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Category Archive for 'Flicks'

While the brilliance of his photography is deservedly well known, Gordon Parks‘ film career is, Shaft aside, yet underrated and under seen. The Learning Tree (1969) does right by Kansan beauty and oppression alike and, if The Super Cops (1974) isn’t The French Connection (not that it could be, given the differences of their source material),until someone makes a movie about […]

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There was morning gray in the sky as the sedan crossed Brooklyn Bridge. There was some pale blue in the sky as Vanning parked the car off Canal Street. He used the subway to get back to the Village, and upon entering his room the first direct move he made was to start packing his things. […]

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Out at sea a single clarinet begins to play, a droll melody joined in on after a few bars by guitars and mandolins. Birds huddle bright-eyed on the beach. Katje’s heart lightens, a little, at the sound. Slothrop doesn’t yet have the European reflexes to clarinets, he still thinks of Benny Goodman and not of […]

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I suppose that I owed it all to General Butler— Beast Butler, as they used to call him in New Orleans, and as far away as London, after his notorious General Order Number 28, that any woman showing contempt for any officer or man of the Federal forces should be treated like a woman of the […]

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DESCENT ON A DISORDERLY HOUSE— A FILTHY DEN— Sergeant Crafts of the 42d Precinct, with officers Pearce and Price, made a descent last night upon a disorderly house kept by a woman named Elia O’Conner at the rear of the house No. 77 York street, and arrested three women of bad repute, named Jane Morrison, Bridget […]

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Bette Davis and Margaret Dumont are in the curly-Cuvilliés drawing-room of somebody’s palatial home. From outside the window, at some point, comes the sound of a kazoo, playing a tune of astounding tastelessness, probably “Who Dat Man?” from A Day At The Races (in more ways than one). It is one of Groucho Marx’s vulgar […]

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In winter the ashen stucco houses shaped like Camel cigarette-boxes squat before the Bensonhurst bay-mist. Bensonhurst, low, flat, rheumatic marshland, is a realtor’s reclamation project. Many of the streets which may be compared to the booming oil cities of the Oklahoma country seem to have sprung up over night. The houses are a makeshift stage-setting […]

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As if we had not strained the voting and digestive calibre of American Democracy to the utmost for the last fifty years with the millions of ignorant foreigners, we have now infused a powerful percentage of blacks, with about as much intellect and calibre (in the mass) as so many baboons. But we stood the […]

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Caz Dolowicz don’t plant tater, and don’t plant cotton, and dem dat plants ‘em is soon forgotten.

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One of America’s greatest public historians, Philip Dray has been in some unusual places but none more unusual than this: seated in an orange dinghy just launched from the Bay Ridge shore and headed for… the wine dark sea? For Staten Island? “No, no, no” the oarsman, Brian Berger, assures me. “Fort Lafayette!” All I saw […]

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