Every night Cooper and I walk around the block. Where we lived before I could just let him out into the backyard and he would pee and poop and come back in. Ain't happening here, so we walk. The story on the street changes nightly. At the end of our block we go left onto McConnell and then the next street is Mendocino, and that corner houses Little Caesars Pizza which is always busy. Great smells come from that place, Cooper loves it. Weekends are busy times twenty. Sunday nights are busy times ten. Weeknights are busy times one or two, depending on the time. Tonight at 9:15 there were two peeps waiting, at least that I could see, but four more cars in the parking area waiting maybe for something other than pizza? Don't know.
Cooper is a good buffer. Me: fat old gray haired woman alone. Me with dog: who cares but hey, that's a cute dog, what kinda dog is that, hey little guy, he want's some pizza, nice dog there.... I just smile.
We pass that Little Caesar guy and we round the corner, turning left and we pass the Video Droid place, which I have never entered, but I wonder how they stay in business renting DVDs. But it's pretty hopping on weekends, so there you are. They maintain.
And then past Chick Fil A, on Mendo. It's busy most of the time but I will never eat there. Their anti-gay policy is legend. No one should ever eat there. Cooper pees on their plants and I give him praise for that. We then go by the Coinless Laundromat, which is always occupied, from 6:30 am to 10:30 pm, with every walk of life. The very early mornings see single homeless men sitting watching the TV. Later in the morning are the people like me, just doing laundry. Later in the day are Moms with kids. At night it's a crap shoot, people like me, Moms, Dads, Grammas, more homeless people, more young people, a bit of everyone. It's a fine place to do laundry. I don't mind doing laundry there. It is a place that equalizes everyone and that happens too rarely in our world. We all have dirty clothes.
Cooper and I round the next corner, past the Odd Fellows Hall. I will do some research to find out the meaning about such a stupid name. Really, you couldn't have just been the Awkward Guys Hall? Or just Fellows Hall? The Odd part is so off-putting.
And then around that corner turning left onto our street and straight on to home. Four left turns. Cooper has peed, sometimes pooped, smelled stuff and it is time for bed. 6:00 am comes early, and so we go to bed early. It's always a nice walk, often people say hello, just strangers in the 'hood. Tonight was the first night that the air felt chilly. Cold air is a good sign, at least to me. Autumn might be here on the calendar, but it has yet to show it's face on my street. Tonight was a portent of that autumn. I am looking forward to its arrival.
Bonne nuit. Je t'aime.
.
Wednesday, September 28, 2016
Thursday, September 22, 2016
Oh what beauty! "The Sting" 43 years later, and now.
Beauty: I speak of the late Paul Newman and the not yet dead Robert Redford. One of their movies together is "The Sting," available for free, streaming on Netflix. Yes, there are thousands of other things to watch on streaming TV but for now, this is my pick. And yes, I have seen it many times before. Who cares? Sometimes you just want comfort food and sometimes you just want comfort movies. This is one of those movies.
Robert Redford is so young, and so sexy in his dirty suit and wearing his heart on his sleeve after his friend was killed. And no one can deny that there are few things better than seeing Paul Newman in his overalls at the carousel, wearing a fedora, after plunging his face into a sink of ice and water to erase a hangover. And his grin? Tell me that doesn't make your feet tap.
These two characters are worth the price of the entire show but it isn't gonna stop there. It's an outstanding cast: the evil Studs Lonnegan presented to us by the amazing Robert Shaw, the kindly whore shown to us by Eileen Brennan and a cast of character actors that makes us smile at every face. How they all unfold and how the con entraps Lonnegan and his cohorts is like a ballet being danced in front of us.
If you haven't seen this in a while, watch it again. This movie came out the same year my daughter was born, 1973, so it's 43 years old. But so far, half into it, there is nothing dated about it. But then, the Big Con always continues. The con is timeless. Just look at our political scene and tell me otherwise.
Enjoy it.
Robert Redford is so young, and so sexy in his dirty suit and wearing his heart on his sleeve after his friend was killed. And no one can deny that there are few things better than seeing Paul Newman in his overalls at the carousel, wearing a fedora, after plunging his face into a sink of ice and water to erase a hangover. And his grin? Tell me that doesn't make your feet tap.
These two characters are worth the price of the entire show but it isn't gonna stop there. It's an outstanding cast: the evil Studs Lonnegan presented to us by the amazing Robert Shaw, the kindly whore shown to us by Eileen Brennan and a cast of character actors that makes us smile at every face. How they all unfold and how the con entraps Lonnegan and his cohorts is like a ballet being danced in front of us.
