After being translated into French, back into English, into Portugese, and back again into English: “For effleure external of the adventure, I will admit…”
“Since most people’s imaginations are confined to their own heads, and mine seems to have a radius of approximately 20 feet, I guess I can live with that.”
“An encyclopedic knowledge of premium-cable history and the ability to make up new slang words simply aren’t enough to maintain success in Hollywood anymore.”
One of the most intricate plots in recent movie memory (which I won’t even try to recount here), and like any good film noir, it’s thick with atmosphere.
Boogie Nights is, on the whole, an assiduously ardent portrayal of the rise to prominence and penetration into the mainstream of pornographic film in the 1970s.
To many, Orson Welles is best known for three things: War of the Worlds, Citizen Kane, and as a (barely) walking fat joke during the last few years of his life.
“What’s going on, Fejod?” He asked the top of Fejod’s head. It was a dumb question, but it would’ve been dumber if he’s asked someone named Bill the question.
A subgenre of films has popped up recently, trading on our knowledge of movie conventions and genre clichés, but even that subgenre’s starting to grow stale.