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[...] I got into Harvard on a film criticism scholarship. At the time, it was a big thing in the Ivy Leagues. A moneymaker for the university. We competed in criticism decathlons against the other Ivies to packed auditoriums. Film was of major cultural import in the seventies, that magical decade f…

“You know I hate the Circus/Magic convention. Let me do the Great American Children’s Shoe Show Extravaganza of Anaheim and get Tom to do this one.”

“Tom’s getting married that week.”

“Oh, fuck. Right.” I pause. Then: “Y’know, I’ve been meaning to mention this for some time now, but I don’t t…

He is, I conclude, a poseur of the most odious sort, beloved by beret-wearing undergraduates, who, in their nescience (surely they are so nescient they don’t even know the word nescience! Ha!),

In my first class, I almost got into a fistfight with Warren Beatty over the ranking of Godard’s Weekend. It was at that point the only film I’d ever seen and, therefore, I put it at number one. Beatty put it at seven because he didn’t understand it. He insisted the film was a critique of fascism…

Whatever it is, it’s certain to be yet another turgid, overhyped foray into Kaufman’s self-referential, self-congratulatory psyche