Empire Records lie waiting for me, the “brain”child of one Allan Moyle, a man responsible for foisting some of the most heavy-handed teensploitation tales ever.
With December comes the end of another wildly adequate year of cutting-edge journalism, edgy opinion-making, and our single-handed revival of the payola craze.
Anderson loves each of his characters for all their flaws and failings, letting them put themselves through the wringer but always welcoming them home.
This should have been just a madcap, goofy, directed-by-Carl-Reiner sort of comedy. They threw in gratuitous violence, bad hair, bad skin, and bad singing.
I’m torn between getting this hatred and disgust that lies within me in steaming clots out once and for all and maneuvering my mouse to “no” when asked to save.