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English writer Ian Shircore’s book-length study gives Clive James’ poems the loving attention they deserve.
The narrative turns out to have the blandly cheerful tone and slightly stilted prose of an official biography: the sort of thing with the CEO’s picture on the cover, given out at stockholders meetings. Chuck Close: Life, by Christopher Finch. Prestel, 352 pages, $34.95. Reviewed by Peter Walsh In these media-saturated, image-obsessed times, every public…
What has made for a successful life in the theater? Living by the values Vincent Murphy imbibed as a member of Boston Children’s Theatre in the ’60s: “cooperation, creativity, listening, and play.”
This month, the veteran guitarist, singer, and songwriter released his first solo album, 99 Shots, and found himself leaning in a direction he had spent decades avoiding.
A wonderful new performance of Mahler’s three orchestral song cycles; Daniel Reuss’s account of the oratorio Le Roi David is basically flawless.
Magrelli’s is a reserved, critical intelligence, and his poems do not issue from a position of knowledge, but rather from a doubt that stands, and dances, slowly on a profound respect for ambiguity.
In the spirit of Passover’s four questions, I will ask: Why this play of all plays?
Given the growing inclination, in the name of security, to regulate public expression, is it any wonder that protest art is scarce?
Historian Jackson Lears assembles sightings of a world that’s changeable, mutable, and filled with animalism, vitalism, or whatever else you want to call it. But what’s the point?
Sloane: A Jazz Singer is very sweet film that never cloys because of the singer’s naturalness, honesty, occasional self-deprecation, and sense of humor.
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