Word: lasts
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...virus is beginning to infect the Broadway musical and its name is opera. Last season's Sweeney Todd strained to achieve operatic style with recitatives and songs structured like arias; this season's Evita dispenses entirely with spoken dialogue...
Each of them was an imperious ruler of Egypt, albeit 32 centuries apart. Perhaps that was why President Anwar Sadat, the present ruler, leaned so solicitously over the glass-topped coffin of Pharaoh Ramses II last week at the Egyptian Museum in Cairo. Three years ago the mummified pharaoh, who built Abu Simbel in the course of his 67-year rule, developed-well, a fungus and parasites. He was shipped to Paris to be cured of the condition. Back in Cairo, Ramses II went on display again, along with a plaque noting that in 1258 B.C. he and Hattusilis, great...
...bedrooms, board rooms, massage parlors, even on a free-love farm, researching the changing sexual mores of middle-class America. The conclusions are so enticing that the book, with the publication date still six months away, already has earned nearly $4 million, including a $2.5 million film-rights agreement last week. Now that the sex epic has climaxed, Talese wants to write about the sociology of baseball. "I'm a baseball addict," he confesses. "More of a sports fan than a sex fan." To be called Thy Wife's Lament, perhaps...
Chauvinists in the Corps of Cadets always maintained that it would be a cold day before West Point bestowed its prestigious Sylvanus Thayer Award on a woman. Well it snowed, in early October on the Plain last week, and there stood Clare Boothe Luce, 76, accepting that award from General Andrew Goodpaster for her accomplishments in politics, diplomacy and the arts. "I suspect," said Luce, "that the fact that this is the first year that there are women in all four classes [at the Point] is not unrelated to my good fortune." Luce accepted an engraved saber from ranking cadet...
Mailer is the last and no doubt the most intelligent participant in the complicated travesty of Gilmore's death. The writer has mobilized a shrewdness to match Gilmore's own punkish daring and jailhouse self-abnegation. Old Aquarius has silenced his bustling, manic, intrusive voice. His prose in this thousand-page trek is a Conestoga of American plain style: it is banal, idiomatic and somehow grainy, like the scenes in 1950s pornographic films in which the characters meet and part like neighborhood dogs, the men never taking their socks...