I will praise you, Constance Bennett, for all the great lines you had in Topper, beginning with, “You know something, George? I think we’re dead.” Haven’t we all felt that from time to time—dead, I mean—bloodless and out of it, humming a few bars of “Pink Cadillac” to cheer ourselves up, though usually it takes something more to shake Virgil and...Learn More

All women bewail the betrothal of any woman, beamy-eyed, bedazzled, throwing a fourth finger about like a marionette. Worse than marriage in many ways, an engagement, be it moments or millennia, is a morbid exercise in hope, a mirage, a romance befuddled by magazine photographs of lips, eye brows, brassieres, B-cups, bromides, bimbos...Learn More