You are a Joss Whedon fan. You loved Buffy. You sometimes have dirty dreams about Nathan Fillion. You are okay with the fact that Nathan Fillion was played by Jeremy Renner in The Avengers, because you could be convinced to have dirty dreams about him, too. You considered going to see The Avengers at midnight but you went the next day and even blew off some plans to see it in the middle of the day so you could spend the rest of your night talking about how awesome it was, because (like every other human being on the planet) you expected to find it unbearably awesome. You won’t watch Dollhouse because you’ve heard it’s not that good, and you can’t bear to see Joss like that. You want good things for the people you love.

But the awesome never came, the good things never came. And all that time spent avoiding Dollhouse was for naught.

You didn’t hate it, but you wanted to like it more, and you knew that thinking it “wasn’t terrible” wouldn’t be good enough. Like that time that you saw The Dark Knight and pointed out the badly-choreographed fight scenes to your friend who proceeded to have a hissy fit in the theater lobby. You know that only utter devotion to The Avengers’ awesomeness will be acceptable, so you hope no one brings it up and prey that they don’t. You know that, as a film critic, you will eventually have to write about it and plan to publish it under an assumed name. You will mail that piece from in an unmarked envelope from an unspecified location somewhere near East Timor.

And then you will disappear. You will make up a fake identity and move to one of those island nations where Republicans keep all their escort money and change your face to look like Saddam Hussein. You can start over.

Except that you don’t have the money for that. You barely have the money to eat. So, you find little things to comment on that you did like. “That Hawkeye sure looks good in a tank top!” “Captain America hates chicken shawarma. Hilarious!” or “Scarlett Johansson’s rear end is a terrific actress.” Or you find ways to hint at your dislike of the film, without ever actually saying anything unkind about it. You tell people, “If anything, it showed that Joss Whedon, who gave Robert Downey Jr. all the good dialogue, would be the perfect director for Iron Man 3.” “Considering all the work needed to weave those four different movies together, Joss Whedon made the best Avengers movie possible.” “It was like I was watching four movies! Hey, have you seen Inception!” or “I can’t wait for the sequel.”

You aren’t a good liar, and so you practice lying about the film in the mirror in case people call you out on not liking it. You ready your shocked, aghast, flabbergasted and surprised faces, like you’re in a Spanish soap opera. You buy a glove to slap people with. You work on your I’m-in-an-episode-of-Smash drink throw. You perfect your impromptu yawn that says, “Wow! I am suddenly too tired to finish this conversation” or you go back the gym and hit that treadmill hard, in case you need to flee from your assailant. You watch Runaway Bride, Marathon Man and Chariots of Fire to get tips and old tapes of Walter Payton and Barry Sanders to perfect the perfect stiff arm. If you get trapped by a mob of angry comic book fans, you scream: “Look! It’s Alan Moore and he brought scones!” And then you book it the other direction and don’t look back. Never look back and don’t stop running. Pretend it’s like Speed, except that you are the bus.

You get outed by one of your friends for not liking it and then spend most of your time defending your right to not like things, because you have an opinion. You mention that you didn’t like Forrest Gump, The Prestige, Fight Club, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, The Artist, Forgetting Sarah Marshall or Full Metal Jacket and couldn’t care about The Usual Suspects because someone already told you the ending. You tell them that not everyone has to like the same things, because the Rotten Tomatoes message boards are not real life, and doesn’t that make life more interesting? You hope this will make it easier for them, to make it okay, to show that my not liking it doesn’t make Joss Whedon a bad director or me a heartless jerk. You mention that even Joss mentioned that he had problems with it, and you tell them how much you respect him for it and how much you were touched by his open letter to his fans.

This has the opposite effect. You will now have to defend not liking The Avengers AND Forrest Gump for the rest of your life. Your name will be synonymous with “stabbing kittens” and posters of you will be put up all over the neighborhood. Children will no longer be allowed to play with you and strangers won’t look you in the eye. This is your life now.

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Why has no one remade Rebecca? The last major film was in 1940, directed by Hitchcock and starring Laurence Olivier as a memorable Maxim and Joan Fontaine as the second Mrs. de Winter. There was a 1997 TV movie that didn’t get much buzz, and wasn’t very well cast (Charles Dance, better known as Tywin Lannister on Game of Thrones, was not quite right for the part of Maxim de Winter, and at 51, just a hair too old). Other than these adaptations, however, Rebecca has received surprisingly little play on the silver screen. Compare this to Jane Eyre, the classic — Gothic/haunted mansion/madwoman in the attic/mysterious and attractive bachelor with a former wife — novel that started it all, and that many have described as a forerunner of Rebecca. Charlotte Brontë’s novel has been made into eight silent films, multiple motion pictures and television movies, and even a few musicals.

For anyone unfamiliar, I highly recommend Daphne du Maurier’s chilling, enigmatic, and riveting portrait of a marriage, from inception to proposal to — in some aspects — conclusion. This is not a typical description of Rebecca, which usually gets billed as a mystery. In reality, though, it is a Bildungsroman, a psychological study, a series of fantastic character sketches, and a stunning examination of paranoia. In brief, it tells the story of an unnamed heroine (her namelessness is so famous, in fact, that it inspired a sequel called Mrs. de Winter) who meets and falls in love with a rich and aristocratic widower, Maximillian de Winter, who has recently lost his wife in a sailing accident. After marriage, they return to his country estate, Manderley, where she learns much more about her predecessor, Rebecca, seemingly a paragon of beauty, grace, breeding, and brilliance. The housekeeper and Rebecca’s former companion, Mrs. Danvers, takes an instant dislike to the new Mrs. de Winter, and what follows is an exercise in psychological torment and self-doubt, as the second Mrs. de Winter begins to believe her husband is still in love with his first wife. No spoilers here, but if you haven’t read it, read it, and you’ve read it already, reread it.

