Word: logics
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...disappointment, neither the gloom of Beethoven nor the melancholy of Chopin. The Reformation Symphony, for example, is religiosity at its most cloying, and Elijah, tender as its pastoral moments are, simply does not convey the full might of its subject. What Mendelssohn did know about was order, proportion, logic and joy. He was a better orchestrator than either Schumann or Brahms. In some of his juvenile operas, he experimented with leitmotifs-long before Wagner. His greatest innovations came in the realm of orchestral color-ruddy brass canvases, fragile wood-wind-and-string pastels that give the Midsummer Night...
Rafelson's raw materials are first rate: sensitive acing (except for Julie Anne Robinson). Lazlo Kovacs's cinematography, a glib sharp-tongued script. But he Jumps them together without logic or order. The "no exit" situation would seem well suited to psychic drama. But Rafelson leaves unexplored Nicholson's talent for tempestuousness and dwells in a tone of wistful resignation. The problem again is Rafelson's self-conscious world-weariness. He shows Nicholson improvising in the bathroom. "The form of the tragic autobiography is dead. I have chosen radio...because my life is hopefully, comically unworthy." If this...
...perused Sarris's collected criticism two years ago, it appeared that Sarris was mellowing, speaking more often than before with some logic and extra-film development, indulging once in what to most acteurists was anathema--social criticism (in a useful review of The Great White Hope). Judging from the Voice's last volume, and sundry other writings. I was wrong. His current critical canon has included predictable praise for Frenzy (and a pre-review luncheon with Hitchcock himself), approval of The Man because it at least wasn't critical about politicians (some deep cynicism in an order, I would think...
...interest in the complexities of his own psychology. His writings about himself all conform to the Classics Illustrated school of statesman autobiography, that "I am a part of all that I have met" syndrome whereby the man of action records no inner feelings which do not readily follow the logic of the events in which he is partaking. In accordance with this and with the Hollywood approach to everything in general. Foreman's screen adaptation doss not tap any deep springs of character or political behavior. What we get instead is a robust action flick far above the usual...
These sorts of hyperbolic vignettes are piled one stop the other without logic or order. Russell has no intrinsic rationale for his boned-up effects. It's pure Hollywood chi-chi. The movie lasted less than a week in Boston. Consider for example a scene of Sophie and Henri husting stones by the seashore. He scales a lower of white rock, and straddling he peak, black cape whipping in the winds, he cuts a lone prophet figure against a clear sea; meanwhile the dances out her care-free spiritual applause on the sand, crying. "It will be a hymn...