Word: screening
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Dates: during 1970-1970
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Shirley MacLaine's screen career careens from pillow to lamppost. She specializes in playing lovable, indomitable whores (Some Came Running, Irma La Douce, Sweet Charity), a role she sashays through once again in Two Mules for Sister Sara. In this one, Shirley is supposed to be a nun but the fact that she is a hooker in disguise comes as more of a surprise to Co-Star Clint Eastwood than it does to the audience...
...director has come to the silver screen, which he bloodies considerably, from television commercials. He claims he likes to do commercials because everything happens quickly and providing him with a good chance for split images, slow-motion, and whatever else comes from the manual. The film is not completely vapid. The bust at the end is in part a frightening, sickening exercise in Hollywood gore, but is enacted in the most immediate terms possible. There is little dialogue here, the camera keeps to itself, and the sheer terror of cops battling students inevitably leaves the audience shaken, even if they...
...television commercial looked like a Truman Capote party. There on the screen were 100 political, social and entertainment personalities brought together by the National Urban Coalition to sing Let the Sun Shine In. Youth was represented by the cast of Hair. Roy Wilkins, Whitney Young and James Farmer added soul. Merv Griffin, Chet Huntley and Johnny Carson mixed with Myrna Loy and Henry Fonda...
Jimmy Stewart and Hank Fonda are as comfortable together in screen saddles as they have been in a friendship that goes back to 1932 and summer stock. Now the old cronies have teamed up again in The Cheyenne Social Club, a wonderfully outdated odyssey of bawdy innocence. True, the film is populated with more pasteboard characters than you could empty a pair of Colt Peacemakers at. There is not just one whore with a heart of gold, but six. There is the starched, parched lawyer feller and the inevitable gang of scabrous villains without a redeeming virtue to their sinister...
...least that part of it involving amphetamines. Except for a spectacular denouement (Papa dropping Librium, son suffering amphetamine withdrawal, both jabbering Oedipal home truths as they cross Washington Square, drunk on drugs and adrenalin), the book is totally convincing. One emerges unnerved from Travers' nightmare. Seen through a screen of mind-blown local color, hell really seems to be located somewhere east of Second Avenue...