Word: ghoulish
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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Traditional to any U.S. holiday is a national urge to gas up the family car and take to the road-and a National Safety Council compulsion to predict the number of travelers who will never get home. The ghoulish guess on highway carnage resounds on TV and radio, runs in routine lament through endless headlines and holiday editorials. Observing tradition, the Safety Council predicted that 450 corpses would litter U.S. highways during the four-day July 4 weekend. By July 5, the estimate proved conservative: 509 car riders had been killed, and "a new record" set. Lamented Safety Council Vice...
...whose body had been pierced again and again by long knives and large nails hung last week on canvas in Beverly Hills' Frank Perls Gallery. Near him, in another painting, a green nude was trussed up and suspended like a sheep being carted off to slaughter. Equally ghoulish was the subject matter of most of the pictures in the exhibition-but undeniable power showed in their uninhibited color and eerie distortions...
...this week, and the world waits to see the operations of Israeli justice. It was perhaps right and certainly inevitable that the Jews should try this man once they had captured him. And it was predictable that the harpies of the world press should turn the affair into a ghoulish circus. That was not Israel's fault. It was in the nature of Eichmann's crimes that men could sensationalize them simply by documenting them. But in publicizing the trial, the Israeli government has done nothing to prevent sensationalism...
...France, in Biarritz, where he had gone after their latest spat, jumped in a car to drive to her side. At week's end the aging "Sex Kitten" of French moviedom was recovering. Paris' deadly serious Le Monde, customarily oblivious to BB, accorded her a sort of ghoulish obituary-in-life: "Once upon a time there was a starlet who saw happiness only in glory. She had glory beyond all expectations. Even her name vanished and remained only as two initials: BB. Glory devoured everything: private life, peace, human personality-real or imagined...
Masked Folly. Neither king nor beggar was safe from his brush. "My favorite occupation," he said, "is to make others famous, to uglify them, to enrich their ugliness." He painted a world of fiends and skeletons, of ghoulish clowns and grinning, beak-nosed humans at their most frighteningly ridiculous. He became obsessed by carnival masks, used them, not to disguise mankind, but to highlight its folly. His famous The Entry of Christ into Brussels-with himself as Christ-is Ensor at his most devastating. Here, surrounding Christ, is a seething horde of pomposity-soldiers, millionaires, judges, art critics...