Archives for posts with tag: Jeff Daniels

A feral Winona Ryder tries to look pretty in pink in “Welcome Home Roxy Carmichael” (1990), an off-brand attempt at Hughesian teen romance. A small Midwestern town is abuzz that a now-famous former denizen is returning for a celebration. Once a quirky teen, Roxy becomes a beacon to Winona, the current high school outcast. Between setup and payoff, however, there are multiple cringey subplots involving a selfish mom, Roxy’s former boyfriend (who should be diagnosed with PTSD), a guidance counselor burning the inappropriate relationship candle at both ends, and petty townies who simultaneously build Roxy up and tear her down.

“The Butcher’s Wife” is a 1991 movie starring several women I fancy (Demi Moore, Mary Steenburgen, Frances McDormand, Margaret Colin), and Jeff Daniels, who a lot of women favor, at least when they’re not getting him confused with Bill Pullman. George Dzundza is in it, too (I just wanted to say Dzundza). It’s a chick flick (crossed signals, unrequited love, happy ending, blah blah blah). A barefoot Demi Moore is supposed to be a clairvoyant from North Carolina, spouting cornpone wisdom in a terrible accent. It mostly takes place in New York (the movie, not her accent). Dzundza, Dzundza, Dzundza.

It would be easy for a journalist to be jealous of a novelist. Journalists must adhere to the facts, while novelists can manipulate the facts to suit the narrative. (Don’t start with your opinions about the news media. That’s a conversation for another time.) But while journalists can report the facts and consider it truth, novelists must adhere to an abstract concept of artistic truth that is much, much harder to execute. So to speak. Which explains “Infamous” (2006), the story of “In Cold Blood” and the mentally tortuous route through the gallows that Truman Capote took in creating it.