Word: brazenness
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...Disjointed TIME apologizes to Reader Bundenthal for unwittingly abetting a hoax, suspects that some brazen G.I. has found a new way of getting even with his sergeant...
...hero's restless introspection, its music is ample compensation. With no story at all, this two-hour concert of Gershwin music would be well worth the price of admission. The shimmering ragtime of many a half-forgotten early hit, beaten out by an invisible Oscar Levant; the brazen love call of the Winter Garden smash Swanee, groaned in all its original agony by blackfaced Al Jolson; Anne Brown's superb soprano raised again in the music of Porgy and Bess; and The Man I Love given an added pinch of pepper by Hazel Scott's post-graduate...
...Well," he related, "the nerviest convict I can remember was one brazen fellow who didn't show a trace of fear while being strapped into the chair. Took it just as calmly. As a matter of fact, he asked only one question. Just before they turned on the juice, he glanced at the official electrocutioner and said, 'By the way, bud, is this AC or DC?' " JOHN HARDEN
...dimension he only gradually finds out. It involves invaluable jade, the slaughter of a gigolo, a psychoanalytic theosophist (Otto Kruger), a charlatan (Ralf Harolde), an aging multimillionaire (Miles Mander), his sexy young wife (Claire Trevor), and her angry stepdaughter (Anne Shirley). The wife treats the shabby detective with brazen cozyness, the theosophist slams him across the chops with a pistol, the charlatan pumps him full of dope, the stepdaughter feeds him alternate Scotch and scorn, and the elderly, harmless-seeming nabob is in savagely at the climactic kill. The hyperpituitary ex-convict, incidentally, finds his lost lovely at last...
Frenchman's Creek (Paramount) is a minor masterpiece of mush. A color-drenched $4,000,000 cinemadaptation of Daphne du Maurier's best-seller laid in 17th-Century England (TIME, Feb. 2, 1942), it offers male cinemaddicts little for their money except innumerable coyly brazen veilings and half-unveilings of Joan Fontaine's Restoration bosom, and a startling scene in which Miss Fontaine, alone in a dress-parade nightgown, frisks and flops about on her marshmallowy bed like a titillated tarpon. But to judge by the gasps, oofs, titters and low moans of the audience which stuffed...