I’ve got a new Think Again called “Where’s the Real Newt?” here.
And I did a piece on the new, fun, spate of celebrity anti-Semitism for the Daily Beast here.
This week is the beginning of the annual “Rendezvous With French Cinema” at the Film Society at Lincoln Center. It’s a great schedule, from what I’ve seen so far. The schedule is here. My favorite film so far, is (by far) Hands Up, directed by Romain Goupil, about a group of young French school children who protect their Chechen friend from deportation. It moved me to tears. Antony Cordier’s Happy Few is amazingly erotic and also intelligent, and I liked Claude LeLouche’s touching look back at his career, What Love May Bring.
A few years ago, the society writer and critic Rex Reed was arrested in Tower Records on the Upper West Side (now defunct) with a few cds in his pocket. Of the two possibilities, that Reed was a petty thief, or as he said, he planned to pay for them and forgot, most people, including myself, believed Reed’s story. He forgot. Like most of us, Reed, born in 1938, does not have the memory he once had.
I thought about Reed’s memory loss when I read his foolish, snobbish review of Maude Maggart’s new show at the Oak Room at the Algonguin.
I wasn’t going to go to the show this year, owing to time constraints, but Reed’s review pissed me off. I wondered if maybe something had gone wrong this time, though, fortunately, the far more perspicacious Stephen Holden could have taught the fading Mr. Reed a few things with his much more sensitive and intelligent review in the Times. Maude had her hair up and she was a little less scholarly than usual—though the songs required a lot of research; they cover literally a hundred years of composition. Anyway, she sounded as wonderful as ever; the word “ethereal” was invented for this woman, for her voice, for her looks and for her intelligence and charm. Read all about her here and go see her sometime at the Algonguin if you can afford it. She’ll be there through next weekend.