The release of the trailer for the revival of an exhausted franchise is not a major cultural event.
The terrible writer who is directly responsible for every major movie being formulaic rubbish.
The dubious rewards that come from screenwriting competitions and the ‘expert’ readers employed to examine your work.
You can’t have sex symbols with the ‘sex’ – and once the Hollywood legends have died, that brings up all sorts of questions that people prefer not to think about.
The extraordinary collection of screen idols who promoted soap bars.
Maria Der’s wonderfully deranged visions from the tobacco cured VHS parlours of yesteryear allow us a peak and a prod at the underbelly of many beloved Hollywood favourites.
The glamour, fantasy and tease of Tinsel Town’s festive dream world.
Vintage advertisements for exotic drug paraphernalia aimed at people with more money than sense.
Preston Sturges’ biting class satire remains as valid, and as entertaining, as the day it was made.
Ricky Gervais took aim at celebrity hypocrisy and arrogance at the Golden Globes, and it was delicious.