This side of Bardot survives in the doyenne who today proclaims her disgust

I was fascinated with the still, hushed, lugubrious, unadrenalated world of Diary

suggesting an interesting, fecund world awaiting us just beyond the screen, coterminous with the action, if momentarily off-camera

the object of these encomia

Mizoguchi is apt to seem the more borderline bathetictoday, Naruse the more realistic

It is a passage as modern, as contrapuntally abstract, as Resnais's Muriel, or the finale of Antonioni's The Passenger.

even his meretricious films, like Network

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.

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

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