Word: dark
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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LAUGHTER IN THE DARK. Love is literally blind in this black comedy about a wealthy Englishman (Nicol Williamson) who becomes obsessed with a lascivious movie usherette (Anna Karina). Williamson gives a strong performance as a weak man. The script-from Vladimir Nabokov's novel-is intelligent, and Tony Richardson's direction is undoubtedly his best since The Entertainer...
...covered administration building. At the top of the steps stood an open microphone. Anyone was invited to step up and unburden his spirit on the subject of "A Wesley an Education." This was a student-requested innovation. The only student to speak at any length was a dark, angular boy in a plaid lumberjack shirt. He identified himself as a political radical and film maker, quoting a Jean-Luc Godard epigram: "We are the children of Marx and Coca-Cola...
Slowly, painfully, they begin to learn about the enemies of love, without and within. Chris loses sleep, then appetite, finally ardor. Convinced that "some dark thing was overtaking him," he buys a rifle and lugs it everywhere. As the child within her grows, Ellen retreats to her own childhood, resurrecting the toys in the lodge attic. Seeking reassurance, the pair try the ritual of childhood games-Parcheesi, Chinese checkers-then break off even this relationship. Chris teaches Ellen to shoot. At last all they share is the gun, as if the final game were to be a game of kill...
...center of the living room--black, mysterious, almost untouchable out there all by itself. Martin, however, sat in the far corner of the room in the armchair that he knew he and his roommate had bought from a smiling sophomore for twenty dollars. He was daydreaming; his dark hair had fallen over his forehead and now partly concealed his empty eyes, but it could not hide the wanton slant of his grin. He had not moved for half an hour when he decided to make the phone call...
...then, asleep in Winthrop House. At two a.m., I had left those best and most creative people, walked guiltily down the stairs between their files of eyes, walked across that dark yard past the reasonable student-government people who had stayed up to argue and to observe, walked more guiltily, yet past the friendly. University policeman on Quincy Street, walked home in the cold, past the Houses where slept the Great Uncommitted with whom I felt I had less in common than with those romantics, or even those radicals...