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Loading... Man of La Mancha: A Musical Play (1965)by Dale Wasserman, Joe Darion (Lyricist), Mitch Leigh (Composer)
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Sign up for LibraryThing to find out whether you'll like this book. No current Talk conversations about this book. Since this is one of my favorite musicals, it wasn't any surprise that I enjoyed reading the script. The story of a man who goes mad and tries to save the world, to the amusement and scorn of those around him. Reading song lyrics is often difficult for me, but I know these songs so well I was able to read them with no problem, which is good, because a substantial portion of the story is included in the songs. No disappointments here. Good solid pleasure. no reviews | add a review
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Winner of the New York Drama Critics Award for Best Musical, 1966 "To me the most interesting aspect of the success of Man of La Mancha is the fact that it plows squarely upstream against the prevailing current of philosophy in the theater. That current is best identified by its catch-labels--Theater of the Absurd, Black Comedy, the Theater of Cruelty--which is to say the theater of alienation, of moral anarchy and despair. To the practitioners of those philosophies Man of La Mancha must seem hopelessly naive in its espousal of illusion as man's strongest spiritual need, the most meaningful function of his imagination. But I've no unhappiness about that. "Facts are the enemy of truth," says Cervantes-Don Quixote. And that is precisely what I felt and meant."--Dale Wasserman, from the Preface. No library descriptions found. |
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Google Books — Loading... GenresNo genres Melvil Decimal System (DDC)782.81028The arts Music Vocal music Men's voices (formerly Musicals)LC ClassificationRatingAverage:
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> I like him. I really like him. Tear out my fingernails one by one, I like him! I don’t have A very good reason. Since I’ve been with him cuckoonuts have been in season— But there’s nothing I can do, Chop me up for onion stew, Still I’ll yell to the sky, Though I can’t tell you why, That I like him! … I like him. I really like him. Pluck me naked as a scalded chicken, I like him! Don’t ask me For why or wherefore, ’Cause I don’t have a single good “Because” or “Therefore.” You can barbecue my nose, Make a giblet of my toes, Make me freeze, make me fry, Make me sigh, make me cry, Still I’ll yell to the sky Though I can’t tell you why, That I … like … him!
> Though your chin be smooth as satin, You will need me soon I know, For the Lord protects His barbers, And He makes the stubble grow.
> There is no Dulcinea, She’s made of flame and air, And yet how lovely life would seem If every man could weave a dream To keep him from despair.
> To dream the impossible dream, To fight the unbeatable foe, To bear with unbearable sorrow, To run where the brave dare not go. To right the unrightable wrong, To love, pure and chaste, from afar, To try, when your arms are too weary, To reach the unreachable star! This is my Quest, to follow that star, No matter how hopeless, no matter how far, To fight for the right without question or pause, To be willing to march into hell for a heavenly cause! And I know, if I’ll only be true to this glorious quest, That my heart will lie peaceful and calm when I’m laid to my rest. And the world will be better for this, That one man, scorned and covered with scars, Still strove, with his last ounce of courage, To reach the unreachable stars!
> I have been a soldier and seen my comrades fall in battle … or die more slowly under the lash in Africa. I have held them in my arms at the final moment. These were men who saw life as it is, yet they died despairing. No glory, no gallant last words … only their eyes filled with confusion, whimpering the question: “Why?” I do not think they asked why they were dying, but why they had lived
> When life itself seems lunatic, who knows where madness lies? Perhaps to be too practical is madness. To surrender dreams—this may be madness. To seek treasure where there is only trash. Too much sanity may be madness. And maddest of all, to see life as it is and not as it should be.
> You have shown me the sky, but what good is the sky To a creature who’ll never do better than crawl? Of all the cruel bastards who’ve badgered and battered me, You are the cruelest of all! Can’t you see what your gentle insanities do to me? Rob me of anger and give me despair! Blows and abuse I can take and give back again, Tenderness I cannot bear! So please torture me now with your “Sweet Dulcineas” no more! I am no one! I’m nothing! I’m only Aldonza the whore! ( )