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"headTitle": "Rihanna’s ‘Anti’ Tour in Oakland: Does Lip-Syncing Even Matter Anymore? | KQED",
"content": "\u003cp>I’ll never forget the first concert I ever saw at the Oakland Arena: Janet Jackson’s \u003cem>Rhythm Nation\u003c/em> tour, which played for four consecutive nights in Oakland. The year was 1990, it was a family outing, and I, at age 14 and in possession of not one but two Dead Kennedys tapes, had already started to loudly condemn what I viewed as manufactured, pre-packaged pop music. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>So you’d think I’d have joined those ripping apart the tour’s biggest scandal. Despite its massive critical and commercial success, the ‘Rhythm Nation’ tour was dogged by \u003ca href=\"http://www.nytimes.com/1990/03/17/arts/review-pop-janet-jackson-fleshes-out-her-own-video-image.html\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">accusations of lip-syncing\u003c/a>. Janet Jackson, the critics asserted, couldn’t possibly be dancing so furiously — she was out of breath between each song — and simultaneously singing so perfectly. Milli Vanilli, remember, were in the midst of a similar scandal, and Janet briefly became a punching bag for the music industry’s move, post-\u003cem>Thriller\u003c/em>, toward showmanship over talent.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>My parents were disappointed about the lip-syncing, but strangely, I wasn’t convinced it was such a betrayal. I still loved the show, and distinctly remember walking through the parking lot to our family station wagon in a daze; to this day I think of it as an induction. Into what, I’m not sure. I already knew that I prized authenticity, like all disillusioned 14-year-olds, but in 1990, for perhaps the first time, I found that I didn’t mind a little inauthenticity too.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11566656\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Stay_.jpg\" alt=\"Rihanna at the Oracle Arena, May 7, 2016.\" width=\"800\" height=\"600\" class=\"size-full wp-image-11566656\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Stay_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Stay_-400x300.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Stay_-768x576.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Rihanna at the Oracle Arena, May 7, 2016. \u003ccite>(Photo: Gabe Meline/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Which brings me to Rihanna and her \u003cem>Anti\u003c/em> tour, which came to the Oakland Arena last Saturday — almost 26 years to the day after Janet Jackson sold out four nights at the same venue. Rihanna’s tour has been criticized for \u003ca href=\"http://www.sfgate.com/music/article/Rihanna-strips-down-in-San-Jose-but-it-s-not-7420239.php\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">being “cold,”\u003c/a> which misses the allure of her brand of cool detachment, and for being derivative, wardrobe-wise, of Kanye’s Yeezy Season 3 line (which, yeah, still looks like burlap sacks). But add to the pile: Rihanna isn’t exactly singing through the entire show.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A lot has happened in the past 26 years, not the least of which is the public’s growing acceptance for lip-syncing. Put 30,000 fans in a stadium these days, and they won’t bat an eye that the star on stage might be using a backing track. When Rihanna blatantly lip-synced approximately one-eighth of “We Found Love” on Saturday night, and spent the other 87 percent of the song meandering around the microphone or simply standing there and letting her pre-recorded vocals play, did anyone run to the box office outside to demand their money back? In 2016? Of course not.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Part of that was due to the spectacle of the show, as crazed as it was. At one point, giant alien whales inflated and then deflated for no apparent reason while two men in bronze-sequined kitten costumes prowled around the stage. Still another set change involved a giant malfunctioning washing machine spewing soapy foam down a panel of plastic sheeting hung from the ceiling. Twenty years from now, I thought to myself, this tour will either be hailed as ahead of its time, or a ridiculous time capsule of the mid-2010s. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.instagram.com/p/BFN6WlkySWC/\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Another more important part of it was due to Rihanna’s earthy, inescapably real vocals on songs like “Diamonds”; the retro-soul burner “Love on the Brain” (above); or show opener “Stay,” dramatically sung alone atop a large platform near the back of the arena. When she chose to sing, Rihanna and her power of interpretation appeared capable of tingling even the most stubborn spine.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But if we’re really being honest, audiences have been accepting and even demanding of inauthentic performances for decades. After Coleman Hawkins’ \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zUFg6HvljDE\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">1939 recording of “Body & Soul”\u003c/a> became a worldwide hit, the saxophonist, famed for his improvised solo, was constantly asked to recreate the same exact solo night after night. (He famously declined.) The same was true for others like Louis Armstrong, whose flights of fancy on the 1928 recording of “West End Blues” became expected in cubs and theaters, authentic jazz improvisation be damned. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11566657\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 640px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Foam_-1180x1180.jpg\" alt=\"Rihanna at the Oracle Arena in Oakland, May 7, 2016.\" width=\"640\" height=\"640\" class=\"size-large wp-image-11566657\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Foam_-1180x1180.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Foam_-400x400.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Foam_-600x600.jpg 600w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Foam_-768x768.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Foam_.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Foam_-960x960.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Foam_-32x32.jpg 32w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Foam_-64x64.jpg 64w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Foam_-96x96.jpg 96w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Foam_-128x128.jpg 128w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Foam_-150x150.jpg 150w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 640px) 100vw, 640px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Rihanna at the Oracle Arena in Oakland, May 7, 2016. \u003ccite>(Photo: Gabe Meline/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>How many times have you heard someone complain, “I went to see so-and-so, and it was okay, but he changed all the songs around and they didn’t sound like they do on the record!” We crave constancy; we would be confused if we went to an author appearance and instead of reading from their latest book, they stood at the microphone and orally composed a new novel. So many hip-hop artists rap over backing tracks because in a loud, bass-heavy live setting, they’d be forced to yell to be heard, missing the nuance in their recordings that constitutes their style. EDM acts may be simply standing at a table and mimicking the technical moves of DJing in real time, but that hasn’t stopped them from selling out huge halls, or kept packed Las Vegas nightclubs from paying them \u003ca href=\"http://gawker.com/the-10-most-depressing-parts-of-the-new-yorkers-e-d-m-1379714380\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">obscene amounts of money\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>All these things went through my head as Rihanna sang roughly half of the vocals on “Consideration,” the lead-off track on \u003cem>Anti\u003c/em>, or when I found myself scrutinizing her vocals on “Desperado,” “Same Old Mistakes” and “Kiss it Better.” If there’s an album this year that’s more slow-burning, I haven’t found it. And in a way, \u003cem>Anti\u003c/em> mirrors the public’s own slowly-changing perception, since Janet Jackson’s \u003cem>Rhythm Nation\u003c/em> tour, of lip-syncing. It feels like treason on first listen, and slowly becomes more and more acceptable, then deeply rewarding, and then revelatory — like a dazzling way of obscuring the truth. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11566655\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Crowd_.jpg\" alt=\"Rihanna at the Oracle Arena, May 7, 2016.\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1080\" class=\"size-full wp-image-11566655\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Crowd_.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Crowd_-400x225.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Crowd_-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Crowd_-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Crowd_-1180x664.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Crowd_-960x540.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Rihanna at the Oracle Arena, May 7, 2016. \u003ccite>(Photo: Gabe Meline/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "Rihanna's reliance on backing tracks may be 'inauthentic,' but if we're being honest, pop-music audiences have demanded inauthenticity for decades.",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>I’ll never forget the first concert I ever saw at the Oakland Arena: Janet Jackson’s \u003cem>Rhythm Nation\u003c/em> tour, which played for four consecutive nights in Oakland. The year was 1990, it was a family outing, and I, at age 14 and in possession of not one but two Dead Kennedys tapes, had already started to loudly condemn what I viewed as manufactured, pre-packaged pop music. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>So you’d think I’d have joined those ripping apart the tour’s biggest scandal. Despite its massive critical and commercial success, the ‘Rhythm Nation’ tour was dogged by \u003ca href=\"http://www.nytimes.com/1990/03/17/arts/review-pop-janet-jackson-fleshes-out-her-own-video-image.html\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">accusations of lip-syncing\u003c/a>. Janet Jackson, the critics asserted, couldn’t possibly be dancing so furiously — she was out of breath between each song — and simultaneously singing so perfectly. Milli Vanilli, remember, were in the midst of a similar scandal, and Janet briefly became a punching bag for the music industry’s move, post-\u003cem>Thriller\u003c/em>, toward showmanship over talent.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>My parents were disappointed about the lip-syncing, but strangely, I wasn’t convinced it was such a betrayal. I still loved the show, and distinctly remember walking through the parking lot to our family station wagon in a daze; to this day I think of it as an induction. Into what, I’m not sure. I already knew that I prized authenticity, like all disillusioned 14-year-olds, but in 1990, for perhaps the first time, I found that I didn’t mind a little inauthenticity too.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11566656\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Stay_.jpg\" alt=\"Rihanna at the Oracle Arena, May 7, 2016.\" width=\"800\" height=\"600\" class=\"size-full wp-image-11566656\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Stay_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Stay_-400x300.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Stay_-768x576.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Rihanna at the Oracle Arena, May 7, 2016. \u003ccite>(Photo: Gabe Meline/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Which brings me to Rihanna and her \u003cem>Anti\u003c/em> tour, which came to the Oakland Arena last Saturday — almost 26 years to the day after Janet Jackson sold out four nights at the same venue. Rihanna’s tour has been criticized for \u003ca href=\"http://www.sfgate.com/music/article/Rihanna-strips-down-in-San-Jose-but-it-s-not-7420239.php\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">being “cold,”\u003c/a> which misses the allure of her brand of cool detachment, and for being derivative, wardrobe-wise, of Kanye’s Yeezy Season 3 line (which, yeah, still looks like burlap sacks). But add to the pile: Rihanna isn’t exactly singing through the entire show.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A lot has happened in the past 26 years, not the least of which is the public’s growing acceptance for lip-syncing. Put 30,000 fans in a stadium these days, and they won’t bat an eye that the star on stage might be using a backing track. When Rihanna blatantly lip-synced approximately one-eighth of “We Found Love” on Saturday night, and spent the other 87 percent of the song meandering around the microphone or simply standing there and letting her pre-recorded vocals play, did anyone run to the box office outside to demand their money back? In 2016? Of course not.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Part of that was due to the spectacle of the show, as crazed as it was. At one point, giant alien whales inflated and then deflated for no apparent reason while two men in bronze-sequined kitten costumes prowled around the stage. Still another set change involved a giant malfunctioning washing machine spewing soapy foam down a panel of plastic sheeting hung from the ceiling. Twenty years from now, I thought to myself, this tour will either be hailed as ahead of its time, or a ridiculous time capsule of the mid-2010s. \u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Another more important part of it was due to Rihanna’s earthy, inescapably real vocals on songs like “Diamonds”; the retro-soul burner “Love on the Brain” (above); or show opener “Stay,” dramatically sung alone atop a large platform near the back of the arena. When she chose to sing, Rihanna and her power of interpretation appeared capable of tingling even the most stubborn spine.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But if we’re really being honest, audiences have been accepting and even demanding of inauthentic performances for decades. After Coleman Hawkins’ \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zUFg6HvljDE\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">1939 recording of “Body & Soul”\u003c/a> became a worldwide hit, the saxophonist, famed for his improvised solo, was constantly asked to recreate the same exact solo night after night. (He famously declined.) The same was true for others like Louis Armstrong, whose flights of fancy on the 1928 recording of “West End Blues” became expected in cubs and theaters, authentic jazz improvisation be damned. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11566657\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 640px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Foam_-1180x1180.jpg\" alt=\"Rihanna at the Oracle Arena in Oakland, May 7, 2016.\" width=\"640\" height=\"640\" class=\"size-large wp-image-11566657\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Foam_-1180x1180.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Foam_-400x400.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Foam_-600x600.jpg 600w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Foam_-768x768.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Foam_.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Foam_-960x960.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Foam_-32x32.jpg 32w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Foam_-64x64.jpg 64w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Foam_-96x96.jpg 96w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Foam_-128x128.jpg 128w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Foam_-150x150.jpg 150w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 640px) 100vw, 640px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Rihanna at the Oracle Arena in Oakland, May 7, 2016. \u003ccite>(Photo: Gabe Meline/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>How many times have you heard someone complain, “I went to see so-and-so, and it was okay, but he changed all the songs around and they didn’t sound like they do on the record!” We crave constancy; we would be confused if we went to an author appearance and instead of reading from their latest book, they stood at the microphone and orally composed a new novel. So many hip-hop artists rap over backing tracks because in a loud, bass-heavy live setting, they’d be forced to yell to be heard, missing the nuance in their recordings that constitutes their style. EDM acts may be simply standing at a table and mimicking the technical moves of DJing in real time, but that hasn’t stopped them from selling out huge halls, or kept packed Las Vegas nightclubs from paying them \u003ca href=\"http://gawker.com/the-10-most-depressing-parts-of-the-new-yorkers-e-d-m-1379714380\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">obscene amounts of money\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>All these things went through my head as Rihanna sang roughly half of the vocals on “Consideration,” the lead-off track on \u003cem>Anti\u003c/em>, or when I found myself scrutinizing her vocals on “Desperado,” “Same Old Mistakes” and “Kiss it Better.” If there’s an album this year that’s more slow-burning, I haven’t found it. And in a way, \u003cem>Anti\u003c/em> mirrors the public’s own slowly-changing perception, since Janet Jackson’s \u003cem>Rhythm Nation\u003c/em> tour, of lip-syncing. It feels like treason on first listen, and slowly becomes more and more acceptable, then deeply rewarding, and then revelatory — like a dazzling way of obscuring the truth. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11566655\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1920px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Crowd_.jpg\" alt=\"Rihanna at the Oracle Arena, May 7, 2016.\" width=\"1920\" height=\"1080\" class=\"size-full wp-image-11566655\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Crowd_.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Crowd_-400x225.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Crowd_-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Crowd_-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Crowd_-1180x664.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Rihanna.Crowd_-960x540.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1920px) 100vw, 1920px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Rihanna at the Oracle Arena, May 7, 2016. \u003ccite>(Photo: Gabe Meline/KQED)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "Live Review: Psych-Rock Stalwarts Dungen Roar Through the Redwoods",
"headTitle": "Live Review: Psych-Rock Stalwarts Dungen Roar Through the Redwoods | KQED",
"content": "\u003cp>\u003cstrong>\u003cem>See full photo slideshow at bottom of post.\u003c/em>\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Sometimes, certain settings pair so well with specific kinds of music that it’s hard to imagine one without the other. In particular, the Bay Area’s boundless natural beauty, and the outdoor venues hidden within, pair perfectly with the enveloping melodic haze of psychedelic rock. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In fact, the two have a long history together, especially in the North Bay: The \u003ca href=\"http://www.rollingstone.com/music/news/the-untold-and-deeply-stoned-story-of-the-first-u-s-rock-festival-20140617\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Fantasy Fair and Magic Mountain Music Festival\u003c/a>, purportedly the first American outdoor rock festival, took place in an amphitheater on Mt. Tamalpais and featured the Doors, Captain Beefheart, and many more. Near Muir Woods, the notoriously hidden artists’ collective \u003ca href=\"http://kalw.org/post/inside-druid-heights-marin-county-counter-culture-landmark#stream/0\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Druid Heights\u003c/a> (which may \u003ca href=\"http://www.nytimes.com/2012/01/26/us/historic-status-weighed-for-druid-heights-a-countercultural-oasis.html?_r=0\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">soon become\u003c/a> a nationally recognized Historic Place) was the site of legendary weekend-long fêtes and jam sessions with psychedelic rock musicians from the Bay and beyond.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11565511\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-crowd-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"The crowd on May 7, 2016, at Dungen's show in the redwoods.\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-11565511\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-crowd-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-crowd-400x267.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-crowd-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-crowd-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-crowd.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-crowd-960x640.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The crowd on May 7, 2016, at Dungen’s show in the redwoods. \u003ccite>(Photo: Mariah C. Tiffany)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>On the afternoon of Saturday, May 7, the contemporary psychedelic Swedish band Dungen visited an impossibly beautiful property tucked away in Nicasio and made their own little piece of history. The gig was announced quietly via Facebook, and spread quickly by digital word-of-mouth — it seemed, at first, too good to be true. But when I arrived at the sprawling private property, shrouded amongst the redwoods off Nicasio Valley Road, I quickly realized every expectation I had would soon be exceeded.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After following the sound of music down a short wooded path, I found myself upon a small stage topped by a gazebo, with a colorful, seated crowd listening to the folksy sounds of opener Sophia Knapp. The audience was delightfully rag-tag: denim-clad rocker types sat next to older Marin folks sharing blankets with thirty-something families, young children in tow. While Knapp and her talented band rang out easy-going bluesy numbers, I explored the forested grounds, stumbling upon numerous hand-crafted wooden structures, each filled with a variety of knick-knacks and ephemera. Evergreen, and with something new to catch the eye in every corner, the site seemed plucked from a children’s storybook.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11565443\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-boy-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"A boy on May 7, 2016, at Dungen's show in the redwoods.\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-11565443\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-boy-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-boy-400x267.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-boy-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-boy-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-boy.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-boy-960x640.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A boy on May 7, 2016, at Dungen’s show in the redwoods. \u003ccite>(Photo: Mariah C. Tiffany)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Knapp wrapped up, and by 4:15pm, Dungen cut loose with their first song, “Sätt Att Se,” the lead single from their sixth album (confusingly titled \u003cem>4\u003c/em>). As plaintive as it is ecstatic, “Sätt Att Se” perfectly captures Dungen’s ethos — it owes as much to the Beatles as it does to Black Sabbath. As soon as Dungen began, the crowd sat up and huddled the stage, eager to catch their fill of the music.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It was obvious, from minute one, that what we were experiencing was not an ordinary concert. Those at the front of the crowd were standing directly before the band — separation between artist and audience was nonexistent. Bandleader Gustav Ejstes (who, on record, writes and performs nearly all Dungen’s music himself) bantered frequently with his band (guitarist Reine Fiske, bassist Mattias Gustavsson, and drummer Johan Holmegard) and just as frequently with the audience; after about an hour, he remarked that they were playing their “ultimate set, in the woods. What songs do we even play? Who knows!”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11565441\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-band-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"Dungen playing in the redwoods outside of Nicasio on May 7, 2016.\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-11565441\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-band-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-band-400x267.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-band-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-band-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-band.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-band-960x640.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Dungen playing in the redwoods outside of Nicasio on May 7, 2016. \u003ccite>(Photo: Mariah C. Tiffany)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The band were clearly overwhelmed by the beauty surrounding them. A short break later, the crowd danced and sang along in a second set to favorites like “Festival” and “Ta Det Lugnt,” rarely performed live. Nearly two and a half hours later, they finished with the epic “Sova,” a soaring, ten-minute journey in multiple parts.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Afterwards, as the crowd slowly dispersed, everyone seemed in awe of what they had witnessed. It was one of those “only in the Bay Area” kind of moments. We found ourselves wondering if (or when) something like this would happen again. With any luck, this occasion marked the first of many.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[gallery type=\"slideshow\" size=\"large\" link=\"none\" ids=\"11565554,11565442,11565562,11565561,11565567,11565569,11565558,11565552,11565565,11565559,11565573,11565560,11565563,11565568,11565574,11565570,11565564,11565555,11565566,11565572,11565443,11565551,11565511,11565441\"]\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "Continuing a long North Bay tradition of psychedelic rock and secluded outdoor spots, the Swedish band Dungen took to the woods for an only-in-the-Bay-Area show.",
