Review
This is Mel Brooks’ warm and amusing love letter to his golden years in comedy.
At times, Laurel Hell’s withering fatigue is directed at the clash between commodification and art.
Seeing Eleanor Antin’s 100 Boots all in one place is exciting — this work of “postal art” is still explosive. Fred Sandback’s minimalist pieces offer a quiet contrast.
“When you play with authority, then that’s what the music is about, like ooooh baby, and sing it.” — Cecil Taylor
With the eyes of the world on Ukraine right now, two films at Sundance came from that country, or what used to be that country.
Tenor Mathias Vidal shines, as does the period-instrument orchestra, in the rarely heard, trimmer version of 1761, on the Chateau’s own new award-winning label.
Make what you will of this often page-turning confection, which if not particularly literary, may be a bunch of fun.
The Pink Cloud is a fascinating watch by sheer virtue of its accidental prescience.
Mel Brooks called Ronnie Scott’s Jazz Club “a little nest of happiness. All our recent wounds are healed there.”
Dramatist Lydia R. Diamond makes an honorable effort to adapt Toni Morrison’s novel to the stage, but with mixed results.
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