Gentlemen, You Can't Fight In

Criticism Should Be Done By Critics, And A Critic Should Have Some Training And Some Love Of The Medium He Is Discussing. But These Days, Gossip-columnist Training Seems To Be Enough Qualification. I Suppose An Ability To Stand On Your Feet Through Interminable Cocktail Parties And Swig Interminable Gins In Between Devouring Masses Of Fried Prawns May Just Possibly Help You To Understand And Appreciate What A Director Is Getting At, But For The Life Of Me I Can't See How.

Conversation Like Television Set On Honeymoon... Unnecessary.

Women Are More Difficult To Handle Than Men. It's Their Minds.

Clouseau: Does Yer Dewg Bite? Inn Keeper: No Clouseau: Nice Doggy (bends Down To Pet A Dachshund - It Snarls And Bites Him) I Thought You Said Yer Dewg Did Not Bite! Inn Keeper: Zat . . . Iz Not My Dog!

Ecstatic Over The Total Annihilation Of The Earth, Dr. Strangelove "resurrects" Himself, Miraculously Regaining His Ability To Walk. His Mechanical, Robot-like Body Rises Out Of His Wheelchair, Crying Exultantly: "sir! I Have A Plan. Heh." (he Realizes He Is Standing Up.) "mein Fuehrer, I Can Walk!"