It was difficult to watch "Before the Devil Knows You're Dead." Mainly because I have either known or met the two principal actors. Phllip Seymour Hoffman was part of an off-Broadway show called "Shopping and Fucking," in which he performed with Justin Theroux, son of my late mother's best friend.
Ethan Hawke, later in "The Devil Knows You're Dead," would come around the ice cream store I helped tend in downtown Princeton. My co-worker was a fake-blond haired English tart. Quite attractive if you're into the slutty look (I was).
Ethan, in his Hun School blazer and pulled-down tie, would talk about how he wanted to come in sometime and see me boning the tart right over the ice cream counters (he was 15 at the time, I was 20). No such luck.
Nobody at the time could be considered a star. I shook Hoffman's hand quick and emotionless at Marion's across the street. I had no idea who he was.
I was watching the play with Justin's sister, who was beautiful but married. I sweated whenever she was around and alone and by her married-self because, like George Costanza, I didn't want to be an accessory to adultery. It probably was just my overactive mind.
It all worked all in the end, it seems. Justin became a big star, as did Hawke, and Seymour Hoffman; and Ms. Theroux moved to Carmel, CA.
Just keeping score.
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2 comments:
You buried the lede. Marisa Tomei's breasts! Also, not a good movie really.
I don't really know what the critics were all crowing about when the film was released.
I did note, however, that doggy-style had become accepted in R-rated movies now; I suppose because you can't see actual penetration.
Billy-Bob Thornton last movie (I think) showed him plowing Halle Berry in the same way.
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