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"title": "Live Review: Psych-Rock Stalwarts Dungen Roar Through the Redwoods | KQED",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003cstrong>\u003cem>See full photo slideshow at bottom of post.\u003c/em>\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Sometimes, certain settings pair so well with specific kinds of music that it’s hard to imagine one without the other. In particular, the Bay Area’s boundless natural beauty, and the outdoor venues hidden within, pair perfectly with the enveloping melodic haze of psychedelic rock. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In fact, the two have a long history together, especially in the North Bay: The \u003ca href=\"http://www.rollingstone.com/music/news/the-untold-and-deeply-stoned-story-of-the-first-u-s-rock-festival-20140617\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Fantasy Fair and Magic Mountain Music Festival\u003c/a>, purportedly the first American outdoor rock festival, took place in an amphitheater on Mt. Tamalpais and featured the Doors, Captain Beefheart, and many more. Near Muir Woods, the notoriously hidden artists’ collective \u003ca href=\"http://kalw.org/post/inside-druid-heights-marin-county-counter-culture-landmark#stream/0\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Druid Heights\u003c/a> (which may \u003ca href=\"http://www.nytimes.com/2012/01/26/us/historic-status-weighed-for-druid-heights-a-countercultural-oasis.html?_r=0\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">soon become\u003c/a> a nationally recognized Historic Place) was the site of legendary weekend-long fêtes and jam sessions with psychedelic rock musicians from the Bay and beyond.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11565511\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-crowd-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"The crowd on May 7, 2016, at Dungen's show in the redwoods.\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-11565511\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-crowd-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-crowd-400x267.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-crowd-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-crowd-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-crowd.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-crowd-960x640.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The crowd on May 7, 2016, at Dungen’s show in the redwoods. \u003ccite>(Photo: Mariah C. Tiffany)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>On the afternoon of Saturday, May 7, the contemporary psychedelic Swedish band Dungen visited an impossibly beautiful property tucked away in Nicasio and made their own little piece of history. The gig was announced quietly via Facebook, and spread quickly by digital word-of-mouth — it seemed, at first, too good to be true. But when I arrived at the sprawling private property, shrouded amongst the redwoods off Nicasio Valley Road, I quickly realized every expectation I had would soon be exceeded.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After following the sound of music down a short wooded path, I found myself upon a small stage topped by a gazebo, with a colorful, seated crowd listening to the folksy sounds of opener Sophia Knapp. The audience was delightfully rag-tag: denim-clad rocker types sat next to older Marin folks sharing blankets with thirty-something families, young children in tow. While Knapp and her talented band rang out easy-going bluesy numbers, I explored the forested grounds, stumbling upon numerous hand-crafted wooden structures, each filled with a variety of knick-knacks and ephemera. Evergreen, and with something new to catch the eye in every corner, the site seemed plucked from a children’s storybook.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11565443\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-boy-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"A boy on May 7, 2016, at Dungen's show in the redwoods.\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-11565443\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-boy-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-boy-400x267.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-boy-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-boy-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-boy.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-boy-960x640.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A boy on May 7, 2016, at Dungen’s show in the redwoods. \u003ccite>(Photo: Mariah C. Tiffany)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Knapp wrapped up, and by 4:15pm, Dungen cut loose with their first song, “Sätt Att Se,” the lead single from their sixth album (confusingly titled \u003cem>4\u003c/em>). As plaintive as it is ecstatic, “Sätt Att Se” perfectly captures Dungen’s ethos — it owes as much to the Beatles as it does to Black Sabbath. As soon as Dungen began, the crowd sat up and huddled the stage, eager to catch their fill of the music.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It was obvious, from minute one, that what we were experiencing was not an ordinary concert. Those at the front of the crowd were standing directly before the band — separation between artist and audience was nonexistent. Bandleader Gustav Ejstes (who, on record, writes and performs nearly all Dungen’s music himself) bantered frequently with his band (guitarist Reine Fiske, bassist Mattias Gustavsson, and drummer Johan Holmegard) and just as frequently with the audience; after about an hour, he remarked that they were playing their “ultimate set, in the woods. What songs do we even play? Who knows!”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11565441\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-band-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"Dungen playing in the redwoods outside of Nicasio on May 7, 2016.\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-11565441\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-band-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-band-400x267.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-band-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-band-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-band.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/dungen_nicasio-band-960x640.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Dungen playing in the redwoods outside of Nicasio on May 7, 2016. \u003ccite>(Photo: Mariah C. Tiffany)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The band were clearly overwhelmed by the beauty surrounding them. A short break later, the crowd danced and sang along in a second set to favorites like “Festival” and “Ta Det Lugnt,” rarely performed live. Nearly two and a half hours later, they finished with the epic “Sova,” a soaring, ten-minute journey in multiple parts.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Afterwards, as the crowd slowly dispersed, everyone seemed in awe of what they had witnessed. It was one of those “only in the Bay Area” kind of moments. We found ourselves wondering if (or when) something like this would happen again. With any luck, this occasion marked the first of many.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"title": "Paul Flores' 'You're Gonna Cry' Parallels The Mission in the 1990s with Today",
"headTitle": "Paul Flores’ ‘You’re Gonna Cry’ Parallels The Mission in the 1990s with Today | KQED",
"content": "\u003cp>After 25 centuries Sophocles’ \u003cem>Antigone\u003c/em> is still the sharpest theatrical take on state power and dead bodies. King Creon’s refusal to bury his niece’s Antigone’s brothers and Antigone’s defiance of the King’s decree shows how politically and dramatically potent a corpse can be.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There have been too many corpses in San Francisco recently — the bullet-ridden bodies of Alex Nieto and Mario Woods — killed in strange and discouraging encounters with the police. The resulting outrage has produced hundreds of modern day Antigones: political activists storming City Hall calling for the resignations of Mayor Ed Lee and Chief of Police Greg Suhr; low riders shutting down Valencia Street; and, most dramatically, the 17-day hunger strike by the “Frisco Five” at the Mission Police Station which came at least to a temporary end over the weekend.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There is only one corpse in spoken word poet and novelist Paul Flores’ solo show, \u003ca href=\"http://www.paulsflores.com/events/2016/5/6/youre-gonna-cry-may-6-28-at-the-phoenix-theater-in-san-francisco\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">\u003cem>You’re Gonna Cry\u003c/em>\u003c/a>. Its understated and dismaying entrance into Flores’ portrait of Mission district in the mid-1990s is shocking, especially in the way the dead body just kind of appears and then just as quickly fades away. It’s a horrible sequence, not really related to state violence, and yet in spite of the 20-year difference in time between the events depicted in Flores’ play and today, it somehow feels of a piece with what’s happening now.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11564124\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 720px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-11564124\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Paul-with-Youre-Gonna-Cry-Backdrop.jpg\" alt=\"Paul Flores in front of the set for his 'You're Gonna Cry." Photo: Ramses El-Qare\" width=\"720\" height=\"478\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Paul-with-Youre-Gonna-Cry-Backdrop.jpg 720w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Paul-with-Youre-Gonna-Cry-Backdrop-400x266.jpg 400w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 720px) 100vw, 720px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Paul Flores in front of the set for his ‘You’re Gonna Cry.’ (Photo: Ramses El-Qare)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>It takes a while for Flores’ play to get going. When it does, it bounces deftly between sharp political commentary, goofy fun, and a surreal sense of tragedy. It’s one of those one-man shows that seems to include everyone in the world. Of the most important, there is Cesar, a young Chicano poet; Lydia, a Latina party girl; Richard, a tech worker and new homeowner; Ronnie, a drug-dealing puppeteer; Bianca, his 7-year old niece, who feels the dangers of the world with an aching calm; and Chingon, a kind of all-seeing hipster of the street. And that’s just the beginning of the neighborhood.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There’s not much of a plot, just the desire of each character to take on the world and experience everything that the Mission had to offer at that time. For Cesar, it’s the beginning of a political bohemia; for Lydia, a chance to escape her traditional and domineering father; for Richard, the white man’s journey into a world he sees as more vibrant and alive than suburban Palo Alto.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The tragedy is that Flores’ characters can’t quite grasp what is happening around them, and the way that money is subtly influencing and controlling their lives. It’s as if Adam Smith’s invisible hand of the market went about slyly killing hopes and dreams, and every once and a while, an innocent bystander — just for kicks.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When Ronnie pleads with Lydia to watch his nieces (Bianca and Stephanie) so that he can bail his friend Willie out of jail — arrested for disturbing the peace and tech worker Richard’s sleep — you intuitively feel the makings of a disaster. There it is in Lydia’s blithe acceptance of caring for children she has no plans to watch and Ronnie’s promise to repay her in drugs. These are just two of the many exchanges of money, people, and favors that lead to a corpse on the street.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Later, in one of the most affecting scenes of the evening, Cesar, Lydia, and their friend Martin try to understand what happened. None of them is fully capable of doing so, and so Flores leaves it to time — in the figure of Chingon — to at least offer a sense of perspective. And without directly saying so, he comes up with something a little like this:\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Once upon time there was a community in the Mission. It was imperfect and plagued by human failure. But the vibrancy of the people and life there was so alluring that the rich felt that this was something they had to have. And so they purchased the “lifestyle” and adopted the outlines of what they saw—smoked “Pall Mall cigarettes/ and set up a retro couch on the sidewalk.” For these “Nuevo Mission Bohemians…Evan/Casey/Brian/Jen/Charlene/Zack…Nobody calls the police.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And that brings us back to the present moment, with the bullet-ridden corpses of young men and the political economy that would prefer to see them disappear. Flores’ play isn’t perfect, but at its core is the type of political theater desperately missing in San Francisco and the Bay Area.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Flores has a vision of the world, and that vision sees two Missions: the present playground of the rich where you can sing in the streets with no fear of the police; and the older one, where the new Antigones do their best to properly bury and respect the dead, and hold onto the land where these tragedies are becoming all too common.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>\u003cem>You’re Gonna Cry\u003c/em> plays through Saturday, May 28 at the Phoenix Theatre in San Francisco. For information and tickets please go to www.theatermadcap.com.\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "The spoken word artist, writer and actor provides context around and inspires deep thinking about issues of gentrification, violence, and evictions facing San Francisco today",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>After 25 centuries Sophocles’ \u003cem>Antigone\u003c/em> is still the sharpest theatrical take on state power and dead bodies. King Creon’s refusal to bury his niece’s Antigone’s brothers and Antigone’s defiance of the King’s decree shows how politically and dramatically potent a corpse can be.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There have been too many corpses in San Francisco recently — the bullet-ridden bodies of Alex Nieto and Mario Woods — killed in strange and discouraging encounters with the police. The resulting outrage has produced hundreds of modern day Antigones: political activists storming City Hall calling for the resignations of Mayor Ed Lee and Chief of Police Greg Suhr; low riders shutting down Valencia Street; and, most dramatically, the 17-day hunger strike by the “Frisco Five” at the Mission Police Station which came at least to a temporary end over the weekend.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There is only one corpse in spoken word poet and novelist Paul Flores’ solo show, \u003ca href=\"http://www.paulsflores.com/events/2016/5/6/youre-gonna-cry-may-6-28-at-the-phoenix-theater-in-san-francisco\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">\u003cem>You’re Gonna Cry\u003c/em>\u003c/a>. Its understated and dismaying entrance into Flores’ portrait of Mission district in the mid-1990s is shocking, especially in the way the dead body just kind of appears and then just as quickly fades away. It’s a horrible sequence, not really related to state violence, and yet in spite of the 20-year difference in time between the events depicted in Flores’ play and today, it somehow feels of a piece with what’s happening now.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11564124\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 720px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-11564124\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Paul-with-Youre-Gonna-Cry-Backdrop.jpg\" alt=\"Paul Flores in front of the set for his 'You're Gonna Cry." Photo: Ramses El-Qare\" width=\"720\" height=\"478\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Paul-with-Youre-Gonna-Cry-Backdrop.jpg 720w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Paul-with-Youre-Gonna-Cry-Backdrop-400x266.jpg 400w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 720px) 100vw, 720px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Paul Flores in front of the set for his ‘You’re Gonna Cry.’ (Photo: Ramses El-Qare)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>It takes a while for Flores’ play to get going. When it does, it bounces deftly between sharp political commentary, goofy fun, and a surreal sense of tragedy. It’s one of those one-man shows that seems to include everyone in the world. Of the most important, there is Cesar, a young Chicano poet; Lydia, a Latina party girl; Richard, a tech worker and new homeowner; Ronnie, a drug-dealing puppeteer; Bianca, his 7-year old niece, who feels the dangers of the world with an aching calm; and Chingon, a kind of all-seeing hipster of the street. And that’s just the beginning of the neighborhood.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There’s not much of a plot, just the desire of each character to take on the world and experience everything that the Mission had to offer at that time. For Cesar, it’s the beginning of a political bohemia; for Lydia, a chance to escape her traditional and domineering father; for Richard, the white man’s journey into a world he sees as more vibrant and alive than suburban Palo Alto.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The tragedy is that Flores’ characters can’t quite grasp what is happening around them, and the way that money is subtly influencing and controlling their lives. It’s as if Adam Smith’s invisible hand of the market went about slyly killing hopes and dreams, and every once and a while, an innocent bystander — just for kicks.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When Ronnie pleads with Lydia to watch his nieces (Bianca and Stephanie) so that he can bail his friend Willie out of jail — arrested for disturbing the peace and tech worker Richard’s sleep — you intuitively feel the makings of a disaster. There it is in Lydia’s blithe acceptance of caring for children she has no plans to watch and Ronnie’s promise to repay her in drugs. These are just two of the many exchanges of money, people, and favors that lead to a corpse on the street.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Later, in one of the most affecting scenes of the evening, Cesar, Lydia, and their friend Martin try to understand what happened. None of them is fully capable of doing so, and so Flores leaves it to time — in the figure of Chingon — to at least offer a sense of perspective. And without directly saying so, he comes up with something a little like this:\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Once upon time there was a community in the Mission. It was imperfect and plagued by human failure. But the vibrancy of the people and life there was so alluring that the rich felt that this was something they had to have. And so they purchased the “lifestyle” and adopted the outlines of what they saw—smoked “Pall Mall cigarettes/ and set up a retro couch on the sidewalk.” For these “Nuevo Mission Bohemians…Evan/Casey/Brian/Jen/Charlene/Zack…Nobody calls the police.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And that brings us back to the present moment, with the bullet-ridden corpses of young men and the political economy that would prefer to see them disappear. Flores’ play isn’t perfect, but at its core is the type of political theater desperately missing in San Francisco and the Bay Area.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Flores has a vision of the world, and that vision sees two Missions: the present playground of the rich where you can sing in the streets with no fear of the police; and the older one, where the new Antigones do their best to properly bury and respect the dead, and hold onto the land where these tragedies are becoming all too common.