There are, I believe, four ways to approach the new film, “The Fourth Kind.” These four approaches are derived from J. Allen Hynek’s system of classification for alien encounters. According to Hynek, THE FIRST KIND is the sighting of a … Read More
Towards the end of the summer, I was wasting an evening with one of my friends in Micawber. Note: at the time it didn’t seem that pathetic. Anyways, in between flipping through random books I noticed Chuck Klosterman’s newer book, … Read More
Jennifer Connelly has become incredibly good at portraying women whose lives are swirling round and around on the verge of going completely down the toilet. In fact, she won an Oscar for A Beautiful Mind playing such a character and should have won one for her role in Requiem for a Dream, too.
When a movie really does what it’s supposed to, when it makes you want to stay in the theater and think about, discuss and absorb what you just saw on the screen, it can be an experience like no other. This is not to say that it is better than reading an excellent book, discovering an extraordinary album, or seeing a breathtaking theatrical production, for each of these things can shake you to your core in their own unique ways. But when you witness the birth of a truly amazing film, when you sit in the dark and realize that what you are seeing has managed to do almost everything right, these moments are ones to be cherished, and Martin Scorsese has given the public more of them than any other American director of his generation.
I was supposed to write a review for Norah Vincent’s new book, Self-Made Man but I decided not to for a very simple reason: Books are stupid. Despite efforts in the past ten years to make books more like movies, … Read More
Cocksure I stand that this lesbian play has become the first theatrical hit to reach Princeton this school year.
How fine it is to go to the theater and find yourself in a proper Boston living room, replete with pomp and circumstance. But take this turn of the 20th century propriety and subvert it with the sexual lewdness of nowadays; mix in marital deceit and seduction of a young lass by a voluptuous lesbian, and you’ll get the formula for David Mamet’s Boston Marriage, the first play of the Theatre Intime season.
I’ll shoot straight with all y’all: I was born and bred in Georgia, a state whose famous red clay mirrors its perennial color on the political map. But I’m from Atlanta, that one blight of blue in a sea of perfect scarlet. While I can slip into the languid drawl of a southern belle at the drop of a camo-and-fishhook baseball hat, I normally maintain the accent of many an Atlantan – that is to say, none at all.
First Exhibit. Here is the July 1, 1933 issue of Das Neue Tagebuch, a newspaper for German exiles in Paris. We read of a Jewish dentist, Maier, who was forced into poverty through a ban on Jewish practitioners. In mid-July, with his wife (also a dentist) on a quick vacation, Maier clandestinely worked in her office, but was later kidnapped by four S.A. men during lunch at his own apartment. According to the report Schwarzschild received, the men had stabbed Maier twenty-one times, broken his feet by crushing them with a copying press, and shot him in the head, causing his skull to explode.
