Word: scenes
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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FORTUNE AND MEN'S EYES, by Canadian Playwright John Herbert, was, when originally presented in 1967, a scorching indictment of the prison system, with its brutal guards and tyrannizing homosexual inmates. As restaged by Sal Mineo, complete with the added attractions of blood, gore, a nude rape scene and an almost totally inept cast, it is nothing more than a carefully placed kick in the groin...
...were placed around the White House and in Government buildings considered likely targets for extremists, including the Justice Department. The Justice Department was also headquarters of Attorney General John Mitchell's intelligence center, where information was gathered and deployments plotted for policing the march. Sure enough, Justice became the scene of the second violent incident, this one on Saturday night. Nearly 5,000 youngsters massed behind red banners, though the majority had come to watch rather than attack. The cry was "Stop the trial!"?the Chicago trial of those accused of conspiracy in last year's Democratic Convention riots...
...fire did burn us. Like so many others, we wanted merely to watch , to absorb the eerie scene of militants breaking windows and dodging police under flourescent lights. As it turned out, all we did was get gassed. Gassed three times. We returned again and again to see what we could see. We never saw anything...
...mansion is a collection of rooms we cannot fit together, each with its own specific disorder. And when it's closest to an apparent resolution the film becomes completely chaotic. Octave and Christine. alone in a greenhouse in the park, decide to elope. The light falling on the scene is so broken that their faces and their surroundings are fragmented into patterns of light and dark. It becomes impossible to tell where a character ends and the setting begins; they have become a single meaningless surface. Indeed, one man watching them mistakes Christine for his own wife and later, mistaking...
SLOWLY treading the street's dry ground, past each small shop closed for the heat, closed for the honor of the man passing. This little, scorching town, which a day before had seemed pathetic in its wasting chivalry, a scene of immense yet circumscribed desolation irreparably wounded by the humiliation of war, now seemed still more ceaseless as the funeral cortege stepped its measured steps along the street among friends. Each face, as it aligned with the four white horses, was imperceptibly transfigured, lightly brushed with luminous gratitude that the man had passed without discomfort. The procession glided...