Word: crude
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Wallace agrees. Jumping at the chance to hurt Democrats in the North, Wallace has attempted in the last year to convince Northerners that he is not just a crude racist--"My wife received 40 per cent of the nigger vote. These niggers know I want them to get educated." Instead of blatant racism, Wallace offers Northerners "sound Constitutional principles" because "I'm not running on segregation, I'm running on states' rights." That distinction makes him seem more respectable, so Northern whites find it easier to support him openly...
...must decide is whether it would be worth risking hiring a coach with some new ideas and a more aggressive recruiting style who has a less desirable character. It may come down to this: Do you hire a Ned Harkness-type who could produce a winner but whose brazenly crude tactics would force the Administration to turn away with shame? Or do you stick with Floyd Wilson and produce losing team after losing team. It is possible to find a middle solution, perhaps...
Easing Off Coffee. The present timetable calls for 50,000 barrels of crude oil a day to begin flowing toward Tumaco at year's end. By then, Texaco plans to have 25 producing wells pumping an average of 2,000 bbl. daily. Best guess is that the pipeline's top capacity of 100,000 bbl. a day will not be sufficient and that a parallel line will have to be constructed. Estimates place the cost of the total project at about $100 million before the first drop of crude oil reaches Tumaco tankers...
...closeup of Joy (Carol White) in pain. She writhes and thrashes, panting. A nurse puts an anesthetic mask over her face, and the camera moves down her body as the doctor's hands deliver the child and start it breathing. Though her husband Tom (John Bindon) is a crude, bullying, small-time criminal, Joy manages a pathetic simulation of middle-class domesticity-living in a development house, airing baby Jonny in a swanky pram, serving hostessy sandwiches to Tom's accomplices while they are plotting a caper...
...ninth and last film to employ the talents of Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn, and for that distinction a picture worth seeing; but on all other counts it stinks. Stanley Kramer has degenerated from one of Hollywood's more interesting bad moviemakers into one of its most maudlin. The crude but somehow compelling live-TV quality of Judgment at Nuremberg and Ship of Fools, painted with crayon and musicalized by DeVol, blessed with Sidney Poitier, reveals Kramer to be an exceedingly dull thinker and hardly any artist...