Word: comically
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: during 1960-1969
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...will try a variety hour for NBC titled The Beautiful Phyllis Diller Show. The format includes a twist: in one segment each week, she will interview a celebrity. But the real get-the-guest free-for-all should be ABC's Don Rickles Show. Rickles, the insult comic, will knock off a guest or two per weekly half-hour. ABC will also try TV's first weekly book musical, That's Life. For continuity, the one-hour show will have a regular star, Robert Morse, and a continuing theme, modern marriage...
...fervently eulogizes his conception of a departed America while railing against English decadence in an incurable English accent. But Sheed's tale is more than an ironic pathology of the right-wing mind, more, even, than a wry diagnosis of a severely fractured nationality. It also captures the comic anguish of a youth who begins to understand himself just at the moment when he loses the sense...
...Kiss, Brewster's Millions, T-Men; of cancer; in Santa Monica, Calif. Edward Flanagan was his name, bit parts and stunting were his game when O'Keefe was discovered by Clark Gable in 1937 and given a screen test that started his career as filmdom's comic guy-next-door. By the late '40s, he was writing and directing his own movies; he tried TV with The Dennis O'Keefe Show in 1959 and made his Broadway debut in 1964's Never Live Over a Pretzel Factory...
Exhibit B: The Killing Game. A husband-and-wife team (Jean-Pierre Cassel and Claudine Auger) manufacture Superman-style comic strips for a living, but run out of super ideas. Just a pair of fun-loving kids, they hang around the studio playing with their mental blocks until a wealthy Swiss named Bob (Michel Duchaussoy) invites them to his chalet for a stay. What starts out as kicky soon becomes sicky. Bob is a paranoid who imagines that an organization is out to expunge him. Unfortunately, it is all in his imagination, and to comfort himself he zooms about...
...experience. But too often, Wolfe, dressed for the role in orange or off-white suits, merely seemed like an action-painter-writer recklessly ravaging the retinas with pastel word-blobs. Was he freaking out at the reader's expense? Was he in fact a social critic using a comic-strip writer's approach or a flack for pop cultists? A high priest of the gadgetry gods or the Walter Pater of contemporary esthetics? His two new books, bursting simultaneously like a couple of hot spray cans of Mace, suggest that the answers...