Word: velvets
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Indeed, Beardsley dwelt in quite a new world, a velvet underground tolerated by Victorians in literature and art as long as it wore the air of fantasy. His frontispiece for John Davidson's The Wonderful Mission of Earl Lavender of 1895 shows a barely bosomed lady flagellating a middle-sexed supplicant, wielding the most fragile of whips as if it were a fan at high...
London last week, Director John Huston gave the go-ahead. The clapstick snapped: The David Niven Story. The cameras began rolling, and there, logically enough, was Niven, clad in an Edwardian velvet dinner jacket, lolling around the banqueting hall of a Scottish castle. Yet, illogically enough, at numerous other sound stages and locations around Great Britain, the same picture is also in the works under four other directors, and starring, variously, Peter Sellers, Woody Allen and a mesomorphic unknown called Terence Cooper. Even more implausible, the name Niven is never mentioned in any of the scripts. What's even...
...troops, and the equipage of horses and cavalrymen jingled cheerily between trumpet fanfares. The Queen, acrackle in white silk organza and wrapped in white fox, dismounted and marched up the Royal Staircase past lines of tabarded heralds to the Royal Robing Room. Then, having donned the 18-ft. red velvet train, originally tailored for Queen Victoria and a 3-lb. jeweled crown, she mounted the throne in the jammed Lords' Chamber. "My Lords," murmured the Queen, "pray be seated...
...addicted to the radio, especially to one program on WHDH. Every week the announcer quoted from "Potter's Picks of the Week" sent to him by Stephen. One day he played a song called "Velvet Nights." Potter's friends knew someone who had been a delegate to the 1957 World Communist Youth Meeting, where "Velvet Nights" had been called "Midnight in Moscow" and had been the meeting's theme song...
...house resembles a National Guard armory; the gilt and crimson interior has become a tawdry relic of bygone splendor. The grimy walls are veined with ominous cracks, the plaster is flaking, the gold leaf is peeling, the faded red carpeting is frayed and splotched. The creaking red velvet seats are worn slick and the stage floor is pitted and warped. Backstage, the dingy corridors are cluttered with props and tarpaulins. In Caruso's old dressing room, illuminated by a naked light bulb, cracks in the window have been plugged with paper and Scotch tape. When a bevy of ballerinas...