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James Sanders does some nice bit of cheerleading for his clearly beloved city, in the process furnishing us with some surprising insights into the tangled relations between the actual New York, in particular Manhattan, and its representation or recreation in films. But, finishing the book, I was left wondering how well his pitch, and the reader’s appreciation of it, were served by his deployment of such an array of forgettable and often frankly abysmal movies to buttress his argument. Really, what does it say about this city (or any other, for that matter) that it has to depend on such clunkers as Wolfen, or Escape from New York or countless, similarly painful to watch others to establish its relevance? Rosemary’s Baby, Mean Streets, Annie Hall, or even The Naked City which Jules Dassin himself, its director, thought had been botched by its need to function as propaganda, sure, but Green Card? By God, I mean Depardieu, who even remembers (or cares to) that piece of junk? By the end

Celluloid Charm ElephAnt

antique-coke-machine The best website on Celluloid Charm ElephAnt