Word: hal
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...does his face and voice. It is in their taut anguish that we perceive his double burden of worry about his kingdom and his son and it is the slow pounding with clenched fist that tells us what his apoplexy means to him, dying still worried about Hal's fitness for the throne. His performance moves me to hope, as Caldwell Titcomb did last week after Carnovsky's Prospero, that Weaver will have a chance to play Lear...
...cite one only, Berry has been made up with eyebrows that appear perpetually raised and slightly turned up at the outside ends. Thus he looks always surprised and quizzical. Surely, Falstaff is at heart not a questioner: he cares not for the future, lives entirely in the present (Hal's first words to him are "What a devil hast thou to do with the time of the day?") and accepts that present without surprise or query. The eyebrows set a false tone that, in a small way, throws off Berry's performance...
Driven by the competition, the athletes shrugged off injury. Hammer Thrower Hal Connolly, 28, world record holder and 1956 Olympic gold-medal winner, was warming up when he pulled a muscle in the left side of his massive back. Asked Connolly coolly: "Is there a doctor here?" With a shot of novocain in his back, Connolly whirled out a throw of 212 ft. 3½ in. to finish second by 2 ft. 3½ in. to Al Hall, 25, a 205-lb. poultryman from Southington, Conn...
...finish and still won in 50.1 seconds to tie his Olympic record. In the discus, Al Oerter, 24, wound himself into a knot, then exploded for a throw of 193 ft. 9½ in., 2 ft. 10½ in. short of the world record. Whirling mightily, Boston's Hal Connolly, 28, threw the hammer 224 ft. 4½ in., just 11½ in. short of his world record. Patriarch of the U.S. whales, Shotputter Parry O'Brien, 28, a gold medal winner in both 1952 and 1956, this year had lost time and again. But with the pressure...
...starred with Elvis Presley in a film now in production, she has about her a pouting, full-lipped flavor that suggests an exercised, trim-figured Bardot. But Juliet Prowse is no BB. She's a high-caliber bullet. Last week, on camera for Hal Wallis' G.I. Blues, Juliet writhed and swiveled through a German nightclub jazz dance in a flesh-colored skirt sliced in panels from hem to hips. At a ringside table, a fat cat with slowly inflating eyes made an impassioned grab and caught the center panel, pulling her toward his lap. For his pangs...