Word: homewards
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...most valued new properties in show business says modestly: "I'm not good-looking, or experienced, or what you'd call a 'build.' Why has it all happened to me?" For some of the reasons, see THEATER, Look Homeward, Angel...
...Look Homeward, Angel (adapted from Thomas Wolfe's novel by Ketti Frings). Few novels of any size or importance can be transferred to the stage without forfeiting an amplitude that is half their strength, a personal accent that is half their essence. Look Homeward, Angel is one of the few, and the reason is clear enough: the novel's amplitude is often the sheerest excess, its personal accent the most rioting rhetoric. For all Wolfe's great gifts, his novel was too often diminished by a craving for size, impoverished by an orgy of word-spending, made...
...exceedingly effective play is not Wolfe's novel miraculously purged of all its faults and yet preserving all its fullness. It could not be, and in a certain sense the play is not Look Homeward, Angel at all. It is neater, smaller, simpler -a workable family play, set against a background of the family boarding house and squeezed into a few weeks' time. In one respect, something has been lost: the characters are no longer so fully and revealingly lived with, hence so expressive or large. In another respect, something has been blurred: there is a lessened thematic...
...Hours. The steel-hulled Pamir set sail from Hamburg last June for Falmouth, England, and Buenos Aires, with a complement of 53 cadets and 33 veteran seamen aboard. Last week, homeward bound from B.A., she was struck by the full (127-knot) force of Carrie, which the skipper had not expected to hit for a full two hours. Even as Captain Johannes Diebitsch barked his orders to douse sail, the blocks jammed on the foremast, broaching the bark broadside to the wind. In the nightmare of ripping canvas and splintering timber, much of the vessel's cumbersome top hamper...
...weeks later Leopold was set free on bail, though two of his companions, both Algerian, were kept shut up in prison. Whatever the price of his freedom, Marcel Leopold was called upon last week to pay it. Bound homeward for lunch at his roomy third-floor apartment on Geneva's sunny Cours de Rive, he staggered through the door, fell into his wife's arms muttering, "I've been poisoned!", and died...