• Oscars 2022
    Despite a contretemps at the Oscars—a slap seen round the world—the ceremony and awards proceeded as expected, apace, with favorites winning all around. When Will Smith accepted his Best Actor award, he tearfully mentioned defending family, as his character Richard Williams did coaching his daughters Venus and Serena to top tennis honors. Of course, Smith had just hit Chris Rock for a dumb, inconsiderate joke about his wife Jada Pinkett Smith, mumbled while Smith’s expletives were bleeped out. The morning after, many are thinking his tearful Oscar acceptance speech is not sufficient to brush aside his behavior. 

    Last year’s Best Actor, Anthony Hopkins, present this year after missing the 2021 Academy Awards; so sure he would not win, he stayed home in Wales. Smith was the favorite for his prize as were the best supporting actors, Ariana DeBose and Troy Kotsur. Jessica Chastain, awarded for Best Actress for her role as televangelist Tammy Faye spoke about being seen. The Oscars –spreading the love– made sure many were both seen and heard. CODA –the smaller film that could—about a young hearing woman coming into her own in a deaf family–took top honors.

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  • Michel Jackson
    If you love Michael Jackson, you will love MJ—it’s that simple. The musical limns the controversial performer’s rise to “King of Pop,” avoiding the more difficult challenges of his personality in favor of music and dance—it’s that simple. Not that the star’s dependence on pain killers is not a significant plot issue—it’s that plot is not really significant. You do hear the word accusers—once—but that particular untoward issue is not a part of Lynn Nottage’s book either. If you are of the mind that he should be cancelled, shove it. MJ is not about that, but about his art. 

    Taking place in a rehearsal studio in 1992 Los Angeles, –along with an ensemble of talented singers and dancers—Michael Jackson is rehearsing for his “Dangerous” tour. A film crew follows him around, hoping to get more of his personal side in an interview. Everyone’s concern for his demons is out front, getting at his opioid consumption and how that’s wrecking the schedule, not to mention the budget—but wisely, the music and dance, everything you know and love, shapes the origin myth, with first-rate staging, and Christopher Wheeldon’s brilliant choreography and direction.

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  • LOady GaGa6Brought to tears in telling the tale of her immigrant ancestry, Lady Gaga thanked the New York Film Critics Circle for recognizing her for Best Actress for her performance in House of Gucci. Big on heart, she was grateful to everyone from director Ridley Scott to her hairdresser and makeup artist, but mainly, she cited her matrilineage of strong Italian women who taught her to be bold and fearless, in a family that featured lots of shouting. Sorry, mom, she shouted out to her platinum haired mother seated at her table at Tao, the meatpacking Asian-themed restaurant and longtime venue for this annual—except for the Covid years–event. 

    She was not the only awardee crying with emotion. Jane Campion, the NYFCC’s pick for Best Director, her citation given by Martin Scorsese, spoke of an early turn around in her career when the movie Sweetie, which many critics did not like, got a second wind after the New York Times critic Vincent Canby wrote favorably about it and changed the “trajectory of my career.” Back in the day, Susan Sontag took her to tea. Nothing if not edgy, Campion’s Power of the Dog is frontrunner for the Best Picture Oscar, but Drive My Car, from Japan, got that honor with the New York critics.

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  • Guild Hall 2922Many revelers at this week’s Guild Hall winter gala remembered that before Covid locked everyone down, they were celebrating the premiere East Hampton cultural institution at its 2020 annual gala. And while much has changed in these two years—the venue was now the cavernous Cipriani 42nd Street—and, the 2022 honorees were Board Chair Marty Cohen and Michele Cohen without the customary Academy of the Arts recipients—the mood was exuberant, as this huge, yet intimate event of East End neighbors chatting, catching up has not lost any of its warmth. Academy president Eric Fishl recalled that in that pre-pandemic limbo, no one knew whether to fist or elbow bump but preferred to kick one another in the ankles. All these dressed up people kicking the s__t out of each other, he laughed.

