#over sixty

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Wearing Rose-Colored Glasses Makes the Raindrops Pink! - © Xanda O’Peagrim

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White-Out! - © Xanda O’Peagrim

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Autumn Blues - © Xanda O’Peagrim

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October Style - © Xanda O’Peagrim

[kevrocksicehouse]

Paul Newman did some of his best work when he was over 60. A few other actors who made (and are still making) the most of their back end:

Jack Lemmon in Glengarry Glen Ross. D: James Foley (1992). Lemmon was 67 and moved like he’d been 67 all of his life as a shady real-estate salesman who in one day faces a lifetime of failure.

Tommy Lee Jones in No Country for Old Men. D: Joel and Ethan Coen (2007). The 62-year-old Jones plays a detective investigating an incredibly violent case involving drug money and pitiless cartel hitmen, a case he will not solve and will barely survive. He will retire for being “overmatched” proving the film’s title. 

Clint Eastwood in Gran Torino. D: Clint Eastwood. (2008). At 78, Eastwood directed and starred in this story about a bitter and bigoted Korean War Vet who befriends a young Southeast Asian boy who a gang pressures into stealing Eastwood’s titular car. He also protects him from gang vengeance in a way you wouldn’t expect in a Clint Eastwood movie. By the films end we realize he has learned something.

Jean-Louis Trintignant in Amour. D: Michael Haneke (2012). In this harrowing look at an old man’s nightmare the 82-year-old French actor has to watch his wife’s decline and death following a stroke. As he becomes her caretaker and her deliverer, he will demonstrate, in full, the film’s title.

Robert De Niro in The Irishman. D: Martin Scorcese (2019). The 76-year old actor plays a hitman whose most notorious job was against his best friend and whose family is estranged from him. He tells his long story then sits quietly alone, afraid of his shadows.

[mdmuradhossain-blog]

(via When the Age Over Sixty | Men and Women)

[overthehillandthruthewoods--blog]

How to find John Wayne Airport and other tales of Sao Paulo

Our friend, Matt, who graciously agreed to drive us to Orange County's John Wayne, had just pulled into the exit lane for the airport when my husband, Wes yelled, “No, that’s the wrong way” .  Matt responded by veering back into traffic at near loss of life and limb. "It’s not MacArthur, it’s Jamboree Rd.”, snapped Wes.  Twenty minutes later we were still driving around Santa Ana, with no clue as to where John Wayne Airport had hidden itself.  My cell phone with map app was in the trunk of the car, but I couldn’t get Wes and Matt to stop because they were politely disagreeing about which way to turn and ignoring my pleas from the back seat.   Finally I told Wes I would get out and walk to the airport if he didn’t stop and let me get the map out. Of course we were just two blocks away, but I don’t think we would have ever found it without the map.  As always the trip to the airport set the tone for our trip. This was no exception.

The flight was long.  The taxi ride from the airport felt longer.  It took us an hour to go nine miles.  There are twenty million people in Sao Paulo, and close to that many cars, and enough smog to last a lifetime.  The taxi ride was $70 to get to our modestly priced hotel.  At the hotel we learned the guided tour of downtown--there is only one tour company in this town of 20 million--, which my guidebook says, is a pretty shabby downtown, would cost $200 for the two of us, so we decided we were going to have to manage ourselves on public transport and by foot.  Actually "I" was going to have to manage "ourselves".  Wes broke his glasses before we left Pasadena, so he can’t see anything, and he doesn’t hear as well as he used to.  Coupled with the fact that no one, and I mean no one, in this city seems to speak English, I began to wonder if this whole trip was a good idea.  English is compulsory in Brazilian schools, but they must have as much luck teaching foreign language as we Americans do.  Wes kept telling me to try Spanish, and I did, with varying degrees of success.  Those who said they spoke Spanish understood me fine, but would answer in Portuguese, so we were back to square one.  So between the two of us we couldn’t hear, see or speak.

I watched the news this afternoon and tonight trying to learn a la Rosetta stone as much basic Portuguese as I could.  What I didn’t learn was much Portuguese.  What I did learn is that there are un-traffic reports every ten minutes.  Rather than reporting bad spots, on the highways, the reporters are eager to show you a street that isn't bumper to bumper. They never succeed of course, since every street and freeway in this city is a parking lot from sun up until midnight. 

So tomorrow it's the metro or bust!!