Here a colloquial word that speaks visually to its French roots, from Joshua Rothkopf’s review of Revolutionary Road, in the December 18–31 issue of Time Out New York. I appreciate how seldom the reviewers award a film six stars.
“The movie is occasionally prestigey (it’s time to put composer Thomas Newton out to pasture), but no film featuring Bug’s ferocious Michael Shannon, as a neighbor’s mentally disturbed son who has weird insights, could be confused for mere Oscar fare.”
I am going to see the movie regardless.
Of Richard Yates’ books, Easter Parade is the bleakest, although the ending of Revolutionary Road is searing. Often I play over a part to myself, when Emily (now dating Michael Hogan) is reading the Times Book Review and stops at a photograph of Jack Flanders amid reviews of the work of various poets. Michael peers over her shoulder.
“What’s the deal?” he asked her.
“Nothing; just something here about a man I used to know.”
“Yeah? Which one?”
There were four photographs on the page, she could have easily have pointed to one of the others—even Krueger—and Michael Hogan would never know, or care, but she felt a stirring of old loyalty. “Him,” she said, touching her forefinger to Jack’s face.
“Looks like he just lost his last friend,” Michael Hogan said.