Each month, our arts critics — music, book, theater, dance, television, film, and visual arts — fire off a few brief reviews.

Visual Art

The Wadsworth Atheneum exhibition Styling Identities: Hair’s Tangled Histories, is part sociology, part anthropology, part pop psychology, part fashion, part comparative religion, part politics, part community relations, and part art history. The subject matter is rich and its many strands are fascinating: this is the show’s biggest problem.

Multicultural and transhistorical, Styling Identities explores hairstyling from Ancient Rome through the present and from all over the globe. But the show seems particularly designed to appeal to Hartford’s African-American community. The currently popular, elaborate, braided, and sometimes beaded hairstyles for both African-American men and women are a heavily emphasized theme. These hairstyles can take hours to produce and the salons creating them have become a community focus. The exhibition design includes two such salons full scale: one in video, one in fully functional three dimensions, used for various hairdressing demonstrations.

None of this quite gels. Each of the show’s many themes could be a full presentation in itself and the combination of all of them is overwhelming. The extensive label copy needed to explain the cultural and historic contexts of the hair in the art on view invites museum fatigue: the art itself is used primarily as illustration to the text. The show makes a claim that hairstyling is an art form and is politically sensitive; neither theme is well developed in the galleries.

There have been several exhibitions recently devoted to human hair in places as far from Connecticut as France and Australia. A 2023 show at the Musée des Arts Decoratifs in Paris was a huge affair of some 600 objects, including one of Andy Warhol’s wigs. Its scope included body and facial hair. “600 objects isn’t nearly enough,” the New York Times commented.

— Peter Walsh

John A. Volpe Transportation Systems Center. Photo: Dave Burk/SOM

Some have aptly described the building as “soulless.” Others have characterized it as just boring. Either way, it is invisible, with the visual pizzazz of clear water. It has no taste, color, or texture. The recently opened John A. Volpe Transportation Systems Center in Cambridge, Massachusetts stands as just another piece of nonsignature architecture, a rather middling, medal-framed, glass-covered office structure.

The building is split into two separate sections: a tower component and a wider podium below. Designed by SOM (Skidmore, Owens & Merrill), the edifice harkens back to an ’80s aesthetic — a boxy clean machine. To be fair, the Gensler-designed interiors suggest some thoughtfulness and charm. Unfortunately, architect/artist Maya Lin’s “undulating field” art installation comes off as creatively exhausted and even stale. It is a smaller version of her 2009 Storm King installation.

According to the United States General Services Administration, The Volpe National Transportation Systems Center is the first federal building to be the result of an exchange between the US government and a private partner, MIT. It is located on 14 acres in Cambridge’s Kendall Square. The property had been the site of six buildings: the total gross floor area was 375,000 square feet. The new federal footprint was reduced from a planned 14 acres to four acres, and six buildings were reduced to one. The US Department of Transportation got a state-of-the-art facility; MIT was given the green light to redevelop the remaining acreage.

The new 13-story structure was designed to foster innovation and collaboration; the facility spans approximately 305,000 functional square feet. On the plus side, the “vertical campus” (SOM’s description) includes state-of-the-art laboratories, conference and meeting areas, and office space. There is also a 21st-century cutting-edge rooftop solar panel array, along with stormwater retention capabilities and air-forced heat pumps that contribute to the building’s overall sustainability. Consideration was also given to glare and solar radiation by the inclusion of vertical aluminum “fins” on the exterior of the facade. It’s a shame that the Volpe Transportation Systems Center couldn’t be beautiful — or at least visually compelling — as well.

— Mark Favermann

Books

Literary critic and social-political commentator Edward W. Said (1935-2003) was also a capable pianist and great connoisseur of classical music. His primary legacy includes such important books as Orientalism and (my favorite) Culture and Imperialism. But he also wrote music criticism for The Nation and even tried his hand (less successfully) at musical analysis in his Musical Elaborations. Opera seems to have been a congenial area for him to explore, given that so many works in the genre are rich in social and political implications.

Said’s best-known essays on operas are perhaps the ones on Verdi’s Aida (nestled within Culture and Imperialism) — an essay that I have praised (and critiqued) in not one but two scholarly articles! — and on John Adams’s The Death of Klinghoffer.

Now a book has been released of four closely argued essays on Mozart’s Così fan tutte, Beethoven’s Fidelio, Berlioz’s Les Troyens, and Wagner’s Die Meistersinger. I was shown the proofs and was happy to provide a praise quote encouraging opera lovers (and potential opera lovers) to explore Said’s fresh angles on these ever-fascinating works.

Each opera, as Said amply demonstrates, raises questions about social power (including, quite explicitly in Les Troyens, colonialism), resistance, and gender stereotypes. And also about opera and theater, including how we today look at works of the past, sometimes restaging them in hopes of making them speak more directly to concerns of our own day.

Said writes, as always, with flair, precision, and punch. The book is greatly enriched by an 11-page introduction from its excellent editor, Wouter Capitain, and an 18-page preface by the renowned opera director Peter Sellars.

