Word: class
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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This production of "The Importance of Being Earnest" is first-class. Miss Winwood's directing is smooth, although the first act could be improved by cutting long speeches that leave the actors breathless and the audience a little bewildered. In these days of powerhouse realism and bitter satire, Oscar Wilde has the faintly cloying fragrance of too much old lavender; but he is still amusing...
...allure of a "name" band; a week end of frolic with the one girl, enticed from afar by the promise of Jimmy Dorsey or Benny Goodman; the opportunity for a party of such proportions that even "Life" might come--this is the picture often painted of a single, monumental class prom. Now that the House Committees are considering abandonment of the costly but not quite sensational $800 band--abandonment of the attempt partially to satiate the jitterbug enthusiasm of Harvard name-band devotees--and acceptance of the smaller, restricted House dances, the prom has again become an issue...
...large class affair a case can be drawn up. At present, neither the extreme jitterbug nor the small-dance advocate is pleased by the attempt to compromise on a "three-quarters good" orchestra. Were a single Junior prom, similar to the Jubilee, to be held, the ever-recurring demand for a big name would be satisfied; and at the same time there would no longer be any legitimate protest against the simple, "atmospheric," restricted dance. Jitterbugs would have their big time, the girl from Cleveland or Atlanta could be imported, and Harvard would yearly have a taste of the elite...
While the WPAsters still worked on at their regular $94-a-month salary, the Illinois Symphony actually began to pile up a profit at the box office. The size of this profit put it in a different class from most other WPA orchestras, enabled it to pay the high performance royalties asked by such ace contemporary composers as Dmitri Shostakovich, Serge Prokofieff, Paul Hindemith, Jean Sibelius...
Such, for this typical middle-class English family, was the morning after the air raid. The town was Southampton, the story fictitious. But Ordeal makes the air raid and the days that follow as natural as death. The raid had come about midnight-without warning, without sound of planes. The Corbett house was not hit. Only the windows were missing, letting a cold March rain sough in over the rugs and furniture. "What's it all about, anyway?" asked Corbett. "I dunno," said Neighbor Littlejohn...