Entertainment
Appreciation: For 'Alienist' author Caleb Carr, rescuing a cat meant rescuing himself
Caleb Carr, the novelist and military historian who died of cancer Thursday at age 68, was best known for exploring the darker angels of human nature. His breakout novel, “The Alienist” (1994), helped pioneer the historical thriller as we know it, telling the grisly tale of a child psychiatrist tracking a killer of young male prostitutes in 1890s New York. His other books include a sequel, “The Angel of Darkness” (1997), and a historical study of terrorism and warfare, “Lessons of Terror” (2002).
But when I had a late-night, hourlong conversation with Carr in late January, we mostly talked about our mutual love of cats.
Carr, his illness already far along, was eagerly awaiting the publication of what he correctly figured would be his final book, “My Beloved Monster.” It’s the story of his bond with Masha, the Siberian forest cat with whom he shared his fortress of a home in upstate New York, near a ridge called Misery Mountain. Contracted to do a third “Alienist” book, Carr instead called an audible, choosing to write his first memoir. Dipping briefly into his tortured childhood — he was regularly beaten by his father, the journalist and Beat poet muse Lucien Carr, and grew up in hardscrabble bohemian conditions on Manhattan’s Lower East Side — the book’s primary subject is how Carr found solace in the unconditional love of animals, and with his grief for Masha, who died in April 2022.
Staring down death, talking about grief, he was casually, effortlessly, macabrely funny that night. He spoke of how he argued with his publisher, Little, Brown, to forgo the standard “Author of ‘The Alienist’” tag on the front cover, which features a photo of his blond, fluffy rescue cat: “I thought, ’Guys, they’re going to think I wrote a book about murdering cats or some horrible thing.’” He discussed the challenges of getting cat lovers to read a Caleb Carr book: “We may have to convince them. These may not be people who spend their time reading grim stories about serial killers 130 years ago.”
And we talked a lot about what animals can teach us, and how they can even provide a kind of love that many of us didn’t know growing up. Even in childhood, when his father was knocking him down flights of stairs, Carr had pets to comfort him. “It’s amazing to think about it now, but there were cats, and other animals, that were trying to make me feel better,” he said. “The idea of that was so at odds with everything I was experiencing.”
I didn’t realize how much I had in common with the guy who wrote “The Alienist,” a book I admire for its vivid, doggedly researched detail but whose author I hadn’t studied. We were both basketball freaks; when we spoke, Carr’s beloved Knicks were on a roll (“They’re doing scarily well,” he said). We both survived childhoods fraught with danger, though mine wasn’t as dramatic or brutal as Carr’s. And we have both found comfort in the companionship of cats, known for self-sufficiency but also, quiet as it’s kept, quite loving and dependable when the chips are down. If you have a cat, and you’re not feeling well, that cat won’t stray far.
As we talked, my attention-hogging, gray-and-white tuxedo cat, Mr. Kitty, strolled in front of my laptop camera. “He’s cool-looking!” Carr enthused, the energy in his voice rising. I explained that he was a good cat but could also get pretty aggressive with his teeth and claws. He likes human flesh. “Well, they’re hunters,” Carr replied. “They’re wildlings. Sitting inside, being all the things that they’re pictured as being in Victorian literature, is not their nature.” Over the years I have always tried not to get mad at my cats for being cats — knocking things over, going on the attack when I least expect it. Carr’s words have actually helped me succeed in this endeavor.
“My Beloved Monster” by Caleb Carr
(Little, Brown)
Carr, too, could have been a wildling. “I could have been one of those dead-eyed drone troublemakers that comes out of an abusive household very easily, if it hadn’t been for cats,” he told me. His childhood home life was chaos, but he and his siblings always had pets. “All the animals we had really did teach us enough about love that we understood it outside of any human definition, although this was never something I talked about with anybody,” he said.
Carr’s longtime agent, Suzanne Gluck, was also a friend since they were both in high school at Friends Seminary in Manhattan. The irony of a future military historian attending a Quaker school is not lost on Gluck. “He was such a square peg in a round hole,” Gluck said in an interview the day after Carr’s death. “The administration really didn’t know what to make of him.”
He didn’t talk much about his home life then. And he was no misanthrope. “He was this pied piper,” Gluck said. “He was this very vibrant, interesting, thoughtful, charismatic guy with a lot of friends. He wasn’t someone sitting in the corner, troubled and wanting to be alone.”
Gluck recalls her response when Carr told her he was writing about Masha instead of serial killers: “This might be where the music stops.” The assignment, after all, called for more “Alienist.” But Bruce Nichols, then the publisher at Little, Brown and Carr’s editor, loved the story of Masha. (As the husband of a veterinary behaviorist , his might have been the perfect pair of eyes for the project.)
