Word: greys
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...1930s. Lewis (Jeff Bridges) is not far enough into adulthood to know he is there, but in any case his head is full of the prime fantasies of good pulp fiction. He wants to be a writer, particularly of cowboy stories, most specifically like those of his idol, Zane Grey. Lewis has the master's formula down pretty tight ("One thing leads to another, and pretty soon he's got a story"), and can emulate his prose with zest ("A Colt in either hamlike fist...
...countryside seemed no different--a pleasant kind of green through the drizzle feathering the air. A sudden clump of people on a knoll flashing by in a kind of visual doppler effect brought the first traces of the difference. Standing on a group of large rocks, backdropped by reddish-grey cliffs stood three or four British soldiers in green berets and camouflage khakis. They were holding their guns across their arms, watching the train closely as it went...
There was, to be sure, a morbid Kipling, the bitter recluse who lost a son (in World War I) and a daughter, and until his death in 1936 retreated more and more into the confines of his Sussex home, "a grey stone, lichened house-A.D. 1654 over the door." But there was also Kipling the solid burgher of his middle years, who married an American woman and settled down as a country gentleman for four years in Brattleboro, Vt., who became a friend of Cecil Rhodes and the enemy of every Liberal Member of Parliament, regularly depicted in Kipling...
...everyone is in snowy white. In Bohemia, John Conklin's handsome cyclorama of hanging Lucite tubes is lit with the green of vegetation, and the actors wear colorful yellows and greens. When we return to Sicilia for the last act, the whites have been softened with patches of light grey. In addition, the character of Time (Powers Boothe), whom Shakespeare brings in only to bridge the celebrated 16-year hiatus, appears wordlessly at the outset carrying a barren wintry branch with green leaves; and he concludes the play by reappearing with a third branch of autumnal gold. The level...
Maggie MacLean was standing in the tall, wide doorway of Newell Boat House, just at the line that divides the vast room stacked with boats and oars from the grey pier that slopes gently down to the Charles River. Like the other ten women who stood in a semicircle listening to their coach. Harry Parker, she was wearing gym shorts and a tank top--hers was grey, with blue letters that said "U.S.A. Rowing Team Camp." But unlike the others, on her large, strong hands she wore protective leather gloves...