Word: soap
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...smooth-muscled and unlined; he looks like an experimental model for the next, higher form of life: Homo computerens. Sigourney Weaver is all beautiful angles and shining intelligence; she could be a Jane Fonda who studied phenomenology at the Sorbonne and washes her face every day with Ivory soap. His voice swoops into baritone breathiness as thoughts pop into his character's mind with the urgency of revelation. Hers is the voice of well-bred reason-behind every line of dialogue there's a Wasp sting. Each actor built a solid reputation in off-Broadway theater; the first...
...draws Nabokov's nymphet-lover as an unsympathetic egotist; Sutherland act it as the stoop shouldered, pedantic stereotype of an child-molester. And he pronounces his lines--even those which Albee has mercifully lifted verbatim from the novel--as though someone has tried to wash out his mouth with soap and left a piece of the bar in: a muffled monotony...
Sitting in the crowded room, sometimes used for official executive statements, but more often as a lounge for overweight television technicians, you look casual and hope no one asks you whom you came to see. Then again, no one seems interested, as the cameramen watch soap operas and the newspaper correspondents play gin back near the soda machines and telephones. On the lectern, behind which Reagan will stand many times over the next four years, someone has taped 36 cents--a reference to the visual aid the president used the previous evening in his nationwide speech. Two reporters read...
...having fun doing wrong were not enough, ABC has reserved three nights (Sunday, Monday and Wednesday) next week for an adaptation of John Steinbeck's 1952 novel, East of Eden. While this eight-hour TV movie has clear cultural pretensions, it is really 99-and-44/100% pure soap...
...smile as the photographer snapped her picture? What season of debauchery brought the sulky thrust to this beauty's lower lip? At what groveling serf does the fine young lord in the Ferrari scowl with such contempt? Nothing; none; at no one; these glossy apparitions are as hollow as soap bubbles. The photographer has frozen moments that never were ? yet they tease us because their reality is beyond question, while our own stored moments, caught in snapshots and thrown into a drawer, are obvious and pallid fakes. Fascination sidesteps good sense, and we wonder: How was this lovely bunkum...