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...Will Be Blood; and, in Boston, Frank Langella won the prize for playing an aged novelist in Starting Out in the Evening. Three groups selected Julie Christie as best actress - she's an Alzheimer's patient in the Canadian film Away From Her - and two liked Marion Cotillard as Edith Piaf in La Vie en rose...
France does have composers and conductors of international repute, but no equivalents of such 20th century giants as Debussy, Satie, Ravel and Milhaud. In popular music, French chanteurs and chanteuses such as Charles Trenet, Charles Aznavour and Edith Piaf were once heard the world over. Today, Americans and Brits dominate the pop scene. Though the French music industry sold $1.7 billion worth of recordings and downloads last year, few performers are famous outside the country. Quick: name a French pop star who isn't Johnny Hallyday...
This temptation to obsession is the new frontier of behavioral science. Where and how we use our devices define our species and sensibility. A whole new school of Edith Wharton etiquette arises. It's O.K. for your boss to check his BlackBerry at lunch, because he's a Very Important Person, but God help you if you get caught even glancing down when yours pings. When college students meet for coffee, their cell phones are out on the table, windows facing up. Among the most e-mailed stories in the New York Times a couple of weeks back...
...valuable to keep track of the fashion trends at other universities—doing so makes us aware of how woefully behind we are on all sartorial issues.It wasn’t very hard to find a party at Brown. Unlike at Harvard, where hunting for a party involves Edith Wharton-esque social climbing and tolerance of complete female subjugation, parties at Brown seem readily available and devoid of humiliating questioning about one’s pedigree.I found a party in a dilapidated Victorian building where obscure rap was blaring from every available window. A bunch of kids were assembled...
...backpackers and still-drunk Brazilians, I doddered down to the lobby for a complimentary breakfast and a second rude awakening. My illusions of Paris were quickly shattered during that meal: not only by the stale croissant, but by the horrors of MTV France.I had arrived in the patrie of Edith Piaf, Serge Gainsbourg, and Daft Punk—and in the summer of Justice, no less, the Parisian duo whose “D.A.N.C.E.” was omnipresent in America at the time of my departure. This was the land of baguettes and Bizet, and I, a professed Francophile...