Word: squealing
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...puppets in The New Gulliver are about three inches high. Their tiny faces, designed by Sarra Mokil, who spent two and a half years having them made, suggest Daumier drawings translated into three dimensions. Creased by tiny grins, twisted by picayune emotions of fear, alarm and love, they squeal and whisper, wiggle, grimace and frown in terrifying parody that would doubtless have delighted Jonathan Swift. Whether the author of Gulliver's Travels would be equally pleased by the use Soviet cinemanufacturers have made of his masterpiece in other respects is more debatable...
...public, express their amazement to find that Cagney grew up in New York side-by-side with most of the first ten public enemies, and that he knows where they carry their guns. It is then a comparatively simple matter to get one of Cagney's former sweethearts to squeal on her husband, and the claws of justice unflex with telling effect. "G-Men" manages to keep its sympathies on the sunny side of the law, and is thus an improvement over previous films of the gangster type. Those critics who do not find the diminutive James attractive will rejoice...
...across the tops of the trees and blotted the bars of the sun on the brook. It flickered for a second on the little girl's bare feet and was gone. And again it swerved over and disappeared. Back in the meadow, something swooped down and the thin, quivering squeal of a field mouse hung in the hot, stagnant air and was stifled...
...rump high. The short curved knife bites deep into the bristled neck seeking the throbbing artery. Into great cans oozes the dark red blood, 70 Ib. to the steer. . . . Pigs skewered by the feet to an overhead track circle around the killing room. Stuck pigs upside down do not squeal. A knife flashes...
...poison darts, dum dum bullets, King Kong and Frank Buck. War is imminent. (Advertisement courtesy of the National Students League.) In a chaos of Hate and Strife we find ourselves, swept along by irresistible currents, pursued by a thousand enemies, unable to save ourselves by uttering a long quavering squeal the way Tarzan does when he and Jane get chased from pillar to post by his jungle pals. What, then, shall we do? Shall we put our trust in Roosevelt the Righteous, paint ourselves blue and sing 'NRA, my God to Thee, a Gentleman's Marks...