Gerald Peary
The haughty, witty Gore Vidal, my role model, was never happier than when going against the madding American populace.
The Grand Seduction has some mawkish moments, but it’s still a very sweet movie, skillfully made and charmingly told.
What’s not to adore about this super-friendly, hedonistic, 24-hour street party, what summer resident John Waters celebrates as “a gay fishing village,” and what I might label, oxymoronically, a “queer New Orleans.”
Unlike Sundance, where “independent” has been stretched to allow for expensive non-studio movies with slumming Hollywood stars, the films we watched at Seattle were mostly low budget.
Most of HBO’s “The Normal Heart” is a pretty decent adaptation of the 1985 stage script, with some good things added, including an effective pre-credit section set on Fire Island in 1982.
The best corned beef in the Boston area by far is, get this, at an Italian lunch joint in Downtown Crossing, Sam LaGrassa’s.
All that WASP self-reliance and fortitude, and I, the Jew, am thinking, “Isn’t anyone getting hungry? Doesn’t anyone want to use the potty?”
This fine, partisan documentary resurrects Ann Richards, and it’s showing on HBO in a Lone Star election year. The Republicans better worry about Texans seeing it.
Little Joe Cook, who died last week at 91, somehow turned his one Top-40 rock hit, 1957’s “Peanuts,” into the centerpiece of a never-ending Cantab Lounge gig.
It would take a series of spoilers to explain who might have killed whom in “The Galapagos Affair.” See the movie and find out, and revel in the grim gallows humor.
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