The highlight of the November 12 New Yorker, knocked off in my household over the weekend, was the front-of-the-book listing for … And God Created Woman.
This romantic melodrama, from 1956, made Brigitte Bardot an international star — though, as Juliette Hardy, an underage orphan whose sexual flamboyance scandalizes the women and tantalizes the men of Saint-Tropez, she offers less a performance than an exhibition. The film’s tone is set by its first scene, which features her lying prone on a beach towel wearing nothing but sunshine, and throughout, she sashays through her scenes to highlight her pneumatic wherewithal.
Pneumatic … wherewithal. There’s no phrase I’ve enjoyed more this month. But this listing arrives at the same time as a contradicting study. The walk? It apparently means nothing. “A sexy swing of the hips may attract admiring glances,” the BBC reports, “but it is not a covert sign a woman is ready to breed, according to researchers.”
My other New Yorker catch-up clip doesn’t exactly connect. Except maybe if you’re me this week. Snap. Poet Charles Wright brings us his “Consolation and the Order of the World.”