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Show 'Zorba The Greek5 Comes In From The Storm plot is a hash, the characters are disoriented, and the bit actors are made to do Frightful Fright-ful Fings, the director has a fixation on folk dancing (even poor Alan Bates is torturously made to want to do it). Be not deterred from rushing to the theater if you want to see real people or Crete in B&W, if you want to hear the great swinging sounds of stringy Greek folk music (by Theodorikis), if for your Greek Mythology class you want to be terrified in person by shrill Harpies in black swooping like carrion crows upon the rotting dead, or if you want (and you should) to see Lila Kedrova's smile, or her beauty mark, and Irene Papas' trusting eyes. By MARK WOODWORTH PIRAEUS, On the Dock: Looking like something the storm blew in, Alexis Zorba stumbles on an English writer off to mind his mine on the isle of Crete, and loses no time in importuning him in a language lan-guage chock full of American idioms delivered hopefully in a Greek accent. The writer (Alan Bates) is duped over a demitasse and hires Zorba as interpreter, mine foreman, big brother in affairs d'amour, and all-round varlet. Anthony Quinn exhuberantly beautifies the lusty lout Zorba, who is a walking library of extravagant ex-travagant kindnesses, whose god is love and whose currency is friendships. One friendship is with the four-times-widowed (by sailors with big mouths who fled when "they make the peace") Madame Ma-dame Hortense, tendered with tears by the wonderful Lila Kedrova who received an Academy Acad-emy Award for her part in this melange. Wistful, reminiscent of the early Giulietta Massina (in, say, husband Fellini's "La Strada"), pathological Mme. Hortense sighs, cries and eventually dies from a failure of love. Kedrova's Mme. Hortense is a sad-simple elegant fool, whether gavotting about her French salon in mating feathers or traipsing miles over rock hillside hill-side in the hot sun under a lacy parasol. Her sedate cancan can-can before the leering Zorba and his abashed boss is a charming, ludicrous terpsicho-rean terpsicho-rean spectacle. Zorba manages to be friends also with good Boss Bates, who cheerfully wears beautiful Scot-hilltop Scot-hilltop hovel, reads by candlelight, candle-light, and lets Zorba nurse him through initiation rites (this callow middleage youth!). The dark lady of the town (Irene Papas) is a third friend. Nothing if not ravishing in widow's weeds, she is always losing things: first her husband and apparently her voice (she says not a word but spits magnificently), mag-nificently), then her goat (Zorba gets her goat) and a would-be swain. She loses the respect of the hoi polloi, finds herself with Alan Bates and consequently loses . . . her head. Of the quartet of stars, the most interesting member is Zorba, a kind of Promethean savior and professional do-gooder do-gooder whose errors of judj-ment judj-ment are as invisible to him as the far side of the moon. He is endowed with the magic born of excess: nothing succeeds like excess. Cohort Alan Bates is a fine actor, but in this scene looks highly embarrassed an innocent caught in a peep show whose subject is murder. The title role of "Zorba The Greek" is not very couth, the |