Word: reek
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...great scenes of her life: the coming of the voices, the assignations with angels and the beating she got when her father thought they were men, the political rehearsal with a rural winesack (Theodore Bikel), the advent at Chinon, the brotherhood in arms (Bruce Gordon) and the rich reek of fighting France -stale wine, hot harness -that kept her head clear through the glory and the banners and the blood. Scene follows scene without shift; past follows present follows past as sun follows shadow on a dappled day. As Joan strides through her story, the lights minister her mood...
...designed to "create favorable public sentiment." Inside, there is a sumptuous succession of music rooms, chapels, lavatories, storerooms, and, of course, "slumber rooms." The decoration is "subdued but cheerful," which enables many funeral homes, when their business is lagging, to rent space to wedding parties. And here, where the reek of euphemism mingles with the chemical deodorant and the recorded hymn, has been perfected "the new aesthetic of death," a specifically American response to the handwriting on the wall...
...woman, Jeanne Grain, and all this, no kidding, is the beginning of a beautiful romance. More's the pity, too, because, except for this monumental piece of what might be called "in-house humor," Man Without a Star has a roll-muh-own greasiness and good warm-leather reek about it that is rare in Hollywood westerns. The rootin', tootin' (with Claire Trevor as the whirly-girly) and shootin' are unusually low-falutin. There is one long shot of a man being dragged by a horse through enough barbed wire fence to justify...
...small enclaves ("pimples on the face of India" Jawaharlal Nehru had once called them) were turned over to India, in accordance with the recent agreement between Nehru and Pierre Mendès-Fraance. Thus India effortlessly picked up 193 square miles of territory and 320,000 new citizens. The reek of gunpowder attended the takeover, but it came from joyfully exploding fireworks...
...daily trade, the cobbler at his bench, the ploughman trudging the furrow-all learned to know the awful smell of burning human flesh, the flesh of a neighbor, of a man or woman as familiar as the parish pump. Mingling with the steam of washing day, or with the reek of autumn bonfires, or polluting the sweetness of June, that stench . . . even in a cruel age, left behind it a memory and a disgust...