Word: idyls
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...Laurents used as cogs for stage action. With them go some of the harsher truths about the career girl's character and therefore any possibility of comparing Hepburn's performance with that of Shirley Booth in the stage play. The movie is scarcely more than a charming idyl, and it ends only because Kate is convinced that "All my life I've stayed at parties too long because I didn't know when to go." This time, after a few days of dalliance on the island of Burano, Hepburn goes home. Isa Miranda and young Gaetano...
Seventh Heaven (music and lyrics by Victor Young and Stella Unger; book by Victor Wolfson and Miss Unger; based on the play by Austin Strong) never, with the help of music, achieves the schmalz that the play and movie versions achieved without it. The idyl of a young girl of the Paris slums and a sort of young king of the sewers-who comes home blind, at the end, after World War I-leaves the audience not only dry-eyed but pretty heavy-lidded. It even lacks the appeal of something sweetly out of date. The reason, perhaps, - is that...
...hoped some day to dream it up to novel-size. It is reminiscent of the same cracker-filled scrub forests and 'gator-filled streams of northern Florida's wild St. Johns River country that the novelist described almost two decades ago in The Yearling. A charmingly illustrated idyl, with just the right mixture of fish story and black-water magic, The Secret River is well worth exploring if it leads youngsters-and those who read to them too-back to The Yearling, still a modern classic that can put TV picture tubes in the dark...
...verdict but because Judge Francis L. Valente, trying to avoid press exploitation of the gamy details, had barred reporters and the public from the trial. The new trial was wide open. Once more Judge Valente was on the bench, and Call Girl Pat Ward, only 21, retold her sordid idyl of life with Mickey...
...wife too intelligent for his own good. He has finally worked up to a kind of wary chumminess with the senior partner of his law firm, and has almost domesticated his fear of failure (sometimes, though, the beast still growls dangerously from the chimney corner). This somewhat nervous idyl is broken by a man Anson Page has never even met-a great and aging American novelist called Garvin Wales, literary master of Southern sordidness. For years Wales has depended on a brilliant New York editor named Philip Greene, who served the novelist not only as friend but as a kind...