“When I read it, I just stopped thinking about ‘The Alienist,’” Nichols said. “I stopped thinking about fiction and just thought about all the great books that had been written as memoirs by dog and cat owners”— books like “Merle’s Door,” Ted Kerasote’s account of lessons learned from his Labrador mix. Carr, and Masha, got the go-ahead.
Readers should be thankful for that. Carr wasn’t in need of redeeming in his final years, but “My Beloved Monster” is nonetheless an act of redemption. It gives specific life, and teeth and claws, to that old cliché about how we don’t rescue animals; they rescue us.
Entertainment
Tommy Lee Jones’ daughter reportedly found dead at San Francisco hotel on New Year’s Day
Victoria Jones, the daughter of Academy Award-winning actor Tommy Lee Jones, was reportedly found dead at a hotel in San Francisco on New Year’s Day. She was 34.
According to TMZ, the San Francisco Fire Department responded to a medical emergency call at the Fairmont San Francisco early Thursday morning. The paramedics pronounced Victoria dead at the scene before turning it over to the San Francisco Police Department for further investigation, the outlet said.
An SFPD representative confirmed to The Times that officers responded to a call at approximately 3:14 a.m. Thursday regarding a report of a deceased person at the hotel and that they met with medics at the scene who declared an unnamed adult female dead.
Citing law enforcement sources, NBC Bay Area also reported that the deceased woman found in a hallway of the hotel was believed to be Jones and that police did not suspect foul play.
“We are deeply saddened by an incident that occurred at the hotel on January 1, 2026,” the Fairmont told NBC Bay Area in a statement. “Our heartfelt condolences are with the family and loved ones during this very difficult time. The hotel team is actively cooperating and supporting police authorities within the framework of the ongoing investigation.”
The medical examiner conducted an investigation at the scene, but Jones’ cause of death remains undetermined. Dispatch audio obtained by TMZ and People indicated that the 911 emergency call was for a suspected drug overdose.
Jones was the daughter of Tommy Lee and ex-wife Kimberlea Cloughley. Her brief acting career included roles on films such as “Men in Black II” (2002), which starred her father, and “The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada” (2005), which was directed by her father. She also appeared in a 2005 episode of “One Tree Hill.”
Page Six reported that Jones had been arrested at least twice in 2025 in Napa County, including an arrest on suspicion of being under the influence of a controlled substance and drug possession.
Movie Reviews
Movie Review: “I Was a Stranger” and You Welcomed Me
Just when you think that you’ve seen and heard all sides of the human migration debate, and long after you fear that the cruel, the ignorant and the scapegoaters have won that shouting match, a film comes along and defies ignorance and prejudice by both embracing and upending the conventional “immigrant” narrative.
“I Was a Strranger” is the first great film of 2026. It’s cleverly written, carefully crafted and beautifully-acted with characters who humanize many facets of the “migration” and “illegal immigration” debate. The debut feature of writer-director Brandt Andersen, “Stranger” is emotional and logical, blunt and heroic. It challenges viewers to rethink their preconceptions and prejudices and the very definition of “heroic.”
The fact that this film — which takes its title from the Book of Matthew, chapter 25, verse 35 — is from the same faith-based film distributor that made millions by feeding the discredited human trafficking wish fulfillment fantasy “Sound of Freedom” to an eager conservative Christian audience makes this film something of a minor miracle in its own right.
But as Angel Studios has also urged churchgoers not just to animated Nativity stories (“The King of Kings”) and “David” musicals, but Christian resistence to fascism (“Truth & Treason” and “Bonheoffer”) , their atonement is almost complete.
Andersen deftly weaves five compact but saga-sized stories about immigrants escaping from civil-war-torn Syria into a sort of interwoven, overlapping “Babel” or “Crash” about migration.
“The Doctor” is about a Chicago hospital employee (Yasmine Al Massri of “Palestine 36” and TV’s “Quantico”) whose flashback takes us to the hospital in Aleppo, Syria, bombed and terrorized by the Assad regime’s forces, and what she and her tween daughter (Massa Daoud) went through to escape — from literally crawling out of a bombed building to dodging death at the border to the harrowing small boat voyage from Turkey to Greece.
“The Soldier” follows loyal Assad trooper Mustafa (Yahya Mahayni was John the Baptist in Martin Scorsese Presents: The Saints”) through his murderous work in Aleppo, and the crisis of conscience that finally hits him as he sees the cruel and repressive regime he works for at its most desperate.
“The Smuggler” is Marwan, a refugee-camp savvy African — played by the terrific French actor Omar Sy of “The Intouchables” and “The Book of Clarence” — who cynically makes his money buying disposable inflatable boats, disposable outboards and not-enough-life-jackets in Turkey to smuggle refugees to Greece.
“The Poet” (Ziad Bakri of “Screwdriver”) just wants to get his Syrian family of five out of Turkey and into Europe on Marwan’s boat.
