Word: vapidness
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...Sean Connery and Ursula Andress. According to Roy Solell, our Bond-expert, "It's one of the dullest movies ever made...Connery's face looks like it's been cut up into six different parts and then stitched back together again...he's a real walking shark, the most vapid sexist of all times...in trying to portray Bond as the master of style and elan he just comes off as if he were reading a cue card...Connery puts clumsiness back into violence." Ch. 5, 9 p.m., 2 hours...
Public Broadcasting starting its day with an old absurdist film from Roman Polanski's student days? No, just the game-show people beginning theirs with Truth or Consequences, the first of no fewer than 25 half-hours of vapid-fire questions and gaudy prizes. On through the day come a succession of dazzle-dentured, sharp-suited emcees, attempting to smother their contempt for their work and their contestants under a line of chatter as false as a roofing salesman's guarantees...
...hack who saw Mozart as a threat to his own reputation. Is such historical byplay justification enough for combining the two works at this late date? Alas, no. Prima la Musica has about 15 minutes of passable music; at a length of 70 minutes, it is maddeningly vapid...
...this year in film has ushered forth two unquestionably vapid Daisies, plucked from two unquestionably fertile literary minds, played by two unquestionably beautiful women. First to be deflowered was F. Scott Fitzgerald's Daisy Buchanan in The Great Gatsby. Mia Farrow plays the role with all of its attendant splendour and graceful, but inevitably brutish, carelessness. Farrow maintains a delicate balance between a gay childishness with her illicit lover, Gatsby, and a wanton callousness, a total disregard for anybody's feelings. Henry James's novella, Daisy Miller, adapted for the screen by Peter Bogdanovich, is a portrait of exactly that...
Which brings up a third question: what are those warts? After all, it is the substance of this journal-and-commentary that makes the enterprise objectionable, and not just the from alone. The form is strained, ungraceful and disjointed, but if the substance were not quite so vapid, strained and lacking in grace, perhaps the book would be passably tolerable. If Prescott should be locked up, it is not for the book he has written--which is not that bad. Rather, he should go for the life he has led--for from the pages of A Darkening Green it appears...