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The beauty of this documentary is that even as it makes you laugh, the story’s essential sadness remains. Though it is very fast-paced, the film makes you stop and think — it’s as unsettling as it is charming.
Echo’s Bones is a fascinating immersion, somewhat inept in its means, but sincere and gravely serious, in a subject that Samuel Beckett made increasingly his own.
In red gloves and dark glasses, popping and locking, the Wondertwins are both imposing humans and robotic objects, organic and mechanical reproduction.
“It was an unusual time in music when the-powers-that-be were very hands-off. They left the art to the artists.”
Arts Fuse critics select the best in music, film, theater, visual arts, author readings, and dance that’s coming up in the next week.
By the end of the documentary, you’re in no doubt that Whitey Bulger was beneath dignity. Though not in his own eyes. There’s even vanity left in a crook who trims his white beard so scrupulously.
Classic rock (which is really a radio format, not a musical genre) is a strange animal, which has spawned an audience that apparently cares more about hit songs and memories than about who’s actually onstage.
May Odyssey Opera continue gracing Boston’s opera scene for seasons to come with such delightful performances as this.
Rufus Wainwright is like that: unfiltered family love and dysfunction threaded through whammo pop tunes wrapped in the sequins of more than a little clear-to-those-who-know celebrity.
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