Word: grades
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...stock Freudianisms-initially the objects of satire-start to take over. Worse, the film begins to take them seriously. The story of Paul's guilt over his father's murder (a murder he witnessed) contains every cliche imaginable, and could have been ripped wholesale from a Z-grade movie-of-the-week. The cheap psychology is necessary to the comedy, but it gets bogged down in its own lack of depth. Paul's cathartic moments feel as if they were intended to be touching, but, weepy and overwrought, they succeed onlyin being stupid...
...Boston College, the concept of "feminism" has been reduced to the level of a fourth-grade playground Squabble. With all of the indignant righteousness normally reserved for young children and glassy-eyed absolutists, Professor Mary Daly asserted to the academic community last week that "the root of the mess in society is patriarchy." Turning away potential male students at the door with the words "you are not welcome here," Daly has decreed that no male students can enroll in her "Introduction to Feminist Ethics" course. Her contention is that their presence would constitute a distraction to female student engaged...
...made it through junior high loyally preferring Marlon Brando to Luke Perry and Jimmy Dean to Christian Slater, I'll never know. Years before I first blushingly kissed a boy in the eighth grade, I could already recite Humphrey Bogart's monologue to Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca. After a particularly heartrending breakup at age 16, I cried myself a cathartic river watching Cary Grant, waiting futilely for Deborah Kerr atop the Empire State Building, in "An Affair to Remember...
...every octogenarian in the woodwork) thronged the theaters to see Clark Gable in his original technicolor splendor. To the words, "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn," I found myself in cinematic raptures that almost resulted in my gagging on a popcorn kernel. In fourth grade, when every other girl in my class aspired to be Paula Abdul, I wanted to be Scarlett O'Hara. During this formative time, I underwent a mercifully brief period where I let Scarlett's Georgian accent bleed into my own speech. I got over it, thank God, about the same time...
...made it through junior high loyally preferring Marlon Brando to Luke Perry and Jimmy Dean to Christian Slater, I'll never know. Years before I first blushingly kissed a boy in the eighth grade, I could already recite Humphrey Bogart's monologue to Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca. After a particularly heartrending breakup at age 16, I cried myself a cathartic river watching Cary Grant, waiting futilely for Deborah Kerr atop the Empire State Building, in "An Affair to Remember...