Cleopatra. In scarlet letters volted with excitement the notorious name hung throbbing and enormous in the night sky over Broadway. Beneath it 10,000 rubberneckers milled on the macadam and roared at the famous faces in the glare. One by one, smiles popping like flashbulbs, they disappeared in the direction of the screen. What did it hold for them? Surely no Shavian conversation piece could conceivably have cost all that money. Surely no noble Shakespearean poem could possibly be recited by Elizabeth Taylor. No, Cleopatra was bound to be one of those colossal Things that periodically come charging out of the...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
