readers, i have failed. i sprinted out of work on friday, hoping to put together a wee photo essay on the general lee's appearance at the 56th street hooters, but rain was dissolving the group shot by the time i was within range. i got a picture of jumpsuited dukes of hazzard promo guys and an accidental two-second movie of a hooters girl with fat arms (ha!) running for cover, both nixed with a slip of the thumb on friday evening; sincerest apologies. in lieu of boobies, my favorite snippets from pauline kael's new yorker film reviews (june 1983 - july 1985):

(on footloose)
Footloose is what they're not.

(on risky business)
There's a stale cuteness in the idea; it's like a George Bernard Shaw play rewritten for a cast of ducks and geese.

(on al pacino's tony in scarface)
He's a pig rooting around in money and cocaine, and, as things go wrong, he snorts more and more. (This could be a summary of how some movies are made now.)

(on against all odds)
God, how I have come to hate car chases.

(on prince in purple rain)
He's a cutie when he dances.

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