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Cornell-Rutgers--The Scarlet Knights rolled up 32 points against Princeton, and Cornell's defense is far worse than the Tigers'. Rutgers gave up 350 yards in the air without losing on the scoreboard, and Cornell's passing attack is far weaker than Princeton's. Rutgers will crush Cornell, 35-0, but it will lose to Marinaro...

Author: By Robert W. Gerlach, | Title: A Touch of Garlic | 10/2/1971 | See Source »

...Hungarian scientists who perpetrate an elaborate mind-control hoax so that one of them can defect to join his old mistress. Bloodworth has a good time of it (readers will too), particularly during a brief moment of status when the literati look up to him as a CIA Scarlet Pimpernel...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Books: Beach Balls | 8/2/1971 | See Source »

...topple to the floor, blood gushing from his leg. Hit by gunfire, a Moroccan man was spun around by the impact and fell against Guillet, leaving two sets of bloody fingerprints on the Italian envoy's shirt. As the man slipped to the ground, his mouth gushed scarlet. He was dead...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: The World: Slaughter at the Summer Palace | 7/26/1971 | See Source »

Here the disease is not venereal but spiritual. Its scarlet lettermen are types rather than individuals, traced from undergraduate days to their adulterous 40s. Nichols opens with a series of kinetically hilarious sketches, starring Campus Smoothie Jonathan (Jack Nicholson) and his pre-med buddy Sandy (Arthur Garfunkel). Cinematically, Nichols has never been less tricky or more acute. With dazzling focus he watches Sandy light upon an icily gorgeous WASP named Susan (Candice Bergen). The naif spills every intimate detail to his roommate; with metronomic two-timing, Jonathan moves in on Sandy and with Susan. But the Ivy rake has only...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Cinema: Spiritual Disease | 7/5/1971 | See Source »

...scene insinuates itself early in the reader's mind. The place is London, one of those comfortable, leathered clubs with high-back wing chairs and good port. Across the table, C. Aubrey Smith, his mustache drooping imperially, leans forward in his scarlet mess dress tunic to rearrange the saltcellars, silverware and apples on the table before him. There are proud mutterings of hussars, lancers, and Royal Scots Greys, tones of awe for the Panzergrenadiers. "There they were," he announces with grave mien. "And over here, a thin red line...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Books: The Saltcellar War | 5/17/1971 | See Source »

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