TFW you want so much for a movie by the dude who wrote Chinatown to be the great lost Last New Hollywood classic, except it's not, not by a long shot, so you give it the hardest against-the-grain resistant reading in the history of lazy textual engagement, trying to make it that movie you want it to be, practically projecting your imaginary version over it, and . . . in the end, it's still three attractive people doing nothing. So that's what we discuss on this riveting episidode about a film we bet you haven't thought about since "President Bush" meant the old guy who barfed on the Japanese Prime Minister's lap!
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