Word: kael
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...Woman Under the Influence in the February 26th issue of The Crimson raises serious doubt as to the validity of this and all other art reviews published by the paper. Upon reading the review I was immediately struck by the similaritles between these comments and a review by Pauline Kael in the Dec. 9, 1974 issue of the New Yorker. Specifically, Stephen, like Kael, begins his review with a few comments on the theories of schizophrenia expressed by R.D. Laing. Dispersed throughout the article are several particularly unusual phrases used by Kael in her review. One of Stephen's lines...
Commenting on the director's stylistics, Kael states. "This time [Cassavetes, the director] abandons his handsome, grainy simulated cinema-verite style." Stephen states: "The only scene of Nick at work is shot in the handsome, grainy, cinema-verite style characteristic of Cassavetes's earlier work." Kael closes her article by comparing Cassavetes to Harold Pinter: "[Cassavetes's] special talent--it links his work to Pinter's--is for showing intense suffering from nameless causes." Stephen, towards the end of his review, states, "Cassavetes's admirers compare his home-movie method to Harold Pinter's drama...
Stephen's borrowing of Kael's phrases without crediting her was an inexcusable breach of critical honesty and integrity, and we deeply regret that we published the article...
...three Harvard Square newsstands last week, proof that sophisticated aesthetes saw the February 24 issue for what it was: a silent collector's item. It was fat with the work of such New Yorker deities as E.B. White, S.J. Perelman, Brendan Gill, John Updike and Pauline Kael--some of them dragged from retirement for this circumspect celebration. That was a clue, of course all of those whimsical hot shots, together in one issue, meant something special was up. There were other clues: the cover was the annual portrait of Eustace Tilley, The New Yorker's elegant, top-hatted, curly-locked...
...dull people, the humor pieces heavier with syrup than satire--this is what fills The New Yorker. Get rid of the cartoons--the work of Lorenz, Geo. Price, Charles Addams--and there is not much left. An occasional piece by Woody Allen. Richard Goodwin's political writing. Pauline Kael. What else...