… ain’t no picnic: quality 1950s realism ___ 8.5/10
Review by Brian Wright
[Train horn sounds several blasts]
Hal Carter: Listen, baby, you’re the only real thing I ever wanted, ever. You’re mine. I gotta claim what’s mine, or I’ll be nothing as long as I live. You love me. You know it. You love me.
[Hal turns as he runs for passing freight train]
Hal Carter: You love me.
Flo Owens: oh, Madge…
[Madge runs up to her room and Flo walks to Mrs. Potts]
Flo Owens: You liked him, didn’t you Helen?
Helen Potts: Yes, I did. I got so used to things as they were: Everything so prim, the geranium in the window, the smell of mama’s medicines. And then he walked in, and it was different! He clomped through the place like he was still outdoors. There was a man in the place and it seemed good! Continue reading
The sad fact as I approach the end of my sixth full decade on the planet is that there’s an accumulation of losses that can’t be passed by without comment. Most of us grew up seeing our parents and even our grandparents as constants of nature; physical death had very little relevance to our worlds. Into late Teenagedom, I recall losing Grandpa —actually a step-grandfather who was the kindest, brightest, internally strongest man I’ve ever known. And how did I react? I didn’t attend the funeral because I couldn’t accept death into my psychological universe!