I recommend the book heartily and trust that it will stimulate renewed interest in Said’s writings and fresh debate about the perpetual questions of what opera was, is, and can be.

— Ralph P. Locke

Dateable: Swiping Right, Hooking Up, and Settling Down While Chronically Ill and Disabled, written by essayist Jessica Slice and minister Caroline Cupp, is a vital how-to book for those who are interested in how “to date safely and humanely in a world that systemically devalues lives like ours.” Using personal stories, interviews, and research to illustrate their argument, Slice and Cupp want to expunge the stigma generally associated with relationship issues for those dealing with mental and physical health challenges. Topics include, but are not limited to, attraction, digital dating venues (like Hinge or Tinder), sexual identity and sex, marriage, break-ups, finances, and children — all of which are comprehensively discussed in a short number of pages.

At times it is not clear which readership Slice and Cupp are serving in Dateable. Is this a guide for the disabled and chronically ill or for those who want to date them? It is obvious that the authors know their subject matter, and have experienced many of the quirks, idiosyncrasies, and outright dangers that can arise while dating someone with unique skill sets and limitations. (Slice’s dysautonomia began at 28, and Cupp was born with cerebral palsy.) The authors are up-to-date regarding the current resources available to help those running into problems with sexual harassment and unwanted advances, domestic and financial abuse, hate speech, etc. In other words, the pair are stellar advocates for an underserved population that is oftentimes mistreated and exploited by those who claim to care, including those they are in a romantic relationship with.

Dateable’s tone is honest and raw. There’s not much PSA airbrushing here. Slice and Cupp underline the challenges that often accompany loving and caring for those who need constant assistance. At first, Dateable seems to be an encouraging guide. But it ends up being more of a cautionary tale aimed at both the dater and the one being dated, underlining the harsh realities and undoubtable rewards that inevitably accompany romantic relationships with people with chronic health issues.

— Douglas C. MacLeod Jr.

Classical Music

Pianist Inon Barnatan. Photo: Rockport Music

Renowned soloist, chamber musician, inaugural artist-in-association of the New York Philharmonic (from 2014 to 2017), and music director of La Jolla Music Society Summerfest, pianist Inon Barnatan gave a spectacular performance last Thursday evening at Rockport Music’s Shalin Liu Performance Center. His fiendishly virtuosic program included major works by Rameau, Ravel, Stravinsky, and Rachmaninoff — none of which were originally intended for solo piano.

Barnatan’s rendition of Jean Philippe Rameau’s Suite in G major, CTR 6 was a delight — he played with a crisp touch, supplying just the right ornaments augmented by enormous charm and laser-like clarity. I have performed a selection of movements from Rameau’s suites on the harp, so I am well aware of how challenging it is to uproot this music from the harpsichord, for which Rameau’s keyboard works were written. One doesn’t want to have the performance sound like a misguided transcription.

In Barnatan’s hands, Maurice Ravel’s mesmerizing Valses Nobles et Sentimentales (1911), a suite of seven waltzes and an epilogue, was enthralling, as seductive as they were shimmering. As with the Rameau, Barnatan made use of an agile rhythmic impulse accompanied by no small amount of magic. According to the program, the three movements from Igor Stravinsky’s “Firebird” (1909-1910) were scheduled for after the intermission. But Barnatan launched right into them right after the Ravel, which confounded some in the audience. But why wait for such a treat? We are indebted to the Italian pianist Guido Agosti for his piano transcription of 1928, played here with brilliant verve by Barnatan, who handled the “Danse Infernale,” “Berceuse,” and “Finale” with jaw-dropping power.

An almost nonstop lightning storm behind the hall’s wall of windows almost upstaged Barnata’s thrilling performance of Sergei Rachmaninoff’s “Symphonic Dances.” These beloved pieces are best known in their original orchestral version, but there have been many splendid performances for piano four hands. None, however, existed for just one pianist until Barnatan created his own amazing transcription as his Covid project. I thought I would miss the extra notes, but this new solo version is, in a word, perfect.

— Susan Miron

Folk

What should 21st-century Jewish American music sound like? One exhilarating direction: this mash-up of Americana, jazz, and klezmer in pianist, accordionist, and composer Sam Reider’s splendid new album (with The Human Hands), The Golem and Other Tales. Reider’s omnidexterous band swoops in and out of music redolent of the likes of Django Reinhardt, Planxty, Duke Ellington, Astor Piazzolla, Bernard Hermann, Raymond Scott, and others. The stalwart instrumental crew includes Alex Hargreaves, Eddie Barbash, Dominick Leslie, Duncan Wickel, and Andrew Ryan.

The centerpiece of the recording is a terrific eight-part suite inspired by Isaac Bashevis Singer’s 1969 version of the adventures of the Golem. Originally a medieval Jewish mystic conception, the figure of the artificial man was initially envisioned as an offering to God. Over the years the Golem grew into a proto-Frankenstein monster, an all-powerful but soulless defender of Jewish innocence who runs amok. For Singer, the Golem is at his most dangerous — and wryly satiric — when he tries to live like a human being, which includes taking a wife, who is quite smitten with the silent hunk.

