Rainbow Bright...

Last summer, I spent a couple of posts talking about my burgeoning obsession with one Vincent P. Falk, Chicago's own Riverace. His eccentricity appeals both to my love of kitsch, and my profound appreciation for all thing unique to this fair city. Although I had yet to spot him in 2010, I still found myself thinking of him whenever I crossed one of the bridges over the Chicago River, and I would find myself looking, even when I knew it was too cold to be tour boat season. Therefore, when I was conducting my monthly perusal of the Gene Siskel Film Center's screenings and saw that they would be hosting a showing of Vincent: A Life In Color, the locally-produced documentary about the life of Vincent Falk, it quickly became a must-see.

Although I went into Vincent hoping to learn more about the life of Mr. Falk and garner some insight into why he feels compelled to put on his "fashion shows" for the city and its visitors, I must confess, I came away from the film feeling less certain of Mr. Falk and his motivations than ever before. In the portrait painted of him in the film, Mr. Falk comes across as the kind of man who is largely unknowable, even to his closest associates. He deflects attempts at interpersonal intimacy with jokes, and despite all of the attention he purposefully draws to himself, he seems deeply uncomfortable with one-on-one contact.

I couldn't shake the impression that he might be suffering from a highly functional form of autism. He holds a job with Cook County, working as a computer programmer with the Department of Management Information Systems (a job which he came to, interestingly, after the decline of disco ended his career as a DJ in a series of gay bars and go-go clubs) in which he demonstrates a high aptitude for incredibly detail-oriented work. He has cultivated a number of hobbies (including audio equipment and, of course, suit collecting), which he pursues with near obsessive zeal. And yet, he seems unable to truly connect to other people.

The film provides no simple answers to the mystery of Mr. Falk, but it does raise a somewhat upsetting question -- what if Mr. Falk is simply a master of self-promotion, in the vein of such reality television stars as Kate Gosselin, who seeks to extend his 15 minutes of fame in whatever way he can? In the documentary, Mr. Falk is seen staking out local news studios, where he stands behind the glass, jostling past young children to get his face on camera. He makes appearances on other television and radio programs, and stalks the WGN announcers who perform in the public studio in the Tribune Building. Is his self-display truly an altruistic act, designed to brighten the days of its beholders, or is it a means to an end for a man for whom fame has become another one of his obsessions?

I'm not sure that the filmmaker intended to portray Mr. Falk in anything but a positive light -- indeed, the tone of the film is generally celebratory. I suppose, however, that the mark of any good documentary is not merely to explore a subject, but to raise questions and propose new interpretive frameworks for understanding that subject. Much as I would have preferred to maintain my simplistic admiration of Mr. Falk, I now think of him in more complex, and thereby more human terms. If for no other reason than that, Vincent: A Life in Color should be counted as a success.

A Serendipitous Sighting...

Tonight was a beautiful, temperate evening in the city of Chicago. Dad decided to seize the moment to meet his friend, Mr. Horan, for a drink after work at the Park Grill, and he invited me along to meet them for dinner. It was an average meal at our regular haunt, although we broke with tradition by taking a seat on the crowded outdoor patio to soak up one of the waning days of summer. We were engaged in a bit of inattentive people-watching, when a commotion caught the crowd's attention. I glanced over, and grabbed Dad's arm. "Look, that's him!"

Once again, I found myself in the presence of the famous Vincent Falk.

That morning, I had glanced at my camera as it sat on the desk, fresh from yesterday's upload of Macy's photos. "Meh, maybe I'll just leave it here today," I thought, "I'm not doing anything today, and I really ought to charge the battery." But I dutifully packed it anyway, thinking, "If I don't bring it, I'll regret it." I never expected to be right, but indeed I was. 

Mr. Falk came dancing and spinning down the walkway in front of the restaurant, sporting a powder blue suit, hot pink shirt and matching pocket square. I fumbled for my camera, and Dad, ever the risk-taker, asked Mr. Falk if I could take a picture before he danced away. I was half-mortified, and forgot to turn on the flash, resulting in a grainy photo, but I got my proof that I had seen him with my own eyes. I can't believe my good fortune:  I've spotted him twice in one month, after going years without seeing him at all! 

It must have been fate. I very nearly missed Dad's call with the invitation to come out; I could have decided to stay home and eat chicken salad, as planned; we could have sat inside, as we almost always do. A thousand things could have transpired to cause me to miss seeing Mr. Falk again. You never know what life has in store for you. In the immortal words of one of my favorite movies, Risky Business, "Sometimes, you gotta say, 'What the fuck?'" If you are open to the opportunities life presents, occasionally, the rewards can be truly surprising.

Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life...

Life, it would seem, is an endless cycle of routines. I get up every day at the same time, leave for work at the same time, engage in a similar set of work-related tasks for eight hours, and then, on the majority of days, I return home to a solitary evening of television and surfing the web. I have been keeping myself a bit busier of late; as it turns out, starting this blog has been a tremendous source of motivation to get out and do interesting things, so that I'll have something to write about. Generally speaking, however, my life is subject to the normal ebb and flow of daily life, and it is comfortable, if somewhat tedious.

That is why it is so important to look for joy in the small things, the innocuous events that provide a little relief from the typical routine. Last week, for instance, I was sitting on the bus, vacantly staring out the window, when a commotion caught my eye. A man was standing in the middle of the State Street Bridge in a bright yellow suit and turquoise shirt, waving his jacket in the air and twirling around. At first, I was dismissive. I thought, "Meh, just another crazy," but then, like a flash, I realized that I was in the presence of Suit Man, aka Riverace, aka Vincent Falk. If I had been wearing more comfortable shoes, I would have jumped off the bus at that very stop, backtracked, and taken a picture. I'm still kicking myself that I didn't do it anyway.

You see, Mr. Falk is a Chicago legend. There is even a documentary about him.

Okay, so I stole this one from Flickr. He's at least wearing the same outfit.

Blind from birth in one eye, and legally blind in the other, Mr. Falk has had a hard life. He was abandoned by his mother, raised in orphanages and foster homes, until he finally found a good foster family who adopted him. He was often picked on as a child for his disability, and pursued a line of work where he could spend a great deal of time alone: computer sciences. Despite his tragic origins, he chooses to spread joy to others. He has adopted a technicolor wardrobe of ostentatious suits, selected because the bright colors are easiest for him to see. He spends his free time, in the warmer months, as a one-man welcome wagon for the city of Chicago. Mr. Falk stands on the State Street and Michigan Avenue bridges in his flamboyant ensembles, using a monocle to scout out approaching cruise ships. As they near, Mr. Falk performs a whirling dance routine for the tourists.

Some speculate that he does his little dance to break down barriers. I like to think that he is claiming ownership of people's stares. If people are going to gawk at him, at least it's because he is performing for them, not because they are poking fun at his disability. It's on his own terms. Mr. Falk, however, claims that he just likes to cheer people up, and that he certainly does.

In all my years of life in the city, I had never seen him before. Ever since I first read about him in the Chicago Tribune a couple years ago, I had been on the lookout. I was starting to wonder if he was real, or just another urban legend. Now I have seen him with my own eyes, albeit just a glimpse, but the experience made my entire day. His wacky ebullience is infectious. Not only is he a one man attraction for tourists, he also provides a moment of escape for the jaded locals who go about their days on autopilot, screening out the life of the city all around them. Seeing him, in his kaleidoscopic swirl, I was jarred into paying attention to my surroundings. For an instant, I was living in the moment, and outside of my routine. I think that would brighten anyone's day.