Word: meshing
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...fault lies with either script writer Alan Sharp or director Arthur Penn--it seems hard to tell which because their contributions never mesh. The screenplay is crafted and literary, almost pretentious, and it leaves the rest of the picture scrambling below. Full of slightly pretentious lines, the script will drop an enigmatic phrase and the camera won't cover for it--the statement is deserted-with its pants down and the audience is embarassed...
...flowing purple Halston gown. She was escorted by Woody Allen in tux and sneakers ("I think those black shoes they have with tuxedos are terrible"). But the evening's most eye-opening costume belonged to Nureyev, who danced his role clad only in a solid gold mesh dancer's belt. After his performance, the very bare dancer greeted the First Lady with the poise of a man wearing tie and tails. When asked later what Betty had to say about his threads, the Star responded: "She did not say anything. Why, does it bother...
...dispatched to the township of Port Lincoln, 170 miles west of Adelaide, Australia. From there he was to sail 20 miles out into the gulf in company of Underwater Photographers Ron and Valerie Taylor and be lowered over the side of a ship in a special steel mesh cage. Rizzo's role, doubling for one of the film's leading actors, was simply to persevere while a great white shark tried to trash...
...despite all this talk of fighting, Pipes is uncomfortable with disorder. Although he mentions the well-known assassination attempts on the tsars in the late 1800s, he neglects the early seventeenth-century Time of Troubles when there was no absolute patrimonial power in existence. It doesn't mesh with Pipe's thesis, so he leaves it out. He also takes little notice of the political and social havoc wreaked by the Napoleonic War. Pipes said he is concerned with institutions, not with foreign policies. Finally, Pipes leaves a large hole where the worker should be. Although eighty per cent...
...Slive becomes moody, thumbing through racks of paintings in one of the Fogg's storage depots. Over twenty gun-metal grey, ceiling-high, metal-mesh racks line this long, narrow hall on the museum's second floor. They are hung with a "big slice of the cultural history of mankind," as Rosenfield says. And though resonant with a strenuous, discordant mixture of competing styles and periods, none of them can escape a certain loneliness, a quiet desperation when shoved back into their dark recess. Pulling out one rack then another, Slive runs through the depot, lingering over one canvas then...