Review
Is it possible to separate the art from the artist or, in the case of Rhode Island’s Contemporary Theater Company, the artist’s husband?
Another informative, if unsurprising, contribution to the literature dedicated to understanding “criminal behavior,” especially among teenage boys and young men.
My Mother’s Silver Fox “is a welcome addition to literature about the repercussions of the Second World War, especially its dark side — the cruelty and chilling efficiency of the SS program called Lebensborn and its aftermath.”
Two debut big band albums, one traditional and one progressive, are blowing in hot in the dead of winter.
As a dick-waving demonstration of fascist corporate and political power, “Melania” would make a great double bill with Pasolini’s “Salò, or the 120 Days of Sodom.”
If there’s anything the U.S. needs in 2026, it’s a recovery of Lincolnesque values—resolve, common sense, understanding, and charity. If such a renewal can get some impetus and sense of direction from a new recording, so much the better.
In secret and in exile, the power of cinema prevails at the Boston Festival of Films from Iran.
It’s hard to argue that the decision to forge careers as composer-pianists in the teeth of fin de siècle misogyny and rock-set views of musical gender roles wasn’t an act of defiance.
If there is power in being invited, for the space of 80 minutes, to suspend our fear of where things are going, this show is a place where we can feel safe to do just that.
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