During a period spanning the mid-’80s to early ’90s, the surest indicator of batshit insanity in a film was the leering, pop-eyed, clench-jawed face of Bill Paxton (Big Love, Aliens). I’ve always thought of Paxton as the polar opposite of Bill Pullman (Wild At Heart, Independence Day), whose nearly expressionless face always suggested reserves of suffering and emotional calculation. Pullman could change the direction of a scene with a slight crease of one eye. Paxton, on the other ha
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