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“When asked why it makes her emotional, Chastain said that she ‘was playing a character who was the embodiment of love, so every day was just filled with so much joy.’

‘I was meditating on expanding my heart space and living with an open heart,’ she says. ‘Of course it affects you and how you treat other people. I loved those little boys so much, and I loved Terry so much. Watching the movie and seeing Mrs. O’Brien running through the streets with those little boys, I remember how wonderful it was. I’m heartsick for it.'”

IndieWire

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Cinephilia & Beyond

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“One of the twentieth century’s greatest philosophers, Wittgenstein published only one book. To celebrate its centenary, we revisit Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus. An unusual work of philosophy by any standard, it was written on the front lines during World War I and purported to distinguish sense from nonsense. Wittgenstein felt that in the Tractatus he had solved all the problems of philosophy. Appropriately, once finished writing the book, he abandoned philosophy, only returning years later to focus on ordinary language and its philosophical potential. In this panel, we take a look back at the man, his early life and work, and consider why his thinking has been of such enduring interest.”

Listen to the complete recording over at theForum website.

In a recent piece for Literary Hub, writer Ben Dolnick talks about the shame he felt when he heard a book he enjoyed being described as “junk”:

“Until then I’d existed in a literary Eden: a book could be good or bad, dull or transfixing, but there was no way of predicting its quality other than to plop down on the couch and read it. Yes, I’d observed that some books—often the ones involving detectives and/or serial killers—had protagonists whose names had a certain extruded-plastic quality (Jake Brigance, Rob Reilly). And sure, I’d wondered why some novels included ten-page previews of others of the author’s books. But these had been curiosities, no more substantively telling than the font in which a book happened to have been printed. Now, though, I’d eaten from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Junk, and when I looked at a book whose back jacket consisted of nothing but an enormous author photo, I felt shame.”

You’ll be pleased to hear that Dolnick’s story has a happy ending.

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“He said he wanted no posthumous publications. But on Thursday, more than over 30 years after his death, Michel Foucault had a new book, Confessions of the Flesh, published in France by Gallimard.” — The New York Times