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"content": "\u003cp>It’s 1988: the year of the first National Coming Out Day, the year of the first World AIDS Day. ACT UP (AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power), a group of radical and mostly queer activists, take to the streets of New York to demand medical research and accessible treatment services for people living with HIV and AIDS. The term “transgender” becomes more common to describe gender non-conforming people. It’s a confusing and exciting time.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And in 1988 San Francisco, \u003ci>OUT/LOOK\u003c/i>, a magazine bearing the subtitle “National Gay and Lesbian Quarterly” launches to chronicle the moment.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13819486\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 600px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13819486\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Outlook_Cover_No11_preview.jpeg\" alt=\"'OUT/LOOK' Issue 11, 1991.\" width=\"600\" height=\"777\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Outlook_Cover_No11_preview.jpeg 600w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Outlook_Cover_No11_preview-160x207.jpeg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Outlook_Cover_No11_preview-240x311.jpeg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Outlook_Cover_No11_preview-375x486.jpeg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Outlook_Cover_No11_preview-520x673.jpeg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 600px) 100vw, 600px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘OUT/LOOK’ Issue 11, 1991. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of GLBT History Museum)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Thirty years later, San Francisco’s GLBT History Museum celebrates the publication’s groundbreaking work with \u003ca href=\"http://www.glbthistory.org/museum/outlook/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">\u003ci>OUT/LOOK & The Birth of the Queer\u003c/i>\u003c/a>, on view through Jan. 26. Included in the exhibition: a mural featuring cover art from issues of \u003ci>OUT/LOOK\u003c/i>, a library with books written by the quarterly’s contributors, and several copies of the original publication. Reflecting on the magazine’s influence today, exhibition curator E.G. Crichton asked contemporary artists and writers to respond to articles and images published in \u003ci>OUT/LOOK\u003c/i>. The result is an empowering and eclectic bridge between the past and present.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In \u003ca href=\"http://misterloki.com/contact/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Mister Loki\u003c/a>’s contribution to the exhibition, inspired by Will Roscoe’s article “The Zuni Man-Woman” in \u003ci>OUT/LOOK\u003c/i>’s second issue, the Los Angeles-based comic artist graphically explains the traditional role of \u003ca href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lhamana\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">lhamana\u003c/a> in Zuni culture. The comic argues that gender non-conforming individuals have been celebrated members of various societies for generations.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13819487\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1844px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13819487\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-zuniedited.jpg\" alt=\"Mister Loki, 'Gender and its Role in Zuni Society,' 2017.\" width=\"1844\" height=\"1367\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-zuniedited.jpg 1844w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-zuniedited-160x119.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-zuniedited-800x593.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-zuniedited-768x569.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-zuniedited-1020x756.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-zuniedited-1180x875.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-zuniedited-960x712.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-zuniedited-240x178.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-zuniedited-375x278.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-zuniedited-520x385.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1844px) 100vw, 1844px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mister Loki, ‘Gender and its Role in Zuni Society,’ 2017. \u003ccite>(Photo by Dani Burlison; Courtesy of the artist and GLBT History Museum)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://juliosalgadoart.com/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Julio Salgado\u003c/a>’s piece \u003ci>Drawing My Brown In A Sea of White\u003c/i> responds to an interview with playwright and novelist Han Ong in \u003ci>OUT/LOOK\u003c/i> issue 17. “It resonated with me how as artists of color we must keep telling our own narratives because nobody is going to do it for us,” Salgado says of the Q&A with Ong. His print in \u003ci>The Birth of the Queer\u003c/i> is one in a series where Salgado explores his “immigration status, queerness and brown body.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13819488\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1454px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13819488\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado.jpg\" alt=\"Julio Salgado, 'Drawing My Brown In A Sea Of White,' 2017.\" width=\"1454\" height=\"1444\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado.jpg 1454w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado-160x159.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado-800x794.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado-768x763.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado-1020x1013.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado-1180x1172.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado-960x953.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado-240x238.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado-375x372.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado-520x516.jpg 520w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado-32x32.jpg 32w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado-50x50.jpg 50w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado-64x64.jpg 64w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado-96x96.jpg 96w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado-128x128.jpg 128w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado-150x150.jpg 150w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1454px) 100vw, 1454px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Julio Salgado, ‘Drawing My Brown In A Sea Of White,’ 2017. \u003ccite>(Photo by Dani Burlison; courtesy of the artist and GLBT History Museum)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Artist \u003ca href=\"http://www.queeroutlook.org/portfolio/weyam/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Weyam\u003c/a> imagines a transformed future where the hard work of today’s queer, social justice and environmental movements pays off with \u003ci>OUT/LOOK Cover 2048\u003c/i>, an imagined issue 30 years down the line. Weyam’s 110th issue includes “How Queers Interrupted the Climate Crisis and Restored the Earth,” how Black Lives Matter transformed racial politics in the U.S., and a reflection on the end of toxic masculinity.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13819489\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 616px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13819489\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Outlook_Cover_No3_preview.jpeg\" alt=\"\" width=\"616\" height=\"802\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Outlook_Cover_No3_preview.jpeg 616w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Outlook_Cover_No3_preview-160x208.jpeg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Outlook_Cover_No3_preview-240x312.jpeg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Outlook_Cover_No3_preview-375x488.jpeg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Outlook_Cover_No3_preview-520x677.jpeg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 616px) 100vw, 616px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Outlook #3 \u003ccite>(Courtesy of GLBT History Museum)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Perhaps the most moving piece in the exhibit is a video installation, \u003ci>The Presences of Absences\u003c/i> by \u003ca href=\"http://www.queeroutlook.org/portfolio/andrew-r-spieldenner/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Andrew Spieldenner\u003c/a> and \u003ca href=\"http://freeandfunky.tumblr.com/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Catron Booker\u003c/a>. The four-minute video includes a sound recording tribute to the late Allan Bérubé’s “Caught in the Storm: AIDS and the Meaning of Natural Disaster,” from \u003ci>OUT/LOOK\u003c/i>’s third issue. Bérubé’s essay, written just a year after his partner’s AIDS-related death, explores the fear, anger and guilt of living as a gay man during the AIDS epidemic of the 1980s.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I wish there was some way for you to meet the men I’ve known both platonically and intimately because they were amazing, even the ones I forgot (or whose names I never asked),” Spieldenner says in the video, expressing the fear of being forgotten. “Will you only know me and the surrounding constellation through my writing or the stories people know about me?…Would you even know that I lived?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>OUT/LOOK\u003c/i> was remarkable not just for publishing stories of gay and lesbian communities, but perspectives from bisexuals and queer people of color. The magazine printed news and commentary on sexuality, gender roles, race, politics, culture and more for five years; their 17th and final issue came out in the summer of 1992. Awareness of the issues affecting queer communities has transformed in the 30 years since \u003ci>OUT/LOOK\u003c/i>’s coming out — changes certainly connected to the magazine and publications like it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>‘OUT/LOOK & The Birth of the Queer’ is on view at the GLBT History Museum through Jan. 26, 2018 with a closing reception Friday, Jan. 26, 7-9pm. For more information \u003ca href=\"http://www.glbthistory.org/museum/outlook/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">click here\u003c/a>.’\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "Don't miss the final days of an exhibition devoted to the seminal queer publication 'OUT/LOOK,' and contemporary reflections on its inspiring contents.",
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"title": "GLBT History Museum Looks Back on Magazine that Birthed 'The Queer' | KQED",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>It’s 1988: the year of the first National Coming Out Day, the year of the first World AIDS Day. ACT UP (AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power), a group of radical and mostly queer activists, take to the streets of New York to demand medical research and accessible treatment services for people living with HIV and AIDS. The term “transgender” becomes more common to describe gender non-conforming people. It’s a confusing and exciting time.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And in 1988 San Francisco, \u003ci>OUT/LOOK\u003c/i>, a magazine bearing the subtitle “National Gay and Lesbian Quarterly” launches to chronicle the moment.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13819486\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 600px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13819486\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Outlook_Cover_No11_preview.jpeg\" alt=\"'OUT/LOOK' Issue 11, 1991.\" width=\"600\" height=\"777\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Outlook_Cover_No11_preview.jpeg 600w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Outlook_Cover_No11_preview-160x207.jpeg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Outlook_Cover_No11_preview-240x311.jpeg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Outlook_Cover_No11_preview-375x486.jpeg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Outlook_Cover_No11_preview-520x673.jpeg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 600px) 100vw, 600px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘OUT/LOOK’ Issue 11, 1991. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of GLBT History Museum)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Thirty years later, San Francisco’s GLBT History Museum celebrates the publication’s groundbreaking work with \u003ca href=\"http://www.glbthistory.org/museum/outlook/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">\u003ci>OUT/LOOK & The Birth of the Queer\u003c/i>\u003c/a>, on view through Jan. 26. Included in the exhibition: a mural featuring cover art from issues of \u003ci>OUT/LOOK\u003c/i>, a library with books written by the quarterly’s contributors, and several copies of the original publication. Reflecting on the magazine’s influence today, exhibition curator E.G. Crichton asked contemporary artists and writers to respond to articles and images published in \u003ci>OUT/LOOK\u003c/i>. The result is an empowering and eclectic bridge between the past and present.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In \u003ca href=\"http://misterloki.com/contact/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Mister Loki\u003c/a>’s contribution to the exhibition, inspired by Will Roscoe’s article “The Zuni Man-Woman” in \u003ci>OUT/LOOK\u003c/i>’s second issue, the Los Angeles-based comic artist graphically explains the traditional role of \u003ca href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lhamana\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">lhamana\u003c/a> in Zuni culture. The comic argues that gender non-conforming individuals have been celebrated members of various societies for generations.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13819487\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1844px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13819487\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-zuniedited.jpg\" alt=\"Mister Loki, 'Gender and its Role in Zuni Society,' 2017.\" width=\"1844\" height=\"1367\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-zuniedited.jpg 1844w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-zuniedited-160x119.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-zuniedited-800x593.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-zuniedited-768x569.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-zuniedited-1020x756.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-zuniedited-1180x875.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-zuniedited-960x712.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-zuniedited-240x178.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-zuniedited-375x278.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-zuniedited-520x385.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1844px) 100vw, 1844px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Mister Loki, ‘Gender and its Role in Zuni Society,’ 2017. \u003ccite>(Photo by Dani Burlison; Courtesy of the artist and GLBT History Museum)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://juliosalgadoart.com/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Julio Salgado\u003c/a>’s piece \u003ci>Drawing My Brown In A Sea of White\u003c/i> responds to an interview with playwright and novelist Han Ong in \u003ci>OUT/LOOK\u003c/i> issue 17. “It resonated with me how as artists of color we must keep telling our own narratives because nobody is going to do it for us,” Salgado says of the Q&A with Ong. His print in \u003ci>The Birth of the Queer\u003c/i> is one in a series where Salgado explores his “immigration status, queerness and brown body.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13819488\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1454px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13819488\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado.jpg\" alt=\"Julio Salgado, 'Drawing My Brown In A Sea Of White,' 2017.\" width=\"1454\" height=\"1444\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado.jpg 1454w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado-160x159.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado-800x794.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado-768x763.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado-1020x1013.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado-1180x1172.