Word: bleed
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...that--assuming that we in the audience are all voyeurs--and in his later days would have sent her to his legendary shower. DePalma, characteristically, goes further. In one of many representative sequences in The Fury, Robin (Andrew Stevens), Lewis's jealous lover, a telekinetic teenager who makes people bleed at will, mentally jerks her into the air, blood pouring from her eyes, nose, and mouth, and as she moans and gurgles begins to spin her around, whirling her faster and faster until her sprays of blood spatter the walls and lampshades. If Hitchcock assumes our voyeurism, DePalma must assume...
...film brings together assorted plot strands, the principal one involving Kirk Douglas as a former intelligence man, whose son, Robin, has been abducted by his former organization, presumably to be used as some kind of secret weapon (he makes foreign presidents' noses bleed--just kidding; actually, he can marshall quite a fury when mad). Douglas must elude the network of agents controlled by John Cassavetes, whose arm he crippled during the terrorist raid that begins the film, in which Robin is captured. Enter Gillian (Amy Irving), another telekinetic whom Cassavetes is grooming at a parapsychic institute to join Robin...
Comes the gray dawn of Act II. Ugly spats. Tracer-bullet words. The queasy feeling of watching a friend's once happy marriage bleed to death in a well-manicured living room. The truly autobiographical Neil Simon cannot face that. In all of his plays, Simon has never looked at pain for more than a moment without the shield of a Hathaway eye patch. He uses the wisecrack as a poultice to ease the sight of life's open wounds...
...five winners among six clients. Garth's secret? Says the hard-working consultant: "There are ad agency guys more creative than I and professional pols more skilled in mechanics. But there aren't many who know both ends the way I do." Or who are willing to bleed through seven-day weeks...
...version is, of course, the best, but it its interesting to hear it sung by a woman. In fact, this cut may be the best on the album. The remaining seven songs on the album (which total up to a mere 32 minutes of music - those record companies really bleed you dry) further demonstrate Ronstadt's recently-found maturity. They range from mediocre, like "Maybe I'm Right," to excellent, "Poor Poor Pitiful Me," a Warren Zevon song featuring strong, thoughtful phrasing and solid lyrics...