Sometimes it’s difficult to explain why we love the things we love—black licorice, ABBA, our unruly children—especially when their flaws are so readily apparent. But most of the time, it’s not difficult to describe why we love Charlottesville. Or, at the very least, why we’re committed to making it the best it can be. Whether it’s less development or more access to basic necessities, residents of our city neighborhoods are working in ways large and small to improve the quality of life for everyone on their streets. Why? Says a 10th & Page neighbor, “It just feels like home.”
The Belmont Apartments will increase the total amount of impervious surface on the
6.6-acre lot by about 30,000 square feet, according to developer Alan Taylor.
Popular Mas Tapas in the middle of Belmont is getting a new neighbor. Actually, more than 100 of them.
The Belmont Apartments, proposed by Coran Capshaw- and Alan Taylor-owned Riverbend Development, will consist of at least 138 by-right apartment units, a clubhouse and 27,000 square feet of office and commercial space spread into six main structures.
Residential buildings and the mixed-use space will each be four stories tall, according to the plans, which say the development will sit on about 6.6 acres—although the site plan preliminary application puts that acreage at 5.3, and Taylor says any discrepancy will be cleared up through normal survey work.
“We have talked to the neighbors several times and are planning to set up a regular meeting once a month,” says Taylor. “While they’ve been supportive of the project, they are most concerned about potential traffic issues.”
Taylor estimates 918 vehicle trips in and out of the complex per day, with a peak of 70 vehicles per hour in the morning and 86 per hour in the evening.
Belmont resident Joan Schatzman, who calls the project an “environmental disaster,” says the impending traffic is only part of the problem.
The property used to be wooded and teeming with salamanders, toads and frogs, says Schatzman. The amount of impervious surface will increase from 155,850 to 184,175 square feet, to cover 58 percent of the total area, according to Taylor.
“I want to see smart, environmentally sensitive development,” says Schatzman, who commends the underwater catchment below nearby restaurant Junction, and suggests a huge storm drain for the Belmont Apartments that collects runoff water that would then seep back into the ground, rather than sending it to the Chesapeake Bay.
Schatzman also says a project representative has twice said the apartments won’t be financially viable unless they get a special-use permit to increase the number of residences.
“Here’s what pisses me off,” she says. “They’re going through this charade of by-right apartments of 138 units. Their real objective is to double that.”
Taylor concurs, but says he’s still working on the details.
“In general, we would like to increase density via a rezoning or special-use permit, which would allow for the creation of onsite affordable housing as well as a number of amenities that would benefit all of Belmont,” he says.
Taylor submitted the preliminary site plan application in February and has until July to resubmit a new version that addresses comments from folks at Neighborhood Development Services, according to Missy Creasy, the city organization’s assistant director.
As for the project’s moniker, the Belmont Apartments actually already exist at 1000 Monticello Rd.—so Schatzman suggests a new name for the 46-foot-tall buildings already at a 440-foot elevation: the “Block My View Apartments.”
Dawn Woodford says Fifeville parking suffers because of UVA employees. Staff photo
By Mary Jane Gore
Fifeville is a neighborhood of new avenues and narrow side streets. Some curbs are permit parking only; others are open. The well-positioned neighborhood, near West Main Street and adjacent to the UVA Health System and other university buildings, is now fighting to preserve its streets for resident parking.
“It’s getting worse and worse,” laments Dawn Woodford, who’s lived in Fifeville for 20 years. “Someone visiting a resident can’t find parking space. Sometimes someone parks so you can’t even get in the driveway.”
Empty spaces fill up quickly, mainly in the morning between 7 and 8am as people leave their cars and head to work. There is “no place to park,” says Woodford, and in her view, the expansion of the UVA Emergency Department area will lead to worse congestion.
“The issue of parking in our neighborhoods that surround the university and the university hospital is certainly one that is of concern given the impact it has on the quality of life of our residents,” says City Councilor Heather Hill, who recently became one of two councilors representing the city on the Planning and Coordination Council.
UVA Health System does provide parking options, though employees must pay more for nearby garage slots. “All health system team members have options to park in university-owned parking lots or garages,” says Eric Swensen, public information officer for UVA Health System. “Some of those parking areas are within walking distance of the UVA Medical Center.”
Employees also may park at satellite locations, such as U-Hall/John Paul Jones Arena and Scott Stadium, and then ride a bus. The contractor for the hospital expansion project has rented parking spaces for construction workers, Swensen notes.
