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A pair of documentaries featured in this year’s Arlington International Film Festival take a cold look at the death cult of fascism — past, present, and to come.
Each month, our arts critics — music, book, theater, dance, television, film, and visual arts — fire off a few brief reviews.
The intent of this fine album to dramatize the enduring legacy of Martin Luther King: no justice, no peace.
A massive, comprehensive new box set once again shows us the diva’s indomitable place in the history of opera.
The late Robert Brustein’s shadow is long. But his legacy is problematic.
Under the guidance of Artistic Director Lisa Gossels, this year’s fest has, in her words, “something for everyone.”
In a time of outrage and grief, a trio of documentaries at the BJFF serve as a reminder of the traditional Jewish values of compassion and inclusion, reaffirming the power of activism, art, and simple acts of human kindness.
Goosebumps is pretty much a failure as a series because it lacks most of R.L. Stine’s entertaining alchemy.
My Morning Jacket remains one of rock’s best live acts, and a stylistically broad one. And more bands should be so generous in not only representing their entire catalog but mixing up the song selection every night.
One might conjecture that Lena Horne’s career was something like a mink-lined minefield: the promise of wealth and fame went hand-in-hand with the possibility of annihilation.
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