Harper & Row, 206 pp., $5.95
Poor Zeffirelli. His sentimental paean to Francis of Assisi appears to be arriving at a bad moment. The hippies have disappeared, the flower children are barely a memory, the Woodstock phenomenon which blew every square's mind a few years ago at theaters across the land can't make it today on TV, the Jesus freaks are the spiritual nasties, and the only heavy changes we're experiencing are conformism and country club sophistry—the Smilin' Jack folderol of the Fifties.
Review, 3575 words
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