The irrepressible Ms. Lafont, seen here sizing up (and finding wanting) wannabe seducer Serge Marquand, is one of the main attractions of Moshe Mizrahi's 1971 Les Stances a Sophie. Another selling point—the reason, in fact, that the new disc of the film came out on a music label rather than a film label—is its great soundtrack by the Art Ensemble of Chicago. All is revealed in today's Foreign Region DVD Report, over at The Auteurs'.
I was thinking of posting some thoughts concerning the recent blogospheric pile-on of that schmuck Ben Lyons, encouraged by Chris "Taste the Blood of Dracula" Lee's L.A. Times piece asking the burning question "Is... Lyons the most hated film critic in America?" First off, the question itself contains a category error. Secondly, is everybody who complains about Lyons really that shocked at the notion that the road to television fame does not involve a meritocracy of any kind? Jeebus, if the execs who conceptualized the new improved version of At The Movies could've lured Lauren Conrad and Heidi Montag away from Viacom and had them do their picks of the week whilst hot-oil wrestling, don't you think they would have? I'm not saying Lyons doesn't suck—he does—but there is something kind of touching about his third-generation close-but-no-cigar hackdom. His grandfather Leonard spent his entire career jostling with Ed fucking Sullivan just for the privilege of being second fiddle to Walter Winchell, his dad Jeffrey (as rude and arrogant a mediocrity as I've ever met in the business—okay, maybe he's second to Regis Philbin) didn't even have the first clue as to how to fill Ebert's sweater on Sneak Previews, and now lil' Ben looks as if he's not gonna back down until he proves to the entire world that he's got better teeth than Roeper. I think it's kinda cute, in a there's-no-business-like-show kinda way. And in any case, as dopily effusive as Lyons can be—I've not watched At The Movies, but what I saw of him on E! certainly made my own less-than-telegenic teeth ache—it isn't as if the class that so loudly disdains him is entirely without sin. In the past week alone, for example, I've read some putatively substantive cinema appraisers positing that Burn Without Reading is meant as a condemnation of everybody who took No Country For Old Men seriously, that critics would be drooling over the risible Seven Pounds if it was in a language other than English, and that the upcoming revival of Made in USA is going to save cinephilia from videogame enthusiasts. Lyons may be a cretin, but he's not quite a lunatic.
Anyhow, like I said, I was thinking of blogging about this, but to hell with that. I'm on vacation.