He Writes Like An Angel?

by Michael Potemra

The fellas here at National Review like to razz me about seeing only movies that have subtitles. And it’s a fact that, on the whole, I find Hollywood movies of the past 20 years or so insufferably boring. But last weekend, I went to see the new Charlie’s Angels movie-and it was actually pretty entertaining, played very self-consciously for laughs. In my favorite scene, one of the Angels has quit the team to protect the others from death threats. She leaves behind a box of stuff she has borrowed over the years and wants now to return; lying conspicuously on top of the box is a copy of Swann’s Way. So you guys can knock Proust all you want, because I now have the killer argument in defense of my favorite novelist: “If he’s good enough for Drew Barrymore, he’s good enough for me.”