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...grandeur of the correspondent's responsibilities, however, he is usually the most unromantic of creatures. The exceptions spring to mind because they are exceptions: John Reed dying for Mother Russia, Richard Harding Davis, swaggering with his brace of pistols. Most war reporters are quieter, almost sullen-frown-ridden loners stretched out in weird hotel lounges, waiting wearily upon the return of yet more troops from yet another major offensive or the disclosure of an atrocity from yet another smooth-voiced press officer. Even those who run with rebels in the tropics must find the perils repetitious after a while...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Essay: When Journalists Die in War | 7/4/1983 | See Source »

Black cats skulk underfoot; the faces on wall icons frown with disapproval at any liberal impulse; the chief servant, Justina (a delicious turn by Harriet Andersson), has the butch haircut and sadistic ca prices of a prison-camp guard. In this house of silent horror the children can take refuge only in dreams of escape - to the arms of an old family friend, the Jew Isak Jacobi (Erland Josephson), whose house has some old, dark secrets that, in the mind of a child, can seem as exciting as black magic...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Cinema: House Guests | 6/20/1983 | See Source »

...defend all those things that we believe in." The days of a judge telling a miscreant to join the Army or go to jail are over. "We won't take a man if he has a parking ticket outstanding," said Nashville Navy Recruiter Tony Thomas. Indeed, the services frown on would-be recruits who have not finished high school. In 1980, 68% of the enlistees had diplomas; today that figure is up to 89%, a dozen points higher than the general population...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Answering Uncle Sam's Call | 5/23/1983 | See Source »

...seat mate's mouth, and tears, as a soldier whose trench mate dies in his arms. The man loves symbols. He slides his hands across his face, as if trying on masks. His expression changes quickly, precisely, but never subtly: it is a childlike grin, or a petulant frown, or a quivering rage. In another moment, the man is a sculptor, chiseling a massive imaginary block until it becomes a miniature, a fragment, then dust. Slow fade, then, to emphasize that this is a self-conscious metaphor for the man's own meticulous, minimal art. -By William...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Theater: Silent Night | 3/21/1983 | See Source »

Sigh then, or frown, but leave (as in despair...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Books: The Artful Pursuit of Goddesses | 2/7/1983 | See Source »

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