Blessed with a pitch-perfect name for his métier, Lester Bangs
wrote on the subject of rock music--writing, for him, being a matter of
slamming two nouns together so their heads rang, an
If our political parties insist on producing bad show business, then the
least we should demand is that Hollywood make good movies.
Long before I'd gone to a theater and lashed myself to a seat, I formed two expectations about The Perfect Storm.
It is a depressing rule for students of American political discourse that the more one happens to know about a given subject, the more amazing one finds the brazen ignorance that passes for publi
In Me, Myself & Irene, Jim Carrey bullies a series of small children, gets into senseless fights (on the grounds that "he started it") and reverts hungrily to breast-feeding.
The first thing I need to explain about Bruno Dumont's Humanité shouldn't have to be said at all. It's that the film is not a whodunit.
Everyone knows you can't film Remembrance of Things Past, so Raúl Ruiz did it.
I suppose it would be in my financial interest if Rush Limbaugh were to get his wish and become part of the broadcast team for ABC's Monday Night Football.
As Woody Allen awoke one morning from uneasy dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into Jackie Gleason.