Word: dubliner
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Shakespeare's Twelfth Night (Spoken Word, 3 LPs) gets a fine new production by the players of the Dublin Gate Theatre, with Michael MacLiammoir as Malvolio, "sick of self-love," posturing his priggish way with timeless vulgarity. London is also out with a spate of Shakespeare-Coriolamis, Othello, Julius Caesar, Richard II-in a series of journeyman readings by the Marlowe Society players, who eventually will press all the plays. One of the most majestically read of the talking books is MGM's Joseph Conrad, in which Sir Ralph Richardson whittles Youth and Heart of Darkness to half...
Ireland's tosspot Playwright Brendan (The Quare Fellow) Behan, 36, bedded in a Dublin hospital after tying on a monumental jag in London (TIME, July 20), scrawled a "confession" for a Dublin Sunday newspaper. "I'm neither dead, dying, drunk nor dotty," wrote he. ". . . It is true, however, that I am an alcoholic." Why does he tipple? "First, because I like the stuff. Secondly, because I like company, and thirdly, because a pint of orange or lemon juice is twice the price of a pint of stout...
...with the Devil (Pennebaker; United Artists) turns a heap of expensive ingredients-James Cagney, Don Murray, Michael Redgrave, Dame Sybil Thorndike, Dana Wynter, Glynis Johns-into an everyday Irish stew. Taken from a 1934 novel by Rearden Conner, the plot concerns a young American (Murray), a medical student in Dublin just after World War I, who finds himself innocently involved in "The Trouble." Pursued by the Black and Tans, he is spirited away by one of his professors (Cagney), who turns out to be a high officer in the Irish Republican Army. Grateful and idealistic, he joins the underground struggle...
March of a Nation. Now old and nearly blind, tall, austere Eamon de Valera, 76, had stepped down as Taoiseach (Prime Minister), confident that his people would send him "into the park," i.e., to the presidential residence in Dublin's Phoenix Park and to the job that he himself had declared to be "above politics." For 40 years he had dominated the Irish scene, and for 21 of those he had headed the government. Though born in Manhattan -a fact that was to help him escape a British firing squad-he grew...
Whatever else can be said for or against Dublin-born Samuel (Waiting for Godot) Beckett, he deserves full marks for consistency. Having decided that life is a hapless, hopeless thing, he goes right on repeating his message. His latest novel to be published in the U.S. (it was written in 1953) does not back off an inch from the chasm. Watt is a worthy literary companion to such other Beckett anti-heroes as Murphy, Malone and Mahood. Like them, he does not have a chance, and does not really want...