OLIVER STONE

One of the reasons Oliver Stone is not an inspiration for me as a young movie writer is as plain as the film on the screen (“Rider on the Storm,” by Hilary de Vries). The best work of all accomplished artists speaks for itself, beyond the media or self-created hype. “Wall Street” in its construction was as slick and superficial as its disgusting subject matter. “Platoon” was as crude as the Vietnamese jungle, though propped up with exaggerated scenes and emotions.

With “Born on the Fourth of July” and now “The Doors,” will Stone ever stop pounding the nails into the idealized ‘60s experience? This very talented but self-absorbed and grandiose filmmaker needs to find his way to maturity.

Settle down, Mr. Stone. Those of us holding out for cinema as art await a spurt in your growth. How about something small, and impersonal, for a change?

JOHN L. ACEVES

Los Angeles