Word: wildness
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...legs, anxious brawlers carried as many as four "stingy guns" concealed in their clothing. Even the great Wyatt Earp grew so tense, one story goes, that his bowels refused to move properly for a year while he was Marshal of Tombstone. At the climax of one showdown, Wild Bill Hickok, the iciest killer of them all, got so rattled that he shot to death a deputy who was rushing to his rescue...
...after the Civil War. All too often, the doves turned out to be harpies. Rosa reports an episode in which a prostitute knelt and screamed cock-a-doodle-doo as she splashed happily in the hot blood of a stranger who had just been ventilated. As for Calamity Jane, Wild Bill's putative paramour, she was once thrown out of a bordello "for being a low influence on the inmates." Money was a more reliable consolation. Apparently, most famous gunfighters, no matter which side of the law they were on, would do almost anything to get it. The James...
That has been Barry Jr.'s way ever since he graduated from Arizona State University in 1962 with a major in business administration and a harvest of wild oats. "He was a bright kid," recalls one professor. "But it would be asking too much of the boy to be a serious student when he had his father's name and those same good looks. And the girls were crazy about...
...California, Barry Jr. decided that it was time to settle down-up to a point. He started seven years ago as a $275-a-month stockbroker's clerk, progressed to a partnership that is now worth $80,000 a year. Girls, lithe and long-legged, are still wild about him, frequently decorating his three bedroom bachelor pad in Burbank. "I work hard and I play hard," Barry Jr. says. He pilots his own single-engined Bonanza, has sailed a yacht to Hawaii and Tahiti and keeps a brace of motorcycles for Mojave Desert hill climbing...
...director George Birnbaum keeps the production moving, he seems not to have realized that sheer pace is no substitute for electricity. The scenes seem hurriedly blocked rather than directed. We get little feeling of the baseball world (a situation not helped by the colorless sets and costumes) and the wild-eyed people who populate it. Without this essential atmosphere, the production loses the nutty chaos that should make it tick. Birnbaum's own brand of ingenuity seems to lie with the quick double-entendre gag-vulgarity that goes against the grain of this particular musical. Just about everything the director...