Word: hyper
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...sometimes as much as eight hours a day. Most familiar voice from Germany, to most British listeners, speaks daily from Zeesen in exaggerated pip-pip English, caning British high-ups and war policies; deploring the blockade with: "Rehly, you British, it isn't manlah!" Some listeners think this hyper-Oxonian voice is Traitor Norman Baillie-Stewart's, some think it is Dr. Helmut Hoffman's, who once lectured on Naziism in Scotland; some, that it is a renegade member of Sir Oswald Mosley's Fascist blackshirts. But most Britons refer to Zeesen's voice...
Effect of the first lilacs on Judge Hardy is to make him an easy prey for a couple of swindlers. Andy and his father eventually cool off, to the accompaniment of such a wealth of domestic detail, adolescent humor and sage headshakings that hyper-domestic cinemaddicts will have a wonderful time. Those who dislike Mother's Day will be apt to feel that they have just been through it again...
Water fights in Winthrop House may be fine. Everyone has a good time and no bystanders are harmed unless they walk out of doors carelessly. But let these little affairs stay inside the court. Once outside they may come up against senses of humor which are not hyper-developed like those of college students. Harvard and Cambridge are mated, even though they may be incompatible. Reality says to each to make the best...
Last year, Charles Silber dug up some partners and some peat, contracted with 32-year-old Giles Wetherill to distribute his product. For several years the Wetherill family have marketed Hyper-Humus, a New Jersey peat older than Silber's Maine variety by a mere 10,000,000 years. Day before Richard Whitney went to jail he offered Giles Wetherill his near-defunct Florida Humus Co. ''for the price of a good automobile"; but Wetherill said he wanted peat bogs, not lawsuits. Humus has sold a piddling 10,000 tons per year, has nevertheless made a small...
...study and an unintended indictment of the forms & symbols that circumscribe its people, The Dybbuk is important. As cinema it is tedious, technically crude, lacking in coherence. Here and there are pictorial groupings, interesting enough in themselves, but poorly related in the general clutter of hyper-religious abracadabra and the familiar hocus-pocus of third-rate melodrama. The mere mention of Kabala brings on thunder-and-lightning overtones; a departing soul is the signal for banging casements, flickering candles, fluttering curtains. Valiantly pushing its way through is a slender story of a boy (L. Libgold) and a girl (Lili Liliana...