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Horizontal — a favorite position for La Wyman,
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ENTRANCED by the brooding eyes and muted power of Ma Baxter in “The Yearling,” you are liable to compare her to a figure of Greek tragedy you never saw or read. You may even bone up on Sophocles with the idea of swapping persiflage with that great tragedienne Sarah Jane Wyman in case you run into her in Schwab’s soda-jerkery. In a word my boy, you are being hexed by the art of the Wyman woman. You are until honest Annie Sheridan pipes, “I love that gal, she’s a million laughs.”
The tragedienne herself sweeps in with the exclusive news that she is forever falling on her face because she can’t see a thing. She also has the habit, she confides, of twining legs so ardently with chairs that, when called upon suddenly to arise, the floor smacks her face and the chair her behind. (It may be noted that Madame’s nose is a bit upturned, either from nature or hard surfaces, but la belle derriere
retains its perfect shape, vive la.)
So overpowering is Ma Baxter, you may have forgotten Madame Wyman has a past involving “The Doughgirls,” “Smart Blonde,” “Animal Kingdom” and like frivolities.
Trim as a racing yacht, Mme. Wyman sails into The Players bar restaurant at lunch hour cutting the dimness like a bugle at reveille. Veterans are instantly on their toes. An old skeptic, informed that the apparition is Jane Wyman, looks at his cocktail glass accusingly. “If that’s Ma Baxter I’m the Yearling,” he says. “Let her shoot.”
The only clue to Ma’s identity lies in the huge deep Wyman eyes. They are purloined arc lamps, brown filtered. They appear to look straight from the soul into yours and you wonder nervously what they are seeing.
“Can’t see a thing,” said ( Continued on page 74)
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