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  • The thing about Pam
    Her spindly legs over sky high heels, Renee Zellweger, both star and a producer on NBC’s series The Thing About Pam, commanded the stage at the Whitby Hotel this week after a screening of the first two episodes of the 6-part series. Based on a true-life crime podcast, already well known, about a 2011 murder in small-town Troy, Missouri, The Thing About Pam is so tongue-in-cheek, you have to laugh at the shenanigans of bungling law enforcement and grieving citizens, as a beloved wife and mom—and daughter—is found dead of multiple knife wounds in her living room. The two-time Academy Award winning actress plays Pam, hardly recognizable with her pudgy face and physique, her legs like elephant trunks, who slurps endlessly on a giant sugary beverage further sweetened with cherry syrup. The camera can’t get enough of her fat face and squinty eyes as she figures out her next shady moves.

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  • Girl
    Addiction to the HBO series My Brilliant Friend is second only to a passion for the source, Elena Ferrante’s Neapolitan novels. That’s why, writing about the eight episodes of season 3, I do not fear spoilers. Faithful to the literature—in fact Ferrante is listed among the script writers—the series follows friends Lenu (Margherita Mazzucco) and Lila (Gaia Girace) from childhood on, with season 3 the period of young adulthood: each has been married; Lila has a son, Lenu, 2 girls. Proud to a fault, and difficult to comprehend, Lila works in Bruno’s meatpacking plant, a harrowing flesh factory on every level. Lenu, now a famous novelist living in Florence seems to have it all. Something, however, is seriously missing. Their domestic lives play out against blistering violence in Naples, with friends beaten and raped. Yet all the while, their relationship endures, at times through enormous bouts of envy, irritation, ambivalence. Who among us can’t relate?

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  • Music Man
    Harold Hill, a talented conman, who wants to swindle the Midwest town of River City, Iowa, had me at hello. That may owe to the fact that “The Music Man” is played by Hugh Jackman. Arriving on a train, bumping along with salesmen grousing about Hill’s wiles, Hill pays them no mind, singing and dancing his way into the townsfolks’ hearts. All except Marian, the librarian, who is onto him from the start. It does not take the signature “Seventy-six Trombones,” to know he will win her over too. That’s the stuff of the American musical, and especially a revival as juicy as this one is, at the Winter Garden Theater. It helps too that Marian is that darling of this classic genre, Sutton Foster, who when she is won over by Hill can cast a look of epiphany as no one else can.

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  • Mrs Maisel
    She’s baaack! Expect funny throughout The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, season four, starting with a strip tease in a taxi. No, it’s not what you think. Miriam Maisel (Rachel Brosnahan) is acting out, not working, mind you. The opposite of work. She’s been fired from a European tour, and with Susie Myerson (Alex Borstein), the agent (who dresses like she’s refereeing prize fights), beside her, she’s having a tantrum, ripping off her beautifully coordinated hat and throwing it out the window of the cab as she’s making her way back into the city. Next comes the jacket, the skirt. Susie is wailing, representing us all bemoaning this untoward episode, equal parts astonishing and hilarious. We all know these clothes are much lauded –the work of costume designer Donna Zakowska who, in real life, has been feted at the White House and beyond for her to-die-for swing coats. “Stop, that goes with the outfit,” screams Susie before they find the one remedy for what ails our Midge—the comedy stage.

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  • Save
    A new “The New Group” production, Black No More, a musical adaptation of George S. Schuyler’s Afrofuturist 1931 Harlem Renaissance novel, has the feel of something special, theater that may go off the charts in the manner of Hamilton. Black No More opened this week at the Pershing Square Signature Center.

    Featuring a stellar Broadway cast led by powerhouse Tony winning vocalist Lillias White, and Brandon Victor Dixon, of Hamilton and Jesus Christ Superstar fame, the show’s ensemble of excellent singers and dancers tell a tale of contrasts: the exciting free, artsy denizen of Harlem vs. the racist crackers of Atlanta and how they handle their black folk. Needless to say, whites do not fare well in this scenario, even as the fine performances by such actors as Theo Stockman as chief villain Ashby Givens beguile us with their villainy.

