Word: mr
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...CHUNG: You won’t hear too much dissent from me on this topic, Mr. Soskin. The reign of the summer blockbuster is an ugly, brutal one; long before the Bush administration made it a way of life, studios have relied on and thereby perpetuated a deep, long-standing ignorance within the American people. Far too many individuals have locked themselves into the mindset that film simply cannot exist as an art form comparable to its centuries-old companions in theater, painting and music. I’ve bore many an unhealthy grudge against friends unwilling to accept movies...
...SOSKIN: You’ve made a lot of great points, Mr. Chung. I think that there’s a simple solution to the studios’ overreliance on “safe” summer product, but it’d be a tough solution to put into practice. Yes, Hollywood needs talented studio heads who will develop compelling ideas, and yes, they need to give directors the creative control they deserve. But, most importantly, the studios have to find better writers and better scripts...
...year was that?) You walk into Parliament to meet your friend Matthew who grew up in a good leftist family and was made a peer by the Labour government, and you love to address him as Milord because it makes him wince, which reminds you of your history teacher Mr. Faust, and before long you are remembering Mr. Hochstetter and Miss Story and Miss Melby, who are clearer to you in London, being English teachers...
Clapton and Aerosmith both know their blues, but playing blues classics convincingly is another matter. Clapton sets the bigger challenge for himself on Me and Mr. Johnson by covering 14 tracks by Robert Johnson, the most miserable Mississippian ever to strum a guitar. When he died, Johnson was 27 and had only 29 songs to his name. Clapton says those recordings (which are just Johnson and his Gibson L-1, no accompaniment) are the finest music ever made, which leads to a conceptual dilemma: if Clapton mimics Johnson's superior minimalism, he has added nothing; if he tinkers, he risks...
Johnson would have appreciated the double bind, but it's hard to guess what he'd make of Me and Mr. Johnson. Clapton adds a full band and as much as two minutes in length to some of Johnson's songs. The guitar playing is predictably spectacular, but in stretching the songs Clapton strips them of their intensity. His vocals don't help matters. He's ecstatic to be covering his idol, but his exuberance increases the disconnection between the music and the material. Johnson was one dark dude; when he sang, "There's a hellhound on my trail...