Articles by Gina Dalfonzo

This series has poignantly shown us that it was longing that defined the lives of Bob Fosse and Gwen Verdon.

Their relationship has become a sad reminder that you can have it all and still have nothing.

Tim Conway shone a ray of light in a dark world by doing small things with great laughter.

The tragedy of Bob Fosse was that however good he was at what he did—and he was very, very, very good—he never felt good enough.

It’s not excusing his hurtful, hedonistic behavior to observe that something is broken inside Bob Fosse.

What will “going on” for Fosse look like, and is it possible to do more than just “go on” the way he has been?

Gwen finds herself trapped by the very expectations that her talent and hard work have brought her.

In this second episode of Fosse/Verdon, the pattern of their relationship is being set.

Both of them firmly believe that great art offers things like truth and consolation to people who need them.

In the #MeToo era, an ending like that in My Fair Lady could give us all hope that people can change—something we desperately need to remember.

How did exploitation become the price that young women have to pay in Hollywood for using a God-given gift?

God, the giver of all good gifts, didn’t just give us food—he also gave us other people to enjoy it with us and to help us learn to enjoy it again if need be.

White Awake brings us back again and again, gently but inexorably, to the truths that we’re so unwilling to face, steadily prying our hands from our eyes.

We pay lip service to the idea that no one is truly perfect, but do we really believe it?

We can at least try to break our destructive judgments of public figures by remembering they are real human beings with feelings, minds, and agency of their own, and by leaving them a little room to surprise us.

For Hitchcock, innocence and guilt were perhaps not always as far apart as they might appear.