Word: liltings
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...Howard Dietz-Arthur Schwartz score induces instant amnesia, except for the perky lilt behind the simpleton lyrics of High Is Better Than Low. Choreographer Matt Mattox's best dance number, Sauce Diable, seems to have crashed the show from some other musical, and Director Vincent J. Donehue's overall pacing is poky...
...Pamela Harris' charming portrayal of Miss Z which gave the production its lively quality. Her superb ear for dialect and speech rhythm, the expert manner in which she used her full vocal range, and the lovely lilt of her voice as she ended her statements with "mightn't I?" or "wouldn't it?" helped her to bring the character to life with remarkable naturalness. The sparkle of her eyes as she spoke and the adroitness with which she changed facial expressions and movements created humor in the domineering character of Miss Z. Subsequently, it became perfectly understandable to the audience...
...York Times. The very words have a lilt, not unlike clanging ashcans tossed from a refuse truck. What a treasure chest: James Reston, intrepid reporter and pulse counter to the Nation; Craig Claiborne, gourmet par excellence; Orville Prescott on books, Bosley Crowther on movies, Ross Parmenter on music; Seymour Topping reporting from Moscow, Drew Middleton from London, Roy Silver from Rockville Center, David Halberstam from wherever there was trouble, and Farnsworth Fowle, ace of the city-side crew...
...Natchez, Miss. The show proved to be so thin that the audience got the bends. The critics tried to be kind-but failed. Said the Record American's Elliot Norton: "Although it fills the stage with great performers and offers four or five songs with the authentic lilt and magic of Irving Berlin at his ultimate best, Mr. President is in dreadful shape at the present time. Dreadful is the only word; anything milder would be misleading, not to say dishonest. The further it goes, the more cumbersome and implausible it becomes, and long before...
...unable to say whether Vernoff speaks truth, but, either way, his evangelical style offers the reader some unparalleled moments of exoticism. Speaking of God, he remarks: "Only He can count the pairs of ears, delirious with Indian ragas or the twang of the koto, which really long for the lilt of a good Chassidic niggun!" He speaks of the "irresolute student who apparently wishes to lick the icing of identification without eating the cake of commitment," and, in his final paragraph, he addresses the neo-Hasids directly: "To all of vou neo-Hasids, including myself, I bequeath a Bris [circumcision...