Word: fleabag
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...early 1920s with child labor, notably her little daughters June (Actress June Havoc in later life) and Louise (Gypsy). What follows is a kind of Dante's tour of the tank-town circuit, in which Mama Rose's aging small-fry troupe beds down in fleabag hotels, gobbles chow mein breakfasts, and endlessly reprises corny routines and lyrics straight from Mama's potboiling hand. Ordeal by stage mother drives gentle would-be husband No. 4 (Jack Klugman) to the suitcase-packing point of no return, and June elopes with a chorus boy. And just when Mama Rose...
...Jacobowsky, gentle, modest, resourceful, wryly philosophical, and also frightened silly because he is a Jewish Polish refugee stranded in Paris as the Wehrmacht plunges toward the city in the late spring of 1940. Cooped up in the same fleabag hotel with him is Colonel Tadeusz Boleslaw Prokoszny (Curt Jürgens), a class-conscious Polish nobleman who lives like the last tassel in the dying lunatic fringe of men dedicated to the proposition that women are to be loved, vodka is to be drunk, war is to be lived and honor is to be died for -preferably...
...beautiful blonde lady. In due course, for one reason or another, he and the lady, her husband's nephew and a lady's maid, the husband himself, and a family friend with four innocent golden-haired daughters, are all cheek-by-jowl or better in a Paris fleabag. Upstairs and down they scamper, in and out of rooms they dash, till the gendarmes come rushing in at the second-act curtain...
That one refers to Mrs. Montfort's Boardinghouse, a fleabag theatrical hotel, which was Allen's first miserable beach head on Broadway's Great White Way. It was 1914, World War I had top billing, and Allen's arrival in New York had "created as much commotion as the advent of another flounder at the Fulton Fish Market." But the day would come (The Little Show and Three's a Crowd) when Broadway would be Allen's alley...
...gunned his poised car, shot past them and, despite their shouts to halt, lit out for Budapest. Next day other newsmen persuaded the guards to let them through in cars and as hitchhikers on Hungarian army trucks. In Budapest they set up shop in the Duna Hotel, a dingy fleabag on the Danube. There they got a shaky warning from the New York Post's Seymour Freidin; a Soviet officer had just rescued him from a nervous Russian private as he was about to put a bullet through Freidin's head...