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>\u003cem>You’re Gonna Cry\u003c/em> plays through Saturday, May 28 at the Phoenix Theatre in San Francisco. For information and tickets please go to www.theatermadcap.com.\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>Chinaka Hodge’s talent seems to have no limit. She’s \u003ca href=\"http://mirrorsineverycorner.blogspot.com/\">written an experimental play\u003c/a> starring Daveed Diggs, the Oakland-born rapper \u003ca href=\"http://time.com/4287898/tony-award-hamilton-daveed-diggs-jefferson-lafayette/\">recently nominated for a Tony\u003c/a> for his role in \u003cem>Hamilton\u003c/em>. She’s a \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6LTLuzkqpZc\">hot-as-hell guest MC\u003c/a>. She’s written a screenplay that earned her a fellowship at the Sundance Institute. She’s made an impact as an educator with Youth Speaks, the influential poetry nonprofit that impacts kids’ lives across the Bay Area. She’s teamed with the director Ryan Coogler (\u003cem>Fruitvale\u003c/em>, \u003cem>Creed\u003c/em>) on a new drama series about young people affected by institutionalization. And she has a sense of humor: check out her acting role as a gun-toting criminal with an elderly lover in the \u003cem>Harold and Maude\u003c/em>-gone-amok video for Atmosphere’s “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3JrDVPsVbVA\">Kanye West\u003c/a>.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On top of this already stacked resumé, Hodge is a well-received poet. Her second poetry collection, \u003cem>Dated Emcees\u003c/em>, comes out in June on the City Lights imprint Sister Spit. Hodge grew up in Oakland, under the influence of hip-hop and nineties East Bay culture. In fact, she’s a founding member of collaborative hip-hop ensemble \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LEphXa7sRD0\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">The Getback\u003c/a>, along with Daveed Diggs and others. In this new collection of 25 poems, she examines her own life through the lens of hip-hop, modeling the book’s length on a classic double album.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-11554040 aligncenter\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/unnamed-e1462476777205.jpg\" alt=\"unnamed\" width=\"500\" height=\"727\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The collection’s title poem is a scathing critique of “washed-up” rappers “otherwise known as old dudes rocking old fits” and hitting on teenage girls. Hodge’s narrator goes to a party in New York, where she’s propositioned by a man “round greying in a shirt that came with the pants / and a pair of gazelles actually older than my father.” He hands her his coke-white business card, and, as it turns out, the old guy is Positive K: You might remember him from the 1992 song “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VvYIpa1Ulvw\">I Got a Man\u003c/a>.” You can guess how the young lady responds to his groupie treatment of a woman two decades his junior.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The poem sets the reader up for the rest of the collection’s excellent mix of humor, tragedy, and sly cultural and political allusions.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Title track” opens with this powerhouse stanza:\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>no jazz men left: I date emcees,\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>tries to rehabilitate them,\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>into honest, working stiffs\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>i foot the bills, handle\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>the losses them come\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>loud leave softly\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>fall short break\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>daylight\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>gone\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>The opening functions as a bit of braggadocio about all the rappers the narrator has hooked up with over the years, the men of “fast dishonest / words, thoughts, childish aliases” that morph swiftly into the “lames i held / on too long / way past / time.” The voice is harsh, unforgiving, a spotlight shone on all players involved, and on the futility of playing the same games over and over, until you end up “in the studio / four am red bull / china shopping / married to / same old / acts” — a familiar scenario to anyone that has spent any amount of intimate time with musicians.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11554035\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Chinakahodges-800x434.jpg\" alt=\"Chinaka Hodge.\" width=\"800\" height=\"434\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-11554035\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Chinakahodges-800x434.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Chinakahodges-400x217.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Chinakahodges-768x417.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Chinakahodges-1180x640.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Chinakahodges-960x521.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Chinakahodges.jpg 1914w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Chinaka Hodge. \u003ccite>(Author photo)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>There are 24 haikus for every year of the life of Notorious B.I.G., and couplets for every year of Tupac Shakur’s life, including one for \u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/pop/2016/05/04/you-cant-kill-the-revolution-davey-d-on-tupacs-mother-afeni-shakur/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">the late Afeni Shakur\u003c/a>: “your dear mama, eschews her crackfiend fame / afeni becomes a household, recognized name.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Other poems like “One Being the Other Woman,” “First Date with the Engaged Rapper,” and “Life is Good” speak of betrayal, the loneliness of being the second choice, or the disgust at discovering you’re the one being cheated on.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“The Ballad of Hollywood” captures the impulsive, destructive nature of anger; how a drink spilled on a prized silk shirt can lead to an explosion of violence, changing the entire course of a night out at the club. Hodge explores how violence infuses certain men with energy, offering a way to truly feel all the feels.\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>You got to understand, he knows it’s fleeting\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>but when he draws someone’s blood away\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>from its course and holds it in his mouth\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>and fist at once he tastes tomorrow\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>he does feel like a new man\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>thumps a fist against his heart\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>invincible\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Dated Emcees\u003c/em> hits hard from beginning to end, but “The Oscars: an epic” is truly brutal in its insight about systemic racism and the aftermath of the killings of Trayvon Martin, Oscar Grant, and other young black men.\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>When they said it was fine for the boy to lay there\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>and the killer to walk. I was just outside of Folsom, drove\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>straight to his house. Waited for him to get off set.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>He held me while I sobbed.\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>The arrests, the profiling, the random sanctioned violence: “Everyone black man I love been through it,” writes Hodge.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ultimately, this is a book that begs to be read over and over, like a\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BB5zLq1zcdo\"> favorite album\u003c/a> that you play morning ’til night, until you know the lyrics, secret messages, and hard-won insights as intimately as you know your own beating heart. \u003cem>Dated Emcees\u003c/em> is another gem from one of Oakland’s best.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp> \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Chinaka Hodge \u003ca href=\"https://www.facebook.com/events/1233283343363499/\">appears at Freight and Salvage\u003c/a> on June 2, with Saul Williams and Black Spirituals, as part of the Bay Area Book Festival. Hodge also appears in a Q&A with Mona Eltahawy and a panels with Rebecca Solnit, Aya de Leon, and Julia Serano at the Book Fetsival on June 5. \u003ca href=\"http://www.baybookfest.org/content/schedule/schedule.html\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Details here\u003c/a>.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Chinaka Hodge’s talent seems to have no limit. She’s \u003ca href=\"http://mirrorsineverycorner.blogspot.com/\">written an experimental play\u003c/a> starring Daveed Diggs, the Oakland-born rapper \u003ca href=\"http://time.com/4287898/tony-award-hamilton-daveed-diggs-jefferson-lafayette/\">recently nominated for a Tony\u003c/a> for his role in \u003cem>Hamilton\u003c/em>. She’s a \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6LTLuzkqpZc\">hot-as-hell guest MC\u003c/a>. She’s written a screenplay that earned her a fellowship at the Sundance Institute. She’s made an impact as an educator with Youth Speaks, the influential poetry nonprofit that impacts kids’ lives across the Bay Area. She’s teamed with the director Ryan Coogler (\u003cem>Fruitvale\u003c/em>, \u003cem>Creed\u003c/em>) on a new drama series about young people affected by institutionalization. And she has a sense of humor: check out her acting role as a gun-toting criminal with an elderly lover in the \u003cem>Harold and Maude\u003c/em>-gone-amok video for Atmosphere’s “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3JrDVPsVbVA\">Kanye West\u003c/a>.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>On top of this already stacked resumé, Hodge is a well-received poet. Her second poetry collection, \u003cem>Dated Emcees\u003c/em>, comes out in June on the City Lights imprint Sister Spit. Hodge grew up in Oakland, under the influence of hip-hop and nineties East Bay culture. In fact, she’s a founding member of collaborative hip-hop ensemble \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LEphXa7sRD0\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">The Getback\u003c/a>, along with Daveed Diggs and others. In this new collection of 25 poems, she examines her own life through the lens of hip-hop, modeling the book’s length on a classic double album.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-11554040 aligncenter\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/unnamed-e1462476777205.jpg\" alt=\"unnamed\" width=\"500\" height=\"727\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The collection’s title poem is a scathing critique of “washed-up” rappers “otherwise known as old dudes rocking old fits” and hitting on teenage girls. Hodge’s narrator goes to a party in New York, where she’s propositioned by a man “round greying in a shirt that came with the pants / and a pair of gazelles actually older than my father.” He hands her his coke-white business card, and, as it turns out, the old guy is Positive K: You might remember him from the 1992 song “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VvYIpa1Ulvw\">I Got a Man\u003c/a>.” You can guess how the young lady responds to his groupie treatment of a woman two decades his junior.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The poem sets the reader up for the rest of the collection’s excellent mix of humor, tragedy, and sly cultural and political allusions.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Title track” opens with this powerhouse stanza:\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>no jazz men left: I date emcees,\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>tries to rehabilitate them,\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>into honest, working stiffs\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>i foot the bills, handle\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>the losses them come\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>loud leave softly\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>fall short break\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>daylight\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>gone\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>The opening functions as a bit of braggadocio about all the rappers the narrator has hooked up with over the years, the men of “fast dishonest / words, thoughts, childish aliases” that morph swiftly into the “lames i held / on too long / way past / time.” The voice is harsh, unforgiving, a spotlight shone on all players involved, and on the futility of playing the same games over and over, until you end up “in the studio / four am red bull / china shopping / married to / same old / acts” — a familiar scenario to anyone that has spent any amount of intimate time with musicians.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11554035\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Chinakahodges-800x434.jpg\" alt=\"Chinaka Hodge.\" width=\"800\" height=\"434\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-11554035\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Chinakahodges-800x434.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Chinakahodges-400x217.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Chinakahodges-768x417.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Chinakahodges-1180x640.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Chinakahodges-960x521.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/Chinakahodges.jpg 1914w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Chinaka Hodge. \u003ccite>(Author photo)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>There are 24 haikus for every year of the life of Notorious B.I.G., and couplets for every year of Tupac Shakur’s life, including one for \u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/pop/2016/05/04/you-cant-kill-the-revolution-davey-d-on-tupacs-mother-afeni-shakur/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">the late Afeni Shakur\u003c/a>: “your dear mama, eschews her crackfiend fame / afeni becomes a household, recognized name.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Other poems like “One Being the Other Woman,” “First Date with the Engaged Rapper,” and “Life is Good” speak of betrayal, the loneliness of being the second choice, or the disgust at discovering you’re the one being cheated on.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“The Ballad of Hollywood” captures the impulsive, destructive nature of anger; how a drink spilled on a prized silk shirt can lead to an explosion of violence, changing the entire course of a night out at the club. Hodge explores how violence infuses certain men with energy, offering a way to truly feel all the feels.\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>You got to understand, he knows it’s fleeting\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>but when he draws someone’s blood away\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>from its course and holds it in his mouth\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>and fist at once he tastes tomorrow\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>he does feel like a new man\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>thumps a fist against his heart\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>invincible\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Dated Emcees\u003c/em> hits hard from beginning to end, but “The Oscars: an epic” is truly brutal in its insight about systemic racism and the aftermath of the killings of Trayvon Martin, Oscar Grant, and other young black men.\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>When they said it was fine for the boy to lay there\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>and the killer to walk. I was just outside of Folsom, drove\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>straight to his house. Waited for him to get off set.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>He held me while I sobbed.\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>The arrests, the profiling, the random sanctioned violence: “Everyone black man I love been through it,” writes Hodge.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ultimately, this is a book that begs to be read over and over, like a\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BB5zLq1zcdo\"> favorite album\u003c/a> that you play morning ’til night, until you know the lyrics, secret messages, and hard-won insights as intimately as you know your own beating heart. \u003cem>Dated Emcees\u003c/em> is another gem from one of Oakland’s best.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp> \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Chinaka Hodge \u003ca href=\"https://www.facebook.com/events/1233283343363499/\">appears at Freight and Salvage\u003c/a> on June 2, with Saul Williams and Black Spirituals, as part of the Bay Area Book Festival. Hodge also appears in a Q&A with Mona Eltahawy and a panels with Rebecca Solnit, Aya de Leon, and Julia Serano at the Book Fetsival on June 5. \u003ca href=\"http://www.baybookfest.org/content/schedule/schedule.html\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Details here\u003c/a>.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "Just in Time for Mother's Day: Edgar Oliver's Crazy Mom Story",
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"content": "\u003cp>The strangest and most unnerving aspect of Edgar Oliver’s beautiful solo performance, \u003cem>\u003ca href=\"http://calperformances.org/performances/2015-16/theater/edgar-oliver-helen-edgar.php\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Helen & Edgar\u003c/a>, \u003c/em>currently showing at Zellerbach Playhouse under the auspices of Cal Performances in Berkeley, is not the stories he tells about himself and his sister growing up in Savannah under the care and guidance of his disturbed mother. What’s rattling is that the well-known storyteller (a star of the non-fiction performance series, \u003cem>The Moth\u003c/em>) seems to be living these narratives all over again, right in front of us. He has taken what is most essential to the memory play — distance and perspective — and gently cast them aside.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s an absolutely shocking move and forces us to float with Oliver through his memories of his mother without any guiding values. And so we feel her manias in the way a child would, and they’re jarring. She’s amazed that the cockroaches she allows to fester destroy an oven; rushes Oliver and his sister Helen to a motel after a ouija board informs her that a killer is near; takes midnight sojourns with the kids to spy on a man she’s fallen in love with from afar; and insists, over and over again, that she is not a grownup.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Helen & Edgar\u003c/em> has the vague outlines of Southern gothic, but Oliver’s performance turns those familiar tropes into a more radical identification with madness and the love that it can inspire. He comes on stage and speaks to us and we immediately know that something is wrong. This isn’t the voice of memory — the elegiac voice should have focus and understanding to it. Instead, Oliver’s speech patterns are affected, slightly loony, and prone to surreal turns of phrase, like “lost in the ivy, lost in the realm of the scorpions.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>We’re in a crazy mother story, but one where the child who reminisces refuses to sacrifice the unhinged parent. Oliver survives not by clawing his way to normalcy — the therapeutic goal of most American memoirs — but rather by continuing to find love and joy in what the memory of his mother offers. He never lets us laugh at her. We might chuckle, but not because of him.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11556670\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-11556670 size-medium\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TheMoth-Photo-e1462558743568-800x505.jpg\" alt=\"The Moth at the PEN World Voices Festival: What Went Wrong? Cooper Union. April 30, 2011.\" width=\"800\" height=\"505\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TheMoth-Photo-e1462558743568-800x505.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TheMoth-Photo-e1462558743568-400x252.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TheMoth-Photo-e1462558743568-768x484.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TheMoth-Photo-e1462558743568-1180x744.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TheMoth-Photo-e1462558743568-1920x1211.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TheMoth-Photo-e1462558743568-960x605.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Edgar Oliver as himself. (Photo: Sara Stacke)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Instead, Oliver daringly highlights his own strangeness. It’s not just his voice, but also a manner that flits somewhere between a vampire and an overly excitable child. Oliver’s movements are sharp, and yet you can’t help feeling that if he doesn’t get these stories right, he’ll explode. At times it seems as if the whole venture is just too much for him. And so this sly storyteller will amble to the side of the stage and watch, with us, a slide show of his mother’s paintings or old family pictures.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The effect is so enjoyable, strange, and beautiful that I felt that Oliver was teaching me how to behave, to learn the proper way of taking on the past and respecting all those who give us moments of joy, no matter how misguided and crazy they were.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>\u003ca href=\"http://calperformances.org/performances/2015-16/theater/edgar-oliver-helen-edgar.php\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">\u003cem>Helen & Edgar\u003c/em>\u003c/a> plays until Sunday, May 8 at Zellerbach Playhouse in Berkeley. For tickets and information go to www.calperformances.org.\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>The strangest and most unnerving aspect of Edgar Oliver’s beautiful solo performance, \u003cem>\u003ca href=\"http://calperformances.org/performances/2015-16/theater/edgar-oliver-helen-edgar.php\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Helen & Edgar\u003c/a>, \u003c/em>currently showing at Zellerbach Playhouse under the auspices of Cal Performances in Berkeley, is not the stories he tells about himself and his sister growing up in Savannah under the care and guidance of his disturbed mother. What’s rattling is that the well-known storyteller (a star of the non-fiction performance series, \u003cem>The Moth\u003c/em>) seems to be living these narratives all over again, right in front of us. He has taken what is most essential to the memory play — distance and perspective — and gently cast them aside.