Word: plaids
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Suddenly the music stops. It is 2 a.m., and out of nowhere materialized uniformed policemen, plaid-jacketed plainclothesmen, and a searchlight the size of a cannon. The disc-jockey abandons his notorious sound system to steer the bright beam over the crowd. The silver-studded dancers break apart like mercury and slither sullenly towards the exit. There is a twenty minute wait for coats;the boy with the orange cape has donned less auspicious clothing and bustles about the cloakroom, calling out numbers, grabbing tickets, rolling his eyes...
Since he hung up his trademark Irish plaid hat at the U.N. last July, Moynihan has become one of the most jarring diplomats ever to inhabit the towering glass menagerie on Manhattan's East Side. A big (6 ft. 5 in.), bouncy, exuberant man with a cherubic Irish face and a floppy lock of prematurely gray hair, Moynihan, 48, has a well-developed ability to both charm and infuriate. Walking down a corridor, he can pick up a retinue with a nonstop monologue of patter, pontification and wisecracks ("If the U.N. didn't exist, it would be impossible to invent...
Handsome, medium height, slender, Brooks Brothers glen plaid suit, blue shirt with a button-down collar, wing-tip shoes, a slight...
There's no peripheral vision, there's no movement. What after all, you might ask yourself, are all of these people looking at? The boy in the plaid coat is looking at something on his face--his teeth it seems, (maybe he's appalled by his braces), the woman next to him is looking at something outside the frame. What could it be? Can you say this is a faithful reproduction of reality if you can't even tell what people are looking at? Not the woman who looks shocked by something outside the picture, the same picture in which...
...when you work to make other people happy." And her eyes light up. She loves to make people happy. And what's wrong with that?, the film seems to ask. There are plenty of shots of Xaviera bicycling along the city streets in the little tam-o'-shanter, plaid skirts, knee socks, of Xaviera leading her girls in a morning jog through Central Park; of Xaviera making everyone happy by giving her girls elegant clothes and indulging her men in their secret fantasies. This portrait goes beyond the whore with the heart of gold. It even outdoes the traditional apology...