Michael Cera has gotten a lot of attention for his growth as an actor. But his adaptation of a Jewish short story shows that his real strength is directing.
‘Princesses: Long Island’ is a much sadder, darker show than Eitan Kensky ever thought it would be. But he says ‘Inside Amy Schumer’ is the most inventive sketch show on TV.
The opening scene of ‘Blazing Saddles’ says it all about Mel Brooks’ serious comic genius.
‘Mad Men’ can be superficial and awkward when it tries to deal with historical events. It’s better when characters explode with the angry desire to live lives that matter.
There’s something very strange about Joan River’s Internet talk show, ‘In Bed with Joan.’ Maybe it’s odd that it exists at all. Or it could just be the wallpaper and duvet.
Eitan Kensky learned a thing or two about anxiety by watching the season finale of ‘Girls.’ You’re never quite sure if it’s a gift or a curse.
Billy Eichner is tall, gay, Jewish, and from Queens, with a disappearing hairline. All of these qualities help fuel his viral brand of comedy.
It’s not giving anything away to say that Lifetime’s new movie “Twist of Faith” ends with its mismatched romantic leads back together, embracing on the threshold of her home. Nor does it reveal anything to note that Music and the Power of Song connect Toni Braxton’s Black Gospel singer with David Julian Hirsh’s doubting, erstwhile cantor. And it certainly doesn’t spoil the movie to mention that “Twist of Faith,” which Lifetime calls an “interfaith love story,” begins with the horrific murder of the cantor’s wife and children on an ordinary bus, on an ordinary day, in an indeterminate part of Orthodox New York. This is a Lifetime movie: love conquers all and violence expresses the persistent vulnerability of women. None of this makes watching “Twist of Faith” any less surreal.
Philip Roth says he’s retiring. He may mean it for now, but he’ll go home to the Berkshires and close the door. And start writing again.
Every frame in Rachel Loube’s “Every Tuesday: A Portrait of the New Yorker Cartoonists,” now screening at the Boston Jewish Film Festival, together with “The Art of Spiegelman,” threatens to dissolve into cliché. There is the premise itself: Every Tuesday, New Yorker cartoonists, young and old, submit their work, and then go for lunch. It is a beautiful, invisible New York tradition, the kind that Gay Talese would have celebrated in luxurious prose, the kind that the media is intent on reminding us no longer exist. The restaurant is appropriately shabby. The food scenes are all set to jazz.