Word: misting
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...hoary mist that has hung over productions of Chekhov spumed from Stanislavsky and the Moscow Art Theater: a distinctive technique marked by precise characterization, long pauses, distilled emotion, and tight pacing that presented the final pistol shots of an Ivanov or Seagull as the Q.E.D. of human tragedy, lucidly observed. In English-language productions, all this has been sustained by country-house diction supported by the characterological self-control necessary to maintain strong emotion over long sentences. These productions were, and are often powerful but they have two chronic diseases--boredom spawned by excessive refinement of speech and movement...
Somewhere in the commodious vaults where dwell the souls of playwrights dead and gone. Two figures, faces wreathed in mist, crouch over a chess table. After a time the vapours clear, and we see the faces of Bertolt Brecht and Henrik Ibsen. Brecht speaks first...
Engines Running. The transport pilots take enormous risks to bring supplies into Khe Sanh. The base sits in a valley that is at present enveloped almost constantly by a thick mist that will not lift until the monsoon ends in early April. Pilots must feel their way in for landings with a ceiling of less than 100 ft.-even though Air Force standards call for a minimum of 300 ft. In addition to the mist, they must make their letdown through turbulent air and a tail wind, cope with a sudden updraft before touchdown and land on a runway that...
...chill, grey mist hangs over the jungled hills around Khe Sanh and drifts down onto the base's metal run way. The morning mist often lasts into the afternoon, the bright sun of recent weeks is lost in monsoonal overcast, and the air is raw and wet with winter. The camp seems to have settled into a dull, lethargic pace to match the dull, damp weather that envelops it. In a mood of resignation, Marines go about their life-or-death work, digging into the red clay, filling sandbags, bolstering the bunkers they know are their one protection against...
...troublesome oddity is that although all of this fine rowdyism is described from the viewpoint of the twelve-year-old Albert, a mist of ruefulness and loss drifts across the narrative. Even when Albert has blundered beyond the streets controlled by Catholic and Jewish slum-runners into a schoolyard held by Negroes and seems about to have his gizzard sliced, the tone is one of marveling reminiscence, not fright. Albert's perceptions are never solidly those of a twelve-year-old apprentice delinquent; often they are those of a 45-year-old writer. "Whistling, he bounced into Benny...