Carla Gugino has certainly been a successful actress, with a diverse filmography in everything from family fare to erotic thrillers. She has somehow managed to be Harriet Nelson one day, Sharon Stone the next, then Donna Reed, then Eva Green – and was completely natural in all those roles. As successful as she was, I don’t know what kept her from being an even bigger star. As you can tell, I am a fan.

I am also a fan of this film, which I have often described as the most entertaining film nobody ever heard of. (OK, possibly excepting Kiss Kiss Bang Bang). As far as I’m concerned, it has it all: wisecracking buddy cops, philosophical crooks, hidden motivations, wild plot twists, gratuitous nudity, Alan Rickman, Emma Thompson, humor, and Carla Gugino’s breasts. Did I mention gratuitous lesbian porn that has absolutely nothing to do with the rest of the movie? It’s the ultimate recipe for a guilty pleasure film of the 80s or 90s, and that kinda happens to be custom designed for my tastes. Hell, Escoffier himself could not create a more perfect recipe. OK, I’m gushing.

And I rhapsodized about the film at even more embarrassing length in my review.

Enough of my bullshitting. He-e-e-e-re’s Carla:


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I wrote on September 12, 2001

There’s nothing for us to say about the events. You’ve seen it on TV, and you realize how people are reacting. If the professional wordsmiths and mouthpieces can’t find the words, neither will we. There are no precedents to help comprehend the events, nor words to summarize the grief and shock. It doesn’t seem real now. Perhaps it never will.

As any history professor will tell you, people don’t much care for the minutiae of dates. Yesterday morning, most Americans could identify only three by heart.

Now there will be four.

July 4, 1776

December 7, 1941

November 22, 1963

September 11, 2001