Word: fictionalization
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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TIME, I fear, has fallen prey to a widely circulated fiction that the world's first commercial oil field is depleted whereas all the facts show that it remains the principal storehouse upon which the nation must draw for its premium automotive and aeronautic lubricants...
...talk about the munition industry dragging this country into war is incredible fiction. . . .This country went into the World War to vindicate its rights on the high seas, and now to relinquish these rights through fear of Hitlerism is to dishonor our dead. . . . The proposition is utterly destitute of courage and moral sense. . . . One of my sons was gassed and the other was a combatant soldier. . . . But a nation without spirit or an elevated soul is as bad as a derelict on the seas. . . . This country should not be content simply to eat and sleep and go to the movies...
...offered a dramatization of Dostoevsky's The Possessed. Probably the worst of all attempts to put Dostoevsky on the stage, it reduced the vast forest of his imagination to dead, sapless stumps. One grotesque, blighted scene followed another. The hero Stavrogin-one of the most astounding characters in fiction-became any confused young intellectual seeking an answer to life. The answer itself was pared down to a kind of Dos-toevsky-for-Tots...
Soon it appears that what was intended as an absolutely honest autobiography has turned into a fearlessly candid biography of his wife. A social worker, lecturer and minor fiction writer, Edith was not (as Daudet said the wife of a writer should be) a feather bed. Petite, restless, intense, she scolded at Havelock's manners, dress, undemonstrativeness, called him a mixture of satyr and Christ, alternated between tantrums and protestations of undying love. "The worst of me is in my tongue," she reassured him, but once she kicked him in the head. He discovered strong homosexual tendencies...
Based on the wild and woolly saga of the Family Barrymore, the play makes little attempt to disguise the famous trio, Ethel, John, and Lionel, under any pretense of fiction. Even under the pseudonym of Anthony Cavendish, John is still breaking up cameras and swatting directors; even as Julie Cavendish, Ethel is still having great hand-wringing emotions. Perhaps the element of cats looking at kings, of theatre audiences looking at the royalty of the stage with their hair down, is what makes the play so entertaining and so eminently satisfying to the humble playgoer. Even the Barrymores have earthly...