It’s possible that John Turturro was born to play a dirty old man. The actor, one of my lifelong favorites, has a lurid, suggestive smile, curt at the edges, and eyes that shine with hidden information. He often seems to be holding back a disastrous secret, the kind that ruins families and topples friendships, and also often seems just about to spill the beans. In his affect, there’s a tinge of nihilistic fun: Let’s just forge ahead and see what happens!
Turturro, now sixty-six, is the same slim and restless New York City sidewalk denizen he’s always been, but with a softened posture and a gentle white froth bubbling through the waves of his hair. The mischief ’s still there, but alongside it, darkening its colors, is the shadow of experience. It makes some sense, then, that Turturro would play Mickey Sabbath, the horny comic hero—wanting to fuck, wanting to die, weighing those desires on an ever-shifting existential scale—of Philip Roth’s novel “Sabbath’s Theater.” Turturro collaborated with Ariel Levy (a staff writer for this magazine) on an adaptation of Roth’s book for the stage, now up at Pershing Square Signature Center, produced by the New Group and directed by Jo Bonney.
Bu hikaye The New Yorker dergisinin November 13, 2023 sayısından alınmıştır.
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Bu hikaye The New Yorker dergisinin November 13, 2023 sayısından alınmıştır.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
Already a subscriber? Giriş Yap
THE ST. ALWYNN GIRLS AT SEA SHEILA HETI
There was a general sadness that day on the ship. Dani was walking listlessly from cabin to cabin, delivering little paper flyers announcing the talent show at the end of the month. She had made them the previous week; then had come news that the boys' ship would not be attending. It almost wasn't worth handing out flyers at all—almost as if the show had been cancelled. The boys' ship had changed course; it was now going to be near Gibraltar on the night of the performance—nowhere near where their ship would be, in the middle of the North Atlantic sea. Every girl in school had already heard Dani sing and knew that her voice was strong and good. The important thing was for Sebastien to know. Now Sebastien would never know, and it might be months before she would see him again—if she ever would see him again. All she had to look forward to now were his letters, and they were only delivered once a week, and no matter how closely Dani examined them, she could never have perfect confidence that he loved her, because of all his mentions of a girlfriend back home.
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Fame is fickle, and no one knows this better than millennials. Once, they were everywhere—in television laugh tracks for “The Big Bang Theory,” in breathless think pieces about social-media narcissism, and acting the fool in 360p YouTube comedy videos. Then—poof! Gone like yesterday’s avocado toast.
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INTIMATE PROJECTS DEPT. THE GOLDFISH BOWL
There are roughly eight hundred galleries that hold the permanent collection of the Met, and as of a recent Tuesday morning the married writers Dan and Becky Okrent had examined every piece in all but two.