I saw
Kung Fu Hustle today, which was silly and outrageous and a lot of fun (and, I'm sorry, I liked it more than Shaolin Soccer).
And then I came home and watched
Taste of Cherry, which was somber and thoughtful and probing, the kind of film Ingmar Bergman would make early in his career if he'd been born in Iran in the 1940s. The main character
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