Word: youngs
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...want to rest! I want to breathe quietly again! But this line is delivered as though by a tired prostitute, and not by a woman with a sincere desire to escape from her past and begin life anew with the security of marriage. Likewise, the scene with the young bill collector is completely lacking in lyric quality and only the primitive element is played. The way in which Miss Humphrey delivers, "I've got to be good--and keep my hands off children," using her lower register and a drunken slur, is strongly reminiscent of Tallulah Bankhead. There is nothing...
William Swetland as Mitch is gentle and loving, though one would wish that he had made even an attempt at the accent. In smaller parts, Samuel Waterson is sensitive and quite touching as the young collector, and Stanley Jay makes something truly spine-tingling out of a brief bit as a flower seller...
...perhaps to give the show an elevated, operatic tone-the actors speak in precise, cultivated accents that are miles away from the Negro slums of South Carolina. For that matter, Sidney Poitier's Porgy is not the dirty, ragtag beggar of the Heyward script, but a well-scrubbed young romantic hero who is never seen taking a penny from anybody. And Dorothy Dandridge, who emphasizes the elegance of her bones more than the sins of the flesh, makes something of a nice Nellie out of bad Bess...
...cliques, Snow concludes, perhaps the more dangerous are the nonscientific intellectuals. It is they who still manage the Western world, without any real understanding of the power at their command. Their ignorance began in the industrial revolution, and has graver consequences by the year. The English university "trained its young men for administration, for the Indian Empire, for the purpose of perpetuating the culture itself, but never in any circumstances to equip them to understand the revolution or take part in it ... The academics had nothing to do with the industrial revolution; as Corrie, the old Master of Jesus College...
...little monsters were to breed, perhaps with the four-headed puns of Peter (The Tunnel of Love) De Vries, the printed word might never be the same. Still, considering the general run of summer fiction, Wallach's fable is funny enough. He tells of a soulful young swimming-pool salesman who leaves Manhattan because "inside stuffy little apartments a million parakeets mess up their cages and refuse to say an intelligent word"-a conception subtle with the flavor of Zen-Zen, the West Coast's cultural mouthwash. In California, the hero sells pools frantically, working toward that aqueous...