Towards the end perhaps there were slight signs of tiring fingers but there is no doubt that, in the words of the cognoscenti, this was a stoater of a performance.
Immediately a big wooden-top came in. He was young and blond.
The hour-long (and far too slow-paced) show: Malice in Wonderland, by lampooning, lapidating S. J. Perelman, veteran of movie-writing stints
‘This,’ the colonel said […] ‘is a lampshade. It looks like an ordinary lampshade. It was taken from the bedside lamp of Frau Koch. It’s genuine human skin.’ It sounded more gruesome spoken in his diphthongal southern manner—skee-ern.
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