The night before last I bought a bottle of Francis Coppola‘s Bianco Pinot Grigio. But it disappeared the next day. I must have left it somewhere, I figured. The idea of looking in the freezer never occured to me, simply because wine doesn’t belong where you put ice cream. But that’s where I found it an hour ago, frozen stiff, a total glass popsicle, the cork all but pushed out of the neck.
Roughly two months ago a very early draft of Eric Roth‘s screenplay for Killers of the Flower Moon (dated 2.20.17,...
More »
Frances McDormand‘s Fern was strong but mule-stubborn and at the end of the day self-destructive, and this stunted psychology led...
More »
Can’t decide which performance is better, although I’ve always leaned toward Tina Vitale, her cynical New Jersey moll behind the...
More »
Two days ago (1.19) a Facebook tribute congratulated Tippi Hedren for having reached her 94th year (blow out the candles!)...
More »
A friend suggested a list of the Ten Best American Crime Flicks of the ‘70s. By which he meant films...
More »
I’ve never been able to give myself over to Sam Peckinpah’s Major Dundee, a 1965 Civil War–era western, and I’ve...
More »
