Word: luridness
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Content may have something to do with Passion's lackluster performance: the details Flowers has hung on her lurid tale are not very convincing. She offers a picture of her bed as proof that Clinton slept there, and a picture of a black teddy as evidence that he both purchased the undergarment and then removed it. The actual sex is so clichad and vulgar that a high school sophomore would be turned off, and the juicy parts can be read standing up at the store: intimate organs have names like Willard and Precious (p. 71); the act involved, at times...
...Oliver Stone let this one get away? A gang of '60s rebels, an aura of righteous violence, the charge that fbi boss J. Edgar Hoover and the Mafia flooded America's cities with cheap drugs-why, it's all so lurid, it must be true. And if it's not, it can still be a movie...
Even very sober public officials are deeply concerned. Three weeks ago, Georgia's Senator Sam Nunn sketched a lurid fantasy: how terrorists might wreck the central government of the U.S. On the night of a State of the Union address, when all the top officials are in the Capitol, Nunn said, a handful of fanatics could crash a radio-controlled drone aircraft into the building, "engulfing it with chemical weapons and causing tremendous death and destruction.'' This scenario, said Nunn, "is not far-fetched,'' and the technology is all readily available...
Stoller, the kid composer from Long Island, found dozens of cunning variations on the traditional 12-bar blues. And Leiber, the Baltimore-born lyricist, poured his love of radio melodrama into the two-minute song. There was no June moon in the lurid Leiber landscape; it was a night town of train wrecks (Black Denim Trousers and Motorcycle Boots) and knife Ūghts (the show's title song), sawmill slicings (Along Came Jones) and countless jailbreaks. Even a love song could sound like a taunt when Leiber wrote it. Consider the capper to the Peggy Lee I'm a Woman...
...cartoon elf or sprite or something pokes its head out from behind a window, then draws it back. No, I'm not a paranoid schizophrenic -- this is the much-hyped intelligent agent who comes with the box. I ignore it, make my escape from Gameland and blunder into a lurid district of the Metaverse where thousands of infomercials run day and night, each in its own window. I watch an ad for Chinese folk medicines made from rare-animal parts, genetically engineered and grown in vats. Grizzly-bear gallbladders are shown growing like bunches of grapes in an amber fluid...