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s an absolutely shocking move and forces us to float with Oliver through his memories of his mother without any guiding values. And so we feel her manias in the way a child would, and they’re jarring. She’s amazed that the cockroaches she allows to fester destroy an oven; rushes Oliver and his sister Helen to a motel after a ouija board informs her that a killer is near; takes midnight sojourns with the kids to spy on a man she’s fallen in love with from afar; and insists, over and over again, that she is not a grownup.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Helen & Edgar\u003c/em> has the vague outlines of Southern gothic, but Oliver’s performance turns those familiar tropes into a more radical identification with madness and the love that it can inspire. He comes on stage and speaks to us and we immediately know that something is wrong. This isn’t the voice of memory — the elegiac voice should have focus and understanding to it. Instead, Oliver’s speech patterns are affected, slightly loony, and prone to surreal turns of phrase, like “lost in the ivy, lost in the realm of the scorpions.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>We’re in a crazy mother story, but one where the child who reminisces refuses to sacrifice the unhinged parent. Oliver survives not by clawing his way to normalcy — the therapeutic goal of most American memoirs — but rather by continuing to find love and joy in what the memory of his mother offers. He never lets us laugh at her. We might chuckle, but not because of him.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11556670\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-11556670 size-medium\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TheMoth-Photo-e1462558743568-800x505.jpg\" alt=\"The Moth at the PEN World Voices Festival: What Went Wrong? Cooper Union. April 30, 2011.\" width=\"800\" height=\"505\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TheMoth-Photo-e1462558743568-800x505.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TheMoth-Photo-e1462558743568-400x252.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TheMoth-Photo-e1462558743568-768x484.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TheMoth-Photo-e1462558743568-1180x744.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TheMoth-Photo-e1462558743568-1920x1211.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TheMoth-Photo-e1462558743568-960x605.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Edgar Oliver as himself. (Photo: Sara Stacke)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Instead, Oliver daringly highlights his own strangeness. It’s not just his voice, but also a manner that flits somewhere between a vampire and an overly excitable child. Oliver’s movements are sharp, and yet you can’t help feeling that if he doesn’t get these stories right, he’ll explode. At times it seems as if the whole venture is just too much for him. And so this sly storyteller will amble to the side of the stage and watch, with us, a slide show of his mother’s paintings or old family pictures.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cp>For decades, few films made in Cuba have found their way to U.S. theaters. But with diplomatic relations restored between the two countries, this past weekend brought not one, but two. \u003cem>Papa: Hemingway in Cuba\u003c/em>, the first Hollywood film to shoot on the island nation in decades, turns out to be a dispiriting, ineptly directed affair, about which the less said, the better.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But a father-son drama called \u003cem>Viva\u003c/em> is lively enough to be an art-house hit, illuminating a Havana subculture that may be almost as unfamiliar to Cubans as to Americans.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It centers on Jesus (Héctor Medina) a delicately handsome young man who makes his living — a very small living — as a hairdresser for the performers at a transgender club. The day we meet him, a cat-fight among the drag performers, leads to a departure, a theft of wigs, and an opportunity for Jesus, who’s been hankering for a spot in the spotlight.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The club’s proprietor, a burly drag queen known as Mama (Luis Alberto Garcia) wonders why, and Jesus responds that he needs the money, but also that he’s at loose ends — mother dead, dad in jail — and that he wants something for himself.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>So Mama lets him try out — his stage name, Viva — lip-syncing to a torch song he likes, in a dress he made himself. He’s a little tentative, but not terrible.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Practice, practice, practice,” says Mama afterwards. “This isn’t a charity. Show us something ‘real’ or we’ll get someone else.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Next time Jesus goes out on stage he’s in a white dress, pearls and a scarlet boa, and there’s no question the audience finds him “real.” He’s a knockout. And he gets knocked out, by a drunk at the bar — a drunk he is horrified to learn, is his father, just released from jail and coming back to live with him in the family apartment they both have claims on.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Complications ensue, including a power struggle in the household that gains a bit of complexity from a cleverly ‘meta’ bit of casting. Irish filmmaker Paddy Breathnach has placed newcomer Medina, opposite one of Cuba’s most celebrated actors, Jorge Perugorría, as his homophobic father, which qualifies as an intriguing bit of role-reversal. Perugorría became celebrated two decades ago by making his own debut as the gay lead in \u003cem>Fresa y chocolate\u003c/em> (\u003cem>Strawberry & Chocolate\u003c/em>), the Oscar-nominated film that is probably Cuba’s best-known.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The two actors are well-paired here, in a story that’s perhaps over-familiar — striking mostly conventional notes about identity and family — but that benefits enormously from its setting: the cobbled streets of Old Havana, where the colorful hues of antique cars and crumbling storefronts, brighten the grittier world they inhabit, much as Jesus wants to brighten the world around him, as Viva.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://youtu.be/S097UTL057I\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>For decades, few films made in Cuba have found their way to U.S. theaters. But with diplomatic relations restored between the two countries, this past weekend brought not one, but two. \u003cem>Papa: Hemingway in Cuba\u003c/em>, the first Hollywood film to shoot on the island nation in decades, turns out to be a dispiriting, ineptly directed affair, about which the less said, the better.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But a father-son drama called \u003cem>Viva\u003c/em> is lively enough to be an art-house hit, illuminating a Havana subculture that may be almost as unfamiliar to Cubans as to Americans.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It centers on Jesus (Héctor Medina) a delicately handsome young man who makes his living — a very small living — as a hairdresser for the performers at a transgender club. The day we meet him, a cat-fight among the drag performers, leads to a departure, a theft of wigs, and an opportunity for Jesus, who’s been hankering for a spot in the spotlight.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The club’s proprietor, a burly drag queen known as Mama (Luis Alberto Garcia) wonders why, and Jesus responds that he needs the money, but also that he’s at loose ends — mother dead, dad in jail — and that he wants something for himself.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>So Mama lets him try out — his stage name, Viva — lip-syncing to a torch song he likes, in a dress he made himself. He’s a little tentative, but not terrible.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Practice, practice, practice,” says Mama afterwards. “This isn’t a charity. Show us something ‘real’ or we’ll get someone else.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Next time Jesus goes out on stage he’s in a white dress, pearls and a scarlet boa, and there’s no question the audience finds him “real.” He’s a knockout. And he gets knocked out, by a drunk at the bar — a drunk he is horrified to learn, is his father, just released from jail and coming back to live with him in the family apartment they both have claims on.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Complications ensue, including a power struggle in the household that gains a bit of complexity from a cleverly ‘meta’ bit of casting. Irish filmmaker Paddy Breathnach has placed newcomer Medina, opposite one of Cuba’s most celebrated actors, Jorge Perugorría, as his homophobic father, which qualifies as an intriguing bit of role-reversal. Perugorría became celebrated two decades ago by making his own debut as the gay lead in \u003cem>Fresa y chocolate\u003c/em> (\u003cem>Strawberry & Chocolate\u003c/em>), the Oscar-nominated film that is probably Cuba’s best-known.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The two actors are well-paired here, in a story that’s perhaps over-familiar — striking mostly conventional notes about identity and family — but that benefits enormously from its setting: the cobbled streets of Old Havana, where the colorful hues of antique cars and crumbling storefronts, brighten the grittier world they inhabit, much as Jesus wants to brighten the world around him, as Viva.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/S097UTL057I'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/S097UTL057I'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "Beautiful Design Only Carries Berkeley Rep's 'Treasure Island' So Far",
"headTitle": "Beautiful Design Only Carries Berkeley Rep’s ‘Treasure Island’ So Far | KQED",
"content": "\u003cp>There are many exceptional qualities to Mary Zimmerman’s adaptation of Robert Louis Stevenson’s \u003ca href=\"http://www.berkeleyrep.org/season/1516/9314.asp\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">\u003cem>Treasure Island\u003c/em>\u003c/a> at the Berkeley Repertory Theatre. And the first and most obvious is the famed American director’s desire to catch a state of mind, a way of seeing the world that is peculiar to young boys. Jim Hawkins, the young protagonist of Stevenson’s classic adventure novel, is caught somewhere between despair (his father has died) and domestic servitude (he works in the family pub). Jim is both too old for his years and oppressed by circumstance. It is the perfect recipe for dreaminess and rash action.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>We feel all of Jim’s contradictory impulses in Todd Rosenthal’s beautifully designed set, T.J. Gercken’s lighting, and Ana Kuzmanic’s costumes. The ripped and ragged scrim, a shifting kaleidoscope of deep blues and oranges, captures the twin poles of Jim’s world — the sea that promises escape and the sun that presages awareness and knowledge. Under Gercken’s subtle lighting, the dance between the two is as surprising as Stevenson’s crazy pirate tale.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The massive platform that bisects the stage is imposing, yet transitory. It’s a dock, a schooner, an abandoned military garrison. Each time it shifts we understand that for Jim, wherever he goes, the world is both overwhelming and in danger of drifting away.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11548427\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-11548427\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TI8-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"(l to r) Steve Pickering (ensemble), John Babbo (Jim Hawkins), Matthew C. Yee (Abraham Gray), Christopher Donahue (Redruth), Steven Epp (Long John Silver), and Alex Moggridge (Dr. Livesey). Photo: Kevin Berne.\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TI8-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TI8-400x266.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TI8-768x511.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TI8-1180x785.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TI8-1920x1278.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TI8-960x639.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">(l to r) Steve Pickering (ensemble), John Babbo (Jim Hawkins), Matthew C. Yee (Abraham Gray), Christopher Donahue (Redruth), Steven Epp (Long John Silver), and Alex Moggridge (Dr. Livesey). Photo: Kevin Berne.\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>That is part of the beauty of Stevenson’s vision of youth: we want to escape, to get away fast, but we’re also desperate for solid ground. For a boy whose home and family are crumbling, this dash to the sea for adventure, camaraderie, and treasure is a last gasp attempt for a freer, richer life. How many disadvantaged boys in America must feel the same, not to mention the rest of the world?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>What’s clear in both Stevenson’s novel and Zimmerman’s production is that pirates are both the catalyst for — and the barrier to — Jim’s hopes. Without them he goes nowhere. But with them he is in constant danger of losing his soul and life. It is an achingly painful predicament, and one that Jim barely understands. His lack of awareness makes it all the more painful to watch.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Led by the remarkable actor Steven Epp as the duplicitous killer Long John Silver, the cast manages to fulfill our expectations of pirates while steering clear of pop culture clichés. The pirates look like pirates. But they look that way out of need, not sartorial whim. When they draw a sword or a knife, it feels precise and compact, as if they, like us, dress for what they have to do. It is the trickiest of the production’s many triumphs of design and grounds us in Jim’s confusion. Where he sees swashbuckling style, we see killers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This is the reason we keep coming back to \u003cem>Treasure Island\u003c/em> again and again. There are so many possibilities in this theatrical retelling of the classic tale — a morally compromised adventure, fascinating characters, real ideas, and brilliant design — and yet Zimmerman doesn’t quite achieve dramatic forcefulness and focus.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11548430\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-11548430\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TI13-800x532.jpg\" alt=\"(l to r) Kasey Foster (George Merry), Demetrios Troy (ensemble), Steven Epp (Long John Silver), Travis Delgado (Dick), Anthony Irons (Morgan), and Christopher Donahue (Johnny). Photo: Kevin Berne.\" width=\"800\" height=\"532\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TI13-800x532.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TI13-400x266.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TI13-768x511.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TI13-1180x785.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TI13-1920x1278.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TI13-960x639.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">(l to r) Kasey Foster (George Merry), Demetrios Troy (ensemble), Steven Epp (Long John Silver), Travis Delgado (Dick), Anthony Irons (Morgan), and Christopher Donahue (Johnny). Photo: Kevin Berne.\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>We watch Silver brutally murder a man. That’s great, and Epp doesn’t stint on the violence. Yet for most of the last 20 or 30 minutes, his character doesn’t act, but is instead merely a function of a series of plot machinations that are mostly narrated. The baroque explanations of his shifting allegiances just don’t work on stage. When Jim exclaims to Silver, “So you’re changing sides again,” the effect is dramatically deflating and not the revelation that the line should be. It’s a waste of villainy and the reckless abandon so crucial to tales of youth and adventure.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Chained to Stevenson’s story, Zimmerman both reduces it to mere events and mires us in over complication. She’s capable of random moments of beauty, like Jim’s silent retreat after killing a murderous pirate, and the vision of a cave of gold. But the last third of the production feels more like a task to be completed than the end of a harrowing adventure.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The notion of adapting a literary work for the stage versus writing an original play is a strange one. They’re the same act, essentially. Both involve the ordering of scenes, presentation of characters, and writing of lines. And yet there’s a crucial aesthetic and cultural difference between the two. The adapter seeks to honor and preserve the material, whereas the playwright (at least a good one) is free to follow all the forces of the imagination — even the most destructive ones. Zimmerman’s production has ambition and energy, but her writing is reverent and flat.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>From her forays into loose-leafed epics like \u003cem>The Notebooks of Leonardo da Vinci \u003c/em>and \u003cem>The Arabian Nights, \u003c/em>to her retelling of Jason and the Argonauts, \u003cem>Argautika, \u003c/em>and her adaption of the 16th century Chinese novel, \u003cem>Journey to the West\u003c/em>, Zimmerman has never had the natural verve of a storyteller. Ultimately, this auteur has the heart of a designer: she illustrates. By undermining the complexity of the material before her, Zimmerman shows no inclination to wrest \u003cem>Treasure Island\u003c/em> from Stevenson, as a great artist would. Instead, she gives us a beautifully designed act of homage, but not a play that is new, wild, and necessary.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>\u003cem>Treasure Island\u003c/em> plays through Sunday, Jun. 19, 2016 at Berkeley Repertory Theatre. For tickets and information go to www.berkeleyrep.org.\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>There are many exceptional qualities to Mary Zimmerman’s adaptation of Robert Louis Stevenson’s \u003ca href=\"http://www.berkeleyrep.org/season/1516/9314.asp\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">\u003cem>Treasure Island\u003c/em>\u003c/a> at the Berkeley Repertory Theatre. And the first and most obvious is the famed American director’s desire to catch a state of mind, a way of seeing the world that is peculiar to young boys. Jim Hawkins, the young protagonist of Stevenson’s classic adventure novel, is caught somewhere between despair (his father has died) and domestic servitude (he works in the family pub). Jim is both too old for his years and oppressed by circumstance. It is the perfect recipe for dreaminess and rash action.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>We feel all of Jim’s contradictory impulses in Todd Rosenthal’s beautifully designed set, T.J. Gercken’s lighting, and Ana Kuzmanic’s costumes. The ripped and ragged scrim, a shifting kaleidoscope of deep blues and oranges, captures the twin poles of Jim’s world — the sea that promises escape and the sun that presages awareness and knowledge. Under Gercken’s subtle lighting, the dance between the two is as surprising as Stevenson’s crazy pirate tale.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The massive platform that bisects the stage is imposing, yet transitory. It’s a dock, a schooner, an abandoned military garrison. Each time it shifts we understand that for Jim, wherever he goes, the world is both overwhelming and in danger of drifting away.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11548427\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-11548427\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TI8-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"(l to r) Steve Pickering (ensemble), John Babbo (Jim Hawkins), Matthew C. Yee (Abraham Gray), Christopher Donahue (Redruth), Steven Epp (Long John Silver), and Alex Moggridge (Dr. Livesey). Photo: Kevin Berne.\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TI8-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TI8-400x266.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TI8-768x511.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TI8-1180x785.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TI8-1920x1278.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TI8-960x639.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">(l to r) Steve Pickering (ensemble), John Babbo (Jim Hawkins), Matthew C. Yee (Abraham Gray), Christopher Donahue (Redruth), Steven Epp (Long John Silver), and Alex Moggridge (Dr. Livesey). Photo: Kevin Berne.\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>That is part of the beauty of Stevenson’s vision of youth: we want to escape, to get away fast, but we’re also desperate for solid ground. For a boy whose home and family are crumbling, this dash to the sea for adventure, camaraderie, and treasure is a last gasp attempt for a freer, richer life. How many disadvantaged boys in America must feel the same, not to mention the rest of the world?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>What’s clear in both Stevenson’s novel and Zimmerman’s production is that pirates are both the catalyst for — and the barrier to — Jim’s hopes. Without them he goes nowhere. But with them he is in constant danger of losing his soul and life. It is an achingly painful predicament, and one that Jim barely understands. His lack of awareness makes it all the more painful to watch.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Led by the remarkable actor Steven Epp as the duplicitous killer Long John Silver, the cast manages to fulfill our expectations of pirates while steering clear of pop culture clichés. The pirates look like pirates. But they look that way out of need, not sartorial whim. When they draw a sword or a knife, it feels precise and compact, as if they, like us, dress for what they have to do. It is the trickiest of the production’s many triumphs of design and grounds us in Jim’s confusion. Where he sees swashbuckling style, we see killers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This is the reason we keep coming back to \u003cem>Treasure Island\u003c/em> again and again. There are so many possibilities in this theatrical retelling of the classic tale — a morally compromised adventure, fascinating characters, real ideas, and brilliant design — and yet Zimmerman doesn’t quite achieve dramatic forcefulness and focus.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11548430\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-11548430\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TI13-800x532.jpg\" alt=\"(l to r) Kasey Foster (George Merry), Demetrios Troy (ensemble), Steven Epp (Long John Silver), Travis Delgado (Dick), Anthony Irons (Morgan), and Christopher Donahue (Johnny). Photo: Kevin Berne.\" width=\"800\" height=\"532\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TI13-800x532.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TI13-400x266.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TI13-768x511.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TI13-1180x785.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TI13-1920x1278.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/05/TI13-960x639.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">(l to r) Kasey Foster (George Merry), Demetrios Troy (ensemble), Steven Epp (Long John Silver), Travis Delgado (Dick), Anthony Irons (Morgan), and Christopher Donahue (Johnny). Photo: Kevin Berne.\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>We watch Silver brutally murder a man. That’s great, and Epp doesn’t stint on the violence. Yet for most of the last 20 or 30 minutes, his character doesn’t act, but is instead merely a function of a series of plot machinations that are mostly narrated. The baroque explanations of his shifting allegiances just don’t work on stage. When Jim exclaims to Silver, “So you’re changing sides again,” the effect is dramatically deflating and not the revelation that the line should be. It’s a waste of villainy and the reckless abandon so crucial to tales of youth and adventure.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Chained to Stevenson’s story, Zimmerman both reduces it to mere events and mires us in over complication. She’s capable of random moments of beauty, like Jim’s silent retreat after killing a murderous pirate, and the vision of a cave of gold. But the last third of the production feels more like a task to be completed than the end of a harrowing adventure.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The notion of adapting a literary work for the stage versus writing an original play is a strange one. They’re the same act, essentially. Both involve the ordering of scenes, presentation of characters, and writing of lines. And yet there’s a crucial aesthetic and cultural difference between the two. The adapter seeks to honor and preserve the material, whereas the playwright (at least a good one) is free to follow all the forces of the imagination — even the most destructive ones. Zimmerman’s production has ambition and energy, but her writing is reverent and flat.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>From her forays into loose-leafed epics like \u003cem>The Notebooks of Leonardo da Vinci \u003c/em>and \u003cem>The Arabian Nights, \u003c/em>to her retelling of Jason and the Argonauts, \u003cem>Argautika, \u003c/em>and her adaption of the 16th century Chinese novel, \u003cem>Journey to the West\u003c/em>, Zimmerman has never had the natural verve of a storyteller. Ultimately, this auteur has the heart of a designer: she illustrates. By undermining the complexity of the material before her, Zimmerman shows no inclination to wrest \u003cem>Treasure Island\u003c/em> from Stevenson, as a great artist would. Instead, she gives us a beautifully designed act of homage, but not a play that is new, wild, and necessary.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>\u003cem>Treasure Island\u003c/em> plays through Sunday, Jun. 19, 2016 at Berkeley Repertory Theatre. For tickets and information go to www.berkeleyrep.org.\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "Finally, Some Justice For Busybody Moms In 'The Meddler'",
