Review
The prose of Patrick Modiano, this year’s Nobel prizewinner, has a distinctive French style whose directness and grammatical limpidity by no means exclude semantic depth and complexity.
Because of first-rate performances, St. Vincent rises above Hollywood’s standard ‘cranky old man finds love through friendship with needy child’ trope.
Starchitect Renzo Piano and his team did very well given their constraints. It is damn hard to build the right frame for so much abundant beauty.
Under Michael Tilson Thomas’s leadership, the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra’s sound has been refined and tightened; its repertoire has grown to embrace American music of all stripes.
Saturday’s attendance hopefully warms the hearts of the BSO’s management. Not only was the house very full, but the assembly also included a healthy proportion of younger heads.
American poet Paul B. Roth is keenly aware that a striking phrase can set a dream in motion.
The Real Thing’s discussion of linguistic precision may be telling now in ways that dramatist Tom Stoppard may not have anticipated.
In this production, intractable conflicts occasionally bubble to the surface, but too often they are buried beneath family squabbling.
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