Movies: Manhattan (1979)

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by Mark Saleski

Just sitting around yesterday, worn out from the events of Saturday (plus some sort of oncoming bug that appears to be draining all of my energy)…so I decide to watch Woody Allen’s Manhattan.

I’ve never been able to put my finger on the reason before…why is it that I’m so attracted to nearly every danged apartment shown in most of his movies? Then it hits me: look at all the bookshelves, just pregnant with books. Compare this to, say, nearly any episode of MTV Cribs, where the average star’s place is loaded with giant TV’s and other high-tech thingies. Big difference.

Why does this matter? Maybe it doesn’t. But to a bibliophile like me, it’s pure eye candy.

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