Word: mocks
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...glib trendiness sloppily obscures both the origins of student rebellion here and the changes it has undergone in the past year. The very real events which quickened the anger of students--most notably the war in Indochina--are purposely forgotten by the technicolor pictures, the catchy, cute Timese, the mock attempt to mix levity and analysis. The vapid generalization and the smug clichevie for supremacy, and the product passes for hard-won analysis...
Cukor juggles stock character types and familiar plot complications with playful expertise. Henry and Augusta, along with her lover Wordsworth, a fortune-telling black African, wind up on a mock spy adventure on the Orient Express as Augusta delivers an illegal $100,000 ranson to Visconti (her wildly romantic first lover) held captive in Africa. Fortified by the belief that love conquers all, Aunt Augusta cajoles, lies, steals, blackmails, and is deported in the course of her mission. When she finally does deliver the ransom, she collapses hysterically in her now aged lover's arms only to find that...
...dwells in reminiscence. She drapes herself in shoulder furs and slinky sequinned gowns, and mannerizes the carefree twenties with every flourish of her cigarette holder. Her figure has the lines of a Beardsley and her history mimics the twists of those lines. Her life was all amour--she mock-swooned at lovers' seranades, whirled waltzing in their arms, and made indulgent love to them. And when they abandoned her, she resurfaced like an unsinkable Molly Brown. This life spent sipping champagne in Grand Hotels with vast baroque rooms and parlors caressed by generations of gamblers is like an advertisement...
...Richard M. Nixon, born 61 years ago in a log cabin in Whittier, California ... in a blue suit ..."). Both New York Disk Jockey Don Imus and Comic Dickie Goodman have recorded mock interviews with Watergate figures, whose answers are couched in snatches of rock hits. Sample from Goodman's Watergate: "Mr. Nixon, what will your position be on the Watergate from now on?" "No more Mr. Nice Guy," bawls the voice of Alice Cooper...
Looping and chopping its way through the repertory of shorthand for the human face and figure that he himself had developed decades before, Picasso's brush encountered no resistances. The twisting and displacement of a torso or an ear, the mock-cubist overlapping and profiling related to nothing except earlier paintings that he had made but seemed to have half forgot ten. The drama of assimilation, of that prehensile eye clawing at the world's very guts, dissolved. He ran out of subjects and fell back as never before on stock dummies - troglodytic clowns and kidney-profiled women...