Why do we have so many more versions of Jane Eyre than of Rebecca? Is the former more adaptable? Is it simply more widely read? Or perhaps (and I strongly feel this might be the reason) is there something much more compelling about Jane Eyre’s heroine? Even though another woman is the protagonist of Rebecca, the book’s title, and the book itself — belong to Rebecca. Her ghost and shadowy presence own the novel in a way that Bertha Mason never does, for Jane herself is such a unique and captivating voice. Nonetheless, I’d like to recommend a film remake of Rebecca, something edgy and dark, and here is my ideal cast:

Carey Mulligan as Mrs. De Winter: The second Mrs. De Winter is described as “pretty,” but timid and diffident, with “lank hair” and a lack of panache, style, and social graces that she feels acutely in comparison to Rebecca’s poise. Over the course of the novel, she develops, tested by circumstances and the crucible of her marriage. Mulligan is a fantastic actress, and one of the few people I can think of who could pull off this transformation, conveying youth and gaucheness with sweetness and, ultimately, steely strength. This choice would also do much to flesh out the second Mrs. de Winter, who is often depicted as faded and colorless (even by Joan Fontaine in the Hitchchock film).

Ralph Fiennes as Maxim de Winter: He’s handsome, he’s stately, his aquiline nose is the definition of patrician. De Winter is a man of passionate intensity, veiled in secrecy, reserve, and aloofness. The son of an ancient line, his family pride and — to a certain extent — arrogance are compelling and tragic, hubristic. His quiet forcefulness is a difficult thing to play, and Fiennes is one of the few actors I can think of who could follow Olivier and bring a different edge and gut to the role.

Tilda Swinton as Mrs. Danvers: The housekeeper of Manderley, who holds the keys in an iron grasp, runs the estate with precision and military order, and whose mask-like expression hides murky secrets, lies, and the shadowy history of Mr. de Winter and his first wife. Described as “skeletal,” with a “skull-like” face and severe hair, she is a sort of crypt-keeper. One of the most complex characters in the novel, she cherishes a deep loyalty and passionate attachment to her former mistress, Rebecca, and feels nothing but scorn for the second wife, her replacement. Imagine running into a black-haired Tilda Swinton creeping around an ancient house — scary!

Jude Law as Jack Favell: Rebecca’s dissolute cousin, who comes around the house when Maxim is away, visiting Mrs. Danvers and reminiscing over old times. He drinks heavily, drives a fast car, and is described as a formerly handsome man who has run to seed. So really, who better than Jude Law?

Stephen Dillane as Frank Crawley: Okay, maybe I’m just a huge Game of Thrones fan, but I think Dillane would be an excellent choice for Crawley, Manderley’s overseer, Maxim’s business partner and — as Mrs. de Winter eventually discovers — secret-keeper. Frank is depicted as sort of a fool for much of the book, but at the crux, he turns out to have the sort of steely reserve and discreetness that one can’t help but admire.

Fiona Shaw as Beatrice Lacy: Maxim’s tweedy, equestrian, sporting and dog-breeding sister. Beatrice is always putting her foot in her mouth. Well-meaning and hearty, she is more preoccupied with hunting season than with the unfolding mystery of her brother’s life.

If you’re wondering why I didn’t cast Rebecca, I imagine any film that shows her in flashbacks or as a ghost wandering the corridors of Manderley loses something. Rebecca is more beautiful and more terrifying than any phantom because she inhabits Mrs de Winter’s mind.

And so to close as the book opens, “Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.”

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The Avengers (May 4)

I hope you won’t judge this movie preview based on the fact that: A.) This movie has already been out for almost two weeks and B.) I haven’t seen it. I’ve been meaning to, it’s just that I’ve had one of those two week stretches where you have an insatiable appetite for alcohol and drugs.

The Avengers has been breaking all kinds of box office records. It represents the zenith of cross-promotional, unilaterally-integrated film marketing: built on a foundation of lesser blockbusters (Iron Man, Thor, Captain America, etc.) manufactured with the overarching goal of delivering this project, The Avengers represents literally billions of dollars and unimaginable time and effort. Maybe that’s why it feels so obscenely crass — The Avengers is a brazenly transparent calculation, comprised entirely of commercial interests, contrived even by Hollywood blockbuster standards.

Studies show that people mistakenly tend to assume that their peers are less savvy and more likely to be illogically persuaded by advertising, so I won’t unjustly judge the millions and millions of people that have already packed the theaters for this monstrous tent-pole… they probably didn’t expect it to be any good, either. I guess they’re all just doing their part in contributing to the creation of an economically beneficial, cultural experience — and I promise to pitch in and do my part once I finish huffing this bag of cleaning supplies!

Battleship (May 18)

As alluded to above, a lot of people are up in arms about how Hollywood is so creatively destitute and openly shameless that it’s resorting to board games and children’s toys for launching multi-million dollar film franchises. I used to feel that way too, until I realized my life is pretty much just one long Apple Jacks commercial, so who the hell am I to judge anyway?

The Dictator (May 18)

If this is the one where Sacha Baron Cohen pretends to be a reprehensible dictator and films Americans making a bunch of social faux pas, then count me in. If it isn’t, then I don’t know — tell me what it’s about before you buy a ticket, okay? I mean, is Craig T. Nelson in it? Does it have an extra scene after the credits that we’ll have to awkwardly watch from the aisles because we already started filing out of the theater? Christ, you know what, just forget about it. I’ll rent it.

Men in Black III (May 25)

Will Smith is having one of those days where you see a really ugly person check their reflection in the mirror, and you can’t help but wonder, “Why bother?” And you’re not sure if you referring to the act of looking in a mirror, or their entire lives.

Madagascar 3: Europe’s Most Wanted (June 8)

Finally, a CGI movie about talking animals! Phew.

Prometheus (June 8)

This has Michael Fassbender in it, so you’ll probably see his penis. Michael Fassbender and his penis are like the Robert Redford and Paul Newman of Michael Fassbender movies.

