I saw Ray last night.
I wanted to see a least one movie other than Sideways before the Oscars. Being that the flick’s already out on DVD, there’s only one theater in Manhattan still playing it; the one in the sub-sub-basement of the Virgin Megastore in Times Square. How surreal, to exit from the hushed cavern of a movie theater into the bustle of shoppers, and then the bright lights and noise of Times Square.
There was a lot of stuff I liked about the movie. The old records, of course. The raw data of the biography stuff. Lip-synching puts me off in general; being a recovering addict, I always become unnecessarily consumed with the minutiae of the portrayal of addiction.
(Late at night, channel-surfing, I’m always looking for drug tales. My friend Wayne says, “Joe Montana’s retired, but what do you think is on his mind every day?”)
Pat Dillett, who produced Rockity Roll and “Move On,” took me to see Ray Charles a couple years ago. His wife works at the Natural History Museum; Ray Charles was playing a brief set at a benefit.
I was never a devot