To fete beloved Stephen Sondheim at 90 in song for two and a half hours, an A-list of Broadway stars zoomed in. Sure, you don’t get the wow production, the pageantry, the costumes and sets of a live musical, but what you do get is that up close emotion that the internet allows, as if you were seated a foot away from say Meryl Streep’s face as she carouses with Christine Baranski and Audra McDonald for a drunken rendition of “Ladies Who Lunch.” This is what the split screen was meant to do, just as Beanie Feldstein and Ben Platt’s duet from Into the Woods and Annaleigh Ashford and Jake Gyllenhaal from Sunday in the Park with George keeps them in the same frame, even as they, and we are, well, apart and elsewhere.
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The story of Peter Beard has a grim end: some 19 days after he disappeared, after search parties including helicopters had given up their trawling the rocky coast, the erstwhile adventurer has just turned up. Some thought he went into the sea, lunch meat for sharks, if there are such fish at these shores, but no: maybe he’d gone into some secret corner of the woods, and like beat poetry catalyst Neal Cassady, another legend, died of exposure. No body, no news. But now all that may change.The Times retold an anecdote about Beard, that while working in the city, when he was told his house had gone up in flames, he just continued his work. What the Times failed to say, and what might merely be Montauk rumor, was that the house had been burnt down by workers, locals disgruntled that they had not been paid. Legends abound about such adventurers: some saw the house lifted off the nearest cliff by Sikorsky helicopter, moved to the most remote point, a piece of property jutting farther into the sea than the lighthouse. Montauk residents gathered outside the church in the early ‘80’s, when Beard married Cheryl Tiegs.
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Back in the early 1980’s, Naked Lunch author William S. Burroughs grinned across the screen on Saturday Night Live, having just been introduced as the greatest living writer in America by supermodel Lauren Hutton. Usually writers don’t read from their work on television, but behind the scenes, Hal Willner made it happen. Willner, beloved music producer is best known for his work with musicians, but he was always literary, and he loved the Beat writers, and made recordings with Burroughs, Allen Ginsberg, Gregory Corso, and Robert Wilson, who had collaborated with Burroughs and Tom Waits on The Black Rider. When his longtime friend Lou Reed died, he produced the memorial event for him at the Apollo Theater in Harlem. Now it is Hal we will have to mourn: he died on April 7 at age 64.Here is a glimpse of Hal Willner at work on one of his productions:
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Among the many joys of New York night life, and jazz performances in particular was hearing Bucky Pizzarelli on guitar alongside his son John’s quartet at the Café Carlyle. This week the elder Pizzarelli (94) succumbed to the coronavirus. Through the years, John was a regular at the Carlyle, and seven years ago, his father was still out there performing and trading one-liners with his son. Here is my review from April 10, 2013, entitled “John Pizzarelli Quartet (Plus One) at the Café Carlyle:”This entertaining show may be billed as a jazz quartet, but as aficionados know, John Pizzarelli has a secret weapon: his dad. As he tells you, Bucky Pizzarelli, now 87 and seated beside him, has a long and distinguished career on guitar performing with Vaughn Monroe and other big bands of that era, but with his son John—and another son, Martin on bass—(that must be the family rebellion), the show at the Carlyle features smooth standards sprinkled with patter, as if son John, front man on guitar who also sings, needs to tell Bucky just where to come in.
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One of the last great New York nights was the opening of The Girl from North Country on Broadway, nearly a month ago. Among the guests crowding into the Belasco was Jesse Eisenberg. By coincidence I had just that afternoon seen his latest film Resistance, and still recovering from the power of this Holocaust survival drama based on the true story of the world’s most famous mime, Marcel Marceau, I stopped him to applaud his performance as a rescuer of orphans during that brutal time. “Oh, was it okay?” he asked, having not yet seen it. “It meant a lot for me. My family came from Lublin.”Because the movie is set in the South of France in Strasbourg, the chief Nazi villain is Klaus Barbie, known for outrageous cruelty, that is, the torture of his captives for pleasure. Dubbed “the Butcher of Lyons,” the movie’s merciless Barbie (Matthias Schweighofer), a handsome Aryan, descends upon a corps of homosexual Nazis on a night out. But that is just a taste of this true-life character, whose outsized violence escalates to barbaric heights in yet another scene, all the more horrible left to the imagination as Barbie describes what he will do to a captured young Resistance fighter. The memory of the terrified woman strapped into a doctor’s chair, her sister forced to watch, leaves a profound chill. It’s a moment of thrilling movie-making from writer/director Jonathan Jakubovicz.