And “The Captain” (Constantine Markoulakis of “The Telemachy”) commands a Hellenic Coast Guard vessel, a man haunted by the harrowing rescues he must carry out daily and visions of the bodies of those he doesn’t.
Andersen, a Tampa native who made his mark producing Tom Cruise spectacles (“American Made”), Mel Gibson B-movies (“Panama”) and the occasional “Everest” blockbuster, expands his short film “Refugee” to feature length for “I Was a Stranger.” He doesn’t so much alter the formula or reinvent this genre of film as find points of view that we seldom see that force us to reconsider what we believe through their eyes.
Sy’s Smuggler has a sickly little boy that he longs to take to Chicago. He runs his ill-gotten-gains operation, profiting off human misery, to realize that dream. We see glimpses of what might be compassion, but also bullying “customers” and his new North African assistant (Ayman Samman). Keeping up the hard front he shows one and all, we see him callously buy life jackets in the bazaar — never enough for every customer to have one in any given voyage.
The Captain sits for dinner with family and friends and has to listen to Greek prejudices and complaints about this human life and human rights crisis, which is how the worlds sees Greece reacting to this “invasion.” But as he and his first mate recount lives saved and the horrors of lives lost, that quibbling is silenced.
Here and there we see and hear (in Arabic and Greek with subtitles, and English) little moments of “rising above” human pettiness and cruelty and the simple blessings of kindness.
“I Was a Stranger” was finished in 2024 and arrives in cinemas at one of the bleakest moments in recent history. Cruelty is running amok, unchecked and unpunished. Countries are being destabilized, with the fans of alleged “strong man” rule cheering it on.
Andersen carefully avoids politics — Middle Eastern, Israeli, European and American — save for the opening scene’s zoom in on that Chicago hospital, passing a gaudily named “Trump” hotel in the process, and a general condemnation of Syria’s Assad mob family regime.
But Andersen’s bold movie, with its message so against the grain of current events, compromised media coverage and the mostly conservative audience that has become this film distributor’s base, plays like a wet slap back to reality.
And as any revival preacher will tell you, putting a positive message out there in front of millions is the only way to convert hundreds among the millions who have lost their way.

Rating: PG-13, violence, smoking, racial slurs
Cast: Yasmine Al Massri, Yahya Mahayni, Ziad Bakri, Omar Sy, Ayman Samman, Massa Daoud, Jason Beghe and Constantine Markoulakis
Credits: Scripted and directed by Brandt Andersen. An Angel Studios release.
Running time: 1:43
Related
Entertainment
Review: ‘Best Medicine’ has more whimsy but it’s less real than ‘Doc Martin’
It’s nothing new or extraordinary to remake a foreign TV show for a different country.
“All in the Family” was modeled on the British series “Till Death Us Do Part,” as “Steptoe and Son” became “Sanford and Son.” The popular CBS sitcom “Ghosts” comes from the show you can find retitled as “U.K. Ghosts” on American Netflix. The British mysteries “Professor T” and “Patience” (from Belgian and Franco-Belgian productions, respectively), have been successful on PBS. And there is, of course, “The Office,” which outlasted its original by many, many seasons and nearly 200 episodes. It doesn’t always work out (“Life on Mars”; “Viva Laughlin,” from “Blackpool,” which lasted a single episode despite starring Hugh Jackman; “Payne” and “Amanda’s,” two failed stabs at adapting “Fawlty Towers”), but there’s nothing inherently wrong with the practice.
The new Fox series “Best Medicine,” arriving Sunday as an advance premiere before its time slot premiere on Tuesdays, remakes the U.K. “Doc Martin,” previously adapted in France, Germany, Spain, Greece, the Netherlands and the Czech Republic. For better or worse, I have a long, admiring relationship with the original, having signed on early and attended every season in turn — and interviewed star Martin Clunes three times across the run of the series (10 seasons from 2004 to 2022). And I am surely not alone. Unlike with most such remakes, whose models may be relatively obscure to the local audience, “Doc Martin” has long been widely available here; you can find it currently on PBS, Acorn TV and Prime Video, among other platforms — and I recommend that you do.
In “Doc Martin,” Clunes played a brilliant London surgeon who develops a blood phobia and becomes a general practitioner in the Cornwall fishing village where he spent summers as a child. He’s a terse, stiff, antisocial — or, more precisely, non-social — person who doesn’t stand on ceremony or suffer fools gladly, but who time and again saves the people of Portwenn from life-threatening conditions and accidents or, often, their own foolishness. A slow-developing, on-again, off-again love-and-marriage arc with schoolteacher Louisa Glasson, played by the divine Caroline Catz, made every season finale a cliffhanger.
Obviously, the fair thing would be to take “Best Medicine” as completely new. But assuming that some reading this will want to know how it follows, differs from or compares to the original — which was certainly the first thing on my mind — let us count the ways.
