Ella

Photograph: Roxana Marroquin

When brothers Joshua and Jordan Boyd and Darren Rubell (cousin to Studio 54’s Steve Rubell) created this East Village cocktail and piano lounge, their ambition was to wrap a 21st-century drink emporium in Jazz Age glamour. But with garish decor that’s more cheesy than chic, and sorely off-the-mark libations, the owners fail to hit the hallmarks of either era. Upon entrance, we braced ourselves: A red-and-black Vegas aesthetic is accented by oversize perfume bottles and the kind of framed sketches of Gable and Bogart you might see in a pizzeria. This assault on the eyes would be of small account if the cocktails (each $12) excelled, but the drinks are inexpert and clumsy. The signature sip, the Ella, is a mix of vodka, St. Germain (elderflower liqueur), lemon juice and fresh watermelon that is characterless aside from the fruit flavors. It’s a drink better suited to girls gone wild than jazz babies. A gloppy Rye Smash—raspberries and lemon are muddled with whiskey and simple syrup, then shaken and served in the same glass—is unsightly and bitter, the tart lemon rind a poor friend to the naturally sharp rye. A Mommie Dearest—see the inspiration in the Joan Crawford posters papering the walls—was better, but how wrong could it go? The drink’s simplicity—it’s basically a margarita without the Cointreau—leaves little room for error. On the plus side, the staff is free of pretension (a good thing, given their shoddy performance), and when the DJ kicks in, the energy of the sexy twentysomething clientele is infectious. But is that enough to overlook tacky trappings andsloppy drinks? Even Mildred Pierce wasn’t that generous.