Bogged down by various writing assignments, ill health, muggy weather, and many other excuses. I've seen a few movies, though.

THE DREAMERS: The cinephile in me enjoyed all the French new wave references, and I sat up for Michael Pitt's resounding declaration at the end. Gorgeously shot, of course, but a little limp, and not as sexually explicit as it should've been.

A WOMAN IS A WOMAN: A kodakcolor pastiche and perhaps the first existential musical. No one sings and dances except for the director, and he's always offscreen. Only a prelude, not yet a breakthrough.

THE APPLE: The worst movie ever made? How about the most fascinatingly, howlingly ill-conceived sequin-studded extravaganza of all time? Think a deluded young disciple of Ken Russell on the end of his tether, convinced he's making the next ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW... it's like a fabulous trainwreck, so caught up in its own glee, excess and cheapo effects that you can't even imagine of looking away for one second. And the schlock-rock production numbers are unshakable like a nagging television commercial for a candy bar.

LAST TANGO IN PARIS: If you want to understand how masterfully an actor can embody a part, a character, a soul, with all its contradictions and mood swings and hurt intact, start right here with Marlon Brando and his most revealing performance. Rarely has a film felt so much like a fever dream, yet also painfully very real.