Ethan Hawke's Blaze of glory

Last night, my teenage daughter watched Dead Poets Society, the film that introduced the world to actor Ethan Hawke. I found her in a pool of her own tears at the end, as is to be expected. The night before, The Wife and I watched the Blaze Foley biopic Blaze, the film that introduced the world to director Ethan Hawke. Again, it left a woman in my life in a pool of tears. Plus ca change...

Speaking of women, Lizzie works the Lizzie Borden story into a pretty fine parable of feminine rage — first helpless, then harrowing. And speaking of tears, Love, Gilda does right by a woman taken from us too soon, says Mr. Marks. But alas, he rules that Michael Moore's latest docu-screed, Fahrenheit 11/9, does wrong by Mr. Trump(!) and millions of war dead by sticking the President's words in Hitler's mouth.

I know that he also saw The House with A Clock in its Walls — I refused, on the grounds that I loved the book as a kid and couldn't bear to see another Wrinkle in Time-style debacle. Perhaps the fact that he has yet to post a review tells you all you need to know. Perhaps not.

Lots of other stuff opened but remains, for the moment, unreviewed: Assassination Nation, Bel Canto, I Think We're Alone Now, Life Itself, and a few specialty releases.

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