At last a film celebrating the last years of life in blazing glory set in the joyful splendor of Udaipur, India. The writing is witty and quick, while the scenery is lush with an abundance of flowers in bold primary colors.
You've heard of it. You've wondered about it. You've seen films of the classic ones on laserdiscs, VHS tapes and new-fangled DVDs. If you're really lucky there's a reasonable chance you've even attended one of them.
What this whole crowd had in common was relentlessness and an unwillingness to give up despite tragedy. During my St. Tropez days Thomas Langmann was an infant, but he was raised with this mad hatter kind of joie de vivre which carried him.
On a balmy New York evening with snow a distant memory, the corners of the Crosby Hotel were fitted with white stuff and the décor, usually warm, was even cozier. The occasion was a screening of Lilyhammer.
Oscar prognosticating is a hard habit to break. Sure enough, I stumbled across the SAG and DGA awards results this morning, and much like finding that emergency cigarette stashed in your winter coat's breast pocket, I couldn't help lighting up.