Word: rituals
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...precisely the sort of thing that Apollo crowds love to see, the ritual of public humiliation that also awaited Arthur Johnson. He tried, he gave it everything. "You and I together/ The dream seemed so real . . .," he sang, embellishing the slinky lyrics with pelvic thrusts and a swaying imitation of sensuality. But the song, Keith Sweat's soul hit I Want Her, doomed him. Some classic Motown would have given him a fighting chance: the familiar opening chords might have warmed the crowd before he even opened his mouth. But Sweat's ode to funky frustration was fraught with peril...
...first image is a young boy on a Sunday morning. Sprawled on the living room floor, the boy pores over pages of newsprint. Numbers. Statistics. All the arcane lore contained in the sports section. It is a group ritual. The boy looks up occasionally to share a dramatically improved ERA with his father. The father, lolling on the couch with the Business section, responds with animation. "That reminds me of the 1955 Dodgers. What a season...
...already been produced at Yale. Like Joe Turner, it marries a naturalistic slice of life with mystic imagery. Set in 1936, it portrays a clan divided between struggling toward independence in the rural South and seeking a new life in the urban North, and it ends with a ritual exorcism. In a sense, all Wilson's plays are exorcisms, doomed but determined attempts to drive out the demons of memory. Says he: "The stigma of slavery is powerful. A few years ago, I went to a Passover service, and the first words were 'We were slaves in the land...
Dogs bark in the Himalayan night. Lights flicker across the hillside. On a pitch-black path framed by pines and covered by a bowl of stars, a few ragged pilgrims shuffle along, muttering ritual chants. Just before dawn, as the snowcaps behind take on a deep pink glow, the crowd that has formed outside the three-story Namgyal Temple in northern India falls silent. A strong, slightly stooping figure strides in, bright eyes alertly scanning the crowd, smooth face breaking into a broad and irrepressible smile. Followed by a group of other shaven-headed monks, all of them in claret...
...father and me, the Indians are a language. They are a secret ritual by which we renew our heritage, our connection to each other. The Indians are our cause. Even if the cause is lost...