What was that show called, back in the late 70's I believe, about an Uncle called Bill and his niece Buffy and nephew Jody? They lived in a mod apartment that seemed high up over the wicked city, where Uncle Bill, despite looking like a sexual predator, kept the kids safe and warm. A.O. Scott has a very good article in the NYTs about parents spending quality time with the kids at the local multiplex:

I would not wish it otherwise, but I also worry that the dominance of the family film has had a limiting, constraining effect on the imaginations of children. The point of Mr. O’Hara’s poem is that the movies represent a zone of mystery and cultural initiation: “it’s true that fresh air is good for the body,” he writes, “but what about the soul/that grows in darkness, embossed by silvery images”?

I agree. But Uncle Bill and Buffy and Jody, like those before them, have been around a long time and several, if they have not succumbed to addiction, are still making some pretty imaginative movies.