In the midst of paying some attention, maybe even too much attention, to the latest terrorist attempt in the skies near Detroit, the President's flacid public reaction to it, then the name calling and the attempt to figure out who (in the plural) didn't do his job well enough (never mind the horror of eight CIA guys being killed in Afghanistan), I come across this Anthony Lane
essay in The New Yorker.
It is a mediation (using a new bio and an exhibit in Rome) on Grace Kelly. Good writing on a difficult subject, even now an unwilling one. I happened to see parts of High Society,
her last film, recently. Stunning. Seeing her again reminded me that beauty is motion, and Lane understands how "a small inflection of her body" caused love. Worthy of never forgetting, as if that were possible. Lane sees much of this, while delicately touching on her capacity for "loud intimate merriment." It does not surprise me that the Prince of Monaco banned her films from his kingdom. He did the right thing, but I'm glad I didn't and don't live in Monaco. Happy New Year, by the way.