Word: anguishingly
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...like to erase, or explain, the tragedies of history, but tragedy is by nature inexplicable, unavoidable and irreversible. Arthur Miller proposes that the living atone for the dead. But universal guilt, like universal love, is an abstraction. "What can ever save us?" the prince asks in a moment of anguish. A touch of genuine humility might help. Only God can be responsible...
...couples the anguish and irony of the theatre of the absurd with the rowdy frivolousness of vaudeville comedy. Through the story of a young praywright (Him) and a fictional woman (Me)--taking place within an ether-dream experienced by the woman--Cummings writes about himself and everything in his life that he loves, scorns, or wonders about. He has an enormous repertoire of lucid complaints to make--extravagantly phrased complaints about slogans and slang, about psychoanalysis and totalitarianism, about cliches and selfishness and bourgeois conceits...
Without Miss Allen, however, production would have been a bit flat, for Temin and Goldstein never build to any very intense moment. But as soon as Tekla enters, everything becomes clear: Adolf's anguish, Gustav's talk about guilt...
...thought of a scene in The Connection where a hopelessly square photographer asks the addict hipsters "D'ya got any Pot??" and, to his anguish and humiliation, they mimic him. There was none of that exclusive cruelty in Allen, a sweet, sensitive man who was, as they say of Lassie when she barks and wags her tail furiously at the sheriff's men, only trying to tell me something...
...could probably strike dramatic lightning from a recitation of tide tables. Having tea at the zoo, she quietly distills despair while a prurient cuckold (James Mason) spews ugly revelations about her husband and his wife. Cornered under a hair dryer at a beauty salon, she blanches, feeling her own anguish cruelly parodied in a chance conversation with a venomous, cast-off drudge. And her spectacular scenes with Finch, pitched against the din of a more or less anonymous army of progeny, are a litany of love, hate, lies, jealousy and excruciating domestic boredom...