“In the Intense Now” is a pastiche of home movies,
travelogues and documentaries, from 1968 and the time just before that climactic
year. It includes snips and clips of revolutionary struggles in France,
Czechoslovakia, China and Brazil, with a moody voice-over by a Brazilian film-maker,
Joao Moreira Salles, who refrains from trying to pull it all together. It is diffuse, digressive, and at least a half-hour too long, but I’m glad I saw it, because the heart of
the film is a clash between two charismatic geniuses – “Danny the Red”
Cohn-Bendit, leader of the student uprising that convulsed France in May 1968, and
General Charles de Gaulle, President of the Republic, the great preserver of
bourgeois order. The outcome is foreordained; the struggle is elemental, ecstatic,
I'm not an Oprah fan. I didn't see her speech to the Golden Globes, just a clip of her tearful peroration. She strikes me as a complex lady with a complicated life, who nonetheless is able to project a simple, powerful image through the media -- an image that speaks to the American value of self-reliance, and at the same time to the universal value of compassion, the virtue so conspicuously missing from today's White House.
So: What other Democrat could beat Donald Trump at his own game? Donald vs. Oprah! would be the ultimate talk show -- image vs. image, self-styled genius vs. self-made woman. Brashness and bullshit vs. tears and guts. Combover vs. hairstyle.
And what's wrong with having a celebrity president? Look at the present day -- a celebrity president tweets up a circus, entertaining the masses with imaginary battles against Black football players and a sinister Asian clown. Meanwhile a typical Republican administration goes about its business: taking from the poor to help the rich, giving business and the military free rein, handing out favors to wealthy donors.
Under President Oprah!, the chief could entertain us with stirring speeches, celebrity feuds and friendships, must-read books and crash diets, while a typical Democratic administration could go about its business: taxing the rich to help the poor, reining in business and the military, and of course, handing out favors to wealthy donors.
Don't get me wrong. I voted for Bernie, I love Elizabeth Warren. But in this age the President of the United States is willy-nilly the world's leading celebrity. Why not go for someone with experience, and let Chuck and Nancy handle the politics?
"Darkness Odyssey Part 2: I or Hallucination"
Kota Yamazaki/Fluid hug-hug
Baryshnikov Arts Center, New York
December 14, 2017
--by Tom Phillips
Five dancers take part in Kota Yamazaki’s “Darkness Odyssey
Part 2: I or Hallucination,” but for the most part each dances on his or her
own, on a shiny floor, with a diaphanous rectangle of silver fabric hanging
overhead. The overall effect is of slow, liquid movement, but with fits and starts disrupting the surface calm.
Of the dancers Joanna Kotze commanded my attention most, stepping slowly like a long-legged wading bird, or like a child with autism, on tiptoes, whiffling her fingers under her chin and
wrinkling her nose as if puzzling over an insoluble private riddle. At one point she
spoke up to say she saw three power lines, or maybe it was four.
Raja Feather Kelly stood still with his mouth open for long
periods.When he moved it was in long
lines, opening into eccentric arabesques.Wearing a white shirt and blue pants, he rolled over with his back
upright, so that his blue butt formed a dome over what looked like a
featureless white face, and then began to talk animatedly with his hands.Later he lay down and said out loud that he
smelled cigarette smoke, coming from next door.“Maybe it was hers?”he
mused.This was the only mention of another person made by any character.
Julian Barnett, wearing a black skirt over his pants and a
diaphanous robe outside his shirt, pinched in on himself as if stuck in a
contraction.He stared and glared in stillness, then lurched around the
space, moving spasmodically, as if he had something to say but couldn’t.
Perforations Festival La Mama Experimental Theatre, New York November 25, 2017
-- By Tom Phillips
In these woeful times for American culture, one looks with hope for something new from somewhere else. Enter the Perforations Festival, curated by Croatian director Zvonomir Dobrovic, just in time to give us a refreshing new look at Croatia and Eastern Europe, and a devastating look at ourselves.
As an artist Meredith Monk has never done just one thing at
a time. In “Dancing Voices,” which helped
launch Lincoln Center’s White Light Festival this weekend, she attempts both a retrospective
of her own career as composer-choreographer, and a transmission of her dharma to
a new generation.
“Dancing Voices” is divided into two parts. Part One is a selection of her early
experiments, from the Sixties to the early Nineties, performed with a chorus of
young kids. Part Two is more recent, reflective works, with older children joining in. The
first part was the most fun, and the most moving.
Midway through "Unwanted," a woman steps forward and begins to sing "Ave Maria," in a sweet, clear soprano -- then suddenly rips the name of Mary into a horrific shriek. It's a heart-stopping moment that encapsulates the theme of this piece: the trauma of women raped in war, and the horror they experience bearing the children of their tormentors.
"Unwanted" is the work of Dorothee Munyaneza, a pastor's daughter who was 12 during the genocidal civil war in Rwanda, in 1994. She escaped the war with her family, but years later went back to interview the women who were among its victims -- who carried the unwanted children, often the offspring of men who had murdered their fathers and brothers. These mothers instinctively nursed their babies, against the wishes of their relatives. One recounts a conversation with an aunt who advised her to kill the child before it opened its eyes. "Look," said her auntie, "your child resembles a hyena. How can you nurse a hyena?" Munyaneza, writhing and recoiling, embodies the distraught mother as she kept the boy, nursed the hyena, hid her face from her own kin.
I ran with the eclipse today across America, and what a day it was.
just so happened that August 21 was the day I had a ticket to fly west
and visit our daughters and grandchildren in Seattle -- right along the
path of the total eclipse, or just north of it.
Airlines was 30 minutes delayed but our pilot assured us we'd get to
Seattle on time. He was a retired Navy Captain, and this, he said, was
his "afterlife" job. Before takeoff he came back into the cabin to
brief us on the E-clipse -- that's how he said it. It would be
following us, tailing us across the west and reaching its peak just as
we landed. Still, he warned us, don't look at the sun unless you have
those special glasses. A couple of passengers did have them, but I had
neglected to get them. This was gonna be frustrating.
I had a window seat on a clear day, and I got my first look ever along
the northern border of the US -- narrated by the pilot, whose interest
in geology and geography sparked a running account. We crossed Lake
Erie, meandered over Canada and then across the farmland of Wisconsin.
"The Cheesehead State!" cried our captain.
people get enthusiastic when sighting Bismarck, North Dakota? He did,
and I did shortly after that as the flat Midwest farmland broke into a
rutted surface, then into stark Black Hills with only patches of
farmland, then into a lunar waste with no towns and barely a road. Then
suddenly out of the clouds ahead a whole landscape, blue heaped upon
blue, of sheer uninhabitable gorges and peaks -- the Rocky Mountains.
"We're goin' over the Continental Divide!" whooped the pilot. And now
the race was on.