That’s My Boy (June 15)

Adam Sandler plays Andy Samberg’s father in this one. He keeps talking in that enjoyable Adam Sandler voice in the trailer. This one promises to be a real “laugh riot,” so sit close to an emergency exit in case you suddenly can’t stop crying and need to run out of the theater and vomit.

Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter (June 22)

This is definitely a good idea for a movie. I’m hoping it’s really successful so I can finally start shopping my George Washington: Stupid Dead Asshole with Wooden Teeth script, which has at least 80% as good of a concept as this movie does. A couple of my friends read it and they said it was “really long.” But in a surprised voice.

G.I. Joe: Retaliation (June 29)

I’m just hoping this doesn’t have subtitles, because I accidentally sat on my reading glasses the other day.

Magic Mike (June 29)

Channing Tatum plays a male stripper, but hopefully the kind of male stripper with a really good investment portfolio. ‘Cuz those guys have a really hard time finding work once they hit their early 50s.

Tyler Perry’s Madea’s Witness Program (June 29)

Oh, boy. I’ll have to make sure I can make it out of the house for this one. The only reasonable plan would be to spend the preceding days whispering personal affirmations into the mirror while rubbing my penis over the Braille alphabet.

The Amazing Spider-Man (July 6)

Even though the last Spider-Man movie just came out like five years ago, and most people really liked the series and the cast and the director, and each one made a butt-load of money, this is a brand new one that starts the story completely over. I guess they thought that was more convenient, or something.

Sometimes I wish I could be like a Hollywood franchise and just “reboot” my identity every five or six years and pick out some poor schlub walking the down street and be like, “Okay, from now, you’re me… and Go!” And it’d be like, okay, now you’re the guy with a $60 bank account who’s banned from the library. So, uhhh…good luck with that. Sucker.

Katy Perry: Part of Me 3D (July 6)

Katy Perry stars in this movie that is presumably about her. It’s probably a documentary/concert movie about her or like that thing where you videotape yourself taking absurd doses of over-the-counter items like antacid or Vick’s VapoRub in the desperate hope that by sheer overconsumption you will transform yourself into another form or enter some kind of altered conscious or state of being, but you usually just wind up falling asleep crawling under the porch trying to get the god damned dog to give you the tennis ball back.

Never mind, I just checked — it’s a documentary about her.

Ice Age: Continental Drift (July 13)

This is a great movie to see with a small child that you really, really hate. If you’re having a hard time narrowing it down, just bring all the small children you really, really hate and try and get a matinee price or something.

Ted (July 13)

On one hand, I like going to the movies because you get to sit anonymously in the dark, and there’s no expectation of talking to strangers. On the other hand, you never know if the guy sitting next to you will turn to you after it ends and ask, “Hey, did you like the movie?” It hasn’t happened to me yet, which makes me worried that I’m “due” for it.

The Dark Knight Rises (July 20)

This film is about Leslie Nielsen. He’s probably in some role that requires him to be responsible and wise, like a brain surgeon or an air traffic controller, and the humor will arise from the juxtaposition from these expectations and his bumbling incompetence. I can’t wait to see it. I keep thinking about how if Carly Rae Jepsen was singing to Leslie Nielson in that “Call Me Maybe” song, when she got to the part that’s like, “Hey, I just met you and this is crazy/ But here’s my number so call me maybe,” he’d wait a beat and then deadpan, “Thanks, Maybe.” But the joke wouldn’t really work, because she might just think he was being coy about whether or not he was going to call her. Wait, this isn’t the movie where Leslie Nielsen’s an air traffic controller? Ah crap.

The Bourne Legacy (August 4)

Jeremy Renner replaces Matt Damon in this continuation of the Bourne series. I thought these movies were pretty cool until I remembered that I also wake up most days in a frenzied daze, unsure of my identity, frightened of my own past, and convinced that shadowy organizations are out to kill me. So, you know, it’s not really that original.

Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Dog Days (August 4)

I hope this movie doesn’t have a scene in it that’s just like that time when I was in 7^th grade, and that really popular kid came up to me after school and was like, “Hey, uh, what sex position makes the ugliest kids?” and I was really excited that the popular kid was talking to me, especially since he had a few almost-as-popular kids with him (and a few girls who were really pretty). I stood there, debating whether to try and think of a really funny, witty answer to make them all laugh, or to tell him the true answer (which I knew), because it was pretty cool that he was asking my opinion about it, and maybe he needed to know for like a science project or something. I was finally about to answer when he got tired of waiting and went, “I don’t know, ask your parents!” Everyone laughed, even the Chinese foreign exchange student who hated me for no good reason.

But the joke was really on the popular kid, because he didn’t get to hear the truth, which is that the ugliest kids are made from that sex position where a girl accidentally gets pregnant from sitting on a toilet that some guy masturbated on. I’m the one laughing now, Jarred Brockman — I hope you’re happy with your ugly toilet-seat kid!

Total Recall (August 4)

If you could recreate moments from your own past, would you choose the best ones and risk tainting them, or pick the bad ones and try and fix them? Hollywood would rather just make a mockery of the good ones because it gives you a better gross per screen for your opening weekend. So, that’s one consideration if the opportunity should ever present itself.

The Expendables 2 (August 10)

I’m legitimately rigid with anticipation for this one. I was going to rip off the “No Girls Allowed!” sign from my tree house to bring along to the theater until I remembered that I haven’t gone up there since that run-over possum crawled in it to die. Sorry, but I’m just not so good with that kind of thing.

The Possession (August 31)

Finally, a horror movie about a demonically possessed child! Phew.

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HEY THE NEW BATMAN MOVIE TRAILER IS OUT! Let’s over-analyze it, shall we? Because when it comes to over-analyzing comic book movie trailers, I am your boy-yyyy, son. …I mean, I really don’t “front” when it comes to over-analyzing.

