Word: felicia
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...away love, come away." The voice is big and bold: "Hey, you fool you! Why so cool you!" The voice is sad and soft behind real tears as the lights go down: "Only yesterday, when the world was young . . ." Whatever the tempo, Tin-Pan or torchy, the songs of Felicia Sanders throb with a strange, sinewy vitality in the basement's air-cooled dark. The mikes and the speakers and the slow-changing spotlights are superfluous. When Felicia sings, the silence beyond the stage is the silence of rapt attention. The clink of glasses stops, the convivial chatter dies...
Just as if she cannot believe her success, Felicia sweats out each entrance with nail-gnawing tension. But once in the spotlight, the lady is a cool and practiced performer. The nervous novice who got her first big break six years ago as the unknown vocalist on Percy Faith's recorded sleeper, Song from Moulin Rouge, has since given herself the polish of a pro. No longer does she settle for the stiff, tight-backed stance, the black, high-necked dresses and Peter Pan collars with which she turned her earliest act into a vague imitation of French Songstress...
Hero Griffith earns his nickname when he shaves his skull egg-bald in hopes of growing thicker hair. When not engaged in scalping himself, he bangs pans by day and bumblefoots around the local talent (Felicia Farr) by night, but hits stormy weather on both fronts. His chief cook (Walter Matthau), a sardonic old coot with a mania for cinnamon rolls, marries the girl. Then Cookie ships out for convoy duty, and Griffith finds himself heating up both the gal and the gallery...
There are two side-swipes at the lost art of satire, and both flop for the same reasons. Felicia Lamport's "By Henry James Cozened" begins with a light touch, lapses into gray elaboration, and drags on to repetitive dreariness. Maura Cavanaugh (a Radcliffe History major) embarks on a twenty page slash of Samuel Beckett in a vindictive farce called "Waiting for God." Both satires lack any self-substance beyond the parody. Both blunder on after the comic veneer has worn thin enough to recognize their paucity. And both conveniently ignore or unhappily miss a good deal of their victims...
...soloists and his acres of chorus. Actress Montealegre gave her reading with luminous conviction and a fine sense of tandem with the score. Both got an ovation before they hustled off to a party to celebrate the Philharmonic's departure on a seven-week Latin American tour. For Felicia Montealegre, wearing a cape and Gothic-style gown by Valentina, the most pointed appreciation came from her 2½-year-old when he spied her in costume: "Ah,'' he cried, "Superman...