DURING THE FIRST TWO WEEKS of April I saw over 40 movies. Although I had always considered myself a dedicated moviegoer, those two weeks were less a labor of love than of endurance. Watching movies, after the 24th or 25th one, just isn’t fun anymore. My sleep became tense and fitful; my meals, sticky inconveniences; my stomach, argumentative. My self-image changed in the space of two short weeks from a sassy, temperamental magazine writer to a furtive creep. I am deeply grateful the whole thing is over.
I was originally motivated to see these films by simple curiosity. For the past