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Back in the day, I knew a journalist who had a crush on Woody Allen, and joined a club with others similarly besotted. Witty and smart, this bespectacled nerd made them laugh, and that was sexy. Cut to Woody Allen today, a man in his ‘80’s trying to clear his name. His new book, Apropos of Nothing, is already a scandal because one publishing house coup caused a cancellation, to another’s gain. Hachette employees walked out in protest, leaving the publication to Arcade/ Skyhorse. Chalk it up to a knee jerk conclusion of guilt in the #metoo moment: a relapse of Woody Allen’s continued battle in courts of public opinion on the case of his having abused his daughter Dylan. You know the story. It’s complicated. A family rift. A woman’s revenge. In Apropos of Nothing, he tells his side: logical, clear, bewildered that his reputation remains besmirched after much investigation, his work boycotted in the America that gave it birth. If that were all, you might not want to read Apropos of Nothing. On the other hand, one of our most unique filmmakers also tells tales of his life, loves, craft and Manhattan real estate, offering a laugh-out-loud penthouse perspective: Brooklyn boy rises to the top. -
Inevitable that the current virus would claim the life of someone up close and personal. The pleasures of Terrence McNally’s work in theater have been a staple of New York’s Broadway and off experience for decades. In June 2019, I saw a revival of his Frankie and Johnny in the Clair de Lune, his writing a glorious vehicle for the talents of the actors Michael Shannon and Audra McDonald.A bed sits center stage at the Broadhurst Theater, in a Hell’s Kitchen apartment from the 1980’s. As Terrence McNally’s Frankie and Johnny in the Clair de Lune opens, Michael Shannon as Johnny and Audra McDonald, Frankie, make passionate love. From the grunts and groans, it’s pretty good sex we are witnessing, and when Johnny turns over, applause breaks out at the sight of his bare rump. Bodies are not all that’s naked in this intimate two-hander: as these co-workers in a diner have this night together, they talk and peel back histories of hurt.
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On December 27, 2016, I posted a story about returning to the Gotham Book Mart site, reconfigured after the legendary literary hangout lost its lease. Its proprietor, Andreas Brown, a man wise to books, theater, and the theater of books, died this week at age 86. Among many discoveries, he was onto Jimmy Kimmel, telling me, he’s going to be a big star. With some tweaking, I am remembering here Andreas Brown and his place among diamonds.“That’s our trouble,” said my friend Roger Friedman, “everything used to be something else.” I had just told him about meeting my brothers and their families for the third Chanukah candle, 13 relatives in all, at a glatt kosher restaurant called Taam Tov in the Diamond District, on the very site of the legendary Gotham Book Mart. On November 17, 1986, my book, Kerouac’s Spontaneous Poetics, one of the first full-scale studies on the iconic beat poet and novelist, was celebrated here. A sign, “Wise Men Fish Here,” marked the spot, a literary emporium on a bejeweled street. The James Joyce Society met here. Among many other book parties, a reissue of Junkie was feted here too, in 1977. Carl Solomon and Patti Smith attended, honoring William S. Burroughs’ work. Poet Allen Ginsberg, who had clerked here back in the day, snapped my picture.
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Introducing the next chapter to the hit horror movie, A Quiet Place, writer/director John Krasinski said he never wanted to make a sequel, and now he prefers the new one: “That’s for you to decide,” he said to the rapt audience at the Jazz at Lincoln Center’s Rose Hall premiere. Expect: the most successful franchise ever.If you liked the first one, you will like A Quiet Place II. The crowd cheered wildly as the family, baby in arms, makes their way through a landscape emptied of people, besieged by grotesque creatures averse to sound. Because the filmmaking is superb, from story to direction, special effects to editing, the movie, as in the first, is riveting, reinventing the genre. You cannot look away from beginning to end at those faces: Emily Blunt as the every-mom turned action hero has her match in Millicent Simmonds, as the fiercely smart daughter who strategizes a route to survival. Simmonds who we first met on the set of Todd Haynes’ Wonderstruck, has grown up. Now 17, Simmonds is luminous, in the manner of silent movie stars of yore, and Krasinski takes full advantage. For this episode, Cillian Murphy joins in on the journey, meeting up with good guy Djimon Hounsou. Without revealing too much, there are boats involved.