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  • Oscars 2022
    Fair is fair. Choosing among the pleasures of this year’s best movies could not have been easy. Awards, particularly the Oscar voters’ choices announced this morning, reflect a nuanced vision: I am especially heartened by the nods to two of my favorite actresses, Jessica Chastain and Penelope Cruz in two outstanding of this year’s films: The Eyes of Tammy Faye and Parallel Mothers respectively. Will they win, over the work of Oscar winners Olivia Colman and Nicole Kidman? They can. And Kristen Stewart for Spencer, a movie that many people simply did not love—her fine performance as Diana deserves a category all its own.

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  • ???
    Mountains of gorgeous food: lobsters, roasted meats, salads, caviar. The eye filling opulence of Julian Fellowes’ Downton Abbey follow up series, The Gilded Age on HBO more than sates any desire for decadence. Forget Stanford White’s magnificent design for the newly completed Russell mansion on turn of the century Fifth Avenue; nothing says conspicuous consumption more than the spread Bertha Russell (Carrie Coon) hoped would lure the city’s elite to her home to solidify friendships in wealth. Not surprisingly, snobbery does not work that way. No one shows up. Any readers of the novels of Henry James and Edith Wharton would know how the hierarchies among the rich work, their laws finite. Christine Baranski as Agnes van Rhijn looks her chiseled nose down on her neighbors, nailing the divide between Old New York and New. And viewers are left to look on hungrily at the grandeur, and guffaw at the Russell’s servants’ dumping amply piled silver platters into garbage bins.

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  • Long day
    The Tyrones in lockdown look a lot like you and me. Amazon boxes, Chinese takeout, Starbucks, not to mention the Purell. Never mind that Long Day’s Journey Into Night, the classic 1912 American play by Eugene O’Neill, features another kind of affliction than the one we are experiencing. The scaled down version of O’Neill’s play, an Audible production directed by Robert O’Hara at the Minetta Lane Theater, neatly conflates what’s ailing us. The title says much about the longeuers, the boredom, the stasis that forces this family—and us– to relive sad pasts. The Tyrones in seaside residence make the best of it at first. James (Bill Camp in cut offs) flirts with Mary (Elizabeth Marvel in workout tights), his wife of many years, remarking to their two sons at how great she looks—a picture of health doing yoga. Before too long the tippling begins. Never too early to take a shot: James, the sons Jamie (Jason Bowen), not doing much, and Edmund (Ato Blankson-Wood), ambitious with a bad cough—whiskey is their medium. Mary’s something else, retreating upstairs, visibly tying up her arm, shooting up.

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  • Cesiloy Strong
    A homeless woman who communicates with aliens, “Trudy” opens the show, The Search for Signs of Intelligent Life in the Universe, created by Jane Wagner in 1985 for her then partner, now wife, Lily Tomlin. Revived at The Shed, under Leigh Silverman’s astute direction, the baton for dispensing planetary consciousness is passed to Saturday Night Live’s comedic virtuoso Cecily Strong. As Trudy, she wears an ill-fitting coat, its lining bedecked with post-its. How else will wisdom be saved in a world accustomed to one-liners? More aptly, how will this wisdom be communicated to the life beyond our atmosphere? A gimmick maybe, but at the show’s end, audience members picked up post-its on their way out. My bright green one reads: “Humanity’s biggest hurdle is human behavior.”

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  • ??
    First aware of Bridget Everett as a mother in Patti Cake$, an indie hit of 2017, I met her on two occasions: she was a flamboyant speaker at the Nantucket Film Festival that year receiving an award. Trust me, you never want to follow her onstage. Second, at the Athena Film Festival, she attended with her pal Murray Hill, so named for the Manhattan, NYC neighborhood. Both make a big impression, HUGE, and now you can see for yourself as Everett stars in an HBO series, Somebody Somewhere, with Hill in a supporting role, directed by Robert Cohen and Jay Duplass. So full of heart, I would say, the series is a gift for Valentine’s Day.

    Rural America is a foreign country to me, but Manhattan, Kansas is both strange and ironic given that you cannot imagine a place more remote from Manhattan, New York, ground zero for misfits seeking personal expression. And guess what, looks like Bridget Everett feels the same way. She’s from there, and as Executive Producer of the series featuring autobiographical details from her life, she’s crafted this location, and at least fictionally, finds a voice there. Manhattan, Kansas is to Bridget Everett as Baltimore is to John Waters.

