I don't care if he's married. I don't care if he's over 50. I don't care if he's a curmudgeon. I don't even care if his eyebrows enter a room five minutes before the rest of him. Andy Rooney's the guy for me.
I saw no mention of Robert Redford's birthday amongst all the pop dreck that seems to capture people's attention these days. I am going to attempt a tribute of sorts, as I can think of few people in the entertainment field more deserving.
Those wanting to get closer to that more traditional and comforting take on the eternal "boy meets girl" predicament need only look back and revisit the great film romances of the past, movies that reflect those long-vanished ideals.
When Hitchcock cast Grace Kelly in 1954's Dial M For Murder, he quickly knew he'd found his ideal female muse: an impossibly beautiful blonde who could convey ice on the surface while exuding fire underneath.
On the first of this month, Walter Matthau, who left us just a decade ago, would have turned ninety. Ruminating on this unnoted milestone made me consider anew what a unique and gifted screen actor he was.
It is exceedingly strange and more than a little sad that actresses Olivia de Havilland, 94, and her sister Joan Fontaine, 93, have been estranged for many years, the result of an intense sibling rivalry which has never dissipated.
Even as he approaches 50, Tom Cruise broadens his range -- maybe not to a Cary Grant level of charm, perhaps, but certainly to something a lot less determined and disciplined than usual: something that approaches actual goofiness.
The Bishop's Wife is the best Christmas movie ever made because it's the only one with Cary Grant. As a dapper angel at Christmastime, Grant does that marvelous, unattainable Edward Cullen thing, except not as a vampire.