Word: cladding
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...superb. When the lights come up on Kevin-Anthony Close and Monica Dorten, perched on stools in one corner of a vast blue stage that projects out into the audience like a table, the two actors seem like lambs ready to be sacrificed. But they pull it off. Clad in overstaffed purple tunics, cousins to the Fruit of the Loom grapes, they whisper hilarious jibberish to each other at the approach of a hungry fox, then break out into a scornful jive patois when the fox can't leap far enough to pluck them from their vise. Close and Dotten...
...coach behind them, humanity rides (or anyway a curious cross section of it). The passengers include weary, white-clad Casanova (Marcello Mastroianni), who now spends his time fending off women rather than seducing them; Tom Paine (Harvey Keitel), pamphleteer of the American rebellion; and the journalist Restif de la Bretonne (Jean-Louis Barrault), to name just the historical personages aboard. Among the fictional creations are a lady-in-waiting to the Queen (Hanna Schygulla), Her Majesty's snippy homosexual hairdresser, a widow in need of consolation, a judge, an arms manufacturer and an aging opera singer heading...
...looks are no coincidence but rather part of an elaborate send, up of what Australians love to hate-the British and the Americans. Jackie's heartless, penny-pinching pub-tending mother (Margo Lee) is a dead ringer for Margaret Thatcher. Clad in a garish polyester pants suit, she layers on the lipstick and tells Jackie, "Why don't you stop wearing those ridiculous clothes, you can't change who you are." American politicians fare no better in Armstrong's vision. One of the film's best moments features a maniacal sound booth engineer presiding over a chaotic television...
...weeks residents of the Mediterranean port of Nice have been enjoying striptease by billboard. It began last month, when large signs appeared displaying a bikini-clad blond against the Backdrop of the resort's famed beachfront. She pledged in large letters to TAKE IT OFF, and indeed in the next installment her top was gone. When, in the billboard's third version, the bathing beauty finally showed up in the altogether, the accompanying slogan read: AS PROMISED AFTER 21 MONTHS OF SOCIALISM, I'VE GOT NOTHING LEFT...
...this guy," Laurie Anderson is saying, in a flat but mellifluous Midwestern voice, suggesting unexpected hospitality amid cold, wide-open spaces. "And he looked," she continues, "like he might have been a hat-check clerk at an ice rink." She is onstage, a post-punk dream clad in black satin, electric-pink socks the only splash of color. "Which, in fact, he turned out to be." Her hair is short, spiky, capping a high-cheekboned, all-American visage. An organ chord swells in the background. "And I said, 'Oh boy. Right again. Let x equal x.' " Behind...