Word: dunes
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Patricia and Francis O'Malley bought their summer home in Long Island's fashionable Westhampton Beach four years ago. "There used to be a dune in front and a beach in front of that," Patricia recalls. "The very first winter we had a horrible storm, and we lost the dune." Two years later gale- force winds blew the house's roof and top floor off. "We rebuilt a whole new house. Since then, we've lost 8 ft. of sand." Now, she complains, "there's water under the house. The steps are gone. The houses on both sides of ours...
Three days after the Libyan raid last week, French fighter-bombers struck the Libyan air base at Ouadi-Doum, knocking out an elaborate radar complex. The Libyans were caught by surprise because the French, flying almost at dune level, had escaped radar detection. The following day Libya responded with an aerial attack on the small town of Kouba Olanga, just south of the 16th parallel...
EROTIC, BRUTAL, horrifying, and singularly comic, Blue Velvet marks an awesome return to form for director Lynch. In the course of his relatively brief career he has given us Eraserhead, an unsung underground classic, The Elephant Man, a bittersweet beauty-and-the-beast parable, and Dune, a $40 million dollar turtlewaxed Edsel. In Blue Velvet Lynch demonstrates with grace and the sheer momentum of genius that he is our most valuable, audacious and unabashed cinematic exorcist. He takes fear, his and ours, and smears it on the big screen. His canvas is dazzling, replete with hyperorganic imagery and an almost...
...plot alone would be enough to earn Blue Velvet this year's Authentic Weirdie prize. But wait, there's more. Writer-Director Lynch (Eraserhead, The Elephant Man, Dune) has stocked his movie with artifacts from every decade of postwar America; it could be taking place now, then or never. Emotionally, the picture comes from outer space. Instead of seducing the audience, the characters are picture-book flat. Only the images are deep and dense. The friendly loggers of Lumberton wave at the camera; Frank screams an obscenity and poof! disappears; a corpse is bound and bowed like a Kienholz sculpture...
Well, this season's big moneymaker appears to be a Motownesque ditty called "Sledgehammer" by erstwhile art-rocker Peter Gabriel. As summer swill singles go, "Sledge" is a real doozy, the slowed-down tempo perfect for dancing (or doing anything else) in a sand dune. Perhaps if "Sledge" was a Van Halen song, I could really get excited. But coming from Gabriel, one of few rock performers who writes intelligent and adult material, this song and most of So hit me about as hard as a three-day-old Miller Light...