I see the filmic landscape as a vast ocean of oneness. I cast my rod, and if I don't like what I catch, I just throw it back in. I caught two films from 1967 yesterday, and before that an odd, Lynchafied beast from 1977, and before that a 1991 piece of strange Crispin, and before that a hot piece of 1953 Lang, and backwards and forwards and all over the place as years and eras and genres all compete for a bite at my bait.
I'm indiscriminate! Well, sorta.
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