I was page-downing really fast, hitting the space bar as soon as I read maybe 1/3 of a sentence, because I didn't even really care what David Denby unfortunately happened to scrawl in the New Yorker about the new Quentin Tarantino, and then I came across part of two consecutive phrases: "appallingly insensitive-a Louisville Slugger" and then I closed the window, because, what is this, 1998? YOU MEAN THERE IS VIOLENCE IN THIS TARANTINO FILM? Perhaps my criticism is incorrect, however, I shall never know.

"Inglourious Basterds clocks in at nearly three hours, and its director could certainly have trimmed more of its flab." OR! "Even at 160 minutes, the film feels rushed."