I should admit this: When I’m being honest, I know that of all the films I saw during my formative years as a young boy and adolescent, only two of them influenced me enormously, shaping my fantasies and informing my tastes. The first was Star Wars, and although I certainly won’t turn down the occasional snort from that particular flask, I believe I’ve crawled most of the way out from under that affliction. The second was Manhattan, and I’m not sure I’ll ever shake it off. At the age of 15, Manhattan sold me on the advantages of New York City, the charms of 18-year-old Mariel Hemingway, and the benefits of self-awareness.

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