Despite what the title suggests, Wonderstruck represents a rare disappointment from master filmmaker Todd Haynes.
Roger Ebert became film critic of the Chicago Sun-Times in 1967. He is the only film critic with a star on Hollywood Boulevard Walk of Fame and was named honorary life member of the Directors' Guild of America. He won the Lifetime Achievement Award of the Screenwriters' Guild, and honorary degrees from the American Film Institute and the University of Colorado at Boulder. Since 1989 he has hosted Ebertfest, a film festival at the Virginia Theater in Champaign-Urbana. From 1975 until 2006 he, Gene Siskel and Richard Roeper co-hosted a weekly movie review program on national TV. He was Lecturer on Film for the University of Chicago extension program from 1970 until 2006, and recorded shot-by-shot commentaries for the DVDs of "Citizen Kane," "Casablanca," "Floating Weeds" and "Dark City," and has written over 20 books.
HOLLYWOOD - The supporting actor is always the guy who does the wrong thing and gets the hero in hot water. You can bet Clyde Barrow wouldn't have parked that getaway car. And think of the grief Marty would have avoided if it hadn't been for that wise guy who said, "I dunno, Marty. Whada you wanna do tonight?"
Holding forth about actors a few years ago, John Huston allowed as how there were good ones and bad ones, and then there were a few like splendid thoroughbreds: All you had to do was judge their gait and you could see they had class.
"Rebellion is one thing," Ossie Davis said. "Rebellion works some times in some places. But year in and year out, you can get more mileage out of wisdom and cunning. If you can't outfight the man, outsmart him."
The announcer asked for another round of applause, and got it, and Tempest Storm took her last curtain call. Then the house lights went on and the audience started to leave.
"You get all kinds, Liza Minnelli said. "A couple of days ago I was interviewed by a guy from the Los Angeles underground press. He didn't exactly ask me what I ate for breakfast.
Stella Stevens swept into Fritzel's wearing a white crocheted dress, which swept in a quarter of an inch later.
Romeo and Juliet were upstairs asleep in the castle, and Franco Zeffirelli kept the night watch alone. He sat cross-legged on the old stone wall of the Palazzo Borghese and sipped brandy from a paper cup. Behind him, the wall fell 100 feet into the valley. Above him, the little town clung to the hillside, each house stacked above the last. And on the other side of the castle wall was the secret garden where the families of the Borghese had doubtless spent their afternoons 400 years ago.
Ebert William Golding's "Lord of the Flies," a famous modern novel, concerns a group of British schoolboys who are marooned on an island and gradually become savages. Despite all the standards of decency and honor that have been hammered into them in school, they eventually grow capable of murder. That's what the book is about: how capable we are of violence despite all our talk of civilization.
Suite 1705 of the Ambassador East Hotel includes a glass-enclosed luncheon porch overlooking the city. There are windows on three sides. On the fourth, there are steps that lead back into the living room. From there you go out into the hall down the elevator and back to reality.
With the lithe grace of a seasoned athlete, Peter Finch lifted the tea bag from the teapot and, holding it by the trademark at the end of its string, dropped it into an ashtray. His aim was accurate, and he permitted himself a dour smile.