Word: yorkerisms
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: during 1960-1969
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...were more than mildly surprised the other day to discover that The New Yorker magazine had taken it upon itself to add a table of contents. In a world where change confronts one at every turn, we had always taken a certain satisfaction in the constancy of Chat publication. Wondering if a palace coup had taken place on Manhattan's West 43rd Street while our attention was directed elsewhere, we at once put in a call to the magazine's editor, William Shawn...
...Hello, New Yorker Magazine," a pleasant male voice informed us after a single ring. We asked for Mr. Shawn and immediately found ourselves talking with an equally pleasant lady. Though it was nearly noon, she explained that Mr. Shawn had yet to begin his working day but would return our call when he arrived. Sure enough, in less time than it takes to peruse "Talk of the Town," our phone rang and we found ourselves engaged with Mr. Shawn himself...
...recent New Yorker cartoon, a scrofulous bum is shuffling past a Broadway theater at intermission time. With smug insouciance, he addresses a passing query to the patrons under the marquee: "How about it, folks? Getting your eleven dollars and ninety cents' worth?" Top ticket prices are $15 for 1776, and to answer the bum's question, it is a bearable $3 show...
...whose 30-year Hollywood stint brought him three Oscars and a six-year term (1949-55) as president of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences; of a stroke; in Bel Air, Calif. Brackett began writing short stories for the Saturday Evening Post, soon switched to The New Yorker as drama critic. Next stop was Hollywood in 1932, where he and Billy Wilder collaborated on 15 pictures, including Academy Award winners The Lost Weekend (1945) and Sunset Boulevard (1950). Brackett's final Oscar was for his Titanic (1953) screenplay, which captured all the heroism and much...
Muriel Spark's novella was first published in America in The New Yorker. Mrs. Jay Allen's adaptation (of her own stage version) betrays its source at every turn. Its details are unfailingly accurate. The school is a chalk dust bowl; the staff is a frightened gaggle arranged in perfect pecking order; the girls throw themselves into adolescence as if they were breaking the sound barrier. But, as in much New Yorker fiction, while the parts promise a vision, the whole does not even provide a view...