Maybe I spent too much time watching The Prisoner as a kid, or maybe it was Julie Newmar in Catwoman garb giving me a few ideas about just what it was the grown-ups were all so interested in, but the aesthetic lodged itself in my pre-pubescent mind as being odd and foreign but irrepressibly fascinating.
Somewhere in the yet-to-be-digitized index card system in my head, filed under “fantasy worlds” in a bright yellow folder between “Arabian Nights” and “Norman Rockwell’s America”, one can find this weird realm where there is a dearth of lines and an abundance of uniform shapes. People wore triangles. The cartoons became freaky art pieces. Airline aisles became runways. The whole world was built with construction paper and green-handled safety scissors.
And from whence came this land of over-exaggerated poses? My guess is the film quality. Early color film always looks like someone got a little crazy with the saturation and brightness bars in Photoshop and left them set to “blandify”. What to do when lost in a world of washed-outedness? Make big bright blocks of color and put them on the women.