Yeah, I'm out on this one—I realized tonight that while I could, with some effort, drop in here and talk about some interesting shit (the relationship of iconography to self-image came to mind—how we create images of others in order to create ourselves—the mirror effect of art—and how the GR is attempting to destroy…

Virginia was SO in the driver's seat in her conversation with Bill at the opening that I immediately thought "Oh, she's gonna get taken down a peg at some point tonight." And Lo, It Was So. (But, blessedly, it was not at the hands of Dr. Masters, who needs to let the woman drive, goddammit.)

One of the things that I (try to) teach my students is the simple lesson that "Context matters." As in, "If you ever think you've got a really solid grasp on something—if you feel really good about how you judge something or someone, consider what it would look like if you weren't YOU." And when they accuse me of…

See it. Garner's performance—and he's aided by an excellent screenplay—is everything that was awesome about him (well, everything that doesn't involve Jim Rockford. Or Bret Maverick. Or—fuck, I'm getting depressed again.)

I did—thanks. (And fixed.)

Oh, absolutely. Bette Davis is a Lean Forward, Sally Fields is a Lean Back—Young Streep was a Lean Forward, Older Streep is a Lean Back. And so on.

Great actors fall into two categories—the Lean Forwards and the Lean Backs—both named after the physical response they provoke in their audience.

Some of us were dropping hamartia long before it was cool. (Hey, *you* try teaching Shakespeare without throwing it around—can't be done, I swear.)

(steeples fingers) Soon…soon I shall return, and all shall know that I am—(Lights come on, revealing shabby basement) Dammit, Mom! I'm trying to send a message here!

I'd be willing to swap "nihilistic" for "atheistic." You're right, they could be radical predestinationists or some such—there's such a focus on the "nothingness" of this life—not to mention the smoking as a gesture of speeding the path to death, the silence as a statement on the irrelevance of…something or other. I…

Please—"Rehashing Leftovers." Because, pun.

Ah, but what if it fell on her? Then how would you feel about—Christ, people, settle down—there's no need to—OK, enough with the cheers, and why did you all bring vuvuzelas here tonight?!

How much slack do we cut the traumatized?

Ayup.

My mother introduced me to the term "ego chill" at a very young age. I was a morbid kid, and was often profoundly depressed about the fact—which nobody else seemed to fully appreciate—that I was going to die and be dead forever. Forever. It was the forever part that got me—that kept me awake at night, staring at the…

As someone who was occasionally accused of being you, Mr VanDerWerff, let me just say: I should be so gifted. Thank you for the gift of your talent here, and best of luck from hereon.

Tell your eyes that "no means no."

I don't think you could. (Well, you could, but I think you'd be wrong if you did.) As there are for child molestation, there exist sound, real reasons why incest is inherently harmful—emotional and sexual development are just shredded, often beyond repair, for instance—unlike other forms of behavior between…

I've been chewing over this one since last night, anticipating the internet explosion that I knew would follow, and not wanting to just rush headlong into the discussion—wanting to reflect and gather my thoughts and generally avoid being Late Night Internet Guy (one of Gotham's most repulsive villains.) But of course…

Seconded.