Word: rasps
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...direction, Candy performs the slow burn of a put-upon Mr. Middle America, and Aykroyd perfects his impression (first exhibited in the 1981 film Neighbors) of Richard Nixon as a used-car salesman. It would be nice if these acute comics had achieved the intimate hostility of cousins who rasp on each other's nerves. But Hughes cannot be bothered here with surprise or subtlety, so his antagonists have the fatigued familiarity of sitcom characters toward the end of a long run. Next time, Hughes might consider a longer gestation period for his script. Or maybe a writer's block...
...sound like a Rambo who forgot to put the airpump to his navel; he has to dress up in his Vietnam fatigues, too. Our token Italian don in Dragon doesn't just get announced as the Italian, he has to put a voice box to his punctured throat to rasp out his tough words. What's this supposed to mean? Marlon Brando, eat your heart...
...very proud of the pint of Scottish blood in me," says Rod Stewart, 38, something of an expert on pints. "I'd give anything for a true Scots accent." The son of a Scottish-born laborer, Stewart gargles with a working-class London rasp that will never fool them in the Highlands, but his recently tailored kilt (Stewart clan) would certainly baffle the groupies in Bel-Air. His tartan roots have the rock star a wee bit nervous about playing Glasgow during his current seven-month, 51-city world tour. "It's my heritage," says Stewart. "That...
...nasty stratagems. What we are left to admire is fine, dark photography of the brown, guilt-stained marble in the gut of a Boston courthouse, and of Boston slush turning blue in whiter twilight; Warden's humane old counselor; and Newman. His voice has the breathy rasp of a drinker, his walk the uncertainty of a strong man going down. We see him playing pinball in a darkened bar, his shirt clean and his tie carefully knotted; we see him tenderly embracing a drinking lady, played wanly and sadly by Charlotte Rampling, as each of them carefully holds...
...curls up on the cot, closes his eyes and, in that husky rasp of a voice, whispers, "The secret to my continuing the way I do is my consciousness of a continuing assault upon my own greatness and ability. Read that back to me." Twice it is read back to him. "There. That just came to me," he says. "Do I sound like I have brain damage...