A forerunner to both Murder, She Wrote and The Golden Girls, the 1971 TV-movie Do Not Fold, Spindle or Mutilate stars Helen Hayes, Sylvia Sidney, Mildred Natwick, and Myrna Loy as ladies who not only lunch, but occupy their idle hours by pranking people, in the case of this film, by inventing a fictitious woman to enter into a computer dating service in order to find some voyeuristic fun in exposing and manipulating strange men’s emotions and desire.
Their geriatric, proto-catfishing makes me feel hopeful that my own twilight years may be filled with crafting mayhem and engaging in semi-malicious larks alongside likeminded seniors. I have always cultivated friendships with such promise; only now do I understand the end game.
True to ladies in their seventies during the decade of the seventies, the group never slacks off in fashion. In fact, there are never slacks at all. All four make a point of putting themselves together; it’s Sylvia Sidney, however, who repeatedly cuts the most stunning figure, here in this smart emerald green dress, accentuated by the brooch, black belt, and matching black hat. She always wears a hat.
Their dating scam draws the initial interest and eventual ire of a psychopath, whose internal monologues we are treated to at astounding length via urgent voiceover whispers as the actor fumbles about his apartment, marches angrily down city streets, broods inside phone booths, and takes languorous bubble baths. Read the rest of this entry »
Actually they don’t just come out at night. They are out all over the damn place. What is with all the jackets? At some point I will have to do some serious work on the jacket issue. I have already spent too much searching for images which apparently do not exist. I could really use Read the rest of this entry »
I accidentally gave myself a Rorschach test while looking at the flag borne by the leader of the Russian athletes in this procession. I’ve already discussed my great displeasure in the design. Now matters are more complicated as I’ve discovered two bulbous penises engaged in what I imagine to be frottage.
Just as I reckoned that the unflattering grey Read the rest of this entry »
Team U.S.A. celebrates their gold medal in what I can only call Gulag Grey.
Why are the U.S. athletes on the podium dressed like proletariats from the Cold War Soviet Union? Did Nike want to remind us of the decadence of the bourgeoisie by putting dour grey uniforms on American athletes as they ascended the podium? Shapeless factory grey Read the rest of this entry »