Word: faithlessness
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...plays Paul, a 45-year-old American living in Paris. At the point where the movie begins, Paul's faithless French wife, who owned the seedy hotel that they ran jointly and lived in, has just inexplicably committed suicide. It is in the midst of his stunned and perplexed reaction to this event that Paul encounters the free-spirited young bourgeoise named Jeanne in the vacant apartment and abruptly begins his affair with her. The central scenes of the movie show their meetings in the bare apartment over a period of three days, interspersed with glimpses of both...
...characters, by design, tend to be so unaware and witless. (Wasn't Candid Camera itself often cruel?) Reducing Sally to emotional trauma several times as a vehicle for parody is a good example of such pitilessness. The film's last scene, in which her attempt to kill the faithless Joey evokes only audience guffaws as the gun fails to shoot, adds insult to injury; this is the major emotional crisis of Sally's life, and Morrissey turns it into a farce. Likewise, the constant use of the Motel Lady's physical ugliness as a stimulus to laughter...
...time seemed right to prove the faithless wrong, and a drive to widen the Center's narrow confines took over at the Loeb. A spirit of enthusiasm took hold and began to spread to include not only the rest of the University, but also inspired plans to branch out into the Cambridge community as well...
...rest of the evening Makarova was immaculate. In the role of the peasant girl, she seemed properly shy, touching and fragile. In duets with her faithless lover (Ivan Nagy), she matched each line of leg and arm to perfection. Transformed, in the second act, into a gossamer-clad Wili, she showed little tenderness, but conveyed a remote melancholy. Always, when she broke into dance, there was that sudden transformation of earth-bound mortal into incredible creature of some other...
...Catherine. I realize I have been a faithless correspondent, my truest friend (as I have been faithless in so many things in life). Hopelessness has compelled me to write. Remember those midnight talks we had in the convent school about the search for that precious grail called love? How I laughed at you when you told me that love was an illusion, and that since I was actually Julie Christie I was never to achieve that mystical communion of souls, far sweeter than any earthly bond. You were wiser than I, cara. Love is a cruel, impudent sorceress who will...