Related problems also are evident. “As I observed while visiting a neighborhood off of Cherry Avenue, beyond parking is the issue of individuals walking through private property, crossing the railroad line, and then climbing over the fence to get to their place of work,” Hill says of an early April visit.
One solution would be more UVA employee parking in the area. “There are no park-and-ride locations near the hospital, and no new parking areas are planned at this time,” Swensen says.
UVA Health System is making plans that could help to alleviate the crowding. By realigning and relocating its ambulatory care sector by 2024, the footprint of care near the hospital would shrink from a current 413,000 visits to about 200,000 visits annually. The Fontaine Research Center could double its visits—from 182,000 per year now to about 400,000 in the future.
Permit parking is another idea that could keep nonresidents off the Fifeville streets.
“I would encourage those streets that have not implemented zone permit parking to evaluate it with their neighbors and communicate back to the city what hurdles may be preventing alignment,” Hill suggests. “Is it cost, which we can likely work through some options to address? Is it convenience, as permits make it difficult for guests to visit residents depending on the time of day? Other reasons?”
Woodford says the police don’t always come. Hill agrees that “enforcement can be a challenge given the relatively limited resources.”
Woodford’s bottom line is clear: “Why should we pay to fix UVA’s broken parking situation” as rents rise in Fifeville?
“That’s the reason we did this—people fly down the street,” says Shawnee West as she watches a car drive through the intersection of Little High and 11th streets.
West is standing at the edge of the circular traffic-calming mural she designed with the help of one of her neighbors. Last fall, West and dozens of her neighbors painted the geometric eight-petal blue flower with pink-and-white butterflies surrounding it. The color scheme was inspired by the mural on the adjacent Charlottesville Day School. Some of the children who helped signed their names along one of the outer rings.
West, who spent about a month gathering signatures from neighbors for a project petition she then submitted to the city, says this intersection is a particularly dangerous one because it’s a main thoroughfare for both city and school buses, but is only a two-way stop. Neighbors asked for four stop signs but were denied. She says they’ve also tried to garner enough support to petition for speed bumps on both Little High and East Jefferson streets.
“Of course we dread the worst thing that could happen,” she says. “People wait until there’s a serious crisis before anyone does anything and we’re trying to prevent that.”
West and her fellow Little High residents will give the mural a second coat of paint in May, to ensure their efforts have a lasting effect.
“When you do something, people want to help, they want to be part of something,” she says. “And to be part of a community of people who say, ‘What can I do?’—it’s great.”
“Local news comment sections prove that SATAN IS REAL, Y’ALL.”—Congregate C’ville’s Brittany Caine-Conley on Twitter in response to the web comments on C-VILLE’s story, “Still here: White supremacy strikes again.”
Dem caucusers
Localities in the 5th District held caucuses last week that gave Leslie Cockburn enough delegates to secure the nomination at its convention in Farmville May 5 to challenge Representative Tom Garrett in November, according to an unofficial tally.
Leslie Cockburn at the Charlottesville Democratic caucus April 21. Photo Natalie Jacobsen
Dem discord
The chair of the Greene County Democrats, Elizabeth Alcorn, announced her resignation April 21 and cited violation of campaign rules by Cockburn staff, who were asked to stop campaigning at the Madison County caucus, where Alcorn was an official. One of them was black and Cockburn accused the Madison caucus officials of a “racist incident,” according to Alcorn’s resignation letter.
TMI
Some Western Albemarle parents were hot and bothered over Laci Green’s video.
After the Sexual Assault Resource Agency showed a video on male sexual pleasure to Western Albemarle High School students, upset parents complained, and the school axed its years-long relationship with the nonprofit. County schools spokesperson Phil Giaramita says the video wasn’t reviewed first, but SARA documented the approval of its sex ed curriculum by the head P.E. teacher.
Crying in his beer?
Chris Cantwell, aka the Crying Nazi, was arrested March 31 in Loudoun County for public intoxication. Cantwell was out on $25,000 bond for alleged use of tear gas at the August 11 tiki torch march through UVA. He’ll be back in Albemarle Circuit Court April 26 for a judge to reconsider his bond.
Coach convicted
Charlottesville High School track coach Melvin Carter was sentenced to 180 days of suspended jail time April 20 when he pleaded guilty to assault and battery of a juvenile. The incident did not take place on school ground, according to Commonwealth’s Attorney Joe Platania.
Pilot identified
Kent D. Carr, 51, of Staunton was the pilot of the Cessna that crashed into Bucks Elbow Mountain in Crozet on April 15. Says his obituary, “He loved aviation and was flying home at the time.”
