If her opinions and her flitty gnat’s style seem to have lost some of their impudent fun, it may be that impressionism went further when movies counted more. She admits in an author’s note to State of the Art (the first of her collections without a sexually suggestive title) that the last two years in movies have not exactly been a time for grand passions, and though she can still muster the energy to savage intellectual favorites like Betrayal and Amadeus or skewer the liberal bromides in Country or simply debunk the fashionable, like Beverly Hills Cop and Desperately Seeking Susan, one misses fervor.