"headTitle": "Finally, Some Justice For Busybody Moms In ‘The Meddler’ | KQED",
"content": "\u003cp>In Lorene Scafaria’s \u003cem>The Meddler\u003c/em>, Susan Sarandon plays Marnie Minervini, a recent widow who moves from the East Coast to Los Angeles to “be near” (read, boss around) her daughter Lori (a very good, if underused Rose Byrne), a depressed screenwriter who’s just broken up with her boyfriend. We meet Marnie lying in bed gazing up at the ceiling, and that’s more or less the last wordless time we spend with her.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11527718\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1280px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3.jpg\" alt=\"Still from 'The Meddler.'\" width=\"1280\" height=\"854\" class=\"size-full wp-image-11527718\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3.jpg 1280w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3-400x267.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3-800x534.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3-960x641.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1280px) 100vw, 1280px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Still from ‘The Meddler.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Sony Pictures Classics)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Amiable and chatty (her voiceover, a one-way running memo to Lori, typically begins with “Anyway…”), Marnie has little to do in her new home, and Lori is less than receptive to input. When her daughter escapes to New York for a few weeks’ work, Marnie busies herself finding substitutes to whom she can offer unsolicited aid and advice. She gloms onto Lori’s friends bearing disproportionate gifts; packs her bemused Apple guy (Jerrod Carmichael) off to college; plans a lesbian wedding for a motherless bride (Cecily Strong); visits a hospitalized older woman she doesn’t know. She also throws money around for all the world as if she were not a modestly comfortable widow from suburban New Jersey. Marnie doesn’t want to know how lonely she is. So she follows Lori to New York, there to place her stamp on a TV-movie set where a tale suspiciously like her own family’s progresses as best it can under her superfluous wing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11527716\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1162px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1.jpg\" alt=\"Still from 'The Meddler.'\" width=\"1162\" height=\"856\" class=\"size-full wp-image-11527716\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1.jpg 1162w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1-400x295.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1-800x589.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1-768x566.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1-960x707.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1162px) 100vw, 1162px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Still from ‘The Meddler.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Sony Pictures Classics)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Movie mothers get a raw deal: They’re too cold or too hot, too remote or too engaged, too young or too old, monsters or, at best, figures of fun. The busybody mom in particular has, with wearying frequency, become a sitting target for cheap cracks at the expense of the lonely empty-nester. Perhaps because \u003cem>The Meddler\u003c/em> was made by a woman director and based on a testing encounter with a mother she clearly loves, Scafaria’s comedy of maternal manners dances affectionately, if not altogether nimbly, around this cliff edge without falling over.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>The Meddler\u003c/em> isn’t great filmmaking. It’s baggy and repetitive, and sometimes it just drifts along on a repeat cycle of Marnie’s desperate efforts to minister to everyone but herself. The dialogue is relentlessly chipper, and the supporting players — arm-waving Italian in-laws, a pregnant girlfriend in ditsy top gear (though I do love Lucy Punch), an obligatory love interest played with more diligence than energy by J.K. Simmons in an improbable handlebar mustache — often feel like situation comedy types. The takeaway won’t shock you either: Marnie and Lori will wake up to the source of their shared grief and their mutual need and all the redemptive stuff that comes with this territory.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11527717\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1280px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/2.jpg\" alt=\"Still from 'The Meddler.'\" width=\"1280\" height=\"854\" class=\"size-full wp-image-11527717\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/2.jpg 1280w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/2-400x267.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/2-800x534.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/2-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/2-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/2-960x641.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1280px) 100vw, 1280px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Still from ‘The Meddler.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Sony Pictures Classics)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>And yet, \u003cem>The Meddler\u003c/em> is warm and funny and astutely observant of the way so many mothers and daughters push and pull at each other and drive each other crazy, and never let go. And though Sarandon, a sixtysomething glamour puss at once raffish and maternal in a wavy red shag and Bette Davis eyes, might easily have sucked up all the air in the room, she goes a different route. She dials down the slapstick around her and brings a quiet grace to a woman who’s all at sea but hangs onto what she does best — figuring out what other people need and helping them get there.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The great thing about \u003cem>The Meddler\u003c/em> is that it doesn’t force Marnie to change all that much. She comes to see that she needs to take care of herself as well as others. Likewise, Lori comes to accept the gift that’s been in front of her nose all along, and to accept that what’s most annoying (to her, if not to her friends) about her mother is also what’s finest about her. The world could use a few more meddlers like Marnie, one of a vast army of maternal do-gooders who go unsung or reviled at the movies and in life. \u003cem>The Meddler\u003c/em>, for once, doffs its cap to busybody moms. Because they are the best kind, and as my own beloved, clucking mother used to say, better too much than too little. So off you go and wear a woolly, it’s cold outside.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y2KtQz2bhLg\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "A story that, for once, recognizes that there's a solid argument to be made for a mom who gives, if anything, too much of herself.",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>In Lorene Scafaria’s \u003cem>The Meddler\u003c/em>, Susan Sarandon plays Marnie Minervini, a recent widow who moves from the East Coast to Los Angeles to “be near” (read, boss around) her daughter Lori (a very good, if underused Rose Byrne), a depressed screenwriter who’s just broken up with her boyfriend. We meet Marnie lying in bed gazing up at the ceiling, and that’s more or less the last wordless time we spend with her.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11527718\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1280px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3.jpg\" alt=\"Still from 'The Meddler.'\" width=\"1280\" height=\"854\" class=\"size-full wp-image-11527718\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3.jpg 1280w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3-400x267.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3-800x534.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3-960x641.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1280px) 100vw, 1280px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Still from ‘The Meddler.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Sony Pictures Classics)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Amiable and chatty (her voiceover, a one-way running memo to Lori, typically begins with “Anyway…”), Marnie has little to do in her new home, and Lori is less than receptive to input. When her daughter escapes to New York for a few weeks’ work, Marnie busies herself finding substitutes to whom she can offer unsolicited aid and advice. She gloms onto Lori’s friends bearing disproportionate gifts; packs her bemused Apple guy (Jerrod Carmichael) off to college; plans a lesbian wedding for a motherless bride (Cecily Strong); visits a hospitalized older woman she doesn’t know. She also throws money around for all the world as if she were not a modestly comfortable widow from suburban New Jersey. Marnie doesn’t want to know how lonely she is. So she follows Lori to New York, there to place her stamp on a TV-movie set where a tale suspiciously like her own family’s progresses as best it can under her superfluous wing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11527716\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1162px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1.jpg\" alt=\"Still from 'The Meddler.'\" width=\"1162\" height=\"856\" class=\"size-full wp-image-11527716\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1.jpg 1162w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1-400x295.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1-800x589.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1-768x566.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1-960x707.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1162px) 100vw, 1162px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Still from ‘The Meddler.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Sony Pictures Classics)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Movie mothers get a raw deal: They’re too cold or too hot, too remote or too engaged, too young or too old, monsters or, at best, figures of fun. The busybody mom in particular has, with wearying frequency, become a sitting target for cheap cracks at the expense of the lonely empty-nester. Perhaps because \u003cem>The Meddler\u003c/em> was made by a woman director and based on a testing encounter with a mother she clearly loves, Scafaria’s comedy of maternal manners dances affectionately, if not altogether nimbly, around this cliff edge without falling over.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>The Meddler\u003c/em> isn’t great filmmaking. It’s baggy and repetitive, and sometimes it just drifts along on a repeat cycle of Marnie’s desperate efforts to minister to everyone but herself. The dialogue is relentlessly chipper, and the supporting players — arm-waving Italian in-laws, a pregnant girlfriend in ditsy top gear (though I do love Lucy Punch), an obligatory love interest played with more diligence than energy by J.K. Simmons in an improbable handlebar mustache — often feel like situation comedy types. The takeaway won’t shock you either: Marnie and Lori will wake up to the source of their shared grief and their mutual need and all the redemptive stuff that comes with this territory.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11527717\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1280px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/2.jpg\" alt=\"Still from 'The Meddler.'\" width=\"1280\" height=\"854\" class=\"size-full wp-image-11527717\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/2.jpg 1280w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/2-400x267.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/2-800x534.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/2-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/2-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/2-960x641.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1280px) 100vw, 1280px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Still from ‘The Meddler.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Sony Pictures Classics)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>And yet, \u003cem>The Meddler\u003c/em> is warm and funny and astutely observant of the way so many mothers and daughters push and pull at each other and drive each other crazy, and never let go. And though Sarandon, a sixtysomething glamour puss at once raffish and maternal in a wavy red shag and Bette Davis eyes, might easily have sucked up all the air in the room, she goes a different route. She dials down the slapstick around her and brings a quiet grace to a woman who’s all at sea but hangs onto what she does best — figuring out what other people need and helping them get there.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The great thing about \u003cem>The Meddler\u003c/em> is that it doesn’t force Marnie to change all that much. She comes to see that she needs to take care of herself as well as others. Likewise, Lori comes to accept the gift that’s been in front of her nose all along, and to accept that what’s most annoying (to her, if not to her friends) about her mother is also what’s finest about her. The world could use a few more meddlers like Marnie, one of a vast army of maternal do-gooders who go unsung or reviled at the movies and in life. \u003cem>The Meddler\u003c/em>, for once, doffs its cap to busybody moms. Because they are the best kind, and as my own beloved, clucking mother used to say, better too much than too little. So off you go and wear a woolly, it’s cold outside.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/Y2KtQz2bhLg'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/Y2KtQz2bhLg'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"slug": "the-grace-jones-project-at-moad-deconstructs-her-flawless-arabesque",
"title": "How Does the Influence of Grace Jones Impact Art Today?",
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"content": "\u003cp>Opening the door to \u003ca href=\"http://www.moadsf.org/exhibition/the-grace-jones-project/\">\u003ci>The Grace Jones Project\u003c/i>\u003c/a> at the Museum of the Africa Diaspora is like entering the shrine of a living goddess.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignright size-full wp-image-11532358\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/GraceJones-short.gif\" alt=\"GraceJones-short\" width=\"338\" height=\"519\">In the center of the gallery two display walls separate the space, drawing a line through the exhibit. On one side of the line, the artist represented is Jones herself. Thirty-two evenly arranged Grace Jones records are divided and mounted on black backgrounds. The singer, actress and model features prominently on almost every album cover. Her aura, and her shifting series of identities, dominate the room. The effect is that of a pop star’s power to dazzle.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A reel of Jones’ music videos loops alongside the wall of albums. The projected images shriek with the 1980s MTV era of self-conscious experimentalism. Jones and her collaborators capitalized on the fact that the camera loved to look at her. But she knew how to look back. Jones stared down the male gaze and smashed it to bits. Sunglasses, costumes, hats, cowls, even her makeup were all parts of the armory, to be removed only at her behest.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The other side of gallery space contends with her enduring cultural influence and its impact on musicians and artists, pop and otherwise. Harold Offeh, a London-based performance and video artist, filmed a live action version of himself attempting the famous arabesque pose from the cover of Jones’ 1985 album \u003ci>Island Life\u003c/i>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11532356\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-11532356\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3.-Harold-Offeh-Arabesque-After-Grace-Jones-1989-still-2008-2009_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Harold Offeh, Still from 'Arabesque, Covers: Arabesque, After Grace Jones, 1978,' 2008-2009.\" width=\"1000\" height=\"658\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3.-Harold-Offeh-Arabesque-After-Grace-Jones-1989-still-2008-2009_1200.jpg 1000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3.-Harold-Offeh-Arabesque-After-Grace-Jones-1989-still-2008-2009_1200-400x263.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3.-Harold-Offeh-Arabesque-After-Grace-Jones-1989-still-2008-2009_1200-800x526.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3.-Harold-Offeh-Arabesque-After-Grace-Jones-1989-still-2008-2009_1200-768x505.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3.-Harold-Offeh-Arabesque-After-Grace-Jones-1989-still-2008-2009_1200-960x632.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1000px) 100vw, 1000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Harold Offeh, Still from ‘Arabesque, Covers: Arabesque, After Grace Jones, 1978,’ 2008-2009. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of the artist)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Unlike Jones, Offeh is nude as he stands with his limbs outstretched (Jones’ body is selectively wrapped: an ankle, a wrist, her breasts). His round stomach lacks her body’s sculptural ideal, and he’s all the more human for it. After holding something like her pose for a minute, he loses his balance, utters a sigh, and the film begins again. It’s a witty piece that exposes the album cover for what it is: a cut and paste technique — a pre-Photoshop illusion — by the photographer Jean-Paul Goude.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In a deliberate omission, Goude is not represented in \u003ci>The Grace Jones Project\u003c/i>. He may not have been the sole decision maker of her aesthetic sensibility, but while they were a couple he was responsible for much of it. Goude photographed and designed her album covers and directed many of her first music videos.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11530665\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 480px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-11530665\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/5.-Gaskin-Backstage-at-the-Evisu-Ball-Manhattan.jpg\" alt=\"Gerard Gaskin, 'Backstage at the Evisu Ball, Manhattan,' 2010. \" width=\"480\" height=\"720\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/5.-Gaskin-Backstage-at-the-Evisu-Ball-Manhattan.jpg 480w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/5.-Gaskin-Backstage-at-the-Evisu-Ball-Manhattan-400x600.jpg 400w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 480px) 100vw, 480px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Gerard Gaskin, ‘Backstage at the Evisu Ball, Manhattan,’ 2010. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of the artist.)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>His 1982 book of photography, \u003ci>Jungle Fever\u003c/i>, features a notorious image of Jones naked and caged. Goude, a white man, revels in the need for art to shock for the sake of attention. His “Break the Internet” photographs with Kim Kardashian for the November 2014 issue of \u003ci>PAPER\u003c/i> magazine were no exception.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This outré aspect of their work together brings this question to mind: In what context has the art of Grace Jones actively retained its influence?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The collection of vinyl on display at MoAD belongs to the exhibit’s curator Nicole Caruth, but \u003ci>The Grace Jones Project\u003c/i> is not simply the tribute project of an ardent fan. When Caruth first saw the video for “La Vie en rose,” Jones, tangling with an accordion, was for her a figure of female and Black empowerment (Jones moved from Jamaica to New York as a teenager).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Many of the installations on display contend with and embrace Jones’ projection of Black strength. Photo shoots like the one she did for \u003ci>Playboy\u003c/i> in 1985, with her then-boyfriend Dolph Lundgren, reinforced the mythology of her physical perfection.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11532354\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-11532354\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1.