In the summer of 1983 I traveled from Manhattan to Buffalo, New York to work as a photographer on a movie starring Robert Redford called The Natural. It was a baseball movie, based on a novel by Bernard Malamud who was born in Brooklyn.
It was supposed to be a documentary about the dead zones in the Chesapeake Bay. But the material he was reading about the pollution of the bay was too scary. So director Barry Levinson made a horror movie instead: The Bay.
In the artistically vibrant NYC of the 50s, Cassel was an acting student with the famed Stella Adler when he encountered Cassavetes, just six years his senior, a man who'd go on to redefine what independent film could achieve and be.
If you hear some young, unschooled person say, "Oh, Dustin Hoffman, he played Ben Stiller's kooky dad", point them towards the other memorable characters that more accurately reflect this performer's invaluable contribution to film.
If Matthew Marsden is really honored to hang out with anti-gay, religious-right hate mongers -- and that's who he flew halfway across the country to be with in private -- then he should do it in the light of day.
I am about to do something that, for the most part, is never done. I am going to criticize a critic. Filmmakers are never supposed to respond to a critic about their work. But in this case, I feel compelled.