Latest news with #Brian'sSong
USA Today
22-04-2025
- Sport
- USA Today
Bears name T.J. Edwards, Rome Odunze recipients of Brian Piccolo Award
Bears name T.J. Edwards, Rome Odunze recipients of Brian Piccolo Award Courage. Loyalty. Teamwork. Dedication. A sense of humor. Those are just a few traits that described the late Brian Piccolo. Every year, the Chicago Bears select a veteran and a rookie that best exemplify those traits to honor the former Bears running back with the Brian Piccolo Award. This year's recipients are linebacker T.J. Edwards (a two-time winner) and rookie wide receiver Rome Odunze. Edwards won the Brian Piccolo Award last year, as well, and he's been a key defensive leader since signing with the Bears in 2023. During last year's 5-12 seasons, Edwards continued to make plays and proved to be one of their better players. He totaled 129 tackles, six QB hits, one interception, three pass breakups, one forced fumble and two fumble recoveries, as well as set career highs in sacks (4) and tackles for loss (12). Edwards was rewarded with a two-year, $20 million contract extension this offseason. Odunze was selected with the ninth overall pick in the 2024 NFL draft eight selections after teammate Caleb Williams. Despite being relegated to the WR3 role behind Moore and Keenan Allen, Odunze still thrived with 54 receptions for 734 yards and three touchdowns while showing he has the potential to be a top wideout. With Keenan Allen expected to depart in free agency, Odunze will see an expanded role as Ben Johnson takes over on offense. Piccolo is most known for his relationship with former Bears Hall of Fame running back Gale Sayers, and their friendship was the spotlight of the film "Brian's Song," which has left a profound impact on many who have watched it. Piccolo passed away after embryonal cell carcinoma, an aggressive form of germ cell testicular cancer, had spread to his chest cavity. He was 26 years old. Still, Piccolo's memory lives on through the stories told and an annual award that honors those traits that defined his character. Follow Bears Wire on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram
Los Angeles Times
03-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Los Angeles Times
‘Dying for Sex' is this century's kinky, horny ‘Love Story'
The new FX series 'Dying for Sex' is many things — a showcase for Michelle Williams and a stellar supporting cast, an open-hearted glimpse into erotic exploration and a reminder that we would all do well to live as if our time on this earth was limited because it is. It could also be this century's 'Love Story.' In 1970, Erich Segal's tale of a young culture-clashing couple undone by terminal illness left millions sobbing together in their seats. Despite some critics who considered it contrived and sentimental, 'Love Story' became, and remains (adjusted for inflation), one of the highest-grossing films in history. It received seven Oscar nominations (winning for score), launched a cultural tagline ('Love means never having to say you're sorry') and prompted thousands of young women to take piano lessons so they could play the iconic theme song and weep. Deathbed scenes have always been a part of film and television, but after 'Love Story,' terminal illness became a cinematic genre. 'Bang the Drum Slowly,' 'Brian's Song,' 'Something for Joey,' 'Terms of Endearment,' 'Beaches,' 'Shadowlands,' 'Stepmom,' 'One True Thing,' 'The Big C,' 'The Fault in Our Stars' — the list goes on and on. And it now includes 'Dying for Sex,' an iteration so modern it is adapted from a podcast, available on a streamer (Hulu, starting Friday) and framed around a journey into the BDSM experience. It's also funny, heartbreaking, deeply humane and more than occasionally insightful as hell. Sex and death have never been such bittersweet bedmates. Based on the eponymous Wondery podcast by Nikki Boyer, in which a woman with cancer, Molly Kochan, shared her sexual escapades and insights before her death in 2018, 'Dying for Sex' doesn't, er, pussyfoot around the story it wants to tell. We meet Molly (Michelle Williams) in a therapy session with her husband, Steve (Jay Duplass), who is trying to mansplain why they don't have sex. Molly's years-long fight with breast cancer made it difficult; now that she wants to resume, Steve remains reluctant. In the middle of the session, Molly receives the news that her cancer has metastasized; further treatment may extend her life but not for long. She flees the session, takes shelter in a nearby bodega and calls her friend Nikki (Jenny Slate), with whom she has the most hilarious 'I'm dying' conversation in the history of television, which quickly devolves into a screaming match between Nikki and the owner of the bodega. 