-Rashayla-Marie-Brown-The-Island-Pose-from-the-Black-Betty-series-2013_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Rashayla Marie Brown, 'The Island Pose from the Black Betty series,' 2013.\" width=\"1200\" height=\"795\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1.-Rashayla-Marie-Brown-The-Island-Pose-from-the-Black-Betty-series-2013_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1.-Rashayla-Marie-Brown-The-Island-Pose-from-the-Black-Betty-series-2013_1200-400x265.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1.-Rashayla-Marie-Brown-The-Island-Pose-from-the-Black-Betty-series-2013_1200-800x530.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1.-Rashayla-Marie-Brown-The-Island-Pose-from-the-Black-Betty-series-2013_1200-768x509.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1.-Rashayla-Marie-Brown-The-Island-Pose-from-the-Black-Betty-series-2013_1200-1180x782.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1.-Rashayla-Marie-Brown-The-Island-Pose-from-the-Black-Betty-series-2013_1200-960x636.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Rashayla Marie Brown, ‘The Island Pose from the Black Betty series,’ 2013. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of the artist)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>But her oeuvre largely resides within the realms of pop culture, where attention-getting is the end game. It’s easy to see where Rihanna, Lady Gaga and Nicki Minaj often draw visual inspiration, sometimes borrowing directly from Jones’ wardrobe. But it’s difficult to compete with the lasting impression made by a suit made of meat.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Heather Hart’s mixed media collage \u003ci>Jumeaux\u003c/i> (twins) claims Grace Jones as more than mere pop artifact. Hart says, “In pop culture we found her in chains, in cages, with raw meat, put into the position of the savage animal. But because of her command, because she was tall, because she was androgynous, because she had power in her own gaze, somehow I didn’t doubt her agency as a subject.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11532357\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-11532357\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/4.-Gaskin-painted-black-at-the-Tony-Andrea-and-Eric-Ball-Brooklyn-NY_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Gerard Gaskin, 'Baby (painted black) at the Tony, Andrea, and Eric Ball, Brooklyn, NY,' 2000.\" width=\"1000\" height=\"667\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/4.-Gaskin-painted-black-at-the-Tony-Andrea-and-Eric-Ball-Brooklyn-NY_1200.jpg 1000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/4.-Gaskin-painted-black-at-the-Tony-Andrea-and-Eric-Ball-Brooklyn-NY_1200-400x267.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/4.-Gaskin-painted-black-at-the-Tony-Andrea-and-Eric-Ball-Brooklyn-NY_1200-800x534.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/4.-Gaskin-painted-black-at-the-Tony-Andrea-and-Eric-Ball-Brooklyn-NY_1200-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/4.-Gaskin-painted-black-at-the-Tony-Andrea-and-Eric-Ball-Brooklyn-NY_1200-960x640.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1000px) 100vw, 1000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Gerard Gaskin, ‘Baby (painted black) at the Tony, Andrea, and Eric Ball, Brooklyn, NY,’ 2000. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of the artist)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Two images of Jones nest inside a circle of light in Hart’s collage. The viewer is instructed “to press one piece of gold leaf” into this space on the canvas. For Hart, this action is meant to refute the idea that Jones was just a puppet in Goude’s hands.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Hart’s collage, and the diverse range of other contributions in \u003cem>The Grace Jones Project\u003c/em> make a convincing argument for Jones’ status as an icon of Black female empowerment, and as a seminal figure in the landscape of pop culture.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>\u003cb>The Grace Jones Project\u003c/b> is on view through Sept. 18 at the Museum of the African Diaspora in San Francisco. For tickets and more information visit \u003ca href=\"http://www.moadsf.org/exhibition/the-grace-jones-project/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">moadsf.org\u003c/a>.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "A group show at MoAD brings together generations of artists influenced by and paying homage to model, actress, and singer Grace Jones.",
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"title": "How Does the Influence of Grace Jones Impact Art Today? | KQED",
"description": "A group show at MoAD brings together generations of artists influenced by and paying homage to model, actress, and singer Grace Jones.",
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"headline": "How Does the Influence of Grace Jones Impact Art Today?",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Opening the door to \u003ca href=\"http://www.moadsf.org/exhibition/the-grace-jones-project/\">\u003ci>The Grace Jones Project\u003c/i>\u003c/a> at the Museum of the Africa Diaspora is like entering the shrine of a living goddess.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignright size-full wp-image-11532358\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/GraceJones-short.gif\" alt=\"GraceJones-short\" width=\"338\" height=\"519\">In the center of the gallery two display walls separate the space, drawing a line through the exhibit. On one side of the line, the artist represented is Jones herself. Thirty-two evenly arranged Grace Jones records are divided and mounted on black backgrounds. The singer, actress and model features prominently on almost every album cover. Her aura, and her shifting series of identities, dominate the room. The effect is that of a pop star’s power to dazzle.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A reel of Jones’ music videos loops alongside the wall of albums. The projected images shriek with the 1980s MTV era of self-conscious experimentalism. Jones and her collaborators capitalized on the fact that the camera loved to look at her. But she knew how to look back. Jones stared down the male gaze and smashed it to bits. Sunglasses, costumes, hats, cowls, even her makeup were all parts of the armory, to be removed only at her behest.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The other side of gallery space contends with her enduring cultural influence and its impact on musicians and artists, pop and otherwise. Harold Offeh, a London-based performance and video artist, filmed a live action version of himself attempting the famous arabesque pose from the cover of Jones’ 1985 album \u003ci>Island Life\u003c/i>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11532356\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-11532356\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3.-Harold-Offeh-Arabesque-After-Grace-Jones-1989-still-2008-2009_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Harold Offeh, Still from 'Arabesque, Covers: Arabesque, After Grace Jones, 1978,' 2008-2009.\" width=\"1000\" height=\"658\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3.-Harold-Offeh-Arabesque-After-Grace-Jones-1989-still-2008-2009_1200.jpg 1000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3.-Harold-Offeh-Arabesque-After-Grace-Jones-1989-still-2008-2009_1200-400x263.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3.-Harold-Offeh-Arabesque-After-Grace-Jones-1989-still-2008-2009_1200-800x526.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3.-Harold-Offeh-Arabesque-After-Grace-Jones-1989-still-2008-2009_1200-768x505.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3.-Harold-Offeh-Arabesque-After-Grace-Jones-1989-still-2008-2009_1200-960x632.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1000px) 100vw, 1000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Harold Offeh, Still from ‘Arabesque, Covers: Arabesque, After Grace Jones, 1978,’ 2008-2009. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of the artist)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Unlike Jones, Offeh is nude as he stands with his limbs outstretched (Jones’ body is selectively wrapped: an ankle, a wrist, her breasts). His round stomach lacks her body’s sculptural ideal, and he’s all the more human for it. After holding something like her pose for a minute, he loses his balance, utters a sigh, and the film begins again. It’s a witty piece that exposes the album cover for what it is: a cut and paste technique — a pre-Photoshop illusion — by the photographer Jean-Paul Goude.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In a deliberate omission, Goude is not represented in \u003ci>The Grace Jones Project\u003c/i>. He may not have been the sole decision maker of her aesthetic sensibility, but while they were a couple he was responsible for much of it. Goude photographed and designed her album covers and directed many of her first music videos.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11530665\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 480px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-11530665\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/5.-Gaskin-Backstage-at-the-Evisu-Ball-Manhattan.jpg\" alt=\"Gerard Gaskin, 'Backstage at the Evisu Ball, Manhattan,' 2010. \" width=\"480\" height=\"720\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/5.-Gaskin-Backstage-at-the-Evisu-Ball-Manhattan.jpg 480w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/5.-Gaskin-Backstage-at-the-Evisu-Ball-Manhattan-400x600.jpg 400w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 480px) 100vw, 480px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Gerard Gaskin, ‘Backstage at the Evisu Ball, Manhattan,’ 2010. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of the artist.)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>His 1982 book of photography, \u003ci>Jungle Fever\u003c/i>, features a notorious image of Jones naked and caged. Goude, a white man, revels in the need for art to shock for the sake of attention. His “Break the Internet” photographs with Kim Kardashian for the November 2014 issue of \u003ci>PAPER\u003c/i> magazine were no exception.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This outré aspect of their work together brings this question to mind: In what context has the art of Grace Jones actively retained its influence?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The collection of vinyl on display at MoAD belongs to the exhibit’s curator Nicole Caruth, but \u003ci>The Grace Jones Project\u003c/i> is not simply the tribute project of an ardent fan. When Caruth first saw the video for “La Vie en rose,” Jones, tangling with an accordion, was for her a figure of female and Black empowerment (Jones moved from Jamaica to New York as a teenager).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Many of the installations on display contend with and embrace Jones’ projection of Black strength. Photo shoots like the one she did for \u003ci>Playboy\u003c/i> in 1985, with her then-boyfriend Dolph Lundgren, reinforced the mythology of her physical perfection.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11532354\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-11532354\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1.-Rashayla-Marie-Brown-The-Island-Pose-from-the-Black-Betty-series-2013_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Rashayla Marie Brown, 'The Island Pose from the Black Betty series,' 2013.\" width=\"1200\" height=\"795\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1.-Rashayla-Marie-Brown-The-Island-Pose-from-the-Black-Betty-series-2013_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1.-Rashayla-Marie-Brown-The-Island-Pose-from-the-Black-Betty-series-2013_1200-400x265.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1.-Rashayla-Marie-Brown-The-Island-Pose-from-the-Black-Betty-series-2013_1200-800x530.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1.-Rashayla-Marie-Brown-The-Island-Pose-from-the-Black-Betty-series-2013_1200-768x509.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1.-Rashayla-Marie-Brown-The-Island-Pose-from-the-Black-Betty-series-2013_1200-1180x782.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1.-Rashayla-Marie-Brown-The-Island-Pose-from-the-Black-Betty-series-2013_1200-960x636.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Rashayla Marie Brown, ‘The Island Pose from the Black Betty series,’ 2013. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of the artist)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>But her oeuvre largely resides within the realms of pop culture, where attention-getting is the end game. It’s easy to see where Rihanna, Lady Gaga and Nicki Minaj often draw visual inspiration, sometimes borrowing directly from Jones’ wardrobe. But it’s difficult to compete with the lasting impression made by a suit made of meat.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Heather Hart’s mixed media collage \u003ci>Jumeaux\u003c/i> (twins) claims Grace Jones as more than mere pop artifact. Hart says, “In pop culture we found her in chains, in cages, with raw meat, put into the position of the savage animal. But because of her command, because she was tall, because she was androgynous, because she had power in her own gaze, somehow I didn’t doubt her agency as a subject.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11532357\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-11532357\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/4.-Gaskin-painted-black-at-the-Tony-Andrea-and-Eric-Ball-Brooklyn-NY_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Gerard Gaskin, 'Baby (painted black) at the Tony, Andrea, and Eric Ball, Brooklyn, NY,' 2000.\" width=\"1000\" height=\"667\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/4.-Gaskin-painted-black-at-the-Tony-Andrea-and-Eric-Ball-Brooklyn-NY_1200.jpg 1000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/4.-Gaskin-painted-black-at-the-Tony-Andrea-and-Eric-Ball-Brooklyn-NY_1200-400x267.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/4.-Gaskin-painted-black-at-the-Tony-Andrea-and-Eric-Ball-Brooklyn-NY_1200-800x534.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/4.-Gaskin-painted-black-at-the-Tony-Andrea-and-Eric-Ball-Brooklyn-NY_1200-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/4.-Gaskin-painted-black-at-the-Tony-Andrea-and-Eric-Ball-Brooklyn-NY_1200-960x640.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1000px) 100vw, 1000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Gerard Gaskin, ‘Baby (painted black) at the Tony, Andrea, and Eric Ball, Brooklyn, NY,’ 2000. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of the artist)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Two images of Jones nest inside a circle of light in Hart’s collage. The viewer is instructed “to press one piece of gold leaf” into this space on the canvas. For Hart, this action is meant to refute the idea that Jones was just a puppet in Goude’s hands.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Hart’s collage, and the diverse range of other contributions in \u003cem>The Grace Jones Project\u003c/em> make a convincing argument for Jones’ status as an icon of Black female empowerment, and as a seminal figure in the landscape of pop culture.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>\u003cb>The Grace Jones Project\u003c/b> is on view through Sept. 18 at the Museum of the African Diaspora in San Francisco. For tickets and more information visit \u003ca href=\"http://www.moadsf.org/exhibition/the-grace-jones-project/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">moadsf.org\u003c/a>.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "What Happens when you Cast 'Hamlet' by Pulling Names out of Yorick's Skull",
"headTitle": "What Happens when you Cast ‘Hamlet’ by Pulling Names out of Yorick’s Skull | KQED",
"content": "\u003cp>Behind the character of Shakespeare’s Hamlet is a line of thousands of actors. They have come to him over and over again, as if he were less a role to play than an artistic pilgrimage. We speak of Olivier’s Hamlet, Burton’s Hamlet, Gielgud’s Hamlet, Richardson’s, Berkoff’s, Kline’s, Hawkes’, Branagh’s, Cumberbatch’s…the list goes on. And we even speak with regret of the Hamlets that \u003cem>might have been\u003c/em>: Brando’s, Dean’s, Welles’. We dream of them all, if only to toss them aside as likely to have come up short.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Yet Hamlet will have none of it. The most definitive character of the Western canon is also the most elusive. Every attempt seems a gloss — an approximation of the real thing. And so Shakespeare’s \u003cem>Hamlet\u003c/em> has always seemed more of an actor’s play than a director’s; more about an ambitious actor confronting an impossible role than the personal and political struggles of one royal family in Denmark. As a weeping teenager said to me after a rather pedestrian production, “we have lost a beautiful soul.” One might add, that we have lost all the souls determined to bring that soul to life. Enter the graveyard and behold the ghosts. It’s a crowded field.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Mark Jackson knows that. The director and conceptual wizard behind the Shotgun Players’ uplifting and weirdly affecting \u003cem>Hamlet\u003c/em> once performed a version of the play, \u003cem>I am Hamlet\u003c/em>, in which Hamlet played all the roles himself.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Here, Jackson reverses the equation. Announcing before the performance begins to the audience that the actors have no idea who they’re going to play — and in fact no one does, not even the director himself — he invites the cast of seven on stage. The actors run out with the peppy bonhomie of game show contestants, line up in a row before us, and wait. Who will play Hamlet? And for that matter Claudius, Ophelia, Polonius, Laertes? Jackson pulls the cast list out of Yorick’s skull and assigns the parts one by one. It’s a goofy, curiously intense moment.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11528061\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-11528061\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1-1-e1461698736727-800x444.jpg\" alt=\"(From L to R) Beth Wilmurt, Cathleen Riddley, Nick Medina, El Beh, Kevin Clarke, David Sinaiko, and Megan Trout wait to be assigned their roles. Photo:\" width=\"800\" height=\"444\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1-1-e1461698736727-800x444.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1-1-e1461698736727-400x222.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1-1-e1461698736727-768x426.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1-1-e1461698736727-960x533.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1-1-e1461698736727-672x372.jpg 672w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1-1-e1461698736727-1038x576.jpg 1038w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1-1-e1461698736727.jpg 1150w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">(From L to R) Beth Wilmurt, Cathleen Riddley, Nick Medina, El Beh, Kevin Clarke, David Sinaiko, and Megan Trout wait to be assigned their roles. Photo: Pak Han.\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>You immediately notice that there isn’t a conventional Hamlet in the cast. They are a wonderfully eclectic bunch: men and women, a smattering of ages and races, and, if you follow Bay Area performers, even different acting styles. So the first move Jackson makes in this \u003cem>Hamlet\u003c/em> is both to play up and side step the drama of playing Hamlet. There will be a confrontation between actor and role, but one unknown until the very last moment. And this is the rub: what is true for Hamlet will now be true for all the other roles as well. We are plunged into a democracy of infinite possibilities.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Is that gray-haired man capable of playing the young and tragic Ophelia? Can that young woman possibly understand what it means to be Polonius, an aging stooge to the king? What would an African-American woman bring to Hamlet or Hamlet to her? Every role becomes a question and every cast member an uncertain answer. Even talent, at least how we normally perceive it, loses meaning in this production. Instead, the question becomes one of qualities: how does this particular person, unlikely or perfectly cast, transform the character and, most importantly, the play?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Nick Medina, a revelation all three nights I saw him, opens up aspects of \u003cem>Hamlet\u003c/em> that are often unrealized. I always thought of Gertrude as cold, not compassionate. Yet watch him tear up, not showily, when his character watches Ophelia go mad, or his shock when Gertrude realizes that Claudius has no feeling for her son. Here is a young man’s body, wild and forceful, giving subtle expression to the half-formed fears of a middle-aged woman.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11528072\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-11528072 size-medium\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3-1-800x534.jpg\" alt=\"Hamlet\" width=\"800\" height=\"534\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3-1-800x534.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3-1-400x267.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3-1-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3-1-960x640.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3-1.jpg 1000w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">(L to R) Beth Wilmurt as Gertrude and Nick Medina as Claudius. Photo: Pak Han.\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>And on a different night that same body takes on Ophelia, so that when she goes mad, Medina unleashes a shocking male physicality into Ophelia’s rage. It feels as if she’s being played by a wrestler and it not only works, but it also feels true. We don’t lose the fact that Ophelia’s a young woman, but instead gain the expressive force of brute male strength. I thought he would destroy her costume.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Other actors provide similar chameleon thrills. Kevin Clarke makes for a passionate and precise Hamlet. It’s a thrilling performance. And the next night, he brings those same qualities to Laertes and it unleashes a crazy energy into the production. Beth Wilmurt slips so easily into Polonius that you have to keep reminding yourself that the character is not a woman. So that when he warns Ophelia of the dangers in falling in love with Hamlet, you can’t help but feel that Wilmurt is talking to a younger version of herself — that she once was Ophelia, and ironically in this production, still might be.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The play begins with a ghost. But see the play three times in a row as I did, and it feels as if the entire cast has a touch of the dead and missing about them. Wasn’t Clarke Hamlet’s father the day before he played Hamlet? Megan Trout’s commanding Claudius has strong traces of her equally regal Gertrude. In playing Polonius, Laertes, and Ophelia over successive nights, Cathleen Riddley sketches a beautiful portrait of a most unfortunate family, all victims of Hamlet’s rage. Cast her to type and she would have been the missing wife and mother that the play never mentions.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11528068\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-11528068 size-medium\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/6-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"Hamlet\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/6-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/6-400x266.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/6-768x511.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/6-960x639.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/6.jpg 1000w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">(L to R) Beth Wilmurt as Gertrude, Nick Medina as Claudius, Cathleen Riddley as Ophelia, and Megan Trout as Laertes. Photo: Pak Han.\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>There are only seven actors in this production, but they produce scores of ghosts, doppelgangers, and strange memories of themselves. It’s a beautiful effect and a unique and rich response to the play.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But given the amount of daring, skill, energy, and focus it must have taken to produce this \u003cem>Hamlet\u003c/em>, it goes without saying that you should not expect a perfect production. Jackson’s cut of the play is sharp and smooth, though it sacrifices much of the political statecraft that makes Hamlet such a fascinating public figure, both for Shakespeare’s imagined Denmark and us as well. This is a \u003cem>Hamlet\u003c/em> of intense personal feeling, and the production only falters when it takes on some of the play’s more public scenes. These include the opening coronation of Claudius, the staging of the play-within-the-play, and the final fight where a rethinking of the stage combat is needed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>These are all small concerns, though. Everything about this \u003cem>Hamlet\u003c/em>, even the in-character calls for the odd forgotten line, is alive to one of the greatest plays in the world. We should be thankful to witness such a circus of daring.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>The initial run of \u003cem>Hamlet\u003c/em> plays through Sunday, May 15 at Shotgun Players’ Ashby Stage in Berkeley, and it will continue to run in rep (alongside other plays in the season) through January, 2017. For tickets and information go to www.shotgunplayers.org.\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "In Mark Jackson's brilliant, daring production for Shotgun Players, cast members have no idea what part they’re going to play until 5 minutes before curtain",
