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| | The New Yorker : critics : books (Site not responding. Last check: 2007-10-18) |
 | | If he later won fame as a semi-incoherent mumbler—and Fetchit insisted, once he’d become a star, that his published statements be rendered in dialect, to maintain the illusion—his justification belied the linguistic pose: “Sometimes those script writin’ men come to me and say Ah ain’t readin’ their lines clear enough. |
 | | In 1930, it was reported that Fetchit planned to produce his own screenplay, “The Dancing Fool,” which would “expel the cotton scenes” and “bring out the modern Negro”; with the movies he was actually filming, however, he was continuously late to the set or outright missing, in a wreck or in a brawl. |
 | | Fetchit’s late years, mostly spent playing tawdry clubs, were a continual fight against this way of thinking, and his few victories were hardly less bitter than his losses. |
| www.newyorker.com /critics/books/articles/051212crbo_books (2760 words) |
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