Word: polos
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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TIME'S Sept. 7 review of Maugham's Choice of Kipling's Best leaves unclear the reason why the Indian member of a polo team visiting the officers of another regiment (in The Man Who Was) ". . . could not, of course, eat with the mess." This might lead some readers to infer that it was because of British insularity or snobbishness. The reason was that the Indian officer's caste might be broken if he ate with nonbelievers in his religion...
...midstory, the film creakingly moves to Brazil and is taken over by the Rio de Janeiro chamber of commerce. In between plugs for the heady Brazilian climate, Lund falls off polo ponies and Lana exchanges passionate glances with Ricardo Montalban, who plays a bare-chested rancher with a coyly devilish grandfather (Louis Calhern). Since the plot offers no clear reason why the movie should run 104 Technicolored minutes, Scenarist Isobel Lennart has thrown in such extraneous items as a funnyman from the U.S. Embassy (Archer MacDonald), a brace of psychoanalysts (fast replacing mothers-in-law as Hollywood's stock...
...just discovered them: love and lust, generosity and greed, envy and charity, understanding and pettiness. Poor Amparo is no figure in a Spanish soap opera; she is the universal woman who has sinned, under pressure of her own generosity and momentary passion, and is willing to pay. Even Polo, the unfrocked priest, is seen as a man whose 'whole nature is out of tune with his mistaken calling, a personality so split that the sharp edges are bound to stab anyone brought too close. As for Agustin, he can be seen in any land in any time, sure that...
...polo match in Sussex, England, the crowd gasped when the fast-galloping Duke of Edinburgh thudded to the ground as his pony skidded on the wet turf, cheered when he picked himself up after a dazed few moments and legged it after his mount. Unhurt except for bruises and scratches, the duke charged back into the game, led his team to a 6-1 victory...
...days a week-and as many other afternoons as he can justify to his conscience-he heads for the Larchmont Yacht Club, one block from his home, on the north shore of Long Island Sound. There he doffs his banker-style clothes for khaki pants and a polo shirt, gathers a three-man crew and hoists sail. On a good day, he can get in two or three hours of wheeling his boat around a selected course, outguessing his rivals (and sometimes being outguessed) on winds and sail settings, outmaneuvering them (and sometimes being outmaneuvered) on the turns. With practice...