I always thought this, was reminded while reading an archived review of Batman and Robin. She said nice things about it!
This slate lady hits it head on.
What's Here: Funny ideas fleshed out and meant to tickle, Edited tantrums when the newspaper makes me itchy with anger at self-appointed moral popes, stories, real and embellished, about the champs of my life, moving and still art images, and what's new with TeamFILO, the Friendly Intervention Liberation Organization.
I feel sorry for the Olds Achieva (both four door and coupe). It eagerly wants to be liked, to achieve (acceptance, status, respect). But it is burdened with a dowdy design that is emblematic of middle-American style blindness.
It is analogous to a well-meaning, eager chunky white girl with no sense of irony who dresses up, earnestly expecting success. She fails (in my world).
When they named the car they created a sad character; the car is this girl. The dissonance between the name Achieva and the reality of its place is crushing.
Did Oldsmobile, aware of the failed lumpy look, name the model this, putting its hopes in the Latin saying nomen est omen (Names are Destiny)? Maybe the name would shepherd the car into acceptance?
I think it is more likely that the marketers of this car are of the same model as that white girl, and don’t know any better.
The car looks bad. But the sincerity of the effort is poignant and wins sympathy.
In my head the personified Achieva has been assigned a Care Bear to buck it up when it inevitably has to face itself in the eyes of people like me.
Contemporary sport cars depress me; the predominance of computer driven bubble mush bodies, with aerodynamics trumping the designers pen.
The Bertone design house drew sharp lines for fifteen years (starting with ’68 Alfa Romeo Carabo) until they also went soft.
These striking angular statements form a sword I cut the bubbles with .
Bertone Achieva?
Walken and Wood.
What happened on that boat? I loved their cedar dreamhouse, sold after separation. Chris wore a baseball cap whose bill was remarkable in its flatness. It hadn’t been creased or shaped; 7th graders of my generation would get wedgies for leaving their brim so flat. Brim etiquette is different these days.
The brim was flat, the crown contained his Brainstorm.
I saw a YouTube video of Corey Haim playing a keyboard rack with off-hand domination, luded-up casual mastery, laconic tunefulness.
His sallow porky present-day visage would be at best a joke cameo in an Apatow film.
But as a member of a safe-cracker squad in a Thief redux his imploded glow would be an asset. In each frame his face adds heartache harmony of regret; the squashed wonder boy. Believably into crime.
Mann has indicated no sense of humor to take this kind of risk. In my dreams he does, and also hires Corey to score the picture, leads MM back to when by pure temporal coincidence he was making films of night, neon, and white loafers with the music that best suited it. Synths were in the contemporary mainstream, so they appeared on his soundtracks. Now he features Chris Cornell. Michael, please correct your path.