Subway Chronicles, Volume I

The Subway Chronicles: Part 1

First, Happy Thanksgiving to all of you who celebrates it!

Whoever the author is, I’m in your debt

Now, on to the New York City subway. Don’t get me started. I love it. A labyrinthine network of tunnels and tracks that runs beneath the bustling streets (and above them, here and there) is more than just a mode of transportation; it's a vibrant tapestry of life, culture, and energy. My love for the subway is rooted in its diverstiy and dynamism.

With all its problems — delays, derailings, ongoing repairs, drunk motormen (and motorwomen) — it still remains the most efficient form of transportation, far more efficient than cars, and even buses, which make more frequent stops and constantly get caught in traffic.

Yes, but what about all those rats shooting across platforms? Sure. Derelicts and psychos pushing people onto the tracks? Absolutely. Riders who don’t take showers, step on your feet, or refuse to look you in the eye? Definitely. All true.

But… my affection for the subway extends beyond its practical utility. It lies in the symphony of sounds, the diverse array of faces, and the stories (yes, stories) that unfold within its confined space.

Each subway ride is a hero’s journey, with characters whose faces look like maps of places you wouldn’t dare to visit. From the hurried Wall Street warriors, armed with briefcases that could probably double as survival kits in a zombie apocalypse and suits that are more expensive than a small country's GDP (they tend to scream, "I own a penthouse with a view, and my breakfast costs more than your entire week's groceries.") to starving artists, draped in bohemian chic attire that probably had a previous life as thrift store rejects.

There is a certain charm in the anonymity that the subway affords. Surrounded by strangers, one can be both a spectator and a participant in the unfolding narrative of city life. Just the other day, inspired by

Jane Ratcliffe

and Sarah Fay of

Writers at Work

, two published authors who interview their fellow writers so masterfully, I tried to conduct a live Q&A on the D train to Brooklyn with a former student who now writes and directs her own web series. The plan was to film the interview and make it avaialble to all the inspiring screenwriters out there. But it wasn’t meant to be, because a short man in a loud suit and tie suddenly collapsed on top of my student, knocking her to the floor before losing consciousness himself. As two other passengers and I were lifting the man into a sitting position, someone pulled the emergency lever. It was all worth filming, but no one was even consided doing it. Every time I take a photo of a stranger, my inner critic Freddy twists my ear and punches me in the arm (I wrote about it here and here) but I can’t help myself. I draw the line, however, at photographing the sick and the vulnerable. Call me crazy.

And that man in the loud suit? As it turns out he suffered from chronic low blood pressure. “Sorry,” he said as the paramedics wheeled him out. “It happens now and then.” The subway is like life — everything happens now and then.

The subway is a great equalizer, you see, bringing together people from different backgrounds with a common purpose — to navigate the labyrinthine network that knits the city together. It fosters a sense of unity, reminding us that, in the grand mosaic of New York City, we are all interconnected, riding the same underground currents. Somebody has to document it. I volunteered a while back. You’re welcome.

Every year I find myself falling deeper in love with the heartbeat that resonates beneath the streets of the Big Apple. I have a car and am not allergic to taking buses. I can get around without a problem. But I can tell you that if NYC didn’t have the subway, I'd gladly trade the city buz for the countryside, watch cows graze in the distance and write screenplays no one has the money to produce.

What’s your favorite place to shoot? Let’s meet in the comments.

Thanks for reading!

‘Till next time.

ak