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"description": "In Mark Jackson's brilliant, daring production for Shotgun Players, cast members have no idea what part they’re going to play until 5 minutes before curtain",
"title": "What Happens when you Cast 'Hamlet' by Pulling Names out of Yorick's Skull | KQED",
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"headline": "What Happens when you Cast 'Hamlet' by Pulling Names out of Yorick's Skull",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Behind the character of Shakespeare’s Hamlet is a line of thousands of actors. They have come to him over and over again, as if he were less a role to play than an artistic pilgrimage. We speak of Olivier’s Hamlet, Burton’s Hamlet, Gielgud’s Hamlet, Richardson’s, Berkoff’s, Kline’s, Hawkes’, Branagh’s, Cumberbatch’s…the list goes on. And we even speak with regret of the Hamlets that \u003cem>might have been\u003c/em>: Brando’s, Dean’s, Welles’. We dream of them all, if only to toss them aside as likely to have come up short.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Yet Hamlet will have none of it. The most definitive character of the Western canon is also the most elusive. Every attempt seems a gloss — an approximation of the real thing. And so Shakespeare’s \u003cem>Hamlet\u003c/em> has always seemed more of an actor’s play than a director’s; more about an ambitious actor confronting an impossible role than the personal and political struggles of one royal family in Denmark. As a weeping teenager said to me after a rather pedestrian production, “we have lost a beautiful soul.” One might add, that we have lost all the souls determined to bring that soul to life. Enter the graveyard and behold the ghosts. It’s a crowded field.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Mark Jackson knows that. The director and conceptual wizard behind the Shotgun Players’ uplifting and weirdly affecting \u003cem>Hamlet\u003c/em> once performed a version of the play, \u003cem>I am Hamlet\u003c/em>, in which Hamlet played all the roles himself.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Here, Jackson reverses the equation. Announcing before the performance begins to the audience that the actors have no idea who they’re going to play — and in fact no one does, not even the director himself — he invites the cast of seven on stage. The actors run out with the peppy bonhomie of game show contestants, line up in a row before us, and wait. Who will play Hamlet? And for that matter Claudius, Ophelia, Polonius, Laertes? Jackson pulls the cast list out of Yorick’s skull and assigns the parts one by one. It’s a goofy, curiously intense moment.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11528061\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-11528061\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1-1-e1461698736727-800x444.jpg\" alt=\"(From L to R) Beth Wilmurt, Cathleen Riddley, Nick Medina, El Beh, Kevin Clarke, David Sinaiko, and Megan Trout wait to be assigned their roles. Photo:\" width=\"800\" height=\"444\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1-1-e1461698736727-800x444.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1-1-e1461698736727-400x222.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1-1-e1461698736727-768x426.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1-1-e1461698736727-960x533.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1-1-e1461698736727-672x372.jpg 672w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1-1-e1461698736727-1038x576.jpg 1038w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/1-1-e1461698736727.jpg 1150w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">(From L to R) Beth Wilmurt, Cathleen Riddley, Nick Medina, El Beh, Kevin Clarke, David Sinaiko, and Megan Trout wait to be assigned their roles. Photo: Pak Han.\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>You immediately notice that there isn’t a conventional Hamlet in the cast. They are a wonderfully eclectic bunch: men and women, a smattering of ages and races, and, if you follow Bay Area performers, even different acting styles. So the first move Jackson makes in this \u003cem>Hamlet\u003c/em> is both to play up and side step the drama of playing Hamlet. There will be a confrontation between actor and role, but one unknown until the very last moment. And this is the rub: what is true for Hamlet will now be true for all the other roles as well. We are plunged into a democracy of infinite possibilities.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Is that gray-haired man capable of playing the young and tragic Ophelia? Can that young woman possibly understand what it means to be Polonius, an aging stooge to the king? What would an African-American woman bring to Hamlet or Hamlet to her? Every role becomes a question and every cast member an uncertain answer. Even talent, at least how we normally perceive it, loses meaning in this production. Instead, the question becomes one of qualities: how does this particular person, unlikely or perfectly cast, transform the character and, most importantly, the play?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Nick Medina, a revelation all three nights I saw him, opens up aspects of \u003cem>Hamlet\u003c/em> that are often unrealized. I always thought of Gertrude as cold, not compassionate. Yet watch him tear up, not showily, when his character watches Ophelia go mad, or his shock when Gertrude realizes that Claudius has no feeling for her son. Here is a young man’s body, wild and forceful, giving subtle expression to the half-formed fears of a middle-aged woman.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11528072\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-11528072 size-medium\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3-1-800x534.jpg\" alt=\"Hamlet\" width=\"800\" height=\"534\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3-1-800x534.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3-1-400x267.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3-1-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3-1-960x640.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/3-1.jpg 1000w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">(L to R) Beth Wilmurt as Gertrude and Nick Medina as Claudius. Photo: Pak Han.\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>And on a different night that same body takes on Ophelia, so that when she goes mad, Medina unleashes a shocking male physicality into Ophelia’s rage. It feels as if she’s being played by a wrestler and it not only works, but it also feels true. We don’t lose the fact that Ophelia’s a young woman, but instead gain the expressive force of brute male strength. I thought he would destroy her costume.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Other actors provide similar chameleon thrills. Kevin Clarke makes for a passionate and precise Hamlet. It’s a thrilling performance. And the next night, he brings those same qualities to Laertes and it unleashes a crazy energy into the production. Beth Wilmurt slips so easily into Polonius that you have to keep reminding yourself that the character is not a woman. So that when he warns Ophelia of the dangers in falling in love with Hamlet, you can’t help but feel that Wilmurt is talking to a younger version of herself — that she once was Ophelia, and ironically in this production, still might be.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The play begins with a ghost. But see the play three times in a row as I did, and it feels as if the entire cast has a touch of the dead and missing about them. Wasn’t Clarke Hamlet’s father the day before he played Hamlet? Megan Trout’s commanding Claudius has strong traces of her equally regal Gertrude. In playing Polonius, Laertes, and Ophelia over successive nights, Cathleen Riddley sketches a beautiful portrait of a most unfortunate family, all victims of Hamlet’s rage. Cast her to type and she would have been the missing wife and mother that the play never mentions.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11528068\" class=\"wp-caption alignnone\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-11528068 size-medium\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/6-800x533.jpg\" alt=\"Hamlet\" width=\"800\" height=\"533\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/6-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/6-400x266.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/6-768x511.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/6-960x639.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/6.jpg 1000w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">(L to R) Beth Wilmurt as Gertrude, Nick Medina as Claudius, Cathleen Riddley as Ophelia, and Megan Trout as Laertes. Photo: Pak Han.\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>There are only seven actors in this production, but they produce scores of ghosts, doppelgangers, and strange memories of themselves. It’s a beautiful effect and a unique and rich response to the play.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But given the amount of daring, skill, energy, and focus it must have taken to produce this \u003cem>Hamlet\u003c/em>, it goes without saying that you should not expect a perfect production. Jackson’s cut of the play is sharp and smooth, though it sacrifices much of the political statecraft that makes Hamlet such a fascinating public figure, both for Shakespeare’s imagined Denmark and us as well. This is a \u003cem>Hamlet\u003c/em> of intense personal feeling, and the production only falters when it takes on some of the play’s more public scenes. These include the opening coronation of Claudius, the staging of the play-within-the-play, and the final fight where a rethinking of the stage combat is needed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>These are all small concerns, though. Everything about this \u003cem>Hamlet\u003c/em>, even the in-character calls for the odd forgotten line, is alive to one of the greatest plays in the world. We should be thankful to witness such a circus of daring.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>The initial run of \u003cem>Hamlet\u003c/em> plays through Sunday, May 15 at Shotgun Players’ Ashby Stage in Berkeley, and it will continue to run in rep (alongside other plays in the season) through January, 2017. For tickets and information go to www.shotgunplayers.org.\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "Hey, They're Moving Ryan Reynolds' Consciousness Around Again",
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"content": "\u003cp>Here’s a recipe for the ideal man: Take the speed and ruthlessness of a brain-damaged sociopath and combine them with the smarts and tenderness of a CIA agent who’s also a husband and father. Yet for some reason, the new movie about this champion is titled not \u003cem>The Perfect Guy\u003c/em>, but \u003cem>Criminal\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That apparently refers to Jerico (Kevin Costner), who lacks all decency and empathy because he was abused as a child by his father. (So he’s a monster, but a victim, too.) Since he has “frontal lobe syndrome,” he’s the ideal temporary recipient of the consciousness of nice-guy spy Bill (Ryan Reynolds), who was just tortured to death by a Spanish anarchist with a Nordic name, Heimdahl (Jordi Molla).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://youtu.be/3bvnoqsvY-M\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There’s something about Reynolds’ male-model looks, it seems, that makes filmmakers want to disfigure him. \u003cem>Criminal\u003c/em> is no \u003cem>Deadpool\u003c/em>, though. It packs only a handful of ironic asides, and they’re all allocated to Costner. (While we’re on the subject of Reynolds’ odd career, by the way, let’s note that it’s been less than a year since the actor was seen in \u003cem>Self/less\u003c/em>, playing a body implanted with another man’s mind.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Bill dies in London, and has stashed a Dutch hacker (Michael Pitt) without telling anyone where the guy is. The computer whiz can control the U.S. military arsenal from his laptop, so he’s frantically sought by CIA London station chief Quaker Wells (Gary Oldman with some sort of American accent). Also striving to make “a deal better than Snowden got” with the Dutchman are Heimdahl and the Russians — and, most likely, Apple and Google.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Wells calls a plodding American brain tinkerer, played by a lumbering Tommy Lee Jones and named Dr. Franks. (The family probably shortened its surname after relocating from the Old Country.) Franks springs Jerico from a cell that looks as if it had been designed for Hannibal Lecter and flies him to Britain. The brute receives some of Bill’s memories, which come mingled with feelings for the dead man’s wife, Jill (Gal Gadot), and young daughter, Emma (Lara DeCaro).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But Jerico is hard to control, and soon he’s busted loose to terrorize both trendy coffee bars and working-class dives. His funniest moments come when he finds himself saying things Bill would have, and doesn’t understand them.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Even the gags arrive in the company of bone-crushing violence, as Jerico finds himself at war with the CIA and the anarchists — led by Heimdahl’s sexy lover/enforcer (Antje Traue) — as well as all sorts of ancillary law-enforcement types, who exist just to be bashed, smashed, or blown up.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The only person who doesn’t seem out to kill Jerico is Emma, with whom the guy develops the inevitable special bond. Thank heaven for little girls.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Criminal\u003c/em> was written by Douglas Cook and David Weisberg, who scripted \u003cem>The Rock\u003c/em>, a nutty 1996 Nicolas Cage vehicle. The director is Ariel Vromen, whose \u003cem>The Iceman\u003c/em> was a competent from-real-life 2013 drama that also involved mayhem and family values. But with its European locations, electro-thump score, and near-ceaseless violence, the movie plays like something tooled in French producer-scripter Luc Besson’s factory for international action mashups.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Besson probably would have imagined a more timely threat than Spanish anarchism. He likely wouldn’t have allowed Pitt to pronounce his Dutch character’s name, Strook, as if it were an American one. Most importantly, he would brought a lighter touch to this silly-in-concept but earnest-in-execution trifle. So when \u003cem>Criminal\u003c/em> hints at the possibility of a sequel, viewers might chuckle rather than cringe.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Here’s a recipe for the ideal man: Take the speed and ruthlessness of a brain-damaged sociopath and combine them with the smarts and tenderness of a CIA agent who’s also a husband and father. Yet for some reason, the new movie about this champion is titled not \u003cem>The Perfect Guy\u003c/em>, but \u003cem>Criminal\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That apparently refers to Jerico (Kevin Costner), who lacks all decency and empathy because he was abused as a child by his father. (So he’s a monster, but a victim, too.) Since he has “frontal lobe syndrome,” he’s the ideal temporary recipient of the consciousness of nice-guy spy Bill (Ryan Reynolds), who was just tortured to death by a Spanish anarchist with a Nordic name, Heimdahl (Jordi Molla).\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/3bvnoqsvY-M'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/3bvnoqsvY-M'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>There’s something about Reynolds’ male-model looks, it seems, that makes filmmakers want to disfigure him. \u003cem>Criminal\u003c/em> is no \u003cem>Deadpool\u003c/em>, though. It packs only a handful of ironic asides, and they’re all allocated to Costner. (While we’re on the subject of Reynolds’ odd career, by the way, let’s note that it’s been less than a year since the actor was seen in \u003cem>Self/less\u003c/em>, playing a body implanted with another man’s mind.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Bill dies in London, and has stashed a Dutch hacker (Michael Pitt) without telling anyone where the guy is. The computer whiz can control the U.S. military arsenal from his laptop, so he’s frantically sought by CIA London station chief Quaker Wells (Gary Oldman with some sort of American accent). Also striving to make “a deal better than Snowden got” with the Dutchman are Heimdahl and the Russians — and, most likely, Apple and Google.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Wells calls a plodding American brain tinkerer, played by a lumbering Tommy Lee Jones and named Dr. Franks. (The family probably shortened its surname after relocating from the Old Country.) Franks springs Jerico from a cell that looks as if it had been designed for Hannibal Lecter and flies him to Britain. The brute receives some of Bill’s memories, which come mingled with feelings for the dead man’s wife, Jill (Gal Gadot), and young daughter, Emma (Lara DeCaro).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But Jerico is hard to control, and soon he’s busted loose to terrorize both trendy coffee bars and working-class dives. His funniest moments come when he finds himself saying things Bill would have, and doesn’t understand them.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Even the gags arrive in the company of bone-crushing violence, as Jerico finds himself at war with the CIA and the anarchists — led by Heimdahl’s sexy lover/enforcer (Antje Traue) — as well as all sorts of ancillary law-enforcement types, who exist just to be bashed, smashed, or blown up.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The only person who doesn’t seem out to kill Jerico is Emma, with whom the guy develops the inevitable special bond. Thank heaven for little girls.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Criminal\u003c/em> was written by Douglas Cook and David Weisberg, who scripted \u003cem>The Rock\u003c/em>, a nutty 1996 Nicolas Cage vehicle. The director is Ariel Vromen, whose \u003cem>The Iceman\u003c/em> was a competent from-real-life 2013 drama that also involved mayhem and family values. But with its European locations, electro-thump score, and near-ceaseless violence, the movie plays like something tooled in French producer-scripter Luc Besson’s factory for international action mashups.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Besson probably would have imagined a more timely threat than Spanish anarchism. He likely wouldn’t have allowed Pitt to pronounce his Dutch character’s name, Strook, as if it were an American one. Most importantly, he would brought a lighter touch to this silly-in-concept but earnest-in-execution trifle. So when \u003cem>Criminal\u003c/em> hints at the possibility of a sequel, viewers might chuckle rather than cringe.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "Mariana Castillo Deball Strings Together Artifacts and Absences at SFAI",
"headTitle": "Mariana Castillo Deball Strings Together Artifacts and Absences at SFAI | KQED",
