, “the reason people are single is because they were in couples… Would you like to go to prison? Be in a couple”. Snorts and whoops rippled through the crowd.
Early conversation between Law and Lebowitz covered the “one hundred million hour journey” from her native New York to Sydney, the charm of our city (“I haven’t been here long enough to be annoyed, mostly because I don’t know anyone yet”) and the quite sensible idea of putting children on separate planes to adults (“if you decide you still want them by the end of the flight, head to baggage claim and out they’ll come”).
Soon, the discussion turned to Lebowitz’s experience of COVID lockdowns in NYC, which coincided with the 2021 release of the Netflix documentary Pretend It’s A City. In the series, Lebowitz wanders the streets of New York, ripping into ‘youth culture’ and talking with her close friend Martin Scorsese. The show arguably fuelled a Fran-aissance, particularly amongst those of my generation, but she didn’t see the gains for ages (and not just because she abhors technology of any sort, opting for no TV, phone or typewriter). Lebowitz reflected on keenly anticipating the show’s (much-delayed) release so she could cash in the whopping “$30 of royalties” whilst on zero income during 2021. She told us her ruminating mini-series precipitated a massive influx of Gen Zers asking her for life advice, to which she generally responded, “why do I care what you do?”. Ask stupid questions etc.
Thankfully social isolation and temporary impoverishment had not done any permanent damage, as she moved on to energetically reel off her most famous takes on US politics, immigration and a certain Republican presidential candidate. She wagered that her contempt for the man was shared by the entirety of New York, even Manhattan’s shiftiest proprietors: “can you imagine a level of moral squalor such that you are looked down on by real estate agents?… That’s Donald Trump”.”
Ben Law eventually exited, leaving Lebowitz to answer, to her noticeable disdain, pre-vetted audience questions. I was similarly disappointed, anticipating a live Q+A to allow her to adlib and connect with us. The questions covered a fair amount of ground, but her responses often felt manufactured to repeat opinions that one can find online from a decade ago.
This is what ultimately marred the authenticity of the evening.
Pithy, apathetic takes are Fran’s brand, yet it often seemed like she didn’t care to come up with anything new or context-dependent. The setting was auspicious, and it was her second night speaking in Sydney, yet neither meaningfully factored into her performance.
There was a genuine displeasure underlying her complaints about travelling so far for the book tour. When Law brought up Sydney’s upcoming Mardi Gras celebrations, Lebowitz wouldn’t play ball. New York was the only city really worth talking about, it seemed, yet if you’d read her essays or seen any assortment of her video works, you’d find the same sentiments without the substantial Opera House surcharge.
As the night went on, people seemed to tire of the intensely American tenor of the whole thing. The kicker in this regard was her proclamation of being a “communist, a revolutionary!” followed immediately by an incongruent resignation to the two-candidate disaster that is the American presidential system. She encouraged enfranchisement not to vote for a better world but as a reaction against what she saw as the overwhelming stupidity of the American people. Smatterings of applause belied a collective wish for something more. If we can readily imagine children being sectioned in bunker planes for the comfort of adult travellers, surely we can imagine a future beyond the staid and broken Democratic and Republican parties — and the suits who front them.
She reflected with only cynicism about the future, which, while understandable, was less than charming when you realised just how well-off she has become selling that very pessimism over the years.
We laughed, and we learned a bit, but if we could ‘pretend it was a city’ and show up for her in droves through the pouring rain, perhaps she could pretend it was not a total chore to be there.
3.2 out of 5 stars