If you haven't seen this in a while, watch it again. This movie came out the same year my daughter was born, 1973, so it's 43 years old. But so far, half into it, there is nothing dated about it. But then, the Big Con always continues. The con is timeless. Just look at our political scene and tell me otherwise.
Enjoy it.
Saturday, September 17, 2016
"Miss Jane" by Brad Watson: an excellent book
This book, "Miss Jane" is deceptively brilliant. It seems to be a simple story but it isn't. You forget how good the writing is because it doesn't pretend to be poetic or overly generous. It is so honest and so true and remarkable that it's easy to think it's just a small novel about farmers in the Depression. It is anything but that.
Jane Chisolm is born to a family of stubborn, hard-working farmers in Mississippi in the early twentieth century. She has a physical abnormality that shapes her life and defines her in many ways but she truly owns who she is. The story is as much about farm life as it is about the lives on that farm. "There was the bustling of the noon dinner meal when her father came in, ate, then went back out to work, the clanking and scrubbing of cleaning up, the long hot still afternoon, her joy at Grace's arrival home from school, then preparation for supper, and finally the rustling descent of quiet voices and bodies slowing into the evening until everyone slept."
I loved Jane, with her necessary pragmatic vision of her world, her longing for something she can never have, her resignation that her life, as complicated as it was, was at the same time as simple as it could be. Her father, her sister Grace, her mother, the town doctor, they are all drawn so clearly and so perfectly. It's been a while since I liked a book as much as this one. There is something about Watson's telling of the story that hooked me and didn't let me go. I hated to see it end.
Jane Chisolm is born to a family of stubborn, hard-working farmers in Mississippi in the early twentieth century. She has a physical abnormality that shapes her life and defines her in many ways but she truly owns who she is. The story is as much about farm life as it is about the lives on that farm. "There was the bustling of the noon dinner meal when her father came in, ate, then went back out to work, the clanking and scrubbing of cleaning up, the long hot still afternoon, her joy at Grace's arrival home from school, then preparation for supper, and finally the rustling descent of quiet voices and bodies slowing into the evening until everyone slept."
I loved Jane, with her necessary pragmatic vision of her world, her longing for something she can never have, her resignation that her life, as complicated as it was, was at the same time as simple as it could be. Her father, her sister Grace, her mother, the town doctor, they are all drawn so clearly and so perfectly. It's been a while since I liked a book as much as this one. There is something about Watson's telling of the story that hooked me and didn't let me go. I hated to see it end.
Saturday, September 10, 2016
A grown-up movie, no special effects, with Jeff Bridges, in theaters now!
"Hell or High Water" with Jeff Bridges, Chris Pine and others. Takes place in West Texas, which I have driven through at least five times, depressed, desiccated, a wasteland more or less. Banks loaned money, charged egregious interest rates, people couldn't pay. This movie trails two brothers who are robbing banks for small takes, and it becomes apparent pretty quickly that they aren't just robbing the banks for fun. Well, for Tanner it is for fun. For Toby, it's for real.
It's been a while since I have seen a movie with such clearly drawn characters, four men with different personalities and yet with two agendas: rob banks and catch the bank robbers. The acting is superb, each actor fleshes out his character perfectly. There is a lot of dialogue and a great deal of it is very amusing in the first half of the movie. The audience laughs softly quite often. But the light-hearted tone goes black and things get serious.
The music is good, the scenery in West Texas is spare and the story is simple. But the best thing is these four men. As diverse as they are, they are all likable for so many different reasons. We all love Jeff Bridges, of course, and he is so good at being an old sheriff. But I haven't seen Chris Pine in anything other than on the cover of US magazine. He is Toby in this movie and Toby, for 95% of the movie, is like a hunted rabbit, head down, eyes small, face scared and immobile. It isn't until the very end of the movie that you see him with that gorgeous face. The transformation is huge and the reasons are clear.
If you like movies, see this one. No big explosions, a small car chase, nothing too violent. But you will want to chat about it when it ends. And the ending is perfect!
.
It's been a while since I have seen a movie with such clearly drawn characters, four men with different personalities and yet with two agendas: rob banks and catch the bank robbers. The acting is superb, each actor fleshes out his character perfectly. There is a lot of dialogue and a great deal of it is very amusing in the first half of the movie. The audience laughs softly quite often. But the light-hearted tone goes black and things get serious.
