Word: mama
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...mama of the antiabortion movement is the National Right to Life Committee, which sponsored last week's rally in Cincinnati. Organized six years ago, the N.R.L.C. claims more than 11 million members of 1,800 chapters across the country. The committee hopes to amass millions of dollars for next year's elections. It has been spurred into more forceful involvement in politics by competition from several activist groups that are at the front of the fight for a ban on abortions. Among them...
Whatever frantic doctoring occurred during / Remember Mama's arduous journey toward opening night, the patient is dead on arrival...
...might expect Ullmann's acting to be a redeeming feature, but it isn't. Partly to exonerate her feeble efforts, it must be said that the role of Mama has not been written or developed. It is not even scribbled in. However, the mark of a professional is to be able to make something out of nothing. Instead, Ullmann lapses into a series of alternating smiles and frowns. There is no sense of emo tional conviction: it is as if she were making faces before an imaginary mirror. Too many years before the camera, perhaps, where her superbly...
...children. How more saccharine than a sweet tooth they are. Pity the poor darlings. All they do is beam and fawn on Mama. Exempt the tiniest tot, Tara Kennedy, 7, who puts on a sizzling display of stagewise expertise in a song-and-dance duo with George S. Irving. A born hamster, she's good enough to wake up the audience. So is Irving. As Uncle Chris, a cigar-chomping, whisky-swigging lecher, he, at least, colors the stage something other than its prevailing gray...
Contemplating the rest of Mama is like reading a casualty list. At 76, Richard Rodgers is presumably too old to retire, and only he can tarnish his own honor. In recent years he has given us such faded flowers of his once gorgeous talent as Two by Two and Rex. None of the songs in this show need to be pressed in anyone's memory book. As for the lyrics of Martin Charnin and Raymond Jessel, they are, in Hamlet's words, weary, stale, flat and unprofitable...