RIP Vincent Canby. I grew up reading his movie reviews in The NY Times. Fittingly, one of his successors, Janet Maslin, wrote an obituary: “His writing was often an entertainment itself: conversational prose that conveyed a bracing disdain for sentiment, a clear eye for meretricious art, rapier cuts for pretentious fools and fine-tuned praise for artistry, all in a monologue — and sometimes in an invented dialogue with a character he dubbed Stanley.”