Word: bopping
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...published our expatriate novelists, embraced Hollywood movies and dubbed their directors "auteurs." And when the pioneers of bebop pushed jazz away from melody and into the ionosphere of improvisation, French intellectuals were happy to welcome these black American outlaws to Paris after World War II. Bud Powell, the pathfinding bop pianist, settled there in the '50s, made friends and musical history and went a little crazy. Dexter Gordon, a crucial link in tenor-sax bop between Lester Young and John Coltrane, spent some time on the Left Bank as well. Now Gordon, 63, returns to play an American jazzman...
...time Dale Turner (Gordon) gets to Paris to play an open-ended gig at the Blue Note in 1959, he is both a bop legend and a physical wreck. Too much booze and junk, so much energy spent to expand the boundaries of jazz. "Oh, yes, I'm tired," Dale croaks in his slow, reedy tones. "Of everything except the music." Francis (Francois Cluzet), a commercial illustrator who worships Turner's artistry, wants to change that. The mousy Frenchman is thrilled to be spoken to, listened to, used by his idol. He will manage Turner's life and finances, fight...
...closing ceremony in New Jersey's Giants Stadium will feature more stars than there are in heaven, to use MGM's old motto. Throughout the weekend, rockets will glare, bands will blare, sails will billow, pigeons swoop and spectators whoop; 200 square dancers will hop, 300 tap dancers will bop, Frankie Avalon and Francis Sinatra will croon while audiences swoon, and more than 12,000 immigrants will pledge undying allegiance to their new country...
...Bop-bop, boppity bop-bop-bop-bop. Snugged up in his private plane, plugged into his Walkman, Pete St. John, media consultant to politicians, drums his cares away on the practice pad that accompanies him everywhere. Pete's life moves to this same rhythm: jazzy, snazzy, yet lacking in soul. If he had one it would be packed in a two-suiter with his scruples, in the lost-luggage office of some airport on a half-forgotten campaign trail...
Harris, however, is miraculously able to redeem his character on the strength of only one scene, arguably the best movie history since Harrison Ford taught Kelly McGillis how to bop in Witness. Feeling contrite about his continual neglect of his wife and baby, boot-camp confined Dick jumps on a hot motorcycle and cruises the hundred or so miles back home just so he can drag his somnambulent wife out into the pouring rain for a slow dance in front of the nightclub where they met. As he cuddles against Cline's rain-soaked nightgown, it's impossible...