Word: wig
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...Take wigs. The ordinary woman puts a wig on her head and that's that. Joan's wig gets run over by a car-and then the driver gives her $10 and his sympathy for having killed her dog. Or airplanes. "There's this guy standing next to me, and he's saying such things as 'If God wanted man to fly, he'd have given him wings.' And it's our pilot." Or trading stamps. It seems a girl friend saved 1,345 books of stamps toward an African safari. When...
Similarly, little directorial bits usually come off beautifully, but occasionally become heavy-handed. Gwyllum Evans as Sir Sampson, the father who seeks to disinherit Valentine, lifts a corner of his wig to hear what's going on. Jill Clayburgh as the naive, ardent, immense Miss Prue takes ten minutes to stuff a giant hankerchief into her bosom...
Behind that myth is a backstage world that matches the dream in technological terms. It is a world within worlds, a vast labyrinth of shops-carpentry, electrical, wig, prop, tailor, paint-two ballet studios, 20 rehearsal rooms (three of them as large as the main stage), 14 dressing rooms for principal singers, and hangar-sized chambers capable of storing the sets for all 23 of the Met's productions this season. For the singers, accustomed to the Stygian confines of the old Met, it was like being turned loose in Wyoming; so many of them got lost...
...ceremony. In his dealings with singers, he trades on intuition, whether it is in negotiating a $3,000 difference in salary with Richard Tucker by flipping a coin (Bing won) or in putting Birgit Nilsson at ease before a performance by bursting into her dressing room wearing a Beatle wig (Nilsson screeched). The unexpected, the outrageous are among his chief weapons. On a recent tour in Cleveland, Bing desperately wanted to persuade an exhausted Franco Corelli to substitute for an ailing tenor. He went to Corelli's hotel, got his room number, went upstairs, knelt in a prayerful attitude...
...eerie screech of water birds sounded through the open-ended courtroom in Mwanza, a dusty little Tanzanian town on the shore of Lake Victoria. Solemn in his red robes and white wig, British-born Judge Harold Platt, a member of Tanzania's High Court, stepped up to the bench. Ededem Effiwatt, the ponderous, coal-black prosecutor, made ready to represent the state. And an unarmed African policeman stood guard by the prisoner in the dock. Everywhere he looked, Peace Corpsman Bill Haywood Kinsey, 24, a North Carolinian who had been charged with the murder of his wife, was reminded...