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Alphaville (1965); the strange, enigmatic city of the future so
beloved of art house film lovers and so replete of '60s New Wave
cinematic pretensions and the French aversion to allowing the plot to
move one inch from the first frame that it is right up there with
watching an apple brown in entertainment value. The computer
that rules Alphaville, (a city indistinguishable from '60s Paris)
has outlawed love and poetry, or is it just love poetry? It's
hard to say, because this all-powerful brain has a voice like a
belching chain smoker.
Maybe
it just wants to get rid of Rod McKuen, in which case it gets my vote.
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