Word: skins
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...provides the evening's best performance as a black woman who gets bleached in Morning. She shakes off her origins and becomes a haughty, fake-elegant white woman; irrepressibly, she grabs a microphone and begins warbling a song, White Like Me. But before she has finished, all the skin has been stripped away, and in a manic Mahalia Jackson finish she delivers a jolt of straight soul in the most brilliant transformation since Zero Mostel became a rhinoceros...
...with his life. Knowledge is an appetite for him and not an unstained banner of loyalty to scientific inquiry or a mandate to kill the belief in God. He is the typical Brechtian hero-heel, a seemingly intrepid liberator of mankind who is cringingly adept at saving his own skin, a born false Messiah. Brecht rather ingenuously indicts Galileo for not ushering in a sempiternal age of reason and for recanting before the agents of the Inquisition. Actually, Western man adopted an unquestioning faith in science that more than redressed any betrayal of freedom of thought that might properly...
...voyeur, it is sexier to imagine plays with nudes than to actually see them. Sweet Eros is no exception to this rule, even though the naked girl (Sally Kirkland) in this off-Broadway one-acter by Terrence Mc-Nally is on view for almost an hour. The skin show is more abstract than erotic, and terribly sedate. The girl is bound to a chair and gagged most of the time, and initially clothed. Possibly the most exciting scene in this distinctly lethargic drama is the one in which she is undressed by her captor, a soft-spoken psychopath (Robert Drivas...
...were there. They had seen Christmas Memory on TV, and it was not what they had expected. But neither was Truman. The shy, companionless and seemingly unpromising boy whom they remembered was now, at 44, dressed in a Cardin cape-and-cap ensemble, and with him, in a pony-skin suit, was Princess Lee Radziwill...
...power is in the eyes, and the wisdom too. His soul is in those blue nuggets set back deep in their sockets--the only glow of color in his face. His skin is pink and peeled away, the shinylayer that is left to an old man after the epidermis is worn away. He wears a vest that he pulls at, a white starched shirt and a darkly polka-dotted tie. Behind the desk with its law books and walnut, he is only a head, only those blue gems of eyes. But he will stand every 15 minutes or so, walk...