Let’s say you’re Lillian Hellman. Brilliant writer, captivating intellectual, companion of the equally legendary Dashiell Hammett. You spend your days in a seaside manor, pounding away at assorted keys while smoking enough cigarettes to keep Philip Morris in silk sheets for a millennium

There seems to be a misconception about the kind of movie that Twisters is. On the surface, it looks and sounds like a sequel to 1996’s Twister. The previews show tornados and people chasing said tornados, just like in Twister.

It’s no Tootsie or Some Like It Hot, but the cross-dressing Nuns delivers a goofy, well-paced ninety minutes laced with a gentle mockery of Catholicism.

My eyes tend to glaze when people start trotting out conspiracy theories about the moon landing, 9/11 or the Kennedy assassination.

The almighty was supposed to keep mortals in line by threat of divine punishment in a promised afterlife. At least those among us who subscribed to such notions; however, a clever few reason they could break the rules society pretends to live by and rewards would come their way.

Despite only having enough plot for a twenty-minute short, Boogie stretches its ultra-lightweight hijinks out for five times as long. This is just as well.