Land of the Lost
Land of the Lost
Arguably the most genius master plan of our generation has finally come to grand, green, sixteen-foot-tall fruition: Christopher Walken Rex is finally alive.
Last April, Lower East Side teenager Ethan Cyr created an Indiegogo page to finance his ultimate art project: Christopher Walken Rex, “a roughly thirteen foot tall tyrannosaurus Read More
Ethan Cyr has a dream. That dream is to build a 13-foot T-Rex with Christopher Walken’s head on it. And thanks to the Internet, his dream is going to come true.
Yesterday, Humans of New York received an email from the most awesome child in the world and posted it on Facebook.
It read: “I am a sixteen year old from the lower east side of Manhattan. I am building a 13 foot T Rex with Christopher Walkens head and I was wondering if you would be willing to help
Big Apple Idolatry
In A Late Quartet, a somber, moody and uneven film about chamber music and the dedicated professional musicians who devote their lives to playing it, Christopher Walken takes some getting used to as a renowned cellist with Parkinson’s disease who is forced begrudgingly to end his career as leader of one of the world’s most celebrated string quartets. A far cry from the lurid and sloppy addicts, psychopaths and serial killers he usually plays as though walking in his sleep, it’s not the kind of role I would personally think of as perfect casting for him. Also, the movie is too slow, highbrow and sophisticated to draw the youth market that loves to see Mr. Walken play violent and stoned in trash like Seven Psychopaths. But playing the cello is such a pleasant change of pace that he eventually grows on you, scene by scene, proving for the first time since his role as Leonardo DiCaprio’s troubled father 10 years ago in Catch Me If You Can, that he really can act. He—along with the rest of the elegant cast—keeps A Late Quartet in tune when it threatens to go flat.
– Just in time for the vice presidential debates, here’s Paul Ryan looking like Zach Morris’s stand-in during a TIME Magazine photo shoot that teased him by saying it was considering naming him its man of the year. Yeah, right!
Garbage comes in all sizes, and every one of them seems to fit into a load of violent, hateful and incomprehensible trash called Seven Psychopaths. Written by talented Irish playwright Martin McDonagh, who shocked Broadway audiences with dark, funny, gothic creepshows like The Beauty Queen of Leenane, The Cripple of Inishmaan and A Behanding in Spokane,this movie is proof that moving to Hollywood is poisonous Kool-Aid to the creative process. Kneeling at the trough of Hollywood pop psychobabble that has come to symbolize the New Cinema, Mr. McDonagh seems to have taken leave (temporarily, I hope) of his senses. He proved in 2008, with a brooding job called In Bruges, about hit men on holiday in Belgium, that he cannot stretch his bristling ideas into one full-length feature. Unfortunately, he also thinks he’s a director—a job for which he shows no patience, aptitude or proficiency. The result is a twitching convulsion of vicious drivel passing itself off as a movie, which can be best appreciated by the kind of people who dig Showgirls, the Saw franchise and Spike Jonze-Charlie Kaufman flicks.
For starters, the title means nothing.
“We have a Shakespearean, Elizabethean temper,” Al Pacino informed a seated crowd Monday evening in Central Park. As part of its 50th Anniversary Gala, the Public Theater was honoring Mr. Pacino with an award, in the form of a prop rapier he had once wielded on stage, “I’m a little nervous,” he laughed. “I wish I had water, but I have a sword,”
Todd Solondz is the sort of director beloved by fresh-faced film students when they first arrive at school—his films are superficially interesting for their shock value and their disconnect from reality coexisting with an insistence that this is how life really is. Once deep into the syllabus, though, the burgeoning filmmakers learn that these spectacles Read More
As a rule, guests at New York parties do not usually eat hors-d’oeuvres; trays waft back under people’s noses and no one ever touches a bite. But guests at the Vanity Fair party for the TriBeCa Film Festival on Thursday night broke their own rules and couldn’t seem to get enough of Michelin-starred chief Thomas Read More
“What? How do I introduce? Do I say something?” — Christopher Walken, whispering to someone as he comes back from a break. He is actually doing an excellent job subbing in for Leonard Lopate on WNYC right now. Read More
When the Rain Stops Falling, the intriguing, confusing and ultimately moving new play by Andrew Bovell that opened at Lincoln Center’s Mitzi E. Newhouse Theater Monday night, opens with a fish falling from the sky during a torrential downpour. The rain continues for the duration of the often-inscrutable play, and all of the characters either Read More