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Showrunner David Simon took the stage at the 92nd Street Y carrying a giant-sized bottle of Purell following a preview screening of the HBO miniseries, The Plot Against America, to air on March 16. Certainly, Coronavirus was on his mind, a point of concern, even paranoia, while he was promoting his program, famously a Philip Roth novel fearful about the future of democracy. Simon shared the stage with his actors Winona Ryder, Morgan Spector, and John Turturro. Why adapt this Roth novel now? -
The musical, Girl From the North Country, newly landed on Broadway at the Belasco Theater after sellout runs in London and at the Public Theater, imagines what you can do if you match up a brilliant storyteller, Conor McPherson, with a brilliant songwriter, Bob Dylan. And that’s without either one of them having met, spoken, emailed, or tweeted with the other! How exactly does that collaboration create such exciting theater? -
A white girl in a black tutu pirouettes onstage in a dour apartment, a fantasy vision of Natalie Portman in Black Swan. Reminiscent of other works with movie stars in the name (Being John Malkovitch/ Searthing for Debra Winger), All the Natalie Portmans, an off- Broadway debut by C. A. Johnson at the MCC Theater, the conceit gets a smug laugh. For Keyonna, a queer charter school student who fixates on white actresses—see her vision board where Winona Ryder also has pride of place—the apparition is life-saving, as is the pop-up presence of all the Natalie Portmans, from Queen Amidala to her youthful breakout role in The Professional. Beset by complications resulting from her father’s sudden death, Keyonna copes alongside a beleaguered brother, a family friend girl crush, and a booze-binging mom. The family gets by one way or another, until it doesn’t. -
Even against a gloomy sky, The Rainbow Room with its magnificent city views defied yesterday’s weather, an impending pandemic, democrats duking it out. At Guild Hall’s most festive winter celebration, honoring achievement in the arts and philanthropy, serenity reigned, although most honorees greeted guests and neighbors with fist bumps and elbows over the usual bear hugs and double cheek air kisses. Among those cheering on Dorothea Rockburne in the Visual Arts, Barry Sonnenfeld for Performing Arts, Ted Hartley for Philanthropy and “a life well lived,” and Salman Rushdie for the Literary Arts, were Philippe Petit, Ralph Gibson and Mary Jane Marcasiano, Tovah Feldshuh, Blythe Danner, Jordan Roth, Toni Ross, Patti Kenner, and many more representing the vibrant community, many attendees former awardees. April Gornik promised that the long-awaited Sag Harbor Arts complex will open this spring. And Eric Fishl raised a glass to the memory of Michael Lynne. -
I usually take notes when I review plays, but I could not risk taking my eyes off Deirdre O’Connell in Lucas Hnath’s play, Dana H. Because the actress’ mouth is moving to the sound of Dana Higginbotham in an edited interview with writer/artist Steve Cosson from 2015, speaking about events of 1998, lip-syncing, her face is doing all in the narration of a harrowing story, and, you simply cannot avert your attention. She tells you it’s the first time she’s ever recounted the story of her abduction by Jim, a member of the Aryan brotherhood, a five-month ordeal from motel to motel, and you believe her because the emotion is so strong, who could speak of it? And you believe her because it is true. And you believe her because she is the playwright’s mother. Finally, you are there with her, in one such motel, and you simply cannot believe she, her son, and you are alive to experience this story. -
At the Greenwich House Theater for a memorial for Rip Torn, awesome clips revealed the evolution of this legendary actor’s astonishing film career from Baby Doll (1956) to Bible epics through roles as a good guy and then menacing bad ass, onto his Emmy winning television work on “The Larry Shandling Show” and “30 Rock” with a hilarious scene with Alec Baldwin. A bit from his 1969 The Bearding of the President showed him with his “Nixon” nose, his own invention, and at least one friend opined that he would have been an even bigger presence in film and stage but for his politics.But among the ample work that was not screened, was a bit of voice over in the Oscar winning documentary Harlan County USA. Filmmaker Barbara Kopple needed someone to say, “We’ve got our guns now,” and asked him to say the line so it could be heard. “I’ve never told anyone, but now I am telling you,” Kopple confessed to a crowd of New York friends and family, among them David Amram who led the speakers off and concluded with a special song for Rip, and accompanied Rip’s twin sons with Geraldine Page, Jon and Tony Torn, in a reading of Whitman’s “Song of Myself.”
