Malloy's music and lyrics are as arrestingly iconoclastic as they were in the earlier musical, with a fair share of slashing rhythms and unearthly vocals; again, some sections are thoroughly ravishing (like "I Am Not a Hero" and--if I decipher my notes correctly-- Soldier & Rose").
Characters from every part of the story participate in this vision of harmony, and at times they pass in vertical columns across the stage in academic phrases both selfless and ravishing, like pages of music passing before your eyes.
Yet moment after moment was ravishing, like the fractured, hazy, strangely elusive scene when Piet, Astradamors and Nekrotzar drink themselves into a stupor, which causes Nekrotzar to bungle his chance to destroy the world.
In the fall of that year, they bought a new car and drove across the country — a pilgrimage recorded in the ravishing Hopper-like plainness of the poem "Travels in North America": **{:.break one} ** And possibly the towns one never sees are best, Preserved, remote, and merely names and distances.
Some, like "Animal Tracks," which featured Ms. Sauser-Monnig on lead vocal and acoustic guitar, were sweetly ravishing; others, like "River," which had Ms. Sarle keeping time with sharp intakes of air, were more chilling.
First and foremost, the work features music of consistent inspiration and sure craft: lilting melodies, haunting modal themes and ravishing orchestrations, like those heard in Vaughan Williams's symphonies, unspooled along with jazzy rhythms, airy waltzes and a robust tango.
Thus, the movie is littered with his gnomic asides ("You're no original, mon vieux," he says, as Gentil bemoans his own sins), yet Bellamy himself paws and snuffles at the ravishing Françoise like a baby at the breast.
The rest, including ravishing perennials like "Just One of Those Things," "I've Got You Under My Skin" and "You Do Something to Me" were lifted from other Porter musicals.
Forearmed, Less boards the aircraft, settles into his window seat, chooses the Tuscan chicken (whose ravishing name, like that of an Internet lover, belies the reality — mere chicken and mashed potatoes), and with his Thumbelina bottle of red wine takes a single white capsule.
Dakota's job seems to consist of taking brief meetings with studly young writers and having everyone constantly reassure her that she's a world-class editor — even after her love-master husband buys the company and she has to keep taking off afternoons to be handcuffed and ravished, just like so many women in publishing.
I want him to ravish me like an animal and tell me to be quiet whenever I try to say something.'.
