Why is it that I, probably technically a cinephile, cannot stand reading books with cinephile protagonists? Is it second-hand embarrassment? Is the call coming from inside the house? As soon as a character starts pontificating about obscure or arthouse or classic film, I want to peace right out of there. I should be thrilled this little shit loves Werner Herzog, but I’m like, “Oh no!”
— Feb 18, 2024 02:35PM
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