Denzel Washington

Ed Zwick attended Harvard, then he worked for Woody Allen on the set of "Love and Death." At this time, Allen was drafting the screenplay for "Annie Hall"; Zwick read one version, and he admired the skill with which Allen had transformed his own rocky Diane Keaton years into a work of fiction, something that could reach people all over the world.

Shortly thereafter, Zwick lost his mother in a car accident, proposed marriage to a feisty screenwriter, became a dad, and almost torpedoed his own little nuclear family (and then staged yet more "near-miss" moments, again and again). The insanity of this phase became the raw material for "Thirtysomething." Zwick soon took a risk with something more ambitious--"Glory"--which helped Denzel Washington to earn his first Oscar, and which allowed Zwick to start a substantial career in films.

Zwick is a captivating narrator. He rakes himself over the coals--especially while describing his marriage. At one point, Zwick followed a young Julia Roberts to Europe, to try to persuade her to stick with "Shakespeare in Love." Zwick's wife listened, on the phone, and said, "I'm sorry you're having a hard time with a beautiful twenty-year-old movie star. Both of our kids have ear infections."

Zwick's curiosity about human behavior is infectious. For example, he understands that you should never give a "line reading" to an actor; the thing the actor then delivers to you will not be the thing that you want. If you're eager for Tom Cruise to be emotional in a scene with a child, then you seat yourself with Cruise and casually encourage him to speak about his own son, for fifteen minutes. Zwick also knows it's always a bad idea to praise a specific gesture, in a scene--because the actor will then become self-conscious, and will find that he can't replicate the gesture. Instead, the thing to say is: "You look great in that coat."

Zwick is sad to report that his kind of film is no longer a matter of interest among Hollywood executives. Zwick made movies about adults talking to other adults; the main topics were adult topics. It's hard to see mainstream examples of this kind of work, in 2024; you have to give up the cinema for the TV screen, and then you're not going to get the same visuals, and it's possible you won't see the same mega-stars. Zwick misses the romance of big, smart movies; he is obsessed with movie stars, and specifically the way that they can convey a sense of a fascinating, mysterious inner life (even if what they're doing is making an illusion). Zwick also has limited patience for CGI--because he feels it detaches you from the emotional undercurrents, in a movie.

Reading Zwick, I also visited Amazon to rent "Courage Under Fire," which is a courtroom movie disguised as a war movie. It's not generally listed among Denzel Washington's iconic films--but that's just because Washington is who he is (and his career is crowded with heavyweight movies). It's interesting to see the various professional battles in DC, but what I really loved was the depiction of marriage--i.e. Washington's scenes with Regina Taylor. There is an important moment with a child's overturned bike--in a front yard. It lasts for under a minute, and it gives me goosebumps. It's not something you'd see in a Marvel movie.

It's silly to complain that "they don't make 'em like they used to." The Marvel era will end, and something better will begin. But Zwick's book makes me wish that I was living in the nineties. Eventually, I might try "Blood Diamond."

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

The Death of Bergoglio

It's frustrating for me to hear Bergoglio described as "the less awful pope"--because awful is still awful. I think I get fixated on ideas of purity, which can be juvenile, but putting that aside, here are some things that Bergoglio could have done and did not. (I'm quoting from a survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of the Church.) He could levy the harshest penalty, excommunication, against a dozen or more of the most egregious abuse enabling church officials. (He's done this to no enablers, or predators for that matter.) He could insist that every diocese and religious order turn over every record they have about suspected and known abusers to law enforcement. Francis could order every prelate on the planet to post on his diocesan website the names of every proven, admitted and credibly accused child molesting cleric. (Imagine how much safer children would be if police, prosecutors, parents and the public knew the identities of these potentially dangerous me...

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic. She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...

Liars and Saints

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