Word: barrens
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...irony of an Anouilh or a Giraudoux, Peter Stone rests his book, derived from Clifford Odets' The Flowering Peach, on the pitiably thin humor of anachronism. Except for one beguiling ballad, I Do Not Know a Day I Did Not Love You, Richard Rodgers' score is almost barren of melodic appeal, and Martin Charnin's lyrics could have been ticked off by a metronome...
...sufferin' paw. Halsy (Robert Redford) is a full-time motorcycle rider, ego-tripper and ladysmith. But the steatopygous girls who follow him are, as he admits, "gland cases" and "hurting whores." Between race-track rack-ups and sexual hang-ups, the film is crowded with subject-but barren of object. It is impossible to hide what never existed; nonetheless Director Sidney Furie seems to be attempting an existential comedy. Local color is dabbed in by the numbers. Maw (Lucille Benson) is comic-strip Steinbeck; Paw (Noah Beery Jr.) sells portable potties which he describes as p.p.s. Fauss is constantly...
...blow in the head, and that's just the beginning of the ooze. The imagery reaches beyond usual notions of drug-altered experience, to a more fundamental mistrust of people, institutions, and even the artifacts of day-to-day living. It's a Weltanschauung located in a barren urban setting, studded with carnivorous hair-dryers and dish-rag ghouls...
...democratic process as this nation of 9,000,000. Even its geography helped by isolating it from its neighbors. Stretching more than 2,600 miles down the west coast of South America, Chile has the towering Andes to the east, the Pacific to the west, the parched and barren Atacama Desert to the north and, in the south, the craggy shores of Tierra del Fuego. Yet next week the Chilean Congress will confront a dilemma that no republican legislature has ever faced: whether or not to allow a freely elected Marxist to become President of the country. Dr. Salvador Allende...
...comparison of the two, as men and artists, was inevitable. If Styron's writing was prettier, then Mailer's had more of blood and tissue in it. Mailer's work was barren of the personal grasses of childhood, while Styron poked in the dusts of his youthful past until one sensed that it haunted him in the night, blew grain-by-gain through his soul; sandpapered it. Mailer wrote of sex in terms of a fifteen-round fight in which red peppers were joyously thumbed into the other fellow's eyes: he saw fucking as vital confrontations. Styron wrote...