Word: graffiti
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: all
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
Like More American Graffiti and Willie and Phil before it, Four Friends omits no fact or artifact from its survey of a decade. Pop songs, love beads, Jack-and-Jackie beachballs, deranged assassins-all are strip-mined for significance. The performers (excepting Reed Birney as a gentle, doomed aristocrat and Natalija Nogulich as Danilo's one stalwart love) display little charm, conviction or screen presence. But the intensity of Tesich's obsessions can ennoble his clichés about love of family, friends and country. And Penn, a poet of domestic sexual tension, stages illuminating vignettes to express...
...government could afford to feed students the lunch on the cover [Oct. 12]. Fresh lettuce and tomato on a thick hamburger on a toasted bun on a shiny china plate on a tray devoid of graffiti simply do not exist in a school cafeteria...
...Freemason Esterhaus (Michael Conrad), a mountain of meat and gristle with a smile that could crack ice, is briefing his charges on the new day's agenda. "I'd like to interject a personal observation," he announces. "It seems that we've reached a new low, graffiti-wise, in both the men's and women's lavatories. Now, in an organization of mature men and women, I suggest that we clean up our act . . . our vocabulary . . . at the very least our spelling. To the anonymous bathroom poet, breast is generally spelled breAst. All right...
...Something of a minor miracle," said Michael Evans, a Washington, D.C., economist. "Fiscal graffiti" and "a huge disaster" were the capsule descriptions offered by Economist Joseph Pechman of the Brookings Institution. Both men were referring to congressional approval last week of the Reagan-endorsed tax bill. Reaction to the program ranged from sheer delight to unspeakable horror; business leaders were generally pleased, while angry labor chieftains charged that the program was a giveaway to the rich...
...head shaved as if recuperating from a Nazi lobotomy. Punk admits to no past; it anticipates no future. And the present is only impulse-the 300 heartbeats a minute of the raucous new rock. This music is rigorously monotonous, a mantra of bully nihilism; the lyrics are surrealist graffiti, spat out indistinctly. Director Spheeris occasionally supplies English subtitles for these messages from a lost world. In interviews she plays the sympathetic den mother to these kids barely out of their teens, and they respond, most of them, with patience and decorum. In assembling these chilling images, Spheeris has followed...