The Only Living Boy In New York' A Callow, Shallow Writer Makes Good

The Only Living Boy In New York' A Callow, Shallow Writer Makes Good The Only Living Boy In New York' A Callow, Shallow Writer Makes Good Doffing a hasty prefatory cap to the crime stats and overflowing garbage of 1970s New York, Marc Webb's The Only Living Boy in New York soon withdraws to more glam pastures within. By which Webb and screenwriter Allan Loeb mean the amber-lit, opulent interiors where Manhattan's writers and artists gather to kvetch and preen. Not much writing or arting goes on here, but it is clear that these are creative types because they are extremely attractive and throw dinner parties where they gesture prettily with slender-stemmed wine glasses while drily quipping.