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nitratestock · 4 years

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One by one, like a painful slow drip from a finite source, we lose people to time, people who contributed positively to the world in ways political, artistic, scientific. One by one. Considering the sum total is simply too great, we need stagger. For those who share my year of birth by a margin of three years give or take on either side, we’ve been lucky. Lucky in the sense that the stagger has been long and wide. Over the last decade we’ve lost some important people, particularly important to our early life, the exit of our single digits and the early part of our teens. Early on I was crushed by the death of Sidney Lumet, in 2011, a giant of the film community. I wrote about his passing back then, at the point of worst emotional pain, as bad as one can feel without being a family member or close friend. Since then we’ve lost Cimino. We’ve lost Nichols. We’ve lost Varda. We’ve lost Akerman. We’ve lost Hooper and Romero. As we brine in our Gen X jar, we unfortunately transition from sniper fire to machine gun spray. Legato becomes staccato. People of my age group watch in horror as heroes depart. It’s no different of any other age group, perhaps only more enhanced by the increased prevalence of mass media over the course of the last century and into ours. Distance and folklore becomes nearness and screens. In either case we involve ourselves in the lives of others, in ways good and bad. At worst we connect through this urge to pillory those who are guilty of our very same sins. At best, we mourn the passing of a public figure we’ve come to acknowledge, without their knowledge, as a friend. Hopefully out of benevolent interest, that last part.

So I say with the melancholy of a film fanatic that came of age in the 80’s and the heft of a life, if averages count, mostly lived at this point, that the recent passing of one Alan Parker left me despondent. Perhaps not for the fate of the world, but definitely for the fate of film as a malleable form that might struggle with the twin purposes of art and commerce and succeed somehow. Film fanatics, or as I prefer to refer to myself and others, Cinegeeks, often find themselves drawn to figures within the film world considered 2nd or 3rd tier interviews, whose body of work might contain two or three masterpieces amongst a body of mediocrity, or who might have a mostly or even highly successful box office record but never get critical acclaim. Fanatics like to champion the underdog. It’s our nature. To a degree Alan Parker found himself in this category. Partially because his CV didn’t fit neatly into the Auteur Theory folder. Partially because he didn’t play the normal Hollywood game. It’s sometimes overlooked that the boldest outsiders during that New Hollywood era knew how to play the studio/PR angle and did so like sawing a harp from hell. I’m looking at YOU, Coppola and Scorsese.

Parker had artistic ambitions, some would even say pretentious ambitions, and yet I defy anyone to observe his body of work and not see a blue-collar hardscrabble mentality etching away at the base of all his films. He failed sometimes, but in all endeavors he struggled not just to ensure proper light diffusion, but to connect the audience to the scene that was unfolding and the characters within all of that art direction and brilliant cinematography. In his debut feature, the cult classic BUGSY MALONE, he invited audiences to indulge in the lark of basically watching an updated Little Rascals film as whipped-cream St. Valentine’s massacre. With an infectious soundtrack by Paul Williams. And it worked and still works. In MIDNIGHT EXPRESS, he sought nothing less than to put you through the Turkish prison system at its most barbaric. And damn, did he succeed. In FAME, he sought to enroll you in La Guardia High, the School for the Performing Arts, partially ushered in by one Mr. Lumet, and he brought you into the NYC streets to join the dance. In SHOOT THE MOON, he dragged you through the broken glass and nails that is a brutal divorce. Most critics still feel it’s the film that’ll never be topped on that topic. And yeah. It’s punishing to this day.

That’s just his first four films. He followed MOON in the same year with his cinematic distillation of PINK FLOYD’S THE WALL, as ambitious, reckless, insane, obtuse and inspiring as any art film dared to be. He waged one of the bravest, constant battles between the band, their label, his studio and the inevitable lash or backlash from the critics and the crowds as any director dared in that decade, which had now, even by 1992, belonged to Reagan and Thatcher’s crowd. It worked, it was a success on its own terms. It stood with QUADROPHENIA as one of the few successful adaps of a “RockOpera” to screen. And it would serve as an insanely influential piece of cinema/album mashup. I can’t think of another film that’s even attempted to match it to this day.

