When you have to shoot, shoot, don't talk.

Philip Roth at 73 still stirs up the plot, fighting the good fight as he goes along. His last novel is solid and entertaining, prompting us to wonder: where is tomorrow's FDR? I think we already know where today's Lindbergh is.

Along with Woody Allen, Roth may take the mantle for most controversial Jewish American artist of the past several decades. Roth began his ascent not long after Sputnik's orbit with Goodbye, Columbus (1959). Between this rambunctious collection and the irreverant Portnoy's Complaint (1969), he's hard to beat. One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.

Everyman, Roth's latest, is set for release on Cinco de Mayo. This short novel looks back over the protagonist's life from the perspective of a man in his 70s. A man not unlike Roth himself, of course. Meanwhile, Woody Allen at 70 is enjoying semi-exile in Europe, where he is now making what could be his final movies, which with Match Point are moving in a different direction entirely (or are they?) than Roth's fiction. The endurance and output of these guys is legendary.

Meanwhile, the Brangelina team knows how to stir up an entertaining plot, too. The wedding rumors are swirling around Cernobbio, Italy, lately. Are they or aren't they? Will they or won't they? Have they or haven't they? Stay tuned!

Sopranos round two tonight. Will Tony recover quickly? Will his convalescence include Felliniesque fantasies and memory sequences? Will his amour fou Gloria visit from the Land of the Dead? Answers to these questions are far more urgent than any new wedding vows. . . . .

Arrivederci . . . . .