Where Monet and Renoir painted passion pink. With your erection. It may wish to emote. In tune with Truth. Until reading A Child's Night Dream , I'd never thought of Stone as dumb, just a man hopelessly obsessed with moldering ideas.
Old ideas vanish, except in the movie trade and, of course, in Esquire magazine.
In these last refuges of high-brow machismo, the manliness of combat still invigorates tired male blood, as it did in the days of Kipling. Call it sour grapes on my part and you'll be wrong. I wasn't old enough to be drafted for Vietnam, and I was too asthmatic to go. Hell, I'm too asthmatic for Northern California. I never proved my manhood in Grenada, the Falklands, Desert Storm or even at Fort Lee, N.J., so I still defer to people who have actually been in the wars.