First, the trailer itself:

Now, let’s begin–

Christian Bale Sad Beard factor: Nothing says “sad” like a sad beard. Or like a sad wispy beard. Nothing more to say here, really. Grade: A-plus

Allusions to terrorism, Occupy Wall Street, and health care reform: You want allusions? This movie’s got em’! Except for the health care part. What we really need is Batman as a spokesman for heath care reform. “This city needs… a single-payer system.” “Batman, you’ve given this city everything.” “Not… a single-payer system.” Grade: B

Michael Caine mopeyness factor: An entire generation will now remember Michael Caine as “that mopey butler who’s always vaguely disapproving of things.” Hmm. Not sure how I feel about that. Grade: C-minus

Why is Joseph Gordon-Levitt in this movie again? So he’s supposed to be a hard-boiled detective now? Ho-kay. Maybe he can go all 500 Days of Summer on us, and deliver alternating monologues about how Batman is “adorkable” but also has irritating commitment issues. Whateves. Grade: B-minus

Hines Ward factor: He scored a touchdown! But now he’s sad. Just like everyone else in this movie. Grade: A-minus

The silent staring faces of sad children: The silent staring faces of sad children are likewise also sad. Grade: C

The many moods of Batman: So he’s stoic, stoic, stoic, and… also stoic. Gotcha. Check. Grade: B

Mumble Bane factor: He’s less mumble-y this time around! Frankly, I preferred it in the first trailer when he was all, “When Gotham is ashes, you have my permission to cough mumble blurgh.” Still, his overall hard-to-understand-ness presents the possibility of hilarity. “…I need you to blow up that bridge.” “You need us to slow up that fridge?” “I need you to blow up that bridge.” “You need us to flow up that ridge?” “I need… you… to blow up that bridge.” “You’re a fan of Washington Nationals’ pitcher Brad Lidge?” Oh god I’m so funny. Grade: B-minus

Catwoman costume silliness factor: The costume silliness is off the charts, frankly. And no one beats Michelle Pfeiffer as Catwoman. And why’d we pick Anne Hathaway again? You do not… come into Michelle’s house like that… girl. Not wearing that silly mask, at least. Grade: D-minus

Batman costume silliness factor: Batman’s costume has always looked silly in these movies, especially in close-ups. I know you love these movies, but just admit it. It’s gradually looking less silly over the course of three movies, because in Batman Begins, it looked like he had bunny wabbit ears on his head, and I just couldn’t deal at all. And now it’s better, but still kinda silly. Maybe if we give Nolan five or six more movies, he’ll get it right, though. Grade: F

Why is everyone so sad all the time? Yeah, yeah, Gotham’s in trouble, got it. But everyone’s so good-looking and rich! Well, except for Bane. Bane’s not rich, and thus is understandably p.o.’ed. But everyone else is either (1) Batman, or (2) Hanging out with Batman.

Man, if I were hanging out with Batman, it’d be the first thing I’d think about when I woke up in the morning, and the last thing I thought about when I went to sleep at night. “…Maybe he’ll take me to the cave today! Maybe he’ll have a new bike! Oh my god I love my life so much.” You don’t really want me to get into what things would be like if I was inserted into these movies, though. But the people in these movies should be a little happier, I think. Grade: C

Catwoman/Batman banter factor: “My mother warned me about getting into cars with strange men.” Oh, c’mon. Who would say that? I, personally, would be like: “Is this the Batwing? And we get to fly in it? This is the best day of my life; seriously, really.”

And then I’d be like: “Cheer up, Catwoman. You know what you remind me of? When you see a really hot girl walking down the streets of Manhattan and she’s passionately scowling. And you want to be like, ‘…The f-ck are you scowling about? You’re hot and you live in the best city in the world. Lighten up.’ …That’s what I want to say to you, Catwoman. ‘Lighten up.’ Things are great and there’s a new Batman movie coming out whooooo yay!” Grade: A  

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When I first heard Whit Stillman was making another movie, I didn’t believe it. After years of Mitch Hurwitz promising to make an Arrested Development movie (which is finally happening!), I was very skeptical of things I love coming back to me. After 13 years of Stillman’s absence, after hearing that he was and then wasn’t working on that Jamaica movie and then was and wasn’t adapting Christopher Buckley’s Little Green Men, I couldn’t hope anymore. I threw in the towel. And then after his new movie premiered at Cannes, I told myself that if it actually came out, it wouldn’t be any good. Because of that long hiatus from film-making, he’d be off his game. I refused to get my hopes up, to kick at a football I knew Whit was just going to take away when I got close to contact.

But the film premiered last Friday in Chicago and after almost a decade of waiting, I finally got to kick that football, and it felt so good. Damsels in Distress isn’t Stillman’s best movie. It’s uneven and sometimes unsure of itself, because it’s trying out so many ideas, a problem oddly befitting of the insecure undergraduates Stillman documents. As in Metropolitan and The Last Days of Disco, Stillman’s characters are of the self-described Urban Haute Bourgeoisie class, also known as pseudo-intellectual preppies. Many other directors might look at this stratum of folks as merely a target for satire, but like Christopher Guest, Stillman’s touch is much lighter. He empathizes with these girls and their romantic distresses as much as he riffs on their post-adolescent pretentions.

His first film, Metropolitan, is the best example of this, a semi-autobiographical film about the people he met during his first Christmas break from Harvard. Metropolitan is completely driven by dialogue and what those words say about the person that says them, and UHB speech relies heavily on the sort of self-conscious archness reminiscent of F. Scott Fitzgerald. Remember Daisy from the ill-fated Coppola adaptation of The Great Gatsby? Imagine a movie where everyone kind of talks like that, but less incessantly irritating.