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado-960x953.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado-240x238.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado-375x372.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado-520x516.jpg 520w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado-32x32.jpg 32w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado-50x50.jpg 50w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado-64x64.jpg 64w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado-96x96.jpg 96w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado-128x128.jpg 128w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/outlook-salgado-150x150.jpg 150w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1454px) 100vw, 1454px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Julio Salgado, ‘Drawing My Brown In A Sea Of White,’ 2017. \u003ccite>(Photo by Dani Burlison; courtesy of the artist and GLBT History Museum)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Artist \u003ca href=\"http://www.queeroutlook.org/portfolio/weyam/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Weyam\u003c/a> imagines a transformed future where the hard work of today’s queer, social justice and environmental movements pays off with \u003ci>OUT/LOOK Cover 2048\u003c/i>, an imagined issue 30 years down the line. Weyam’s 110th issue includes “How Queers Interrupted the Climate Crisis and Restored the Earth,” how Black Lives Matter transformed racial politics in the U.S., and a reflection on the end of toxic masculinity.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13819489\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 616px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13819489\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Outlook_Cover_No3_preview.jpeg\" alt=\"\" width=\"616\" height=\"802\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Outlook_Cover_No3_preview.jpeg 616w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Outlook_Cover_No3_preview-160x208.jpeg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Outlook_Cover_No3_preview-240x312.jpeg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Outlook_Cover_No3_preview-375x488.jpeg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Outlook_Cover_No3_preview-520x677.jpeg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 616px) 100vw, 616px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Outlook #3 \u003ccite>(Courtesy of GLBT History Museum)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Perhaps the most moving piece in the exhibit is a video installation, \u003ci>The Presences of Absences\u003c/i> by \u003ca href=\"http://www.queeroutlook.org/portfolio/andrew-r-spieldenner/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Andrew Spieldenner\u003c/a> and \u003ca href=\"http://freeandfunky.tumblr.com/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Catron Booker\u003c/a>. The four-minute video includes a sound recording tribute to the late Allan Bérubé’s “Caught in the Storm: AIDS and the Meaning of Natural Disaster,” from \u003ci>OUT/LOOK\u003c/i>’s third issue. Bérubé’s essay, written just a year after his partner’s AIDS-related death, explores the fear, anger and guilt of living as a gay man during the AIDS epidemic of the 1980s.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I wish there was some way for you to meet the men I’ve known both platonically and intimately because they were amazing, even the ones I forgot (or whose names I never asked),” Spieldenner says in the video, expressing the fear of being forgotten. “Will you only know me and the surrounding constellation through my writing or the stories people know about me?…Would you even know that I lived?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>OUT/LOOK\u003c/i> was remarkable not just for publishing stories of gay and lesbian communities, but perspectives from bisexuals and queer people of color. The magazine printed news and commentary on sexuality, gender roles, race, politics, culture and more for five years; their 17th and final issue came out in the summer of 1992. Awareness of the issues affecting queer communities has transformed in the 30 years since \u003ci>OUT/LOOK\u003c/i>’s coming out — changes certainly connected to the magazine and publications like it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>‘OUT/LOOK & The Birth of the Queer’ is on view at the GLBT History Museum through Jan. 26, 2018 with a closing reception Friday, Jan. 26, 7-9pm. For more information \u003ca href=\"http://www.glbthistory.org/museum/outlook/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">click here\u003c/a>.’\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>The first half hour of \u003cem>The Final Year\u003c/em> is as pointlessly hectic as one of those action movies that’s all incidents and no plot. But gradually documentarian Greg Barker’s look at Barack Obama’s foreign policy team comes into focus, thanks in large part to the counterpoint played by the Trump campaign. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Shot over a bit more than a year in 2015-16, Barker’s film primarily follows Secretary of State John Kerry, United Nations Ambassador Samantha Power and Deputy National Security Advisor and speechwriter Ben Rhodes. National Security Advisor Susan Rice appears occasionally, although she has a smaller role than Obama himself. The president is glimpsed in the West Wing and other locations that are usually off-camera, but is seen mostly while making official appearances overseas.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The movie is neither an in-depth analysis of Obama’s foreign policy nor a candid depiction of the internal tensions of the policy makers. Viewers who didn’t follow world news at the time might not even be able to tell that the president favored a less aggressive approach to international crises than Kerry and especially Power.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13819518\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Rhodes_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Ben Rhodes in 'The Final Year.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"800\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13819518\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Rhodes_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Rhodes_1200-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Rhodes_1200-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Rhodes_1200-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Rhodes_1200-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Rhodes_1200-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Rhodes_1200-960x640.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Rhodes_1200-240x160.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Rhodes_1200-375x250.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Rhodes_1200-520x347.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Ben Rhodes in ‘The Final Year.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Magnolia Pictures)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Somewhere toward the middle is Rhodes, said to have a “mind-meld” with Obama. Rhodes supported stronger U.S. intervention in Syria, but came to agree with his top boss that it would be a mistake, much like the 2003 invasion of Iraq. Frustratingly, viewers don’t get to see conversations that led Rhodes to change his mind, or even to hear if any Obama staffer drew the distinction between starting a war in Iraq and interceding in one the U.S. didn’t cause in Syria. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Rather than detail such complicated discussions, \u003cem>The Final Year\u003c/em> is keyed to emotional moments. The Irish-born Power extols the importance of immigration to the U.S. in a speech at her nanny’s naturalization ceremony, and in Nigeria sympathizes with families whose daughters were abducted by Boko Haram. Obama hugs an A-bomb survivor during his unprecedented visit to Hiroshima, and is the first American president to visit Laos, where unexploded U.S. bombs remain a constant hazard. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>American power’s potential to injure innocents is encapsulated by off-screen mishaps on a much smaller scale than the Iraq War: A young boy is hit by a car in Power’s motorcade, and a U.N. convoy carrying humanitarian aid in Syria is accidentally shelled by U.S. bombs. The staffers’ reactions to these incidents give a sense of the burden of making geopolitical strategy. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://youtu.be/4UUpnqvIwF4 \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Less telling are the movie’s occasional flashbacks, which include a section on Kerry’s opposition to the Vietnam War and a montage of Obama’s visits to ancient monuments in Britain, Greece, Egypt, and Jordan. The arc of history is long, but in these sequences it doesn’t bend toward anything in particular. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The film’s most sobering element is not the Obama administration’s obligation to great bygone civilizations, but the historical fluke named Donald Trump. While the narrative doesn’t end until inauguration day, it climaxes with election-night TV-watching parties during which the Obama camp’s hope ebbs and finally crumbles. Barack Obama may have aspired to Olympian detachment, but \u003cem>The Final Year\u003c/em>‘s most compelling moments reveal chagrin, regret, and shock.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>The first half hour of \u003cem>The Final Year\u003c/em> is as pointlessly hectic as one of those action movies that’s all incidents and no plot. But gradually documentarian Greg Barker’s look at Barack Obama’s foreign policy team comes into focus, thanks in large part to the counterpoint played by the Trump campaign. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Shot over a bit more than a year in 2015-16, Barker’s film primarily follows Secretary of State John Kerry, United Nations Ambassador Samantha Power and Deputy National Security Advisor and speechwriter Ben Rhodes. National Security Advisor Susan Rice appears occasionally, although she has a smaller role than Obama himself. The president is glimpsed in the West Wing and other locations that are usually off-camera, but is seen mostly while making official appearances overseas.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The movie is neither an in-depth analysis of Obama’s foreign policy nor a candid depiction of the internal tensions of the policy makers. Viewers who didn’t follow world news at the time might not even be able to tell that the president favored a less aggressive approach to international crises than Kerry and especially Power.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13819518\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Rhodes_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Ben Rhodes in 'The Final Year.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"800\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13819518\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Rhodes_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Rhodes_1200-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Rhodes_1200-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Rhodes_1200-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Rhodes_1200-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Rhodes_1200-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Rhodes_1200-960x640.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Rhodes_1200-240x160.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Rhodes_1200-375x250.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Rhodes_1200-520x347.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Ben Rhodes in ‘The Final Year.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Magnolia Pictures)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Somewhere toward the middle is Rhodes, said to have a “mind-meld” with Obama. Rhodes supported stronger U.S. intervention in Syria, but came to agree with his top boss that it would be a mistake, much like the 2003 invasion of Iraq. Frustratingly, viewers don’t get to see conversations that led Rhodes to change his mind, or even to hear if any Obama staffer drew the distinction between starting a war in Iraq and interceding in one the U.S. didn’t cause in Syria. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Rather than detail such complicated discussions, \u003cem>The Final Year\u003c/em> is keyed to emotional moments. The Irish-born Power extols the importance of immigration to the U.S. in a speech at her nanny’s naturalization ceremony, and in Nigeria sympathizes with families whose daughters were abducted by Boko Haram. Obama hugs an A-bomb survivor during his unprecedented visit to Hiroshima, and is the first American president to visit Laos, where unexploded U.S. bombs remain a constant hazard. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>American power’s potential to injure innocents is encapsulated by off-screen mishaps on a much smaller scale than the Iraq War: A young boy is hit by a car in Power’s motorcade, and a U.N. convoy carrying humanitarian aid in Syria is accidentally shelled by U.S. bombs. The staffers’ reactions to these incidents give a sense of the burden of making geopolitical strategy. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://youtu.be/4UUpnqvIwF4 \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Less telling are the movie’s occasional flashbacks, which include a section on Kerry’s opposition to the Vietnam War and a montage of Obama’s visits to ancient monuments in Britain, Greece, Egypt, and Jordan. The arc of history is long, but in these sequences it doesn’t bend toward anything in particular. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The film’s most sobering element is not the Obama administration’s obligation to great bygone civilizations, but the historical fluke named Donald Trump. While the narrative doesn’t end until inauguration day, it climaxes with election-night TV-watching parties during which the Obama camp’s hope ebbs and finally crumbles. Barack Obama may have aspired to Olympian detachment, but \u003cem>The Final Year\u003c/em>‘s most compelling moments reveal chagrin, regret, and shock.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "Now Playing! John Hawkes Wades into ‘Small Town Crime’",
"headTitle": "Now Playing! John Hawkes Wades into ‘Small Town Crime’ | KQED",
