Word: previn
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Born. To Mia Farrow, 25, saucer-eyed cinema actress (most recently in John and Mary), and Andre Previn, 40, composer-conductor about town, currently leading the London Symphony Orchestra: their first children, twin boys; in London. Previn says that they plan to marry as soon as he is divorced from his estranged wife; Mia Divorced Frank Sinatra in August...
Londoners were surprised to see Mia Farrow at the opening of Opium, a one-man show starring Yul Brynner's son Roc. Mia doesn't get around much any more, for increasingly obvious reasons. No one seems to know exactly when she'll have Andre Previn's twins-but Childhood Chum Liza Minnelli, who has been named godmother for the pair, is planning to race the storks to London...
...mass of Americans have grown steadily more tolerant over the last few generations. One can glimpse the changes in small incidents of the popular culture. When Ingrid Bergman became adulterously pregnant by Roberto Rossellini in 1949, she was all but stoned out of the country. Mia Farrow and Andre Previn, anticipating the joys of unwed motherhood and fatherhood, have aroused only minor indignation. Middle Americans accept Bayard Rustin as an eminently sensible black moderate now, but only a few years ago they thought him a firebrand. The idea of socialized medicine gives apoplexy to the A.M.A., but not so much...
...show is one of those lavish reminders that the assembly line is not the fountain of inspiration, that known quantities gathered together do not necessarily produce the elusively unknown quantities of fine dramatic art or exciting entertainment. Wands are wielded by Katharine Hepburn, Alan Jay Lerner, Andre Previn and Cecil Beaton, but no magic ensues. No wish is fulfilled. No dream comes true...
Admirable though it is, her work does not work, precisely because it is all work and no play. She gets little help. Andre Previn's score always misses, without ever swinging. Beaton's costumes are a slight modification of the timeless Edwardia that he prefers to inhabit, and scarcely reflect the spare Mondrian modern that is the mark of Chanel. Lerner's book manages to suggest a rough draft rather than a finished libretto. He must be somewhat chagrined that the biggest laugh of the evening comes when Hepburn spits out the short word for excrement...