Word: condescending
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...Ingersoll dailies and 200-plus weeklies are mostly undistinguished moneymakers. An intellectual who counts Samuel Beckett as his favorite writer, Ingersoll nonetheless publishes papers that condescend; they entertain more than educate or inform. He blasts other newspapers for giving reporters free reign to pursue investigative and analytic stories he considers of limited interest. Says Ingersoll: "There has been a general breakdown of discipline in American newsrooms in the past generation. It got to the point by the early '80s where you couldn't get the best young reporters to aspire to be editors anymore...
...greatest French artist of the 17th century, the founder of his country's classical school. With him, French painting shook off its provinciality and became a European affair, mirroring the power of its grand siecle, the age of Louis XIV. After Poussin, Rome could no longer condescend to Paris. But without Rome there would have been no Poussin: Rome formed and trained him, gave him his conception of professional life, his myths, his essential subjects, his sensuality and measure -- in short, his pictorial ethos...
Instead of the diplomatic tone of most cover letters, the letters of the three entries state their wishes candidly. "If you have even an ounce of compassion in your taut, aerobically perfect body, you will condescend to grant me an interview on one of the 435 closed schedule positions for Assistant to Mail Clerk," began the letter of first prize winner Ladd K. Biro...
...walk- on role in Woody Allen's Annie Hall), she has made seven films, including two that are still unreleased in the U.S.: Half Moon Street with Michael Caine and the French-language One Woman or Two with Gerard Depardieu. Weaver the stage artist refuses to condescend to cinema. "There's a purity in film work," she observes. "It takes courage, leaping into the void every day on set. You can't hold back; you can't come back to it the next day. It's a one- shot deal, just like life...
Most movies about low-life Americana condescend to their subject with lots of sweat, foul patter, fat ladies and idiot giggling. This lurid and intermittently seductive melodrama (based on a true story) just observes Brad Sr. and his mob dispassionately, like slime mold under a microscope. They execute their robberies, and their victims, with soulless professionalism; their gangster grimaces register starkness without sexiness. Brad Jr. and his pals are hardly more exemplary. Talking tough, swigging beer, waiting for something bad to happen, they could be the Whitewood Gang in embryo...