It was an era of dueling extremities. Distinguished voices striving to be heard roared in the conflicts between faith and skepticism, brightness and shadow, optimism and pessimism, promise and hopelessness, the saved and the damned.”

Sound familiar? What if this read more along the lines of, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…”

I had never watched David E. Kelley’s legal drama “The Practice,” so the news that it had been spun off into a new series held very little interest for me back in 2004. But when I had heard that the spin-off was to feature William Shatner as a high-powered attorney, the “Star Trek” fan in me said, “Well, this I’ve gotta see.” That show was “Boston Legal.”

Al Pacino. Robert De Niro. On screen. Together. At the same time. That was the promise of Michael Mann’s Heat in 1995. And people were chomping at the bit to see the two screen legends finally trade words on camera.

Cellular phones have ruined everything. I am not talking about the miniaturized Internet, the cameras, text messaging, the people who persist in talking on them as loudly as humanly possible or the personalized ringtones we are forced to listen to on a daily basis, usually at the movies.

If forced to choose, most of us would probably have difficulty picking out a favorite year of our lives. Each year is so full of highs and lows, lucky breaks and random misfortunes that how anyone could select a favorite is a mystery. But for Benjy Stone (Mark Linn-Baker), the narrator of 1982’s My Favorite Year, the answer is quite simple: 1954.

August. That means another semester begins. A new freshman class joins us on the Hilltop. And, as luck would have it, a new columnist puts pen to paper (or, in this case, fingers to keys on his laptop).

“Jesus, Jack. Why 88 minutes?”

That’s a very good question. One to which, quite frankly, I simply do not have a remotely positive answer. Let me put it another way: There are good movies, there are bad movies and there are even movies that transcend bad to become good again.

And then, there is 88 Minutes.

The elements are all there. We have the swaggering, older gentleman who has everything he wants in life, except the girl. There’s the strong-willed, driven career woman who has risen to the top of a man’s world but still does not have a man.

I’ll begin by stating it outright: there is nothing particularly remarkable about 21, directed by Robert Luketic. However, that did not stop me from enjoying myself for the entire two hours I was watching it. This movie is far from perfect, to be sure, but it is certainly a well-built piece of entertainment.

I must admit that after two decades of life, I have yet to make a trip across the pond to Europe, much to my disappointment. Despite this, I have familiarized myself with many potential sights to visit in preparation for my eventual journey over there.