Word: surfed
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...Those Who Think Young borrows a popular soft-drink slogan, but carelessly omits the fizz. Probably it never should have been put in the can. Disguised as a surf saga, the movie has one good surfing sequence and little else. Pamela Tiffin, James Darren, Tina Louise, Nancy Sinatra, Comedians Paul Lynde and Woody Woodbury struggle to get a foothold in the slippery story about a rich campus cutup and a poor coed. But the standout performer is a bearded beachnik called Kelp. He paints a small face on his chin, upside down. Then he covers himself with sand, leaving...
...death approached (he died last summer, aged 55, of a heart attack), his poems seem to have taken on a new clarity of line and image, a new depth of tone. In these poems, written in the last seven years of his life, he lovingly and lingeringly catalogues objects: surf and "the falling of small waters," fields and abandoned farms, vireos, warblers and "the heron's hieratic fishing," the greenhouses and roses of his florist father remembered from his Michigan boyhood. Musical in themselves, these flashing descriptions are presented almost brusquely, so that they may seem at first...
...times, Hubley handsomely transforms these ideas into images. His colors are pale and wash across the screen like slow surf in the moonlight; yet here and there in the watery depths, a point of richer color burns for an instant like a brilliant fish. Early in the film he engineers a spectacular ballet of electrons; later he pictures a cluster of great galaxies that lie asleep in space like a nest of glimmering, immeasurable crabs...
That ultimate audience dwells some where between Malibu Beach and Despairsville, a spot where life is cursed by school trouble, girl and boy trouble and car trouble. When they climb out of the surf, the songs are addressed to such matters as poverty, suspicion, ill health and the Oedipus complex. Such numbers as Six Months with My Mother (Six Months with My Dad) are willing to go right into court in pursuit of genuine grief...
Propelled by winds that gusted up to 100 m.p.h., the flames hedgehopped spiny ridges, leaped from tree to tree, jumped across streets from rooftop to rooftop. "It sounded like a locomotive," recalled a terrified homeowner, "like surf battering a shore, snapping, crackling and popping...