Regarding Paul Malcolm's very generous article about me ["Back in Sight," July 3-9], I feel the need to make two minor corrections. First, I did not "win" the lawsuit with Paramount Pictures et al. over A Confederacy of Dunces - we settled out of court prior to trial. Second, Schizopolis was not self-financed. Strange as it may seem, the film was funded by pre-selling video rights to Universal Pictures with the understanding we would buy these rights back after making a deal with a (presumably independent) distributor. Fortunately, Fox Lorber purchased worldwide rights to the film, enabling us to repay Universal's "investment."
DEAR EDITOR: F.X. Feeney's review of Picnic at Hanging Rock [Revival Pick, June 26-July 2] perfectly illustrates the meaninglessness of film criticism. Twenty years ago he hated the film; now it is a masterpiece. My question is: How long until the current crop of bad films become works of art? Conversely, how long before today's masterpieces are turned into crap? Perhaps the Weekly should drop the commentary altogether and just print plot summaries.
THE LAST DAYS OF DISCO
I just finished reading the L.A. Weekly - and its ads - for the first time, and have come to the conclusion that you must have a lot of ugly-ass people reading your paper. Or, at the very least, insecure, rich, ugly-ass people. Liposuction, breast augmentation, penis enlargement, vaginal rejuvenation (?!), tummy tucks . . . What ever happened to "growing old gracefully" and "letting it all hang out"?
I dunno. Maybe I'm just sour about the fact that I couldn't find any ads for what I want: to make myself taller. I guess I'll just have to settle for the old disco platforms in my closet.
-Deborah L. Peeples Redwood City