Word: unshavenness
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...Berri's cinematography sets out to record the archetypical Provencal village. Barri shoots glassy stares at the Midi countryside as easily as close-ups of Ugolin's unshaven cheek or Papet at the table. Unfortunately, Manon appears to be just another landscape. Beart is an extraordinary beauty. She has long blond hair and baby-blue eyes and a face that could launch a thousand ships. But she has almost no lines in the entire two hours of the film...
...rehearsal room is a maze of noisy motion: a woman is screaming at her stage husband, "I'm sick of your drinking -- get out of the house!"; a small unshaven man cowers childlike as his "mother" delivers an obscene tongue- lashing; a man in a red-check robe staggers drunkenly as his belt whips with violent slaps against a board, while his "son" whimpers in pain; a young man sits huddled on the floor, repeating over and over, "Why doesn't anyone love me?" The air quivers with tension as the parts of the play come together and roles...
Fire Fighter Jeff Brand looks like hell. His unshaven face is covered with grime, his eyes are swollen and bloodshot, and his raspy speech is punctuated with third-degree coughs and sniffles. "I'm sick as a dog," he growls. The dense smoke on the fire line in Northern California's Klamath National Forest has cut visibility to a lung-searing 150 ft. It is eclipsing the sun like a primordial fog and slowly choking the solemn line of fire fighters. Brand, 26, from Kentfield, Calif., pauses occasionally on the steep slope to vomit discreetly in the woods. "This...
...roommate and I turned to look at the scruffy, unshaven man on our right. His flannel shirt looked like it pre-dated Kennedy, his mouth was jaded, his eyes looked a little mad. But when he smiled proudly at the guru's account of his heroism, his face lit up and he blew gently on the coffee the guru handed to him in a heavy...
...they carry heavy steel tripods, machine-gun barrels, leaden boxes of ammunition. Their feet seem to sink into the ground from the overload they are bearing. They don't slouch. It is the terrible deliberation of each step that spells out their appalling tiredness. Their faces are black and unshaven. They are young men, but the grime and whiskers and exhaustion make them look middle-aged . . . All afternoon men keep coming round the hill and vanishing eventually over the horizon. It is one long tired line of antlike...