Word: boulevarded
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...still mourning the Browne of the '70s, you're a hold-out, too) into the '80s, there are a few things to remember the Old Jackson by: from the Karen Silkwood T-shirt hibernating beneath the cover's collegiate get-up to the extra-lyrical remarks following "Boulevard," there remains the characteristic sense of earnestness taken only half-seriously. Holding out is no longer the mythic concept of embattled separateness familiar from "Father On" or "From Silver Lake," nor is it the sole property of the omni-virginal You and vestal She. Despite the synicism with which he regards himself...
...such laborer is Joe Gaines, 33, of Los Angeles. At about 6 on most mornings he can be found, in the company of dozens of other men, loitering under the 40-ft.-high neon signs of Lucy's Drive-In at the corner of Pico Boulevard and La Brea Avenue in Los Angeles' Miracle Mile district. Gaines is hoping for a job as a manual laborer, but if by 10 a.m. or so he has not found one, he heads for the beach. He is not lazy; the beach is merely, as he puts it, "the only cheap...
...valley fascinated Sammy. The lights stretched to a ring of mountains that disappeared in the twilight. Antennas. On the boulevard, red taillights winked at him. Sammy took off his shades and looked at the stars. White headlights blinked at him. He leaned against the car, drumming his fingers on the hood...
...stretched her style and slowed it somewhat in an effort to infuse her routines with the grace that had been lacking. She got a new hairdo, a nose job to repair the deviated septum that impaired her breathing, and checked in with Pat Collins, the Hip Hypnotist of Sunset Boulevard, to learn "positive reinforcement self-hypnosis." She gets up at 6:30 a.m. six days a week to travel to a rink near her Northridge, Calif., home for practice. She takes a break for a two-hour nap at midday, then practices until 6 p.m. Twice a week she works...
...plot revolves around an attempt to frame Julian for a particularly unpleasant sadomasochistic murder. Hector Elizondo is fine as the detective investigating the case, and Julian's attempts to clear himself allow Writer-Director Paul Schrader to penetrate the seamier side of a gigolo's world. Hollywood Boulevard garishness is colorfully contrasted with Rodeo Drive posh. But as in last year's Hardcore, Schrader seems unable to get very far beneath the ugly surface of the demimonde. It is clear he is horrified (or at least titillated) by his movie's milieu, but he doesn...