Joyce Ivory, president of the Charlottesville chapter of the National Coalition of 100 Black Women. Photo by Eze Amos
Before Joyce Ivory was president of the Charlottesville chapter of the National Coalition of 100 Black Women, she was a girl growing up in the Fifth and Dice (Fifeville) neighborhood. A Charlottesville High School track team member, cellist and a singer in the choir, Ivory looked up to a group of young women a few years older than she. Denise Johnson, current program director of City of Promise, who grew up in Charlottesville’s Westhaven neighborhood and graduated from CHS in 1998, was among that group.
Ivory, who graduated from CHS in 2002, says that Johnson and her cohort “showed us what excellence was” in a number of ways—on the track, in the classroom and in church pews—and, especially, by talking to everyone they met.
Denise Johnson, program director of City of Promise. Courtesy subject
After leaving for college and spending a few years living and working in bigger cities (Ivory in South Carolina and Washington, D.C., Johnson in Richmond), both women have returned home to lead local organizations. As part of the Center for Nonprofit Excellence’s Paradigm Shifters series, they sat down to discuss leadership—which both women view as an act of service—in the Charlottesville community.
C-VILLE: What makes an effective leader?
Joyce Ivory: They’re forward-thinking, approachable, transformative. Leaders have to be able to pull themselves back for a second and ask, “Is this about me, or is this about our mission? Is it even bigger than that? What am I doing this for?” Transformative is a big one, though—I want to help people realize their passion and potential in life, help them find the resources to help them stand on their own two feet.
Denise Johnson: You have to be willing to build other leaders, to say, “I see these great things in you, this is where you can lead.” And when someone says to you, “I am strong here,” allow them to lead in that way. You can’t be a one-person show.
How has being from Charlottesville shaped you as a person, as a leader?
JI: Knowing Holly Edwards. She always asked, “What do you need? What can I do?” She was always among the people, so down-to-earth. She was authentic, transparent, willing to come down and level with anybody. Level up, level down, level linearly—she was one of the first people that I saw out there in the community, not looking for recognition, not looking for the notoriety or the power. She had a heart to help, to serve the community and its people.
DJ: The Edwards family impacted both of our lives. I remember seeing the Rev. Dr. Alvin Edwards have conversations with people that I thought, as a little black girl growing up in the projects, I would never be able to have those types of conversations. Seeing him stand toe to toe with certain people gave me the permission to believe that I could do it too. Additionally, the community, especially in Westhaven, allowed me to see what a real work ethic looked like. My parents and others worked hard for everything that they had; they worked many, many hours, but their paychecks didn’t reflect it. That’s where resilience comes into play. Growing up, I learned financial tips; I learned what it was like to struggle and not to be afraid of struggle, because even in the midst of struggle I was always taken care of, and I knew I could work myself through it because of the work ethic that I witnessed. I was able to see both great worlds—I saw what the world was in my own home, but I could also see what the world could be, through the exposure that I gained latching on to the Edwards family.
What are the issues you aim to address through leadership in your organization?
DJ: Westhaven is the oldest and largest [public] housing development in Charlottesville; that means that most of its residents live at or near the poverty level, under-resourced from a financial perspective. And a lack of finances often means a lack of exposure to other things, to different lifestyles that are available. City of Promise’s education-based mission was built to begin to plant seeds to say [to the kids in the Westhaven, 10th and Page and Starr Hill neighborhoods], “You are just as valuable as any other person in this community. You may not have the same resources, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be just as successful. And we will stand in the gap between, so that when you choose to be successful, we’ll be here to show you what you need.” We work to remove every obstacle that could stand in their way.
However, some people assume that, just because someone grows up poor that they are in some way lazy, or lacking in love, and it’s part of my quest to make sure that people know that being impoverished does not mean lacking in love or community or family. These are some of the strongest people I’ve ever met, and a lot of what I’ve learned, even with all the academic degrees that I have, the foundation started in Westhaven.
JI: Our group came together because a lot of black women, on all socioeconomic levels, feel invisible in our community—women who are floating that poverty line all the way up to women who have doctorates—we all felt somewhat alone, that there wasn’t a lot of community. And so we have this coalition of women going out to support one another as a community of black women. We’re looking to attack different issues from a political standpoint—talking with delegates; looking at issues such as suspension rates in schools; disparities between children of color being incarcerated, having to go to adult facilities and thus lacking an opportunity for education. We work with the Boys & Girls Clubs, the PB&J Fund…we have a mammogram mobile. …I advocate for mental health and self-care, too, because as much as it’s awesome for our ladies to be out there with superhero capes on, we need to empower ourselves and feed one another. We are trying to be that village in this community for black women.