The music is good, the scenery in West Texas is spare and the story is simple. But the best thing is these four men. As diverse as they are, they are all likable for so many different reasons. We all love Jeff Bridges, of course, and he is so good at being an old sheriff. But I haven't seen Chris Pine in anything other than on the cover of US magazine. He is Toby in this movie and Toby, for 95% of the movie, is like a hunted rabbit, head down, eyes small, face scared and immobile. It isn't until the very end of the movie that you see him with that gorgeous face. The transformation is huge and the reasons are clear.
If you like movies, see this one. No big explosions, a small car chase, nothing too violent. But you will want to chat about it when it ends. And the ending is perfect!
.
Wednesday, September 7, 2016
And what's on your bedside table? False teeth don't count.
People know I read a lot and often I get the question "What do you read the most?" I want to answer "Books" but I don't think that's what they want to hear. Or I could say "backs of cereal boxes" but I don't eat cereal and thus don't read the backs of cereal boxes. What else could I read? Well, newspapers, I suppose.
But what people mean is what sort of genre of books do I read. That's a difficult question. I read a lot of junk, like random best sellers like "Girl on the Train" or "Lost Lonely Girl on the Train" or "Girl on a Train Watching Something in the Window" or whatever that book was called. It was rather junky but I understand there is a movie based on that book soon to be released. Why did I bother to read the book when I could have simply waited for the movie? What a dummy. Maybe that's the best idea, don't read anything and just sit around and wait for them (whoever they are) to make a movie of whatever book I choose not to read. Saves so much time, since reading a book can take upwards of 8 to 10 hours and a movie takes about two hours, plus the travel time to get there, so let's say three hours. A savings of at least 5 hours! OK, no more reading for me.
But then there are those books that probably won't be made into a movie. I just finished reading "White Sands" by Geoff Dyer. It's a collection of essays about places he has visited and the experiences those places engendered and how he felt about it all. I have read other books by Dyer, mostly non-fiction, and he's a good writer. These writings are rather varied, from the Arctic, to Watts, to New Mexico and on and on, Dyer shares the trials and tribulations of these diverse destinations. It's rather funny at times because all does not go well and at the same time you learn about places you probably will never visit, like Tahiti or China. Check it out and check out his other books as well, like the well-named "Yoga for People Who Can't Be Bothered to Do It."
At the same time I am reading "Hammer Head" by Nina MacLaughlin. A memoir of sorts, a 30 year old woman who quits her job at a Boston newspaper and takes a job as a carpenter's assistant, with absolutely no experience with tools or terminology of building or anything to do with construction. But she gets hired by an independent woman contractor and she learns the job of lugging stuff, cutting tile, sawing boards, construction and demolition, of all that being a carpenter entails. It's a good read, she's a good writer. Again, check it out, from the library would be a fine idea.
So yes, I read a lot of non-fiction, memoirs, essays, biographies, all that. Current events, like Rachel Maddow's "Drift" and books by Jon Krakauer and Sebastian Junger. And one of my favorites, "The Wild Trees" by R. Preston, about amazing redwood trees, an incredible book. (Thank you, Tom, for that one.)
But I also read a lot of what purists would call "junk." Literary fiction, crime fiction, historical fiction as opposed to hysterical fiction, detective fiction, normal fiction. I don't read romantic or sci-fi fiction but that's just because I never have and thus have no scale of what to read in those genres. It's like listening to jazz or country music. Some I like, some I don't but I have too small of a reference base to pick and choose so I don't. But since I love to read, I read books that take two days to read and books that take two weeks to wade through. I like both of those experiences.
I also read poetry, surprisingly. Billy Collins, W.H. Auden, Kay Ryan, W.S. Merwin, Robert Hass. I don't always like poetry but I think that's because I don't always have the patience for it. When I like it, I buy it. And keep it and read it a lot. Donald Justice. ("There's not enough Justice in the world.") John Ashbery, although he confounds me most of the time, but not always.
I want to read Shakespeare's plays. Someday I will.
That's all for now. Time to read something.
.
