Word: rueful
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...influenza of the soul--fevers and chills alternating while she tries to maintain her politesse in provincial society. This is risky work for a movie star, but Bening's understated tension is admirable, and so is Jon Robin Baitz's new adaptation, touching Ibsen's glum dramaturgy with rueful Chekovian absurdity. Daniel Sullivan's brisk production, running through mid-April at Los Angeles' Geffen Playhouse, is full of lively performances bobbing eccentrically along on the play's tragic undertow, which is no longer fully persuasive...
...metaphysical goofiness). But the voice is why you should care. As if she is still stung by decades-old criticisms that she's not a "true" jazz singer, Lincoln's phrasing can sound eccentric, even perverse, yet few vocalists can rival her ability to convey pure emotion--by turns rueful, reflective and exultant. She has been on a roll in the '90s and shows no signs of stopping...
...anybody in this tiny (pop. 4,000) mountain ski resort town why you shouldn't feed wild bears, and you'll hear a rueful answer. They move in. For years the residents indulged the neighboring wild bears, treating them as entertainers. Restaurant owners left their garbage Dumpsters open so tourists would gather. Locals like Mammoth Times editor Wally Hofmann brought houseguests. "We'd sit in the car with a bowl of popcorn and wait to see a bear," he remembers. Then the bears stopped going home. They settled down to live in abandoned buildings and started having cubs...
...minds of many men will not fade until women call their bluff. This change will not come from the courts or Congress. Instead of bemoaning our situation, women must convince men that we are more than Barbies and that we abhor the Barbie treatment. And men must acknowledge the rueful truth: Barbie is just a doll. Jenny E. Heller '01, a Crimson editor, is a Romance languages and literatures concentrator in Lowell House...
...sound. Good Humor is almost inconceivable: a broad, ecstatic blend of the pristine disco of ABBA, the elegant jazz pop of Steely Dan, the rhythmic bass throb of funk and the bleary-eyed cocktail electronica of trip-hop. The product is anything but tired; on Sylvie, for example, the rueful, cosmopolitan irony of the lyric is offset completely by a glowing arrangement. The overlay of subtle syncopations and retro instrumentation makes the song surreal and engaging, like a chance meeting with Burt Bacharach after hours at a chic London nightclub. Some might call this kitsch, but emotional immediacy and sheer...