Tag: macaulay culkin

Among the many “reassessments” of Home Alone 2: Lost in New York, complete with its implausible representation of realistic geographic proximity, one that hasn’t really been called out is the idea that everyone “hearts” New York when Daddy’s credit card is still working. In fact, the only reason Kevin McCallister (Macaulay Culkin) doesn’t immediately despise NYC is because he “just happened” (thanks to the careful plot device curation of John Hughes) to need some batteries for his Talkboy. The batteries, of course, being located in his dad Peter’s (John Heard) man bag that Kevin ends up holding onto in the midst of getting on the wrong flight. And what else would Peter keep in there but his fully-loaded wallet? Here it bears bringing up that while everyone likes to meme about Peter McCallister being rich—because how else could he afford a house like that and all those vacations with so many mouths to feed?—the McCallister family is decidedly middle-class by 90s standards. The family only seems “rich” in the present because it’s impossible for most people to keep their head above water in this post-capitalist society still clinging to Empire “ideals” of capitalism. That said, money and exuding the appearance of wealth was arguably more important in the 90s—and easier to carry off for “average” people.

Not to mention faux rich ones like none other than Donald Trump himself, who illustriously cameos at the twenty-six-minute-forty-five-second mark to give Kevin the oh-so-difficult-to-discern information that the lobby is “down the hall and to the left.” And yes, it’s a wonder Trump could manage to complete that scant amount of dialogue without biffing it. The reason for his appearance stemmed from buying The Plaza Hotel in 1988 for 407 million dollars (of money borrowed from banks—because Trump is the epitome of the “American dream”… being secured through shady means and fake money). It didn’t take long for Trump’s lack of business acumen (despite cultivating a reputation to the contrary) to show up in the form of renovating and operating the hotel at a considerable loss… specifically 600 million dollars’ worth of loss by 1992, the very year that Home Alone 2: Lost in New York would come out. Yet Trump, forever concerned with appearances, still had the gall to appear in the movie as The Plaza’s “owner” despite already negotiating a prepackaged bankruptcy deal with his conglomerate of bank creditors, ultimately “led” by Citibank. One that was arranged in November, the very month of the Home Alone sequel’s release. How poetic indeed.

So it is that Trump’s appearance in the movie is emblematic of a larger truth about America in general and New York City specifically: it’s never about actually having money, so much as radiating the illusion that you do (see also: Anna Delvey). Kevin, too, embodies this with his confidence, the very word giving birth to “con,” which means both to win someone’s confidence and to have the confidence to believe in one’s own lies. As Kevin does when he approaches the front desk at the hotel with a whole backstory ready to provide that allows him to rather seamlessly use the credit card that will secure him so much ephemeral fun on this impromptu Christmas vacation. Sure, “Concierge” a.k.a. Mr. Hector (Tim Curry) is overtly suspicious because he’s probably jealous he never came up with such a scheme when he was younger, but suspicion alone is not enough to make one turn away potential income for their place of business. Proving, as always, that money—even the fake money known as credit—talks.

Until, of course, it’s reported as stolen. A revelation that brings a Grinch-esque smile to Mr. Hector’s face because, like most broke asses, he gets his jollies from reining in those who might enjoy themselves thanks to money they didn’t earn. It’s from this moment (at approximately the forty-three-minute mark in the movie when the word “STOLEN” flashes on The Plaza’s machine after Mr. Hector does a check on it) forward when Kevin starts to understand just how much New York actually blows without money at one’s disposal. And sure, there have been many attempts, via various localized “free event” websites, to help people delude themselves into believing they can have a good time with little to no disposable income, but, after a while, you’re just that sad poor person who’s clearly only at the place in question because something about it was free or cheap (relatively speaking).

To intensify the reality that having no money in New York is fucking bleak, Kevin then comes face-to-face with the notorious Pigeon Lady. She, too, has deluded herself into believing that the best things in life are free in the “greatest” city in the world, showing Kevin that you can be cultured even without money by taking him to the attic (where other discarded things are kept) in Carnegie Hall and declaring, “I’ve heard the world’s great music from here. Ella Fitzgerald, Count Basie, Frank Sinatra, Luciano Pavarotti.”

But, as any insolvent person living in NY has found out, the loopholes to enjoy “free” activities have become increasingly few and far between. To boot, you’re never going to be “seen” without scores of dough, even if only on credit. That’s why the Pigeon Lady tells Kevin, “People pass me in the street, they see me, but they try to ignore me. They prefer I wasn’t part of their city.” And why? Because she’s moneyless “riffraff.” Might as well be dead if you’re broke—that’s the takeaway New York imparts on those who can’t manage “the grind.” Those who do find more “under the table” ways to survive are, in turn, met with fear and vitriol, as indicated by Kevin’s telling reactions to the prostitutes and deranged homeless people orbiting the periphery of Central Park (for, again, this was a period in NY history that was seedier, and far less sanitized than it is now, especially by Central Park).

In the years since this movie was released, even “alternate methods” of moneymaking in the “big city” have become progressively impossible. So it is that in the past couple of decades, the “I ‘Heart’ NY” slogan has given way to “I Can’t Afford to ‘Heart’ NY.” Neither could Kevin, in the end. For the conclusion of Home Alone 2: Lost in New York is for his dad to unearth the amount Kevin charged to his room at The Plaza—a whopping (even now) $967.43 (ballooned to that price by the addition of a $239.43 gratuity). So sure, New York is all fun and wonderment on Daddy’s dime. Until, inevitably, Daddy cuts off the purse strings. For even he’s too broke for New York.

Ironically enough, the movie’s beloved screenwriter, John Hughes, would end up dying in Manhattan. While taking a morning stroll on West 55th Street… just a stone’s throw to The Plaza. Perhaps he came across an obscene price point somewhere along the way that contributed to his heart attack, and made him realize that even when you’re rich, living in New York is financially untenable. Particularly when considering what one gets in return for all their payments (including the emotional ones).