Word: spadefuls
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...members who spoke at the decisive meeting on 4 February 1969 invariably lumped everything together as "the Army." Let us nor further insult the intelligence and sensitivity of those interested by pretending that the Faculty motion, and the approval by Harvard Corporation, rest on academic principles. To call a spade a spde, the war in Vietnam precipitated the action at Harvard, not concern for academic quality. There is absolutely no justification for imputing what has happened to a higher (or purer) motive. It is simply political, not academic. Vive le viscera. The cavalier treatment given to ROTC by the Faculty...
Hammett established a character type that dominated American mystery writing, and still reappears in one form or another in James Bond, Matt Helm, and the rest of the gang. But Hammett's characters, Sam Spade, Nick Charles, and the others, were different from their modern apostles. Because they were more than detectives, smart, tough guys. They were people that you really wanted to meet, to talk to, to learn from, and later go with to the local bar and have a great time...
There still persists the notion that Hollywood's greatest art forms are the private-eye picture, the screwball comedy and the musical. Judging from the three latest melodic revivals, Funny Girl, Finian's Rainbow and Star, it may be time for the return of Topper and 5am Spade...
...Leaf for the Patron. One striking example is the sort of drama presented by Berman, 26, a kinetic, spade-bearded expatriate from Maine. Devoted to what he calls "the Theater of Eros," he is at work on a six-playlet cycle under the collective title of Kiss My .... He believes that drama should be made accessible to people within their daily living patterns. Accordingly, his latest one-acter, The Nudist Campers Grow and Grow, goes on at Cafe Ambiance at lunch hour. Each patron is given a tree leaf if he cares to join the nude campers. A few have...
...children lie asleep upstairs, his wife is out cuckolding him with a Negro skin-diver, or so he thinks. Harold, in a skull-popping panic, half-dials phones, swigs champagne from a bottle, runs to the door with his scythe and roars out bloody maledictions on "the Goddamn spade frogman." In a performance marvelously sustained at the pitch of brilliance, Jerry Orbach sprays comic vitriol without ever letting the playgoer forget that this man's heart is in a vise of anguish...