Word: balding
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...reprise of The Magnificent Seven (1960), which, in turn, was a remake of Akira Kurosawa's magnificent, often profound 1954 drama about a septet of chivalrous samurai in late feudal Japan. Only holdover from Hollywood's previous Seven is Brynner, repeating his role as ringleader with the bald-faced boredom of an hombre who knows he has strapped his saddle to a dead horse. The movie can claim one minuscule distinction: it provides the first serious acting role for Pop Singer Jordan Christopher, who married well but otherwise seems unlikely to follow in Richard Burton's footsteps...
Since Warner does not conceal his allegorical purpose-indeed, he flaunts it-the reader is nervously aware all along that the slender narrative has second billing. What happens, then, does not really count. What counts is Warner's message, which he states and restates with a bald clarity of which Kafka, whom Warner admires and emulates, never felt the need. "I began to see," says Roy, "that this life, in spite of its drunkenness and inefficiency, was wider and deeper than the activity in which we were constricted by the iron compulsion of the air vice marshal...
...visitors a day, spends the rest of his time rehearsing and answering the hundreds of letters from well-wishers. And on the evenings when he is not performing, he sits listening in an armchair in the vestry, caressing his cello, his blue eyes gazing into space, his bald head nodding, his left hand dancing on the fingerboard in silent accompaniment to the music that he says sinks into him with "the pleasant heaviness of gold...
...caustic second banana in sophisticated Hollywood comedies, Randall seems to be trying to corner the Sellers market by donning the masks of the ham-with-a-thousand-faces. Wearing a bald pate and false nose, he pops his eyes, shrugs, affects a stiff little walk and a careful continental accent that slips unexpectedly into stage British-but the mannerisms never add up to the man Poirot. Anita Ekberg as a bosomy psychopath and Robert Morley as a bungling secret service man offer no noticeable help as they spout reams of witless dialogue set to tuba music. By the time...
...story line of the well-made play seem slowpoky. The modern play is all middle like a Happening, all now. Unable to conceive of a destination, it coils endlessly around its theme. Genet's The Blacks begins and ends with identical scenes; so does Ionesco's The Bald Soprano. Almost nothing has happened. There is the suggestion of unalterable and eternal repetitions in human behavior. Pinter does this almost subliminally with poetically repetitive speech patterns...