But what people mean is what sort of genre of books do I read. That's a difficult question. I read a lot of junk, like random best sellers like "Girl on the Train" or "Lost Lonely Girl on the Train" or "Girl on a Train Watching Something in the Window" or whatever that book was called. It was rather junky but I understand there is a movie based on that book soon to be released. Why did I bother to read the book when I could have simply waited for the movie? What a dummy. Maybe that's the best idea, don't read anything and just sit around and wait for them (whoever they are) to make a movie of whatever book I choose not to read. Saves so much time, since reading a book can take upwards of 8 to 10 hours and a movie takes about two hours, plus the travel time to get there, so let's say three hours. A savings of at least 5 hours! OK, no more reading for me.
But then there are those books that probably won't be made into a movie. I just finished reading "White Sands" by Geoff Dyer. It's a collection of essays about places he has visited and the experiences those places engendered and how he felt about it all. I have read other books by Dyer, mostly non-fiction, and he's a good writer. These writings are rather varied, from the Arctic, to Watts, to New Mexico and on and on, Dyer shares the trials and tribulations of these diverse destinations. It's rather funny at times because all does not go well and at the same time you learn about places you probably will never visit, like Tahiti or China. Check it out and check out his other books as well, like the well-named "Yoga for People Who Can't Be Bothered to Do It."
At the same time I am reading "Hammer Head" by Nina MacLaughlin. A memoir of sorts, a 30 year old woman who quits her job at a Boston newspaper and takes a job as a carpenter's assistant, with absolutely no experience with tools or terminology of building or anything to do with construction. But she gets hired by an independent woman contractor and she learns the job of lugging stuff, cutting tile, sawing boards, construction and demolition, of all that being a carpenter entails. It's a good read, she's a good writer. Again, check it out, from the library would be a fine idea.
So yes, I read a lot of non-fiction, memoirs, essays, biographies, all that. Current events, like Rachel Maddow's "Drift" and books by Jon Krakauer and Sebastian Junger. And one of my favorites, "The Wild Trees" by R. Preston, about amazing redwood trees, an incredible book. (Thank you, Tom, for that one.)
But I also read a lot of what purists would call "junk." Literary fiction, crime fiction, historical fiction as opposed to hysterical fiction, detective fiction, normal fiction. I don't read romantic or sci-fi fiction but that's just because I never have and thus have no scale of what to read in those genres. It's like listening to jazz or country music. Some I like, some I don't but I have too small of a reference base to pick and choose so I don't. But since I love to read, I read books that take two days to read and books that take two weeks to wade through. I like both of those experiences.
I also read poetry, surprisingly. Billy Collins, W.H. Auden, Kay Ryan, W.S. Merwin, Robert Hass. I don't always like poetry but I think that's because I don't always have the patience for it. When I like it, I buy it. And keep it and read it a lot. Donald Justice. ("There's not enough Justice in the world.") John Ashbery, although he confounds me most of the time, but not always.
I want to read Shakespeare's plays. Someday I will.
That's all for now. Time to read something.
.
Monday, September 5, 2016
The pesky dead souls, their spirits are like velcro
Four years and three months ago one of my best friends was killed in a horrific automobile accident. Martha was one of maybe three people that I could describe as "one of my best" friends. I had known her for more than twenty years. She was 56 when she was killed. I think about her almost every day.
And the strange and good thing is that I think of her, often, as still here! Example: I am reading a book right now called "Hammer Head" about a young 30 year old woman who quits a promising yet dull job as a journalist at a Boston newspaper because it is dull and she feels like she is sinking in the tar pit of that job. (My words there, not hers.) She has a few months without a job and then answers an ad for a carpenter's assistant and even with no experience, she gets the job. The book chronicles her learning curve, her love and hate for the job of lugging heavy stuff, demolitioning rooms, building new ones, of cutting tile, of learning to love wood, and on and on. It's a good read.
As I am reading this book, sitting in my funky back patio (without, YAY, the Roommate Factor) I think to myself "Martha will like this book." Not "Martha would have liked this book." But that she will. I think that and I continue to read. The statement in my mind does not make me pause or make me take it back and rephrase it into the past tense. She will like this book.
Does that happen to other people? Do you who have suddenly lost loved ones acknowledge their presence in that way? In real time, as if they are still here, they are just around the corner of that brick wall, hiding behind that very narrow tree, ready to spring out and surprise you? I do it all the time. I taste something and think "Martha likes this combo of sweet-and-salty" or I watch a TV show or a movie and think "Martha will hate this." Yes, I also say "Martha would have grabbed that yard sale bookcase" and "thank god I don't have to listen to Steve and Martha argue about that political debacle" but most often it is in the present tense.