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  • Drive my Carjpg
    Life moves slowly. Loss. Grief. So much happens in Drive My Car, Japan’s entry for the Best International Film Academy Award, it is amazing that the movie is only two and a half hours long. That it has been named Best Film by the venerable NY and LA Film Critics can make you think, Parasite all over again, but that Best Picture Oscar winner from Korea is action-packed, a satiric bloody nightmare romp, while the longeuers of Drive My Car drive home deeper, more difficult truths, and how we process them. An acclaimed theater director (Hidetoshi Nishijima) loses his beautiful wife. Two years into his grief, he takes a job directing Uncle Vanya in Hiroshima. A young woman (Toko Miura) from a remote mountain town Hokkaido, dour, her face expressing oceans of sadness, chauffeurs him around in his red Saab. Producing Chekhov in Japan may represent one aspect of multi-culturalism, but the players speak many languages, including sign. And perhaps most poignantly, it takes more than translation to make inner lives connect.

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  • Slave Play
    Sex play informs Jeremy O. Harris’ Slave Play, a sensation when it opened prior to the pandemic, and now re-opened on Broadway at the August Wilson Theater. The fuss is understandable: The riveting drama opens with three interracial couples enacting slave-master fantasies in period dress. What follows is contemporary group therapy as each couple is  scrutinized, and evaluated by a team of analysts. In Harris’ drama, fitting in our moment of reckoning, text and subtext all come down to Race. As the slave-master scenario is so archetypical, you wonder, shouldn’t all sex deserve this clinical touch? “A Note on Your Discomfort” by writer Norman Parker in the Playbill is explicit: “Slave Play is a study in American memory: the psychologies of the prized and of the oppressed; the grateful and the entitled: who’s top, who’s bottom; who speaks, who can’t, and who betta listen.”

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  • Candice22The night before the HBO series she spawned reincarnated as And Just Like That at MoMA, Candace Bushnell signals, she has moved on. At the Daryl Roth Theater, she struts across a stage fitted with a hot pink couch and shelves lined with Manolos, recounting a stellar career as columnist, coming from Connecticut, modest suitcase in hand, sleeping around. This “having sex like a man” becomes material, and quite explicit. If you are a fan of Sex & the City, you know what I mean. Miraculously, in her tour de force hour and a half one-woman show—with the exception of a cameo by two dogs, the words “penis” and “vagina” are uttered once each, as Bushnell poses the question, Is There Still Sex in the City? Phone in hand, she converses with her Samantha, her Miranda, and her Charlotte, paragons of wisdom, as she navigates her rise as writer, all the while dumped by lovers including her ballet dancer husband. The men she mentions do not fare well—even her supportive father somehow lets her know her flat chest will get her nowhere in love. An exception is Darren Star, the series showrunner who attended the opening. I caught up with him over a gargantuan urn of guacamole at the Rosa Mexicana afterparty where a Covid test was now the new condom: “Yes, she got it right. She’s honest about Sex & the City and how we got it made. She would not have invited me if she was going to trash me.”

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  • West Side Story 2
    You will not have to ask, do we need yet another adaptation of this classic? With Leonard Bernstein’s music and Stephen Sondheim’s lyrics firmly implanted in your head, a memory of the 1961 Jerome Robbins’ choreography and Arthur Laurents’ book, prepare to be delightfully shocked at how much this new version of West Side Story feels new. Maybe it’s Tony Kushner’s masterful script that takes us first into an image of urban renewal, the ‘hood, a battleground for the Sharks and Jets, being right here in Hell’s Kitchen cum Lincoln Center (shot on a lot in Paterson, New Jersey), and the wisdom we bring knowing the future: everything must change.

