Word: eyebrowed
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Often a good actor and sometimes a great one, Peter O'Toole nevertheless has little talent for concealing his boredom in film projects that seem unworthy of his skills. There is always one sure sign of his desperation: O'Toole begins to twitch. His right eyebrow arches, his mouth creases, one shoulder appears to rise several inches above the other, and his neck bobs back and forth as if a series of tiny explosions were occurring at the top of his spinal column. This invariably happens at moments of great stress, when the actor, not the character...
...memory of a 1955 fishing expedition in the Florida Everglades when he fell overboard and was pictured for posterity hauling himself out of the drink. Last week when Nixon clambered ashore at Key Biscayne from a boating trip, he sported a small bandage over his left eyebrow, having apparently banged his head when the boat pitched. The forlorn photographers were left to dream about yet another shot that they had missed...
...issues like abortion and the Pill. She mainly focuses on routine reality. Sample, on the perils of being without an ordinary pencil: "If Onassis knocked on the door and wanted to buy our house for a highway phone booth, I would have to sign the agreement with (a) an eyebrow pencil, (b) yellow crayon, (c) cotton swab saturated in shoe polish, (d) an eyedropper filled with cake coloring, or (e) a sharp fingernail dipped in my own blood...
...Bill King, a person's gesture is as revealing as his signature. The knowing arch of an eyebrow, the way a woman touches her hair, that awkward fumbling for a cigarette at a cocktail party-all tell much about a person's view of himself, his pretensions and anxieties. Walking into a room of King's sculptures, a visitor is likely to feel he has met them all some place before. And he probably has. Here is a Madison Avenue type in J. Press suit, there a teen-ager in toreadors, over there a gangly businessman...
...Geneva's new air terminal, the scene is a recurrent attraction: a bald and stubby executive clad in a redlined cape and a Pierre Cardin jacket buttoned to the chin clambers from a custom-built black Lincoln Continental. With him comes an eyebrow-raising entourage: one male aide and four mini-skirted lasses of Playboy pulchritude. The normally expressionless Swiss faces at the ticket counter light up with half-amused, half-respectful recognition. "It's Bernie," whispers a Swissair hostess to a new colleague. Taking at least two of his curvaceous companions with him, Bernie quickly boards...