Word: fortyish
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...life staged like a TV contest with the contestants hopping from one huge checkerboard square to another. Gabriel Dell, in a performance that is laugh-and letter-perfect, is the hero who plays the adaptation game from birth to death. Terrence McNally's Next features James Coco, fortyish, fat and balding, as a potential draftee called up for his physical examination. Coco gives an enormously funny and resourceful performance in McNally's best play to date...
...Anxiety. Something very much like a hunch also drives Elaine Sturtevant, a fair, fey and fortyish Manhattan divorcee who went to Paris last year with her two small daughters and may not find it safe to come back. For she practices a kind of art that has made her one of the less popular artists in Manhattan. Sturtevant's thing is line-for-line copies of virtually every top pop painter and sculptor. She has "done" Segal, Wesselmann, Oldenburg, Stella, Johns, Lichtenstein, Rosenquist and Warhol with such loving cunning and accomplished accuracy that she makes them all look slightly...
...Flag. While Terrence McNally's Next does not have quite the dazzle of Adaptation, it, too, is richly comic and McNally's best play to date. At an antiseptically bleak Army induction center, a potential draftee (James Coco) appears for his physical examination. He is fortyish, fat, balding, and obviously the victim of some computer error. Nonetheless, his examiner (Elaine Shore), a squat female sergeant of stony mien and rigid devotion to the Army manual, proceeds with the examination. In a sequence of mounting hilarity, the thoroughly discomfited Coco is forced to strip down. The apex of comic...
Divorced. By Lee Remick, 33, whose brilliant blue eyes and dazzling smile have lighted movie screens since 1957 (Days of Wine and Roses, The Detective); Bill Colleran, fortyish, TV producerdirector; on uncontested grounds of incompatibility after eleven years of marriage; in November in Juarez, Mexico...
...summer of 1967, at a small-time bar and ballroom in Hyannis, a group called the Underground Cinema was doing its set. Ian Bruce Douglas, now probably the most fiscally successful of the Boston rock musicians, was rapping at the audience, mostly fortyish folk with company suits who were sucking booze from the bar and looking woozily over their shoulders at the weirdos on the stage. Occasionally a bleached-blonde hot tomato would do her version of the Swim with some paunchy insurance salesman, the type who would have had a lampshade on his head if there had been...