Word: comic-strip
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...playlet is simple and startling. A huge papier-mache Mother Hubbard doll intones a litany of all the beauties of the motel room that she owns, conjuring up memories of the garish comic horrors of the journey through a Sahara of motels in Nabokov's Lolita. Into this room tromp a man (Conrad Fowkes) and a woman (James Barbosa) looking like plaster casts with comic-strip blow-up heads. They proceed to demolish everything in he room, and at the height of the carnage they scrawl foot-high obscenities on the walls, some never before presented...
...novelists write mostly in the first person, and that person speaks comic-strip American: jive jabber, Al Capptions, sportsese. What he says is ironic, defensive, cool, often comical. In all of these novels, the tone of the talk matters more than the shape of the plot. The new pops derive from the traditional novel of sensibility, but their sensibility is fresh and American. Their anti-heroes are the self and abstract of the lonely crowd, the Jonah wandering lost in the modern Leviathan...
Modesty Blaise, based loosely on the adventures of a British comic-strip heroine, presumably intends to poke fun at the James Bond school of chic, sexy savagery. The damage done to the chosen target is negligible, but this parroty parody adds up to a near disaster. Assuming a knowing superiority over its prototypes, Modesty is less a spoof than a limp-wristed kind of fairy tale, witlessly cluttered up with homosexual malice, artsy gift-shop decor, and the same old gaggy gadgetry on which the Bondsmen have patents pending...
Died. Russell Westover, 79, cartoonist and onetime San Francisco Bulletin sports illustrator who in 1921 eyed the post-World War I rush of women into the working world and launched Tillie the Toiler, a chic, shapely but scatterbrained comic-strip steno who primly kept one up on the boss and the office boys until she was retired in 1959; of a heart attack; in San Rafael, Calif...
...ogle a prepotent heman, king of a computerized wonderland in which every foe can be swiftly vanquished, every voluptuous siren bedded. And women seem quite susceptible to the fantasy of being vicariously mauled by a master of the art, perhaps after flooring him with a karate wrist chop. Slapdash, comic-strip plots, more violent than suspenseful, are made into a joke that viewers are invited to share while soaking up the sin and splendor of strange locales, gawking at new feats of technology. The sin is mechanical-a series of clashes between the hostile male and deadly female, cold sensuality...