What is the work that is left to be done?
DJ: With City of Promise, we’re in charge of educating two different groups [the neighborhoods themselves, plus other, more affluent people in the city]. Part of coming into this position was to challenge people and empower people on both sides of the field. Let’s really address whatever stereotypes we are bringing to this table and have an honest racial conversation, especially at a time such as now. We’re always thankful for people who want to help, but we are trying to get away from the savior mentality. We want to make sure that people are helping from an authentic space, so while we appreciate all that the community is doing for us, when you are trying to help people from a savior mentality, you’re treating people like they have a deficit or that they are lower than, or beneath them. We’re challenging that perspective.
JI: As many programs as we have to empower people, we’re also here to educate the community about these things and how people need to continuously educate themselves. Systemically, as a society, we need to stop acting like we are more progressed than we are; we need to lean into the discomfort and be honest [with each other and ourselves]. We have to stop saying “I’m colorblind” and “I don’t see race.” Let’s have a dialogue, let’s talk about it, put it on the table. …I think in light of things that happened in August, people [are realizing they] are not as progressive as they think they are; they’re living in this little rosy bubble, and it got popped. Sometimes it takes a tragedy for people to really see that we haven’t come as far as we thought we have. But I think there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.
DJ: I think there is a group that is willing to come to the table and say, “Let’s have these conversations, let’s do what we have to do.” You can’t help how you grew up; you can’t help the things that you were fed growing up, or the assumptions that you made on either side. But you can decide what you will do from that point on. [And you can decide] to fight the systemic issues that we know exist in Charlottesville. In Charlottesville like in a few other places, certain people assume that being black equates to being poor, and being poor equates to being black. And if you [as a person of color] are articulate, if you are a different from the stereotype, then you are perceived to be an exception to the rule, and that’s not okay. We need to address the issues of affordable housing; intergenerational poverty; systemic oppression…everything that has been around for hundreds and hundreds of years, way before any of us. We need to continue to break those systems down. That’s very important work that will always continue to be done.
Charlottesville’s complicated, uncomfortable history plays a role in these challenges surely. What’s the importance of educating people—particularly young folks—on this history?
DJ: There are certain stories that need to be told and re-told, so that we know our history. Not just Charlottesville history, but all history, all black history, all local history and how it impacts us. When you have that knowledge, you conduct yourself in a different way. With knowledge definitely comes power, internal power, self-love power. And power to want to better yourself and the community and your family.
What are some of the things the Charlottesville community is doing well?
DJ: There is a love and care in Charlottesville that sometimes gets swept under the rug, but it truly exists. Especially now, we’re just not in a good, positive space overall, but, in my account with the partners that have come to City of Promise to say, “What can I do?,” or, “I believe in your mission, I believe in your work. What can I give?” That willingness to do whatever it takes to make right the wrongs that have happened.
JI: People are a little more cognizant than they have been in the past. They recognize that some things have been idle and that there is work to be done in trying to figure these things out. People are stepping up, understanding that there’s no one here to save us; we have to do it for ourselves….wanting to address the affordable housing issue, wanting to go out and figure out what we can do, asking, How can we pump the breaks on this and figure something out to bring resources to our community, and retain our residents?
DJ: And retain the diversity that comes along with it.
JI: It’s still a warm community, despite some ugliness.
What could the community improve on?
DJ: A continued dialogue, a continued investment. Don’t let the situation in August fizzle out. Because, for a lot of people that were on the negative side of racial oppression, it wasn’t something that just surfaced in August. And so, we need to continue the dialogue, continue the fight, to make sure that injustices are made right.
JI: Absolutely. It’s important for stuff like that to not continue to repeat itself, that we not continue to keep coming back to this point, but we grow moving forward and kind of understanding and learning from that experience. I think that’s something that…it has some opportunity. We’ll say it that way. [laughs] There’s opportunity there.
Both of your organizations have a mission focused on young people and the community around them. Why is that?
JI: You’ve got to look at the whole person—the young person, their parents, their household. We have to dive into the mindset of everyone involved, so that [young] person can continue to cultivate on what you’re putting into the community, at home.
DJ: You have to plant those seeds; [young] minds are very fertile ground. Because they will be the group that’s charged with breaking certain barriers for all of us, we have to build them up in such a way that they are able to sustain that and fight that fight. Growing up, there were certain seeds that were planted in me that didn’t blossom until much later. But they were planted, they were in and they were ready [when the time came]. We have to make sure that these young people are always a garden.
