Popcorn fare indeed.
As someone who travels through the layers of the mind — both of patrons and my own — this visual journey of the ethereal was surprisingly real. I think like this. I dream like this.
Layers naturally form when I surrender. They are the breadcrumb trail back through the forest. The further [...]
One of my holiday films. My enjoyment of the sex scenes was marred by Asia’s obvious breast implants. But overall as good promised.
It reminded me a lot of Edith Wharton’s The Age of Innocence; but more honestly carnal with characters who were willing to throw away respectability instead of politely suffocating. French instead of American.
For real depravity, movie buffs have always turned to art-house films. Now it’s official. The Guardian helpfully catalogues the most extreme perversions.
I loved Romance. I must see The Last Mistress.
Pity it’s come to my attention so late.