The Last Days of Disco, his last film before the comeback, perfectly encapsulates the idea of Stillmanspeak. The film deals with recent Ivy League graduates trying to make their way up in early 80s New York, a time tentatively defined by the rapidly declining disco scene. To gain status and prestige, the characters understand that it’s about where you are seen and who you are seen with. In the same way, the case of Charlotte (Kate Beckinsale) shows that, for these people, it’s not just important what you say; it matters how you say it. Beckinsale’s Charlotte is something of a Captain Obvious, prone to making inane observations like, “One of the things I’ve noticed is that people hate to be criticized,” but saying it as if it were the most profound things she had ever heard.

Part of the reason for this is that Stillman consistently documents characters whose social orders are in a state of transition or decline, and in order to maintain one’s makeshift status, the characters must constantly display their class worth and intellectual prowess—which are always intertwined. In reviewing Stillman’s newest film, Roger Ebert noted that Stillman’s characters are so absurd that his world could “only believe in itself.”

I think part of the reason is that—in documenting social transition—Stillman’s characters are an anachronism of an anachronism. Metropolitan is based on the 1970s but seems oddly set in the present (then the 1990’s), and the life they aspire to — of debutante balls and cocktail parties — is already a fantasy of the past. As Ebert states, “they are carrying on a tradition that was dead before they were born.”

Because of that, something to me always felt off about the Whit Stillman universe, even as I admired his skill at creating dialogue. His universe never quite made sense to me, because it’s artifice about artifice. However, Damsels in Distress’s real subject is that façade, the effects of living in your own fantasy, and the Stillmanesque artifice somehow makes more sense when he is dealing with the 21st century.

As Stillman’s Metropolitan is both ahead of its time in the canon of 90’s independent films and behind its time, his biggest influences are Woody Allen and Preston Sturges, the film seems chronologically adrift, as if you were watching an old movie that happened to be about people you knew. But after a decade and change of other directors picking up where Stillman left off, the Stillman universe makes more sense than it ever did. Rather than being the sole auteur of the upper-middle class WASP, Stillman’s UHB set is now part of a community also populated by the characters of The Royal Tenenbaums and The Squid and the Whale. Although some might accuse Noah Baumbach and Wes Anderson of ripping off Stillman, I think their films refine and flesh out Stillman’s narratives. They make his world real, something that feels like it exists in the now.

And Stillman himself, in dealing with the 21st century, finds its preoccupations and obsessions more conducive to his treatment than even he might have imagined. In Damsels in Distress, Greta Gerwig’s effortlessly affected Violet perfectly encapsulates the post-Wes Anderson hipster girl, a kooky cousin to Zooey Deschanel.

Once again, Stillman’s characterization of Violet is completely driven by his influences, and in addition to Preston Sturges, Stillman clearly borrows from the zesty farces of P.G. Wodehouse. (The film’s title is even a spin on Wodehouse’s own Damsel in Distress.) But rather than allowing these referents to chain him to the past, Stillman is doing something he never has before: looking forward. Damsels in Distress is a film unlike anything I’ve ever seen before, and now that he’s been unleashed on the 21st century, it makes me so excited to see what he does next. Let’s just hope that it doesn’t take another 13 years.

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1. Drive Me Crazy

The bummer thing about being closeted in middle school—well there were a lot of bummer things about it—was having to pretend to be interested in macho movies. In 6th grade, I remember dragging all my straight guy friends to see Great Expectations under the guise of getting to see Gwyneth Paltrow naked and it turned out to be an utter disaster. When the credits rolled, I was stealthily wiping away my tears as my guy friends were muttering “What the hell was that gay s**t?! You only saw some sideboob. Let’s get out of here and pump our chests and lick some 13-year-old vagina!” I learned my lesson quickly that if I wanted to see an adaptation of a Charles Dickens novel with stunning ’90s fashion or any other movie that would be deemed “too female”, I would have to go solo star. Enter: Drive Me Crazy—an insipid teen movie starring aspiring Oscar nominee Melissa Joan Hart and professional sexy person Adrien Grenier as two star-crossed lovers/neighbors who dared to cross the social lines of preppy and punk…or something. It looked terrible—like a bad version of She’s All That (which was bad to begin with)—but I had to see it because it took place in high school and I had strong aspirations to be a 16 year old with major boy drama. So I went by myself. I saw Drive Me Crazy alone at 12 years old, lying to my mom and telling her that I was meeting some friends. It was super depressing but nothing stood in the way of me and Melissa Joan Hart’s lazy eye.

2. The House Of The Devil

I love horror films but finding someone who’s willing to pay 15 dollars to be scared and anxious with me for 90 minutes is remarkably difficult so I often have to go it alone. I’m not gonna lie. It sucks. Movies that are fun to see alone usually fall into the “Introspective Indie/Slice Of Life Documentary” categories whereas big blockbusters, comedies, and horror films are best when seen in a group. When Ti West’s latest horror movie, The House of the Devil, premiered at The Angelika a few years ago however, I knew I would have to go by myself. I made the foolish mistake though of going to a 9:30 showing on opening night. Look, I’m not usually one to be ashamed of going to the movies by myself but sitting in that crowded theatre alone on a Friday night certainly tested the limits of my bravery. You better believe I spent the 20 minutes before the lights dimmed texting phantom friends and was the first person to run out of the theatre when it was over.

3. The Vow

I recently went to go see The Vow alone because I hate myself and also because all of my friends decided that they were above watching some syrupy sentimental shlock. But I’m not! No sirrie. I will never be above watching some dramatic romance movie involving comas, memory loss, and Channing Tatum’s body.  When did everyone become so highbrow with their movie tastes anyway? I mean, I’m all for an intellectual thought-provoking movie starring a tortured girl who has lots of feelings but sometimes you gotta just spend two hours watching a terrible actor attempt to make facial expressions.