This Q&A was conducted by C-VILLE as part of the Center for Nonprofit Excellence’s ParadigmShifters series, which takes a look at how different people are making an impact locally.
Former C-VILLE Weekly food writer Shea Gibbs crammed as much eating as he could into three days. File photos
I had 72 hours to take in everything Charlottesville had to offer culinarily. I was screwed.
More than 450 restaurants can be found on C-VILLE Weekly’s restaurant listings, and many others are unlisted, which puts this hamlet in the top-15 most eatery-dense in the nation. Even armed with more than five years’ experience as a local food writer (including for C-VILLE Weekly), my task was monumental. I hadn’t eaten a meal here in almost three years since moving out of town; a lot had changed. The strategy for my long weekend back? Old favorites for breakfast and lunch, new spots for dinner, and a mix for snacks, coffee fuel-ups and booze binges.
Day 1
There’s only one breakfast joint for your first meal in C’ville: Bodo’s. But there are two orders. One: bacon, lettuce, tomato and jalapeño lime cream cheese on everything. The sweet/spicy cheese transforms the traditional BLT, and I’m not the only person who thinks so—it’s a favorite order for a lot of local food folks. Two: olive cream cheese, watercress and sprouts on everything. This used to be my go-to weekday order, with whole wheat everything subbed in to make me feel better. But if you have only two bagels before returning to a Bodo’s-free existence, you go for it.
After a walk across UVA Grounds, the family and I were hungry enough to eat, but not ready for lunch. Maybe a healthy snack to refuel? Nah, White Spot for a grillswith. The kids were happy with donuts caramelized on the flat top, but in my opinion the ice cream actually cuts the sweetness.
There’s no better way to follow a plate of refined sugar and flour than with burgers. We skipped the Gus and wheeled over to Riverside. For me? Double cheeseburger with everything, basket of fries (seasoned salt to taste tableside), nap.
Our first newish spot was Kardinal Hall for dinner. Friends said it was kid-friendly with games and space. They nailed it. The food and beer was solid as well—asparagus salad, kasekrainer and hot Italian sausages, garlic fries and a pretzel, washed down with a Basic City/Beer Run Waxing Parrotic IPA. This would launch a three-day love affair with Waynesboro brewery Basic City.
Day 2
To avoid weekend crowds, we headed to Bluegrass Grill & Bakery for a Friday breakfast. The Hungry Norman—blackberry jam, goat cheese, sausage links and eggs on English muffin—delivered as always, and we couldn’t skip a side of Bluegrass’ incomparable corned beef hash. We grabbed to-go pimento cheese on the way out in case we got hungry.
Then it was off to Blue Mountain Brewery on a beautiful, if windy, day for lunch. We shared a cheese plate, highlighted by the cranberry goat cheese, and nachos with Nitro Chili, and sipped summery brews (Kölsch 151 and Rockfish Wheat) despite the calendar. Blue Mountain has upped its outdoor game since I’d last been, with new hardscaping and more room to move. The kids ran their sillies out while we capped the meal with a Sour Geist.
Sugar had been established as snack food, and that brought us to Splendora’s Gelato Cafe once back in town. A luxurious, creamy offering with Caromont Farm’s Esmontonian goat cheese and chocolate flakes highlighted the visit.
We needed a no-fuss dinner after a long day, and takeout pizzas from Lampo seemed an ideal fit. But the place was packed and didn’t offer take-away. Up the road, Junction accommodated. While waiting for enchiladas, pork belly, Mexican street corn, chips and guac, hanger steak and quesadillas, I grabbed Three Notch’d Brewery’s blackberry gose from Belmont Market across the way. The salty/sour brew drank like margaritas from a can as we dug into smoked pork with mango-chipotle glaze and a classic pairing of beef and chimichurri.
Day 3
With a final day to graze, I got in line at MarieBette Café & Bakery. That meant canelés and espresso beverages while waiting for a table, followed by a croque madame and Afternoon Jørgensen, yogurt, granola, eggs and bacon. Euro-style bliss.
We braved the cold for a City Market stroll mid-morning, grabbing a Mountain Culture ginger kombucha and C-ville Candy Company chocolates. While the crew rested, I zipped up 29 for an overstuffed chicken cemita from Al Carbon—less overstuffed than I recalled but still one of the best sandwiches in town.
