Word: agee
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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Heimert claims that his detachment from himself is characteristic of the downcast fifties, his age, the time when everyone walked with his head bowed to the ground and the only way to know heroes was "to sit in the room and read about them." The real men of the fifties are out in Belmont now, driving VW's, taking in a foreign movie now and again, speaking a bleached language and leading bleached lives. A dry-fuck life, Heimert would call it, if he weren't a shade too decorous to make a comment like that from any podium more...
...prudent to name the many men he can parody. He knows all the drug-age neologisms and uses them with a purposeful heavyhandedness. A "mind blow" that comes off his tongue awkwardly and belligerently, with quotations marks around it, reminds him that he is not, after all, native to the generation which minted the phrase. It also hints to his undergraduate audience, or the part of it which uses the words scarcely more gracefully than he, that neither are they. The play is brilliant, ceaseless, and for those too shy, too polite or too slow to answer back, intimidating. More...
...even the possibility of self-recognition. His own view of the constant alteration of point-of-view is that it is the most direct form of personal education. "What else can you mean by consciousness expanding," he asks, "than the attempt to comprehend all the life styles in an age?" This is his short-hand way of expressing the old desire for transcendence. A man who is nothing, after all, is potentially everything. "Studying the Puritans or watching you try to figure me out, Sabel," he once said, "are just ways of playing god." Sometimes he imputes his powers...
...evidence that a proprietous respect for their profession demanded they be. They never pretend that the subject matter can speak for itself. "A work of history," Heimert says, "takes its coherence from the artistic skill of the author." When they write about the past, longing to become an age, they are creating themselves and history at the same time...
...heavyhanded, poorly acted film version of the musical, with nothing but the splendid score and the magnificent Fred Astaire to recommend it. The director, Francis Fred Coppola, has a bad habit of chopping people's hands and feet off; stars Petula Clark and Tommy Steele ought to act their age. At the SAXON, Tremont & Stuart...