Let the bullets fly: we’re going uptown Saturday night to Thunder Road for the opening night of the last movie written and/or directed by a star who is also in the picture. The mirror has two faces—the poker face needed to direct oneself has to be pitch perfect. Great dictator or violent cop—it is the gift, the touch of evil. So find a quiet place under the cherry moon, open up your diary of a mad Black woman, and list ten great writer-director-performer self-collabs. It’s weird, but don’t worry darling, you’ve got time to whip it together. Heaven can wait. Hanging up now.
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