Word: ardor
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...people in love can, and inevitably will, be each other's heaven and hell. So argues Arnold Wesker in his latest play, The Four Seasons, which opened, off-Broadway last week. Love buds in spring rain, blossoms in summer ardor, withers and stales in autumnal tiffs and recriminations, and turns to icy death in a winter of unfeeling. The play is intimate and perceptive, though it lacks dramatic vigor. The language that might have lifted it to poetry is too often absent. Yet the playwright's intent is aspiring and his subject compels attention...
...Francis' Portrait of a Queen, which opened on Broadway last week, is not so much a play as a pastiche-part documentary chronicle, part dear-diary journal, part dusty archive of political feuds. Most attractively, it is also a touching and human record of a girl's ardor, a wife's devotion, a woman's grief...
PANTAGLEIZE is Michel de Ghelderode's inventive celebration of the individual "unfit for anything except love, friendship and ardor," and a condemnation of our "autodisintegrated age." The APA production projects much of the excitement and magic typical of the Belgian playwright...
PANTAGLEIZE is Michel de Ghelderode's celebration of the individual, "unfit for anything except love, friendship, and ardor," and his condemnation of our "autodisintegrated age." The APA production retains much of the excitement and magic typical of the Belgian playwright...
...owes fully as much to Samuel Beckett as he does to Shakespeare. R. and G. are transparent replicas of the two tramps who wait for Godot. But where Beckett's dialogue almost expires in pauses of resignation, Stoppard's lines pant with inner panic. Delivered with comic ardor at machine-gun speed, R. and G.'s interchanges combine mental verve with spiritual desolation. It is as if the quiz kids of Wittenberg U. found themselves desperate at flunking in life. R.: What's the matter with you today? G.: When? R.: What? G.: Are you deaf...