Word: laughingly
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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Elaine May is a corrosively perceptive satirist with a mean comic punch. Her off-Broadway one-acter Adaptation, the first of a double bill completed by Terrence McNally's Next, makes one laugh till it hurts, partly because the ache of recognition is in every line and situation. She has the wit to see that if Pavlov's dogs salivated at the tinkle of bells signifying food, modern man is not so very different. He salivates at psychological flash cards marked Emotional Maturity, Identity Crisis, Making a Commitment, as well as at traditional cues for action such...
...apparently been majoring in stagecraft. As the neophyte director of her own play, she shows herself to be an accomplished pro, with a crisp and zany comic flair. From Gabriel Dell, the hero who plays the adaptation game from birth to death, she elicits a performance that is laugh-and letter-perfect. Expressions cross his face like clouds scudding across the sky: hope, bewilderment, apprehension, chagrin, humiliation, and wild fleeting moments of joy. It is the year of the loser, on and off Broadway: Dustin Hoffman in Jimmy Shine, Woody Allen in Play It Again, Sam (see below). Gabriel Dell...
...that they don't have to be consigned to second-class status on the basis of that fact. I hope that the Harvard people who showed up for Friday night's festivities left feeling that the 'Cliffe can indeed be a warm, friendly place and the Cliffies can laugh at themselves just as well as they can intellectualize. To the Committee of Women, I can only say "methinks thou doth protest too much." Or better yet--COW is full of bull. Rita Fletcher '71 President East House
Turn-On itself, produced by the originators of Laugh-In, looked like a half-hour reject from the Rowan and Martin memory bank. The host was neither Dan nor Dick but a computer, for the show was supposed to be "a satire on our dehumanized society." It was also intended as a "sensory assault," careening along, sometimes with the screen split four ways, reaching for a dizzying 300 laughs in a half hour. To add to the disorientation, the set was a white plaster cyclorama and the cast wore invisible white booties. It all seemed to come from beautiful downtown...
...THEN it comes, the tin-horned train on the fairground tracks, tinkling its way into Floral Park. It stops dark and cold to take on its suspicious passengers. Its blackened windows laugh at our stupid obedience, as we wordlessly without question surrender, to let it take us where it will, to whatever nefarious tunnel in the cold earth's lung...