Word: passional
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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Pardon Mon Affaire is one of those sex farces that the French seem to be able to whip up like croissants - airy, pleasant and a little flaky. Because it is something of a standard product, it is also rather predictable. When a married bureaucrat (Jean Rochefort) conceives a passion for a flashy Paris model (Anny Duperey), we have no doubt that he is going to bed her in the final reel - after first undergoing a series of ritual humiliations befitting a middle-aged fool who tries to play the swinger...
...born actress, she instinctively understands that the world is more than a stage- it is an audience. Her repertoire enlarges. She tutors herself in art history and is both dutiful wife to the aging, impotent Irving and ardent lover of his son David. Elesina knows how to balance passion and Pragmatism: What was all of Broadlawns and its treasure compared to a lover like that?" But how long will he love her like that?" In the end she has even become something of an efficiency expert by keeping a homosexual who is her manager, pet confidant and lover...
David is their youngest son, a curly-haired Adonis who dreams like a Don Quixote. David's tragedy is that he confuses morality, dignity romance and passion. He fights Hitler at Dunkirk, still haunted by the memory of prep school bigotry and the hollow echo of his father's words, offered as a feeble solace: "Some of my best friends are anti-Semites...
...rather moralistic hurricane undoes the tacky works of man-notably, several cheap-Jack old-folks' dwellings built in the Florida Keys. John D. MacDonald, author of the Travis McGee thrillers, does not include his detective hero in this large, motley cast. Pity, McGee's cynicism disguises the passion of an exasperated environmentalist. His mesomorphic Floridian would have collared the dredgers and developers, and punched the crooked county commissioners in the chops...
...else who yearns to break out of 9-to-5 humdrum into a space-age world of mesmeric lighting, Neronian dècor and, of course, music, music, music. They are the new breed of discothèque, moth-gathering hotpots of the urban night. Discomania is the latest passion of faddish, fickle American city dwellers, turning daytime Jekylls and Jacquelines into nocturnal and nonma-levolent Hydes and Heidis gyrating through smoke and decibels in a Cinderella world of self-stardom...