Word: soundless
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...Jews who did most to recollect the past. In his great poem, Babi Yar, Yevgeni Yevtushenko reminded his countrymen back in 1961, "I stand terror-stricken. Today I am as ancient in years as the Jewish people themselves are ... I myself am like an endless soundless cry, over these thousands and thousands of buried ones." Eighteen years later, Black Activist Bayard Rustin stood before a vast assemblage of commissioners and Soviet sightseers and sang the spiritual that once nurtured Martin Luther King...
...deer," says Frank Fennesz, 19, of Union City, as he hefts 113 Ibs. of venison-to-be back into the bed of his pickup. Fennesz's only complaint is the rainy weather, not be cause he minds getting wet but because rain turns dry, rustling leaves into a soundless carpet of mush. "If you don't see the deer, you can't hear them in weather like this." Chatting with one an other as they stand around in the glare of headlights and the harsh light of a gasoline lantern, most of the waiting hunters seem honest...
Water. Shapeless in itself, it can take MI multitudinous shapes. Colorless in itself, it can produce iridescences beyond any artist's palette. Soundless and inert in itself, it can in action induce a sense of rushing speed and frenetic energy; in tranquillity, a sense of meditative peace. In the most bleak of concrete jungles, water is a hope and a memory, a green thought in an ungreen shade...
...memorable image of a blood-soaked Carrie glaring upon the suddenly soundless ballroom marks the point where DePalma abandons all self-restraint. Gimmick piles upon gimmick as Carrie wreaks her vengeance; screens split, reddish tones suffuse the lens, a single shot multiplies into a revolving wheel of faces both shocked and gleeful. The film now develops into a full-scale assault upon the senses that ultimately gluts the viewer's mind with technique...
...long, desert road. Cars are few and I trace their rear lights back to nothing in the sideview mirror, where they are but a pin-pricked rupture in the great sack of night, a bleeding stream of fleeting electricity. I push the van to 95 in the soundless onrush of blackness, while the flourescent stakes by the roadside teeter rearward and empty lights hang nowhere out in the desert, some mystery of some nuclear facility...