Bowdler strikes carols!

Little Robin Red Vest?

Vest?  Vest!  It's BREAST, damn you milquetoast buffoons, it's the fronty chesty bit of most animals, it's the BREAST of chicken that you gnaw into and IT'S NOT A DIRTY WORD! 

*and breathe*

Until The End Of The Tape

I have a soft spot for Wim Wenders' millennial road-movie epic Until The End Of The World.  I like the lugubrious pacing, the gentle nihilism, and the sheer audacity of a movie that, halfway through, just abandons everything it was doing and becomes another movie.  It's got the right amount of near-future speculation, globe-trotting and expanding foam filler to keep my inner cyberpunk happy, too.

I never realised there was a director's cut!  Fully 280 minutes of Wim, wending his way around the world in a trilogy cut.  The question is - as it always is - is the long story the real story, or is this already-enormous movie just gaining two hours of indulgent flab.  Worth the risk, I think.