Parker’s true gift was that of exploration, and this was evinced by his sojourn from cinematic genre to cinematic genre. Like great directors before him, he felt the need to examine and exult in them all. He turned after 1982’s twin trials to what many referred to as William Wharton’s “un-filmable” novel. Parker found a way to film it, and in the process crafted a minor masterpiece, and the first film in his American Gothic trilogy. BIRDY is about so many things; the horror of war, the futility of grand romantic dreams, the last days of glorious, unweighted childhood. It succeeds in all those ambitions, but what it is squarely about is the healing power of friendship, of that bond between brothers that even the trauma of battle cannot best. He accomplished this in two different time periods and two different venues; the 60’s early and late, as disparate as a decade could get from itself; then the wide, economically depressed funland expanse of post-WW2 Brooklyn, against the claustrophobic, chiaroscuro lit cell of the VA, where the only shadow to hide within lies beneath the mottled cot. All of Parker’s CV can be described as character studies of one form or another. Here he began a three film sojourn into America’s pockets, its secret soul and even its original sins. He’d leave the punishing abandonment of what once was the City of Brooklyn as it stood circa 1962, for a far more insidious and painful abandonment, one of a whole swath of the country and of its stolen populace.

ANGEL HEART was ostensibly a mashup of horror and noir, a neat trick that any successful director would’ve been drawn to, especially in the MTV 80’s, a music video era (greatly inspired by directors like Parker, I might add) that found itself drawing on the tropes of past cinema genres in a highly stylized way. The synopsis implies a simple morality tale, a private eye hired by a seemingly nefarious talent agent to track down the client who’s eluded him. Perhaps by supernatural means. Parker expanded on the location by quickly resetting the action from Brooklyn to New Orleans, after a quick trip through Harlem. White culture has to answer to and for black culture in America, and Parker employed this almost caricature smoke-and-topcoat shamus to do this investigation. There is great butchery in ANGEL HEART, which I’ve always believed reps the butchery of slavery and the Jim Crow era. There are bold implications and terrible consequences for what we now term “cultural appropriation”, from Johnny Favorite’s Depression-era crooner stealing from black artists to the Krusemark’s adoption of the patchwork voodoo religion. Above all, there is guilt. There is a clear through line, as clear as Capt. Willard’s river to Kurtz, toward White America’s brutality, ongoing. Harry is our surrogate, should we choose. He goes on his own journey of discovery that becomes, unwittingly and surely unwillingly, one of SELF-discovery. His final manic, desperate denial is the same as any who enjoy white privilege to this day while at the same time being wholly unaware of it: I know who I am. If ANGEL HEART is the one he’s going to be remembered for, I believe it’s this subtext, unplanned or otherwise, that will allow it the test of time well over the brilliant cinematography and perhaps Mickey Rourke’s finest performance. Parker would next attempt to expand on this subtext and present it as text, with very, VERY mixed reactions.

MISSISSIPPI BURNING was a project begun with noble intent, I believe. In an era where white men still got to tell the black narrative in America. While I forgive a lot of the film’s dramatic license, I fully agree with its detractors as well. 1988 was a tipping point for tone-deafness in the film industry. Had Parker made BURNING a decade or so prior, it might enjoy a better rep in the context of its time. The end of the 80’s demanded better. I’m a fan of this film, as a film, not as a history. In the same way I’m a fan of well-crafted cinematic narratives that have dated very poorly. The tragedy of MISSISSIPPI BURNING is not just that he made so well-crafted a film at a point in the timeline when something more inclusive, honest, and better representative of history was possible, it’s that he chose fiction for fiction’s sake. Nevertheless, it was the second and final Oscar nomination for direction he’d receive.

