It follows on the heels of some fusty conservative academic hawking his new book on Italic love poetry. You know, those mock epics following Paul Wilcox/Helen Schlegel-type engagements, in which the meter keeps changing between stanzas because the poet can't decide whether the work will amount to a serious and interesting failure or fully-realized adolescent schlock? Also, the prettily slanted font makes the form a staple of bookmarks and fridge magnets.
It's been a couple of years since the last time I saw Heaven's Gate. I'm a little afraid to watch it again.