Goodbye to Nora Ephron.

She was 71.

In the late 1960s Ms. Ephron turned to magazine journalism, at Esquire and New York mostly. She quickly made a name for herself by writing frank, funny personal essays — about the smallness of her breasts, for example — and tart, sharply observed profiles of people like Ayn Rand, Helen Gurley Brown and the composer and best-selling poet Rod McKuen. Some of these articles were controversial. In one, she criticized Betty Friedan for conducting a “thoroughly irrational” feud with Gloria Steinem; in another, she discharged a withering assessment of Women’s Wear Daily....

Her first screenplay, written with her friend Alice Arlen, was for “Silkwood,” a 1983 film based on the life of Karen Silkwood, who died under suspicious circumstances while investigating abuses at a plutonium plant where she had worked...



Ms. Ephron followed “Silkwood” three years later with a screenplay adaptation of her own novel “Heartburn,” which was also directed by Mr. Nichols. But it was her script for “When Harry Met Sally,” which became a hit Rob Reiner movie in 1989 starring Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan, that established Ms. Ephron’s gift for romantic comedy...

[She wrote] “Sleepless in Seattle” (she shared the screenwriting credits), which brought Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan together so winningly that they were cast again in “You’ve Got Mail.”

A woman of our time. It's sad to lose her. I wish the obit (in the NYT) had a bunch of links to old magazine articles and to movie clips. The article about Ayn Rand is in "Wallflower at the Orgy." There's also: "Scribble Scrabble," "Crazy Salad," "I Feel Bad About My Neck," and "Heartburn," which is the one about the breakup of her marriage to Carl Bernstein, which was made into a movie with Meryl Streep and Jack Nicholson. Here's a little clip of the 2 greatest actors of our time enacting the scenes of Ms. Ephron's marriage:



Let's sing all of the songs we know about babies....

ADDED: I just downloaded "Wallflower at the Orgy" to get the Ayn Rand essay, which begins:

Twenty-five years ago, Howard Roark laughed. Standing naked at the edge of a cliff, his face gaunt, his hair the color of bright orange rind, his body a composition of straight, clean lines and angles, each curve breaking into smooth, clean planes, Howard Roark laughed. It was probably a soundless laugh; most of Ayn Rand’s heroes laugh soundlessly, particularly while making love. It was probably a laugh with head thrown back; most of Ayn Rand’s heroes do things with their heads thrown back, particularly while dealing with the rest of mankind. It was probably a laugh that had a strange kind of simplicity; most of Ayn Rand’s heroes act with a strange kind of simplicity, particularly when what they are doing is of a complex nature.

Beautiful! Twenty-five years ago... that was was written in 1968.... 69 years ago...