Word: freds
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...Fred Thompson has always been cast in parts he was made for. Each character--the admiral in The Hunt for Red October, the White House chief of staff in In the Line of Fire, the CIA director in No Way Out--was a gruff, folksy, take-charge type, a guy just like--well, Fred Thompson. He got his Hollywood break literally playing himself in Marie, the movie version of a celebrated case he had handled as a trial lawyer, laying bare the clemency-selling scandal that landed a Tennessee Governor in prison. And he had already been a Senator...
...would give his campaign manager, Bill Lacy, long disquisitions on the flaws of the current system. An underdog against a better-financed Democrat, Thompson was finally exasperated enough by conventional campaigning to don battered boots and lease a red pickup to travel the state talking about how "Ol' Fred" would bring common sense to Washington. Voters loved the whole bit, even when it came from a rich lawyer with a Washington lobbying practice...
...Fred Couples and Tom Watson were far more successful. So, has the luster worn off? Is he not the big deal we expected? Are we watching another Todd Marinovich--the boy bred by his father at birth to be the greatest quarterback of all time only to disappear from view after a mediocre career...
...director and choreographer Bob Fosse (her live-in companion for several years), and one look at that distinctive Fosse style--bodies that slither and strut, every hunched shoulder or cocked head a seductive come-on--is a reminder of a whole lost vocabulary of Broadway dance. John Kander and Fred Ebb's score is a model of its craft. No detachable love ballads here, just a stream of tuneful, witty numbers that make their point, engage the ear and evoke an era without sounding like mere pastiche...
...physical type, and in superficialities of temperament, Hiss and Chambers could not have been more different. Hiss on first inspection looked like the Fred Astaire of the mandarin left, lithe and well bred, the Establishment's own darling prothonotary warbler. Chambers, sad-sack Dostoyevskian pudge, more Slavic than American in mind, with terrible teeth and an air of doom, seemed to inhabit a flinching shadow world. He dodged through the '30s packing a revolver and hugging the walls of dark corridors. A paranoid smudge, the mandarins thought, whose amorphous bulk concealed a damaged child given to imagining grandiose conspiracies...