One of you beautiful people paid me to experience the beautiful insanity of King Vidor’s 1949 adaptation of The Fountainhead, which turned an unreadable monstrosity of a novel into a gorgeous fever dream of a melodrama.
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Not even prison can curb Bill Cosby’s harsh judgmental streak, distressingly, if predictably enough.
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The ever-increasing awfulness of Ricky Gervais as a person has made enjoying his once-essential work difficult, if not impossible.
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