The Post-Standard’s prehistoric movie critic was a woman named Joan Vadeboncoeur. Joan was a stout woman of medium height. Everyone at the paper called her simply Joan, because her name—Vadeboncoeur—was an absolute chore to pronounce. Joan never married; she was confident enough in herself not to be defined by a man, which was still relatively rare in 1994. She had worked at the paper for what seemed like a thousand years. She kept a pair of heavy eyeglasses on a lengthy rhinestone chain around her neck. Her hair always looked the same: like a manicured dollop of festive yogurt. My…