Our final official stop was Brasserie Saison, which offered the security of a reservation and peace of mind of a high chair. With saisons and milks in hand, we shared mussels, steak frites, a burger and the country pâté.
A gluttonous 72 hours for sure—we also had time for coffee at Mudhouse and Snowing in Space, nights out at Beer Run and Common House, smearing that Bluegrass pimento cheese on a MarieBette baguette and an Ol’ Dirty Biscuit at Ace Biscuit & Barbecue on the way out of town—but it was worth every calorie.
As Charlottesville development races ahead, the documentary West Main Street gives us a reason to pause and evaluate how we define progress. Friday’s screening will be followed by a brief Q&A with filmmakers Reid Oechslin and Chris Farina (pictured during the making of the film in the ’90s). Courtesy subject
From 1988 to 1992, two recent UVA graduates, Chris Farina and Reid Oechslin, set out with a camera, 16mm film, little money and no lighting equipment, to interview residents of Charlottesville’s West Main Street. They wanted to learn more about their newly adopted hometown by inquiring into the lives and histories of the people tethered to this stretch of land.
Under the production company name Roadside Films they had already made one film together, Route 40, about the residents of Pulaski Highway in Baltimore, near Farina’s childhood home. Back then, UVA didn’t have filmmaking classes, so Farina and Oechslin took film criticism and fell in love with the medium. Farina says, “We were basically self-taught and [Oechslin] was the one who had the capacity to learn how to use the camera and editing table.”
In West Main Street, “The people, themselves, they tell the story,” says Farina. The film—which premiered in 1995 at Vinegar Hill Theatre, where Oechslin was the manager—features Jefferson School teacher Rebecca McGinness, funeral director and civil rights activist George Ferguson, teacher Sonny Sampson, Greek immigrant and entrepreneur Pete Stratos, Barrett Early Learning Center Director Cindy Stratton and barber Milton Via, among others.
West Main Street Vinegar Hill Theatre April 27, 7pm
At the time, “A bunch were older residents, so in a way it was capturing the 20th century through their perspectives,” says Farina. McGinness was born in 1892 and was about 98 when they interviewed her. Ferguson was born in 1911 and grew up on Main Street. And Stratos, the owner of the Chili Shoppe restaurant, “was almost the classic immigrant story,” Farina says.
Barber Milton Via is one of the fixtures of West Main Street featured in the film. Courtesy photo
While their intent was to represent the everyday lives of their subjects, it was impossible to tell the story of West Main Street without talking about the destruction of the historically black neighborhood Vinegar Hill. “The beauty of it was, it wasn’t our agenda going in,” says Farina. “Our agenda was to listen to these people who had lived here for a long time who really contributed to the community.”
As a result, the film documents both the shared humanity of the black and white residents and the prejudices that directly affected black residents. Ferguson, the funeral director, was the head of the local chapter of the NAACP when the public schools were desegregated, and his daughter was a member of the first integrated class. In the film, he speaks not only of his identity as a black man, but as a funeral director, too. “We talked to him about his perspective on death and he spoke from his real sense of faith,” Farina says.
Similarly, McGinness—who taught at the Jefferson School from 1915 to 1960—“one of the matriarchs of the black community,” Farina says, “talks about why she got into teaching…expressing the importance of a teacher to a community.” Teacher Sampson recounts the devastation of Vinegar Hill, where his uncle owned a business, and also reminisces about growing up in Fifeville, where he picked and sold peaches for his grandmother.
Farina doesn’t want the film to be politicized for its documentation of some painful aspects of Charlottesville’s past. “In many ways I feel like our films were kind of anthropological,” he says. “Here’s a community that people drive by and walk by. Stop and think about it.”
More than two decades later, Farina has digitized the film and will screen it again at Vinegar Hill Theatre on Friday. The original impetus for his desire to share it with a new audience was the commercial and residential development that has drastically changed the cityscape. “I just feel we’re racing ahead and not looking back,” he says, adding that we’re more concerned with who’s coming than with who lives here. “Mrs. McGinness remembers when the streets were dirt and you had to close the windows ’cause of the dust,” says Farina. “So you can say that change has always been part of things. I just don’t feel like the people who live here get as much respect as the money that’s being made.”
The events of August 11 and 12 gave him even more reason to digitize and share the film. He remembers the integrated audience at the premiere in 1995. Now, he says, Charlottesville is segregated. “That’s one of our problems in this town.” But the film doesn’t preach, he says. “I genuinely have a real affection for the subjects in the film,” says Farina. “If the affection I feel is shared with the audience, then it’s going to be successful and that’s kind of the real purpose.”
