Word: mirrors
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long dresses in the closet, himself in the mirror with a young girl who keeps rising to touch books and small objects...
...would not be a stretch to call her Alice in Wonderland. In the behind-the-mirror world of Washington, where many things are curiouser and curiouser, and even the knaves have to run faster to keep up, Alice Rivlin is the self-professed "official purveyor of bad news to the Congress." As head of the Congressional Budget Office, she and her 200-person staff figure out what proposed programs will really cost, and her cool counsel has stopped many of them in the gleam-in-the-eye stage...
Beckett has touched a responsive chord in an age of self-indulgent pathos. Fate is stern; it demands a hero. Self-pity is soft; it only asks for a man to look in a mirror and recognize a victim. All the "pity poor little me" folk, all the partisans of the "life is a dirty trick" philosophy, which is pervasive in our society, have proclaimed Beckett a genius. He is not a genius, but his considerable gifts, which he has harvested with great integrity, happen to coincide with the scary, fretful temper of the times...
...even scribbled in. However, the mark of a professional is to be able to make something out of nothing. Instead, Ullmann lapses into a series of alternating smiles and frowns. There is no sense of emo tional conviction: it is as if she were making faces before an imaginary mirror. Too many years before the camera, perhaps, where her superbly expressive face, particularly her eyes, have been her fortune. A deeper defect is that she projects no wifely warmth or maternal affections. She treats Papa (George Hearn) like a stagehand who has wandered onto the set, and acts like...
...newfound hands, porcupining from the inside as they regained feeling, reached up to touch a nose that had been smashed against his cheekbone. Memory flashed: the carnage that had stared back at him from the mirror the night before, the purple polka-dot bruises that dappled his face and shoulders and back. Like the flanks of an Appaloosa horse, he thought to himself; then, because he had lost his gallop and barbed wire fenced-in his prairie, he thought again--a spotted fawn, tucktail and fear-frozen at the sound of a pine cone dropping. Except it was more like...