Claire Hamill: October (Island Records)

Claire Hamill was a direct contemporary and label-mate of the late, but increasingly mythical, Nick Drake. Her second solo outing, October, proved her the mistress of tender bedsitter missives that still can haunt the heart. Fans of confessional songwriting should value and explore this neglected selection of artistry and craft that has stood the test of many passing seasons.

In the landscape of Hollywood comedy, there are basically two Adam Sandlers. The more recognizable one is the winsome, moronic, little boy in a man's body who always get the girl, the money, and the love of the populace by the end of the film (e.g. Billy Madison; The Waterboy). The other is the petulant, moronic, perpetually horny, teenaged boy in a man's body who always gets the girl, the money, and the love of the populace by the end of the film (e.g. You Don't Mess with Zohan; I Now Pronounce You Chuck & Larry).

Sandler, like Jim Carrey in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, has tried to expand his repertoire, brilliantly so in Paul Thomas Anderson's Punch-Drunk Love, but his core audience of halfwits, priapic adolescents, and Jewish pot smokers who rightfully adore his "Chanukah Song" have not embraced his more cerebral efforts.

A: When she can act like Estelle Parsons. If you haven’t seen Estelle Parsons in August: Osage County, you are cheating yourself out of the opportunity to see what makes theater the best forum for actors to truly unfold the wings of their craft and fly. Parsons isn’t acting the part of Violet Weston, she is Violet Weston, and seeing her make it look so easy and effortless is to watch someone defy gravity before your very eyes.

I recently revisited August to see how it was holding up in its new venue with its new cast members, particularly Parsons, and was thrilled to see that it has retained the same fire that it had over a year ago.

England is viewed by the wider world as a nation of eccentrics. This is considered a genetic characteristic, and something to be celebrated. Like most assumptions, the truth lies somewhat wide of the remark. Quentin Crisp, one such “National Treasure,” is now rightly revered as one, but his journey from pariah nuisance to that of sage-like venerability was a long and winding affair. He migrated to New York, remaining vital till the end, an amalgam of defiance and disappointment worn as wit.

Some considered him a latter-day Oscar Wilde, a comparison he didn't much value, remarking that he'd known many who'd been sent to prison for crimes of the flesh like Wilde's, without being broken or penning such bad verse.

Every so often I'll get an email with a link to a video that I feel compelled to share with friends, business colleagues, and even mutual critics.

The video below was forwarded to me by our writer Ian Alterman a few weeks ago. It is one of those brilliant moments that can slap a smile on any cynic's face. And it got me thinking about the true power of music and how sharing it can be a grand and wonderful thing. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

Happy Holidays from me, Richard, and the Culture Catch Crew!

Jennifer O’Connor: Here with Me (Matador)

There are thousands of whiny emokids complaining -- or perhaps boasting -- in song about how they can’t find love because nobody understands them, nobody feels their pain, nobody even feels pain as intensely as they do. They don’t know shit about pain. They should all be locked in their rooms and made to listen to Jennifer O’Connor; it should be decreed that their creative efforts will not be issued until they pack at least a tenth of the power of O’Connor’s stoic songs. O’Connor is our great poet of loss, and next to her all-enveloping, richly textured music and profoundly moving lyrics, their shallow songs are as but the buzzing of small, annoying insects.

The Smiths: The Sound of the Smiths (Deluxe Edition) (Warner Bros.)

Had Morrissey taken a vow of silence, and Marr left his guitar in a battered, stickered case, the legacy of the Smiths would stand secure. The Lennon and McCartney of indie rock created an almost divine catalog of songs, a soundtrack for the lives of others, a perfect collision of hope and sorrow. This timely compilation acts as a perfect reminder of the glories flown, and will likely convert certain stragglers from among the uninitiated. The Smiths already are a generation distant.

It would certainly be nice to be able to say Bryan Singer's take on the July 20, 1944, assassination attempt on Die Führer is eye-popping excitement. It certainly would. But even with the glass orb the film's star, Tom Cruise, keeps installing and then detaching from his socket, the most I can rev up is eye-popping dreariness.

The main problem here is that everyone knows the ending before the film begins. Hitler survives the hit job only to commit suicide during the final hours of World War II. So how do you make the actions of Colonel Claus von Stauffenberg (Cruise) and his buddies gripping?

Fame has never been a reliable mistress. It drives many to the point of destruction in their quest to achieve it, is sometimes bestowed on those who do not wish for nor deserve it, and may arrive long after death if it bothers to show at all. Forty years after his death at the age of 59, and nearly a century since his birth, the English comedian Freddie Frinton epitomizes fame as an after-thought in the after-life. That it rests on eleven flickering minutes of black and white footage, undercuts Warhol's fifteen minutes of the stuff by four. Those eleven minutes are called Dinner for One.

The new play Prayer for My Enemy, now playing off-Broadway at Playwrights Horizon, involves some distinguished theater people. It is written by Craig Lucas, author of Prelude to a Kiss, among many other plays, and also librettist for the musical The Light in the Piazza. It is directed by Bartlett Sher, who won a Tony for his exceptional work in the current revival of South Pacific and also received considerable praise for his direction of Piazza as well as the revival of Odets’s Awake and Sing. And the play stars Tony winners Victoria Clark (Piazza) and Michelle Pawk, as well as Tony nominee Jonathan Groff, who burst onto the scene with his fine performance as Melchior in the Tony-winning musical Spring Awakening. But it takes more than the pedigree of the creators to make for a totally successful and satisfying theater work, and Prayer for My Enemy doesn’t completely work.

The world of BIG time wrestling is an enigmatic creature, part circus, part serious athletic prowess. A trainwreck waiting to happen. It places muscled freaks on display to satisfy the primal urges of their adorning fans, no less a spectacle than preening and prancing rock and rollers adoring stadium stages all over the land. Instead of windmill arm swings and high kicks, we get elbow smashes and body slams. It is this world that Mickey Rourke so convincingly inhabits in director Darren Aronofsky's riveting and raw feature The Wrestler that he has already been shortlisted for many year-end acting awards. To watch this hulking actor -- he put on 30 pounds of muscle and performed all of his wrestling moves and stunts -- is a truly exhilarating ride.

He plays the lonely Randy "The Ram" Robinson, a former '80s star champion whose time is just about up as he looks for glory in the ring one last time.

Installation at MoMA: “Pipilotti Rist: Pour Your Body Out (7354 Cubic meters)”

MoMA’s Marron Atrium, which soars 110 feet above street level, has been designated a temporary installation space since the museum’s renovations in 2004. Multimedia Swiss artist Pipilotti Rist was given the monumental task of creating an installation in this vast and multi-storied space and has succeeded in building a lovely, relaxing, and surreal environment.

Hollywood Pinups
by Timothy White (Collins Design)

Some of my most profound pubescent mam... er, memories were the sensual and voluptuous pulp illustrations by Alberto Vargas. His luscious renderings were fuel for any red-blooded male. New York photographer Timothy White created this photo book as a continued exploration of his 1994 commissioned homage for the 50th Anniversary of the Esquire Magazine's Varga Girl pinup.