Word: cliches
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...Daddy? by William Inge, is another of those plays that everyone has read before it was written. It involves no drama, no personal vision, no character, no insight-just a leaf-through of the dog-eared topics of the day. The evening's menu of fashionable clichés includes: Generations-in conflict. The Young-Jacobins in blue jeans looking for any old Bastille to storm. The Negro-visible and vocal, and there must be two or the producer will be accused of "token" integration. Middle-aged Mothers-so square they are cubes. The Homosexual-not really...
...TIME'S Essay on homosexuality [Jan. 21] was a perfect demonstration of fanciful subjectivity and pseudo objectivity, doing a disservice not only to your readers but also to a sizable portion of the American citizenry. It abounded in hackneyed clichés that have been seen many times in less respectable magazines. The position of the Mattachine Society of Washington is that homosexuals are citizens and deserve treatment as such. They are, for the most part, ordinary people with only one trait in common: sexual orientation...
...brought this parody of a parody to the TV screen is Producer William Dozier, 57, who in more golden times was associated with Studio One, Playhouse 90 and You Are There. In addition to filling the script with clichés of word and action, Dozier determined that his stars must be absolute dogs. Accordingly, he handed immobile-faced Adam West the Batman role and directed him to give the cameras "eternal squareness, rigidity." The instructions, from the evidence, were hardly necessary. To play Robin, Dozier chose Burt Ward, a 20-year-old water skier whose reading of "Gleeps!" will...
...carried off with just enough expertise to border on the believable. Some of the musical jokes, excellently played by a 20-piece orchestra of professional musicians, only a musician would understand. Others, such as the Pervertimento for Bagpipes, Bicycle and Balloons, any listener could enjoy. Treading on every musical cliché, fugues began and went nowhere, arias seesawed off and on key, and when a climax was needed, Schickele chimed in with a hoot from a Seven-Up bottle...
...fighting than crawling on our hands and knees." Then he went off to pay his last call on the man he blames for it all, British Prime Minister Harold Wilson. There was little left to say. "Mind how you go," said Wilson, putting a special point on the cliché, as he bade his visitor farewell...