A critic often has to play the role of coroner, dissecting a work to find out why it died (or never lived).

What can you say about a man who leaps from a helicopter over Manhattan without a parachute in the hope that by increasing his heart rate he'll transform into an iridescent lime-green behemoth so he can take on an even bigger behemoth? That he knows he's living in a computer-generated universe in which gravity is a feeble suggestion and nothing is remotely at stake, and that when he hits the ground he'll be replaced by a special effect. The Incredible Hulk is weightless-as disposable as an Xbox game.

A critic often has to play the role of coroner, dissecting a work to find out why it died (or never lived).

The movie is a metaphor for the power of delusional hype--a metaphor for itself.

The economic and technological changes are real, but I just can't bring myself to wax apocalyptic about the future of books.

It's easy to say "This year in art sucked." After all, about 85 percent of all shows of contemporary art are bad. But 85 percent of all art made in the Renaissance was bad.

The English have a wellspring of comedy that will never be exhausted: the combination of bestial urges and excellent manners.