On his last day on the job, John Ottway sits in a bar full of workers. Most are involved in a violent brawl, but he sits alone isolated and unbothered by his surroundings. His sad eyes seem lost in thoughts of hopelessness. As he walks out in the cold mist to a remote spot, we learn of a suicide letter he's written to the wife who left him. Ottway holds the barrel of a rifle in his mouth and closes his eyes, ready to pull the trigger. The unlikeliest of signs makes him remove the rifle, the howl of a wolf in the dark.
Joe Carnahan's "The Grey" tells the ironic story of a suicidal man who ends up fighting for his life after a plane crashes into the wolf-infested wilderness of Alaska. I don't know about you, but the first half of that sentence interests me more than the second half.
I didn't write an obituary about Natasha Richardson. I didn't write an appreciation. I didn't write anything. When I learned of her death, I thought: This is wrong. I could not bring myself to go through the business of listing her best roles and describing her life.
O ver a period of five days I interviewed Jodie Foster twice about her new film "Nell." The first time, in New York, was for television, and she supplied the smooth sound bites she'd been performing all morning for dozens of visiting interviewers. The second time, in Chicago, was for print, and we talked for more than two hours.
America will be having a Hugh Grant festival this spring. The boyish British actor with the apologetic shrug is the star of three films being released almost simultaneously: "Sirens," "Four Weddings And A Funeral" and "Bitter Moon." All three are well-suited to his strengths as a likeable, diffident, chap who backs into situations apologetically, but usually prevails.