So recently, my secret sin has been black and white movies.
The classics, of course.
And I keep falling in love again and again.
Ah, the bliss of the sheer talentless beauty of Eva Gardner as the statue of Venus come to life.
The toe-tapping intensity of Eleanor Powell in one of those blistering routines she makes look so effortless.
The starry-eyed crooning of yet another square-jawed singer.
The dreamy intensity of Ms Frances Gumm's baby-faced earlier efforts.
You see what I mean?
Musicals as utopic, Mr Richard Dyer? Yes, please.