Word: mushing
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...Home, accented by the tinkle of a cowbell and the recorded moo of a Jersey heifer. It closed with a gooey, sentimental ballad called Contented, sung by a weepy-voiced tenor ("I'm on heaven's own doorstep, so contented with you"). Between the moo and the mush, the Carnation Milk Co. poured out a half hour of semi-classical music as thick and sweet as its product. To keep its Contented Hour flowing smoothly, Carnation also hired such big names as Bonelli and Swarthout...
There were a couple of seagoing prep-school boys, Al, an amateur boxer whose short upper lip made Sculptor Slobodkin distrust him, and Mush, who was unpleasantly popeyed. There was Georgia Boy, a snake-hipped harmonica player and dancer, who used to talk nostalgically about his "mammy." And there was Joe, whose father was a Yorkshireman, whose mother was a French Tahitian and whose English was a splendid massacre. Joe once referred to the "United Steaks Conscience, Washington, Disease" which, translated, turned out to be the United States Congress, Washington, D.C. Sometimes he would dream about his abandoned South...
London. Overnight he turns its trim interior into a welter of littered papers, damp towels, cast-off clothes, bottles, of hair tonic, a copy of Mein Kampf - chaos as complete as if the Balkans had been dumped in the heart of respectable Kensington. Daily, through this mush, Director Bergmann stamps the floor like a bathrobed Hercules faced with an absurd but unavoidable Labor. He roars genially at nervous Colleague Isherwood: "I am sure we shall be very happy together...
...lovers' scene, up pops Frisco from behind the bench with an expression of terrible pain on his face. He proceeds to kid the cooing with a disrespect for the romantic routine that should make this scene worth the price of admission to moviegoers who are weary of screen mush...
...kind metropolitan types. The trouble is more detailed than that. The pretty-enough "background music" (one of Hollywood's worst habits) reduces some of the storytelling from the sadly tender grandeur which the players and the monumental closeups earn to a sort of oversweetened, high-grade M. G. Mush...