Word: pored
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Moreover, Pitt simply doesn't have enough expressions to warrant the number of close-ups he gets. The camera is literally in love with his face--it captures every pore in an effort to prove just how godly he is. Instead of taking advantage of the chance to react to each statement and give us subtle clues to his character's actual thoughts, Pitt prefers being mysterious. His face remains blank for nearly three hours, occasionally flashing the famous smile. "You wanna know what I'm thinking?" he seems to be asking with his random pauses and interminable stares into...
...Wyman and Rock Hudson made it float in the 1955 All That Heaven Allows. Stella, directed by Kevin Rodney Sullivan, isn't in that league. With its diffuse lighting and teary sex scenes (the camera can't take its eye off Diggs' extravagant muscularity), the film qualifies as soft-pore cornography. But, heck, Bette Davis spent half her career ennobling similar kitsch. Like Davis and other strong actresses, Bassett just has to get used to being better than her movies...
Duffy, Novak and Weisskopf labored almost fulltime last year at the nexus of big money and politics. This was often lonely work, requiring them to pore for days at a time over cartons of Federal Election Commission and court documents, to wheedle information from reluctant sources a sentence at a time. Their persistence paid off in three dozen pathbreaking stories on campaign finance in 1997, many of which were picked up and credited by major newspapers and TV news shows...
Familiarity also breeds affection. The aliens still have pretty teeth, ooze slime from every pore and maintain their relentlessly hostile attitude toward all things human. But by now--Alien Resurrection is their fourth screen appearance--there's something funny about their reliable malevolence. It's sort of like Mr. Magoo's nearsightedness; you await its inevitably disastrous consequences with high comic anticipation...
...that the place was crawling with agents, you were directed to wait your turn in a row of empty chairs. When your name was called, you were passed through a metal detector and ferried upstairs to an undecorated 6-by-6 cubicle. There you met the agent who would pore over dot-matrix printouts of your financial woes...