Word: heroines
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Jack Gelber's first play, The Connection, was set half a league to hellward of the boundary where bohemianism shades into crime and insanity. Its heroes were heroin addicts, its dialogue had the tape-recorder hiss of genuine desperation, and the result was a 32-month run off-Broadway. Gelber's first novel seemingly starts off to make that same scene. Marijuana smoke curls up from the pages; the characters are mostly Greenwich Village idiots. But though the chief idiot, Manny Fells, has lowered himself by his own bootstraps into the right kind of roach-ridden Manhattan loft...
Hope from the Poets. The sickness Fiedler most fears in society he finds expressed in Burroughs and other hipster writers who are high on "hashish and yoga, heroin and zen" and drugs like mescaline that alter consciousness. "There is a weariness in the West," he writes, "a weariness with humanism itself which underlies all the movements of our world, a weariness with the striving to be men." And he sees these writers in love with that weariness saying in effect: "Let the focused consciousness blur into the cosmic night; let the hallucinatory monsters bred of fragmented consciousness prowl that night...
...Connection, eight heroin addicts wait in a dingy, high-ceilinged New York apartment for the man who will bring them the white powder on which their lives depend. As they wait, four of them get up, one by one, and talk about themselves and the others in the room. The remaining four do not talk, but instead express themselves through jazz, playing as the mood strikes them. Finally, the man with the powder--the connection--arrives, and each junkie follows him in turn to the bathroom for his fix. There is more talk...
Still, The Connection is an excellent movie which can stand on its own feet. Shirley Clarke, the director, uses her cameras (which both record and participate in the action) with subtle skill. After one of the filmmakers has taken heroin, Miss Clarke has his camera search out patterns in the stains and cracks of the walls...
...Last October in Chicago, two agents in separate cars spotted a well-known narcotics racketeer named Nolan Mack taking a heroin delivery from a second man. Recognizing the agents, Mack leaped into his car and fled. The agents barreled after him. In a dizzying chase, Mack rammed one of the pursuing cars, sent it careening into a lamp pole. The second agent finally cornered Mack. But as the agent scrambled from his car, Mack opened fire. The first bullet creased the agent's temple; the second slammed into a car window, spraying glass into the agent's face...