Lollipops and Boobs on The New Vulgate...

"...The thing about French cinema is that the starlets don’t all resemble lollipops with breasts. You know, where they are so bony and jutty and skinny and stretched and then they go up to the altar or the podium or whatever they call that thing at the Academy Awards, and there they are, standing there, shuddering, shivering, teetering, crying and they make you think of newborns because, like newborns, they cry and because, like newborns, they look like they don’t really have the strength to hold up their heads? And it makes you want to force-feed them something drippy and greasy and hamburger-y just so they can get through their speech, and then when you finally cross your fingers and take a deep breath in hopes that their heads won’t actually just roll off what’s left of their bodies right there, right in the middle of the ceremony (although admittedly, one must admit that maybe such an event would actually lend the actual ceremony a certain pizzazz, a certain chutzpah, a certain je ne sais quoi. . .) and then your eyes finally trail down to their décollétés and there’s these two bursty-balloony things bursting and ballooning out in front of them and then down lower there’s just more skinny juttiness? Well, in French cinema there’s not so much of that. So if you’re into that kind of thing, then you might not be so much into French cinema..."