Word: whim
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Director Elio Petri is deft and stylish with an escapade between a svelte, sexually inhibited matron (Claire Bloom) and an ardent industrialist (Charles Aznavour). After chasing around the tycoon's sumptuous beach house, the lady reveals that her whim for today is rough stuff in a sleazy motel room-a touch of aberration that is clue to a conventional surprise ending. In the last episode, Modern People, directed with rich detail and folksy color by Mario Monicelli (Big Deal on Madonna Street), a cheese dealer (Ugo Tognazzi) offers his wife to a creditor in payment of his gambling losses...
...fine-limbed young woman rising from the foam on TIME'S cover is neither a naiad nor the creation of a fashion editor's imaginative whim. She is Mrs. William J. Anderson III, named Michael because she is the third of three daughters in a family that had been hoping for a boy. She is swimming not at Saint Tropez but at Sea Island, Ga.; she comes not from such routinely celebrated places as Manhattan, Boston, or Philadelphia, but from Nashville, Tenn...
...thirsted for "information of the world." He joined the Brooklyn Eagle in 1902, but after a few years of reporting, he decided he needed a formal education and went to Harvard. After graduation, he returned to the Eagle, where he gave weekly lectures on current events. On a whim, the Eagle broadcast one of the lectures, and Kaltenborn was launched on a new career...
...Stalin's urging, Gorky returned to Russia. He was set to work glorifying the slave-labor projects that were reshaping Soviet society and killing millions in the process. The "histories" and editorials that spewed forth in Gorky's name pandered to Stalin's every whim; his formulation of socialist realism resulted in the most servile cultural creed ever imposed on the human intellect. Then in 1936, just before the Great Purge began, Gorky mysteriously died. During the Bukharin "show trial," witnesses "confessed" that he had been murdered by the "rightist-Trotskyite conspiracy...
...angles, all but caressing the decor of a world made to order for the filthy rich. Fond of polished surfaces, he dotes on reflections in mirrors, sunglasses, brandy snifters. But the validity of Eva lies in Moreau's accomplished bitchery. As a sleek alley cat commuting at her whim between Venice and Rome, she slinks from warm beds to warm baths, purring over her furs and silks and blues records with such hypnotic self-absorption that even a silly role begins to seem not just interesting but absolutely essential to watch...