"content": "\u003cp>The quintessential protagonist of modern movie morality plays is the fatalistic, borderline unethical private eye. From Sam Spade to J.J. Gittes, from Philip Marlowe to Easy Rawlins, they fit a certain mold: Cynical, self-reliant guys whose daily immersion in the world of vice has eroded their belief in justice. Then a case comes along, inevitably involving a female client, that lights their honest path back to civilization.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ex-cop Mike Kendall (John Hawkes), the low-key hero of brothers Eshom and Ian Nelms’ enjoyable indie slugfest \u003cem>Small Town Crime\u003c/em> (opening Friday, Jan. 19 at the \u003ca href=\"https://www.lntsf.com/presidio/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Presidio\u003c/a>), wasn’t burned out by bribes and betrayals. His tenure on the force was short-circuited by an addiction to booze. So Kendall is unemployed and hung over, but his sense of right and wrong — and his observation skills — are intact.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://youtu.be/c63I7rjWcYw\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This lack of ambiguity makes Kendall a less conflicted and therefore less interesting figure, but Hawkes’ wry likability puts us in his corner. When Kendall sees a woman’s body on the side of the open road (Utah doubling for California), he isn’t content to let his old police cohorts handle the case. He may harbor a long-shot hope that he’ll get rehired if he proves his diligence and competence, but his real bottom line is that finding the murderer is the right thing to do.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Kendall’s the kind of private eye who downs his beers and shots without the pretense of a moral dilemma to work through. He doesn’t smoke, which places the movie in the 21st century, but there’s a more explicit contemporary touch: His sister, Kelly (an acerbic Octavia Spencer), is black. The backstory is that Mike was adopted as a child by her family, so their colorblind rapport is believable — though the Nelmses could have played a lot more with a color-aware audience’s expectations.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13819277\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/STC-Octavia-Spencer-John-Hawkes-Credit-Steve-Olpin-IMG_2854_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Octavia Spence and John Hawkes in 'Small Town Crime.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"800\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13819277\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/STC-Octavia-Spencer-John-Hawkes-Credit-Steve-Olpin-IMG_2854_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/STC-Octavia-Spencer-John-Hawkes-Credit-Steve-Olpin-IMG_2854_1200-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/STC-Octavia-Spencer-John-Hawkes-Credit-Steve-Olpin-IMG_2854_1200-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/STC-Octavia-Spencer-John-Hawkes-Credit-Steve-Olpin-IMG_2854_1200-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/STC-Octavia-Spencer-John-Hawkes-Credit-Steve-Olpin-IMG_2854_1200-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/STC-Octavia-Spencer-John-Hawkes-Credit-Steve-Olpin-IMG_2854_1200-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/STC-Octavia-Spencer-John-Hawkes-Credit-Steve-Olpin-IMG_2854_1200-960x640.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/STC-Octavia-Spencer-John-Hawkes-Credit-Steve-Olpin-IMG_2854_1200-240x160.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/STC-Octavia-Spencer-John-Hawkes-Credit-Steve-Olpin-IMG_2854_1200-375x250.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/STC-Octavia-Spencer-John-Hawkes-Credit-Steve-Olpin-IMG_2854_1200-520x347.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Octavia Spence and John Hawkes in ‘Small Town Crime.’ \u003ccite>(Photo by Steve Olpin)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>As it is, the extent of the social commentary in \u003cem>Small Town Crime\u003c/em> is to suggest that white-collar nouveau riche types have no qualms about hiring hit men to bury their crimes. The Elmes brothers are conscientious enough to account for every stray character and smart enough to connect every plot strand, but they don’t deliver the subplots or subtext of cinematic crime storytellers such as the Coen Brothers, Quentin Tarantino, Taylor Sheridan (\u003cem>Hell or High Water\u003c/em>, \u003cem>Wind River\u003c/em>) or Martin McDonagh.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That said, \u003cem>Small Town Crime\u003c/em> is an entertaining genre piece with uncommon heart and soul, and sufficient action and sordid insinuations. Hawkes keeps us rooting for Kendall through the climactic showdown to the epilogue, when the door swings wide open for the now-established private eye to return in another flick or a TV series.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>‘Small Town Crime’ opens at the Presidio Theater in San Francisco on Jan. 19. For more information, \u003ca href=\"https://www.lntsf.com/presidio/\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">click here\u003c/a>.\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>The quintessential protagonist of modern movie morality plays is the fatalistic, borderline unethical private eye. From Sam Spade to J.J. Gittes, from Philip Marlowe to Easy Rawlins, they fit a certain mold: Cynical, self-reliant guys whose daily immersion in the world of vice has eroded their belief in justice. Then a case comes along, inevitably involving a female client, that lights their honest path back to civilization.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ex-cop Mike Kendall (John Hawkes), the low-key hero of brothers Eshom and Ian Nelms’ enjoyable indie slugfest \u003cem>Small Town Crime\u003c/em> (opening Friday, Jan. 19 at the \u003ca href=\"https://www.lntsf.com/presidio/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Presidio\u003c/a>), wasn’t burned out by bribes and betrayals. His tenure on the force was short-circuited by an addiction to booze. So Kendall is unemployed and hung over, but his sense of right and wrong — and his observation skills — are intact.\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/c63I7rjWcYw'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/c63I7rjWcYw'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>This lack of ambiguity makes Kendall a less conflicted and therefore less interesting figure, but Hawkes’ wry likability puts us in his corner. When Kendall sees a woman’s body on the side of the open road (Utah doubling for California), he isn’t content to let his old police cohorts handle the case. He may harbor a long-shot hope that he’ll get rehired if he proves his diligence and competence, but his real bottom line is that finding the murderer is the right thing to do.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Kendall’s the kind of private eye who downs his beers and shots without the pretense of a moral dilemma to work through. He doesn’t smoke, which places the movie in the 21st century, but there’s a more explicit contemporary touch: His sister, Kelly (an acerbic Octavia Spencer), is black. The backstory is that Mike was adopted as a child by her family, so their colorblind rapport is believable — though the Nelmses could have played a lot more with a color-aware audience’s expectations.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13819277\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/STC-Octavia-Spencer-John-Hawkes-Credit-Steve-Olpin-IMG_2854_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Octavia Spence and John Hawkes in 'Small Town Crime.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"800\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13819277\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/STC-Octavia-Spencer-John-Hawkes-Credit-Steve-Olpin-IMG_2854_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/STC-Octavia-Spencer-John-Hawkes-Credit-Steve-Olpin-IMG_2854_1200-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/STC-Octavia-Spencer-John-Hawkes-Credit-Steve-Olpin-IMG_2854_1200-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/STC-Octavia-Spencer-John-Hawkes-Credit-Steve-Olpin-IMG_2854_1200-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/STC-Octavia-Spencer-John-Hawkes-Credit-Steve-Olpin-IMG_2854_1200-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/STC-Octavia-Spencer-John-Hawkes-Credit-Steve-Olpin-IMG_2854_1200-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/STC-Octavia-Spencer-John-Hawkes-Credit-Steve-Olpin-IMG_2854_1200-960x640.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/STC-Octavia-Spencer-John-Hawkes-Credit-Steve-Olpin-IMG_2854_1200-240x160.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/STC-Octavia-Spencer-John-Hawkes-Credit-Steve-Olpin-IMG_2854_1200-375x250.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/STC-Octavia-Spencer-John-Hawkes-Credit-Steve-Olpin-IMG_2854_1200-520x347.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Octavia Spence and John Hawkes in ‘Small Town Crime.’ \u003ccite>(Photo by Steve Olpin)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>As it is, the extent of the social commentary in \u003cem>Small Town Crime\u003c/em> is to suggest that white-collar nouveau riche types have no qualms about hiring hit men to bury their crimes. The Elmes brothers are conscientious enough to account for every stray character and smart enough to connect every plot strand, but they don’t deliver the subplots or subtext of cinematic crime storytellers such as the Coen Brothers, Quentin Tarantino, Taylor Sheridan (\u003cem>Hell or High Water\u003c/em>, \u003cem>Wind River\u003c/em>) or Martin McDonagh.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That said, \u003cem>Small Town Crime\u003c/em> is an entertaining genre piece with uncommon heart and soul, and sufficient action and sordid insinuations. Hawkes keeps us rooting for Kendall through the climactic showdown to the epilogue, when the door swings wide open for the now-established private eye to return in another flick or a TV series.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>‘Small Town Crime’ opens at the Presidio Theater in San Francisco on Jan. 19. For more information, \u003ca href=\"https://www.lntsf.com/presidio/\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">click here\u003c/a>.\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "Filipino Film ‘Ang Larawan’ Sets the Bar High for Movie Musicals",
"headTitle": "Filipino Film ‘Ang Larawan’ Sets the Bar High for Movie Musicals | KQED",
"content": "\u003cp>So far, Hollywood hasn’t figured out how to bring the movie musical into the 21st century. From the razzmatazz of \u003ci>Moulin Rouge\u003c/i> to the retro aspirations of \u003ci>La La Land\u003c/i>, filmmakers have shoehorned bankable stars into productions whose glitz cannot elevate formulaic story lines and uninspired scores.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Maybe they should take a leaf from the distinguished team that has brought the classic Filipino play \u003ci>\u003ca href=\"http://anglarawan.com/\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">Ang Larawan\u003c/a> (The Portrait)\u003c/i> to the screen. Having just romped off with six major awards at the \u003ca href=\"http://mmff.com.ph/\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">Metro Manila Film Festival\u003c/a> (MMFF), including Best Picture and Best Musical Score, this lustrous gem of a film \u003ca href=\"https://www.eventbrite.com/e/ang-larawan-the-portrait-the-movie-tickets-41347136398\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">screens at the San Francisco Film Society Cinema\u003c/a> on Jan. 11 and in \u003ca href=\"https://www.tfc-usa.com/anglarawantheaterlist/\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">other Bay Area theaters Jan. 12-18\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>Ang Larawan\u003c/i> follows a pair of genteel spinsters who go to shocking lengths to prevent the exhibition or sale of a self-portrait by their reclusive father, renowned society painter Don Lorenzo Marasigan. The Marasigan family’s grand but decaying home — recreated in exquisite detail — lies in Intramuros, the ancient walled city at the heart of Manila, that will shortly be decimated in the second World War.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://youtu.be/Pqk0qmf8LoE\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The movie can be appreciated as a period piece rife with nostalgia for a high-minded, Spanish-influenced culture that was rapidly eroding under the crass, freewheeling mercantilism of the American regime. But the play, written in English around 1951 by playwright and social commentator Nick Joaquin and originally titled \u003ci>A Portrait of the Artist as Filipino\u003c/i>, also asks what it means to be Filipino — not just in the American Commonwealth era, but through generations scarred by one oppressive regime after another.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Translated into Tagalog, with a vibrant score that weaves opera, jazz and Broadway influences into the Filipino musical traditions of sarswela (\u003ca href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zarzuela\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">zarzuela\u003c/a>) and \u003ca href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kundiman\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">kundiman\u003c/a>, the energy feels modern, even as the characters waft about in finely embroidered, Spanish Empire-cut gowns and clothes inspired by the flapper era. Both the Tagalog libretto, by poet and dramatist Rolando Tinio, and English subtitles powerfully and vividly distill the original English dialogue, particularly in scenes of highly charged confrontation.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13818747\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan2_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Tertulya scene in 'Ang Larawan.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"675\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13818747\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan2_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan2_1200-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan2_1200-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan2_1200-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan2_1200-1020x574.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan2_1200-1180x664.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan2_1200-960x540.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan2_1200-240x135.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan2_1200-375x211.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan2_1200-520x293.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Tertulya scene in ‘Ang Larawan.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of the film)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Joanna Ampil, a star of London’s West End, took home the MMFF’s Best Actress award for her portrayal of the gutsy but deeply conflicted Candida Marasigan, who drives her timorous sister Paula into bed with charming con man Tony Javier. Rachel Alejandro as Paula gives a superbly nuanced performance, while the rakish Paulo Avelino in the role of Tony chillingly self-destructs once Paula thwarts his scheme to make off with the prized portrait and sell it to a rich American. Major and minor roles alike are unforgettably played by dramatic and comedic headliners of Philippine stage and cinema.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In the eccentric cast of characters that includes \u003ca href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vaudeville_in_the_Philippines\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">bodabil\u003c/a> (vaudeville) entertainers, social-climbers and patricians, today’s audiences will recognize a social stratification that has remained essentially intact. As the locus of power shifted from the Spanish friars to American technocrats, to the Japanese army, then to dictator Ferdinand Marcos, those who chose to collaborate with the authorities were usually able to consolidate wealth and establish local fiefdoms, many of which survive today. If it feels like the country is at some new breaking point, under the iron-fisted Rodrigo Duterte, \u003ci>Ang Larawan\u003c/i> serves as a reminder that we’ve been there before. And a reminder not to abandon art, for it can be our most powerful source of illumination in times of crisis.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13818749\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan4_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Still from 'Ang Larawan.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"797\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13818749\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan4_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan4_1200-160x106.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan4_1200-800x531.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan4_1200-768x510.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan4_1200-1020x677.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan4_1200-1180x784.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan4_1200-960x638.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan4_1200-240x159.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan4_1200-375x249.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan4_1200-520x345.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Still from ‘Ang Larawan.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of the film)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The movie closes with heart-stopping footage of the shelling of occupied Manila by American planes, then cuts to the Marasigan family and their friends as they watch a religious procession from their windows. We know the Marasigans will perish. The juxtaposition of carnage and holy cavalcade underscores both the futility and the eternal hope embedded in shared ritual. The hazy, dreamlike filming of the procession, almost unbearable in its beauty, points to the fragility of time and place. San Francisco audiences, many of whom belong to a diaspora, may be profoundly moved.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>‘Ang Larawan’ screens at San Francisco Film Society Cinema (1746 Post Street) at 6:30pm and 8:30pm on Thursday, Jan. 11 and at theaters throughout the Bay Area Jan. 12-18. For tickets and more information, \u003ca href=\"https://www.tfc-usa.com/anglarawantheaterlist/8\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">click here\u003c/a>.\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Correction: This review originally stated that the film ends with footage of the Japanese bombing of Manila. The footage is of American planes.