Word: charm
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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Charlie, however, is not without weapons. His seedy charm works its magic on his sister Kathie, and his innate dishonesty easily overcomes the commonplace virtue of his stuffy brother Richard. Within a few hours he parlays both into a $20,000 offer with more to come as he needs it. Having made his point, Charlie unconvincingly spurns the money. On this framework, Author (The Trouble of One House) and New Yorker Critic Brendan Gill hangs a morality tale. It boils down to the adage that appearances are deceiving. Charlie, with all his faults, has the courage to look coolly...
...curly-haired, lanky (6 ft. 2½ in., 160 lbs.) image of the all-American boy-"so likable," gushed the Chicago American's TV Critic Janet Kern, "that he has come to be a 'friend' whose weekly visits the whole family eagerly anticipates." Along with this charm, he combines the universal erudition of a Renaissance man with the nerve and cunning of a riverboat gambler and the showmanship of the born actor...
...phenomenal extra vert. In his nature, to think is to act. Until recently he never seemed to tire of doing things, handling situations, arranging schedules, playing the life of the party, being all things to all people. He lives in a vague world of superficial friendliness, where charm is an easy way of life, and genuine warmth is reserved for work. And yet, at the worst of his extravertigo, Bernstein never lost sight of his first principles: truth to his word, loyalty to friends and family, devotion to music for its own sake. Nor did he ever lose his highly...
...exudes sex appeal like a leaky electric eel. He chooses his clothes with care ? the Italian shoe of exotic cut, the chesterfield with the velvet collar, the bright red sweater that makes his eyes seem green. And when he decides to give somebody the full charge of charm, the eyes glow like coals that have been blown on. the educated nostrils flare just the least little bit, and the rich low cello voice begins to murmur intelligently...
...grownup reaching too far for effect ("this little incinerator of so many lost dreams that is called ash-tray"), and a weakness for the repeated metaphor that finds nights, houses, clouds and tears all to be the color of blood. Yet the best are written with undeniable charm, and in much the same headlong fashion that a child runs...