Word: parisian
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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Cenodoxus, Master of Paris is an unabashed morality play revealing the struggle between good & evil in the soul of a wealthy and learned Parisian. Cenodoxus ("Vainglory") is known for his piety, charity, virtue; actually he is a fraud, a creature of damnable pride whose virtue is all for effect. Prodded by the black figures of Egoism and Hypocrisy and preyed on by demons, he resists (even on his death bed) the pleadings of his guardian angel; and at his death is tried in Heaven and condemned to Hell...
...spectacle, the play limps, largely because Playwright Bidermann burdened his hero with the sin of Pride, "as the most decent for portrayal on the stage." It is also the most deadening; about all a playwright can do is lambaste it. Had Cenodoxus-who was, after all, a Parisian-gone in for a few of the more scarlet sins, he might have become, like Faust and Don Juan, a really immortal sinner...
Hollywood has poured forth a steady stream of Kiplingesque spectacles glorifying the British Empire, and French films are not always guiltless of flag-waving either, though Danielle Darrieux is the best bit of Parisian propaganda we can think of. There seems little reason, why the Nazis should not also be given their day in court--provided their offerings are labelled and recognized for what they...
After the first barrage of pictures had flashed, Stan swung out with the "Marseillaise" and the crowd lifted the smiling Parisian to its shoulders and bore her to a nearby chartered bus. Which was jammed with chorus girls and publicity agents together with at least one Harvard...
...laughs, and the audience guffaws at the happy, hysterical carryings-on of a female Soviet envoy in Paris, in the days when a Frenchman pulled down the shades, but not because of an air raid. Ernst Lubitsch's direction has created several unforgettable scenes; the first kiss of the Parisian man-about-town and the desexed Russian agent. Ninotchka, with her first three glasses of champagne fizzing warmly underneath her low-cut evening gown, crying "Comrades!" to the "dear French people" in a swanky Paris night club: and a starry-eyed Bolshevik girl back in Moscow burying her face...