Parker remained in this wheelhouse of American guilt for 20th century wrong-doing. COME SEE THE PARADISE was an earnest attempt to depict, to REMIND America really, of the awful Japanese internment camps of the WW2 years, the venerable FDR’s greatest sin. At the height of his filmmaking powers he was unerring in his balance between stylistic pursuit and substance. Alas, with this effort and his previous, glow softened suffer, and the heart of the tale proved elusive as a result.

Maybe he had a moment of clarity then, after these ambitious but perhaps stultifying efforts, and decided to return to a genre that had stood him in good stead. Parker turned to the homespun Celtic kick of Roddy Doyle and decided to create a real-life soul/funk/r&b band from scratch for THE COMMITMENTS, which most will agree is his last great film, though his later fare has its champions, and fair play to them. For a director so well known for his meticulous prep and focus he fared incredibly well in filming wild abandon. Maybe it was a mode he needed to consciously shift into gear for, but once there he cooked quite a stew. The film delighted both critics and audiences, and also helped re-start a soul music resurgence, helped in no little way by the film’s pre-fab ensemble, who’d take to the road for a series of live shows with various members of the celluloid iteration in tow. Some might argue that he retreated to a stance that shied from his previous inquiries regarding the separation of cultures white and other, and the theft perpetrated by one on the other, and in doing crafted so populist an entertainment as to render the argument moot. That’s a fair assessment. Some others might argue that a truthful, passionate depiction of people inspired by others different from their living experience, plaintively plying their art, is honest work as well, no matter their skin color. The debate won’t go away. And it shouldn’t. In terms of moviemaking, though, Parker had fired on all cylinders. Perhaps for the last time.

The remaining decade-plus of his work was, in most estimations, workmanlike, with the odd Parker flourish here and there recognizable to his fans. THE ROAD TO WELLVILLE was an eccentric choice as follow-up, and also as navigation through the early days of a new and unsure decade (He’d already travelled the biz director-driven, to producer-driven, and was now in the who-the-hell’s-driving 90’s). It features several fine performances, from recent and deserved Oscar winner Anthony Hopkins to the still-finding-their-way Matthew Broderick and John Cusack, and its huckster-health theme does still resonate, or at least it SHOULD, as well today as then as late 19th century. If it ultimately found no target to spear, it remains a well crafted and intentioned work. EVITA was no sleepwalk-to the-Oscar gig, even though the resulting film is at best assessed as a dreamily-hued mess. Parker took on the challenge of a legendary broadway smash, one that Hollywood had been desperate to film for well over a decade. A lesser director would’ve turned the camera on and yelled “Sing!”. But Parker was one of the few who’d found success in the post-studio era with one of its warhorse genres, the musical, which had diminished, and decidedly felled such giants as Coppola and Bogdanovich at their peak or near-peak. It’s a noble effort, if it comes up short. It’s not quite empty Oscar-bait, but it’s well shy of a film with a purpose. He either directed or was gifted a great Antonio Banderas perf, and he did his damnedest with Madonna, which is sorta the theme of her career don’t send hate mail. He got a hard-won, decent turn out of her, perhaps not the magnetic dying star that the role demanded, but an actor giving her all. That’s still worth something, even if they’re miscast. For further evidence I direct you toward Matt Damon in THE TALENTED MR. RIPLEY.

And here’s the part that I always hate to talk about. Parker was a director who, in my estimation, never sought validation, but always inspiration. It’s the source of his greatest works, and they remain some of the greatest of the post-studio years. He took his best swipe at an unlikely best-seller, Frank McCourt’s wildly successful but impossibly depressing ANGELA’S ASHES. Like EVITA, it had “prestige” built into it. Like EVITA, it was a package deal. Like EVITA, the studio expected some love from the Academy at the end of the day. I feel like Parker was thwarted from the start, tasked with this take of utter poverty and despondency while asked to chase the gold. Had the book come out sometime early in his career, had he discovered it and championed it, and then saw it through production and release, we may have been gifted something along the lines of a Ken Loach or even Buñuel at his most honest. The gilt and geld of the Hollywood studios, especially at that time competing with the newly-found prestige of the indies, precluded any chance at that, despite next-level perfs from Stephen Rea and Emily Watson. It’s a not-unworthy effort to seek out, especially if you're a Parker fan, but in some ways it may have signaled his ultimate abandonment of this art form. Maybe he felt he’d said enough. Maybe he felt he wouldn’t be allowed to say his piece on his terms anymore. Maybe he looked ahead at filmmaking in the new millennium and decided he’d not update his passport to this new continent. For reasons we never fully received, Parker was leaving.