Super Troopers 2 brings back Paul Soter, Jay Chandrasekhar, Erik Stolhanske, Kevin Heffernan and Steve Lemme, plus the wisecracking,
17 years after the original. Courtesy of Fox Searchlight Pictures
Though Broken Lizard found mixed critical and financial results with its subsequent follow-ups to the 2001 cult hit Super Troopers, you do have to hand it to the guys for wanting to try something different before coming back around to the property that launched their film and TV careers. The underrated Club Dread was perhaps a bit too spot-on of a slasher parody to make inroads with broad audiences, Beerfest had some inspired moments but was perhaps a bit too uneven to generate the same word-of-mouth campaign as their first outing, and The Slammin’ Salmon was a fun idea for a short or sketch that had no business being a feature-length film.
Now that Super Troopers 2 has arrived in theaters 17 years later, does it live up to its predecessor? That depends on your definition of “live up.” Everyone involved is certainly better at what they do, both in front of and behind the camera. The troupe has enlisted more top-shelf talent (Rob Lowe, Will Sasso) with a diverse range of comedic backgrounds for the supporting cast. The jokes can be quite clever, and the Broken Lizard crew seem more natural in their roles as they fire them off. The only problem is that there are so many of them that you barely have time to react before five or six more come at you in rapid fire.
Super Troopers2 R, 100 minutes Alamo Drafthouse Cinema, Regal Stonefield 14 and IMAX, Violet Crown Cinema
This may not sound like a huge problem for a stoner comedy like this; after all, breezy, inspired silliness is totally par for the course. But the effect isn’t a laugh riot so much as it is a smothering of its best material. One of Super Troopers’ most enduring qualities was its instant quotability. Walking out of Super Troopers 2, you’ll no doubt remember a few moments you thought were fun, but you probably will struggle to remember how or why, and the quotable lines are even more evasive. This isn’t just a stoner comedy, the movie itself appears to be too stoned to handle itself.
We meet the former Vermont state troopers as they are reunited to represent their state in newly acquired land from Canada. It seems historical markers indicating the line between Vermont and Quebec did not match the known map, leaving the troopers in charge of a population resentful of the new occupying force. Before long, a smuggling operation is uncovered, and the investigation is impeded by their rivalry with the local Mounties. Make a list of joke premises in your head and you’ve written about half the script already. Many jokes about French, “sorry,” gun control, obesity and more abound—some funny, some not, all subject to repetition.
The lead performances help move things along when the material doesn’t. Kevin Heffernan, Steve Lemme, Paul Soter, Erik Stolhanske and Jay Chandrasekhar (who also directed) have genuinely evolved as actors, so things never descend into a bunch of improv guys giggling to themselves like the first film did at its worst moments. That said, Farva (Heffernan) is much more prominent in ways that are never fully welcome. The movie begins with a dream sequence starring Sean William Scott and Damon Wayans Jr. Scott is referred to as “Stifler,” and what the American Pie series did with that character—put him front and center for everything, whether he belonged there or not—is an unfortunately apt comparison to Super Troopers 2 and Farva.
In any case, it’s fine—you’ll laugh, just not as much as you should to make this long-delayed sequel worthwhile.
Playing this week
Alamo Drafthouse Cinema
377 Merchant Walk Sq., 326-5056
A Quiet Place, Blockers, I Feel Pretty, Isle of Dogs, Rampage, Ready Player One
Regal Stonefield 14 and IMAX The Shops at Stonefield, 244-3213
A Quiet Place, Avengers: Infinity War, Black Panther, Blockers, Chappaquiddick, I Feel Pretty, Isle of Dogs, Rampage, Ready Player One, Traffik, Truth or Dare, Tyler Perry’s Acrimony
Violet Crown Cinema 200 W. Main St., Downtown Mall, 529-3000
A Quiet Place, Beirut, Black Panther, Blockers, Death of Stalin, Diana Vreeland: The Eye Has to Travel, I Feel Pretty, Ismael’s Ghost, Isle of Dogs, Rampage, Ready Player One
The Attachments’ lead singer Sam Uriss says that most of his lyrics are “hugely influenced by advertising and mass media.” The trio plays Champion Brewing Company on Sunday. Photo by Tristan Williams
After band practice on a recent Monday evening, the three members of The Attachments lean back on couches in drummer Jack Richardson’s Belmont living room. As the day falls into dusk outside the window, they drink beers and bottled teas while a record spins punk music at a low volume in the background.
