Palish

Some of you know of (or share) my long-standing adoration of Anthony Lane, film critic for the New Yorker. When my magazine arrives (usually Wednesday), I flip to the back, ignore the last page now that it's wasted on a cartoon caption contest (can't you just see the editorial meeting that led to that brilliant idea--"Hey guys, I know how to appeal to the really rich retired readers!"), and find the film reviews. David Denby is fine, but it's Mr. Lane who makes my heart go pitter pat. I've laughed out loud while reading his reviews (see his take on Yoda-speak from May), but mostly I smirk right along with his witty, often spot-on, observations. He makes me feel smart.

Anyway, Sally Potter has a new film, titled Yes. Is your pretension o'meter not buzzing yet? Let me add that the dialogue is written in rhyming couplets. Throughout.

How does Anthony Lane handle such a thing? He writes a review, my children, in rhyming couplets. Here's a teaser:

"The latest Sally Potter film, called “Yes,
Describes a love affair. I must confess
Her other work—“Orlando,” starring Tilda
Swinton, so uptight I could have killed her,"

Oh Anthony Lane, how I love thee.