Word: frenchness
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...French crews have a much pleasanter home. They are housed in the ultramodern Hotel Gamba, where they spend their off-duty time devouring expensive meals ($25 and up) and socking away wine at $15 a bottle. Clad in soiled shorts and sweat-stained shirts, their bare feet stuck into rubber Japanese zori, they look to be a much scruffier lot than the colonial swells at the Rèsidence. They are much more close-mouthed as well. All attempts to start conversations fail; their thin, long-nosed Gallic faces remain blank...
Despite serious problems in obtaining sufficient high-octane aviation fuel, the French seem determined to carry on. An abnormal number of tankers recently unloaded at Libreville. The cargo included long, rope-handled wooden boxes, of the sort France uses to transport ammunition. The cases were taken in a French army truck to the military airport, where several other boxes marked "Army Rations" were in evidence...
...French do not want publicity on their role in Biafra. But why are they so intent on keeping the war alive? A businessman here says the reason is Biafran oil: "A million barrels of oil a day, or about one-third the production capacity of Kuwait. That kind of oil production is worth gambling for, even if the odds are against you." In addition, Charles de Gaulle relishes any chance he finds to annoy the British, who are backing the Nigerian government. A third reason may well be that a united and progressing Nigeria would be a threat...
...France eating bouillabaisse with local fishermen, up north touring the farm lands, or in Paris hosting a diplomatic do or two, chances are U.S. Ambassador to France Sargent Shriver is out on a tennis court. Last week it was a Franco-American match in the gardens of the French Senate, as Shriver, playing alternately with U.S. Amateurs Chuck Pasarell and Arthur Ashe, went into action against a pair of French aces. After four games, the score was 2-2, then a smashing Shriver forehand put away the fifth game of the foreshortened set for the Americans. Wasn...
Noon and Night play it safer and softer. Terrence McNally redoes French farce à la Grove Press in a play where all the vice is versa. A heterosexual is mistaken for a homosexual, a pair of mild Babbitts turn out to be, in tact, sadistic leather fetishists, a droning housewife is an aspiring nymphomaniac. After a number of legitimate laughs, McNally tries to be momentous in a conclusion about the necessity of love, but that message is articulated every week on Laugh-In: "Whatever turns you on . . ." Night is by Leonard Melfi, considered one of off-Broadway's emerging...