Word: shoot
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Dates: during 1990-1990
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Michael Kantor, 44, lost his job last summer as vice president of the United Cotton Goods Co. of Griffin, Ga., a textile company that Kantor says was "beaten to death by imports." He has flooded the mails with resumes, in the hope that "if you shoot enough bullets into the woods, a deer will run into one." He answered an ad in the Wall Street Journal for a corporate financial officer last September and waited months for a response. "As people are scared, they are taking longer to make decisions," he said. That is true, a company official agreed...
...American culture must remain true to itself as it is pulled toward a common global denominator by its entertainment engine. But danger signals are already present: too few movies characterized by nuance, or even good old American nuttiness; more and more disco-dance epics, sickly sweet romances and shoot-'em-up, cut-'em-up, blow-'em-up Schwarzenegger characters; rock 'n' roll that never gets beyond heavy breathing and head banging; blockbuster books that read like T shirts. The combination of the foreign marketplace and a young domestic audience nourished on TV sitcoms, soaps and MTV may be deadly...
...action, which must be approved by the Massachusetts legislature and signed by the Governor. But Mayor Raymond Flynn, who is pushing hard to overhaul the debt-ridden system, argues, "There's just no time anymore to sit around and think. We've got kids walking away from classrooms, who shoot and kill each other in the streets...
Alice is a prostitute. She has worked the South Bronx for a year, servicing the men in the Porsches and Volkswagens that cruise the empty streets after dark. Scabs cover her arms from shooting heroin; her skin is pale, her body thin, her eyes puffy and tired looking, though she is only 18. Alice spends hundreds of dollars a day on her drug habit. "I shoot up as often as I can," she says, her legs twitching from the effect of the narcotic. "Practically everything I make I spend on drugs." She has no home and sleeps in other people...
This is more than understandable, given Connery's inherent stalwartness and the entrancing shyness and sexiness Pfeiffer commingles in her performance. But given glasnost and whatever undertakings the producers made in order to be able to shoot on location in the Soviet Union, one never feels that Barley and Katya are deeply menaced by any counterespionage agency. Where are the spooks in leather trench coats? Where are the deep-shadowed alleys just waiting for a chase? Where is the hope for some kind of cinematically pleasing action to interrupt the endless rounds of talk that preoccupy this film...