Via Joe Posnanski, we wend our way to an interview at The Big Lead with our VF colleague Buzz Bissinger,* in which he explains his intemperate outburst on Bob Costas’ HBO show against hunchbacked bloggers who need their mouths and…
Jonathan Schwarz at A Tiny Revolution takes note of how even liberal-minded bright lights cast aspersions on pacifism and its inhibiting sway, conflating it with non-interventionism. After quoting from Matt Yglesias’s new book Heads in the Sand–”In a world where…
What a week it is going to be. Drama, laughter, excitement, the flash of yellow in high leaves. I’m especially happy to be back in the whip of action after another lost weekend. No, not food poisoning this time. For…
I was riding the Conde Nast elevator, letting my gracious side show to everyone boarding that particular car, when my Vanity Fair colleague Buzz Bissinger popped in. We nodded at each other in that low-key way that journalistic veterans do…
While most of the world’s lurid, solicitous attention was directed at the arch of Miley Cyrus’s exposed back, I found myself more intrigued by the shot of her cradled against her hairswept dude of a dad, country singer Billy Ray…
Self-Styled Siren rises to the defense of the art of melodrama, which has gotten a bum rap from shrunken-lobe’d literalists and would-be smarties. The ignorance, flippancy, faddishness, favoritism, and absence of social-historical dimension in so much of film criticism today…
Exclusively online at New York Sun is Joel Lobenthal’s ribboned wrapup of the Kirov’s season ender at City Center, where the company went out with a triumphant whinny with its Balanchine program: In the final “Ballet Imperial,” Alina Somova replaced…
Shorter New York Times editorial: Hillary Clinton’s ruthless insistence on winning big-state primaries with traditional Democratic voters only hastens and strengthens the case that she drop out of the race and let Barack Obama finish his waffle. P.S. Big Tent…
On a day in which we learn the plumbing depth of the pit of disapproval President Bush has dug himself, Dennis Perrin takes note of the lackey deference still being paid to this unpopular incompetent from the studio audience of…
Here, in its entirety, is John McCarten’s unstifled yawn of a film review, published in The New Yorker, January 10, 1948: “Daisy Kenyon offers us Joan Crawford, who can?t decide whether she loves Dana Andrews or Henry Fonda. I don?t…