4. Weekend

Warning: if you’re gay and single, you should not see the lo-fi indie gay love affair movie, Weekend, alone. I made that mistake recently and it left me pratically sobbing in the fetal position. Or at least I think it did. I don’t actually remember because I got super high beforehand and ended up falling asleep intermittently throughout the entire movie. From the glimpses I saw when I would regain consciousness, it seemed like a really honest portrayal of gay love. Which is terrifying. It’s like a gay horror movie. RUN AWAY FROM THE KILLER! THE KILLER BEING A GAY MONOGAMOUS RELATIONSHIP THAT YOU CURRENTLY DON’T HAVE AND MAY NEVER GET! AGGGHH!

5. The Antichrist

You better wear a condom when you see Lars Von Trier’s The Antichrist because your mind is going to get f**ked. You also can’t see it alone because it will put you in such a weird fugue afterward that you will need someone there to give you a scalp massage and whisper positive affirmations in your ear.

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This past Saturday, I went to an actual movie theater and saw the 15-year anniversary re-release of Titanic in 3D. Sober.

I was in the fourth grade the first time I saw Titanic. (Also sober.) I went with my mom, probably against her better parenting judgement. As a romantic future-writer and young idealist, I absolutely adored the movie — the sweeping nautical landscape and intense love story, the elegant clothing and the tragic ending. It wasn’t all swell though. The dead bodies floating in the water gave me horrible nightmares. (My mom made sure I knew RMS Titanic was a real ship. Oh god.) I also thought sex meant putting a sweaty hand against the window of a car for the next four years, but let’s not dwell on that.

I loved Titanic so much that for my birthday that year, I had my mom get the grocery store to silk-screen a cake with Leonardo DiCaprio’s face. I also had a huge poster for the movie on my wall. (Later to be replaced by a poster of David Duchovny from The X-Files. I know where the truth is, boy. Mmm.)

Re-watching Titanic in 3D, I realized the reason I loved the movie as a kid was because the dialogue sounds like it was written by an emotionally-unhinged 15-year-old girl. It’s kind of the best.

Here are some of my favorite lines I’d forgotten were actually said by characters in Titanic. This is not a joke.

1. “I’d rather be his whore, than your wife.” – Rose to Cal

My personal favorite line from anything ever. I hope I have occasion to use it one day, even if it’s completely out of context.

Dude: “Hey, Gaby. How are you?”
Me (spitting on him): “I’d rather be his whore, than your wife!”
Dude: “…What?”

2. “Draw me like one of your French girls.” – Rose to Jack

Hey, it’s a better proposition than “Sexy, can I?”

3. “Of course! Anyway, we don’t have lice, we’re Americans.” – Jack

All of Jack’s friends in this movie are insane stereotypes. His Italian friend is named Fabrizio and is basically Mario from Super Mario Brothers. His Irish friend is called Tommy Ryan, and is about one whiskey away from punching someone at all times. I get it’s 1912 but wow.

4. “I’ll just wait here.” – Jack

Rose leaves Jack in handcuffs with the water rising to try and find help. Watching this movie as an elementary schooler, I thought Jack and Rose’s dedication to each other was heartbreakingly romantic. At this recent viewing, I just thought they were acting like idiots. You’ve known each other for like, three days and neither of you is particularly adept at rescuing the other one. My heart can’t go on, because it is blackened with cynicism.

5. “You gonna cut her meat for her too there, Cal?” – Molly Brown

Kathy Bates! Feminism!

6. “Something Picasso? He won’t amount to a thing.” – Cal

I love this cliche — when a movie set in the past references something from the future in a cheeky way. This is how the screenwriter shows us that Cal is out of touch. Brilliant writing. Brilliant.

PS: A fun thing to do if you’re bored is include Billy Zane’s name in popular songs. “Billy Zane is in my ear and in my eyes” or “Billy Zane is not my lover!” You’re welcome.

7. “I’m flying, Jack!” – Rose

Come on.

8. “It was the ship of dreams to everyone else. To me, it was a slave ship taking me back to America in chains.” – Rose, voiceover

Whoa, girl. Whoa. You are white and slave ships were a real thing. You can’t just say that. No. No. No.

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I’ve spent years refining my taste in comedy so I wish I could explain why there is still nothing funnier to me than raunchy teen failures.

Genre be damned, I embrace the art of the teen sex comedy cliche! I want the 2D characters. I want the bland acting. I want the inevitable party scene where the protagonist’s parents are out of town and someone jumps into the pool. I want the keg and the hot tub and the girls who definitely aren’t teenagers. I want frat bros and science geeks, clearly defined. I want: “SOMEONE AT THIS HIGH SCHOOL PARTY JIZZED IN A RED SOLO CUP AND ANOTHER PERSON MIGHT ACCIDENTALLY DRINK IT!!!! LOL.”

I want to escape to an uncomplicated world of immature characters whose only motivations are to get laid before graduation. It’s why I enjoyed MTV’s sexual train wreck Undressed.

Here are 15 of the best teen sex comedies. Gear up for some gross adventures.

1. American Pie (1999)

I might be the only person amped to see American Reunion. So what is there to say about its granddaddy American Pie? I saw it when I was way too young and it led me to believe sex was just a big ol’ mess 24/7. This actually damaged me less than every “sex-should-be-perfect” romantic movie.

There were no high expectations in danger of being deflated after seeing Jason Biggs put his dong in a pastry. That day, I became a realist.

2. Animal House (1978)

Animal House is the ruler of all teen sex comedies. If I were Stefan from SNL, I’d say, “This movie has everything: college antics, toga parties, frat guys, cougar sex, John Belushi, accidentally frenching a tween, vomiting on professors…” and leave it at that.

3. The Girl Next Door (2004)

The Girl Next Door flew out of theaters, hardly making an impact because the marketing for this cute little movie played like it was all genitals and no heart. Sure, a bunch of nerds take porn stars to the prom, but there’s also a sweet, non-judgey lesson in the end!

