Word: shame
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...children of the middle class" theory. He is struck by the fact that so many terrorist acts have taken place in West Germany, Italy and Japan, the three defeated Axis powers of World War II. Among the disaffected youth of these countries, he suggests, "there is a sense of shame and disgust with the older generation who rose to prosperity on the bones of a lot of people and won't admit...
...shame that in its tribute to Radcliffe's centennial the Radcliffe Class of '79, the sponsors of the event, could not shed some light on the nature of a very complex entity. But then, perhaps we have no right to expect so much from a mere show. After all, Harvard and Radcliffe administrators have been trying for nearly a decade to determine the precise status of Radcliffe College...
THIS CHILDISH underdevelopment becomes clearest after a scene where Violet's virginity is auctioned off before a crowd of prominent customers. The rest of the girls are waiting downstairs during Violet's initiation. Before long we see the john sneaking out the back door, and the guilt and shame just about step forth from his face and confess. The other girls run up to Violet's room and find her collapsed and apparently unconscious on the bed--brutalized, sodomized, what can it be? We wait. But ha, ha, fooled you"! Violet pops up and scolds them selfish for not coming...
Watching the film is often like staring at a confounding blur: Pretty Baby's narrative often seems to be languishing somewhere in the film's hazy background. That's a shame, because the screenplay is built around an exciting idea. Malle and Scenarist Polly Platt have hypothesized a romance-and eventual marriage-between Heroine Violet (Brooke Shields) and E.J. Bellocq (Keith Carradine), the legendary photographer of Storyville's glory days. This couple's bizarre March-December affair, like the equally promising relationship between Violet and her prostitute mother (Susan Sarandon), is described only intermittently. Instead...
...first days of vacation are all right of course, because no one expects me to do anything but collapse into bed, wake up for meals that put Adams House cooking to shame, and drift back to sleep again. But parental tolerance of the sleep-gorge-sleep regimen wanes quickly, and then, at least in my family, I am expected to fill the 'rents in on the details of life at school: intellectual pursuits stimulating lectures and an exhilerating, whirlwind, cosmopolitan social life. Unfortunately, words fail me here, because much of my life is spent hunched over a typewriter contracting curvature...