Josh Segarra, Josh Charles and Abigail Spencer in “Best Medicine.”
(Francisco Roman/FOX)
The names have mostly not been changed. For no clear reason — numerology, maybe? — Martin Ellingham is now Martin Best (Josh Charles); Aunt Joan is Aunt Sarah (Annie Potts), a fisherwoman instead of a farmer. Sally Tishell, the pharmacist in a neck brace, has become Sally Mylow (Clea Lewis); and distracted receptionist Elaine Denham has been rechristened Elaine Denton (Cree). Keeping their full names are Louisa Gavin (Abigail Spencer), father and son handymen Bert (John DiMaggio) and Al Large (Carter Shimp), and peace officer Mark Mylow (Josh Segarra). Portwenn has become Port Wenn, Maine. (Lobsters are once again on the menu.)
As in the original, Martin is hounded by dogs (no pun intended, seriously), to his displeasure; teenagers are rude to him, because they are rude teenagers. Mark Mylow is now Louisa’s recently jilted ex-fiance. Liz Tuccillo, who developed the adaptation, has added a gay couple, George (Jason Veasey) and Greg (Stephen Spinella), who run the local eatery and inn and have a pet pig named Brisket (sensitive of them not to name it Back Ribs); and Glendon Ross (Patch Darragh), a well-to-do blowhard who bullied Martin in his youth. Apart from the leads Charles and Spencer, few have much to do other than strike a quirky pose, though Segarra, recently familiar as school district representative Manny Rivera on “Abbott Elementary,” makes a meal of Mark’s every line, and Cree, who gets a lot of scenes and a personal plotline, makes a charming impression. Spencer is good company; Potts, whom I am always happy to see, is more an instrument of exposition than a full-blown character, and it feels a little unfair.
The first episode is modeled closely on the “Doc Martin” pilot, from Martin and Louisa’s antagonistic meet cute — in which he offends her, leaning in unannounced to examine her eye — to the episode’s main medical mystery (gynecomastia), a punch in the nose for our hero. Other details and plotlines will arrive, but there has been an attempt to give “Best Medicine” its own identity and original stories.
On the whole, it’s cuter, milder, more cuddly (multiple vomit jokes notwithstanding), more obvious and more whimsical, but less real, less intense and less sharply written than “Doc Martin.” The edges and angles have been sanded down and polished; tonally, it resembles “Northern Exposure” more than the show it’s adapting. Port Wenn (represented by the coincidentally named Cornwall, N.Y., with a wide part of the Hudson River subbing for the Atlantic Ocean) itself comes across as comparatively upscale; the doctor’s office and quarters are here plushly appointed, rather than spare, functional and a little shopworn.
As Martin, Charles stiffens himself and keeps his facial expressions generally between neutral and annoyed, though he’s softer than Clunes, less a prisoner of his own body, less abrasive, less otherworldly. Where Dr. Ellingham remained to a large degree inexplicable — the series expressly refused to diagnose him — Tuccillo has given Dr. Best a quickly revealed childhood trauma to account for his blood phobia and make him more conventionally sympathetic.
I freely admit that in judging “Best Medicine,” my familiarity with “Doc Martin” puts me at a disadvantage — or an advantage, I suppose, depending on how you look at it. But taken on its own merits it strikes me as a rather obvious, perfectly ordinary example of a sort of show we’ve often seen before, a feel-good celebration of small town values and traditions and togetherness that will presumably improve the personality of its oddball new resident, as the townspeople come to accept or tolerate him anyway in turn. In the first four episodes, we get a celebration of baked beans, a town-consuming baseball championship and a once-a-year day when the women of Port Wenn doll themselves off and go out into the woods to meet a jacked, shirtless, off-the-grid he-man, right off the cover of a romance novel, who steps out of the forest, ostensibly to provide wilderness training. It’s like that.
All in all, “Best Medicine” lives very much in a television reality, rather than creating a reality that just happens to be on television. To be sure, some will prefer the former to the latter.
-
World1 week agoHamas builds new terror regime in Gaza, recruiting teens amid problematic election
-
Indianapolis, IN1 week agoIndianapolis Colts playoffs: Updated elimination scenario, AFC standings, playoff picture for Week 17
-
Business1 week agoGoogle is at last letting users swap out embarrassing Gmail addresses without losing their data
-
Southeast1 week agoTwo attorneys vanish during Florida fishing trip as ‘heartbroken’ wife pleads for help finding them
-
Politics1 week agoMost shocking examples of Chinese espionage uncovered by the US this year: ‘Just the tip of the iceberg’
-
News1 week agoRoads could remain slick, icy Saturday morning in Philadelphia area, tracking another storm on the way
-
World1 week agoPodcast: The 2025 EU-US relationship explained simply
-
News1 week agoMarijuana rescheduling would bring some immediate changes, but others will take time