Word: strutting
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...ones in the cast -- Carter, Ken Page and Armelia McQueen -- are just as fleshily beguiling as before. They jiggle and strut with weighty grace unseen since the heyday of Jackie Gleason. The skinny ones -- Andre De Shields and Charlaine Woodard -- stomp and slither like sticks turning into snakes. The years have changed nothing except to add emotional texture. McQueen is still cute, but now conveys heartache beneath. De Shields has ripened from Superfly sleekness into a leading man's virility. The biggest change is in Carter, whose widely publicized battles with weight, cocaine and star-size ego have enriched...
Trouble is, he knows this, and so do the people who help him make movies. His new one, Cocktail, has no reason for being other than to market the Cruise charm like a cheap celebrity perfume. Act I: See Tom strut as a Manhattan bartender for whom mixing drinks becomes a form of performance art, a quick route to saloon celebrity. Act II: See Tom slink, as he dumps a young woman of sweet substance (Elisabeth Shue) for life on a leash held by a rich bitch (Lisa Banes). Act III: See Tom furrow his boyish brow in a moment...
...onstage. Someday Hollywood will harness her genius, in some movie with a different co-star. After all, who looks at anyone else when Bette Midler is around? It is a privilege merely to watch her walk her walks: the not-quite-ladylike mince, the executive sweep, the strumpet's strut. She lopes easily from City Sadie, the bitch goddess who spits out orders to her lab scientists ("Get tougher rats!"), to Country Sadie, struggling with her press-on nails ("I guess I should've pressed harder") and giddy with her first sip of high life in a Plaza bathroom ("Cute...
...then, as the subway rattled north toward Harlem, Arthur's demons returned. Even above the racket of the wheels, he could hear them sniggering at his fantasies of stardom, playing good cop-bad cop with his head. One voice demanded to be told where he found the gumption to strut his meager stuff before the same footlights that had illuminated the talents of Ella Fitzgerald, Gladys Knight and Michael Jackson. A second and more kindly presence kept urging him to wriggle off the hook. The next stop would be his last chance to walk across the platform and jump...
Well, that's exactly what Picinic is: a prickly, tepid and altogether irritating play about growing up in the Midwest. And the actors strut across the stage as if they've had too much...