Hipsters are the piss of the world, or Armond White is a hypocritical dickweed
First things first (i.e., shameless promotion): only Rep in this round of the Weekly. If you can make it all the way through my endless evisceration of Garden State, you're more patient than I.
Though few cinegeeks needed the alert, Slate kickstarted its annual, Edelstein-run Movie Club yesterday. So far, Edelstein's a gracious host, Taylor's Taylor, Zacharek's Taylor-only-less-so, White has surely pissed off every cineaste not named Armond White, and Scott has, predicatably, come to the rescue. (His abrupt departure to tend to his son only amps up his cool factor.) The reverse circle jerk* around Dogville is more than a little irritating (Taylor's assertion that it has no aesthetics is loony, hinting that he's a kneejerk traditionalist), but its impact was quickly lessened by the arrival of White, who informed us that a) the Voice poll belies a dead culture; b) Before Sunset is beloved only by hipsters who, in between pissing on cinema, like to kick old ladies in the shin (sorry, Stephanie!); and c) he's monstrously insecure around anyone who fronts the NYT's film section. (Taylor wasn't loads better, admittedly: his "Paulette" rant is touchy to say the least.) If Edelstein wanted to up the tabloid factor over last year's cozy love-in, he's succeeded beyond his wildest dreams.
[Sweeney bash removed as it was lame.]
* Sorry. This probably doesn't work.