His last film would be THE LIFE OF DAVID GALE, an anti-capital punishment screed that felt out of joint, and not due to the lack of effort from its stars, Kate Winslet and Christopher Plummer. But it’s an aimless effort, deprived of any real bite on a subject molten to a wide swath of the citizenry. It was met with mixed box office and mixed reviews. It left with nary a trace. And then, whether we realized it or not, so did Alan Parker.

It seemed to be a welcome retirement. At least in my following of my filmmaker heroes. I don’t believe I saw one item, one gossip piece, about a new Alan Parker project, about a studio extending him an offer on a prestige or even indie film. He popped up as interview subject and fairly frequently, and seemed to enjoy his status as thus. He’d crafted a remarkable body of work, and by all witness enjoyed remarking on it. He occasionally served as mentor, as when Christopher Nolan reached out to him. He’d definitely serve as defense attorney, especially when the subject of Mickey Rourke came up. He absolutely and most magnificently served as beacon to a whole generation of film lovers and future filmmakers, kids who were desperate in the corporate/production team/CAA 80’s to cling to films of their generation they could call their own. At a time when art and the so-called “auteur” was a dirty word in Hollywood he was able to put the work he’d crafted into your head and into your heart. I’m not sure if we’re gonna see another Alan Parker, and he’d be most upset by that notion, but if you’re reading this, and you find this possibility unacceptable, go grab a camera and be another Alan Parker. We’re waiting.

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ccorneliast · 7 years

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A Heart In Barcelona - Chapter 3: A Carrison Fanfiction

Rating: M Summary: Carrie and Harrison go on a weekend getaway to Barcelona during filming of The Empire Strikes Back in the late seventies. Something happens on that trip that changes their lives forever. Disclaimer: this is a real person fan fiction, so it all definitely came from my imagination and I’m not trying to offend anyone (you know the drill). I did take some creative liberty on what concerns the timeline, so stuff that is mentioned/places they visit may not have existed in the seventies, I apologize in advance; I do use/paraphrase some parts from Carrie’s books, as a way of making it feel more like them. A/N: Jennifer, my love, this third chapter is for you ( @jennydehavilland ), for your constant love, friendship and excitment over these two. Big thanks to my girls over at the carrison groupchat, y’all are the best.

On AO3 (tumblr was being stupid so it ate my italics, so i’d recomend reading on AO3 this time!)

I hope you enjoy this new story of mine and don’t forget to reblog and tell me your opinion!

You’d think that an afternoon of such intimacy and years of accumulated tension would be enough for them to keep their hands on each other. Instead, as they make their way to the España Square, Carrie’s eyes rarely meet Harrison’s. Truth be told, it just dawned on the two actors that they rarely had this much time alone as is, and they don’t quite know how to deal with it.

Soon enough, if they weren’t careful, Harrison would start to get annoyed at Carrie’s mood swings and, in turn, she’d begin to resent him for his frustratingly unconcerned demeanor.

They walk side by side, though miles apart psychologically, until they reach it. The square is momentous in itself, it’s huge fountains dominating most of the space. Up above, almost sky high, they could observe the Museu Nacional d'Art de Catalunya, an enormous classical edifice, much too different from Gaudí’s architecture.

Harrison glances at his wrist watch and mumbles: “Maybe we should get something to eat.” She nods.

