Word: comicalities
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...hilarity. The other actors’ performances aren’t quite on-par with those of earlier Woody pieces—Jackman’s Australian accent occasionally surfaces, and Johansson’s Sondra is uneven—but they never cause the film to lose comic traction...
...other hand am s______ myself." Her anxiety is understandable. "I'm being followed around now by paparazzi and stuff which is really weird," Allen told Time last week. Part of her tabloid appeal is her pedigree; Allen is the daughter of Oscar-nominated film producer Alison Owen and comic and actor Keith Allen, who split when Lily was a young child. She also has a history of saying outrageous things, like telling the Observer newspaper that she sold the illegal drug ecstasy in Ibiza when she was 15. Last week, the Sun tabloid revealed tales of her time in London...
...DIED. Gérard Oury, 87, writer and director of some of France's most beloved comic films; in St.-Tropez. Originally trained as an actor, Oury's modest success in stage roles led him to embrace film direction in 1959. His 1966 smash, the World War II-set La Grande Vadrouille (Don't Look Now, We're Being Shot At), sold over 17 million cinema tickets and reigned as France's most popular film until the Hollywood blockbuster Titanic surpassed...
...Quick, One Lonely Night and I, the Jury resonated with weary postwar Americans. He also built a multimedia juggernaut: the hard-drinking, gleefully sadistic Hammer inspired film noir (Kiss Me, Deadly), made-for-TV movies and three TV series. The author, who got his start in comic books, bore similarities to his cavalier hero ("I don't give a hoot about ... reviews. What I want to read are royalty checks," he liked to say) but revealed a softer, subtler side in the '70s and '80s, writing two well-received children's books and parodying his macho image...
...That leaves Kiss Me Deadly, a film not quite meriting its latter cult eminence. The movie so stresses its characters stereotypes (the comic Italians and wasted dames) and facile aural editorializing (braying trombones, in case you didn't catch the blatant ironies in the dialogue) that the exaggeration almost becomes a style, as it surely does in Spillane's writing. This was 1955, when director Robert Aldrich's consistent coarseness was brave and bracing in Hollywood, rather than routine...