Word: roguishness
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...many jobs, but in all of them he played the same role: tireless showman. Over the years, Hoving was a city parks commissioner, a magazine editor, an author and a television correspondent - and to each of those tasks, he brought his superabundant energies, look-at-me narcissism and gleefully roguish manner. But in one job, he left the world a changed place. In his 10 years as director of New York's Metropolitan Museum of Art, Hoving, who was 78 when he died of cancer on Dec. 10, didn't just transform the Met. He remade the very idea...
Thanks for Richard Corliss's tribute to Soupy Sales [Nov. 9]. What it didn't mention was the utter devotion children of the 1950s felt for this dear and roguish man. We joined him every weekday for lunch. At the end of each show, he told us his menu for the next day so we could request the same. He called us his "little birdbaths" and warned us not to scratch our chicken pox. When he danced the Soupy Shuffle, he helped us forget about the looming threat of the Bomb. With his goofy antics, Soupy showed us we could...
...Where the Wild Things Are.” And yet, through the eyes of director Spike Jonze, Sendak’s anarchic world undergoes a creative transformation that reaches far beyond the modest offerings of the book. Jonze takes Sendak’s world of childhood rebellion and roguish imagination and spins it into an extended discourse on growing up and the importance of family...
...warmth, but rather, a no-nonsense capability. He is a fan of conservative colors and sharp lines: his suit jacket is done by Sam’s Tailor in Hong Kong and his tie is silk. Ferguson never smiles in photos. The camera loves him anyway, particularly his perpetually roguish and brooding gaze; sometimes he’s grabbing his hair as if decoding a historical conundrum. He’s made appearances on the Colbert Report and presented a television series on his book, “War of the World.” Some zealous fan uploaded...
...chief credit goes to Baker, and not just because he's easy on the eyes. His (mildly) reformed flimflam man takes a cool, roguish pleasure in solving murders by reading the same tells and tics he once used to con people into thinking they were talking to dead loved ones. In one episode, he offhandedly tells a suspect woman what her type is - "sporty bad boys with a hidden masochistic streak" - and when she denies it, he grins and adds, matter-of-factly, "No, that was a bull...