Word: antics
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...have discovered a few of the master's old raiments herself, for the reader is invited to believe in her characters not as authentic personae, but as profound sketches of imaginary people. It is impossible to refuse the invitation. Gilliatt's narrative line is sure, and her antic spirit is unflagging. What is fully drawn and wholly believable, curiously enough, is the great love between the two brothers. If the result is fiction as eccentric as its subjects, no matter. Most current novels err in the direction of stultifying detail and would be better if they were supplied...
...Brink's Job is a crime movie that has been conceived in the antic spirit of a burlesque show. Working from Writer Noel Behn's account of the celebrated 1950 Boston heist, Friedkin and Screenwriter Walon Green have created a series of loopy blackout sketches that celebrate the lunacy of some lucky penny-ante crooks. Not all of the bits are funny, but even the flat jokes have an engagingly whimsical air. From the evocative opening shot of strippers smoking on a theater fire escape to a late Borscht Belt cameo by Sheldon Leonard as J. Edgar Hoover...
Shedding almost all its English allusions, the show is thoroughly Amer- icanized and pervasively vulgar. Littlechap shoots for the presidency and makes it, the first Black ever to do so. Running for office on a ticket of doublespeak, Davis capitalizes on his command of antic mimicry. Donning shades, he struts his way toward the black vote. He woos the hispanics with hip-swiveling tangomania...
Mara, the rabbi's daughter, is an antic rebel. Bribed back to New York from Israel, where she distinguished herself by disco dancing and hobnobbing with the arty underground, she and her beloved Sudah, an Egyptian-Israeli artist cum hippie cum pacifist, spend days assembling highly unorthodox outfits for their Orthodox wedding. Mara's veil is an old tea-stained lace tablecloth that gets caught on her steel-rimmed glasses; Sudah is resplendent in a black velvet suit, cape and top hat. First Novelist Tova Reich's glancing Swiftian wit never flags. She introduces one Rabbi Leon...
...equivalence was consistent: dancers sprawled on the floor next to balloons with the air let out, balloons ascended and dancers rose on tiptoe, balloons bobbed and floated while dancers circled and swayed. . . But after a while, the balloons stole the show, careening with the air going out like antic rockets, bumbling like a small child's blown soap bubbles, or clustered in dancers' hands like enormous molecular models. I don't recall what in particular the dancers looked like--their motions were minimal and forgettable. If the piece were intended to explore the commonality of motion between unlike objects...