Word: directors
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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Back in the Radcliffe gym, Christine Temin, faculty director of dance activities at Wellesley College and a dance critic for the Boston Globe, leads a class in beginning ballet. Faces flicker from frustration to intense concentration, to joy at a move executed a little better than before. Eagerness and optimism pervades: "Don't watch the floor," says Temin. "You can convince me that, even if you're wrong, you're right--if you don't watch the floor." Even before the class ends, students for the next class come in to warm up. One remarks "bodies everywhere...
Downstairs Pamela C.R. Jones, a percussionist with the Jerusalem Symphony, teaches a course on "Music for Dancers." Across campus in Memorial Hall, Leon Collins, the great '40s tap dancer, leads students in the study of his art. And Iris M. Fangar, a dance critic and director of the Harvard Summer Dance Center teaches two courses, "Writing for Dance," and "Dance History." And this is just a sampling of the variety the Harvard Summer Dance Program has to offer...
...world's pinball arcade during reading period. Worse, it results in some slanderous inaccuracies. For example. Lamont scorns a professor at Brown who taught students about espionage but "never asked (the students) to consider the morality of it all." That professor is Lyman Kirkpatrick, former executive director of the CIA and perhaps the most moral man ever to serve in a high echelon there. Moral considerations were central to the course, and moral discussions were so long and so frequent that someone half-jokingly suggested that the course be offered in the Philosophy Department. Welcome to journalism, fella...
...Director Ridley Scott stretches the movie out with assorted idiotic red herrings, the crew taking time out battling the monster to look for the ship's pet cat, Jonesy. As for the undulating ectoplasm known as the alien, you wonder why the crew isn't wearing lobster bibs. Somebody clearly had a good time putting it together--pouring on the blood, slime, and animal intestines--but the fun as all his. Actually, in its last scene the alien does exude a little personality, curled up in the corner of a space shuttle cleaning itself off, smacking its lips, coming...
Alien is ugly in conception, but it achieves what it's after; Prophecy is an innocous shocker, dully made. Which is a surprise, because director John Frankheimer has made some wonderful thrillers; the least I expected was a little directorial style. Frankheimer keeps the killings relatively bloodless, but they're also flat and slightly rushed, lacking the witty camera set-ups or pungent, economical editing of a classic like Jaws. The baby mutants--popped little dragons--are rather cute, but they're straight out of Eraserhead. The big pig has no personality; at best, it suggests the nightmare...