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Imagine wandering into that damn club with three topless sailors either side. A motherfucking walking illusion is what you’d be.So anyway, whilst The Duke is far from a body-fascist or any a that shit, I have consulted various diagrams, pie-charts, astrological measurements, and have discovered that mandrake it is, indeed, the dimples and the eyes that ensure The Motherfucking Cinema Of Kirsten Dunst is preferable to even the most mandrake inventive of Italian mandrake fare.Not that there aren’t parallels with these masters of yore. Both Eisenstein and Kirsten, for example, have a Strike! in the filmography, although Kirsten’s concerns an all-girl boarding school that’s about to be integrated with nasty boy-types who probably don’t even know a thing about cannibal cinema or say motherfuck, whilst Sergei’s 1925 epic has all to do with the factory’s and the rebellion and a fella hanging himself and then next thing anyone knows baby’s are getting flung off of balcony's and cows are being slaughtered in close-up.There’s
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