Word: stare
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...through the crumbling Soviet + Union between 1989 and 1991, the Polish journalist leaves the gloomy impression that debris is piling up faster than it can be removed. The windows of his railroad car frame pictures of rusted tanks and artillery sinking in the mud. From the air, polluted lakes stare back like the cloudy eyes of dead fish. At the Yerevan airport, Kapuscinski finds four broken toilets and hundreds of travelers awaiting flights for days and sometimes weeks...
...thousands of Haitians who flocked to Port-au-Prince airport last Monday afternoon had come to cheer, applaud or just stare at the newly arrived U.S. troops. Once there, they could not resist the exhilarating urge to shout their joy at the imminent return of the man whose name could not be spoken and whose picture could not be displayed for the past three years. "Vive Titid!" they cried, invoking their affectionate sobriquet for exiled President Jean- Bertrand Aristide. "Down with Cedras!" Suddenly, two Haitian army officers appeared, dragging a skinny young man who was moaning pitifully. His face...
...have not fallen. Just as Hollywood once feared the advent of videocassettes but later discovered they fed rather than discouraged interest in movies, books on tape may actually promote the cause of literature. Four hours of Doctorow or McCarthy is better than nothing, especially when the alternative is to stare at the the brake lights ahead...
Jessica Walling's wide eyes equally express her character with their blank blue stare. Brooke Ashton is the company ingenue, who is as far from ingenious as the rest of the cast is from their script. Though Brooke is able to put aside her space cadet personality to become the perky Inland Revenue tax secretary of "Nothing On," she is too fragile to roll with the punches when the ride gets bumpy. Oblivious, she sticks to the script, blindly thwarting the others' efforts to ad lib in the face of disaster...
Carrey doesn't distinguish between action and dialogue; he is hyper doing both. He can turn the simple act of listening into power aerobics. His laser stare becomes maniacally penetrating; turning to hear a question, he nearly gives himself whiplash. Then he speaks, with an overbearing precision that suggests Maxwell Smart ranting through a bullhorn. And now he's off again, pogo-sticking or jackknifing about, slipping into his impersonations of Clint or Geraldo or a female bodybuilder or a charred fire marshal. He's a cool doofus -- a grownup version of the class clown...