They walk up the steps (more steps, ugh) until they’re by the bigger, more crowded fountain. Carrie spots some street food and urges Harrison, with little to no words, to follow her lead. They pay for some delicious, though unreasonably priced, meaty sandwiches.

“You wanna sit there?” Harrison’s questions, uninterested.

She does. She sits down on the grass, right in front of the fountain. He sits next to her with some difficulty, for the area’s overflowing with tourists and natives alike.

“Harrison,” she says, but it’s barely audible. She tries again, this time turning her face towards his. “Harrison.”

He continues eating, but nods.

“What was that earlier?” she asks. He keeps chewing, but it’s not a way to divert the attention from the conversation. He doesn’t try to deny it or change the topic. Instead, he says:

“That thing was jam-packed.” He takes another bite. “I couldn’t breathe up there.” On top of the rooftop of La Pedrera.

“Why didn’t you say somethin’?” she chews on the straw of her drink absentmindedly.

“Didn’t want to worry ya, kid.” His eyes focus on the still dormant fountain instead of on hers.

“Bullshit.” She sets the cup down in front of her and brings a hand to his face, turning it towards her.

“What?” he’s shocked by how quickly her tone turned aggressive.

“You heard me.” She repeats, her hand falling to her lap. “You weren’t trying to be selfless.”

“Then what was I doing?” his tone is dangerous.

“Can’t crack that up yet.” She ponders it for a few moments.

“I have that problem sometimes.” He confesses. “When things aren’t the way I want them to.” He finishes his sandwich and puts away the wrapper in his backpack.

“When things aren’t the way you want them to be…” she echoes. He’s unbelievable.

“I didn’t want you to see me like that.” People start cheering, but they remain absorbed in their conversation.

“Afraid?” she runs her hands through her hair and successfully makes a ponytail.

He keeps quiet.

“That’s it, right?” she smiles, pleased. “You didn’t want me to see you scared?” the fountain rises and water starts splashing around in various colors. “You didn’t want me to think you’re what? Human?” she presses. His eyes reflect the pinks and blues and yellows. “Tell you a secret, I don’t. Never have.” That’s a lie, a big one. Big movie star, Harrison Ford, fearless and manly as can be. That was her mindset and, frankly, it was scary to think otherwise.

He turns around, effectively shutting her up. His mouth clashes onto hers, his tongue slipping inside her, demanding and expecting nothing but her very best. She obliges, of course. The music in the square is nearly deafening, but it doesn’t throw her off. Her hand grips the hair on the back of his head, tugging him closer and closer. Their lips slide on each other until he’s breathless. As they part, she sits back up in her place, their skin barely touching.

Then, softer:

“You kiss like a poet.” The words barely reach her.

“Kissed a lot of poets in your life to know how they go about it, Harrison?” she laughs it off, uncomfortable.

“You know what I mean.” He says, their eyes never meeting.

She does. Because every time he looks at her, suddenly flowers grow in her chest.

The morning sunlight accompanies them on their way to La Sagrada Família. The map easily leads them to the closest transit station. The metrotakes them directly to the cathedral, as they exit the station. And then they see it, through the waves of tourists and countless bright green trees. La Pedrera and Casa Batlló may be Gaudí masterpieces, but Sagrada Família?

It’s a monster.

Its height is unfathomable and the exquisite sculpture work on the facades is unbelievable. Portraits of Christ’s life cover the entirety of its outside and its shape is eerily reminiscent of sandcastles on the beach. It looks like a fantasyland castle – wet sand dripped through fingers, both sharp and soft.

Carrie and Harrison circle the entire structure, taking in the seemingly unorganized order of the figures carved into every inch of the front. So much is happening, everywhere, that the overall style defies categorization. The west side is austere and tormented, drawing their attention to an emaciated Jesus on an iron cross. Stone women wail beside a pile of skulls at his feet. However, the east side is an abundance of life – humans and angels and animals and wheat – and topped by a green tree covered in white doves. Carrie inhales at its beauty, and they’ve only seen the outside.

