Word: cat
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...Late Show. Art Carney trudges through the role of washed- up shamus Ira Wells, opposite Lily Tomlin's hippy-dippy hippy, who hires Wells to find her cat and leads them both into a big mess of a sinister inbroglio. Robert Benton, screenwriter and director, does a lot of borrowing, from both classic and more recent detective flicks, but does his cribbing in style. The actors, meanwhile, are heavily, and affectingly, into themselves: particularly the kharma and vibrations-obsessed Tomlin. With the same L.A. backdrop that the great Chandler stories grew out of, this one proves as well-oiled...
...make each line or attitude multilevel," Martin explains. "Each word is expressed with my entire body. I feel like I'm living the joke." And killing his audiences. Martin says he is looking for "cat handcuffs." His tabby-a tiger-stripe he calls Dr. Carleton P. Forbes-has amassed $3,000 worth of "cat toys" by filching checks from Steve's mailbox. But alas, Dr. Forbes has escaped ... to Catalina. On a catamaran. Audiences invariably groan as this inventive tale turns into mushy vaudeville. Wide-eyed pause. "You think comedy is ... pretty?" leers Martin. He catches them catnapping...
...trying to assess each move to make sure he doesn't become an instant cliché." The translation for that is a mix of limited television exposure and carefully spaced albums. (On his new album Let's Get Small, now climbing the charts, Martin recalls his cat's latest bath: "The fur stuck to my tongue, but other than that...
...ironic theme running through many of the songs on this album is an implausible one: that Olivia has been jilted by a lover. Why would anyone who looks like Olivia get dumped on repeatedly? It could be her deep love for animals. She lives in Malibu, California, with one cat, four dogs, and five horses, and she harbored thoughts about becoming a veterinarian before she became a star...
...thickets of their pieces, but Rostropovich negotiates them with cheerful ease. "I don't even know why my hands do certain things sometimes," he says. "They just grab for the notes." His dynamic range, from the greatest fortissimo down the line to a pianissimo that comes on little cat feet, is nothing short of phenomenal. "You played like a god!" swooned a woman one night in New York. "Yes," replied Slava with a twinkle and a verbal pinch on the cheek, "but like a god with...