Word: tap
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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Reviving the unsolved social problem of liquor, the Intercollegian is sponsoring a contest in an attempt to tap the undercurrent of opinion in the colleges. Five awards will be given in this editorial contest, which is open to all student writers who have thoughtful or constructive proposals...
...Hasel who stars. Miss Muller has a pleasant accent, and enough screen presence to prove convincing. Paul Abraham has written some catchy tunes for the picture, but is at his best in certain novel moments where action and music are synchronized. Example: a roomful of typists pecking out a tap dance rhythm in time to orchestral accompaniment. Artificial as this sort of thing is, it is one of the notable features of the film. Characters walk in time to the music, doors open and close in strict tempo, orchestral voices imitate unheard sounds and expressive gestures on the screen...
...strange as the sight of a member of the Union League club demonstrating a tap-dance were these lines in the august New York Times fortnight ago: "Five planes brought dozens of machine gats from Chicago Friday to combat The Town's Capone. . . . Local banditti have made one hotel a virtual arsenal and several hotspots are ditto because Master Coll is giving them the headache. One of the better Robin Hoods has a private phone in his cell...
...Weissmuller, Gar Wood, Bill Tilden, Albie Booth. Last October, aged 30, he married Ruth Ellery of Manhattan. He likes to lie beneath a Panatrope phonograph and whistle in tune with it. The sound of anyone eating an apple before breakfast sends him into a rage. He wishes he could tap dance, has no use for "public relations counsels." Odds, Ends...
Noisy, frizzy-haired Eva Tanguay was headliner at the gaudy Metropolitan cinemansion in Boston last week. Two Kinds of Women showed loose living in a Manhattan penthouse (see p. 25). A yodler, a tap dancer and a funnyman did clipped, automatic turns but there was still an "added attraction," sparsely advertised. After the newsreel the curtain went up again, showed a dumpy, henna-haired old lady standing perched on a platform, her immense bosom shining with sequins as the Old Lady hesitated, looked at the words she had written on a paper before her, began a little gingerly to sing...