Word: fawningly
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...from the mirror the night before, the purple polka-dot bruises that dappled his face and shoulders and back. Like the flanks of an Appaloosa horse, he thought to himself; then, because he had lost his gallop and barbed wire fenced-in his prairie, he thought again--a spotted fawn, tucktail and fear-frozen at the sound of a pine cone dropping. Except it was more like a pine tree that had fallen...
...from the mirror the night before, the purple polka-dot bruises that dappled his face and shoulders and back. Like the flanks of an Appaloosa horse, he thought to himself; then, because he had lost his gallop and barbed wire fenced-in his prairie, he thought again--a spotted fawn, tucktail and fear-frozen at the sound of a pine cone dropping. Except it was more like a pine tree that had fallen...
...American Game breaks the news that ghetto blacks are poorer than middle-class whites. We also learn that basketball teams play to win, that coaches can be tough taskmasters, that pretty girls and college recruiters fawn over the best players. If these tedious observations were served up in an interesting way, the movie might at least offer some entertainment. No dice. The American Game is a survey of film-making clichés. There are soupy graphics, split-screen effects, a platitudinous narration. The editing is so splintered that even the few potentially good scenes, those set at the heroes...
...good moments were too few and too far between, and even they were soured by embarrassing sequences such as the White Knight's and the Fawn's, both played by Ben Schatz, when the script, music and acting combined to explore the depths of gooey and contrived sentiment. The Fawn sequence was marred not so much by the flowery romanticism of the song as by the Fawn's weird behavior upon discovering that Alice is a human child. He runs off stage acting as if he were trying to keep himself from commiting an unnatural act, and only the most...
...time Son Ralph became a published humorist (My Years in the White House Doghouse; Yes, My Darling Daughters), the Journal- American had wrapped its last fish. The son had become more prominent than his father, and the hail-'ellows in Toots Shor's who used to fawn on Paul could hardly remember his name, much less his deeds. But Ralph never for got. Editor Schoenstein died in 1974; it was probably his only instance of faulty timing. For Writer Schoenstein has produced a filial, funny book that Superman would have loved - and that anyone might admire...