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...force in rock, this new Bowie seems to share few qualities with old Ziggy, the polymorphous camp extravaganza, the most gilded lily of rock's gaudiest age. What binds these identities together is a gift that is cerebral and carnal, frequently danceable and always entertaining. His former crony Lou Reed has sung about it. Deep down inside, Bowie has a rock-'n'-roll heart...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: David Bowie Rockets Onward | 7/18/1983 | See Source »

...Reed...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Sport: Only a Tick Away from L.A. | 7/4/1983 | See Source »

Poets are treated even more harshly than writers of prose. Chaucer, for example, unintentionally parodies himself with the overwritten "The Cook's Tale." And the droning profundity of T.S. Eliot is sent up by Henry Reed: "As we get older, we do not get any younger/ Seasons return, and today I am fifty-five,/ And this time last year I was fifty-four,/ And this time next year I shall be sixty...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Books: Summer Reading | 7/4/1983 | See Source »

...more than usually unnerving. And that is only the beginning. Treated rudely at the unemployment office, Donald cannot even have a bracing cup of coffee and a peaceful cry in the luncheonette across the street. For it is just then that a masked and seemingly psychopathic gunman (Jerry Reed) decides to hold up the place. With a little help from Sonny Paluso (Walter Matthau), who is also abashed to be out of work, Donald manages to foil the crime. Neither brave nor bright, he just cannot help extending the general messiness of his life to everyone he meets, even criminals...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Cinema: Beleaguered Sanity Toughs It Out | 7/4/1983 | See Source »

...grandeur of the correspondent's responsibilities, however, he is usually the most unromantic of creatures. The exceptions spring to mind because they are exceptions: John Reed dying for Mother Russia, Richard Harding Davis, swaggering with his brace of pistols. Most war reporters are quieter, almost sullen-frown-ridden loners stretched out in weird hotel lounges, waiting wearily upon the return of yet more troops from yet another major offensive or the disclosure of an atrocity from yet another smooth-voiced press officer. Even those who run with rebels in the tropics must find the perils repetitious after a while...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Essay: When Journalists Die in War | 7/4/1983 | See Source »

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