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Pink, pink, pink. She's always wearing pink or covering her room with pink things. Her room looks as if a thousand pink bears were shot expressly to outfit her with custom-dyed pink carpeting. There is pink in the bathroom; pink in the bed; pink in the lavatory; there is pink everywhere. It isn't the subtlest of imageries but it very usefully informs us of Mammi's preferences and proclivities...
...course, we Americans knew that, felt it in our marrow as we marched raucously across a continent. Historian Frederick Jackson Turner explained it to us in 1893, when he wrote of the closing of our Western frontier. "What the Mediterranean Sea was to the Greeks, breaking the bond of custom, offering new experiences, calling out new institutions and activities, that, and more, the ever retreating frontier has been to the United States...
Despite the chilling effect of law and custom, liberal ideas and practices surface and are customarily blamed on the West. To many Chinese, Westerners seem enslaved by their animal instincts and unconcerned about family unity. Still, more open attitudes seem to continue. The usually stern Shanghai Liberation Daily raised eyebrows last summer with an evenhanded treatment of the loss of virginity, calling it "not a good thing, but it is not necessarily an irredeemably bad thing." And like other countries, China is learning that courses and books aimed at keeping the lid on sexual activity help feed it. Young women...
...choice. Altman's version of Shepard's play is certainly more than filmed theatre. The world he gives us is tangible and authentic, and no film in recent memory has as meticulous a look. Eddie's truck is a masterpiece of mud and birdcrap, like a Jackson Pollack custom-designed Chevy. May's motel room is a working model for entropy, strewn with dirty underwear and rumpled blouses. And Eddie's adolescent home boasts a velvet painting of John F. Kennedy, while the ghost-daughter of May's own past bounces behind her on a motel bed, and hugs...
...house on her own, she displays the friskiness of a boarding-school student on a weekend of freedom. At a recent charity ball in London, she wore a silver drop-dead, bare-backed, broad- shouldered gown. Instead of leaving at midnight like a proper Cinderella, as is the royal custom, she was still dancing at 2:30. A month later, while Charles was away, her sister Lady Sarah McCorquodale persuaded Diana to go to a country house ball in Leicestershire. The bachelors were too timid to ask her to dance. Exercising royal fiat, Diana grabbed one young man and said...