As they enter the cathedral, they’re aware of an absence of noise. Organic figures intertwine with colorful and intricate stained-glass windows. On the right side, windows dyed with blues and greens and purples bid goodbye to the sun, whereas on the left side, where the sun rises every morning, warm colors like oranges and yellows welcome it.

“Fuck, this is beautiful.” Harrison whispers, only to Carrie. She nods.

And then, an overwhelming need to pick up her notebook pops up. An entire storyline occurs and she wants desperately to write it down. She tugs on Harrison’s shirt’s sleeve and he looks down at her: “Harrison,”

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” they keep walking through the columns.

“I want to write.” Her voice is tight.

“What, now?” his eyebrow creases.

“Please,” she tugs harder, more urgent.

“Okay, okay.” He looks around. “Sit down there, huh?” he points to one of the columns farther to the left.

She walks towards it, slumps on the ground and leans against the warm stone, hot from the sun rays. She fumbles inside her bag, fishing out her little grey notebook and a black ink pen. Words flow out of her and onto the paper, energy turning into energy. Harrison observes curiously, taking note of the way her lip curves when she’s thinking of what to write next, the way her teeth bite into it when she knows she’s got a good idea. Her back is curved over her ink-stained hands and the yellowed-out pages.

It’s a mesmerizing sight, even amongst all of Gaudí’s beauty.

A while later, her head rises and she smiles. His body, his soul, fills with the most pleasant adrenaline he’s ever felt. The sight of her proud smile imprints a crescent moon on his lip, and the desire of capturing this moment and savoring it for more than these mere seconds is overpowering. He sneaks out his camera and snaps the swiftest shot he’s ever taken, her lips and sparkling eyes forever inside his jeans’ pocket.

I wish the world would swallow us whole, in this moment. This, it hits me, feels like falling in love.

The afternoon train is already speeding out of Spain and it’s warm-colored buildings, en route to reality, also known as grey old London.

“When are you gonna show me one of those things you write?” Harrison mumbles.

“What?” Carrie’s eyes are cloudy from tiredness.

“Will you ever show me?” his eyes are the smallest hint of hopeful.

“Someday, Harrison,” she responds. “Someday.” She smiles, though not very convincingly.

“What is it exactly that you write?” he thought of letting go of the subject, but he’s too invested now to stop.

“Whatever I feel like.” She replies. It doesn’t seem enough to satisfy him. “Sometimes, it’s journals. Others, poetry. Rarely prose, though I do have a million ideas for it.” She laughs, suddenly nervous for having his undivided attention.

“Interesting,” he looks at her like he’s studying her. It’s intimidating. “Very different writing styles, then.” She nods. “Does it feel different?”

She lets her hair loose from the pony tail and it falls down onto her shoulders. “When I write a diary, I do it to listen to myself, not to communicate.” He nods in understanding, inciting her to continue. “It’s sort of like I’m cloning myself in an effort to try to understand myself.” She chuckles. “Just trying to get to the edge of my personality.”

“And poetry?” her gets up and makes his way across the table, sitting down beside her. As if this conversation couldn’t get any more daunting.

“Oh, poetry is a lousy lousy way of communicating.” She explains. “But such a great way to find yourself.” His lip curves upward in the most endearing smirk.

“So, your words mirror you.” He tries. When she doesn’t react, he bites his bottom lip in anticipation. She melts a little bit inside.

“My words burn.”

If only he knew every hurtful, confused, venomous words she’s written about him.

“It’s ironic how artistic we become when our hearts are broken.” As she says this, she realizes how truly powerful her words are, because it looks as though his face shut down. His eyes look glassy and dark, his facial features very harsh, as though they were hand-painted with coal. She almost regrets them. Almost.

“All art comes down to love and heartbreak, isn’t that so?” she’s enjoying the effect she has on him. He must understand. Her smile is wicked.

