Of the 23 million things that might be said about the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, the one certainty is that it is not beloved. It is respected on occasion. It is even grudgingly admired from time to time. But week in, week out, on Parliament Hill and in executive boardrooms, in highrise apartments and suburban living rooms, few things stir the bile quite like the public broadcasting network.
If Soviet Major-General Alexander Knyrkov was impressed by the manner in which the West German troops attempted to repulse the “red” invasion, he did not show it. His pudgy face, wreathed in the smoke of countless Russian cigarettes, was as impassive as that of Chinese Red Army General Li Chien, sitting only 50 feet away in the makeshift grandstand on the banks of the Danube.
The Yankees were hurtling off a memorable sudden-death playoff drive and the Dodgers, doing their impression of the Waltons, had won another pennant in Happy Valley. They were getting set to revive a rivalry that spans four decades when suddenly a Dodger of 26 years was struck down, and the World Series became a struggle in which Mr. October met The Devil.
There is so much wrong with Roy MacGregor’s piece on the National Film Board, Theatre of the Absurd (Sept. 18), that it doesn’t merit discussion. With the exception of Peter Pearson, all of the people interviewed by MacGregor were capable of providing worthy and interesting material on the subject.
There are some things that one can never bring back: the soaring arc of a Mickey Mantle hit, the slapstick antics of Bob Hope, Bing Crosby and Dorothy Lamour on the road to anywhere, the tailfins on a ’50s Chevy. But, Life magazine is back. After a six-year hiatus, the familiar red and white logo is once again on the newsstands and old Life readers will not be disappointed in the new effort.
Once upon a more harmonious if less musical time, the Boyd Gang was a group of Toronto tearaways with a distressing penchant for breaking into banks and out of jails. That was a full quarter-century ago, just about the time the CBC was launching its television service.
Every 100 seconds, the tiny, legless puppet lurches forward convulsive ly, clanging its head with demonic force against a silver bell. The effect is eerie; violence by proxy at the Art Gallery of Ontario. Charlie McCarthy has been up dated as a sado-masochistic stand-in by New York artist Dennis Oppenheim in a piece called An Attempt to Raise Hell.
We’ve been out conquering the world,” says Arnold Spohr, director of the Royal Winnipeg Ballet, “but we haven’t conquered Winnipeg. It’s a challenge.” It won’t, of course, be the first challenge the company has faced since Gwenneth Lloyd and Betty Farrally had the nerve to start it all in 1939, in a town where folks thought a “barre” was a fancy way to say saloon.
During the past week, as every week, Canadians dug into their wallets for a deflated dollar bill, a five or a 10, until they had plunged $20 million on lottery tickets. Four out of five Canadians buy regularly, though few quite so regularly as Toronto office manager Richard Quesnell, who after cutting back the habit from $200 per month, is buying $50 worth —confidently waiting for the big million.
It will be galling for some who remember wire-whip artist Julia Child as The French Chef— but when she returns to her televised kitchen after a five-year absence, she’ll be no more Parisian than a Boston baked bean. In departing from her old format, Child will now prepare an entire meal on each show in her 13-part series, “drawing recipes from anywhere and everywhere.
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