Judith Crist

Amid all the easily loved darlings of Charlie Brown's circle, obstreperous Lucy holds a special place in my heart. She fusses and fumes and she carps and complains. That's because Lucy cares. And it's the caring that counts.

On Carroll Baker's performance in Baby Doll, More bomb than bombshell.

Movies suddenly became "film" and "cinema" an "art form" and terribly chic. . . .

The critics who love are the severe ones . . . we know our relationship must be based on honesty.

When we as youngsters, would accuse our mother of picking on us her wise reply was, "All you'll get from strangers is surface pleasantry or indifference. Only someone who loves you will criticize you."

In this era of affluence and of permissiveness, we have, in all but cultural areas, bred a nation of overprivileged youngsters, saturated with vitamins, television and plastic toys.

[Youngsters] are nurtured from infancy on a Dick-and-Jane literary and artistic level; and the cultural drought, as far as entertainment is concerned, sets in when they are between six and eight.

In this lovely land of corrugated cartons and plastic bags, we want our entertainment packaged neatly . . . an attractive label on the outside, a complete and accurate detailing of contents . . . no loose ends, no odd parts, nothing left out.

Film criticism became the means whereby a stream of young intellectuals could go straight from the campus film society into the professionals' screening room without managing to get a glimpse of the real world in between.

Happiness is too many things these days for anyone to wish it on anyone lightly. So let's just wish each other a bileless New Year and leave it at that.