Word: clairs
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...Variations are often thought of as a piece that only a pianist, or piano buff, could love. In one of his most appealing albums in years, Van Cliburn puts the lie to that. Leaping from one craggy Brahmsian peak to another as effortlessly as though playing Debussy's Clair de lune, Cliburn gives the work a warm romantic allure yet never loses hold of its classic-baroque underpinnings. What ingenuity and surprise Cliburn finds in this music! What stunning sound-almost orchestral in its power and variety-he gives it! The miniatures on the flip side are played...
Inside each of us is a frozen êclair waiting to be microwaved, and this ridiculous flick, filmed on the cheap by Film Consortium of Canada Inc., does the job well. Hollis McLaren is winsomely demented. When Actor Russell puts on his show, the masquerades are expert and funny enough to let straights see the bent world in a way that will not threaten most of them. Normal householders walk out of the theater snuffling happily after his exit line. Liza, who has fled to Manhattan following the stillbirth, is acting like a zombie. She says she is dead...
...collars in average salary. In all systems, the factor of supply and demand is at work as an influence if not an iron law - even in show biz. The great majority of performers earn meager sums, primarily because of the excessive supply of aspirants. For them, as Economics Professor Clair Vickery of the University of California's Institute of Industrial Relations in Berkeley puts it, a performing job is like "buying a ticket in a lottery." It mainly feeds the dream of that legendary Big Break that could bring them the juicy tax problems of a star...
...Haig's threat that Nixon's lawyer, James St. Clair, would make things "bloody" for Jaworski: "I finally said, 'I don't care how tough he is. I've come to grips with tough lawyers many times in many places, and some of them-well, St. Clair wouldn't make a pimple on their butts...
...well, Jacqueline Bisset. But Brooks will joy-buzz you all night with this sort of thing (every week, in fact, for five or six years), while de Broca would rather tickle you, like a feather. So we soon discover that the he-man adventures of the hero, Bob St. Clair, all lie in the forlorn mind of a poor, put-upon writer who just scrapes by by churning out pot-boilers. The unhappy writer turns his chintzy publisher into an Albanian villain, and seduces the ice-cold grad student upstairs as the luscious female spy Tatania--all in books...