Word: woodenly
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...woman’s shoes walk slowly across the floor: This space is completely dead, we see shoes, we hear floorboards—that’s it. The camera begins to pan ever so slowly across the floor; we hear nothing and only see the grainy, wooden expanse of floorboard, board after board laid perfectly side by side—sparse and chic turned ominous. The camera stumbles upon a door, it bursts open, the hand of the dying woman drops, a guttural boom blasts from the sub and that four-dollar bucket of flat Diet Coke resting patiently...
...fated professor and Grace Zabriskie as Emma, an elderly woman who’s either a heavy heroin addict or a precog. Except for Zabriskie reinventing the doped-up old woman role, the rest of the cast disappoints—especially Gellar. Sure, she can wield a wooden stake, seduce her brother and spot Scooby Doo like no one else, but Gellar just can’t handle the role of horror heroine...
...first six people known to have successfully traveled the 446-km stretch of the Colorado River within the Grand Canyon were led in 1869 by a one-armed U.S. Civil War veteran named John Wesley Powell. Braving the huge waves and submerged rocks in little wooden boats, they barely survived. These days, most boats are made of sturdy rubber, the guides are experienced oarsmen, and tourists pay for the thrill. The river averages a chilly 5.6?C, and July's rainy season churns up sediment that turns the Colorado chocolate brown. But the water's perils...
...first six people known to have successfully traveled the 446-km stretch of the Colorado River within the Grand Canyon were led in 1869 by a one-armed U.S. Civil War veteran named John Wesley Powell. Braving the huge waves and submerged rocks in little wooden boats, they barely survived. These days, most boats are made of sturdy rubber, the guides are experienced oarsmen, and tourists pay for the thrill. The river averages a chilly 5.6?C, and July's rainy season churns up sediment that turns the Colorado chocolate brown. But the water's perils...
...stood waiting for what felt like hours in a large field between wooden buildings with bright murals depicting socialist utopias in Mexican villages. My hands shook as a man approached wearing a black balaclava that disguised his identity despite his brightly-colored traditional peasant garb. He led me into a barn that was only lit by the sun filtering between the cracks in the rough boards of the walls. My eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness to reveal two other men and a woman seated on a bench in the corner who were similarly dressed and disguised...