Word: pouts
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...Greek islands. Instead of titillating his young audience with a little sanitized incest, he offers them a genial disquisition on the joys of the menage a trois. Visually, however, the formula is as before-plenty of skin displayed before Arcadian scenery. The boy (Peter Gallagher) has a male-model pout for all emotions, and his American girlfriend (Daryl Hannah) obviously flunked elocution in high school, but their mutual friend from France (Valerie Quennessen) carries a nicely knowing quality about her. The writing and direction are appropriate to the setting: simple and primitive...
...eyed young woman. Alone, she drifts through the airport. Her name is Irena. She is an orphan, a virgin. She turns her head and surveys her surroundings with intent eyes. Their darkness rivals that of her short black hair. Her mouth is wide and seems to have a perpetual pout. She is pretty...
...tradition of soiled ingenues. Bernadette Peters looks like the offspring of a Kewpie Doll and a Munchkin. Christopher Walken's face is a gigolo's death mask: the character lines have been ironed out, leaving only the dry-ice eyes and the knowing pout. As icons, these four performers would seem perfect for the bittersweet revisionism of this musical drama about a sheet-music salesman (Martin), his frigid wife (Harper), his nice-turned-naughty mistress (Peters) and his slick rival (Walken).But icons do not always make for compelling screen personalities-especially when, as here, more is demanded...
...love-maddened youth is played by one Martin Hewitt, an unknown chosen for some reason over the customary 5,000 applicants for the job in a talent hunt. He can pout and look earnest; one could almost indulge his presence in a high school production of Romeo and Juliet. But he is, at best, a puppy lover, not someone who can portray a lad nurturing his passion for two years in an insane asylum and emerging to find and reclaim his love in the face of all opposition...
...hair in the middle and wear a hooded sweatshirt under your junior high basketball jacket, you had worn through one copy of Hot Rocks and had the 1972 American tour promo poster on your bedroom door. You got the wimpy kid to call you Mick, and you learned to pout like Charlie Watts as you tapped out the beat to "Jumping Jack Flash" on your plastic pencil case. This was the only music you needed...