...but after American Hustle I am downright smitten. I realize now, more than ever, that I have sexually imprinted on chic 1970s fashion for libertine women. It's not my fault. It was all those Penthouse magazines we would find out in the woods, waterlogged, crawling with ants, filled with explicit nudes sleazily obfuscated by Guccione's Vaseline smeared lens.

I've liked Amy Adams for a while now...