Everyone's talking about Anthony Lane's review of Revenge of the Sith in this week's New Yorker. With its mix of death-defying vivisectional logic ("how Padmé got pregnant is anybody’s guess, although I’m prepared to wager that it involved Anakin nipping into a broom closet with a warm glass jar and a copy of Ewok Babes"), and low-blow stand-up comedy ("Sith. What kind of a word is that? ... It sounds to me like the noise that emerges when you block one nostril and blow through the other"), this is the battlecry we've been waiting for. That is, all of "us" who keep forgetting why today is different from all other days - all of us who, as Lane puts it, "still fail to understand why [we] should have been expected to waste twenty-five years of [our lives] following the progress of a beeping trash can and a gay, gold-plated Jeeves...Break me a fucking give."

And so, a few links should you choose to join the dissent:

categories Cinematical