Very well.

I will tell you the television-able programs that I have actually immersed myself in.

Chinatown. 1979. Roman Polanski. The Way of the World. A more perfect artistic statement I have yet to find. It’s Chinatown, Jake.

Groundhog Day. 1993. Harold Ramos. He keeps falling into that puddle, doesn’t he?

Fellini Satyricon. 1967. Federico Fellini. The entire Graeco-Egyptian magic world, whose beauty is so healing.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. 2004. Michael Gondry (Charlie Kaufman). Meet me in Montauk.

Ghost Busters. 1984. Ivan Reitman. For some reason, Bill Murray. SPOOK CENTRAL. This is the backdrop of the “high” dark arts on the Upper West Side, whereas I was given the Five Points as the wicca poor world where I needed to work. The Gangs of New York. 2002. Martin Scorsese.

Tombstone. 1993. George P. Cosmatos. I’m your huckleberry.

Fanny and Alexander. 1982. Ingmar Bergman. This is what I watch on Christmas, not Fiddler on the Roof.

Pride and Prejudice. 2005. Joe Wright. Oh, the shabby chic! And why not whine about Donald Sutherland?

Blade Runner. 1982. Ridley Scott. Too bad she won’t live.