Category: The Unsung

When Howard Cosell died on April 23, 1995, at the age of 77, the famed cadence of the world’s most indelible broadcaster was forever silenced. More than that, though, America lost its purpose, its very raison d’etre.

In a nation of liars, he is a beacon of truth. In a city packed to the gills with self-deception, self-indulgence, and the defiantly untalented insisting on themselves at every opportunity, he is a refreshing, almost essential pitstop.

Few things in life excite me quite like a person out of time. Even better, a woman out of time. A dame of sass and unusual import; a broad who gives far better than she’s ever going to get

For about half the running time of 1958’s Lonelyhearts, I had Robert Ryan’s William Shrike shot, tagged, and bagged as a true Asshole of the Cinema.

When we first encounter Frances Amthor, she’s surrounded by a bevy of young beauties at a makeshift table. Whores, to be exact, but don’t let her hear you say that. Four or five working girls, by my count, and from all appearances, twice as many sandwiches.