Word: cliches
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Midnight Birds. With all her success, Julie is now facing up to the inevitable cliché that infects married couples who get deeply involved in their separate professions: Whither goest who? The answer is that Walton goeth to London, Julie to Hollywood. The result is that they are separated by more than an ocean and a continent. At one point, they corresponded on tape. "Every day, out went the tapes," says Tony. "Julie saying how frightened she was of acting, how unreal the whole thing was. But we got too good at the tapes and a bit too tricky. Every...
...screen for half a century has been filled with skies that podnuhs reach fer, dust that another Indian bites, ranches that folks are meanwhile back at, and any number of 'ems that get cut off at the pass. In short, the West has produced almost as many clichés as cattle, and the quality of a western depends largely on how well the director handles the stock...
...borrows its title and most of its plot from Cecil B. DeMille's 1936 sagebrush saga that starred Gary Cooper and Jean Arthur. The present version seems innocently certain that trite makes right. The innocence has a certain charm, but the same can hardly be said of the clichés: the noble old Indian chief ("Cheyenne not want war!"), the nasty young brave ("Kill! Kill!"), the snotty regimental C.O. ("I'll give those filthy Indians a taste of cold steel!"), the cowardly villain ("Don't shoot! Don't shoot!") who cheats at cards and secretly...
...limpest clichés, however, are the leading characters. Wild Bill Hickok (Don Murray) is presented as just one more bashful boob who would sooner face hot lead than cool lips. "Hit's easier to swim up Niagry Falls," he whines, "than hit is to understand a woman." Calamity Jane (Abby Dalton) comes off as a stereotype tomboy who looks like Doris Day wearing saddlebags but sounds like Martha Raye without a mute. "Beeeeyullllll," she squeeee-yulllllls, "yore huh-urrrrrt...
Brose is equally candid with the personnel director, Mrs. Murray (Elizabeth Wilson). Mrs. Murray is a corset-bound volume of Freudian clichés. She is both primly inhibited and latently lecherous, and Brose sniffs out the strange musk of her personality: "Like when you said what was my relations with my mother, I just couldn't stop myself saying 'son'; it came straight out. I've been wondering what the proper answer was, her being dead...