Annie Hall was smarter than Star Wars; the Godfather was smarter than Jaws. Educated human beings like to converse with words; simpletons draw figures in the dirt with sticks.

Ah, the early seventies, when movies actually were made for literate adults. Then, pow! Zoom! Those neat effects that dulled the mind and showed us what film was really meant to do: infantilize its audience. Comforting.

No, but it doesn't just have to be lobotomized headbanging horseshit, either.

Der, okay, dude, catch ya later!

If more deaths at their concerts gave Zep's music more meaning, I'd be all for it.

Yeah, that's always the excuse when you point out just how empty Zep's work is: "Dude, you just don't understand." Yes, so, so profound.

You confuse sex and a gang-rape.

Jagger's solo albums are full of experimentation and Superheavy at least had 'Miracle Worker.' Not his fault his drummer didn't choke on his own vomit (or plays with more subtlety than a battering ram).

It wasn't 'exquisite;' it was just an empty competition to see who in the band could outvolume the other: Plant's shrieking, Page's pointlessly multi-layered solos, Bonham's Cro-Magnon bashing. The musical equivalent of Redbull: an initially exciting riff that leaves you feeling empty as it's just beaten into the…

Just wondering what the fuss is about is all.

Plant just always seemed to be interested in showing off the acrobatics of his voice rather than connecting with the subject he was singing about. Perfect for a band whose primary musical goal was 'look how great we are,' but kind of boring when you're looking for something more. Even a weaker vocalist like Jagger…

The guy who sang "Oh, oh, oh, oh/You don't have to go, oh, oh, oh, oh oh?" Nope, pretty much nailed it, thanks.

Between visits to the slam, so probably 2010 or so.

Not when he's betting on black.

Ah, Wesley, just pay your taxes on you and Woody can do a third team-up. White Men Can't Money Train or something.

or "Robert Plant: Shrieking Hack."

There doesn't seem to be much depth to Plant; Page gave him some augmented blues covers to shriek or ballads to orgasm himself to in turn, he later hangs with some desert tribes as if Brian Jones hadn't done the same thing already, hooks up with Alison Krauss for some NPR-darling folk arrangements, and gets back for…

Combine this plotline with Brooklyn Nine-Nine (Samberg falls sick, get zombified, Braugher puts a full clip in his head) and we may have the best show ever.

They'll both be filed under 'cancelled' soon, so it really won't make a difference.

You want your artists to be saints, find another planet.