"content": "\u003cp>I try not to put the word “history” in my headlines, under the (likely correct) assumption that any mere mention of the subject causes eyes to glaze over. And once the eyes glaze over, the understanding is, good luck getting those readers to click through. So I tricked you, and didn’t put “history” in this headline. Because this time, “history” isn’t a staid and boring lesson in the way things were — it’s a space filled with gaps, mysteries, conflicting stories and living legacies.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11511408\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_4_1200-1.jpg\" alt=\"Installation view, Mariana Castillo Deball, 'Feathered Changes, Serpent Disappearances.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"846\" class=\"size-full wp-image-11511408\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_4_1200-1.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_4_1200-1-400x282.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_4_1200-1-800x564.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_4_1200-1-768x541.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_4_1200-1-1180x832.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_4_1200-1-960x677.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Installation view, Mariana Castillo Deball, ‘Feathered Changes, Serpent Disappearances.’ \u003ccite>(Photo: Stephanie Smith)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>“Every time you try to read history you make it new,” says Mexican artist Mariana Castillo Deball. Her solo exhibition \u003ci>\u003ca href=\"http://sfai.edu/exhibitions-public-events/detail/a-project-by-mariana-castillo-deball\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Feathered Changes, Serpent Disappearances\u003c/a>\u003c/i>, on view in SFAI’s Walter and McBean Galleries through July 30, is filled with references to and replications of historical things: ancient Mexican murals, Mayan and Mimbres pottery and the chance-based artworks of the late composer John Cage. In her hands, these disparate threads weave together with an ease that makes the viewer almost unaware they’re being lead through an alternate retelling of the dreaded subject of “history” and its artifacts. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Assisted by recent grad and SFAI + Kadist Fellow Christopher Squier, Deball’s exhibition delves into the collections of two Bay Area institutions — the \u003ca href=\"https://www.famsf.org/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco\u003c/a> and \u003ca href=\"http://www.crownpoint.com/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Crown Point Press\u003c/a>. The former houses the \u003ca href=\"https://deyoung.famsf.org/deyoung/collections/harald-wagner-collection-teotihuacan-murals\">Harald Wagner Collection of Teotihuacan Murals\u003c/a>, a surprise bequest to the museum of fragmented wall paintings looted from the walls of the ancient Mesoamerican mega-city of Teotihuacan. The latter published Cage’s experiments in printmaking from 1978 to 1992, including a series titled \u003ci>Changes & Disappearances\u003c/i>, in which each printmaking decision was made using a computerized algorithm based on the \u003ci>I Ching\u003c/i>, an ancient Chinese divination text.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For Deball, her interest in the Teotihuacan murals (specifically \u003ci>Feathered Serpent and Flowering Trees\u003c/i>, a mimeograph reproduction of which is on view in the SFAI exhibition) and Cage’s \u003ci>Changes & Disappearances\u003c/i> (the 27th iteration of which is also on view) isn’t just about the artworks themselves, but the institutions that preserve them.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11511406\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_6_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Installation view, Mariana Castillo Deball, 'Feathered Changes, Serpent Disappearances.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"760\" class=\"size-full wp-image-11511406\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_6_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_6_1200-400x253.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_6_1200-800x507.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_6_1200-768x486.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_6_1200-1180x747.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_6_1200-960x608.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Installation view, Mariana Castillo Deball, ‘Feathered Changes, Serpent Disappearances.’ \u003ccite>(Photo: Stephanie Smith)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>A series of fresco fragments positioned throughout the SFAI exhibition are scaled-up versions of “crumbs” kept in storage at the de Young, illegible chunks of the mural that retain their status as archaeological artifacts within the museum’s collection. With the help of SFAI students, Deball created original frescoes with cement, lime plaster and pigment to mimic the de Young’s “crumbs.” Yet they also show evidence of aesthetic decision-making and elements of Cage-like chance; Deball reduces some patterns to just one or two colors, with changes in scale rendering the minuscule hefty.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Such translations occur with satisfying regularity in \u003ci>Feathered Changes, Serpent Disappearances\u003c/i>. A literal “through line” of varying thicknesses of rope runs from the steps outside the upstairs gallery down to the main space, where the floor, painted a rich terra-cotta hue of “copper orange,” puts all frescoes, pottery, ropes and brightly painted poles into sharp relief.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Outside on concrete steps usually reserved for chain-smoking art students, fragmented cast concrete reliefs reproduce the larger-than-life patterns of \u003ci>Feathered Changes, Serpent Disappearances\u003c/i>. Back inside, Deball ties (literally; there’s rope everywhere) SFAI’s Brutalist architecture to the history of archaeological rubbings with a giant rubbing of the building’s conical skylights. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11511407\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_17_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Installation view, Mariana Castillo Deball, 'Feathered Changes, Serpent Disappearances.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"789\" class=\"size-full wp-image-11511407\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_17_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_17_1200-400x263.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_17_1200-800x526.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_17_1200-768x505.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_17_1200-1180x776.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_17_1200-960x631.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Installation view, Mariana Castillo Deball, ‘Feathered Changes, Serpent Disappearances.’ \u003ccite>(Photo: Stephanie Smith)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>For all the objects in Deball’s exhibition, the presentation is as much about absence as it about making connections between disparate cultures, histories and themes. Of the Teotihuacan murals bequeathed to the Fine Arts Museums by Harald Wagner, the majority were repatriated to the Mexican government after many years of negotiations, but a dissonance remains between the original site of the looting and the multiple collections that now house the displaced murals. Similarly, reproductions of Mayan and Mimbres pottery scattered throughout the exhibition all feature “kill holes,” punctures through their centers that render the ceramics useless as functional objects and reserve them — some archaeologists believe — for funereal purposes. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For Deball, the distance between what is certain, what is assumed and what will perhaps never be known about the past is a fascinating and fruitful space. Like Cage, she embraces chance and experimentation, balancing historical research with graceful aesthetic decisions that make \u003ci>Feathered Changes, Serpent Disappearances\u003c/i> a thoroughly invigorating art viewing experience and painless history lesson all in one.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp> \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cb>Feathered Changes, Serpent Disappearances\u003c/b> is on view at SFAI’s Walter and McBean Galleries in San Francisco through July 30, 2016. For more information visit \u003ca href=\"http://sfai.edu/exhibitions-public-events/detail/a-project-by-mariana-castillo-deball\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">sfai.edu\u003c/a>.\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>I try not to put the word “history” in my headlines, under the (likely correct) assumption that any mere mention of the subject causes eyes to glaze over. And once the eyes glaze over, the understanding is, good luck getting those readers to click through. So I tricked you, and didn’t put “history” in this headline. Because this time, “history” isn’t a staid and boring lesson in the way things were — it’s a space filled with gaps, mysteries, conflicting stories and living legacies.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11511408\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_4_1200-1.jpg\" alt=\"Installation view, Mariana Castillo Deball, 'Feathered Changes, Serpent Disappearances.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"846\" class=\"size-full wp-image-11511408\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_4_1200-1.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_4_1200-1-400x282.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_4_1200-1-800x564.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_4_1200-1-768x541.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_4_1200-1-1180x832.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_4_1200-1-960x677.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Installation view, Mariana Castillo Deball, ‘Feathered Changes, Serpent Disappearances.’ \u003ccite>(Photo: Stephanie Smith)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>“Every time you try to read history you make it new,” says Mexican artist Mariana Castillo Deball. Her solo exhibition \u003ci>\u003ca href=\"http://sfai.edu/exhibitions-public-events/detail/a-project-by-mariana-castillo-deball\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Feathered Changes, Serpent Disappearances\u003c/a>\u003c/i>, on view in SFAI’s Walter and McBean Galleries through July 30, is filled with references to and replications of historical things: ancient Mexican murals, Mayan and Mimbres pottery and the chance-based artworks of the late composer John Cage. In her hands, these disparate threads weave together with an ease that makes the viewer almost unaware they’re being lead through an alternate retelling of the dreaded subject of “history” and its artifacts. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Assisted by recent grad and SFAI + Kadist Fellow Christopher Squier, Deball’s exhibition delves into the collections of two Bay Area institutions — the \u003ca href=\"https://www.famsf.org/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco\u003c/a> and \u003ca href=\"http://www.crownpoint.com/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Crown Point Press\u003c/a>. The former houses the \u003ca href=\"https://deyoung.famsf.org/deyoung/collections/harald-wagner-collection-teotihuacan-murals\">Harald Wagner Collection of Teotihuacan Murals\u003c/a>, a surprise bequest to the museum of fragmented wall paintings looted from the walls of the ancient Mesoamerican mega-city of Teotihuacan. The latter published Cage’s experiments in printmaking from 1978 to 1992, including a series titled \u003ci>Changes & Disappearances\u003c/i>, in which each printmaking decision was made using a computerized algorithm based on the \u003ci>I Ching\u003c/i>, an ancient Chinese divination text.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For Deball, her interest in the Teotihuacan murals (specifically \u003ci>Feathered Serpent and Flowering Trees\u003c/i>, a mimeograph reproduction of which is on view in the SFAI exhibition) and Cage’s \u003ci>Changes & Disappearances\u003c/i> (the 27th iteration of which is also on view) isn’t just about the artworks themselves, but the institutions that preserve them.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11511406\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_6_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Installation view, Mariana Castillo Deball, 'Feathered Changes, Serpent Disappearances.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"760\" class=\"size-full wp-image-11511406\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_6_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_6_1200-400x253.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_6_1200-800x507.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_6_1200-768x486.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_6_1200-1180x747.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_6_1200-960x608.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Installation view, Mariana Castillo Deball, ‘Feathered Changes, Serpent Disappearances.’ \u003ccite>(Photo: Stephanie Smith)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>A series of fresco fragments positioned throughout the SFAI exhibition are scaled-up versions of “crumbs” kept in storage at the de Young, illegible chunks of the mural that retain their status as archaeological artifacts within the museum’s collection. With the help of SFAI students, Deball created original frescoes with cement, lime plaster and pigment to mimic the de Young’s “crumbs.” Yet they also show evidence of aesthetic decision-making and elements of Cage-like chance; Deball reduces some patterns to just one or two colors, with changes in scale rendering the minuscule hefty.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Such translations occur with satisfying regularity in \u003ci>Feathered Changes, Serpent Disappearances\u003c/i>. A literal “through line” of varying thicknesses of rope runs from the steps outside the upstairs gallery down to the main space, where the floor, painted a rich terra-cotta hue of “copper orange,” puts all frescoes, pottery, ropes and brightly painted poles into sharp relief.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Outside on concrete steps usually reserved for chain-smoking art students, fragmented cast concrete reliefs reproduce the larger-than-life patterns of \u003ci>Feathered Changes, Serpent Disappearances\u003c/i>. Back inside, Deball ties (literally; there’s rope everywhere) SFAI’s Brutalist architecture to the history of archaeological rubbings with a giant rubbing of the building’s conical skylights. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_11511407\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_17_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Installation view, Mariana Castillo Deball, 'Feathered Changes, Serpent Disappearances.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"789\" class=\"size-full wp-image-11511407\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_17_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_17_1200-400x263.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_17_1200-800x526.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_17_1200-768x505.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_17_1200-1180x776.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/04/MCD_17_1200-960x631.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Installation view, Mariana Castillo Deball, ‘Feathered Changes, Serpent Disappearances.’ \u003ccite>(Photo: Stephanie Smith)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>For all the objects in Deball’s exhibition, the presentation is as much about absence as it about making connections between disparate cultures, histories and themes. Of the Teotihuacan murals bequeathed to the Fine Arts Museums by Harald Wagner, the majority were repatriated to the Mexican government after many years of negotiations, but a dissonance remains between the original site of the looting and the multiple collections that now house the displaced murals. Similarly, reproductions of Mayan and Mimbres pottery scattered throughout the exhibition all feature “kill holes,” punctures through their centers that render the ceramics useless as functional objects and reserve them — some archaeologists believe — for funereal purposes. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For Deball, the distance between what is certain, what is assumed and what will perhaps never be known about the past is a fascinating and fruitful space. Like Cage, she embraces chance and experimentation, balancing historical research with graceful aesthetic decisions that make \u003ci>Feathered Changes, Serpent Disappearances\u003c/i> a thoroughly invigorating art viewing experience and painless history lesson all in one.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp> \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cb>Feathered Changes, Serpent Disappearances\u003c/b> is on view at SFAI’s Walter and McBean Galleries in San Francisco through July 30, 2016. For more information visit \u003ca href=\"http://sfai.edu/exhibitions-public-events/detail/a-project-by-mariana-castillo-deball\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">sfai.edu\u003c/a>.\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"info": "What kind of no sabo word is Hyphenación? For us, it’s about living within a hyphenation. Like being a third-gen Mexican-American from the Texas border now living that Bay Area Chicano life. Like Xorje! Each week we bring together a couple of hyphenated Latinos to talk all about personal life choices: family, careers, relationships, belonging … everything is on the table. ",
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"info": "The Political Mind of Jerry Brown brings listeners the wisdom of the former Governor, Mayor, and presidential candidate. Scott Shafer interviewed Brown for more than 40 hours, covering the former governor's life and half-century in the political game – and Brown has some lessons he'd like to share. ",
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"info": "Our flagship program, helmed by Kai Ryssdal, examines what the day in money delivered, through stories, conversations, newsworthy numbers and more. Updated Monday through Friday at about 3:30 p.m. PT.",
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"info": "The MindShift podcast explores the innovations in education that are shaping how kids learn. Hosts Ki Sung and Katrina Schwartz introduce listeners to educators, researchers, parents and students who are developing effective ways to improve how kids learn. We cover topics like how fed-up administrators are developing surprising tactics to deal with classroom disruptions; how listening to podcasts are helping kids develop reading skills; the consequences of overparenting; and why interdisciplinary learning can engage students on all ends of the traditional achievement spectrum. This podcast is part of the MindShift education site, a division of KQED News. KQED is an NPR/PBS member station based in San Francisco. You can also visit the MindShift website for episodes and supplemental blog posts or tweet us \u003ca href=\"https://twitter.com/MindShiftKQED\">@MindShiftKQED\u003c/a> or visit us at \u003ca href=\"/mindshift\">MindShift.KQED.org\u003c/a>",
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"info": "For decades, the process for how police police themselves has been inconsistent – if not opaque. In some states, like California, these proceedings were completely hidden. After a new police transparency law unsealed scores of internal affairs files, our reporters set out to examine these cases and the shadow world of police discipline. On Our Watch brings listeners into the rooms where officers are questioned and witnesses are interrogated to find out who this system is really protecting. Is it the officers, or the public they've sworn to serve?",
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"info": "Our weekly podcast explores how the media 'sausage' is made, casts an incisive eye on fluctuations in the marketplace of ideas, and examines threats to the freedom of information and expression in America and abroad. For one hour a week, the show tries to lift the veil from the process of \"making media,\" especially news media, because it's through that lens that we see the world and the world sees us",
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"title": "Political Breakdown",
"tagline": "Politics from a personal perspective",
"info": "Political Breakdown is a new series that explores the political intersection of California and the nation. Each week hosts Scott Shafer and Marisa Lagos are joined with a new special guest to unpack politics -- with personality — and offer an insider’s glimpse at how politics happens.",
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"possible": {
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"title": "Possible",
"info": "Possible is hosted by entrepreneur Reid Hoffman and writer Aria Finger. Together in Possible, Hoffman and Finger lead enlightening discussions about building a brighter collective future. The show features interviews with visionary guests like Trevor Noah, Sam Altman and Janette Sadik-Khan. Possible paints an optimistic portrait of the world we can create through science, policy, business, art and our shared humanity. It asks: What if everything goes right for once? How can we get there? Each episode also includes a short fiction story generated by advanced AI GPT-4, serving as a thought-provoking springboard to speculate how humanity could leverage technology for good.",
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"pri-the-world": {
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"title": "PRI's The World: Latest Edition",
"info": "Each weekday, host Marco Werman and his team of producers bring you the world's most interesting stories in an hour of radio that reminds us just how small our planet really is.",
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"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/The-World-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
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},
"radiolab": {
"id": "radiolab",
"title": "Radiolab",
"info": "A two-time Peabody Award-winner, Radiolab is an investigation told through sounds and stories, and centered around one big idea. In the Radiolab world, information sounds like music and science and culture collide. Hosted by Jad Abumrad and Robert Krulwich, the show is designed for listeners who demand skepticism, but appreciate wonder. WNYC Studios is the producer of other leading podcasts including Freakonomics Radio, Death, Sex & Money, On the Media and many more.",
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},
"reveal": {
"id": "reveal",
"title": "Reveal",
"info": "Created by The Center for Investigative Reporting and PRX, Reveal is public radios first one-hour weekly radio show and podcast dedicated to investigative reporting. Credible, fact based and without a partisan agenda, Reveal combines the power and artistry of driveway moment storytelling with data-rich reporting on critically important issues. The result is stories that inform and inspire, arming our listeners with information to right injustices, hold the powerful accountable and improve lives.Reveal is hosted by Al Letson and showcases the award-winning work of CIR and newsrooms large and small across the nation. In a radio and podcast market crowded with choices, Reveal focuses on important and often surprising stories that illuminate the world for our listeners.",
"airtime": "SAT 4pm-5pm",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.revealnews.org/episodes/",
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},
"rightnowish": {
"id": "rightnowish",
"title": "Rightnowish",
"tagline": "Art is where you find it",
"info": "Rightnowish digs into life in the Bay Area right now… ish. Journalist Pendarvis Harshaw takes us to galleries painted on the sides of liquor stores in West Oakland. We'll dance in warehouses in the Bayview, make smoothies with kids in South Berkeley, and listen to classical music in a 1984 Cutlass Supreme in Richmond. Every week, Pen talks to movers and shakers about how the Bay Area shapes what they create, and how they shape the place we call home.",
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"order": 16
},
"link": "/podcasts/rightnowish",
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