Review
Director Wes Anderson’s “The Grand Budapest Hotel” presents a frenzied feast of lavish and preposterous set pieces, performances, and tall tales.
Stephen Hough’s performance of piano works by Brahms and Chopin was enthralling, poetic, and spellbinding.
Quatuor Ébène burst into song. And I think it’s safe to say singing of any kind is almost never heard at a strings-only concert.
As if the Discovery Ensemble’s impressive return after a three-month hiatus weren’t news enough, last week brought the announcement that Courtney Lewis has been appointed assistant conductor of the New York Philharmonic, beginning this fall.
In “The Flick,” Annie Baker creates youngish characters that my students at Boston University would call “relatable,” exploring how self-delusions, stereotypes, and fear keep them from connecting in a meaningful way.
“Notebooks, English Virtuosi, and Early Modern Science” makes a profound claim about the need for cognitive restructuring in the face of information overload.
Along with the absence of a desk, the fact that guests aren’t coming on in order to plug their latest whatever sets “The Pete Holmes Shows” apart from typical late-night fare.
A trio of superb off Broadway plays explore the complicated faces of love and lust — from the seamy to the sublime.
If calculating pi to a far-off-integer isn’t for you, TAO Dance Theater’s baffling kinetic exploits may seem less like an incredible journey than a trudge to a dead end.
Are the 16-year-olds in the deep South capable of such a challenging, cumbersome construction task? Especially with the school year coming close to an end?
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