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>So far, Hollywood hasn’t figured out how to bring the movie musical into the 21st century. From the razzmatazz of \u003ci>Moulin Rouge\u003c/i> to the retro aspirations of \u003ci>La La Land\u003c/i>, filmmakers have shoehorned bankable stars into productions whose glitz cannot elevate formulaic story lines and uninspired scores.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Maybe they should take a leaf from the distinguished team that has brought the classic Filipino play \u003ci>\u003ca href=\"http://anglarawan.com/\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">Ang Larawan\u003c/a> (The Portrait)\u003c/i> to the screen. Having just romped off with six major awards at the \u003ca href=\"http://mmff.com.ph/\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">Metro Manila Film Festival\u003c/a> (MMFF), including Best Picture and Best Musical Score, this lustrous gem of a film \u003ca href=\"https://www.eventbrite.com/e/ang-larawan-the-portrait-the-movie-tickets-41347136398\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">screens at the San Francisco Film Society Cinema\u003c/a> on Jan. 11 and in \u003ca href=\"https://www.tfc-usa.com/anglarawantheaterlist/\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">other Bay Area theaters Jan. 12-18\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>Ang Larawan\u003c/i> follows a pair of genteel spinsters who go to shocking lengths to prevent the exhibition or sale of a self-portrait by their reclusive father, renowned society painter Don Lorenzo Marasigan. The Marasigan family’s grand but decaying home — recreated in exquisite detail — lies in Intramuros, the ancient walled city at the heart of Manila, that will shortly be decimated in the second World War.\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/Pqk0qmf8LoE'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/Pqk0qmf8LoE'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>The movie can be appreciated as a period piece rife with nostalgia for a high-minded, Spanish-influenced culture that was rapidly eroding under the crass, freewheeling mercantilism of the American regime. But the play, written in English around 1951 by playwright and social commentator Nick Joaquin and originally titled \u003ci>A Portrait of the Artist as Filipino\u003c/i>, also asks what it means to be Filipino — not just in the American Commonwealth era, but through generations scarred by one oppressive regime after another.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Translated into Tagalog, with a vibrant score that weaves opera, jazz and Broadway influences into the Filipino musical traditions of sarswela (\u003ca href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zarzuela\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">zarzuela\u003c/a>) and \u003ca href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kundiman\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">kundiman\u003c/a>, the energy feels modern, even as the characters waft about in finely embroidered, Spanish Empire-cut gowns and clothes inspired by the flapper era. Both the Tagalog libretto, by poet and dramatist Rolando Tinio, and English subtitles powerfully and vividly distill the original English dialogue, particularly in scenes of highly charged confrontation.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13818747\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan2_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Tertulya scene in 'Ang Larawan.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"675\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13818747\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan2_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan2_1200-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan2_1200-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan2_1200-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan2_1200-1020x574.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan2_1200-1180x664.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan2_1200-960x540.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan2_1200-240x135.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan2_1200-375x211.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan2_1200-520x293.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Tertulya scene in ‘Ang Larawan.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of the film)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Joanna Ampil, a star of London’s West End, took home the MMFF’s Best Actress award for her portrayal of the gutsy but deeply conflicted Candida Marasigan, who drives her timorous sister Paula into bed with charming con man Tony Javier. Rachel Alejandro as Paula gives a superbly nuanced performance, while the rakish Paulo Avelino in the role of Tony chillingly self-destructs once Paula thwarts his scheme to make off with the prized portrait and sell it to a rich American. Major and minor roles alike are unforgettably played by dramatic and comedic headliners of Philippine stage and cinema.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In the eccentric cast of characters that includes \u003ca href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vaudeville_in_the_Philippines\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">bodabil\u003c/a> (vaudeville) entertainers, social-climbers and patricians, today’s audiences will recognize a social stratification that has remained essentially intact. As the locus of power shifted from the Spanish friars to American technocrats, to the Japanese army, then to dictator Ferdinand Marcos, those who chose to collaborate with the authorities were usually able to consolidate wealth and establish local fiefdoms, many of which survive today. If it feels like the country is at some new breaking point, under the iron-fisted Rodrigo Duterte, \u003ci>Ang Larawan\u003c/i> serves as a reminder that we’ve been there before. And a reminder not to abandon art, for it can be our most powerful source of illumination in times of crisis.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13818749\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan4_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Still from 'Ang Larawan.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"797\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13818749\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan4_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan4_1200-160x106.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan4_1200-800x531.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan4_1200-768x510.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan4_1200-1020x677.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan4_1200-1180x784.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan4_1200-960x638.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan4_1200-240x159.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan4_1200-375x249.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/AngLarawan4_1200-520x345.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Still from ‘Ang Larawan.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of the film)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The movie closes with heart-stopping footage of the shelling of occupied Manila by American planes, then cuts to the Marasigan family and their friends as they watch a religious procession from their windows. We know the Marasigans will perish. The juxtaposition of carnage and holy cavalcade underscores both the futility and the eternal hope embedded in shared ritual. The hazy, dreamlike filming of the procession, almost unbearable in its beauty, points to the fragility of time and place. San Francisco audiences, many of whom belong to a diaspora, may be profoundly moved.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>‘Ang Larawan’ screens at San Francisco Film Society Cinema (1746 Post Street) at 6:30pm and 8:30pm on Thursday, Jan. 11 and at theaters throughout the Bay Area Jan. 12-18. For tickets and more information, \u003ca href=\"https://www.tfc-usa.com/anglarawantheaterlist/8\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">click here\u003c/a>.\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Correction: This review originally stated that the film ends with footage of the Japanese bombing of Manila. The footage is of American planes.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "Journey Doesn't End in Andy Kincaid's 'Description of the Route'",
"headTitle": "Journey Doesn’t End in Andy Kincaid’s ‘Description of the Route’ | KQED",
"content": "\u003cp>Descending into Et al. gallery’s Chinatown location is always a thrilling process of discovery. Without a street-facing window (or usually any windows at all), knowledge of the particular layout of an Et al. exhibition or its contents remains unknown for the entire journey down a narrow hallway and a flight of wooden stairs. Anticipation builds in inverse proportion to the distance remaining before the big reveal.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Happily, in Wyoming-based artist \u003ca href=\"http://andykincaid.com/\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">Andy Kincaid\u003c/a>’s current solo exhibition \u003ci>\u003ca href=\"http://etaletc.com/#/galleries/1/shows/74\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">A Minute Description of the Route\u003c/a>\u003c/i>, the process of discovery doesn’t stop at the last wooden step. Scattered across the gallery floor and walls are objects tangentially related to journeys — historic, mythologized and contemporary — across the American continent. With the image list in hand, stepping through a maze of cast resin rattlesnakes, pieces of petrified wood, stacked chairs, inkjet prints and other detritus feels a bit like a three-dimensional \u003ci>I Spy\u003c/i> exercise. Kincaid rewards diligent looking with the oddest of treats, including a disembodied mannequin head and the artist’s own varicose leg vein.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13818713\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route26_12detail_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Andy Kincaid, Detail of 'To organize a meeting or to play Oregon Trail / understanding pathways,' 2016-17.\" width=\"1200\" height=\"801\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13818713\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route26_12detail_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route26_12detail_1200-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route26_12detail_1200-800x534.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route26_12detail_1200-768x513.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route26_12detail_1200-1020x681.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route26_12detail_1200-1180x788.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route26_12detail_1200-960x641.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route26_12detail_1200-240x160.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route26_12detail_1200-375x250.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route26_12detail_1200-520x347.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Andy Kincaid, Detail of ‘To organize a meeting or to play Oregon Trail / understanding pathways,’ 2016-17. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Et al.)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The installation, lit from one small window cut into the gallery’s back wall and illuminated from behind by warm yellow spotlights, sits in a perpetual golden hour. There is a beige sameness to the objects, a combination of their natural hues and the spectrum of light making them visible. A record player on the floor adds to the ambiance by looping \u003ci>Sounds of Nature Series – Prairie Spring\u003c/i>; crickets chirp. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UorIkLqVIQU\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The most contained representation of the exhibition’s themes comes from a piece titled \u003ci>Trail Guide / 1950 California Trail miles / 2179 Appalachian Trail miles / 2170 Oregon Trail miles / understanding pathways / for Grandma Gatewood\u003c/i>. (Be forewarned, this is not the longest title in the exhibition.) A waist-high metal rack, originally made to support blueprints, clips together enlarged reproductions of pages from the 1858 book \u003ci>The National Wagon Road Guide\u003c/i> with torn-out pages from a 2010 copy of \u003ci>The Thru-hiker’s Handbook\u003c/i>, a guide to the Appalachian Trail. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This augmented book, cumbersome but still readable, literally blends the travel guides for two very different overland routes, conflating a 19th-century pioneer’s journey with a contemporary outdoors-enthusiast’s quest. As Kincaid’s work repeatedly asks through similar process of layering, what’s so different about the motivations behind past and present travels? Implicating himself in the romantic reenactment of certain cycles of migration, Kincaid juxtaposes self-perpetuating myths against the very real threats to life on a trail.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13818708\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route03_02_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Entryway installation view of 'A Minute Description of the Route.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"817\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13818708\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route03_02_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route03_02_1200-160x109.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route03_02_1200-800x545.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route03_02_1200-768x523.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route03_02_1200-1020x694.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route03_02_1200-1180x803.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route03_02_1200-960x654.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route03_02_1200-240x163.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route03_02_1200-375x255.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route03_02_1200-520x354.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Entryway installation view of ‘A Minute Description of the Route.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Et al.)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Kincaid himself is a hiker and a camper; his travels can be read in Et al.’s installation as part of his artistic practice. LED camping lanterns light the pathway to the exhibition. The stairwell is draped in an artist-made quilt (first used on the John Muir trail) and an artist-made tarp (first used on the Appalachian Trail). Inkjet prints hanging from another blueprint clamp at the top of the stairs document camping sites, traveling companions, wildernesses traversed and the stitched-up aftermath of the aforementioned varicose vein. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s this mingling of the personal and the iconographic that makes \u003ci>A Minute Description of the Route\u003c/i> such a pleasure to wander through. Inside a gun case purchased on the shoulder of Idaho’s highway 33 (the image list is rife with hyper-specific details) sits a photograph of Kincaid as a child. We learn, thanks again to the image list, that the photo was transferred from an instrument case into the gun case. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13818710\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route11_09detail_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Andy Kincaid, Detail of 'In laying a foundation for the move west / pelican case with pelican, portrait and wagon circle / mark-making on the landscape / Oregon Trail scene / Oregon Trail tool | Oregon Trail threat,' 1992-2017.\" width=\"1200\" height=\"836\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13818710\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route11_09detail_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route11_09detail_1200-160x111.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route11_09detail_1200-800x557.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route11_09detail_1200-768x535.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route11_09detail_1200-1020x711.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route11_09detail_1200-1180x822.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route11_09detail_1200-960x669.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route11_09detail_1200-240x167.