Mandy Patinkin turned on his phone as soon as the wheels hit the runway at the airport in Fort Myers, Fla., on Super Bowl Sunday. That's when he learned that Philip Seymour Hoffman had been found dead in his apartment that morning.
I am by no means a reviewer, but I have experienced betrayal. My 26-year marriage ended with it, with subsequent lies and deceits still surfacing layers of betrayal. I am interested in exploring the topic and want to know if art imitates life, and more importantly, if it can make sense of it.
Something Mike Nichols chose to do when directing the final moments of Harold Pinter's Betrayal annoyed me so I had to remind myself that up until then, the revered director had brought unusual insight and vitality to the nine-scene intermissionless play.
These stories (I'm sure there are others) make vivid the embarrassments and fears of patients; their efforts to deal with deterioration, endure pain, and cope with unhinging and detachment. The reader, the viewer, and the re-reader can take cues from caregivers who ease the way to acceptance.
From his Jean Valjean role in Les Miserables and his generous on-the-spot performances at various celebrations, including a lunch hosted by Ron Meyer, Hugh Jackman is truly a songman you want to have around.
Death of a Salesman's is the canonical narrative of American capitalism. Someday, we may look back and credit it not only for exposing the fraudulence of the American dream but also for making space for a new and better culture of capitalism.
I mean, what if "the bomb" dropped and wiped out Barry Diller, Mike
Nichols, Diane Sawyer, Anna Wintour, or the distinguished cast of the current cultural historical Broadway hit "Death of a Salesman"?
Now at the Barrymore, starring Philip Seymour Hoffman as Willy and Andrew Garfield as his lost son Biff, this soulful lament of missed dreams and misguided desires is staged with aching sensitivity by Mike Nichols.
You could not find a more delightful pick-me-up than Automorphosis., a sublimely over-the-top tribute to individualism, to acting out your fantasies, and to the joyous results of not holding back when the creative urge strikes.
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.
I'm bone-tired of watching formulaic retreads run through the Hollywood machine; material that may make us laugh in the moment, but that over the long run, blends in with so much similar and oh-so-familiar material we've seen before.