Of all the Oscar snub chatter, I didn't hear too many lamentations for Joseph Gordon-Levitt's unrecognized turn in 50/50, one of 2011's best movies. And where exactly was the nom for Will Reiser(whose own story provided the basis for the film), the author of the funny-poignant script? Levitt has been snubbed a few times now (most recently for 2009's 500 Days of Summer); I guess hope lies on the horizon, for the actor has five films/plum roles in the can or in production, including Steven Spielberg's Lincoln biopic and Quentin Tarantino's highly-awaited Django Unchained. The actor is at his best here, natural, charming, low-key and specific, with glimmers of hope peeking through his bummed-out sadness. As his best friend, Seth Rogen initially seems like he's going to throw the delicate, nuanced proceedings out of whack with his frat-boy Knocked Up persona, but that's the wonder of the script: every one of the characters, even the ones you're sure you've seen before, surprise you; Rogen's funny as ever, but as the movie rolls along, you begin to look at him differently, in a tender light; Bryce Dallas Howard (who, despite the caricature she was saddled with, was one of The Help's gems) as Levitt's girlfriend, who's not sure if she wants to stick with him through the whole ordeal; Anjelica Huston as Levitt's strong-willed, disappointed but loyal mother; invaluable character actor Philip Baker Hall (possessor of one of the greatest faces in American film) as a fellow cancer patient; and Anna Kendrick as Levitt's twenty-four year old psychiatrist. Kendrick, with her chipmunk face, is marvelously crisp, a master of the chittery back-and-forth. The movie, directed by Jonathan Levine, finds humor in dire depths and is a real winner.
So, it's Gabriel's birthday tomorrow. I love that big guy and I'm so excited he is starting school on Monday. I know he'll do great. I'll be sad, but not as much now, because he'll only be gone three hours a day. That's nothing. I am looking forward to taking him out tomorrow to Your Pie. Today, we'll take him out to get his school supplies. These last six months at home with him have been some of the most enjoyable, relaxing of my life, all thanks to the little guy.
Happy 3rd, Gabriel Owen Fischer!
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| George Bellows, Stag at Sharkey's, 1909 |
And finally, because it's a good sports Saturday - great college basketball games, the Australian Open, the Super Bowl a week away, the Pro Bowl tomorrow night, the NBA in full flush - and I'm reading a good Frank DeFord novel at the moment, it's fine fettle for a good George Bellows painting. Bellow was of the Ashcan school, a later member of Robert Henri's group of Eight (which I might have mentioned a week or two back), and a former baseball player. He loved the messiness, the violence, the gritty, sweaty masculinity of the city. In the early 20th century, prizefighting/boxing was illegal, but athletic clubs - like Sharkey's - did good business, despite being against the law. The boxers resemble great big horses, poised and graceful, beautifully muscular, full of potential energy; there's something almost classically-sculptured about them, with their pyramidal compositions. Incidentally, a "stag" is also another term for a prizefight. Note too the rabid, bloodthirsty fans. Bellow, who many critics think is in the paintings (the bald man to the right of the referee's right leg) had a studio nearby Sharkey's.
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