Activity

filled with talent and brio

in general comport themselves in a somnambulistic, inarticulate, unconscious manner

the rarity of one contemporary prose stylist analyzing another's devices so closely (if vituperatively)

Kael's rave of The Godfather, Part II is finally a dull pileup of encomiums; by the time she places Coppola alongside Tolstoy, it's enough already.

even his meretricious films, like Network