Word: drunken
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...Alta Cossart Lawson, a ferocious doyenne of Vincentown, N.J., returns now and then-they say-to stalk up and down -in front of the ruin of her mansion, in extirpation of the night she forced her drunken, demented son to lop off the head of his meek little wife with an ax. ¶ Lettitia Dalton, the vain and vicious wife of a rich Virginia planter, was quite a dame. One night she sent her sister Caro to an old greenhouse on her York River plantation to get some grapes. Poor Caro fell into a trap, died horribly in a shower...
...which Grosz identifies simply as "the story of my life," the big no sounded loud and clear again. In it are the memories Grosz has tried to drown in the oil of his canvases: a bloated soldier from his war years, carrying his own amputated leg; a drunken alcoholic child; Grosz's mother, killed in World War II air raid; an opulent nude being clawed by a bodiless arm; gibbets full of dancing figures; and brooding over all the specter Death and a blood-smeared female Europe, satiated to the point of idiocy. Grosz, who pulls no punches, says...
Maria Isaeva was blonde, thin, neurotic and married. Her drunken clod of a husband was controller of the distillation and sale of liquor in Semipalatinsk, the Siberian border town to which Dostoevsky was sent as an army private after his release from prison. Soon the smitten 33-year-old soldier and the sensitive lady were holding hands and crying into each other's sweet tea while hubby sprawled in a drunken stupor on the divan. After Isaev died, they were married. But Maria was frigid, and Dostoevsky was soon complaining: "We're living so-so . . . The heart will...
...principal characters, set against a ballet-like background of black-suited functionaries running back and forth across the screen, are somewhat unreal, as those in fantasy should be. But they seem to enjoy living in the world M. Clair has made for them. After a drunken dinner, for instance, the materialist exudes enthusiasm as he pelts his own portrait with wine glasses. In short Clair has shown that there are pleasanter ways to criticize the advances of modern technology than through the grim didacticism of an Orwellian nightmare...
...climax to the symphony's first section, winds played a noble tune over massed strings that sounded as if they had just come from prayer meeting. With the second part, the composition went into dance rhythms that turned misterioso with a ululating vibraphone, then into a drunken Kerry dance with skirling reeds, then into a ragtime climax followed by a pastoral section that sounded as if it should be called Alleghennian Autumn. The end, surprisingly, was an old-fashioned rumba. The total effect was rich, but a bit too facile. Here and there were fascinating details, for Composer Harris...