He plunges into her, dives into her, drowns. His lips are hers, his bottom lip trapped in between his. Her hands on his soft, brown hair, pulling him closer, as close as she pleases. In her waist, she feels his fingers digging perfect oval holes on her skin. His slight stubble rubs against her sun-kissed skin and it feels nothing short of exciting. These days, it feels like he only kisses her to shut her up.

As the train breezes through the French countryside, Carrie and Harrison kiss. The kiss doesn’t quite feel the same, though. Her air leaves her body and enters his, enters her spirit, enters her life.

#carrison #carrie fisher #harrison ford #fanfiction #rpf #carrison fanfiction #tita writes #a heart in barcelona

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jeremystrele · 6 years

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50 Small Side Tables That Radiate Modern Charm

A side table can massively elevate a room’s function and comfort, but we know all too well how easy it is for them to fall leeway to bad style or non-existence in smaller spaces. Yes, tiny homes and tight quarters call for careful curation, but you shouldn’t have to nix such an important piece of furniture and you certainly shouldn’t have to forgo the style one can bring! The good news is that you don’t need much space to add in that much-needed table. From modern storage helpers to mountable bedside tables, you will find that there is a side table for every home.

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$130BUY IT Hexagonal Side Table With Geometric Golden Base: Bending every which way, this geometric side table has a brilliant design that is dripping with contemporary charm. An eclectic find with a bold and youthful aesthetic.

$160BUY IT Small Art Deco Style Gold Side Table: A table fit for royalty! Instantly amplify a room’s glam factor by adding in one or two of these luxurious side tables.

$69BUY IT Modern Stylish Glass Side Table With Metallic Base: Reflect your home’s style in the best light with one of these high shine beauties. A metallic base paired with either a mirrored or glass table top make for a glam design that is perfect to squeeze in to a tight nook or corner.

$77BUY IT Modern Copper Finish Small Side Table: Made with the same white frosted glass and copper legs as the sleek tripod table shown previously, this table adds a few legs to completely change the design. A youthful, yet classy addition to any home.

$87BUY IT Small Mirrored Side Table: Looking like it was created by an origami master, this artistic table instantaneously had us head over heels. Mirrored on every side, this table would look absolutely stunning in a sun filled room.

$92BUY IT Modern Triangular Side Table: Simple and sculptural, this modern triangle side table doubles as a stool and is good for either indoor or outdoor use. It can also be stacked with other Leisure Mod products to create various looks.

$33BUY IT Small Folding Side Table: The TV table gets a modern makeover with this bright and white table. For those short on space, this tray table easily folds away when not in use and is slim enough to be stashed away behind the couch or under the bed.

$53BUY IT Small Indoor-Outdoor Iron Side Table: A moroccan style table that epitomizes perforated perfection. This bright and captivating table is available in Green, Blue, and Teal.

$73BUY IT Small Outdoor Side Table With Cooler: A multi-functional table that is a must have for backyard BBQs and parties! Bonus: With a slide up lid, you won’t have to worry about removing table top items before opening the cooler.

$75BUY IT Tiny Wicker Outdoor Side Table With Cooler: A wicker style side table that doubles as a cooler. Finally, a cooler that won’t stick out like a sore thumb when among your stylish outdoor decor!

$47BUY IT Rustic Side Table: Affordable and rustic, there was no way that this modern table wasn’t making our list! The perfect table for a Farmhouse styled home on a budget.

$37BUY IT Small Side Table On Wheels: For multi-functioning spaces, a small table on wheels can be a God send. Easily move this modern table and all its vintage elegance to wherever you need it most.

$89BUY IT Modern Floating Bedside Tables: A floating table keeps the floor clutter free and infuses your home with modern style. Equipped with a handy storage compartment, this table is available in multiple styles.

From $375BUY IT Moderning Floating Side Tables With Lighting: Light up your life with this glowy side table. It’s not often that you find a table overflowing with such soft, ambient light.

$133BUY IT Small Round Wooden Side Table: It might look like a cylindrical version of Jenga, but I wouldn’t bother trying to pull on the blocks. This eclectic table is made of sturdy recycled teakwood, so even if you give those blocks a good tug, they aren’t going anywhere!