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route11_09detail_1200-375x261.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route11_09detail_1200-520x362.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Andy Kincaid, Detail of ‘In laying a foundation for the move west / pelican case with pelican, portrait and wagon circle / mark-making on the landscape / Oregon Trail scene / Oregon Trail tool | Oregon Trail threat,’ 1992-2017. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Et al.)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Is this translation of context a metaphor for growing up, of accepting one’s mortality? Undercutting this interpretation, the gun case appears unused — the spaces carved out for rifles remain filled with foam. In another destabilizing move, Kincaid snarkily pairs the sturdy Pelican gun case with an inkjet print of a dead pelican found at the site of Robert Smithson’s \u003ci>Spiral Jetty\u003c/i>, an artful example of man’s lasting effect on the environment. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The dizzying number of references doesn’t stop there. In the installation that dominates the back of the gallery, \u003ci>Setting for a perpetual sunset, for hope, and for living with nature / report from the avant-garde, 1845-476 / solar print / carbon dating and a historical incongruity in weaving / crickets\u003c/i>, the titular weaving is a rug made by Kincaid and his mother, using both hand-spun and machine-spun wool. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13818712\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route14_07_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Andy Kincaid, 'Medium Snake Statue with Rabbit Foot / after Christopher Gadsgen and Benjamin Franklin / luck will have it or come and get it / Oregon Trail threat,' 2017.\" width=\"1200\" height=\"724\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13818712\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route14_07_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route14_07_1200-160x97.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route14_07_1200-800x483.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route14_07_1200-768x463.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route14_07_1200-1020x615.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route14_07_1200-1180x712.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route14_07_1200-960x579.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route14_07_1200-240x145.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route14_07_1200-375x226.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route14_07_1200-520x314.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Andy Kincaid, ‘Medium Snake Statue with Rabbit Foot / after Christopher Gadsgen and Benjamin Franklin / luck will have it or come and get it / Oregon Trail threat,’ 2017. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Et al.)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Such anachronism is only one of many ironies: images of the drab bureaucratic offices that support our beautiful national parks, the packaging up of nature sounds into a series of vinyl records, a mention of the classic computer game “Oregon Trail.” But the real strength in \u003ci>A Minute Description of the Route\u003c/i> comes from its refusal to deal solely in dichotomy, despite the two possible readings of the exhibition’s title. In doing so, Kincaid urges us to look for the tantalizing details occupying the space between the hand-made and mass-produced, humans and nature, and most importantly, between the past and present.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>‘A Minute Description of the Route’ is on view at Et al. in San Francisco (620 Kearny Street) through Jan. 27. For more information, \u003ca href=\"http://etaletc.com/#/galleries/1/shows/74\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">click here\u003c/a>.\u003c/i> \u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Descending into Et al. gallery’s Chinatown location is always a thrilling process of discovery. Without a street-facing window (or usually any windows at all), knowledge of the particular layout of an Et al. exhibition or its contents remains unknown for the entire journey down a narrow hallway and a flight of wooden stairs. Anticipation builds in inverse proportion to the distance remaining before the big reveal.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Happily, in Wyoming-based artist \u003ca href=\"http://andykincaid.com/\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">Andy Kincaid\u003c/a>’s current solo exhibition \u003ci>\u003ca href=\"http://etaletc.com/#/galleries/1/shows/74\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">A Minute Description of the Route\u003c/a>\u003c/i>, the process of discovery doesn’t stop at the last wooden step. Scattered across the gallery floor and walls are objects tangentially related to journeys — historic, mythologized and contemporary — across the American continent. With the image list in hand, stepping through a maze of cast resin rattlesnakes, pieces of petrified wood, stacked chairs, inkjet prints and other detritus feels a bit like a three-dimensional \u003ci>I Spy\u003c/i> exercise. Kincaid rewards diligent looking with the oddest of treats, including a disembodied mannequin head and the artist’s own varicose leg vein.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13818713\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route26_12detail_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Andy Kincaid, Detail of 'To organize a meeting or to play Oregon Trail / understanding pathways,' 2016-17.\" width=\"1200\" height=\"801\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13818713\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route26_12detail_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route26_12detail_1200-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route26_12detail_1200-800x534.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route26_12detail_1200-768x513.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route26_12detail_1200-1020x681.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route26_12detail_1200-1180x788.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route26_12detail_1200-960x641.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route26_12detail_1200-240x160.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route26_12detail_1200-375x250.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route26_12detail_1200-520x347.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Andy Kincaid, Detail of ‘To organize a meeting or to play Oregon Trail / understanding pathways,’ 2016-17. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Et al.)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The installation, lit from one small window cut into the gallery’s back wall and illuminated from behind by warm yellow spotlights, sits in a perpetual golden hour. There is a beige sameness to the objects, a combination of their natural hues and the spectrum of light making them visible. A record player on the floor adds to the ambiance by looping \u003ci>Sounds of Nature Series – Prairie Spring\u003c/i>; crickets chirp. \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/UorIkLqVIQU'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/UorIkLqVIQU'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>The most contained representation of the exhibition’s themes comes from a piece titled \u003ci>Trail Guide / 1950 California Trail miles / 2179 Appalachian Trail miles / 2170 Oregon Trail miles / understanding pathways / for Grandma Gatewood\u003c/i>. (Be forewarned, this is not the longest title in the exhibition.) A waist-high metal rack, originally made to support blueprints, clips together enlarged reproductions of pages from the 1858 book \u003ci>The National Wagon Road Guide\u003c/i> with torn-out pages from a 2010 copy of \u003ci>The Thru-hiker’s Handbook\u003c/i>, a guide to the Appalachian Trail. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This augmented book, cumbersome but still readable, literally blends the travel guides for two very different overland routes, conflating a 19th-century pioneer’s journey with a contemporary outdoors-enthusiast’s quest. As Kincaid’s work repeatedly asks through similar process of layering, what’s so different about the motivations behind past and present travels? Implicating himself in the romantic reenactment of certain cycles of migration, Kincaid juxtaposes self-perpetuating myths against the very real threats to life on a trail.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13818708\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route03_02_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Entryway installation view of 'A Minute Description of the Route.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"817\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13818708\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route03_02_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route03_02_1200-160x109.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route03_02_1200-800x545.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route03_02_1200-768x523.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route03_02_1200-1020x694.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route03_02_1200-1180x803.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route03_02_1200-960x654.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route03_02_1200-240x163.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route03_02_1200-375x255.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route03_02_1200-520x354.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Entryway installation view of ‘A Minute Description of the Route.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Et al.)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Kincaid himself is a hiker and a camper; his travels can be read in Et al.’s installation as part of his artistic practice. LED camping lanterns light the pathway to the exhibition. The stairwell is draped in an artist-made quilt (first used on the John Muir trail) and an artist-made tarp (first used on the Appalachian Trail). Inkjet prints hanging from another blueprint clamp at the top of the stairs document camping sites, traveling companions, wildernesses traversed and the stitched-up aftermath of the aforementioned varicose vein. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s this mingling of the personal and the iconographic that makes \u003ci>A Minute Description of the Route\u003c/i> such a pleasure to wander through. Inside a gun case purchased on the shoulder of Idaho’s highway 33 (the image list is rife with hyper-specific details) sits a photograph of Kincaid as a child. We learn, thanks again to the image list, that the photo was transferred from an instrument case into the gun case. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13818710\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route11_09detail_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Andy Kincaid, Detail of 'In laying a foundation for the move west / pelican case with pelican, portrait and wagon circle / mark-making on the landscape / Oregon Trail scene / Oregon Trail tool | Oregon Trail threat,' 1992-2017.\" width=\"1200\" height=\"836\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13818710\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route11_09detail_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route11_09detail_1200-160x111.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route11_09detail_1200-800x557.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route11_09detail_1200-768x535.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route11_09detail_1200-1020x711.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route11_09detail_1200-1180x822.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route11_09detail_1200-960x669.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route11_09detail_1200-240x167.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route11_09detail_1200-375x261.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route11_09detail_1200-520x362.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Andy Kincaid, Detail of ‘In laying a foundation for the move west / pelican case with pelican, portrait and wagon circle / mark-making on the landscape / Oregon Trail scene / Oregon Trail tool | Oregon Trail threat,’ 1992-2017. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Et al.)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Is this translation of context a metaphor for growing up, of accepting one’s mortality? Undercutting this interpretation, the gun case appears unused — the spaces carved out for rifles remain filled with foam. In another destabilizing move, Kincaid snarkily pairs the sturdy Pelican gun case with an inkjet print of a dead pelican found at the site of Robert Smithson’s \u003ci>Spiral Jetty\u003c/i>, an artful example of man’s lasting effect on the environment. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The dizzying number of references doesn’t stop there. In the installation that dominates the back of the gallery, \u003ci>Setting for a perpetual sunset, for hope, and for living with nature / report from the avant-garde, 1845-476 / solar print / carbon dating and a historical incongruity in weaving / crickets\u003c/i>, the titular weaving is a rug made by Kincaid and his mother, using both hand-spun and machine-spun wool. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13818712\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route14_07_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Andy Kincaid, 'Medium Snake Statue with Rabbit Foot / after Christopher Gadsgen and Benjamin Franklin / luck will have it or come and get it / Oregon Trail threat,' 2017.\" width=\"1200\" height=\"724\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13818712\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route14_07_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route14_07_1200-160x97.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route14_07_1200-800x483.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route14_07_1200-768x463.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route14_07_1200-1020x615.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route14_07_1200-1180x712.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route14_07_1200-960x579.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route14_07_1200-240x145.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route14_07_1200-375x226.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/route14_07_1200-520x314.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Andy Kincaid, ‘Medium Snake Statue with Rabbit Foot / after Christopher Gadsgen and Benjamin Franklin / luck will have it or come and get it / Oregon Trail threat,’ 2017. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Et al.)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Such anachronism is only one of many ironies: images of the drab bureaucratic offices that support our beautiful national parks, the packaging up of nature sounds into a series of vinyl records, a mention of the classic computer game “Oregon Trail.” But the real strength in \u003ci>A Minute Description of the Route\u003c/i> comes from its refusal to deal solely in dichotomy, despite the two possible readings of the exhibition’s title. In doing so, Kincaid urges us to look for the tantalizing details occupying the space between the hand-made and mass-produced, humans and nature, and most importantly, between the past and present.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>‘A Minute Description of the Route’ is on view at Et al. in San Francisco (620 Kearny Street) through Jan. 27. For more information, \u003ca href=\"http://etaletc.com/#/galleries/1/shows/74\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">click here\u003c/a>.\u003c/i> \u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "At BAMPFA, Portraits Tell a Story of South Africa's Past and Future",
"headTitle": "At BAMPFA, Portraits Tell a Story of South Africa’s Past and Future | KQED",