'She's an actress,' Molly says of Nikki. 'Her emotions live very close to the surface.' Like many facing such a dire prognosis, Molly is determined to spend the remainder of her life doing precisely what she wants to do. And what she wants to do is not reassure her partner that their love was always enough or prepare her family for her demise or go off on a bucket-list jaunt with her best friends. No, she wants to have sex, mind-blowing, forget-the-world-and-all-its-turmoil sex, that will include experiencing orgasm with a partner, something she has never done. Steve is a nonstarter; he's more interested in monitoring Molly's sugar intake than bringing her to climax, insisting instead that her sudden desire is a morbid manifestation of unresolved childhood trauma — Molly was molested by her mother's boyfriend. He's not entirely wrong, but read the room, man. Buoyed by an unexpected sex-positive conversation with palliative-care social worker Sonya (Esco Jouléy), Molly moves in with Nikki, telling her, 'I don't want to die with Steve; I want to die with you.' She then embarks on a sexual odyssey that, after a few false starts, reveals her penchant for dominance and submission. So not exactly 'Beaches.' But, you know, sort of. Don't get me wrong, 'Dying for Sex' is very much about sex. Written by Elizabeth Meriwether and Kim Rosenstock, the show takes the need for erotic pleasure seriously. With a pixie haircut, overalls and stripey sweaters, Molly is a quiet-voiced, waifish dream girl whom Williams makes incandescent with desire and just plain horniness. Sure, her need to exhibit dominance and feel the titillating power of submission could be read as metaphors for an attempt to both gain control over her body and accept that it is shutting down. But 'Dying for Sex' is, mercifully, less interested in psychoanalyzing her, or anyone, than it is in nonjudgmentally presenting the many paths to consensual sexual pleasure and fun. Though Molly's goal of mutual orgasm remains elusive and she is, quite literally, haunted by her childhood trauma, the men and women she meets on her BDSM journey are playful, kind and often quite wise. In a stand-out performance, Jouléy's Sonya is a near-angelic bridge between Molly's roles as terminal patient and sexual explorer. 'You early millennials are so tragic,' she tells Molly and Nikki. 'You think sex is just penetration and orgasm.' Like every good terminal-illness tale, however, 'Dying for Sex' is also very much about love. Self-love, certainly, but all the other kinds as well. A grouchy, slovenly neighbor (played with sad-sack sexiness by Rob Delaney) accidentally introduces her to the pleasures of dominance and submission, and their encounters lead to an emotional tenderness neither expected to find. Molly also must come to terms with her estranged mother, Gail (just when you think the cast can't get any stronger, Sissy Spacek shows up), and she even grants some closure to Steve. But the 'Love Story' of 'Dying for Sex' belongs to Nikki and Molly. Female friendship has become the emotional workhorse of modern drama and comedy, but it's tough to think of one more vividly depicted than this one. Slate's comedic brilliance is a given, but her ability to pull off both Nikki's outward chaos — a bottomless purse, an inability to keep track of time, a constant whirlwind of wisecracking emotions — and the inner stillness of complete understanding is breathtaking to watch. Nikki is a hot mess who knows exactly what needs to be done. Her best friend will soon be gone from this earth, so nothing else matters more than being with and supporting her right up until the very end. Yes, it comes at a price — Nikki gets booted from a play, loses her boyfriend, celebrates Hanukkah in the hallway of her apartment building — but so be it. She will have no regrets, and given the circumstances, that is the best she can hope for. Are you crying yet? You will be. 'Dying for Sex' is at times a bit too 'perfect' to be perfect — neither Molly nor Nikki is working, but there never seems to be any concern about money; the medical care Molly receives is always attentive and available (Sonya is, as previously noted, an angel); and Steve gets kicked to the curb pretty brutally — caring for someone with cancer is incredibly difficult. But that's all post-mortem nitpicking, easily overlooked by the power of the performances, the hilarious courage of the writing and the glorious reconstruction of a familiar genre. As 'Love Story' proved all those years ago, we all need an excuse to sob in the dark together.
