Word: pocketa
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...unpleasantness, but the volume is cranked up too high. It tends to drown out the good and far more surprising minor-key work that has gone before it. Still, the pleasure of watching good character men like Brian Keith, Charles Burning, Bernie Casey and the estimable Richard Libertini going pocketa-pocketa as Sharky's Machine warms up is not to be lightly dismissed. And neither is Reynolds' good sense of the way the sordid and the sleek coexist in Big City life. The man has a feel for the director's craft that could, some day, permit...
...make it, sir. It's spoiling for a hurricane, if you ask me." "I'm not asking you, Lieutenant Berg, " said the Commander. "Rev her up to 8,500! We're going through!" The pounding of the cylinders increased: ta-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa. The crew looked at each other and grinned. "The Old Man'll get us through," they said to one another...
Europe. No longer. He now seeks escape and adventure, and tour operators, quick to realize the potential of the market, have been replacing their pocket guides with pocketa-pocketa packages. "There's absolutely an amazing number and variety of adventure tours on the market," says Jim Transue, an editor of Travel Weekly. "It may be the fastest-growing part of the business...
...proves beyond doubt that he has discerned three levels of language in The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. Confronted by Holmes, the reader's mind wanders to The Unicorn in the Garden, to The Night the Ghost Got In. He imagines that he is writing Walter Mitty: ta-pocketa, ta-pocketa, go the typewriter keys. He remembers Thurber's unsettling word games-mice in chimes, lips in pistol-and plays a game of his own that he has played before: her, hurt, rue, brute in Thurber; the battle of the sexes, the dogs. What hides in Holmes? SOLEM...
...matchstick characters with the crudest possible symbolism. Rosy breathes and heaves beside a patch of openmouthed lilies as Doryan appears on the hill. Their couplings-and every potentially significant moment in the film -are drowned by the roar of the surf, the creak of windblown trees, the ta-pocketa-pocketa of a British power generator, and an overpowering score. Perhaps the rudest device of all is the misuse of John Mills as the village idiot who sees all and knows all, but can tell nothing. Like the film itself, it is scarcely worthy of Lean's demonstrated talent...