"content": "\u003cp>A newfound treat of walking up Berkeley’s three-block-short Center Street is the probability of peeking through BAMPFA’s large south-facing windows to see what’s up on the museum’s art wall. Taking up the entire first floor and dipping into the graded amphitheater of its basement, the art wall hosts commissioned murals and installations by artists from around the globe. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>What you’ll find if you stroll by the museum until July of 2018 is a mural of four riveting larger-than-life portraits by South African illustrator and street artist Karabo Poppy Moletsane. At 25, Moletsane is the youngest artist yet to take up space on the art wall, which has featured projects by Qiu Zhijie, Lawrence Weiner and Terri Friedman.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13818574\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 413px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Event_Moletsane_2017-11-29_Karabo-Poppy_Moletsane_001crop.jpg\" alt=\"Karabo Poppy Moletsane\" width=\"413\" height=\"420\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13818574\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Event_Moletsane_2017-11-29_Karabo-Poppy_Moletsane_001crop.jpg 413w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Event_Moletsane_2017-11-29_Karabo-Poppy_Moletsane_001crop-160x163.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Event_Moletsane_2017-11-29_Karabo-Poppy_Moletsane_001crop-240x244.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Event_Moletsane_2017-11-29_Karabo-Poppy_Moletsane_001crop-375x381.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Event_Moletsane_2017-11-29_Karabo-Poppy_Moletsane_001crop-32x32.jpg 32w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Event_Moletsane_2017-11-29_Karabo-Poppy_Moletsane_001crop-50x50.jpg 50w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Event_Moletsane_2017-11-29_Karabo-Poppy_Moletsane_001crop-64x64.jpg 64w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 413px) 100vw, 413px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Karabo Poppy Moletsane \u003ccite>(Courtesy of BAMPFA)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In late November, the artist completed her portraits in warm mustards and rich blues, with a motif of organic lines that vibrate around the curves of her subject’s faces, the kinks of their hair and the folds of their clothes. “The theme that I take whenever I take photographs of people is just people I think are a good representation of where South Africa is now and where South Africa is headed as well aesthetically,” she says. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As such, the artist has found subjects in a fashion blogger in Johannesburg, a parishioner of the Zionist Christian Church in Pretoria, a skhothane (a member of a sartorially inclined subculture with pyromaniac tendencies who burn their barely worn designer clothes) and a sharply coiffed young man fresh out of the barbershop. Occupying most of the 60-by-25-foot wall, each of the four faces wears a focused stare, the kind demanded by an afternoon sun. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Moletsane explains the colorful bags under the eyes of her subjects draw a focus to their gaze and represent South Africa’s grave history of institutionalized racism and segregation. “We’re not pretending that apartheid didn’t happen,” she says, “but we’re trying to consciously be aware of the effect that it had and trying to look at a positive way to use that to then build the country as strong as it could be.” To that end, beams of light and halo-like effects emanate from her mural’s subjects.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13818575\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 600px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/faf6dc13957023.5627aed2bd3fd.jpg\" alt=\"A spread from Karabo Poppy Moletsane's 'Sho't Left,' 2014.\" width=\"600\" height=\"426\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13818575\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/faf6dc13957023.5627aed2bd3fd.jpg 600w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/faf6dc13957023.5627aed2bd3fd-160x114.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/faf6dc13957023.5627aed2bd3fd-240x170.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/faf6dc13957023.5627aed2bd3fd-375x266.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/faf6dc13957023.5627aed2bd3fd-520x369.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 600px) 100vw, 600px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A spread from Karabo Poppy Moletsane’s ‘Sho’t Left,’ 2014. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of the artist)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Moletsane’s South African identity, along with the scale and contrast required by street art, shape a great part of her work. But the root of her style lies in her fascination with the idea of an African aesthetic. She admits this is not a singular concept but rather, she explains, a collection of hybridized visual vocabularies that centralize native African culture. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I can’t say these are the characteristics of an African aesthetic but there’s one common thread and it’s being able to hybridize cultures in an authentic way and in an honoring way,” she says. Her portraits at BAMPFA are evidence of this hybridity. The images are reminiscent of barbershop and hair salon signage ubiquitous across Africa, while the halos and beams come from Christian art. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I was always fascinated by the Byzantine era and a lot of the saints were show with the halos behind them,” Moletsane explains. “A lot of the people that I interviewed, I draw them because I want to be able to celebrate them. This was the way to honor the saint, so I’m doing the same thing.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13818576\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 600px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/ee199013957023.5627af22281f0.jpg\" alt=\"A spread from Karabo Poppy Moletsane's 'Sho't Left,' 2014.\" width=\"600\" height=\"426\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13818576\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/ee199013957023.5627af22281f0.jpg 600w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/ee199013957023.5627af22281f0-160x114.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/ee199013957023.5627af22281f0-240x170.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/ee199013957023.5627af22281f0-375x266.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/ee199013957023.5627af22281f0-520x369.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 600px) 100vw, 600px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A spread from Karabo Poppy Moletsane’s ‘Sho’t Left,’ 2014. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of the artist)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Moletsane has made a career out of projects that center on and celebrate the people of South Africa. After completing studies in illustration and visual communication, Moletsane started her own creative house, Mother Tongue in 2014. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I thought if I do the norm and go into an agency, I don’t think I’m changing [the field], I don’t think I’m adding to it. I’m just doing what every person in my position would have done,” she says. One of her first projects, a 2014 zine titled \u003ci>Sho’t Left\u003c/i>, features digitally illustrated portraits of average South African citizens — from taxi drivers and hairdressers to skhothanes.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The mural at BAMPFA has much in common with the images in \u003ci>Sho’t Left\u003c/i>, including a new portrait of a peacekeeper, a member South Africa’s Zion Christian Church, whose striking khaki uniforms are a common sight in the country. “It’s the most beautiful uniform that I’ve ever seen and it’s something that I’ve pretty much only seen in South Africa,” Moletsane explains. “This is a group of people I’ve never seen represented in art ever. I think this is an iconic thing to South Africa that I also wanted to celebrate.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Moletsane speaks about her country with devotion — the words “honor” and “celebrate” come to her easily and in succession when talking about South Africa. That devotion radiates from her mural at BAMPFA, inspiring in both its stature and details. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>To tell the story of South Africa, Moletsane has chosen to depict the ordinary folks. Her mural holds many lessons: authenticity can permit inspiration, the ordinary citizen is an icon worthy of celebration, and most relevant for a nation like the United States, acknowledging a national past, no matter how horrific, doesn’t impede a country’s progress or pride. In fact, it just might be essential.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>‘Art Wall: Karabo Poppy Moletsane’ is on view at the Berkeley Art Museum and Pacific Film Archive through July 15, 2018. For more information, \u003ca href=\"https://bampfa.org/program/art-wall-karabo-poppy-moletsane\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">click here\u003c/a>.\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>A newfound treat of walking up Berkeley’s three-block-short Center Street is the probability of peeking through BAMPFA’s large south-facing windows to see what’s up on the museum’s art wall. Taking up the entire first floor and dipping into the graded amphitheater of its basement, the art wall hosts commissioned murals and installations by artists from around the globe. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>What you’ll find if you stroll by the museum until July of 2018 is a mural of four riveting larger-than-life portraits by South African illustrator and street artist Karabo Poppy Moletsane. At 25, Moletsane is the youngest artist yet to take up space on the art wall, which has featured projects by Qiu Zhijie, Lawrence Weiner and Terri Friedman.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13818574\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 413px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Event_Moletsane_2017-11-29_Karabo-Poppy_Moletsane_001crop.jpg\" alt=\"Karabo Poppy Moletsane\" width=\"413\" height=\"420\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13818574\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Event_Moletsane_2017-11-29_Karabo-Poppy_Moletsane_001crop.jpg 413w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Event_Moletsane_2017-11-29_Karabo-Poppy_Moletsane_001crop-160x163.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Event_Moletsane_2017-11-29_Karabo-Poppy_Moletsane_001crop-240x244.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Event_Moletsane_2017-11-29_Karabo-Poppy_Moletsane_001crop-375x381.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Event_Moletsane_2017-11-29_Karabo-Poppy_Moletsane_001crop-32x32.jpg 32w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Event_Moletsane_2017-11-29_Karabo-Poppy_Moletsane_001crop-50x50.jpg 50w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/Event_Moletsane_2017-11-29_Karabo-Poppy_Moletsane_001crop-64x64.jpg 64w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 413px) 100vw, 413px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Karabo Poppy Moletsane \u003ccite>(Courtesy of BAMPFA)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In late November, the artist completed her portraits in warm mustards and rich blues, with a motif of organic lines that vibrate around the curves of her subject’s faces, the kinks of their hair and the folds of their clothes. “The theme that I take whenever I take photographs of people is just people I think are a good representation of where South Africa is now and where South Africa is headed as well aesthetically,” she says. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As such, the artist has found subjects in a fashion blogger in Johannesburg, a parishioner of the Zionist Christian Church in Pretoria, a skhothane (a member of a sartorially inclined subculture with pyromaniac tendencies who burn their barely worn designer clothes) and a sharply coiffed young man fresh out of the barbershop. Occupying most of the 60-by-25-foot wall, each of the four faces wears a focused stare, the kind demanded by an afternoon sun. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Moletsane explains the colorful bags under the eyes of her subjects draw a focus to their gaze and represent South Africa’s grave history of institutionalized racism and segregation. “We’re not pretending that apartheid didn’t happen,” she says, “but we’re trying to consciously be aware of the effect that it had and trying to look at a positive way to use that to then build the country as strong as it could be.” To that end, beams of light and halo-like effects emanate from her mural’s subjects.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13818575\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 600px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/faf6dc13957023.5627aed2bd3fd.jpg\" alt=\"A spread from Karabo Poppy Moletsane's 'Sho't Left,' 2014.\" width=\"600\" height=\"426\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13818575\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/faf6dc13957023.5627aed2bd3fd.jpg 600w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/faf6dc13957023.5627aed2bd3fd-160x114.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/faf6dc13957023.5627aed2bd3fd-240x170.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/faf6dc13957023.5627aed2bd3fd-375x266.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/faf6dc13957023.5627aed2bd3fd-520x369.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 600px) 100vw, 600px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A spread from Karabo Poppy Moletsane’s ‘Sho’t Left,’ 2014. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of the artist)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Moletsane’s South African identity, along with the scale and contrast required by street art, shape a great part of her work. But the root of her style lies in her fascination with the idea of an African aesthetic. She admits this is not a singular concept but rather, she explains, a collection of hybridized visual vocabularies that centralize native African culture. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I can’t say these are the characteristics of an African aesthetic but there’s one common thread and it’s being able to hybridize cultures in an authentic way and in an honoring way,” she says. Her portraits at BAMPFA are evidence of this hybridity. The images are reminiscent of barbershop and hair salon signage ubiquitous across Africa, while the halos and beams come from Christian art. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I was always fascinated by the Byzantine era and a lot of the saints were show with the halos behind them,” Moletsane explains. “A lot of the people that I interviewed, I draw them because I want to be able to celebrate them. This was the way to honor the saint, so I’m doing the same thing.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13818576\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 600px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/ee199013957023.5627af22281f0.jpg\" alt=\"A spread from Karabo Poppy Moletsane's 'Sho't Left,' 2014.\" width=\"600\" height=\"426\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13818576\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/ee199013957023.5627af22281f0.jpg 600w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/ee199013957023.5627af22281f0-160x114.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/ee199013957023.5627af22281f0-240x170.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/ee199013957023.5627af22281f0-375x266.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2018/01/ee199013957023.5627af22281f0-520x369.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 600px) 100vw, 600px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A spread from Karabo Poppy Moletsane’s ‘Sho’t Left,’ 2014. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of the artist)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Moletsane has made a career out of projects that center on and celebrate the people of South Africa. After completing studies in illustration and visual communication, Moletsane started her own creative house, Mother Tongue in 2014. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I thought if I do the norm and go into an agency, I don’t think I’m changing [the field], I don’t think I’m adding to it. I’m just doing what every person in my position would have done,” she says. One of her first projects, a 2014 zine titled \u003ci>Sho’t Left\u003c/i>, features digitally illustrated portraits of average South African citizens — from taxi drivers and hairdressers to skhothanes.