Debra Cash
“The only way to keep the music alive is to view it as a living thing and support artists who approach it that way, rather than as a museum piece.”
Arlekin Players Theatre’s “The Dybbuk” may not convince you of the supernatural, but director Igor Golyak is a magician.
You either go full Hollywood CGI, or you pare it down to the poetry of it.
This small volume is apt to become a classic that is passed hand to hand.
In “BLACK HOLE,” the TRIBE trio moves as if learning for the first time how their skeletons and muscles are constrained and empowered, perplexed and bedazzled, by gravity’s incontrovertible power.
Too, too soon, the images in MOMIX’s “Alice” alternate between unpleasant and stale.
As the first draft of documenting choreographer Alexei Ratmansky’s career, this book will be invaluable, but by the end of it, the story may look somewhat different.
We’re not saying get rid of “Madama Butterfly” We’re saying do a better Butterfly.
Here’s this week’s poem, Debra Cash’s “The Boat: April 19, 2013.”
Because Mindy Aloff is so deeply personal and idiosyncratic — and so dependent on what was programmed by certain theaters, in certain years — her book distorts the very topic it is intended to illuminate.
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