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Okay, we did see it coming. Parasite certainly made a big impression. A stylish hoot, the feature was the edgiest, artiest of the lot. Director Bong Joon Ho needed a drink after his writing win; maybe he thought his run would end after that, but the academy shed its love for him over top honors. Much like our current political scene, where the line-up of democrats does not seem to yield any one clear candidate, the Oscars, with 1917 looking like a Best Picture winner, had stellar contenders. The mood had shifted over the course of the award season. I, for one, wished more love could have been shared with The Irishman, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, or Little Women, that Parasite would beat Pain and Glory for Best International Film, and that would be that. Still, in the end, the Oscars 2020 show proved to be more entertaining than expected. As the dear departed two-time nominee Sylvia Miles used to say every year, the voting algorithm for Academy Awards is reliably unpredictable. Expect an upset. -
Mark Bozek’s documentary, The Times of Bill Cunningham, features a fresh look at his subject from a 1994 taped interview: Hard working and uniquely talented, Bill Cunningham eschewed the limelight yet pursued and promoted style, at celebrity functions and on the street, often perched on his bike on the corner of Fifth Avenue and 59th Street where Bergdorf Goodman sits majestically. Ah, the department store. It’s a dying breed, just like the self-effacing Cunningham himself. Anna Wintour famously quipped, “We all get dressed for Bill,” extolling the special fame of fashion and street photographer Bill Cunningham. When he died in 2016, Wintour wondered if there’d ever be another like him. -
Where is Quentin Tarantino when we need him? As we know, his Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, now nominated for a Best Picture Oscar among many other awards, turns on the conceit of what if, the fantasy that the Manson murders on August 9, 1969 had a different outcome. Yaron Zilberman’s Incitement, a powerful recreation of the events leading to November 4, 1995, climaxes in the assassination of Yitzhak Rabin in Tel Aviv following his triumph with the Oslo Accords. The fiction film opens in New York this month, after screening in the current New York Jewish Film Festive, and at East Hampton’s Guild Hall this weekend, presented by HamptonsFilm. You watch, knowing the end, wishing history could be averted, hoping somehow that the murder of peace-loving Prime Minister Rabin would have stalled, and peace would prevail. Alas, instead Zilberman leads us through the “incitement” to the cataclysmic moment, exploring the mindset of Yigal Amir, an aspiring law student and orthodox Jew of Yemeni descent, whose violent act has led us to Bibi Netanyahu’s election, to a regime that remains strongly right wing, taking the region closer to chaos and war, and keeping peace an illusion. -
Whatever else happens, no matter what other Oscar nominations The Irishman garners, Best Picture is guaranteed. The New York Film Critics Circle and National Board of Review, to name two groups, have already augured its success. But of course, winning is anyone’s guess. After decades of movies, Martin Scorsese seems to take the award season in stride, flanked by his posse including Robert De Niro and Joe Pesci, as he was this week at Tao for the NYFCC. Picking up an award at Tao this week, jet lagged following the Golden Globes on the other coast, he spoke about another of his pack, Harvey Keitel, wanting to jump ship at that event. “We were sinking,” he confessed defeat. Harvey switched tables for Tarantino’s.But there Marty was front and center at Tao, with everyone paying homage to the master as they took the stage.
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Back in 2012, when Brad Pitt received a Best Supporting Actor Award from the NYFCC, he proclaimed that he loved this award evening best of all because these awards will not be televised. Does that explain why this awards night breathes relaxation, friends awarding friends despite a gripe (from Adam Sandler) about mean reviewers? Not to mention Quentin Tarantino’s whine about critics, ones he loved and ones he hated, even though Pitt was presenting him with a Best Screenplay honor at this year’s NYFCC ceremony at Tao Downtown. Cued in to critics as scribes, Pitt emphasized Tarantino’s process: “Quentin writes his scripts by hand; he writes novelistic chapters of backstory for his characters, he loves them so much. I call his rhythms iambic quintameter.” -
Is Cinema Eye Honors a prelude to The Academy Award category for Best Documentary? The fifteen features shortlisted for an Oscar affirm the artistry of the nonfiction film. A champion of the art of doc, Netflix has distributed several of this year’s best, including The Great Hack and American Factory. The films have been available to stream for a while, but I saw them on the big screen this weekend, at The Roxy Hotel and at the Crosby Street Hotel, with filmmakers on hand to discuss their art.Steve Bognar talked about the complexities of American Factory, how our perspective on the global economy shifts as foreign countries come to us for cheap labor and opportunities. Focusing on a Chinese owned factory in Dayton, Ohio, the film, co-directed by Julia Reichart who could not attend, shows what happened when General Motors left the city, and their factory, eliminating jobs. One woman said she earned $29/hour working for the car industry, but now when the Chinese-owned Fuyao glass factory offered her a much-needed job, she had to accept $12/hour. We also see a shift in culture and labor ethics, the urgency of union affiliation, and resistance to it. With no easy answer, the film tells a compelling and resonant story. This award-winning film has won numerous awards, most recently Cinema Eye’s Honors for Outstanding Nonfiction Feature and Outstanding Direction.