Los Angeles Times
30-03-2025
- Entertainment
- Los Angeles Times
‘Saul' brothers bond over ‘Glengarry' stage work, shared comedy instincts
One man is the consummate professional, calm and seen-it-all experienced, ready to handle any assignment. The other lacks all that but throws himself almost recklessly into the mix, relying on charm and quick-on-his-feet wit as he strives for something that feels just beyond him. I could easily be describing Chuck and Jimmy McGill (a.k.a. Saul Goodman), the two brothers brilliantly portrayed by Michael McKean and Bob Odenkirk in 'Better Call Saul.' But these days the description fits McKean, 77, and Odenkirk, 62, in real life as they take the stage, along with Kieran Culkin and Bill Burr, in 'Glengarry Glen Ross,' David Mamet's profane play about real estate salesmen whose souls are being ground to dust by the eternal chase for dollars. McKean has regularly graced the stage in recent decades, appearing in works by everyone from John Waters to Harold Pinter to William Shakespeare. 'It's as much fun as it looks,' he says, adding that he can't really give advice to his former small-screen sibling about treading the boards. 'It just seems so logical,' he says. Odenkirk's stage experience: one play in Chicago for a month when he was 21. 'I don't remember much about it,' he says dryly during our lunch, adding that while he's read books about Shakespeare he's never even seen one of his plays. After less than a week of previews for his Broadway debut, he sounds a bit dazzled by the ease with which McKean and Culkin, another experienced theater actor, inhabit the stage: Odenkirk calls the pair Broadway actors while describing himself as a 'nonsense actor.' He feels like he's getting a free education in theater. 'I still don't understand it,' he admits. 'I'm the only one who's a little off, but I'm going to get there.' (McKean encourages him by saying that the previous night he was so emotionally caught up in Odenkirk's Shelley that he almost missed a cue.) Odenkirk says director Patrick Marber talked about reaching that Zen zone where you're not running lines or motivations or physicalizations in your head. 'You're just existing and this play comes out of you,' Odenkirk says. 'I see that on the horizon, but I haven't experienced it myself yet. 'I'm excited about a play being a living thing that changes each time,' he adds, 'but I'm still thinking, 'What if I start on this foot?' I'm still trying to engineer moments like you can in TV where you have more control. But you never get a print here. You just do it again tomorrow.' Odenkirk quips that he thought he was 'just doing a show, but it turns out I'm 'doing Broadway.'' And that, McKean points out, is a rarefied world. 'It's fun to be a part of once, but I'm an interloper as I always am, so it's not easy,' Odenkirk says, explaining that he doesn't expect to return … unless, he jokes, they do a Broadway version of 'Brian's Song' with McKean in the Billy Dee Williams role. But Odenkirk is game for the stage role, saying he loved how 'Better Call Saul' stretched his acting muscles — 'that was really good for me' — and he believes this will too. One bonus: There's some of Saul in his character, Shelley Levene. Shelley is overeager and desperate; he just lacks Jimmy's/Saul's imagination and gumption. 'People know me as a striver, someone who's always coming up with devious, clever ways around things, who then gets punched in the face by the world over and over,' Odenkirk says. McKean, meanwhile, plays George Aaronow, a salesman he describes as 'pathetic' even compared to Shelley; obviously someone very different from Chuck McGill. But McKean says he consciously mixed up roles early in his career to avoid pigeonholing — from Lenny on 'Laverne & Shirley' to David St. Hubbins in 'This Is Spinal Tap' to Edna Turnblad ('Hairspray') and J. Edgar Hoover ('All the Way') on Broadway. For all his lack of stage experience, Odenkirk had 'Glengarry' in