Word: flatted
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...prosody is still somewhat imitative, and his rhymes are occasionally a little flat. Nonetheless, McCarthy must be reckoned a talented poet. Like Benjamin Disraeli, who titillated England with a long series of romantic novels, his art takes added interest from his position. And like Disraeli, who continued to write fiction even while he was Prime Minister, a President McCarthy might find that power would necessarily lead him into...
Every night, during the "May Days" of the Sorbonne revolt, a greying, middle-aged man descended from his Left Bank attic flat and ambled over to the student-occupied Théátre de L'Odéon. There he listened with amused interest as youthful nihilists denounced the entire span of French history as irrelevant. Their harsh judgment did not surprise him. In five slim volumes of pel lucid, painfully distilled essays, Rumanian-born Philosopher E. M. Cioran, 57, has argued the terrible futility of human history. More originally than any other living thinker, he has defined...
Joyless Round. Osborne began his career in fury at a social structure that seemed to bar men like him from wealth, privilege and social status. He now sounds like a Tory arriviste for whom all the champagne has proved to be flat. Both plays focus on the narcissistic aristocrats of theater and film...
...sight gag: Clouseau exits from the wrong door of a plane and gets carried out with the luggage. The Malapropism: "You are pushing my leg." The convoluted scheme: a gang of thieves disguise themselves in Clouseau masks to enter Swiss banks. The third time round, however, the mixture is flat and tasteless. Bud Yorkin's slovenly direction makes the film look as if every expense had been spared, trapping Arkin in a farce of habit that will probably retire Clouseau to oblivion -one picture too late...
...like alcohol; he walked, and walking was like drinking. He drank it in on waking, and went all day from sundown to blackout wallowing in it until he dropped from exhaustion and total inebriation, happy and not caring if he ever woke again. Trudging all day over the flat stale beer of the stony plain, brandy of hills, mouth shut tight because it seeped in continually through eyes, ears, nose and anus, the drink of land and the never-ending gutterbout of topography, a blinding weekend of landbooze that went on for months...