Word: sure
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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TIME, being a written medium, surely realizes the importance of a writer. In reviewing Indiscreet [July 21] you toss kudos, deserved I'm sure, to Stanley Donen, the director; you do nip-ups over the magnificent performances of Ingrid Bergman and Gary Grant; but for some curious reason you neglect to mention the name of the author. It is Norman Krasna. I repeat his name is Norman Krasna. I only mention it twice because you failed to mention it once...
...appointed day Lebanese troops, tanks and barbed wire surrounded Beirut's Parliament; soldiers frisked all comers except Deputies and diplomats, even examined newsmen's pencils to make sure they were not bombs. Men for whom the government had long since put out arrest warrants showed up under special safe-conduct, and there were some curious confrontations. The eagle-beaked boss of Baalbek's rebels strode up to Foreign Minister Charles Malik, target of the most savage opposition attacks, and with a big smile, shook hands. In trooped other rebels, all wanted by the cops, to be greeted...
...capital city of Amman last week, where young King Hussein shakily reigns with the backing of his army and his devoted Bedouins, swift raids by spike-helmeted police rounded up all known Nasser sympathizers, as well as some 200 suspect politicians and civil servants. Who could be sure of anyone, any more? Seventy officers of the King's army are in jail, including Hussein's former close companion, Colonel Rahdi Abdullah. Anyone caught listening to Radio Cairo or to the vicious noise of the clandestine "Jordan People's Radio" was hustled off to prison...
...Parisienne. Brigitte Bardot, leaning voluptuously on the sure comic talents of Charles Boyer and Henri Vidal, finally makes a film that is as funny as it is fleshy (TIME, July...
Author Guerard (The Hunted, Maquisard), 43, is a Texas-born Francophile who is currently professor of English at Harvard. He writes with a Gallic coolness and clarity, and with the sure French eye for the inhuman qualities of the human condition. This novel, his fifth, has both wit and wisdom, but his major characters are fated to sound like literary echoes: charming as Christiane is, she has been met before more charmingly in the pages of Colette; Anthony, in his bedridden sloth, his antisocial despairs, his wounded intellectual cries, has slouched through a long line of novels ranging from Ivan...