Word: fleshed
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...emotions, such guileless ironies, have no place in our blandly cynical age. But Hackford (An Officer and a Gentleman) strides easily among movie cliches. His gift is to play them as if they're all new and all true. And this time he has a cast to lend them flesh and nuance. Quaid creates a genuine pathetic hero, first exuding charm, then marketing it. And Hutton, in the thankless role of Gavin's conscience and Babs' would-be lover, makes his clammy patience and docile come-ons darned near authentic...
...Charles Figley, who treats state and local officials in Indiana, helps ease the way for them by inviting them to his home, disguising their counseling sessions as dinner parties. Better, he says, to call it "educational consultation." At least, that is, until voters wise up and begin to prefer flesh-and-blood First Families to all those smiling, we've-nothing-to-hide supporting casts...
...naps between appearances, disdains pressing the flesh and finds the business of vote getting "unbearable." But when the normally taciturn Yitzhak Shamir mounts a campaign podium, he plays the crowd's emotions with the precision of an acupuncturist. "I heard about the problems that you are struggling with every day, the stones and the Molotov cocktails," he shouts at 800 Likud loyalists gathered in a shopping mall on the northern outskirts of Jerusalem. As his lips produce the sound, his fists become the fury, chopping the air and pounding the lectern. "Those who are trying to throw...
...announced that "the novels of Susan Sontag are self- indulgent, overrated crap." Sarandon was so surprised -- Who was talking literature? -- that it took a few scenes before she hit the pitch back: "I think Susan Sontag is brilliant!" So there. Alerted by friends to this great debate, the flesh-and-blood Sontag left Bull Durham off her must-see list. She well remembered watching a French-Canadian film, The Decline of the American Empire, a few years ago. In that one, a plump Casanova confides that the woman he most wants to sleep with is . . . Susan Sontag...
Last Notes from Home adds flesh to the fictive narrator of the two earlier books. Literally. "The dude I call Exley," as the writer refers to his hero, stands 5 ft. 10 in. and occasionally balloons up to 180 lbs., thanks to the metabolism of aging, innumerable beers and a quart or so of liquor a day. He still lives in his native upstate New York, where he keeps his mother company in her house. When he learns that his older brother William, a retired colonel in the U.S. Army, is dying of cancer in Hawaii, Exley hops a plane...