Word: bathes
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BELEAGUERED BOUTIQUE. When Barbara Edlund opened her bath-accessories boutique The Royal Flush on San Francisco's Union Street 16 months ago, a two-roll package of campy printed toilet paper sold for $1.25. Today the same package sells for $2-a price that Mrs. Edlund concedes is "ridiculous." She is merely passing along to customers astronomical wholesale price increases on a wide variety of items; for example, an importer of bamboo magazine racks has recently doubled the price to $8. The prices are discouraging many potential buyers and Mrs. Edlund has fired her only salesgirl. Though her husband...
...developed to a rubbery art. The gregarious Cuban also brought along an inexhaustible sense of humor, a special brand of English and an omnipresent cigar that he smokes, or chews, even in the shower. Red Sox teammates used to douse Tiant's glowing stogies in the whirlpool bath; currently, they are more respectful. "Now that Luis buys those expensive 8-inch Colombians," reports Outfielder Tommy Harper, "we can't dunk 'em like we used...
Jaromil indeed becomes a poet. He tries to spy on the maid as she takes her bath, and fails, but produces a vivid poem about his "aquatic love." The genius of lyric poetry, Kundera observes, "is the genius of inexperience ... We can scoff at the poet's lack of maturity, but there is something amazing about him too. His words sparkle with droplets that come from the heart, and that gives his verse the luster of beauty. These magic dewdrops need not be stimulated by real life events. On the contrary, we suspect that the poet sometimes squeezes...
...puny, spoiled aristocrat, are enlivened in Shavian fashion by the unexpected injection of foreign elements. A handsome young man and a Polish lady acrobat drop in quite literally by crashing their aeroplane into the family greenhouse. And a timid would-be gunman secrets himself in the portable Turkish bath in order to avenge his mother's honor by attacking Mr. Tarleton. The volatile Pole, Lina Szczepanowska, puts her finger on how little takes place in this English family when she accuses the Tarletons and their guests: "You seem to think of nothing but making love. All the conversation here...
Frederick Raphael, who co-authored the script, throught up the film's most striking flourish. Its scene is not the expected lavish suite, but a steam-bath replete with floating tea-trays and chess-games. It's a crude American vulgarization, inspired no doubt by the array of gadgetry available to backyard swimming pool aficianados, but it works wonderfully to spark dialogue-dulled attentions back onto the screen. There are little self-parodies of the film's seriousness like this throughout, and while they work to keep your attention they only attest to a certain amount of disinterestedness...