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On the eve of the Golden Globes, consider The Song of Names, a film of merit in a tough, competitive film season. An epic post-Holocaust drama of two men who grow up as brothers, one a Jewish child prodigy, the other a Christian, the son of a classical music producer, The Song of Names focuses on its title song. Coming at a pivotal point in the film, “Song of Names,” composed by Oscar-winner Howard Shore, defies clichés about the Jewish dead, in simply naming names—in this case, the murdered at Treblinka; miraculously, the Canadian filmmakers, producer Robert Lantos (Sunshine, Barney’s Version) and director Francois Girard (The Red Violin, Thirty-two Short Films about Glenn Gould) were permitted to film there, a memorial site with an unforgettable field of boulders, each representing a town evacuated to this death camp. Based on the novel by Norman Lebrecht, he movie was a standout at the recent Hamptons International Film Festival, where I sat down with the filmmakers to talk about music, the Holocaust, and the stars Clive Owen and Tim Roth.
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Photo: Regina WeinreichIntroducing this evening, Bernadette Peters cautioned the audience at Lincoln Center’s Geffen Hall, "Sweeney Todd"'s Mrs. Lovett will not be singing about baking shepherd pies with real shepherds a featured ingredient. Not that it mattered. This would be Stephen Sondheim composer, and except for two numbers from Follies with the outstanding Katrina Lenk singing the words to “Losing My Mind” and “Could I Leave You,” Peters kept her promise. Lenk will star in a revival of Sondheim’s “Company,” coming to Broadway.
Without his brilliant lyrics, the Sondheim feste did not disappoint. Beginning with the “Overture to A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum” and “Suite from Into the Woods,” the orchestra, led by Alexander Gemignani, and directed by Lonny Price, sampled Sondheim’s ample oeuvre. You could see musicians pucker, whistling as birds in the woods. The performance, an hour and half of joy, included “Suite from Assassins” and ended with “Suite from Sunday in the Park with George.” Peters and Lenk returned, champagne flutes in hand, for “Auld Lang Syne.” If you are in New York City for the holidays, the Philharmonic is the place to be on New Year’s Eve.
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“Welcome to the Kremlin West!”Aglitter in a sequined sheath, Sandra Bernhard took the Joe’s Pub stage like a bat outta hell, that is a rock goddess, belting Bobby Womack’s “Across 110 Street,” backed by her first-rate Sandy Squad Band. On this, her tenth anniversary celebration doing New Year’s at this venerable Village venue, she does not disappoint, featuring fresh snark and keeping it true. Taking a break from filming “Pose,” (–oops, “did I drop Pose. That’s so unlike me.” Bat bat bat.), she tips her hat to the queens Olivia Coleman, Nancy Pelosi, and Nicole Wallace. Mashing up the Zeitgeist, she reveals our inner angst over the ecology, the president, Walmart, Blue Apron. The passing of Barney’s had her rushing back to Mount Sinai for further tests! Oh, she’s well connected and drops names like gumdrops: Barbara Streisand, Chrissie Hynde, Carole King, Emma Stone, Debbie Harry, Julianne Moore—as if we too know these people, and would be there if they were having a holiday party—just saying. That should be our biggest worry!
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No wonder the whistleblower won’t reveal him/herself. You know, the one who called out the infamous quid pro quo presidential phone call with Ukraine. See Is This a Room at the Vineyard Theater, a transcript made into a riveting drama, to see how those who cross the current American regime are treated. Perhaps you already know the name Reality Winner, know that this Air Force vet is incarcerated without actually having been accused of leaking sensitive material to the media regarding the Russian interference in the 2016 election. She, in her mid-20’s, an animal lover who learned Farsi so she could help women in Afghanistan, is only thought to have done so. The play, conceived and directed by Tina Satter, takes place on Winner’s doorstep in Augusta, Georgia as she is confronted by FBI agents, and is a literal transcript, redaction included, of what happened including the removal of her dog and cat, and the placement of recently bought groceries into her fridge. Talk about chill. All the more because it is true.
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