By Richard von Busack
Clearly, a person needs to eat before they see City of Gold, the lovingly-made documentary about Los Angeles Times and LA Weekly food critic Jonathan Gold—the scenes of the simmering black Oaxacan sauces, flaming Thai curries and gourmet taco trucks are food porn of the rarest order. But even indifferent foodies can enjoy this profile of an erudite yet funky writer.
With large brow, larger girth and a Ben Franklin haircut, Gold could be a model for Dutch master Frans Hals, or anyone’s picture of Falstaff. But through ride-alongs in the Dodge truck of this eminent critic, we get more than just profiles of restaurants high and low, and supporting commentary by the likes of Calvin Trillin. Laura Gabbert’s documentary gets as close to zeroing in on the soul of LA as anyone since Thom Andersen’s Los Angeles Plays Itself.
Gold merited his Pulitzer Prize; he got the LA papers of record to recognize the seemingly humble strip-mall ethnic restaurant, in the parts of that city that rarely see a film crew. Gold’s perceptiveness as a food writer is similar to the rare film critics who were sharp enough to recognize that ashcan directors like Samuel Fuller and Edgar Ulmer understood so much more about life on the streets than their more celebrated, better-paid Hollywood colleagues.
Gold was a failed classical cellist who studied at UCLA; happily, he was also there in person to be part of that small moment when punk rock briefly opened social barriers in LA. (A poster shows us that either his band opened for the URINALS or the URINALS opened for them). Images of a sweet homelife season this film, with commentary by Gold’s wife, his daughter Isabel (a talented cartoonist) and former editor Laurie Ochoa. The film is also a small meditation on the way that LA suffered the effect of the ’65 and ’92 riots. An unalloyed success, this documentary makes the city and its subject one.
‘City of Gold’ plays at the Christopher B. Smith Rafael Film Center through Thursday, April 14.
