Word: junking
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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Perhaps Fellini has become a Don Juan among moviemakers, pursuing some ultimate statement, some mega-image that does not exist and cannot be conjured up by running garage sales of the junk stored in his unconscious. But so intent is the director on this onanistic quest that he has long since forgotten that truth in art arises from the patient accretion of telling detail, distilled observation, and, in maturity, a certain ironic composure. -By Richard Schickel
...eating junk food or sitting alone in a dingy room." When the protagonist is scorned by Foster's character, he mails her a letter and sets out to kill a presidential candidate. The coincidences are powerful and given credence by a letter that Scriptwriter Paul Schrader got last fall-from J.W. Hinckley. Schrader told TIME he thought the letter was from a smitten groupie who wanted to meet Foster, and he had his secretary throw it away...
...somehow it works, despite the fact that the setting (Santa Barbara, Calif.) and the plot (which involves, among other factors, sins of an older generation) appear to be borrowed from Ross Macdonald. It works, in part, because Czech-born Director Ivan Passer (Intimate Lighting) is a junk-ball twirler with an ability to put a loony backspin on bitterness. In his pictures people strike out laughing. More important, he finds a way to make one care about losers without imputing hidden heroic virtues to them. And Writer Fiskin knows how to construct revealing scenes economically, with characters talking truly tough...
...hole, the music as hyper-energized, as fractious and scrappy as the country itself. It was a smashing, reverberating disc that some of us thought would go through the roof critically and commercially. Alas. audiences and rock critics can't digest so much. They prefer two-or-three-chord junk food--who said rock and roll wasn't about arrested development? Of course the songs on Get Happy!! didn't "breathe"--they were choked with carbon monoxide and tears of boredom, frustration, rage. Elvis was a ferret trapped in a septic tank...He got his rocks off that time...
Guarding the Lehnbachaus exhibit, a large, fat man sat in a hallway just inside the entrance. Down the corridor stood a table of tools and junk. The guard laughed as I walked by him, ignoring the table, and then he waddled over, grabbed my hand and cheerfully led me back to the heap in the corner. I had missed the first piece of the exhibit...