By now most of you already heard the sad news about Paul Newman's passing. Between so many retrospectives and personal memory pieces that journalists like to tackle whenever a star passes, it's hard to say something that hasn't already been said more eloquently from others.
So let's keep it brief: Paul Newman was one of the sexiest guys alive in his prime, and with his departure, like with Brando's and Ledger's, we lose not only a phenomenal actor, but a fine piece of ass as well.
Take off your hat and turn down your iPod in respect while watching Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, the quintessential Newman feature which captures the smoky masculinity of this great man even as he struggles to break out of the Hollywood stereotype of "the stud."
RIP Paul:
Last night, we accompanied Stereohyped to a gypsy run of the Debbie Allen-directed Cat on a Hot Tin Roof Broadway show, the first all-black production of the Tennessee Williams classic. It was the first time the cast, which seemingly just began rehearsals, showed before an open-to-the-public house (if the "public" were press or a friend of the cast or crew).
We happened to have watched an episode of Friday Night Lights immediately before departing for the theatre; we ended up sitting in front of the show's Gaius Charles (aka Smash). It was a good omen: The all-star cast all-star performed. CONTINUED »
