Word: dervishing
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...seat-of-the-pants introduction to America's highway misery, try rattling down the joint-jangling Southwest Freeway in the shadow of the Washington Monument. On this long-neglected strip of pavement, a washboard ripple effect experts call rutting jiggles the front wheels into a dervish dance. Farther along in a newly rebuilt section, potholes already lurk, like so many blacktop booby traps...
...retreat into Guns-vs.-the-world self-pity. "Don't damn me when I speak a piece of my mind," sniffles Rose in the band's most annoying new number. "Cause silence isn't golden when I'm holding it inside." Poor Axl. A talented vocalist and a whirling dervish of a stage performer, Rose is nonetheless one very disturbed human being, who sings, "I'm a cold heartbreaker/ Fit ta burn and I'll rip your heart in two." This is probably true. But even truer, and more appropriate, are the words once sung by his obvious intellectual forebear...
More organized sports pointed the direction away from the furnaces. Too puny for his first love, football, Carril discovered hoops in the seventh grade. "It was the game I could play," he says. And how. Pete was a dervish guard at Liberty High School, leading the team to consecutive 24-3 records. That earned him a place at nearby Lafayette College, where a raffish free spirit named Willem van Breda Kolff came to coach and inherited Pete, then in his senior year. "I had my preconceived notions," says van Breda Kolff of his sawed-off, would-be star. "He threw...
...behind all this bombast is a buttoned-down, short (5 ft. 5 in.) dervish of an executive who travels 500,000 miles a year and writes all his business down on yellow legal pads so that he can keep track of the hundreds of decisions he makes each day. "You don't do this if you don't love it," he says. "The pressure is a killer." His family complains that he is never home for dinner, but his three daughters enjoy the fringe benefits of attending rehearsals and meeting the clowns...
...trouble is that rude realism keeps raising its voice, breaking in on the fun. The sound track naturally resounds with the orgasmic hammering of the Lewis beat, wails with the simple, not to say crude, sexual metaphors of his lyrics. Dennis Quaid very successfully re-creates his dervish-like stage presence (he made Elvis' pelvis look as if it were stuck in the mud) in a portrayal that goes over the top in nicely calculated measure. And Winona Ryder contributes a hypnotically enigmatic performance -- articulate innocence and inarticulate knowingness all mixed up -- as the singer's nymphet bride. All these...