    But come back to that era: to the cars and shops declaring poverty, ethnicity, the warehouses, crumbling buildings—the boys styled like mid-century heroes, a bit of Marlon Brando and Jack Kerouac. Enter the sweet-faced Polack Tony for Anton (Ansel Elgort) and the Latina ingenue Maria (newcomer Rachel Zegler). Justin Peck updates the original choreography without upsetting Robbins’ vision. And then there’s Rita Moreno, the Oscar-awarded Anita in 1961, now near 90 and getting ready to be celebrated at the Museum of the Moving Image. A widow, perhaps an oracle to the young, as Valentina, Moreno bridges past and present: Spielberg has her singing “Somewhere,” and your heart aches.

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  • Gothem2
    At the annual New York City event at Cipriani Wall Street, bestowing serious awards and spreading unexpected intimacy, Maggie Gyllenhaal swept the Gotham Awards in her directorial debut for The Lost Daughter. Her adaptation of Elena Ferrante’s short story won Best Screenplay and Best Feature; and, ç1 shared the award for Outstanding Lead Performance with Frankie Faison, star of The Killing of Kenneth. Traditionally the start of the award season for films, the Gothams prides itself on indie selections, and still manages to honor major stars.

    Kristen Stewart introduced by Julianne Moore and Pablo Larrain who directed her in Spencer, his take on Diana, managed to keep it real deploying an occasional if authentic “f” word. As Moore, asked, “Who is cooler than Kristen Stewart? Well maybe Ethan Hawke who shared a prize for Outstanding Performance in a New Series for his work on The Good Lord Bird with Thuso Mbedu of The Underground Railroad, and then was right back onstage to introduce Peter Dinklage. “He contains multitudes,” Hawke quoted Walt Whitman, praising Dinklage’s acting chops. Bonding in praise of John Malkovitch, actor to actor, well, they should know.

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  • Approval Junkie
    That voice. I’d know it anywhere, and so would you if you’ve been attuned to NPR. You could say I’m a junkie for talk radio, and “Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me” is a particular addiction. A news quiz cum comedy revue, the show has gotten me from here to there, as I drive in traffic along Montauk Highway. One star, Faith Salie, has taken her story on the road, so to speak, landing at the Minetta Lane Theater with “Approval Junkie.” A monologue (co-written with Amanda Watkins) about career, marriage—she’s especially funny about her ex, “wasband,” as she dubs him, nurturing mom and dad, disparaging career coach—who while encouraging she cut bangs, basically says without saying it, she has a face for the radio.

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  • Lehman
    The epic length evolution of three brothers from Bavaria becoming Americans, immigrants in the 19th century coming by boat, would be one kind of story, maybe a sequel to “Fiddler,” picking up when the family leaves the shtetl. That this is the Lehman family, who go from textile merchants in the south to the Lehman Brothers—yes, those Lehman Brothers— bankers at the heart of the giant financial debacle of 2008,–spins this saga: the dream that arcs and declines to dust. This awesome dramatic work, The Lehman Trilogy by Italian playwright and novelist Stefano Massini, a pre-pandemic hit at the Park Avenue Armory, is now neatly performed in a rotating crystal cube—"a magical music box”– at the Nederlander Theater, lauded and playing to packed houses every night—to masked, vaxxed, avid theatergoers. It’s still a hot show.

    The trilogy may rival Angels in America as a large and unique variation of the dream. Under Sam Mendes’s fine direction, the British actors are the main event. Simon Russell Beale, the eldest brother, Haim becomes Henry upon reaching these shores. An alpha male, the actor dissolves effortlessly into the girl he will marry, illustrating just how split-second, unexpected and witty the actors’ performances are, and how the principal cast of three occupy a world. As the middle brother Mendel now Emmanuel, Adrian Lester, so evocative when he starred in Red Velvet is a distinguished presence and Adam Godley, —the tall third brother Mayer nicknamed Spud—his angles, physicality, amaze. Each—likable in this context– becomes a wife, a son in this portrait of capitalist success, despite their casual disregard of slavery, the poor, how they and their children step on their way up. Well, that’s American too, through a European lens.

