Cinema: One-Man Studio

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At the far end of a lobby-sized green-and-gold Hollywood office last week, a wiry, high-domed man gnawed a massive cigar, paced briskly back & forth, and spewed memoranda in a loud Midwestern twang. Occasionally, hypnotized by his own train of thought, he ducked briefly into an open anteroom behind his desk, to stalk an idea among the stuffed heads of a water hog and an antelope, the skins of a lion and a jaguar, the sawed-off feet of an elephant and a rhino. Working in relay, three stenographers dashed into the huge...

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