Word: right
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...shears. Perhaps as a consequence, Columbia Pictures decided to hold it at arm's length, a flop to be forgotten. A flop, perhaps. Forgotten, hardly. For The Comic contains the most ambitious performance of Van Dyke's career, a resolutely unglamorous close-up of a string-necked, right-wing Angeleno, faded by sun and circumstance...
...committed, almost simultaneously scores a smash hit in his first book show and takes up with a nymphomaniac tramp ("I don't know why, John, you see I was reaching for something ... I was all mixed up. Success, disaster-I had everything"). Eventually, he finds the right girl but is so gun-shy that she marries someone else; then he pursues her until she gets a divorce after he is sued for alienation of affections in a headline scandal. He marries her, has two kids, continues as a Broadway star, gets on TIME'S cover...
...life seems to have been. For instance, there is Lahr as a budding vaudevillian putting makeup on his collar even when unemployed so everyone will know he is in show biz. One is touched by the physical fact that his left wrist was permanently larger than the right from breaking repeated pratfalls. And a fine moment comes when a wino outside the theater holds out a dollar saying "Here, Bert, and thanks." As a young intellectual, John Lahr is eloquent, too, about his father's final sense that he did not understand the modern world around him. Unfortunately, such...
Lutin was right. I didn't see any clergymen, but all sorts of other specimens did appear. They were attracted to this clever conglomerate of circuits and bolts. fascinated by its mystical aura and scientific precision. Damaska had said he considers palmists to be his "spiritual cousins," but these people, would never go to a palmist. Or to a private astrologer, for that matter. The first is too unconvincing, the second too expensive and exotic. For a people living in the Moon Age, the cybernetic version of the astrological moon can be just as believable as the sandy satellite visited...
...against my will. I still am. Because the machine was right, upsettingly accurate, again and again. Its personality profile ("Your tendency to over intellectualize," the machine informed me, for example, "may make you lose sight of concrete goals,") came unpleasantly close. Its forecast, though not immediately verifiable, seemed plausible. I could rationalize it all away, but I don't. Astrology used to be a medieval relic, a creation of the imagination comparable to the visions of Blake, Shelley, and Yeats. In its own, non-scientific, metaphorical way, it was beautiful and intriguing. Today, packaged and chrome-plated, gushed'over...