The man is a lion of prides. The mane is wayward and unhatted. The massive head and frame are by Hogarth, the voluminous suit by Khrushchev's tailor. An excess of ergs twitches his head and fingers; the English hair and teeth, the cockney-of-the-walk intonations announce his presence in the densest lobby crush. In the past two years, the New York Times's Clive Barnes has become a public character, the most theatrical and prolific critic since the days of Alexander Woollcott.
He is not only the Times drama critic but its dance critic as well. He revisits hits to make sure audiences...
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