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The mural at BAMPFA has much in common with the images in \u003ci>Sho’t Left\u003c/i>, including a new portrait of a peacekeeper, a member South Africa’s Zion Christian Church, whose striking khaki uniforms are a common sight in the country. “It’s the most beautiful uniform that I’ve ever seen and it’s something that I’ve pretty much only seen in South Africa,” Moletsane explains. “This is a group of people I’ve never seen represented in art ever. I think this is an iconic thing to South Africa that I also wanted to celebrate.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Moletsane speaks about her country with devotion — the words “honor” and “celebrate” come to her easily and in succession when talking about South Africa. That devotion radiates from her mural at BAMPFA, inspiring in both its stature and details. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>To tell the story of South Africa, Moletsane has chosen to depict the ordinary folks. Her mural holds many lessons: authenticity can permit inspiration, the ordinary citizen is an icon worthy of celebration, and most relevant for a nation like the United States, acknowledging a national past, no matter how horrific, doesn’t impede a country’s progress or pride. In fact, it just might be essential.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>‘Art Wall: Karabo Poppy Moletsane’ is on view at the Berkeley Art Museum and Pacific Film Archive through July 15, 2018. For more information, \u003ca href=\"https://bampfa.org/program/art-wall-karabo-poppy-moletsane\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">click here\u003c/a>.\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>Tonya Harding was never supposed to be a pro figure skater. Like so many young American dreamers before her, she had it all wrong for success: born into the wrong class, raised by the wrong role model, drawn to the wrong men. And she had the wrong kind of femininity for the sport she loved, too, because those judges didn’t want to see a ZZ Top routine from someone who sewed her own costume, even if it did include a flawlessly executed triple axel.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>So when Harding did find a bit of glory, there were corrective measures in place, and her self-made undoing — by playing some part in the “hit” on U.S. rival Nancy Kerrigan’s leg, the scandal that would unravel her career and the entire 1990s along with it — was the fitting, flaming end to her membership in the elite club that never wanted her anyway.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That is the argument put forth by \u003cem>I, Tonya\u003c/em>, the cheeky and skate-sharp new biopic from director Craig Gillespie coming only a few short years after the \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/sections/monkeysee/2014/01/16/263073794/complicating-the-tonya-and-nancy-narratives-20-years-later\">ESPN documentary\u003c/a>. The title tips us off that Harding’s story — drawn from interviews with all the key players — has been rehabilitated into the stuff of tabloid Greek tragedy. This is a bold film, especially in its leveraging of all that real-life contradiction to create something that shocks and delights us with its own stylistic wrongness. \u003cem>I, Tonya \u003c/em>takes greater risks with the biopic genre than any other in recent memory, and it’s remarkable how much of it lands upright. It’s the triple axel of based-on-a-true-story movies.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://youtu.be/d2iy5y0YjGM\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As played magnificently by Margot Robbie, Tonya is a powerhouse athlete, a fragile abuse victim, an impoverished country girl and a snarky media critic. Robbie embodies all these roles with a childlike sincerity, a lost-soul cluelessness, as her Tonya never ceases to wonder why it can’t just be about the skating. She and the film whip among these personas with wild abandon, mixing styles and tones in a chaotic fashion that borders on overkill. (Must we indulge “present-day” interviews, voice-over AND talking directly to the camera?) But it all builds to a satisfying and illuminating portrait of a poor American girl who maybe never stood a chance.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The film’s account of Harding’s upbringing is so heartbreaking that it would be unbearable if it weren’t presented in such a bouncy, off-kilter way. As a child in Oregon, she was practically shoved onto the ice by her waitress mother LaVona (a superb Allison Janney), partially because her mom sees talent but mostly because she is grooming Tonya for a future as the butt of her endless verbal and physical abuse. LaVona will hold the cost of Tonya’s skating lessons over her head for the rest of her life, long after she compelled her daughter to drop out of school so she can focus on the sport.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Most of the film is devoted to Tonya’s marriage to, and subsequent divorce from, Jeff Gillooly (Sebastian Stan). Although the Jeff in the “present day” sequences is muted and introspective, offering deep insights into how his decisions would go on to shape the culture, in the rest of the film, he is an abusive leech, incapable of offering anything to Tonya except psychological obsession as she climbs the ranks of U.S. Figure Skating. Their tumultuous relationship is marked by the cycle of Jeff’s abuse (he hits her at home and later threatens her at gunpoint) followed by his blubbering, shameless apologies and Tonya’s continued gravitation to him even after leaving him and filing a restraining order. Even these scenes, which are brutal enough to watch without the pop songs that punctuate them like thunderclaps, don’t come close to reaching the real-life Harding’s accounts of what Gillooly did to her. But abuse is complex, particularly if you live a sheltered, scrutinized existence, and one of the big strengths of \u003cem>I, Tonya \u003c/em>is how it refuses to make its hero into a sap or her abusers into mere monsters. If they were, we wouldn’t feel as affected by a moving (if a bit showoffy) long take of a post-divorce Jeff in various mopey positions around the house, inhabiting Tonya’s negative space.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The film abruptly shifts gears into full-blown farce as we approach what everyone on screen refers to as “the incident”: the attack that created the inescapable digital-video image of the innocent, white-dressed Kerrigan clutching her knee and wailing, “Why? Why?” Gillespie and screenwriter Steven Rogers know an inept hit job when they see one, and they milk this conspiracy of dunces for all it’s worth. It’s all orchestrated by Jeff’s buddy and self-proclaimed Tonya bodyguard Shawn Eckhardt (Paul Hauser, champion goober), who mimes criminal-mastermind behavior from inside his mom’s basement; his “guys” get hyped for their job by blasting “Gloria”; and when it’s all over and Shawn has blown his own cover, he insists to a TV reporter that he has training in “counterespionage and counterterrorism,” despite all evidence to the contrary.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>I, Tonya\u003c/em> gets mushy on the question of exactly how much knowledge Tonya had of the incident, which is consistent with the intrigue that has surrounded this sordid saga ever since. But it takes the extra step of insisting the \u003cem>real\u003c/em> culprits are us, the basic-cable mouth-droolers who hoovered up her every mistake because we love to watch train wrecks on ice. In fact, Tonya shames us right to our faces, an accusation we might take more seriously if the movie didn’t seem to be trying so hard to reconnect with whatever electric qualities first hooked America on her story. Still, for as jolting an experience as watching the film can be, it does help Tonya live her truth, while revealing, from within all its wrongs, the basic truth of figure skating: It has never just been about the skating.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Tonya Harding was never supposed to be a pro figure skater. Like so many young American dreamers before her, she had it all wrong for success: born into the wrong class, raised by the wrong role model, drawn to the wrong men. And she had the wrong kind of femininity for the sport she loved, too, because those judges didn’t want to see a ZZ Top routine from someone who sewed her own costume, even if it did include a flawlessly executed triple axel.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>So when Harding did find a bit of glory, there were corrective measures in place, and her self-made undoing — by playing some part in the “hit” on U.S. rival Nancy Kerrigan’s leg, the scandal that would unravel her career and the entire 1990s along with it — was the fitting, flaming end to her membership in the elite club that never wanted her anyway.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That is the argument put forth by \u003cem>I, Tonya\u003c/em>, the cheeky and skate-sharp new biopic from director Craig Gillespie coming only a few short years after the \u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/sections/monkeysee/2014/01/16/263073794/complicating-the-tonya-and-nancy-narratives-20-years-later\">ESPN documentary\u003c/a>. The title tips us off that Harding’s story — drawn from interviews with all the key players — has been rehabilitated into the stuff of tabloid Greek tragedy. This is a bold film, especially in its leveraging of all that real-life contradiction to create something that shocks and delights us with its own stylistic wrongness. \u003cem>I, Tonya \u003c/em>takes greater risks with the biopic genre than any other in recent memory, and it’s remarkable how much of it lands upright. It’s the triple axel of based-on-a-true-story movies.\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/d2iy5y0YjGM'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/d2iy5y0YjGM'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>As played magnificently by Margot Robbie, Tonya is a powerhouse athlete, a fragile abuse victim, an impoverished country girl and a snarky media critic. Robbie embodies all these roles with a childlike sincerity, a lost-soul cluelessness, as her Tonya never ceases to wonder why it can’t just be about the skating. She and the film whip among these personas with wild abandon, mixing styles and tones in a chaotic fashion that borders on overkill. (Must we indulge “present-day” interviews, voice-over AND talking directly to the camera?) But it all builds to a satisfying and illuminating portrait of a poor American girl who maybe never stood a chance.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The film’s account of Harding’s upbringing is so heartbreaking that it would be unbearable if it weren’t presented in such a bouncy, off-kilter way. As a child in Oregon, she was practically shoved onto the ice by her waitress mother LaVona (a superb Allison Janney), partially because her mom sees talent but mostly because she is grooming Tonya for a future as the butt of her endless verbal and physical abuse. LaVona will hold the cost of Tonya’s skating lessons over her head for the rest of her life, long after she compelled her daughter to drop out of school so she can focus on the sport.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Most of the film is devoted to Tonya’s marriage to, and subsequent divorce from, Jeff Gillooly (Sebastian Stan). Although the Jeff in the “present day” sequences is muted and introspective, offering deep insights into how his decisions would go on to shape the culture, in the rest of the film, he is an abusive leech, incapable of offering anything to Tonya except psychological obsession as she climbs the ranks of U.S. Figure Skating. Their tumultuous relationship is marked by the cycle of Jeff’s abuse (he hits her at home and later threatens her at gunpoint) followed by his blubbering, shameless apologies and Tonya’s continued gravitation to him even after leaving him and filing a restraining order. Even these scenes, which are brutal enough to watch without the pop songs that punctuate them like thunderclaps, don’t come close to reaching the real-life Harding’s accounts of what Gillooly did to her. But abuse is complex, particularly if you live a sheltered, scrutinized existence, and one of the big strengths of \u003cem>I, Tonya \u003c/em>is how it refuses to make its hero into a sap or her abusers into mere monsters. If they were, we wouldn’t feel as affected by a moving (if a bit showoffy) long take of a post-divorce Jeff in various mopey positions around the house, inhabiting Tonya’s negative space.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The film abruptly shifts gears into full-blown farce as we approach what everyone on screen refers to as “the incident”: the attack that created the inescapable digital-video image of the innocent, white-dressed Kerrigan clutching her knee and wailing, “Why? Why?” Gillespie and screenwriter Steven Rogers know an inept hit job when they see one, and they milk this conspiracy of dunces for all it’s worth. It’s all orchestrated by Jeff’s buddy and self-proclaimed Tonya bodyguard Shawn Eckhardt (Paul Hauser, champion goober), who mimes criminal-mastermind behavior from inside his mom’s basement; his “guys” get hyped for their job by blasting “Gloria”; and when it’s all over and Shawn has blown his own cover, he insists to a TV reporter that he has training in “counterespionage and counterterrorism,” despite all evidence to the contrary.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>I, Tonya\u003c/em> gets mushy on the question of exactly how much knowledge Tonya had of the incident, which is consistent with the intrigue that has surrounded this sordid saga ever since. But it takes the extra step of insisting the \u003cem>real\u003c/em> culprits are us, the basic-cable mouth-droolers who hoovered up her every mistake because we love to watch train wrecks on ice. In fact, Tonya shames us right to our faces, an accusation we might take more seriously if the movie didn’t seem to be trying so hard to reconnect with whatever electric qualities first hooked America on her story. Still, for as jolting an experience as watching the film can be, it does help Tonya live her truth, while revealing, from within all its wrongs, the basic truth of figure skating: It has never just been about the skating.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"slug": "the-top-seven-movie-moments-of-2017",
"title": "The Top 7 Movie Moments of 2017",
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"headTitle": "The Top 7 Movie Moments of 2017 | KQED",
