Word: barely
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...someone who, up to that point and from that point thereafter, resembles something more akin to a force of nature than a human being. Peterson returns to the town of his birth and falls in with a set of predominantly-homosexual mobsters, who lease him out for dogfights and bare-knuckle boxing matches. He dons the name Charlie Bronson in homage to the action star of the same name, famous for his role in “Death Wish.” Here again, his penchant for violence is totally divested from any emotional disposition, but these scenes in particular...
...Harvard coach Percy Haughton needed to motivate his players in the locker room. In a move that would have made Woody Hayes look like a saint, Haughton brought in a live bulldog and strangled it to death with his bare hands. The Crimson ended up winning 4-0. Today, many consider Haughton’s actions simply a myth. True or not, however, its legend is a testament to the passion of the rivalry...
...aspects of this primarily bare play, Stone has couched the palpable void in details that are brutally suited to the mood of the play. Props are minimal—table, black cube, coffee, or scotch. Spotlights focus on specific narrators. The technological longing, imbued in tracks by Panda Bear, Thom Yorke (with and without Radiohead), capture the melting, quiet terror of a modern generation; videos unveil landscapes and devastation upon the backdrop during “Faith in Ourselves,” and then, scenes later, the sleek curves of a new model vehicle...
...traditional night shift begins. A woman in suspenders and a pink dress takes up right outside the doors of an American-owned bank. Across the street, two girls in miniskirts entice clients at the entrance of a subway station. A block down, a group of transvestites and transsexuals bare their wares outside a convenience store. Quickly, the streets fill with hundreds of sex workers, while their clients lurk discreetly in dark corners, vigilant under the threat of a sudden police raid...
This spare, minimalist approach to the music creates a bare, autumnal album that’s at once soothing, depressing and—unfortunately—less than gripping. Johnson’s husky growl reverberates around Molina’s baleful, tremulous cry and the two voices combine to nice effect, presenting two different sides to the classic American man: bruised and tough, soulful and exposed. The duo exhibits an effortless mastery of many classic tropes, employed without pretense to keep the album engaging and honest. Unfortunately the album’s traditional song structures and generally unremarkable music...