Word: mannequins
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...John F. Kennedy. But in the eight years that separated the two Nixon presidential campaigns, Pat Nixon changed. The bitter defeat in the 1962 California gubernatorial race and the long road back left their marks. During the 1968 campaign, she was little more than a speaker's platform mannequin, hair carefully coiffed, legs properly crossed at the ankles, the smiles and pattering applause from her gloved hands correctly timed but somewhat mechanical...
...George Jackson, Papa Davis was a model for manhood. Not a mannequin or a cardboard mock-up, but a living and responsive, vulnerable black man of dignity, Papa Davis taught him the distinction between weakness and tenderness, and impressed upon him that for the poor black in America there is not necessarily a valid connection between punishment and crime, nor need there be a separation between himself and his reason. Most importantly, Papa gave him a galvanic sensitivity to the most fertile possibilities of human life, an awareness that efforts were being made to deny most people access to these...
Mather House is the future. Stone cold, fluorescent, angular, it juts into our eyes like a stiletto from the next century. Its proportions are so gargantuan that even an unwilling observer is thrown into the role of a tiny mannequin in an architect's scale model. The low-rise section has the sinuousness and personality of a granite python, and the tower rises mute like an Aztec altar. Some people claim that architecture like this requires a new grammar of response; I think instead that Mather House almost demands that we abandon our way of seeing...
...unregenerate soap opera-like Doctors' Wives, for example (see following story)-it might have been diverting enough. But Director Jerry Schatzberg, Scenarist Adrien Joyce and Star Faye Dunaway are resolutely serious about every single moment, and the result is embarrassment. Miss Dunaway plays (quite badly) a manic fashion mannequin named Lou Andreas Sand, whose beauty and psyche crumble under the assorted and predictable pressures of the Big Time in New York. Even her language becomes stylized and stilted...
...route to Miami, I was already bothered by the noisy insufficiencies of my own world. At the airport my sleepy irritation was jarred by a platinum wig, perched on a mannequin head, that watched dumbly while its brunette alter-ego harangued a porter. I drove through Miami Beach to indulge myself in a deluge of costumes and Cadillacs. Later, in Palm Beach, Harold's grocery truck (of Southampton, L.I., and Palm Beach) sped by advertising pheasant and fresh caviar. At Hamburger Haven I was handed hamburgers by a waiter in a cashmere sweater and Gucci shoes (no socks). In front...