A minor medical scare this past weekend has resulted in the hospitalization of the Conflicted Film Snob, a shocking turn of events considering the robustness of health he felt getting out of bed on Saturday morning. Worse still, the forced downtime has given him much too much time to dwell on mortality while staring at his non-slip socks.
Back in late July 1996, my fiancé and I made the short walk from our apartment to the middling, yet convenient, 8-screen Webster Place Theaters in Chicago’s Lincoln Park to check out a flick that, since its release, had garnered wildly contrasting reviews. Entertainment Weekly felt it “blithely moronic,” while The San Francisco Chronicle called it “fair, at best.” Yet, back here in Chicago, the world’s most influential film critics (according to a June