Word: stale
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Dates: during 2000-2009
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...with CBS fell apart when he failed to come up with a show that the network liked. He also turned down a prime-time variety show for ABC, feeling it was too similar to TRL. Believing that the standard monologue-sketch-interview format for late-night shows has grown stale, he says he accepted the three-year contract with the hope that, over time, he can come up with something different. "I look at it as a testing ground for the future of late night. The old format is pretty passe," he says. His MTV contract...
...grow exasperating and tiresome. Yet writer-directors Daniel Chun ’02 and Jeremy Bronson ’02 have succeeded in infusing the script with enough charming absurdity that it remains fresh even as it veers towards utter inanity. Though a few of the gags eventually get stale, the comically expert cast keeps things suitably buoyant as the show nears its conclusion. Particularly hilarious are Thomas Odell ’04 as Whale (and in a smaller role as Mr. Pemberton), Brendan Demay ’02 as the title character and Andy Pasquesi...
...Three ("Cheek to Cheek," "I'm Putting All My Eggs in One Basket," "Change Partners") got to #1. Two others ("Top Hat, White Tie and Tails," "Let Yourself Go") hit #2. "Isn't This a Lovely Day" reached #3. And all have lingered like a perfume that never goes stale. The range and artistry, the vigor and virtuosity of just these few tunes assure Berlin of a perch in the Pantheon...
With this selection, along with stale leftovers from Thanksgiving (like the grossly disappointing yet massively popular Harry Potter), Christmas is going to be a fun-filled movie season, even if the economy is depressed and all anyone buys is undergarments. Of course, in retrospect, even Home Alone 18 would be appealing at this point, coming off one of Hollywood’s worst years ever. Who can remember a worse year than the one where the meaty offerings were unequivocally over-cooked Christmas hams like Pearl Harbor and The Mummy Returns, and one great film (Spielberg?...
...three men are left on guard, the rest crammed into a tiny room lined with iron beds. Squatting around a smoky hurricane lamp we eat a meal of stale bread dunked in thin soup and drink strong black tea. After finishing, two of the boys turn to karambol, a game like pool in which flat counters are flicked across a board. Farid, another section commander, sits intently loading an ammunition belt with machine-gun rounds. Allah Mahmad lounges on one of the beds and talks wistfully of wanting the kind of education for his four sons that he never...