I was telling a friend of mine, someone who knows Steve slightly (through me) about Martha and her death and I realized that I didn't have the right words to explain anything. I couldn't explain away her awful death, the impact it had on Steve, on me, on her family and I wanted to end that conversation but at the same time I knew it was important, somehow, to put into words the answers to my friend's questions. It made me sad to recount the barest of details about how she died and it made me sad to know that the person hearing it would also be sad. So I wanted to stop talking. And so I did, eventually.
But I think that powerful souls, people who have strong and good and important spirits, somehow live on. Call me crazy, but I firmly believe that some baby born four years and three months ago captured the spirit of Martha, got born at the instant Martha's soul was ready to move on. Thus there is another Martha out there, albeit only four years old. I wish that four year old well, he or she has a huge life ahead, in part because of that amazingly brilliant and strong spirit and I will continue to think about her or him and Martha every day. Martha will like that.
.
And the strange and good thing is that I think of her, often, as still here! Example: I am reading a book right now called "Hammer Head" about a young 30 year old woman who quits a promising yet dull job as a journalist at a Boston newspaper because it is dull and she feels like she is sinking in the tar pit of that job. (My words there, not hers.) She has a few months without a job and then answers an ad for a carpenter's assistant and even with no experience, she gets the job. The book chronicles her learning curve, her love and hate for the job of lugging heavy stuff, demolitioning rooms, building new ones, of cutting tile, of learning to love wood, and on and on. It's a good read.
As I am reading this book, sitting in my funky back patio (without, YAY, the Roommate Factor) I think to myself "Martha will like this book." Not "Martha would have liked this book." But that she will. I think that and I continue to read. The statement in my mind does not make me pause or make me take it back and rephrase it into the past tense. She will like this book.
Does that happen to other people? Do you who have suddenly lost loved ones acknowledge their presence in that way? In real time, as if they are still here, they are just around the corner of that brick wall, hiding behind that very narrow tree, ready to spring out and surprise you? I do it all the time. I taste something and think "Martha likes this combo of sweet-and-salty" or I watch a TV show or a movie and think "Martha will hate this." Yes, I also say "Martha would have grabbed that yard sale bookcase" and "thank god I don't have to listen to Steve and Martha argue about that political debacle" but most often it is in the present tense.
I was telling a friend of mine, someone who knows Steve slightly (through me) about Martha and her death and I realized that I didn't have the right words to explain anything. I couldn't explain away her awful death, the impact it had on Steve, on me, on her family and I wanted to end that conversation but at the same time I knew it was important, somehow, to put into words the answers to my friend's questions. It made me sad to recount the barest of details about how she died and it made me sad to know that the person hearing it would also be sad. So I wanted to stop talking. And so I did, eventually.
But I think that powerful souls, people who have strong and good and important spirits, somehow live on. Call me crazy, but I firmly believe that some baby born four years and three months ago captured the spirit of Martha, got born at the instant Martha's soul was ready to move on. Thus there is another Martha out there, albeit only four years old. I wish that four year old well, he or she has a huge life ahead, in part because of that amazingly brilliant and strong spirit and I will continue to think about her or him and Martha every day. Martha will like that.
.
Saturday, September 3, 2016
Love, hate, basil, pesto.....
I have a love/hate relationship with fresh basil. Who doesn't love fresh basil, the color, the smell, the possibilities? But how can you not hate it when, after two days, it goes limp and black and looks like something from "The Exorcist?" Something that turns into slime in front of your eyes? You pay good money for it and no matter how you store it, gently wrapped in nicely dampened paper towels or stored in a glass of water or just tossed meanly in the back of the vegetable bin, it dies. Overnight. Quickly and grossly.
I bought a gorgeous bunch of basil the other day, used a handful of leaves that same night and left the rest of it wrapped in tiny angel wings overnight in the fridge. When I got home from work that next afternoon, those tiny angel wings were turning into devil scales..... I could see the coming of the black and slime. So I did what any self-respectingItalian American cook would do: turned it into pesto.
Out came the very old Cuisinart. In went the basil, some salt, one mushed up garlic clove and .... wait! Who springs for pine nuts these days at an outrageous amount per pound? I had some toasted marcona almonds, figured they would be fine and they were! Some really nice olive oil, a bit of parmesan cheese, and Presto! Pesto! It is possibly the best pesto I have ever made, partly because of the almonds, partly because of the small amount of garlic and partly because I left it a little chunky. Not a lot, but not totally smooth either.
