Just come back from finally seeing the feted `Lolita', on the eve of its removal from the screen for the purpose of reconsideration by the Classification and Censorship people, thanks to the moral minority (only 8 people turned up to the special parliamentary screening). Boy did I hate it. The movie, I mean. Not having enough distance between the event and now, I'm not even quite sure why, but I did. Strangely enough, it threw the Kubrick version into high relief for me and made me realise that he got more things write than I consciously realised. Lynes' version had a bizarre humour which was totally unlike - and inferior to - the equally bizarre but somehow logical humour of the book. The continental/American clash of cultures angle was totally deficient. Most disturbing of all is that Humbert had none of the self-loathing that accompanies his every self-deprecating move in the book. He never would have smiled as Lolita mounted him.And where was Nabokov's poetry? In the visuals, certainly, but what a sin to mess with that immortal opening line! Far from any moral evil, I found its greatest sin to be sheer boredom - quite an assertion to make about the adaptation of one's second-favourite book. I'm going to have to mull this one over. Presently though, I'm afraid, Jim, that I will have to go with Nabokov, Kubrick, and my Goldfish Bowl analogy once more (: Camille verona_beach@geocities.com @ THE ARTS HOLE http://www.geocities.com/Hollywood/Theater/6442 @ THE INVERTED FOREST http://www.angelfire.com/pa/invertedforest