I do not recommend being sick.
A couple of weeks ago we saw Voom, an exhibition of 33 high-definition portraits by Robert Wilson.
We first saw Sweeney Todd in Toledo.
Don’t be surprised if I change my mind”:article/revaluing-harry-potter-c, but I found Order of the Phoenix—like the novel—better than middling, but not that good.
There’s a fine line a review walks between real comparison and name-dropping; if one’s committed to walking that line as Wood is, shouldn’t one be at least somewhat precise?
Wilco’s new album Sky Blue Sky sounds as if, just as Jeff Tweedy began listening to Marvin Gaye, he also hired a band that loves classic rock.
One scene in The Illusionist undid the whole for me.
Tonight’s Masterpiece Theater was great!
The Last King of Scotland
My boss loved Philip Roth’s Everyman, she said, because she saw something in it that’s true about aging; she also loved its concise prose. Mom too, who read it the weekend she visited last October, liked it for similar reasons.
the sloven, the drunk, the tawdry, the kitsch, the bland
Children of Men is disturbing.
We saw Stranger than Fiction a month ago.
It irks me how obvious the film’s problems are.
Part 1 in a series reviewing Stephen Hart’s What Does the Lord Require?: How American Christians Think About Economic Justice.
We watched Spielberg’s Munich this weekend. It’s good in a Spielberg-may-doubt-but- will-never-abandon-Israel kind of way. About it, I’ve got one question—it’s a spoiler, though. If you’re worried about your purity, don’t click through.
I had hoped to get through this in a week or so. But school has started… and I’ve got articles to write. As I read it, I will comment on it. I was hoping to write a review of it, but alas, at the end, I might do so. Still, I didn’t get to it in time to be featured on stoned-campbell
This review’s a little over the top, but anyway, I liked Little Miss Sunshine, and it I recommend.
Reviews of Pirates of the Carribean, A Prairie Home Companion, and The Night Listener.
This weekend we rented both Good night, and good luck. and Syriana, since we didn’t see either in the theaters.
An Inconvenient Truth, the film version of Al Gore’s Amazing Traveling Global Warming Slideshow, presents a compelling, if at times oversimplified, portrait of a popularly maligned, often misunderstood subject.
It’s like the fashion industry… all about image. But, the acting is stellar; the move, well shot; the dialogue, well written and delivered. It is worth seeing. This is the second movie we’ve seen in a theatre since child.
Reporting on a slide show.
Just the way she talks about food and cooking makes you hungry. Her description of how you “mercifully” kill a lobster is poignant.
On the woes of Football… no, silly, not American Football. FOOTBALL
I am an American aquarium drinker,
I assasin down the avenue
we are people who like things to mean something
it’s not a movie for all seasons, but it’s a movie
a curious little list of readings about Perú... more curious than interesting… more curious than informative…. that is a sampling of my lack of knoewledge.
Once, not long ago, I was banished to TV hell. In due time I adapted. I learned to watch American Idol with much of the rest of America. I admit there was something a little thrilling about it. I thought myself a pioneer pushing out into the petit-bourgeois wilderness that is America, a faithful diarist of shallow and obscene life-as-it’s-fabricated there in the center of the culture industry.
a long excursus, yes, you will curse us, and two long quotations.
A graduate student of history, sequestered in his carrel, studying late into the night, might not seem the best of characters with whom to begin a novel, but for Elizabeth Kostova in her excellent book The Historian, it works well.
Open a book, open a blog, write a sentence, wash a dish, vacuum a rug, bury a hatchet, sharpen a knife: every minute my mind reaches for something else, returns to a previous task, collects a memory, projects a future.
John Updike nearly always writes a good short story. He lays simple tracks, then lines them with deep awareness of how men and women interact, of how the world appears, of how meaning is made and kept.
Two short reviews: the first of a maligned and applauded movie; the second of an applauded novel.
I’ve been playing with an image-rotation script for the banner image.
The third season of Nip/Tuck closed Tuesday with two episodes (or one two-hour episode shot as two) that—in case anyone had any doubts that this wasn’t the case—demonstrated why the series casts the nets of sexual identity further than any other show on television—and almost as far as real-life, in its most extravagant moments, manages to cast it.
he’s freakin’ faulkner through the exotic looking-glass.
It’s a legitimate question whether one can take what’s good from a tradition and not also take the bad from it.
To live among is not yet even the same as to live.
What’s it gonna be: heaven or hell?
Our house has been beset with a plague. First I came down with it Saturday, and now Kathy’s got it too. It’s probably not the flu, although for the first day it makes the thighs and hamstrings feel tight, as if you haven’t stretched for years; and there’s no reports that I’ve found of a nasty cold virus sweeping the area.
The judge implores him to repent, begs him to admit that God exists, and exclaims, “Do you want my life to be meaningless?”—as if Meursault’s atheism were such an affront to the judge that it denies God for him, as well. The priest acts similarly. But Meursault, for his part, does not play that game.
