Word: screamed
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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Three horses converged on a middle-aged white man who was dressed in shirt and tie with his suit jacket slung over his arms. The man ducked and dodged the clubs, seeking a way out. Fear showed in his fce and he looked as if he was about to scream or cry or even bleat. The suit jacket was dropped and forgotten. Still the horses came, battering him. At last he plunged to freedom, and the laughing riders let him flee...
Selma Sheriff Jim Clark, a big man with balding head and a button reading the antithesis of Lackey. He rules his office an air of pomposity, as his brood of scream and deputy sheriffs hover reverently about radio monitor crackled with the "There's a bunch of 'em with signs head west on Jeff Davis Avenue, toward the houses." Clark flicks a switch on the and drawls, "Find out what they're doin a call me back...
Director Aldrich piles on a series of scream-in-the-night shocks, the better to batten a script strikingly short of sneakier surprises. In Charlotte's formula for terror, the nuttiest characters naturally turn out to be saner than anyone else. But there is rich menace in the dark, lushly mossy photography of Joseph Biroc, whose camera seems to have a malevolent presence of its own-a thing of shadows, catching the glint of an evil eye through the gossamer of steamed windows or sweeping up a curved balustrade that coils into the blackness below like an enormous question...
...government prepared to fight the people's Republics of Congo, Uganda, Kenya, and Tanzania, and at the same continue with her Vietnamese dilly-dally? Uganda will not simply scream like North Vietnam and watch its villages in flames. Not only does Uganda have friends eleswhere, but there is too much at stake. After the Congo is freed from this belated second-hand colonialism, then more African countries will be liberated...
Behind his newspaper, the man in the train is having a fight with his face. First his mouth wambles in a wild Watutsi, then it gapes wide in a silent scream. All at once his eyebrows make a break for his brainpan, the tendons of his neck bulge in sudden constriction. Apoplexy? Withdrawal pains? Hangover? Not at all. Only a commuting executive giving himself his morning facial. Back home, blessedly unobserved, his wife is doing the same thing at the bathroom mirror...