From 1968 to 1991, the columnist made the heyday of the cinema pages of New Yorker. His texts are finally brought together in a single, delectable volume.
Respect. Pauline Kael (1919-2001) was the only American to know that Bertrand Blier was the « son of the famous chubby actor ». This gives an idea of its culture. From 1968 to 1991, criticism raged in the New Yorker where she made rain and shine. For cinema, the era had something miraculous. Every week there was something to grind. The New Wave, the New Hollywood, the lady had the choice. His curiosity, his bad faith, his honking style did the rest.
Godard is taken to the pinnacle (« Currently the only director to keep the seventh art alive »). Truffaut is entitled to less consideration (« Stolen kisses is almost a disposable film »). With her, the sacred cows had better behave. Resnais gets what he deserves (summary of Providence : « frozen Borges »). She finds Antonioni « knocking out ». In his texts, there is a lot of talk about emotion. That’s not…
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