Word: storeys
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...British never seem to lack for good playwrights. They have an uncanny gift for writing well about their nation even when they think ill of it. They can poke peevishly in the guttering embers of empire and the grate of memory flickers with glories past. David Storey has an option on this territory, and he looks back more in grief than in anger. He searches for the severed link with the imperial past. How did today's termites, he seems to ask, descend from yesterday's titans? He is a dramatic laureate of loss...
Last season, in Home, Storey made old age in a mental home his metaphor for the decline and fragmentation of empire. This season, in The Contractor, which recently concluded a U.S. première engagement at New Haven's Long Wharf Theater and is scheduled to open in San Francisco on March 14, Storey uses the raising and striking of a huge tent as the symbol of the rise and fall of national greatness. In a still larger sense, the tent is emblematic of the vanity of human wishes-in art, in politics, in science, in business, in love...
...mind that can easily mingle references to Henry James, Robbe-Grillet and Li-yü with equations on dam overflow, yarns about wharf characters and slices of local history. It is the kind of mind that can see The Story of O and Thomas Merton's Seven Storey Mountain as two monastic classics and, like Mark Twain in Huckleberry Finn, revel in naming objects for their own sake. Jones' notes at the ends of his chapters are models of tart New England wit and his conversations with his friends have the unworldly, though undeniably human quality of Alice...
...burnt-out residents, Mary Haugh '73 and her suitemate, Eileen Storey '73, spent Saturday night with friends. They will stay in the Currier House guest room for the next few days. "We're trying to find them rooms," Lazerson said...
...David Storey's Home is an asylum, and his characters are madmen. But his home is far closer to ours, and its inhabitants hardly seem madder than the people around us. When Harry, played by John Gielgud, walks onto an almost bare stage, neatly folds his gloves and newspaper onto a table, and lowers himself into a frame chair, he could be anywhere. At a garden party, or perhaps a seaside resort. And Jack (Ralph Richardson), moving painfully to the table, smiling slightly, asking if he may sit down-is that what a lunatic looks like? Not until Jack asks...