$220BUY IT Wave Shaped Wooden Side Table: Make a wave with this uniquely shaped side table. A striking design and warm walnut finish make this the perfect place to stage plants, books or other decor. This is one end table that people won’t be able to miss!

$199BUY IT Convertible Side Table: Low level or upright, this side table is always brimming with high style. A great table for those who like to use their laptop while sitting on the couch.

$64BUY IT Unique Round Glass Side Table With Branch Base: This artsy table is furniture meets art with its sculptural tree base. You can use this piece as either a side table or a plant stand.

$85BUY IT Glass Side Table With Branch Base And Bird: A little bird perches himself on this tree table to create a design that will surely turn a few heads. The glass top is removable, making it very easy to clean.

$67BUY IT Side Table With Cat House: Your kitty needs to use the litter, but that doesn’t mean you have to be stuck looking at it. Just open the door to slide the litter box in and out. Easy Peasy! Bonus, this cat house can also help to contain the dreaded litter smell.

From $439BUY IT Pet Centric Luxury Side Tables: These Mid-Cenutry Modern side tables are ones that both your fur baby and decor will absolutely love! Whether you’re looking for stylish cat furniture or a bed for your small dog, Modernist Cat has you covered.

$42BUY IT Small Glass Side Table: A simplistic and affordable piece that seamlessly blends in with any decor. This table with its sleek glass top is available in Copper or Nickel (shown).

$216BUY IT Modern Glass Side Table With Storage: The Kartell Sparkle Table reminds us of a giant, vintage whisky glass, which explains why it is brimming with a retro elegance. Suitable for either indoor or outdoor use, the top also pops off for extra storage.

$1260BUY IT Hive Side Table: The art of papercutting has been applied to the Hive side table, lending it a recognizable and intricate cutout design. Although this side table may look delicate, rest assured that it is constructed with sturdy powder-coated steel. Available in 15 colors!

$1295BUY IT Plinth Cube Side Table: An elegant and luxurious marble table that rethinks the classic podium in a contemporary way. The insides of these modern marvels are hollow, but they still weigh 40 kg! Also available in Black.

$250BUY IT The Vondom Adan Stool: Let’s face it, sometimes you just want something completely unique and outside the box. Cue the Vondom Adan Stool! Yes, technically marketed as stool, but it can also serve as a neat sculptural side table.

$775BUY IT Saarinen Side Table: Mix and match to create the table of your dreams with the Saarinen side table. Pair 1 of 11 marble or wood tops with a high shine White, Black, or Platinum base. That’s 33 possible pairings!

$225BUY IT T.710 Small Stackable Side Table: It’s no wonder that these stacking tables are so chic and stylish considering they are from the legendary designer, Jens Risom. The compact size of this table makes it ideal for tight spaces, especially since you can stack these tables up to 3 high.

$917BUY IT Platner Side Table: The luxurious Platner side table is customizable and dynamic. This table was created as part of the Platner collection in 1962 by visionary and designer, Warren Platner. Today you can create the perfect version for your home by combining 1 of 3 glass table tops with either an 18-karat plated gold or a bright nickel finish.

$90BUY IT Platner Style Wireframe Side Table: If you love the look of the Platner side table, but not the price tag, then this is the table for you! This Platner style table is an affordable alternative that is available in Black, Bright Yellow, Dark Blue, Lime, And Medium Gray (shown).

Recommended Reading: 50 Unique End Tables That Add The Perfect Living Room Finish

41 Nesting Coffee Tables That Save Space And Add Style

50 Unique Coffee Tables That Help You Declutter and Stylise Your Lounge

25 Stunning Side Table Designs

50 Modern Coffee Tables To Add Zing To Your Living

30 Beautiful Ottoman Coffee Tables To Maximise Your Lounge Space

20 Uniquely Beautiful Coffee Tables

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drewebowden66 · 6 years