Word: quirkish
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Eastman has a quirkish, distinctly personal tone that goes coy once in a while, as in a labored double-entendre exchange between Vic and a black woman (Rosalind Cash) over the installation of a car radio ("Do you want it in the front or in the back?"). But the movie is also full of humor, melancholy and some dazzling film making. This is Eastman's first film as a director, but he demonstrates considerable sophistication, a feeling for textures and odd nuances. One long scene in a gym-empty at first, then slowly filling with fighters doing exercises...
...Blue is a quirkish, laid-back, jolly film, rich in resonance, full of scrupulously affectionate detail for a West that changed too fast and too often ever to be called "Old." It is a wry paean to a life of crime, and displays a robust contempt for law, order and the encroachments of civilization. Bickford, as dexterously played by Hopper, shows signs occasionally of becoming a kind of surrogate James Dean, a prairie rebel without a cause. Hopper started working in films about the same time as Dean (they appeared together in Rebel Without a Cause), and in rather...
...shows have died. Whatever else he may be doing, he is not-as a New York critic claimed in 1948-"debasing and perverting the very nature of art." His crude little turnip-men and personages compounded, apparently, of excrement and butterfly wings, his animals and objects in all their quirkish black humor with (lately) their deadpan repetition of red and blue stripes within the wiggling contours, are only pictures after all. They have altogether lost their shock. Most of them are now drained of their power even to surprise. Some look ornamental to the point of sleekness. To an extent...
There is little sense but much of interest in this quirkish thriller about a couple of Los Angeles gumshoes on their uppers. Al Hickey (Bill Cosby) and Frank Boggs (Robert Culp) are two private eyes who look as if they just got pulled out of a lineup. Their office is off a parking lot behind Hollywood Boulevard, although you'd have a better chance of finding them at the bar down the street, last two stools...
...part, from their stillness, which is -if such a combination can be imagined-both bland and maniacal. Hockney's enormous Still Life (Glass Table), 1972, is played down almost to silence; none of the spidery, wandering and quirkish line of his graphic work survives in it. Object answers object, bowl to lamp shade to vase of tulips, across an expanse of plate glass that seems as large and expectant as a De Chirico piazza. Everything is given extreme distinctness but deprived of weight, and the effect is decidedly eerie...