Word: wenches
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...Walter Chiari) is a confirmed boulevardier. It is hard to get either hero to the altar, but for opposing reasons: Higgins rejects women, Anatol collects them. My Fair Lady turns a guttersnippet into a duchess; The Gay Life turns a wealthy, well-bred girl (Barbara Cook) into a beddable wench who will fight like a fishwife for her male. Unfortunately, Actress Cook, who is as wholesome as sunshine, resists this metamorphosis, and Italy's Chiari, though he clowns likably in his U.S. debut, acts as if the throb in his heart has gone to his head. There is more...
...course, is Topic A, and a new recording on the subject is Live with Love, starring British Psychologist Keith Cammeron, soon to be released in the U.S. On the album jacket there is a woodland scene that includes one full-breasted wench, two nuzzling birds and three enormous bees. Inside is the sort of sex-education lecture that would weight the eyelids of a twelve-year-old ("Let's begin with the egg..."), redeemed now and then by snippets of fascinating information, such as the fact that the male testicle, in Cammeron's words, is actually "a mass...
...Claude Akins), but when the girl laughs him off as a "fat old fool,'' the mother is only too ready to offer him consolation. In the end, two of the daughter's boy friends fight, and one of them is killed. Stricken with guilt, the wench cries out: "Oh Papa! It's all my fault!'' It isn't, though. Hovelist Erskine Caldwell's breast-selling book, on which the film is based, negotiates such a ruttish stretch of his notorious Tobacco Road that anybody who tries to follow him is sure...
...Yacky Doo. Pettishly she steals the priceless Burns manuscript, then gets drunk and loses it-or so it appears. Soon, throughout Edinburgh, copies of the verses are falling like fig leaves. The barometer of conventional morality falls dangerously too. Everyone burns but few marry; Arbuthnot himself corners a young wench in his office, and clerks on the floor below watch anxiously as plaster flakes off the ceiling...
...ambitions in every respect. His pseudo-Congreve is often pretty good--it is certainly one of the chief pleasures the play provides--but it often sounds self-conscious and sometimes resembles a parody of a bad historical novel. (A line like, "By gad, sir, she's as pretty a wench as ever I bedded!" seems right out of Forever Under.) Moreover, in his attempt to expand the scope of the eighteenth-century style to accommodate his expanded purpose, he resorts to frequent bursts of the stiffest, most intolerably pretentious sort of "fine writing...