It was playing nonstop for a peg there, but I did take the time one morning to sit down and watch it all the way through, enjoying the bleak Grimmesque darkness of it as much as the future schematics of classical Disney that drift around in the scenes between the title characters.

Less self-consiously arty and more surface than 12, it has the time in now and it knows it, plying an emotional tug that really works well; Reuben Tishkoff's sudden heart attack (following the insufferable business "savvy" of Pacino's thankless villain, who screws Rub big time) is genuine cause for a frown

Pace is in line with nothing I could describe - from slapstick setups to long, intricatee satire; Cinematography is pure candy. The intricate tracking shot through the Blandings' cramped apartment as they arise is a marvel. Clever bits like Myrna Loy's insanely detailed color specs on a walk-thru with the decorater benefit from the lob-it-up-and-hit-it fact that the film is in black and white. And it knows it. Later, it portrays the family as shooting into a stratosphere of wealth due, mostly, to their servant's marketing catchphrase ("If you ain't eatin' WHAM, you ain't eatin' HAM!"). Then, it breaks the fourth wall, with both Grant and Douglas welcoming the viewer to "drop in" on their elegance. They whole thing feels so subversive for its age, so aware of itself, so un-1948.

The premise alone is amazing: Heavy-set girl gets big shot on favorite TV show, becomes sensation, strikes palpable blow for equality. Mixes best of Waters - tasteless Baltimore - with uber-competent musical setups. Divine and Ricki Lake both magnificent. That teenagers would be so passionate about dancing, so unspoiled by their own self-consciousness gives 1962 Baltimore an almost unheard of sense of fantasy; This is an out-and-out musical in every sense of the word. Easily John Waters' best film.

Nostalgia drives my appreciation more than anything, but DePalma's extensive indulgence here: Otherworldly (i.e. - only takes place in "movie world") urban 70s recreation, Penn's insanely over-the-top characterization, Pacino in one of my favorite of his stock antihero-with-a-heart-of-gold characters, tons of splashy supporting players  - - - it is, in my opinion, one of DePalma's playful films, with a few great setpieces and nary a moment of dead air.

Mamet's script is so obviously aping the heroic spirit of the TV show, while DePalma is directing 2 other completely different pictures. One, chock full of disturbing realism (blood and violence we as one collective audience barely connect, in this visceral way, to the 1920s) and another of glossy, silly prestige (which sounds similar to what Mamet is doing, but seems to be a bit off center just the same, as if one mind was interested in the dramatic notions of the TV show and the other was interested in its stilted, cult-of-celebrity verve). Don't get me wrong: Mamet invests the thing with some nice speeches and a couple of great lines, but the thing feels so predetermined, so clumsy, so predictable - - - so much like television. DePalma inddulges in the TV dramatics, as well, giving Costner far too much room to be far too embarassing. It makes perfect sense that I loved it as an 11 year old.

Sometimes its just better to admit that you don't fucking get it. At all.

Listening to the dialogue is so pleasurable, I rank it up there with masturbation.

Gave it higher marks this time - I don't know if it was the result of watching it with my wife, the pleasure of the film's romantic entanglement of musical sensibilities, or just its constant barrage of charm in every corridor. I can see it being lost on everyone - but it almost feels reassuring that its not lost on me (perhaps I'm not the hardened cynic I so acutely resemble).