Review: The Kitchen is a woman’s place, indeed
Movie Review: The Kitchen
Part revenge-quest, part sisterhood of the travelling pants with pistols, The Kitchen has so many male constructs sewn into its inseam, first-time director Andrea Berloff doesn’t have a lot of room to move. It’s a man’s cut, yet but makes it comfortable by wearing it all a size too large, boyfriend style, writes critic Katherine Monk.
Keeping it All in The Clan
Movie review: El Clan
The true story of Argentina's infamous Puccio family hits the big screen with a bloodsplatter and a killer soundtrack, making for a seductively distracting descent into Hell
Mob Rule: Part 16
War breaks out in the borough
Jack can't believe his eyes as the mattresses come out before the hail of bullets begins, but as newly appointed battle commander, he needs to hatch a strategy that will flush the bad guys from their Flushing stronghold before his men are picked off by sniper fire.
By John Armstrong
From 7th Avenue looking down 33rd towards the Luciano-Costello Building you would have thought you were on the set of a movie: cars and trucks had been parked sideways across the street at both ends, forcing any attack to come though the narrow bottlenecks they left open, a bad idea as there were gunmen stationed everywhere. And I’m only talking about the ones you could see; who knows how many more were watching from sniper posts? The driver delivered us to the front door and I mean, right to the doors themselves, up on the sidewalk with barely room to open them so that we were exposed to any enemy shooters for the shortest possible amount of time.
Inside it was ...
The Sick Days: Part 12
The mantra, the mental spellcheck and a call to the show
The suburban beat suddenly gets grisly when a serial rapist starts stalking Scarborough, leaving a young reporter haunted by a narrative loop of horror that demands spiritual healing, while her body slowly tapers off high doses of prednisone
By Shelley Page
A suburban monster, he overpowered her from behind, dragging her into the backyard of her parents’ Scarborough home. There, he strangled her with an electrical cord, while viciously raping her for almost an hour.
He left her tied to a fence with her own belt like a dog.
The details in the press release were spare, stark. The victim was 19. I wasn’t much older.
I quickly typed up the brief and filed it to the senior cop reporter based at One Yonge, Toronto Star headquarters.
Reporters are observers. That is our blessing and our curse. We know we can’t help, but we’re uncertain what or how to feel, as though it were a professional liability.
Mob Rule – The story continues
We wrap up Chapter One with a hit of caffe machiatto and a fresh pair of pants, and move on to Chapter Two with some mathematical insights into the numbers racket, and a pretty dame in need of a light. Trouble never looked so pretty, and gang wars never looked so bad. Welcome back to Mob Rule.
By John Armstrong
...Right now the best thing to do is nothing, except keep my ears up.
“Anyway, I got nothing for you to do the next while. Why don’t you go amuse yourself for a few hours?”
“You think it’s a good idea to go out on the street a half-hour after someone tried to clip us?”
He laughed. “That’s what I mean - I was your age, someone took a shot at me, it was like doing pushups in the morning and a couple shots of espresso. Gets the blood moving. We would’ve gone out dancing with two girls on each arm and not come home until breakfast. Ah, to be young and dumb again.” He tapped ash into the dish.
“Don’t be so serious, kid. Dead is ...