Richard Widmark, R.I.P.

I forgot to mention this at the beginning of the week. I happened to see Kiss of Death on AMC a few weeks after seeing the misbegotten 1995 remake; I was on vacation, and the movie was so gripping I didn’t leave the room until I finished it. Widmark’s Tommy Udo is one of those

The denouncing-renouncing game

This excellent column by FIU faculty member/New York Times columnist Stanley Fish denounces and renounces the denouncing game the media and the talk-radio racket love to play: In politics, and in much of the rest of life, being held responsible for your own words comes with the territory. Once you’ve opened your big mouth, others

As usual, Marcello makes me giddy with shared recognition, i.e. he loves this song that no one else much does. Donna Summer’s “This Time I Know It’s For Real,” her last Billboard Top Ten hit, may be the titan’s greatest vocal performance. Fans will likely cite “Love To Love You, Baby,” “Dim All The Lights”

Worst presidents in U.S. history

This utterly predictable list challenges no orthodoxies; the American History class you slept through in high school taught you that Buchanan, Harding, and Hoover were three of our most incompetent Chief Executives. But textbook history, so fond of the soundbite and the generalization, gets awfully fuzzy. Sure, Andrew Johnson was a jackass, and was in

Worst presidents in U.S. history

This utterly predictable list challenges no orthodoxies; the American History class you slept through in high school taught you that Buchanan, Harding, and Hoover were three of our most incompetent Chief Executives. But textbook history, so fond of the soundbite and the generalization, gets awfully fuzzy. Sure, Andrew Johnson was a jackass, and was in

Anthony Lane does his usual mellifluous corrective to David Denby’s chapter-length ponderosities on canonical filmmakers, this time on David Lean, to whom I alluded rather snarkily in my Anthony Minghella obit post last week. I mean, so what — we can use more ambitious middlebrow directors (I like Soderbergh, but no). My own favorite of

Anthony Lane does his usual mellifluous corrective to David Denby’s chapter-length ponderosities on canonical filmmakers, this time on David Lean, to whom I alluded rather snarkily in my Anthony Minghella obit post last week. I mean, so what — we can use more ambitious middlebrow directors (I like Soderbergh, but no). My own favorite of

Cachao – R.I.P.

What a week for deaths. I’m not terribly sad — he lead a life rich with acclaim and, towards the end at least, financial renumeration — but it’s a blow nonetheless. For those who known little about the bassist, bandleader, and composer, who for all intents and purposes invented the mambo, Israel “Cachao” Lopez made

Cachao – R.I.P.

What a week for deaths. I’m not terribly sad — he lead a life rich with acclaim and, towards the end at least, financial renumeration — but it’s a blow nonetheless. For those who known little about the bassist, bandleader, and composer, who for all intents and purposes invented the mambo, Israel “Cachao” Lopez made

My review of The Orchid Thief, which should be read with Joan Didion’s Miami to get a sense of what the mood down here is like.

My review of The Orchid Thief, which should be read with Joan Didion’s Miami to get a sense of what the mood down here is like.

Etc…

The Mountain Goats – Heretic Pride With drums mixed high and more songs about monsters and girls, this represents an advance from the terrifically calibrated, awfully dull Get Lonely. The metaphors aren’t getting any less ornate either. Darnielle’s very human voice renders them crystal clear, though — when he says his heart’s an autoclave, I’m