his sights for years. Two decades ago, he wrote to Mamet asking permission to do a 'purely comic version where instead of land sales it would be pots and pans' ; the cast would have also featured his 'Mr. Show' co-star David Cross and Fred Willard. Unsurprisingly, Mamet never responded. More recently he tried again, without the pots and pans but with characters using cellphones. He hoped to have Burr in that cast. Mamet wrote back but said no. So when Odenkirk was offered the role in this production he jumped at the chance to step into the shoes worn by Jack Lemmon, Alan Alda and Al Pacino. Mamet's play debuted on Broadway in 1984 after premiering in London the year before; in addition to a 1992 film adaptation starring Lemmon as Levene, there have been two Broadway productions of the show in the last 20 years. One reason the show keeps coming back is that there's plenty of scenery to chew for the top-flight actors — Alda's co-stars in the 2005 revival included Liev Schreiber and Jeffrey Tambor, while Pacino was joined by Bobby Cannavale and John C. McGinley in 2012. But McKean says the play offers more than showy roles. 'It's about toxic masculinity and what's in our nature,' he says. 'There's the slow boil everyone is on in a game with high stakes where your success says something about how much of a man you are.' These salesmen 'love what they're doing and it's killing them,' Odenkirk says, calling the four-decade old play more relevant than ever before. 'Now everyone is in this cage match of capitalism unbridled without a [functional] Justice Department and with all the watchdogs being let go,' he says. 'It's just you guys beat each other to shreds, and we'll watch and the money will go up the chain.' This leads Odenkirk to ask McKean if he's ever seen the 1969 documentary 'Salesman,' centered on employees of the Mid-American Bible Co. pitching their wares door to door. 'That film invented a lot about what we take for granted as a great documentary,' the younger of the pair says. A digression ensues as the pair chats about anything and everything, from whose dog is cuter (a much friendlier competition than the cutthroat 'Glengarry') to Monty Python, comedy duo Bob and Ray, and Odenkirk's next movie, 'Normal.' Also discussed: a long-ago Chicago play called 'Bleacher Bums' and where they each lived while working on 'Saturday Night Live.' Although they didn't overlap on 'SNL,' they met while McKean was there. A few years later, McKean made an appearance on 'Mr. Show,' as a condescending law professor, a forerunner of Chuck McGill, while Odenkirk's character on that episode has a touch of Jimmy McGill's DNA. Odenkirk spends much of our lunch celebrating McKean, repeating twice that his co-star, in a scene with Burr (a stand-up also making his Broadway debut), is getting 'Glengarry's' biggest laughs. He also brings up McKean's early comedy records, saying, 'Wait, can we just talk about the Credibility Gap?,' a troupe that included Harry Shearer and 'Laverne & Shirley' compatriot David L. Lander. (McKean, meanwhile, can still recite lines from his favorite 'Mr. Show' skits, including 'The Fad 3.') After our meal, McKean, casual and rumpled, tugs on his old Brooklyn Dodgers hat ('I went to my first game at Ebbets Field,' he had mentioned), is a man very much at home. We had, in fact, met at a diner just blocks from his apartment. Odenkirk, by contrast, is trim and fit and dressed sharply, with a black-and-red Chicago Cubs cap atop his head. Odenkirk stops in a bank after our meal because he'd given his last few dollars to a mariachi in the subway. He makes small talk about baseball with the security, but the ATM just won't give him cash. It turns out his card is inserted backward, fitting for a man who feels a little out of place here. Unlike his characters, Odenkirk is calm and gracious. When it's time to go, he takes one last opportunity to say: 'Make sure the story talks about how great Michael McKean is.'
