I’m pretty sure no one’s going to spend the five minutes it takes to read this. I mean, who really cares about that guy sitting alone in the darkened recesses of a movie theatre hoping — praying, and sweating profusely as he does so — that no one (no one!) picks a seat anywhere within the radius of three feet from where he is, munching quietly on popcorn, sipping on his so-sweet-it-hurts soda, and obsessively checking out his iPhone to see what information he can glean from the movie he’s waiting to see? It’s not like he’s in cahoots with anyone on film though in his mind he fancies himself a suave leading man, but that’s another horror story.

Suffice it to say, NYCcritic is one of many, many culture vultures who regards a new release as a lion would fresh meat. He has to have it. He has to devour it, bathe in it, and claim it as his before anyone in the whole wide world who doesn’t attend Cannes or Sundance or Venice. He hopes you enjoy his little writings and observations on the movies he sees and that he may lead you to discover a small gem among the pomp and circumstance of big budget prestige pictures clamoring for a small statuette called an Oscar.