Word: bosoms
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...Indian-born, Cambridge-educated former teacher of Greek tragedy. She has clarifying things to say about those who think that life is a bed of roses and those who believe it is a bed of nails: "For us [Hindus], eternal life is death-not in the bosom of Jesus-but just death, no more being born again to endure life again to die again. Yet people come in ever-increasing numbers to India to be born again with the conviction that in their rebirth they will relearn to live. At the heart of all our celebrations, which are still lively...
...Ames, as the mother, Amanda Wingfield, bursts as gloriously as the jonquils that send her into raptures. Amanda is a withered Southern belle, ever unquiet about her lost life on the plantation, regaling the tressed-up, padded-bosom, stuck-smile days of her girlhood. Amanda lives in a cocoon of memories, deceiving herself about plans for the future, acting out an existence that is worse than old-fashioned--it is dead. She sparkles beautifully, like a jewelled kinetoscope, cascading through the same wistful images at the drop of a penny-word. Amanda mothers her children, Tom and Laura, with...
...feel asleep. The two fraternity boys in front of me broke out their thai stick, and no one seemed to mind, except two businessmen who were prattling in German and clutching their briefcases as if they were holding babies to the bosom. And I caught a whif too many, and I feel asleep, and I woke up with this feeling, with this powerful sun streaming through the bus window, magnified onto my skull, popping beads of sweat from my pores, soaking my clothes....., loathsome feeling...
...face; Vincent Price, dressed as Richard III, leaning over a butt of marmsy wine in which he has just drowned a lush theater critic, sighing, "I hope he travels well"; Peter Cushing prattling pleasantly about stakes through the heart over snifters of brandy, while upstairs the heroine, her bosom heaving out of her nightgown, opens her window for Christopher Lee, his eyes blazing red, grinning through his fangs as he nuzzles her neck...
KILLING THE MONSTER is also sanctioned by the Church. The triumph of Britain's Hammar horror films is that thay exploit the connection between aggression, sex, and religion. Each blow of that long, hard stake into the writhing female vampire's bosom practically reverberates with church bells. Perhaps unintentionally, these movies make it easy to see how poor, repressed Puritans could have burned men and women at the stake for witchcraft. Chances are, we would have done the same...