4. Losin’ It (1983)

Most people’s favorite Tom Cruise sex comedy is Risky Business but like Jamie Foxx once sang, “let’s get unpredictable.” Cruise, a high schooler heading to Mexico to lose his virginity, is still pre-Katie Holmes, pre-Scientology levels of hot. There’s no subway train sex, but it’s still pretty great.

5. Easy A (2010)

Patricia Clarkson. Stanley Tucci. Emma Stone. Dan Humphrey. 80s nostalgia. Perfection.

6. Van Wilder (2002)

The early ’00s were ridiculous. Tara Reid was still a viable leading lady. Future President of the United States Kal Penn was a sexually-incapable Indian stereotype. A bunch of d-bags ate dog semen hidden inside desserts. (I still retch thinking about this scene. Great work, Van Wilder.)

7. 10 Things I Hate About You (1999)

It’s not really a raunchy sex comedy but David Krumholtz does get a penis drawn on his face in public. I’m gonna count it.

8. Porky’s (1982)

The 80s were prime time for teen sex comedies, but Porky’s is the one that inspired them all. Losing your virginity as a be-all-end-all to high school? Check. Prostitutes? Check. Peeping on girls in the locker room shower as an endearing adolescent activity? Yikes. Reluctant check.

9. Revenge of the Nerds (1984)

A total classic. There’s Greek life, panty raids, toplessness, and general sexual tomfoolery. But the older I get, the more problems I have with the iconic Darth Vader mask sex scene. I mean…it ends up okay and is supposed to be a triumph for the nerds, but like, she doesn’t know it’s him so…um, I can’t fully get on board. I’m all for the nerd protagonists getting their Ds wet, but not at the expense of a lady’s consent. Once again, double yikes.

10. Road Trip (2000)/Eurotrip (2004)

These movies are different, but I always equate them like Eurotrip is a sequel to Road Trip. (Is it? Wait, no… right?) Highlights: A brother and sister make out! Mishaps involving videotaped sex! DJ Qualls! Scotty Doesn’t Know!

Lesson: Basically if you travel anywhere, crazy sex is going to happen.

11. Eating Out (2004)

Let’s talk gay teen sex comedies. First of all, they exist! Eating Out is one wacky LGBTQ college misunderstanding after another. Come for the premise, stay for the fantastically weird phone sex scene. (Youtube it!)

12. Not Another Teen Movie (2001)

Don’t care. So bad. SO funny. You know you pause when it’s re-running on Comedy Central.

13. The Last American Virgin (1982)

This movie is so 80s it’s listening to Flock of Seagulls and doing cocaine as you read this. Moral of the story: deliver pizzas to a lonely lady and she’ll probably have sex with you and your friends? Or at least, your friends. Sorry, nerd. Try a Vader mask next time? Or actually, please don’t.

14. Fast Times at Ridgemont High (1982)

Everyone talks about Phoebe Cates in the red bikini and bumbling Sean Penn, but some serious issues are tackled in Ridgemont. There’s premature ejaculation! Everyone’s high! Jennifer Jason Leigh gets an abortion! You crazy kids!

15. Superbad (2007)

…AND THEN — OH GOD — SHE GETS HER PERIOD ON HIS PANTS. GUYS. I CAN’T. I’M DONE.

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Buffy: Hi girls! Thanks for joining me for this Heroines of Pop Culture ladies night. Sookie called to say she’s sad she couldn’t make it. But no worries! I brought the zinfandel.

Bella: I only drink red.

Hermione: I’ll have some! I’m really excited about this ladies night. I only hang with boys.

Katniss: You’re willing to feed me something?!?!? I’ll eat whatever you are willing to give me. I’m even cool with mouse entrails.

Buffy: Well, we’re fresh out of those…

Bella: Got any blood?

Buffy: You know who you’re asking, right?

Katniss: Moving on… So, how was everyone’s week?

Hermione: Oh, same old. Quidditch match, Ron being a whiny, emotional middle-child, a few random assassination attempts by the Dark Lord, saving Potter from certain doom. Y’know, the usual stuff.

Buffy: I was saving the world.

Katniss: I was also saving the world!

Bella: I jumped off a cliff to get the attention of my ex-boyfriend.

…

Buffy: I’m sorry, what?

Bella: Well, he broke up with me, and I became all sad and stuff and it was the worst. I cried a lot and ate an entire jar of hummus.

Katniss: And then you decided to kill yourself?

Bella: Well, kind of. Mostly just to get his attention. I knew that either him or werewolf guy would save me.

Buffy: I still don’t get why you’re into that werewolf. Werewolves should totally have chest hair. Why doesn’t Jacob have chest hair?

Hermione: I have a spell for that.

Katniss: But also, werewolves. Gross. If you date him, Rick Santorum is totally going to be all over that and call it “interspecies dating.”

Hermione: Werewolves can totally date humans, even marry them! Or well… shapeshifter… human… types.

Bella: You guys! It’s not like that!! Plus, he’s totally convenient to have around when I need some attention and I’m not getting it from vampire man.

Katniss: What’s the deal with you people and dating vampires? You guys should try humans sometime.

Hermione: Preach.

Buffy: There’s nothing wrong with vampires. Minus their emotional unavailability, lack of reflection, and penchant for really rough sex.

Bella: The rough sex is great, although it’s super awkward that we have to keep buying new pillows every time.

Katniss: This conversation is getting weird. Can I have some of those Doritos?

Bella: So Katniss, who are you going to choose between Peeta and Gale?

Katniss: Well, I hadn’t really thought about it. Leading that whole revolution thing has left me super busy and all.

Bella: But who will it be!! Which one makes you feel complete inside?

Katniss: Um, neither? It’s mostly just trying to decide whether I want to have a good hunting partner or a boyfriend who knows how to work the bread machine.

Bella: OMG I have no idea what I would do in your situation. What about you, Buffy. Angel or Spike?

