Review
Beanpole is infused with a profoundly tender intimacy, interspersed with stark portrayals of pain, cruelty, and sacrifice.
The Ruskinian mantra of “truth to nature” was eventually upended by the development of digital imagery and the agile manipulations of Photoshop.
I recommend this show for Lucian Freud’s highly polished craftsmanship, but his wry game of psychological hide-and-seek is not all that satisfying.
HBO’s McMillions is a fun and light documentary, but it doesn’t deliver more than the momentary satisfactions of fast food.
Uplifting tunes for the aspiring curmudgeon you didn’t know you’d already become
Vinicius Cantuária and band offered a night of close-listening interaction between musicians with ears wide open.
There’s much to admire and appreciate about this MRT production; but the play’s lack of a solid dramatic spine is a crippling problem.
Music lovers should seize this rare opportunity to see Beethoven’s first (1805) version of Fidelio, complete with a reconstruction of Florestan’s original aria.
Given Dickens’ penny-a-word driven verbosity and his fondness for resolving every plot point with a flurry of coincidences, adapter McEleney seems undecided: is this history play a tragedy or a farce?
At 70, Marcia Ball is a non-stop pro, particularly at pacing. Early barn burners gave way to the slow blues of “Just Kiss Me.”
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