Word: sergio
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...some businesses have not fared as well as others. "Life's a Grind," run by Sergio Torres, is not only the stand's name, but seems to sum up the feelings of the merchant as well...
...feel, is a moviemaker, a popular artist with an infectious joy in his craft. What Raimi calls Woo's "supercharged adrenaline" -- the reckless intelligence he applies to solving the most familiar action scenes -- is evident in each precise, superpotent frame. He could be a cleaner, leaner Sam Peckinpah, or Sergio Leone: the next generation. And in his best work, Woo is a critic and elegist of movie manhood. His Vietnam film, the amazing A Bullet in the Head, is an atrocity picture with a conscience -- an unflinching Asian view of the politics of testosterone, of the crimes all races...
...Angeles karaoke parlor where a Japanese man is crooning Cole Porter's Don't Fence Me In. It's a weird image of cross-cultural confusion, but that's not the half of it. The video carrying the sing-along words is a Japanese version of Sergio Leone's first spaghetti western, A Fistful of Dollars, which was, in turn, a knockoff of Akira Kurosawa's Yojimbo, a samurai epic...
...magazine's August issue contains a brief but gushing piece on director John Woo written by David Chute. Chute just happens to have been the unit publicist for Woo's forthcoming action film, Hard Target. In his story Chute quotes people who compare Woo to Sergio Leone, Michelangelo and Martin Scorsese. Although Woo is considered by many critics to be a talented filmmaker, the author's link to the movie isn't brought up in the piece. Chute claims that he - mentioned his professional connection to Woo in the story he turned in, but that an editor deleted...
Clint Eastwood has always been an old man. Even in the '60s, as the gunslinger in Sergio Leone westerns, Eastwood had the squinty eyes, sour mouth and weary walk of a soldier who had been in too many wars. The six-day stubble hid countless psychic scars; the cigar butt stuck between his teeth suggested a world gone up in smoke; the poncho he wore could have been a shroud. As Dirty Harry and a passel of creepy cowboys, Eastwood carried himself with the slow, wily grace of the living dead. Idealism had been blasted out of him -- only...