Word: tone
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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There is enough of the old Woody Allen in AMNSC to remind the still faithful of the old abundant pleasures. The interweaving themes are sex and love; the tone is summer-solstice warm; the six characters dance an amorous roundelay whose steps are guided by biology, sympathy and caprice. Woody is again the chronically lovable shlemiel, torn between his passion for the ethereal Ariel (Mia Farrow) and his longing for the wife (Mary Steenburgen) he cannot satisfy sexually. When he tries and she finds his ardor disgusting, he retorts, "How can it be? I haven't taken my clothes...
...audiences reeling, but instead produce the good-natured giggles which are more natural and frequent in the world according to everyone. The introductory shots of baby Garp being tossed in the air by his mother, rising and falling with a different animated expression each time, sets the lighthearted, warm tone. Williams' restrained antics, which produce most of the laughs, both entertain and soothe the Garp family and the audience. "Don't say, Ma-Ma, Duncan, say Da-Da," he admonishes his first baby, grimacing for added emphasis...
...been eyeballed by my fellow New Hampshiremen while dressed for jogging and tennis, but today's stares had conveyed more than a little sociable contempt. To earn the revulsion of decent citizens was satisfying, certainly, and well worth the trouble of smearing one's face with forest-tone greasepaint. But now that fun was over, and it was time to go into the woods and shoot one another...
...coherence of strategy. I could see one of my team members, then none. Then a figure appeared in a clearing 15 yds. away, wearing a red armband, firing at a target I could not see. I shot, heard the figure say "Eccch, you got me," in a conversational tone and saw a yellow stain from my pellet on his shirt. Feeling quick and clever, I ran on in a crouch. In a stand of small trees, too skinny for good cover, a red player and I caught sight of each other and began to shoot. The pistols made phutt, phutt...
...Port of New York became my Walden Pond," Lewis Mumford recalls in this luminous autobiography. It still is. With unflagging energy and unfailing memory, Mumford, 86, assumes the tone of an urban Thoreau, ransacking the familiar for overlooked truths. His principal turf is the city; his main object of study, himself. Born in 1895 in Flushing, Queens, raised in the precincts of turn-of-the-century Manhattan, educated at City College and the New York Public Library, Mumford was ideally prepared to become one of the great critics of the modern metropolis. He is also one of the most prolific...