It's one endless reel in my mind now. A big boat is sinking; a starship is rising; an ex-stand-up is drawing $1 million per potty joke; and the studio magpies are eyeballing the receipts over Monday-morning cappuccino.
A smart lad would stick with art house offerings and steer clear of the Cineplex, especially the whizbang mega-releases. But not a slow learner who adores the very idea of going to the movies and keeps thinking the next one's actually going to be worth the eight bucks. I see ads on buses; I hear the buzz; I read blurbs promising the adventure of...
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