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E.T. overwhelms Spielberg. His gentle alien body grows less innocent raptor claws from his normally docile fingertips. He's lost in a Jurassic Park. His shoes only take him Back to the Future. An Indiana Jones medallion allows him passage to where he needs to go. Home. That's the ultimate hope of Spielberg.
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Spike Lee is really trying to Do The Right Thing. Malcom X and Mars Blackmon medallions shroud him. His basketball is Bamboozled by a new minstrel show. Race relations and his obsession with the NBA collide at his fingertips. He's a fearless warrior despite his stature. Underestimate the Spike at your own peril.
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Tarantino is ripped to shreds by his own gore. He has failed to Kill Bill. He's torn himself apart with an Inglorious Basterds bat. He is Django Unchained from peaceful tranquility. He scarred his own runaway 'r'. His Reservior Dogs severed his ear, left dangling for all to see amidst his pile of entrails. Who knows how he's still standing. The weapons of a Pulp Fiction seal his doom.
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The Fantastic Mr. Fox dazzles Wes Anderson with the charm of a Bottle Rocket. He hastens to sew a Rushmore shield across his chest. His Bindi dot keeps him from being a Darjeeling Limited. The fox woos a Royal Tenenbaum hawk. A turntable born of a Moonrise Kingdom plays a broken record of repetitious motifs. His is a Life Aquatic, awash in words, rapidly told backstories and straight-on headshots. It's hard not to love the fox.
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Woody Allen is Bananas. Annie Hall's lobsters present him with a phallic challenge. It drives him nuts. Woody wants to be more than just a giant woody. At least his head is in the right place.
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Batman is carved in the heart of Tim Burton. He's gripped in the throws of a Beetlejuice crawling up his jugular veins. He entrusts his platforms to carry him along Pee Wee's Big Adventure. It's hard to tell how it'll end. He can't even get around his own Scissorhands