“The Boyfriend” was fascinating to me. Born to a pair of Soho artists of little acclaim and fading wealth in the 70s, he grew up in a well-heeled bohemian milieu that haunted him. In this scene, he was tortured by his own mediocrity: not lucky enough to be a nepo baby, not talented or driven enough to create the extraordinary life to which he felt... See more

Here in this festering hellhole, Rutenberg steps over greasy mounds of discarded paint and heaps of paper, garbage, and assorted shit to reach his desk, where he deals with daily to-dos by taping his notes onto a rickety old revolving lampshade. When he gets down to the actual work of painting, he snaps his paintbrushes in half—they’re ‘an... See more