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And now I see (more extensive damage than hitherto seen) that I have used up my allotted space and time this week on mere preamble. I can only try to tide you over till the next issue by disclosing the following. My immediate impression of Une Si Jolie Petite Plage was that it's one of the great, great films of a great, great era, a film fully saturated in postwar fatalism, with a powerful and haunting atmosphere, geographically, meteorologically, as well as psychologically, and with a powerful and haunting theme reminiscent of (or rather, prefigurative of) that of Mystic River, the childhood scar that can never be erased. The double "greats," let's be clear, are necessitated to distinguish the word from the colloquial "great," meaning "good enough," "satisfactory," "not bad." (How are you today? Great. How was your latte? Great. How's the new Will Ferrell comedy? Great. ) The new Coen brothers film, in contrast, is one of the very good films of a routinely meager year, notwithstanding the uppermost blurb in the ad campaign, courtesy of Peter Travers of Rolling Stone, proclaiming it "an indisputably great movie." Were it indisputably great, it would be the first movie of that description in all of history. I will dispute it next week. On the last weekend in October, I made the right choice.

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