Jean Epstein had a theory. The star of his theory was the machine -- an anti-hero, a character the audience loved to hate. Epstein recognized the machine as an extension of humans, who manipulate objects, but magnificently immortal. A filmmaker, Epstein cast the camera, his own personal extension, in
And now for something completely different. It's 1969, love and social criticism are in the air. Throw together five well-educated Britons and one American (that makes six cross-dressed men all together), add a dead parrot and a wicked sense of the absurd, and "Monty Python's Flying Circus" is born.
Angry Kid's hair flames out from both sides of his lopsided head like two blood-red pizza slices. He sits in the back of his father's car and spits obscene annoyances out of his gnarled lips. "My tape, my tape," he squeals. Pops puts in the tape and a wicked death jam blasts from the speakers. He eje
Until the 1980s, British humor stayed largely in the vein of Benny Hill and Monty Python. It was not a good place for women, who generally got laughs by falling out of corsets, bending over in mini-skirts, or fleeing dirty old men. That all changed when Jennifer Saunders arrived on the scene, smearin