Surreptitiously judging Colleen and Wayne’s baby-naming skills, so you don’t have to. Whenever my taste in movies is judged snobby or snippy, I pull out my populist failsafe, Clueless, and wave it about like Jodie Marsh’s petticoats during a military parade. I do so love Clueless, as is right and proper when you consider that I was fourteen when it came out - to this day, I’ll forgive Paul Rudd anything. How could anyone stand by their calling me Count Snobula after I profess a love of Clueless? Clueless has gotten me out of quite a few witch-burnings, let me tell you. But as much as I love Clueless, I’d never quite stoop to living by the Way of Cher; after all, Clueless was but a frothy comedy, Paul Rudd the most non-threatening dish outside of a bowl of mash. Neither movie nor heartthrob was ever supposed to be taken … There’s more →