Buffy: Dating a vampire is totally crazy. They either lose their soul and try to murder everyone in your life, or they just want to use you as a sex object for their own confused, sadomasochistic love fantasies. Plus, I’m totally over guys who are trying to look like Billy Idol. I’m taking time to focus on myself.

Bella: Interesting. I disagree with you because I think vampires are soooo dreamy, but whatevs. What about you, Hermione: Harry or Ron?

Hermione: Um, Harry has always only been my friend. It’s always been Ron for me. But I thought tonight wasn’t talking about boys, and that’s all you seem to want to do! I came here for a girls night, not a “bitching about boys” night!

Katniss: I only care about guys when it comes to how they can help me save the world.

Buffy: Absolutely. We have far more exciting things to talk about. Like weapons.

Bella: But boys are obviously the emotional crux of our lives! Edward practically looks at me the wrong way and I go into a helpless, emotional coma for eight days! He is my absolute everything and I can’t be a functional human being without his existence! What else could be more important in your lives than your man?!?!? What the hell else could ever be harder in your lives?!?

…

Katniss: I’ve been kind of tied up dealing with this whole reality TV death match I’ve been forced into, that’s also turned into a full-scale rebellion against the leader of my dystopian, totalitarian society, all the while trying not to starve to death and provide for my family.

Hermione: I just had to wipe myself from the memories of my parents, as I set out on a road trip where my two best friends and I are being hunted by a band of insane fascists, working under the instructions of the wizarding equivalent of Hitler. One of them tortured me, and there is a constant fear of being hunted down and assassinated.

Buffy: I spend every single day of my life battling evil vampires, and am constantly saving the world from demons, angry Gods, and the Root of All Evil itself. My mother is dead and my sister isn’t technically a real person. I have technically died twice. You and your man troubles take the entire women’s movement back decades.

Bella: Hmmm, I think I’m going to take this moment to go to the washroom.

…

Katniss: Can we not invite her next time?

Hermione: Absolutely.

Buffy: Sorry you guys. I knew we should have called Ripley instead. Aliens are way more exciting. Next time we’ll do something cooler, like hunting down her entire vampire family.

Hermione: Or studying!

Katniss: I love hunting!!

Buffy: For the win! I love girls night.

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When my little sister started exhibiting the symptoms of tweendom – texting, talking back, wearing glitter eyeshadow – my dad was flummoxed. How could he keep his strong fatherly ties to his baby girl in the face of all this newfound sass and maturity?

Needing something to reopen the lines of communication, he turned to pop culture. At the time, she was into a new, colorful Disney Channel show called Hannah Montana. Hit with teenybopper inspiration, my dad went to Claire’s and bought her a bright pink watch with Miley Cyrus’ big chompin’ smile on it. Then, they sat down to enjoy an episode together.

It wasn’t a bad plan. Books and TV have always been my parents’ way into their kiddies’ hearts. No complaints.

When I was growing up, the four members of my family always wore themed costumes for Purim, which is, in John McCain’s words, “Jewish Halloween.” The Purim I turned fifteen, I convinced my entire family to dress like characters from The Lord of the Rings.

I was Frodo, my blond sister was Legolas, my rugged, bearded dad was Aragorn, and my mom was beautiful Arwen. She even glued latex elf tips on her ears. Removing them that night caused pained shrieks and torn skin, but my mom never complained about “the Purim of the Rings.”

I’ve never felt more loved.

In the past, to appease the fandom desires of their kids, my parents have: attended midnight screenings of all LOTR movies, seen four *NSync concerts, dressed up like the Teletubbies, driven two hours to a book signing by the cast of ‘RENT’ and DVRed every episode of Ryan Seacrest’s daily talk show. (Remember that? Of course you don’t.)

The big one for me and my mom was Harry Potter. I was nine when the first book came out. My mom read chapters to me every night as a bedtime story.

We shared Harry Potter for the next ten years – seeing the movies together, discussing theories about the final book and buying Slytherin (me) and Gryffindor (her) merchandise.

Six years ago, when I went to college, Potterdom waned and my unsupervised house (unfortunately?) became a Cullen vampire den. My sister plastered her bedroom door with posters of Robert Pattinson’s cold, pale face. My mom unflinchingly referenced their shared Twilight obsession to two hundred people in a speech she gave at our synagogue.

Sure, she’d been a “Potterhead” with me, but loving Twilight let my mom into my sister’s usually closed-off teenage life. Maybe my sis would never tell my mom about crazy high school parties or share her endless boy troubles, but my mom felt she’d always have a close bond with her youngest daughter through Bella Swan’s story.

Last year, I started the first book of the Hunger Games trilogy out of mild curiosity and then didn’t pick my head up off the pages for a week. It was like time travel. One minute I was in my room casually opening the book; the next, my hair was braided and I was wearing a bow and a quiver of arrows on my back.

When I finished the book, I texted my mom to tell her she should read it. I wasn’t expecting her to actually do it though. I’d grown up. She didn’t need to relate to me through pop culture anymore. We could just talk like two boring adults. Secretly, I missed flailing about a series with her.

She called me a few weeks later to say she’d finished the entire Hunger Games series and was obsessed. She was eager to dissect Katniss’ woes and expound on the book’s larger, relevant themes of poverty and oppression. Just when I started thinking I was too old to dive back into fangirl discussions with my mom, it was starting again.

I now live thousands of miles away from home, but it felt like I was back in my childhood bed, tucked in tight, with my mom reading The Sorcerer’s Stone beside me: “Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much…”

“Why do you always get into the stuff I’m into?” I asked her recently, during a conversation about seeing the Hunger Games movie when it comes out on Friday at the same time but in different cities because we’re nerds.

“You sharing a book with me always makes me happy,” my mom replied. “It’s priceless that you’re willing to share the whole experience of it with me.”

“Aw, Mom,” I told her. “The pleasure’s always been all mine.”

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