Word: caucasian
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...Natural Ice Cream keeps you healthy (and fat) and Bert Brecht keeps you happy. For Brecht's world is one where the good guys are really good, and the bad guys are really bad. St. Joan is heroic and noble (and shows those Chicago stockyard bosses); Grusha of The Caucasian Chalk Circle triumphs gloriously over those mean Ironshirt heavies. And those who are neither good nor bad but are in morality's mushy middle are at least nice; Baal of Baal is no angel (or devil), but it's tough not to like him. And we can at least understand...
...good to see the Caravan Theatre doing something besides How to Make a Woman and children's plays. Both Woman and their children's plays are good, but limiting. The Caravan has enough talent to be doing other things. Their Caucasian Chalk Circle of two years ago is an example of the strong work they are capable of. The Exception and the Rule is not up to Chalk Circle's mark, but it is a step in the right direction...
White Devil. When the first police did arrive, there followed an inane conversation between a sheriff's deputy, Major Marion M. Binning, and a tall, slender man, later identified as Samuel Upton, whom Binning took to be in charge. "Are you the spokesman for the white, Caucasian race?" asked Upton. "No." "Who is?" "I don't know." "Is he on his way?" "I guess he is." "We'll wait...
...Screens, however, lacks the caste v. outcast tensions of The Blacks and the musky eroticism of The Balcony. In a Genetic mutation of Bertolt Brecht, the playwright doubly fails. He tries to apply the epical veneer of The Caucasian Chalk Circle to the theme of little people whipped about in a historical convulsion, in this case France's punitive struggle with Algeria. Brecht succeeded because he had a certain sympathy for the last-ditch valor of his little people even when he portrayed them as cagey sneaks. Genet fails because he regards all people as maggots...
...Misfire. The camera cannot confront a grown Caucasian without making him a rapacious stock villain, nor can it present the savage as anything but an improbably heroic amalgam of Friday, Chingachgook and St. Francis. A pity. The cast are an attractive lot and, as some lyrically nude bathing scenes demonstrate, Miss Agutter possesses one of the lithest, blithest young bodies on public view. Were the eye the only judge, Walkabout might be considered a treat. But no, Roeg and his scenarist Edward Bond (BlowUp) aim for the mind and miss wildly. Their preachy, anti-intellectual Natural Mannerisms are neither convincing...