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  • Paper and Glue3
    JR, French  graffiti artist and Agnes Varda collaborator on Faces, Places is infectious. His virus, a matchless enthusiasm for the creation of art, is impossible to describe: his energy is a force. Burroughs/Gysin had their Third Mind, Ouevres Croissees in French, a roadmap to artistic creation through collaboration, and JR inherits their spirit along with Varda’s. In his new documentary, Paper and Glue, he takes us to the US/Mexican wall, a California prison, the banlieu of Paris, favela of Rio, places we would never think to want to see. Infusing them with his je ne sais quoi, voila, they become the only places that matter, sites with superstars among the disenfranchised, the movie’s inscription from Varda: “If we opened people up, we’d find landscape.

    His pal Bradley Cooper introduced the nomadic JR at the MoMA premiere this week, hosted by MSNBC whose filmmaking arm funded the film. Cooper, a bona fide movie star in awe, seemed happy to just to be in JR’s posse, a growing populace of fans and volunteers helping to build his outrageous installations. At the wall—yes that wall—someone even jokes about who is going to pay for it–JR erected a structure to paste a giant-sized photo of a small Mexican boy, waiting for the authorities to shut him down. Instead, they arrived and shared tacos. That’s just what you want to do with the irresistible JR. “Kevin,” a prison inmate sporting a swastika tattoo on his cheek, calls collect and JR picks up wherever he is. He sends Kevin a signed copy of Art Spiegelman’s Maus. Now, the prison system provides a tattoo removing system.

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  • Freida2An apt locale for a book party for a famed pop singer, the Cutting Room filled with well – wishers for Freda Payne’s memoir, Band of Gold, last week. Co-writer Mark Bego flew in from Tucson, wearing the most outstanding jacket, a print of black & white with sparks of bold color. Yes, it was rock n’roll –without the music. And Payne, resplendent in red, greeted everyone with a kiss and hug. Of course, I knew Freda Payne’s most famous pop tune, “Band of Gold,” grew up with its sound in my ears, her great voice on the proto-feminist lyrics: Left on her wedding night, she laments, all that’s left is a band of gold—and memories of what “love could be.” It did seem like a turning point in 1970. For Freda Payne, a jazz vocalist of note, this was a breakout, flying high on the pop charts.

    Up next for her is a new release, “Freda Payne: Let There Be Love,” featuring duets with Dee Dee Bridgewater, Kenny Lattimore, Kurt Elling. With Johnny Mathis, her rendition of the Gershwins’ “They Can’t Take That Way From Me” is an inspiration. She is set to perform at Birdland on November 22.

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  • LastNight in SohoHard to put a finger on what makes Edgar Wright’s latest movie, Last Night in Soho, so deeply affecting. Is it the fascination with Anya Taylor-Joy’s indelible performance? So good at grabbing the eye in The Queen’s Gambit, Taylor-Joy is mainly a phantom in this coming-of-age horror movie set in a sinister London in the ‘60’s when everyone was swinging until they were not. Called Sandie, she haunts Eloise’s fantasies of a time gone by, when her mother came to the big city from the countryside to some tragic end. At the beginning, Wright lures you in: you think Eloise (the lovely Thomasin McKenzie) is a stand-in for Audrey Hepburn, twirling about in a frilly frock, mirrors galore in her bedroom, focused on fashion. Ingenue comes to London to learn her craft and is instead caught up in the horrors of exploitative men—such as Matt Smith, sporting a devilish seductiveness in a James Dean hair swoosh– who steal their dreams.

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  • Cruz
    Australian actress Odessa Young exhibits poise beyond her years. At 23, the star of Mothering Sunday, screened at the recent Hamptons International Film Festival, commanded a leather sofa at the Maidstone Inn in East Hampton, ready to promote her film. With her was her co-star Josh O’Connor, Emmy winner for his role as Prince Charles in The Crown. The two are a hot item in the movie, flirting, making love, unselfconsciously intimate, unclothed, under Eve Husson’s fine direction. The nudity, beside the point, was never mentioned. The actors instead raged on about who had the closer friendship with the elder star each adored, Colin Firth. Young was certain she was the one. O’Connor wisely let that rest.

    The “mothering” of the title has to do with a day off, a family time in fact kept for their trysts. Young’s character, an orphan working as the well-to-do family’s housekeeper, has no family obligation, and as the bereaved mother (Olivia Colman in a small but memorable role) tells her; therefore, she would not, she says, experience loss; the opposite is true.

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