Word: tenderizers
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Always the camera trains upon her transcendental face, eyes widened by arrested tears, tentative, reaching, wistful in her offerings of tender inadequacy. Here in her eyes, green eyes, the film unfolds. As she steals into his bedroom, only to resist him. As a pinch-lipped minister exhorts her for her mortal sin. As her father's drunken friends break into the adulterer's home. As he ignores her, making witty cocktail talk with superficial antagonists...
Probably no athletes in history have ever been accorded such tender loving care. In the Olympic village, 650 bicycles stood ready in case any Olympian tired of walking. An International Club helped while away their idle hours, dispensing free milk and Ovaltine to the strains of a red-hot jazz combo. In the dining rooms, 300 chefs labored mightily to prepare 490,000 meals, whomping up everything from scones to sukiyaki for their charges. And there, among the hustling waiters, was Hirohito's grandson, who signed on for $1.95 a day. It was all too much for a pair...
...time as President Kennedy's top adviser on national physical fitness. Fred Harris is a Cotton County farm boy with a Phi Beta Kappa key and a law degree from the U. of O. He does not have Wilkinson's glamor, but, at his present tender age, he has already served eight years in the state senate...
...music-hall girls and blown-up film stills fill the stage while a lighted news ticker across the backdrop impersonally taps out the monstrous dance of death: ALLIES LOSE 850,000 MEN IN 1914. Mockingly ironic, magnetically fascinating, Lovely War defies a playgoer to settle back in his seat. Tender, frolicsome and tragic, it turns spilled blood into tears and evokes laughter in hell...
...keeping with the chief character, Bellow's prose is sometimes pudding-soft, mushy and too sweet; but at other times it is as good as anything he has written. In fact, where the novel does not limp, it moves majestically, as in a grimly tender description of the death of Herzog's mother. It is just that Bellow does not seem to be covering any new ground. Toward the end, Herzog reflects: "I look at myself and see chest, thighs, feet-a head. This strange organization, I know it will die. And inside -something, something, happiness . . . Something produces...