“I came out of punk retirement to start this band with these guys,” says Sam Uriss, singer and guitarist for The Attachments. “I hadn’t played any [punk] for a long time and I felt a hankering. It’s the kind of thing where, once you’re in it you don’t really get away from it. It’s kind of like the mob.”
And while The Attachments isn’t a pure punk band—it’s more 1960s garage rock and straight-up rock ‘n’ roll than anything else—punk is embedded in its backstory and ethos.
Punk music is how Richardson, Uriss and bass player Tyler Abernethy met. They all grew up in the central Virginia area and played in bands together through high school. Uriss and Abernethy were in metal-edged punk and rock ‘n’ roll band Gutter Strutter, and Uriss and Richardson in the punk, garage and hardcore-tinged Slugs.
As they talk about early shows played at DIY venues and the recordings sold from makeshift merch tables, The Attachments say it’s hard to believe it’s been almost a decade since those days, probably because they’ve never stopped playing music. “I can’t not do it,” says Richardson.
“Sanity. To maintain sanity,” Abernethy says of why he plays.
“It’s just what I do,” adds Uriss. “I ain’t never been good at painting.”
Currently, all three members of The Attachments play guitar in other bands—Richardson in hard rock/punk four-piece Wild Rose, Abernethy in Richmond/Charlottesville punk act Fried Egg, and Uriss in country-blues outfit Clay Bones—making this band different. But they think that’s part of what makes this particular combination of musicians in this particular moment so “groovy,” to borrow Abernethy’s description.
While Abernethy discovers himself as a bassist on a black 1970s devil-horned Gibson SG bass gifted to him by Uriss’ dad, Richardson is figuring out who he is as a drummer (he’s new to the instrument) and Uriss gets to write lyrics that dig a bit deeper than the songs of his youth.
“When I think about it, punk music is so much about writing about things that make you angry and piss you off, which gets a little trite to me,” says Uriss. “But you can put more nuance to it when you start to pick specific forces and subjects that you can really talk about why they drive you crazy.”
At WTJU’s Prints, Platters and Pints event at Champion Brewing Company on Sunday, the band will play its entire catalog of originals, including “Switchboard Head,” a song from its 2017 self-titled release that Uriss says is about “the idea of being a conduit for all this programming” coming at him from newspaper, television, radio and internet channels.
Something about that song inspired Abernethy, who splits music-writing duties with Uriss (the band’s singular lyricist) to write the riff and chord progression for “Spoonfed,” a four-minute track about advertising that’s something substantial to chew on, musically and lyrically. “You got what I like you know that I’ll bite and choke it right down / You know that my eyes double in size when you come around / You know that greed burns in my chest when you suggest what could be my own / So please oh please won’t you throw me a bone,” Uriss growls over reverb-drenched guitar and a restrained rhythm section full of attitude before picking up the tempo (and the urgency): “If you’re sellin’ I’m buyin’ / If I believe it ain’t lyin’ / Just show me the dotted line / Just tell me where I gotta sign.”
“Spoonfed” is “about having stuff shoved down your throat,” about taking a look around and realizing that advertising is everywhere, “a totally out-of-control and insane part of society” that we can’t avoid and that we open ourselves up to even when we’re unaware, says Uriss. “It’s so pervasive that I can’t not write songs about it.”
He initially intended to call the band The Consumers, to call attention to “the idea of constantly being sold and buying stuff, consumption,” but an Atlanta-based punk band already had the name. “The Attachments, to me, has a similar vibe,” Uriss says, one of late-night TV infomercials. He notes the direct connection between the brain and the screen.
“And then we have some love songs, too,” Uriss says to laughter from his bandmates. One of them is called “See You There”—and in yet another punk rock tradition, that of filling out your short sets with something that’ll energize the audience, the band covers The Nerves’ “Paper Dolls” and the garage rock classic “I Ain’t No Miracle Worker,” written by Annette Tucker and Nancie Nantz and released as a Brogues single.
The Attachments are committed to keeping the energy up and listeners engaged—it’s music that’s easy to latch on to, with its catchy riffs and whiffs of well-placed attitude. “This music…has [a lot of] kinetic energy” says Uriss.
“Yeah, kinetic,” agrees Abernethy. “That’s the key word.”
Trade in your coat for a swimsuit and your hand lotion for sunscreen—it’s finally time to come out of hibernation. We’ve compiled the best ways to take advantage of the warmer weather on the water: a kayak race down the Rivanna, fly-fishing for novices and, of course, a lazy river float. We’ll see you on the water.
