Word: hounding
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...moral outrage at other critic's criticism of his rather intense interest in a new actress each opening night. All I know is that one feels it wise to be on one's best critical behavior, for safety's sake, in inspecting a play like The Real Inspector Hound...
...Hound has its critics watching a whodunit parodied from Agatha Christie's long-running The Mousetrap. They ramble on to themselves between acts, testing net phrases for their reviews. They speed-reed their programs and eat chocolates. They compare quotations: Birdfoot's review that was completely reproduced in neon, for instance. "Oh that thing, yes, I just happen to have a couple of color transparencies of it here in my pocket." Robert Vaughn, in little soloquies complete with Shakespearean intonation, worries about his rivals Higgs (first string) and Puckeridge (third string). Michael Egan, tremendous and goateed, is perfect...
These goings-on may be taken as the kind of crazy crime and panachement that Stoppard displayed so well in The Real Inspector Hound. But the playwright also offers a long, rambling monologue by Dotty's rumpled husband, George Moore. Moore is a professor of moral philosophy. In his office opposite Dotty's bedroom, he is busy dictating a discourse in defense of moral absolutes -in fact, of the whole idea of goodness and even the possibility of God's existence. "Is God?" he begins. But soon he is revising: "Are God?" Before long, Moore has fumblingly...
There had been celebrated clients before. My friend Sherlock Holmes had solved the little matter of the Vatican cameos for His Holiness the Pope, as I noted in my modest chronicle The Hound of the Baskervilles; he ad elucidated The Adventure of the Second Stain for the Prime Minister. We had also known curious cases. There was, for example, the puzzle of the politician, the lighthouse and the trained cormorant, referred to in The Adventure of the Veiled Lodger; and the singularity of Isadora Persano, the journalist and duelist who was found stark mad with a matchbox in front...
Presiding over this six-night-a-week hound happening is Isadore Hecht, 60, West Flagler's owner. The former tomato grower and banana importer bought the track 20 years ago when it handled just $14 million in bets during a 13-week season. Hecht modernized the plant and produced a greyhound gold mine. In 1972 the track handled $63 million in bets (8% went to management) in a 16-week meeting. Every night Hecht can be found in a posh suite of offices perched at one end of the track. There he can monitor the betting windows...