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Boogie Nights, written and directed by Paul Thomas Anderson, is itself a size freak; the movie is in love with bigness. It spends 2 hrs. and 32 min. spanning eight years in the lives of a dozen or so denizens of the porn biz. Loosely based on the life of John C. Holmes, porn's biggest male star, Boogie Nights has panoramic ambitions: a tapestry-style narrative, labyrinthine tracking shots, explosions of random, firecracker violence. Nashville meets GoodFellas meets Pulp Friction. The film doesn't quite get there, but it packs a wad of compelling entertainment on its road...
This is no porn-biz expose. It shows no women lured into fornicating on film; it doesn't finger the Mafia as a crucial investor. When Eddie inevitably splits with Jack, he has nowhere to go; Jack is apparently the only director in pornland. Nor is there much eroticism; indeed, except for the film's final shot, where we get to see Eddie's penis (granted, a nifty prosthetic effect), Boogie Nights has little nudity--it's a sex film that stints on the sex. And Holmes, who died of AIDS in 1988, had a life far more bizarre...
Three years in the making! At a cost of $2.7 billion! From three of the most powerful men in show biz! Ladies and gents, DreamWorks SKG proudly presents: The Peacemaker...
...photographers blame their European counterparts for upping the ante. "They are ruthless," says Scott Downie, the owner of Celebrity Photo, an agency that covers official show-biz events. "Those who came here in the '80s laughed at us as babies: 'You don't know how to get a good photo. We're here to get them in a private moment, not in diamonds at an event.'" Yet every paparazzo is familiar with the pressures. "It's a collective hysteria," says Mark Saunders, who has covered Diana for the past five years. "It's the adrenaline flowing and that desperate need...
...when he was 23), but was eager to do what he always loved--talk about TV. Walking into the bar of the Four Seasons Hotel, he looked gaunt and thin, a baseball cap covering his bald head. It took real guts to show up at this sybaritic show-biz haunt so boldly announcing his illness. But for Tartikoff, it was a statement. Not of some corny TV-movie sentiment (How brave!) but just about the proportion of things. These folks were busy making deals, doing business, being seen. He was living a life...