X-Men: Apocalypse is a confused, bloated, mess of a film.
June 22, 1967
On the sidewalk in front of the Ivanhoe Theatre, the watchers were watching the watchers watched. There were six television cameras and the lights and announcers to attend to them, a couple of dozen newspaper reporters, and a large quantity of adolescent girls and neighborhood ladies. There were no police lines to separate these people into the professionally and the merely curious, and so they seeped back and forth through each other like the tide, first the cameramen and then the neighborhood ladies being thrown up upon the curb.
According to a photographer's count of the celebrities, Marshall Korshak had arrived in a Yellow Cab and that was that so far. But the watch continued.
"Not a sign of Mayor Daley," a lady said bitterly. "You would think for once in his life he could show up on time."
"He ain't coming, lady," said a cop.
"He's coming with Gov. Kerner," the lady answered fervently. "What do you mean he isn't coming?"
"I think you mean the ballgame, lady," said the cop.
Separating the artist from the art isn't as easy as it sounds.
This message came to me from a reader named Peter Svensland. He and a fr...
Part two of Jana Monji's essay about the portrayal of Asian characters in cinema.
Reviews from Cannes of Cristian Mungiu's "Graduation" and Nicolas Winding Refn's "The Neon Demon."