"All Is Lost": Why Robert Redford deserves an Oscar
A thursday afternoon, late in August, in southwestern Colorado. It has rained and it will rain again. That “it” here, the weather, has a mind of its own, generous but perilous, too, because it can change so fast. The mud is dusky red. The air is thick and sour, like horseradish. Outside the small town, in hay meadows, a man is exercising two black Labrador dogs. They stretch out in the light like race horses before Muybridge had proved the tucking up of legs in animal locomotion, and then they turn over and roll in the damp grass.