Word: mouthfuls
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...married couple not sure they are married and the fireman's ridiculous tale of "the Headcold," fall dead. In the latter case, the actor actually reads the speech, stifling the spontaneity that is the crux of the joke. Most of what does arouse the audience comes from the drooping mouth of W. Bruce Johnson, who looks like a young Walter Matthau and acts with a delicate understatement that generally works. But he alone cannot overcome the director's static imagination...
...campaigns. Most reporters--particularly those from the wire services and the second-rate dailies--remain encased in the womb of the press bus or plane and file a stream of speech stories, color stories, and isolated voter reaction stories fed to them in press releases or by word of mouth by the candidate's press staff. In between deadlines, they gossip about politician, view the scenery, or ask around for the name of a good restaurant at the night's stop...
...case were that Mrs. Thomas became pregnant shortly after her Marine husband left for over seas duty. Her husband, nonetheless, incorrectly believed that the child was his. Two nights after she brought her new son home from the hospital, the baby was discovered with horrible burns in his mouth. His gums had been eaten away by an unknown "caustic solution," and so had his larynx and lungs. After 16 days in the hospital, he died. Who would have killed him except his mother? asked the prosecution; her motive was that she was afraid her hus band would learn the truth...
...bottle. The baby was crying." Now her voice becomes a whimper. "He was crying. He was crying. I said what's wrong with you. The baby's sick. The baby's sick. The baby's sick." She sobs hard. "Help! The baby's mouth! It's getting dark. I don't know why. I don't know why. My baby sick. My baby sick." Dr. Johnston moved to a scene 16 days later, when a policeman came to her motel room. "It was a cop at the door. He say the baby...
Honor Tracy resembles a particularly mean Irish longshoreman on strike. Her corner-of-the-mouth wit has the fine rollicking belligerence that keeps everyone within eavesdropping distance of the drunk at the end of the bar. But sure, Honor is a bit of a fraud. The fist she brandishes so threateningly is really papier-mache. Her secret problem is that she is a satirist who faints at the sight of blood. Her seventh novel has all the brilliance of an expertly pulled punch...