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Is interrupting each other simply what we're meant to do? Is anyone really listening anymore? Every passing year we all seem more like those lunatics screaming over and around each other on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange.

We constantly interrupt ourselves, for god's sake. Finishing a thought in your head is nearly impossible. "The kids need new winter clothes...wait, where are my glasses...what was that she said earlier...when the hell am I ever going to find time to see Rogue One...?" And on and on, again and again, ad infinitum.

The scary thing is we're basically wired now to do this and we barely even notice. It's like somewhere along the line we were networked to our computers and devices without realizing it, and the interface is now so seamless that we don't know where the electronics end and we begin.

This is all mostly just sound and fury, signifying nothing. We're knee-deep in it now, no going back. Oh sure, we can try to go off the grid—Elvis has left the building—but then how the hell will we know what happened with Cameron, Joe, Donna, and Gordon in season three of Halt and Catch Fire?

Face it, we're fully assimilated at this point. Might as well binge-watch something, in that case.

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All I Want For Christmas: Phoebe Cates's Monologue in Gremlins

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Margot Kidder and the Childhood Crush That Will Never Die

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Double Feature: Michelle Pfieffer and Al Pacino

Revisiting—or in a few cases, watching for the first time—and celebrating the work of Michelle Pfeiffer, the best actress of my lifetime.* If you've been paying attention around here lately , you know that I adore Michelle Pfeiffer. She's likely my favorite actor, hands down. Al Pacino, however, also sits right there at the top of my personal pantheon. So it's no surprise that their two film collaborations are extremely special to me. They first starred together in Scarface (1983), Brian De Palma's wildly ambitious and searing critique of power, avarice, and the American Dream, as told through the rise and fall of a drug kingpin. That film belongs to Pacino, with Pfeiffer in a smaller, yet crucially important role. Eight years later, they shared the screen again in Frankie and Johnny (1991), Garry Marshall's warm, tender, and honest look at two damaged people falling in love. This time, Michelle's Frankie is the film's real focal point, with Al'...

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