Word: ticks
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...Zero Mostel is its comic axis. Seemingly composed of double chins that reach to his knees, Mostel is a paradoxically dainty and light-footed man whose humors merge the ballet with the pratfall. Whether he is rolling his eyes like berserk marbles, mincing archly in his tunic, or playing tick tack toe on the bare midriff of Lucienne Bridou (the nubilest Roman of them all), Mostel tickles playgoers into eruptive laughter. The show's music lacks distinction, but no one will seriously think of humming once the cast's six girls undulate onstage. Costumer Tony Walton wisely lets...
What makes him tick? Each night...
...window and, drop by drop, poured the contents of a chamber pot down upon the heads of his uncle, then Minister of Munitions, and Prime Minister Lloyd George. But Churchill's accounts are more anecdote than insight: he never really tries to explain what makes the old man tick. And sooner or later, since he is writing an autobiography, Churchill is brought back to the problem of talking about himself. He has a lot to mention and not much to say. As an officer in a camouflage outfit, Churchill was on the beaches at Dunkirk-he later painted...
...White House have been rather distressing in recent years. During the Eisenhower occupancy there were the schmalzy tunes of Hildegarde and Lawrence Welk. Before that, Oscar Levant played for company, but in the family circle there were the shaky soprano of Margaret Truman and her father's ricki-tick piano. Going back to the F.D.R. years, there was Kate Smith. Last week the Kennedys changed all that, with an evening of chamber music that sent shards of rapture through the world of serious music...
...newspapers, moldy tennis rackets, scattered bureau drawers, a sink bowl, and a disconnected gas stove graced with a gilt plaster Buddha. There is a lawn mower and a blowtorch. On a rope strung from the leaky roof hangs a paint bucket into which drops of water plunk like the tick-tock of doom. Into this dusty, chilly tomb, English Playwright Pinter deposits three mummies of modern man, who proceed to strip off each other's wrappings with ripples of humor, glints of malice and a passionate alternating current of regard and disregard for their common humanity...