StagenA Ballet Ensemble on a CouchnA Chorus Line; conceived, choreographednand directed by MichaelnBennett; written by James Kirkwoodnand Nicholas Dante; music by MarvinnHamlisch.nAnalyzing individuals—one of thenmagic ablutions of our pseudo-rationalnage—is old hat by now. The same Voodoonritual, allegedly scientific, but onlynupdated, when applied to a collectivenseems something new, thus interestingnor exciting by the standards of modernntheatrical values. That is what happensnduring this spectacle: a choreographicndirector, assembling a cast for a newnmusical, begins by asking the applicantsnto tell him about themselves. They instantlynturn into analysands. Some spoutnshallow cliches about their repressionsnand anxieties, others tell amusing storiesnabout their experiences. Through beautifullyntimed techniques, like fragmentedndialogues or desynchronized verbal exchanges,nthey respond in unison to thendirector’s questions, as all they have onntheir minds is one nagging urge: to getnthe job. Their communication with thendirector is impulsive and is translatedninto excellent choreography. Adorned bynthe most innovative and imaginativenstage setting contemporary Broadway hasnto offer {the scenery consists solely of anninventively operated mirror backgroundnand lighting), this musical rings truernthan anything in the rich past of thengenre.nEven its attempt to concentrate on then”Me Generation’s” psychological cant andnstereotypes fails to deprive it of thatnpeculiar American intensity which mightnbe called cultural imperialism. Its successnmakes the anti-Americanism abroad helpless,nand accounts for the bizarre factnthat even those who burn Americannlibraries, or paint “Yankee Go Home!”nslogans, do so while clad in blue jeansnand refreshed with Coca Cola. Like pre­nvious generations, the one in ChorusnLine, even if amusingly solipsistic, addressesnitself to human affairs in anuniquely American way — without excessivenprofundity, or salutary skepticism,nbut with endless sympathy, empathy andnthe will to help. Many think that becausenthe laws of work, market and competitionnoften interfere with the best of humannimpulses that the so-called Americannsystem is to be blamed for many hardnfacts of life. Though defending the Amer-nScreennican system is the last thing its authorsnand producers have in mind. Chorus Linenextends evidence to the contrary. Notnall of the young people we come to likenwill get the job — their dramatic goalnduring this mini-drama; some will getnnothing for their splendid and ardentnperformances. The final selection is anprelude to the excellence of a futurenproduction — somewhere, sometime.nAnd that’s what Americanism of almostnevery stripe is all about. (ES) •nSubtle Filth and Salvation through PlatitudenPretty Baby; directed by Louis Malle;nwritten by Polly Piatt; ParamountnPictures.nAn Unmarried Woman; written andndirected by Paul Mazursky; 20thnCentury Fox.nby Eric Shapearon-this movie, unintentionally, offersna trenchant metaphor. It represents anmicroclimate in which a child has nonchance to live her childhood. We watchna preteen girl being robbed of that crucialncomponent of her life. The consequencesnof her ultimate introduction to womanhoodnand whoredom at the age of 12 arenunforeseeable, and the movie is not concernednwith them. To us, the viewers,nthey loom as rather grim. Those whoncreated the movie perpetrate the crimenthey have dispassionately depicted: Mr.nMalle and Ms. Piatt would vehementlyndeny this, but putting their work into ancontemporary context, the double-levelednmetaphoric sense of the movie becomesnMr. Shapearo reads from Spinoza ornMontaigne before reviewing a movie.nnnpainfully clear. In our world of vandalizednsexual feelings, childhood becomes thenprime victim. The movie is R-rated,nchildren under 17 have only to be accompaniednby parents to devour thenglamorized fate of Violet, the incrediblynbeautiful child-whore. Many parents inntoday’s America will consider it an act ofnenlightenment and progress to serve thisnmovie to their children. How the imagesnof Pretty Baby will influence their livesnremains to be seen. All we know now isnthat, in the climate of the utterly permissivenatrophy of criteria of the late ’70s,nMalle’s movie both tells and makes thenstory. It is a part of the never-endingnproduction of human cliches by Zeitgeist.nA dimwitted New York film criticnwrote on Pretty Baby that the movien”received a barrage of invectives fromndo-gooders and know-nothings—” andnadded that it “inevitably” disappoints fornits “approach is cool, almost chaste—thenbig shock is the lack of explicit sex.” Thisnis a particularly odious stance. We havenalways known that the cinema embellishesnanything it touches, that it inducesnto dreaming and imitation; that filmnimagery is didactic in an uncontrollablen,23nChronicles of Culturen