Trouble in MindMovies

Sometimes I find myself appreciating a filmmaker and his craft, even though I sense an innate distaste, if not downright hatred, for their character and overall essence as an individual. For example, I see Billy Wilder as a subversive little semite that, aside from physically resembling a sort of kosher Jean-Paul Sartre, made films that reek of an intolerable venomous bitterness, primitive misanthropy, and covert anti-shiksa vile, yet there is no denying he made some fairly worthwhile films The Lost Weekend (1945) and Ace in the Hole (1951) that say something relatively profound about the (in)human condition. Additionally, while I like The Goalie's Anxiety at the Penalty Kick (1972) and Paris, Texas (1984), I basically cannot watch a Wim Wenders flick without fantasizing about...