Word: stabbings
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Taking her third annual stab at summer stock, Miss Ann Corio is currently murdering another play in cold blood at the Cambridge Summer Theatre. Undeterred by the critics' chilly reception of her two former expeditions to the hustings, Ann has gone steadily on in her campaign to make herself the new Duse of the American theatre...
Starting at a low of 6,300,000 listeners (Hooper rating, 9.7) on June 10, 1936, the President wandered over graphic foothills for four years, suddenly leaped to a peak of 42,500,000 listeners (57.0) for the Stab-in-the-Back broadcast of June 10, 1940. As national self-absorption went down, Presidential audiences went up- 43,900,000 (59.0) for the Arsenal of Democracy Speech; 53,800,000 (69.8) for the Declaration of National Emergency; 62,100,000 (79.0) for the War Message...
...Juarez," we were aware not so much of how they were made, as of what they had to say. But "How Green Was My Valley" places no such reliance on the magnitude of its message. As a matter of fact, it is probably weakest at those points where a stab at "social significance" is made. It is strongest where it allows the artistry of the specialists involved in its making to have free rein. It's the sort of thing that generally winds up as an artistic success but a financial flop. But when it's as well done...
...were hurt good. Longhairs took it on the puss, too. And it was a slight case of murder to the whole waxing biz. What happened was this: WPB bopped civilian use of shellac*by 70%, and shellac is the big item (15-25%) of each platter. Angle for the stab: shellac comes from India, which seems to be in quite a jam right now. Not only that, but shellac is hot stuff in war stuff over here. Anyway, this means a cut in rug-cutting, and no good news for highbrows, either. Needle-nuts can play their old platters down...
Japanese flying ships are playing over the Mandalay Road in a fashion Kipling never imagined. Jap pilots fix towns under their sights like bugs beneath a microscope, stab them with hundreds of incendiary plummets, consume wide wooded areas and wipe out scores of villages. Flames nightly lick the demi-jungle under a full yellow moon, so that a ghastly orange ring encircles Burmese arsonists, looters, desolate lines of Indians' oxcarts beginning to go northward on their long hegira to India, and Chinese trucks, cyclists, American scout cars and artillery going southward to the front...