Reider’s presentation of the relevant morality tale (AI anyone?) is a visual and aural treat. Each of the instruments in the ensemble plays one of the dramatis personae: the narrator/composer (piano), the rabbi (cello), a mysterious stranger (saxophone), the rabbi’s assistants (mandolin and guitar), the rabbi’s daughter (violin), and the Golem (accordion). Beautiful, hand-cut paper illustrations by Brooklyn-based artist Andrew Benincasa offer a more satisfyingly nuanced (and darker) vision than Uri Shulevitz’s images for the Singer volume. The illustrations are made to be viewed along with Reider’s ingeniously antic score, which gallops far and wide: playful, passionate, schmaltzy (check out the wedding sequence), haunting, melancholic, sinuous, and dance-friendly. The other tracks on the album are just as fabulously hybrid.

— Bill Marx

Television

Katja Herbers, Mike Colter, and Aasif Mandvi in a scene from Netflix’s Evil.

Evil, a well-written Netflix series created by Michelle King and Robert King (The Good Wife) had an entertaining and promising first season. The premise: a psychologist who is hired to give expert testimony on mental illness (Kristen, played by Katja Herbers), a Catholic priest-in-training who’s an expert on demons (David, played by Mike Colter), and a skeptical tech wizard (Ben, played by Aasif Mandvi) team up to investigate claims of demonic possession issued by the Vatican. Each episode usually offers a stand-alone case, though it also continues an ongoing narrative that follows the trajectories of the protagonists. Kristen has regular sessions with a therapist, where she details sudden night terrors that are escalating in intensity; David is having doubts about committing to the priesthood; and Ben falls for the star of a paranormal reality series that uses trickery to captivate its audiences.

As the three partners grow closer their bond of trust tightens, but that also means that the job becomes a bigger part of their lives. The ongoing intersection of religion, psychology, and criminal behavior is fascinating and seemingly well researched. That said, Evil is somewhat derivative of character-driven crime procedurals, including paranormal-based dramas like Criminal Minds, The X-Files, and the recent series adaptation of The Exorcist. Still, there’s a distinctively humorous vibe here, courtesy of Kristen’s four boisterous, hilarious daughters and her sexy, sarcastic mother (the excellent Christine Lahti), as well as Ben’s arrogant refusal to buy into the increasing evidence of supernatural events occurring around him. Michael Emerson (Lost) is brilliant as a psychopathic psychologist who has Kristen in his sights.

The second season picks up right after Kristen discovers unusual physical manifestations of what might be possession. On top of that, her mother’s dubious relationship choices threaten her entire family’s safety. But I found it harder to engage with what are becoming increasingly implausible twists and turns in the plot. Previously, the character actions were convincingly natural; too often now they come off as contrived, reinforcing an increasingly outrageous storyline. The series is still highly watchable thanks to the excellent cast, so I will tune in for a third season, if one is offered.

— Peg Aloi

Film

Anne Hathaway and Nicholas Galitzine in The Idea of You.

If you haven’t heard about this feel-good (in every sense of the word) movie on Amazon Prime, The Idea of You is a steamy love story that revolves around a rarely seen coupling of an “older woman” and “younger man” that has, for whatever ridiculous reason, been taboo in popular entertainment. Directed by Michael Showalter (The Big Sick, The Eyes of Tammy Faye), the film rises above the level of saccharine romance because of the terrific performances from its leads, Anne Hathaway and Nicholas Galitzine (The Craft: Legacy).

Hathaway plays Solène, a successful gallery owner in L.A. who accompanies her teenage daughter Izzy (Ella Rubin) to Coachella and randomly meets a major boy band star, Hayes Campbell (Galitzine). When Solène stumbles into Hayes’s dressing room, he is polite and flirtatious; he even dedicates a song to her during his stage show. Despite being charmed, Solène assumes it was simply a fleeting encounter — until Hayes shows up at her gallery and buys every piece of art in the place. Divorced and busy with her career, Solène is caught off-guard and promptly swept off her feet: the chemistry between these two is hot. Emphasizing Solène’s desire for, and experience of, pleasure is a definite plus mark for this somewhat unconventional rom-com. But trouble arises after paparazzi post pics of the couple’s canoodling. The band’s fans on social media lose their collective minds, proclaiming that Hayes is dating a “dried out old hag,” among other insulting descriptors. Solène’s daughter becomes a target of the abuse, and the couple finds it almost impossible to protect their privacy. Infatuated with Hayes, and enjoying putting herself first for a change, Solène struggles with doing the right thing.

Despite the implausibility of the situation, and the overlay of glossy wealth, ubiquitous beauty, and blithe privilege throughout, this love affair radiates a dreamy joy and earthy truth that hits home. I’d love to see a version featuring people of middling means and humble habits and just normal looks, but hey, this is Hollywood. Yet even as the glittering story faded from view, a trace of magic remained in its wake.

— Peg Aloi