Word: sidewalkers
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...Pistols drawn, the policemen called for their quarry to surrender. When they finally did, the cops mumbled in embarrassment over their guns: "We thought you were men." While the girls were led away, a stream of handbills that one had tried to hide in her trousers trickled onto the sidewalk. Police immediately collected all the pamphlets in sight. Early the next morning, security agents woke everyone in apartment houses in the area, made them open their mailboxes and confiscated all handbills inside...
Witnesses to the accident stated that Nagy and Miss Gibbs were walking on the sidewalk when a Yellow Cab Co, taxi hit them, throwing Nagy to the ground and carrying Miss Gibbs on the hood until it finally stopped almost one block away next to the Lampoon building, Miss Gibbs shattered the cab's windshield...
...title would have been Trout Fishing America. Trout Fishing America would have worked awhile for Sports Illustrated, maybe made the cover-story once or twice, then left. As he would have put it, "There's no future in it." I can see him now, stumbling down some New York sidewalk in a second-hand overcoat. Then one windy November day, he would have been corrupted by a tiny, lithping Lithuanian and become "Trout Fishing American." He would have become a slick, glossy Layman-Informer. It's not a pretty story...
...lines and merely stands by the bus stop, shivering and listening to the strange histrionics around him. When the hoods attack him, the abject terror transmitted through his eyes make him an image of helplessness almost unbearable to watch. The climax--he is left on the sidewalk, a bleeding dog barking the few words of English he can say yet does not understand ("HOW ARE YOU? YOU'RE WELCOME! THANK YOU!")--absolutely tore me apart. If only everything else in this production hadn't tore Horovitz apart, these Quincy House people might have had something great here...
...eyed girl, Genevieve Waite* is startling: she is one of the few new English-accented stars of the '60s who do not look or act like a secondhand Julie Christie. Not especially prepossessing or crafty, she is totally free of mannerisms, as natural as someone on a Chelsea sidewalk. Her fellow players seem equally and effectively plucked from real life. The best of them is Donald Sutherland, as a frail, talentless aristocrat, whose tentative worship of the Beautiful People is so well portrayed that it turns a bit part into a leading role...