Word: lis
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Kennedy's suit coat, the front ripped apart by frenzied doctors trying to save lis life, and his bloodstained shirt were mounted on a mannequin and used to illustrate the path of one shot. All too vivid sketches showed the exact entry point of the bullet that shattered the President's skull. There was prolonged discussion about what had happened to the President's lower brain after the autopsy. It had apparently been buried at the request of Robert Kennedy...
There is unlikely to be much blame in the case of Heaven Can Wait. Besides contributing a likable and funny performance as the movie's hero, Beatty has brought out the best in lis collaborators. May's work on the script is her wittiest since A New Leaf: she has spiked a sentimental story with misanthropic jokes about money, marriage and adultery that are not in the old film. Grodin and Cannon, who have May's sharpest lines, give impeccable, dry comic performances. Some of the humor?involving batty butlers and rough football players?is knockabout, but the gags never...
Politicizing sport, a dangerous business, is never more seductive than when one wanders in Montreal. In suburban Verdun, swarms of children trying to win a midget hockey tournament skate under a flag showing white fleur-de-lis on a field of blue. The flag symbolizes Quebec and French Canadian nationalism. In the Forum, one finds Les Canadiens de Montreal defending their National Hockey League championship in a setting that proclaims élan. Forum announcements on goals are bilingual. Always the French-"Montréal but par Yvan Cournoyer "-comes first. Watching Canadiens named Guy Lafleur and Jacques Lemaire outskate visiting...
...rapes her. On page 86 he ties her to a bedpost and assaults her again. On page 192 the hero rips the heroine's gown to the waist before raping her a third time. On page 277 he brands her thigh with a red-hot fleur-de-lis...
...always left the stadium broken-hearted, listening half-heartedly to their player on the Star of the Game show. But going back the next day I was confident of a win, knowing tonight was the night that a Roger Freed, or a Joe Lis, or a Ken Reynolds would at last catch fire. And then when those young phenoms failed us, I would scurry to the back pages of The Sporting News and read about how the Phillies' farm clubs were doing in Eugene and Reading. There was plenty of scuttlebutt before games: "How about that Luzinski tearing...