I tossed it on hot pasta. Excellent. I stirred some into sauteed chicken with mushrooms and onions. Delicious. I spread a little on some flatbread, then topped it with fresh tomatoes. Awesomely delicious. And on and on. With some burrata, with some parmesan, with anything. I intend to get more basil and make more pesto and freeze it for the winter. Stirred into soup or again into pasta, it's a hit of summer all year long.
OK, off to bed.... there is a group at the hotel that is going to be problematic in the morning. Part of me relishes the conflict, the chance to say to people who feel entitled "No, I am sorry, we cannot do that." Just because you want something doesn't mean you are going to get it.
As the Stones once said: You can't alway get what you want..... but if you try, sometimes you get what you need.
over and out.
I bought a gorgeous bunch of basil the other day, used a handful of leaves that same night and left the rest of it wrapped in tiny angel wings overnight in the fridge. When I got home from work that next afternoon, those tiny angel wings were turning into devil scales..... I could see the coming of the black and slime. So I did what any self-respecting
Out came the very old Cuisinart. In went the basil, some salt, one mushed up garlic clove and .... wait! Who springs for pine nuts these days at an outrageous amount per pound? I had some toasted marcona almonds, figured they would be fine and they were! Some really nice olive oil, a bit of parmesan cheese, and Presto! Pesto! It is possibly the best pesto I have ever made, partly because of the almonds, partly because of the small amount of garlic and partly because I left it a little chunky. Not a lot, but not totally smooth either.
I tossed it on hot pasta. Excellent. I stirred some into sauteed chicken with mushrooms and onions. Delicious. I spread a little on some flatbread, then topped it with fresh tomatoes. Awesomely delicious. And on and on. With some burrata, with some parmesan, with anything. I intend to get more basil and make more pesto and freeze it for the winter. Stirred into soup or again into pasta, it's a hit of summer all year long.
OK, off to bed.... there is a group at the hotel that is going to be problematic in the morning. Part of me relishes the conflict, the chance to say to people who feel entitled "No, I am sorry, we cannot do that." Just because you want something doesn't mean you are going to get it.
As the Stones once said: You can't alway get what you want..... but if you try, sometimes you get what you need.
over and out.
Bill Murray, St. Vincent, great dinner and pesto
For some reason, I love Bill Murray. Not just his comic side but his every side. The movie "St. Vincent" came out last year and got good reviews but wasn't well received because, I think, Bill Murray isn't all that funny in it and it isn't pretty or cute. I loved it. I totally loved it. If you hate Bill Murray, then don't watch it. But if you like him or even tolerate him watch it. It is free streaming on Netflix.
Vincent is a drunk, a liar, a loser and a slob. But he is also aware and ...... well, no other adjectives come to mind that are positive until you get 30 minutes into the movie. Then he is sort of caring and kind of helpful and a bit educational. Vincent is also watchful and sometimes wise.
Now we all know I hate redemption movies, where the main protagonist is a dick but is turned into a lesser dick at the end of the movie because he does some nice things. That sort of happens here but it isn't too egregious and so you don't feel like throwing up. To tell you the truth, I cried like a baby at one point. Just saying.
Watch it. Bill Murray is amazing and Naomi Watts plays a great Russian hooker/pole dancer, a role I would have never thought of for her. Melissa McCarthy is good but the best is the kid, who is as cynical as Vincent and he's only about twelve years old. I liked the kid a lot.
Two thumbs up.
Oh, the dinner. Pesto, the next post.
.
Vincent is a drunk, a liar, a loser and a slob. But he is also aware and ...... well, no other adjectives come to mind that are positive until you get 30 minutes into the movie. Then he is sort of caring and kind of helpful and a bit educational. Vincent is also watchful and sometimes wise.
Now we all know I hate redemption movies, where the main protagonist is a dick but is turned into a lesser dick at the end of the movie because he does some nice things. That sort of happens here but it isn't too egregious and so you don't feel like throwing up. To tell you the truth, I cried like a baby at one point. Just saying.
Watch it. Bill Murray is amazing and Naomi Watts plays a great Russian hooker/pole dancer, a role I would have never thought of for her. Melissa McCarthy is good but the best is the kid, who is as cynical as Vincent and he's only about twelve years old. I liked the kid a lot.
Two thumbs up.
Oh, the dinner. Pesto, the next post.
.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)