Word: sweets
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...feel her pain as the clock is stabbed by the clockmaker's tools. Within this sugar-puff setting, we appreciate the somber purity and beauty that Hoffmann so prizes. Only a hopeless romantic could create a nutcracker who addresses his lady in "a little bell like voice: Dear sweet Marie. Protectress mine. Thou standest by me and I'll be thine." And within the bizarre tale of Marie's adventures, Hoffmann revels in the sweetness and sensitivity of kind and imaginative children. His careful touch in relating the wonders of things as majestic as first love is something akin...
DESPITE these difficulties, though, Akalaitis presents a compelling version of this great play. It is funny, full of an ironic humor that makes its profundity palatable and insidiously convincing. It is frightening, describing a world that has run out of bicycles, sweet-plums, coffins, pain-killer, honor, time, and God. After a futile attempt at prayer, Hamm screams, "Bastard! He doesn't exist." It shows mankind, having walked to the edge of the plank, hesitate before the leap that threatens oblivion or promises a new beginning...
...women, however, the homecoming wasn't quite as sweet, as they fell to the Eagles, 58-1/2-41...
...hankies come out, Boheme is a success. The shocker was that onlookers misted up not for Ronstadt but for another Mimi, tiny, strawberry-blond Soprano Patti Cohenour. (Lead duties are divided; Cohenour sings four of eight weekly performances; Ronstadt three, and another Mimi, Caroline Peyton, the remaining show.) The sweet-voiced Cohenour and her surprisingly strong Rodolfo, Country Singer Gary Morris, seemed lyrically in love. The other leads, a fine Marcel (Howard McGillin) and a brilliant Musette (Cass Morgan), took fire from them. The night before, Ronstadt and her Rodolfo, David Carroll, had sung at and past each other without...
...could not help chuckling; he had chosen the poet's two most famous poems. How naive! Then he proceeded to praise the noble ideals, sublime truths, and beautiful thoughts embodied in the two poems. I could feel the Harvard literati of today being overwhelmed with bored amusement at the sweet, old man. But it was he who really knew the poems and the poet. We were the silly fools who discussed a poem, written by a Jesuit priest and dedicated "to Christ Our Lord," as though it were written as an exercise in sprung rhythm and falcon imagery. To quote...