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This evening we had dinner at Enzo’s on Prospect Park West, which was the third choice after The Double Windsor had no place to sit–we forgot about the Super Bowl playing at bars on TV–and then Brunswick, which seemed closed even though we walked in and stood in the entryway for a moment and no one was there, sitting or working.  So Enzo’s it was.  Broccoli rabe and sausage pizza, plus chicken with spinach and cheese, and that “side of pasta” which seems like such a holdover from some other time, does anyone do that anymore?  Enzo’s does.  The pinot grigio was welcome, and they pour heartily.

Then we saw Hail Caesar at the Pavilion, which was super boring, punctuated by small, brief, charming moments of light and joy.  I never thought I would say this, but I kept thinking that Woody Allen would have made a better movie of this script, or even Wes Anderson, and absolutely hate Wes Anderson.  It’s not THAT terrible, but well maybe it is.  It feels like an exercise–it’s not smart enough to be a great movie, and it’s not stylish or exaggerated enough to be memorable.  Frances McDormand is the best five minutes in it.  Naturally.

Now people are texting me to say that the Halftime Show is lame.



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