Word: balding
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...actually cut her, but was sharp enough to cut through the wax and give the illusion of slicing her flesh. Again the blood came out of the scalpel and shot into the groove being created. We cut the camera once more. I spent about 90 minutes making her head bald by spreading soap across layers of hair and drying each layer until it was slick. I then removed the top half of the mortician's wax above the cut, and built up more wax along the top of her real hairline leading into the soaped-out area. I applied pink...
...actually cut her, but was sharp enough to cut through the wax and give the illusion of slicing her flesh. Again the blood came out of the scalpel and shot into the groove being created. We cut the camera once more. I spent about 90 minutes making her head bald by spreading soap across layers of hair and drying each layer until it was slick. I then removed the top half of the mortician's wax above the cut, and built up more wax along the top of her real hairline leading into the soaped-out area. I applied pink...
...previously cast her head to make a latex scalp, onto which I ventilated the hair. I had tubing going into the false scalp, and set it down on her head. That way she had her own hairline back but was bald beneath it. We began the shot with the scalpel leaving her forehead, and the maniac grabbed her hair, pulled it back and ripped it right off. Again I was off-camera pumping the blood through the tubes connected to the scalp, so it continued to bleed as it left her head...
...jungle, thousands of dust-covered laborers swarm over a mountain of red earth, using their pickaxes and shovels to carve its surface into a bizarre landscape. It is a scene that could belong to an outlandish biblical epic movie or a sinister labor camp. It is neither. Serra Pelada (Bald Mountain), 270 miles south of the mouth of the Amazon River, is the site of one of the biggest gold rushes in modern Brazilian history. It is also an experiment by Brazil's debt-ridden government to harness the skills of the country's hardy garimpeiros-nomadic prospectors...
Americans might even honor the exuberant, slightly bizarre poetry of their commercial muse. Two or three generations ago, the national laureate might have been the anonymous bard who wrote the Burma Shave roadside quatrains ("In this vale/ Of toil and sin/ Your head grows bald/ But not your chin/ Burma Shave.") The beer commercial ("You've danced all day on a pool of fire," or some such: "Now Comes Miller Time!") has invented a sort of macho haiku that might turn into a national verse form...