Word: crotch
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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Pavlo tells how a Regular Army slob stumblingly pursues through boot camp and battle the mythic promise of the recruiting posters that THE ARMY WILL MAKE A MAN OF YOU! Pacino makes Pavlo a walking antipersonnel device, a Bouncing Betty that chops his foes, and himself, off at the crotch. Pacino's previous roles (most conspicuously, Michael in The Godfather) have blazed with a menace that he now transforms into a quivering, infantile bravado, a would-be Lieut. Galley, played for explosive laughs. The only buddy he rescues is a dead one. The only atrocity he achieves...
...critics? Perhaps. But then everything about Ken Russell is excessive, from his appetite for food and music to the caftans, Mickey Mouse shirts, canes and monocles he sometimes affects. "This is not the age of manners," he says. "This is the age of kicking people in the crotch and telling them something and getting a reaction. I want to shock people into awareness. I don't believe there's any virtue in understatement...
...combat. Like Calley, he recited a grisly story about the company's casualties when the men walked over a Viet Cong minefield 20 days before the massacre. One man hit by mine fragments, said Medina, "was split as if somebody had taken a cleaver right up from his crotch all the way to his chest cavity." Discussing the day of the massacre, Medina said: "For those of you who have been on a combat assault, the adrenalin starts pumping, the pucker factor goes...
...approached his new career in a satiric frame of mind. Disgusted with the avantgarde, Goldberg, who was haunted by modernity, wrote recently in Esquire: "Today you buy a bucket of paint and you're an artist, caress a microphone and you're a singer, gyrate your crotch and you're a dancer, take off your clothes and you're an actor, dump a ton of cement on the floor and you're a sculptor. Doing your own thing is all right for a genius. But, dear reader, you are not a genius. Neither...
...back alleys who has been in two television commercials, a movie entitled Cycle Sluts, and countless beds. By the time she gets through screaming at Felix, they are both evicted-Felix wearing a skeleton suit to frighten Doris out of the hiccups, Doris clad in her best crotch-length nightie with a pair of shocking-pink hands appliqueed on the breasts. Together they begin just the kind of odd courtship one would expect of two such urban animals. They claw, they scratch, they separate, they make up. Both are elaborately cloaked with pretense: Felix as the unpublished author, Doris...