Word: floridity
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...pleasures of Ferrer's new work are by no means puritanical. They are florid souvenirs de voyage -in some cases, of an imaginary Africa-in the form of tents. The tents are not habitable. One, entitled Sudan, has no entrance; the gloomy space inside is occupied by a stuffed toucan on a perch, eerie blue in the half-light. The accessible space in Sahara, for all the breadth of the piece, is a small womblike pocket. La Luna and Asia Solo can not be entered at all. They are not so much environments, therefore, as three-dimensional paintings...
With the exception of the Snowflakes' waltz, borrowed from Vassily Vainonen's Kirov production, Baryshnikov completely restaged The Nutcracker. His choreography is in a classical mold, swift and precise. There are overhead lifts of every variety, and many florid codas. In spirit, Baryshnikov echoes New York City Ballet's Jerome Robbins. Fluent lyrical lines are buoyed up by the current of the music. Like Robbins, too, he sometimes descends into Broadway kitsch; a clash of cymbals in the orchestra pit invariably signaled a showy lift onstage. The audience adored...
...serves as a kind of latter-day Mad Hatter. From both husband and lover, Joan cleverly hides two secret shames: the fact that she produces feverishly romantic gothic novels and her pre-diet-pill memories of a miserably obese childhood. Both are telltale signs of a temperament too florid to suit the doctrinaire, modernist tastes of the men now in her life. One day, seized by a fit of automatic writing while staring at herself in a three-way mirror, she turns out a surreal prose poem called Lady Oracle that becomes a bestseller. Sudden celebrity as the author...
...Elizabeth Taylor doesn't deliver the performance I expected from the legend, but those fond remembrances may have hailed back mostly to her more svelte youth. And both actors have to do running battle with a perverse Williams creation: the improbably dumb brother and his wife, with their five florid brats--made all the more unbearable by the wonders of film close-up. This one needs the teeth back...
...many couples like them back home. Copley was a brilliant recorder of the human face, the female face especially. The portraits of the middle-aged women he painted in the 1760s are so dense and assured, warts and all, that one may well prefer them to the more florid exercises in the manner of Gainsborough that Copley resorted to when, in London, he wanted to rival West...