Word: skin
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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Daredevil Risks. His talent won Wilder three Pulitzer Prizes for his novel The Bridge of San Luis Key (1927) and for his plays Our Town (1938) and The Skin of Our Teeth (1942). But his gifts-the polished style, the scholarly allusions, the slightly didactic plots with an elegant touch of mysticism-were viewed in critical circles as relics of the genteel tradition. His optimism ("He says nice things whenever possible," one acquaintance complained) was regarded as a threat to his integrity...
Died. Jacob Nelson Fox, 47, pepperpot second baseman who was the American League's Most Valuable Player in 1959 when he led the Chicago White Sox to their first league championship in 40 years; of skin cancer; in Baltimore. With the White Sox from 1950, "Nellie" Fox made his reputation as a player who liked to hit with an old-fashioned milk-bottle-shaped bat, chew a giant wad of tobacco, and hang a red bandana from the hip pocket of his uniform. Nicknamed "Mighty Mite," the diminutive Fox led the American League in most seasons (twelve) with...
Actors' Showcase. Age has not refined Sweet Bird's effulgent bathos. The reduction of personality to sex organs is the dynamic of skin flicks and soap op era. Sad to say, Williams wrote this Petit Guignol sideshow in the late '50s, soon after completing his masterpiece, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Today it seems fatally misconceived, a sentimental melodrama instead of a savage, black comedy on southern mores...
Impressive credentials, and they helped immensely a decade ago when Marisa decided to bid adieu to Gstaad, Paris and London and try to make it as a model in New York. But what really turned the trick was the lithe body, green eyes, pale ivory skin and a gaze that seemed to come from some private world too secret to be spoken of. Marisa went on to live a glace confection of a life spun out of Vogue covers, yacht cruises, love affairs with the likes of David de Rothschild and, at the moment, Auto Heir Ricky von Opel. Early...
Unfortunately, the accusers and the accused in Special Section are brothers under the skin: every one of them, regardless of political persuasion, is a resounding stereotype. There are no real characters, only cameos enacted by a large cast of mostly unfamiliar actors. The judges are straw men in scarlet robes, passing out death sentences like souvenir fountain pens. Their victims are a rag-tag gallery of the common man meant to embody some evergreen liberal shibboleths: the fiery left-wing journalist; the good-humored, faintly ironic petty crook; the humble shopkeeper...