In this exuberant but ultimately simpleminded comedy, a car wash owner (Kevin Hart) helps a wimpy hedge fund manager (Will Ferrell) get ready for prison…
* This filmography is not intended to be a comprehensive list of this artist’s work. Instead it reflects the films this person has been involved with that have been reviewed on this site.
A review of Terrence Malick's "Knight of Cups" from the Berlin Film Festival.
Advice for Journalists and writers of color; the virtues and pitfalls of tossing brickbats online; 'Eyes Wide Shut' at 15; 'Pickpocket' on Blu-ray.
A plea for "sanity" in discussing Allen/Farrow; Phillip Roth on why he's not going back to fiction; Russell Brand on addiction; The Tonight Show's forgotten host.
I cried yesterday at a retreat while listening to Michael Buble's rendition of "Smile." The tears came from out of nowhere. Music has a way of cutting through all of your defenses. It goes straight to the heart and just zings you. I have been on the go continuously for the last two months since Roger passed. I have been smiling through it all, remaining stoic, having my private moments but standing straight and steadfast. These tears came as a shock to me. But, oh, what a welcome relief.
Q. Went to see Howard Stern's "Private Parts." Can't tell you how pleased I was to see scenes featuring "Kenny," the program director teaching Howard to pronounce "W-NNNN-BC!" I was an intern at WNBC during my senior year in college in 1980, and while there I gave a demo tape to "Kenny," whose real name was Kevin Metheny. He listened to it and trashed it, which would've been OK, except he did it in a hallway in front of my girlfriend (who despite this became my wife). Despite his predictions, I went on to have a pretty good on-air career, including doing morning radio with my wife. My question: Since Howard mentions people like Don Imus in his movie by name, and has already referred to Metheny as "Pig Virus" on the air, why couldn't he use the guy's actual name in the movie? (Jim Crossan, Columbia, S.C.)
During the earlier days of the Venice Film Festival, the face of Frank Perry had worn a slightly distracted look. He was there, he was listening, he was talking, but somehow his mind seemed to be on a slightly different frequency than anybody else's. This is a common state and not unique with Perry; all movie directors have it as the day for the first public showing of their newest movie grows near.