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"content": "\u003cp>The last thing the world needs is yet another critic’s list of the 10 Best Movies of 2017. If you need a guide to the worthwhile films you missed (or want to check your taste against the so-called experts), peruse any film publication’s website. (I recommend \u003ca href=\"http://www.bfi.org.uk/features/best-films-2017/\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">\u003cem>Sight & Sound\u003c/em>\u003c/a>).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>My inclination is to instead catalog the moments, the scenes, the bits that stayed with me weeks and months later. Sometimes they stick like annoying songs you hate but can’t get out of your head, so be advised that at least one of my Top 7 is from a movie I disliked. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817816\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/cmbyn_elio_120.jpg\" alt=\"Timothée Chalamet as Elio in 'Call Me By Your Name.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"649\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13817816\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/cmbyn_elio_120.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/cmbyn_elio_120-160x87.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/cmbyn_elio_120-800x433.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/cmbyn_elio_120-768x415.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/cmbyn_elio_120-1020x552.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/cmbyn_elio_120-1180x638.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/cmbyn_elio_120-960x519.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/cmbyn_elio_120-240x130.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/cmbyn_elio_120-375x203.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/cmbyn_elio_120-520x281.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Timothée Chalamet as Elio in ‘Call Me By Your Name.’\u003cbr> \u003ccite>(Photo by Sayombhu Mukdeeprom; Courtesy of Sony Pictures Classics)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>\u003cem>Call Me by Your Name\u003c/em>\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>The passage of the year involved a breathtakingly spoiled yet awkwardly self-conscious teenager, a fresh peach, and, eventually, the lad’s charismatic, self-confident and older male lover. The sequence is photographed and paced to focus and amplify the teenager’s desire, ungainliness, neediness, vulnerability and sensual awakening. If it makes you uncomfortable, the film has succeeded in making you share his experience (or cast you back to your own). Either way, the scene encapsulates the movie. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://youtu.be/SAp4gJwhNI0\u003c/p>\n\u003ch3>\u003cem>Get Out\u003c/em>\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>A portrait of a society that adopts a bizarro-world veneer of normalcy to conceal its loathing and covetousness of black people, Jordan Peele’s horror-comedy gives us white privilege in its ultimate demented distillation. The moment that nails the surreal, disturbing nature of the setting — a large country house where a black man is meeting his white girlfriend’s family — is the zombie-like black groundskeeper running full tilt at the erstwhile hero before veering off into the dusky distance. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817819\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/3-LaVona-Golden-Allison-Janney-and-her-pet-bird-in-I-TONYA-courtesy-of-NEON-and-30WEST_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Allison Janney as LaVona Golden, with her pet bird in 'I, Tonya.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"502\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13817819\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/3-LaVona-Golden-Allison-Janney-and-her-pet-bird-in-I-TONYA-courtesy-of-NEON-and-30WEST_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/3-LaVona-Golden-Allison-Janney-and-her-pet-bird-in-I-TONYA-courtesy-of-NEON-and-30WEST_1200-160x67.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/3-LaVona-Golden-Allison-Janney-and-her-pet-bird-in-I-TONYA-courtesy-of-NEON-and-30WEST_1200-800x335.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/3-LaVona-Golden-Allison-Janney-and-her-pet-bird-in-I-TONYA-courtesy-of-NEON-and-30WEST_1200-768x321.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/3-LaVona-Golden-Allison-Janney-and-her-pet-bird-in-I-TONYA-courtesy-of-NEON-and-30WEST_1200-1020x427.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/3-LaVona-Golden-Allison-Janney-and-her-pet-bird-in-I-TONYA-courtesy-of-NEON-and-30WEST_1200-1180x494.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/3-LaVona-Golden-Allison-Janney-and-her-pet-bird-in-I-TONYA-courtesy-of-NEON-and-30WEST_1200-960x402.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/3-LaVona-Golden-Allison-Janney-and-her-pet-bird-in-I-TONYA-courtesy-of-NEON-and-30WEST_1200-240x100.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/3-LaVona-Golden-Allison-Janney-and-her-pet-bird-in-I-TONYA-courtesy-of-NEON-and-30WEST_1200-375x157.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/3-LaVona-Golden-Allison-Janney-and-her-pet-bird-in-I-TONYA-courtesy-of-NEON-and-30WEST_1200-520x218.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Allison Janney as LaVona Golden, with her pet bird in ‘I, Tonya.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of NEON and 30WEST)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>\u003cem>I, Tonya\u003c/em>\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>Take any of the numerous instances when Margot Robbie’s Tonya Harding sits in her kitchen, looks straight at the camera and explicitly or implicitly dares us to disbelieve her version of the events that made her famous. Let’s be blunt: She’s challenging us to dismiss her as white trash and to withhold our empathy. Alison Janney’s direct addresses to the audience, as Tonya’s heinous mother LaVona, are also embedded in my cerebral cortex.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817822\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/the-florida-project-TFP_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Christopher Rivera, Brooklynn Prince, and Valeria Cotto in 'The Florida Project.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"503\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13817822\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/the-florida-project-TFP_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/the-florida-project-TFP_1200-160x67.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/the-florida-project-TFP_1200-800x335.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/the-florida-project-TFP_1200-768x322.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/the-florida-project-TFP_1200-1020x428.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/the-florida-project-TFP_1200-1180x495.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/the-florida-project-TFP_1200-960x402.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/the-florida-project-TFP_1200-240x101.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/the-florida-project-TFP_1200-375x157.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/the-florida-project-TFP_1200-520x218.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Christopher Rivera, Brooklynn Prince, and Valeria Cotto in ‘The Florida Project.’ \u003ccite>(Photo courtesy of A24)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>\u003cem>The Florida Project\u003c/em>\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>Similarly, the images I keep from Sean Baker’s candy-colored, neo-neorealist mother-daughter saga are of faces: Brooklynn Prince conveys childish enthusiasm and candor along with calculated manipulation as the irrepressible, undisciplined Moonee. Hailey (Bria Vinaite), her desperately amoral mom, is scarcely more mature or capable of hiding her emotions. Like Tonya Harding’s mother, Hailey bulldozes through every drop of audience goodwill by the last reel. Moonee, however, transcends our judgments. She’s a child; she is blameless.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817823\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/12_brigsby_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Kyle Mooney and Jorge Lendeborg Jr. in 'Brigsby Bear.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"800\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13817823\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/12_brigsby_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/12_brigsby_1200-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/12_brigsby_1200-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/12_brigsby_1200-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/12_brigsby_1200-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/12_brigsby_1200-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/12_brigsby_1200-960x640.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/12_brigsby_1200-240x160.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/12_brigsby_1200-375x250.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/12_brigsby_1200-520x347.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Kyle Mooney and Jorge Lendeborg Jr. in ‘Brigsby Bear.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Sony Pictures Classics)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>\u003cem>Brigsby Bear\u003c/em>\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>Kyle Mooney and Dave McCary’s gently touching fable imagines a sheltered young man forced to acclimate to the real world. Resisting the pressure to forget the fictional characters and sci-fi world that his parents created for his benefit, James writes and films a new chapter in the Hallmarkish but never mawkish fantasy — with the help of new friends. Unfamiliar with digital effects, James devises an explosion the old-fashioned (analog?) way, to the shock of his collaborators and (inevitably) the cops. \u003cem>Brigsby Bear\u003c/em> can be interpreted at varying points as a savage dig at the masses who worship the mythology of \u003cem>Star Wars\u003c/em> (Mark Hamill has a small role) or as an affectionate hug to people who bond over alternate universes populated by trustworthy heroes.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817825\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/7_square_1200.jpg\" alt=\"A disrupted dinner scene from 'The Square.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"649\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13817825\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/7_square_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/7_square_1200-160x87.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/7_square_1200-800x433.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/7_square_1200-768x415.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/7_square_1200-1020x552.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/7_square_1200-1180x638.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/7_square_1200-960x519.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/7_square_1200-240x130.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/7_square_1200-375x203.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/7_square_1200-520x281.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A disrupted dinner scene from ‘The Square.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Magnolia Pictures)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>\u003cem>The Square\u003c/em>\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>An art installation provides a framework to consider morality as a social experiment, but it is the questionable behavior toward one another outside of the square that concerns Swedish writer-director Ruben Östlund. The centerpiece of his quietly confrontational film is a black-tie fundraising dinner for the museum at which a bare-chested performer, in the guise of an aggressive primate, puts his artistic integrity above the conventional norms of polite society. Östlund’s integrity is such that he extends the scene, and several others, beyond the point of audience discomfort.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817826\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/1945_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Hermann Sámuel (Iván Angelus) and his son (Marcell Nagy) arrive via train to a small village in Hungary full of secrets in '1945.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"788\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13817826\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/1945_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/1945_1200-160x105.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/1945_1200-800x525.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/1945_1200-768x504.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/1945_1200-1020x670.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/1945_1200-1180x775.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/1945_1200-960x630.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/1945_1200-240x158.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/1945_1200-375x246.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/1945_1200-520x341.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Hermann Sámuel (Iván Angelus) and his son (Marcell Nagy) arrive via train to a small village in Hungary full of secrets in ‘1945.’ \u003ccite>(Lenke Szilagyi / Menemsha Films)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>\u003cem>1945\u003c/em>\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>Two unsmiling men, dressed in black, purposefully step off a train somewhere in the Hungarian countryside shortly after World War II. What is their business? Their beards and long coats suggest they are Jewish; they look like emissaries from the 19th century. To the station master and other bystanders, the father-and-son duo could be exemplars of justice or, worse, avenging angels. With barely a line or two of dialogue, writer-director Ferenc Török introduces a mystery and stimulates acres of tension — grounded in a black, white and gray epoch of history we are aware of. And if we aren’t, we soon will be.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-800x78.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" class=\"aligncenter size-medium wp-image-12127869\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "From a child's beaming face to a teenager's awkward vulnerability to a performance artist's reckless provocations, movies left their mark in these moments.",
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"title": "The Top 7 Movie Moments of 2017 | KQED",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>The last thing the world needs is yet another critic’s list of the 10 Best Movies of 2017. If you need a guide to the worthwhile films you missed (or want to check your taste against the so-called experts), peruse any film publication’s website. (I recommend \u003ca href=\"http://www.bfi.org.uk/features/best-films-2017/\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">\u003cem>Sight & Sound\u003c/em>\u003c/a>).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>My inclination is to instead catalog the moments, the scenes, the bits that stayed with me weeks and months later. Sometimes they stick like annoying songs you hate but can’t get out of your head, so be advised that at least one of my Top 7 is from a movie I disliked. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817816\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/cmbyn_elio_120.jpg\" alt=\"Timothée Chalamet as Elio in 'Call Me By Your Name.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"649\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13817816\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/cmbyn_elio_120.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/cmbyn_elio_120-160x87.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/cmbyn_elio_120-800x433.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/cmbyn_elio_120-768x415.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/cmbyn_elio_120-1020x552.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/cmbyn_elio_120-1180x638.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/cmbyn_elio_120-960x519.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/cmbyn_elio_120-240x130.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/cmbyn_elio_120-375x203.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/cmbyn_elio_120-520x281.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Timothée Chalamet as Elio in ‘Call Me By Your Name.’\u003cbr> \u003ccite>(Photo by Sayombhu Mukdeeprom; Courtesy of Sony Pictures Classics)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>\u003cem>Call Me by Your Name\u003c/em>\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>The passage of the year involved a breathtakingly spoiled yet awkwardly self-conscious teenager, a fresh peach, and, eventually, the lad’s charismatic, self-confident and older male lover. The sequence is photographed and paced to focus and amplify the teenager’s desire, ungainliness, neediness, vulnerability and sensual awakening. If it makes you uncomfortable, the film has succeeded in making you share his experience (or cast you back to your own). Either way, the scene encapsulates the movie. \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/SAp4gJwhNI0'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/SAp4gJwhNI0'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003ch3>\u003cem>Get Out\u003c/em>\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>A portrait of a society that adopts a bizarro-world veneer of normalcy to conceal its loathing and covetousness of black people, Jordan Peele’s horror-comedy gives us white privilege in its ultimate demented distillation. The moment that nails the surreal, disturbing nature of the setting — a large country house where a black man is meeting his white girlfriend’s family — is the zombie-like black groundskeeper running full tilt at the erstwhile hero before veering off into the dusky distance. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817819\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/3-LaVona-Golden-Allison-Janney-and-her-pet-bird-in-I-TONYA-courtesy-of-NEON-and-30WEST_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Allison Janney as LaVona Golden, with her pet bird in 'I, Tonya.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"502\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13817819\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/3-LaVona-Golden-Allison-Janney-and-her-pet-bird-in-I-TONYA-courtesy-of-NEON-and-30WEST_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/3-LaVona-Golden-Allison-Janney-and-her-pet-bird-in-I-TONYA-courtesy-of-NEON-and-30WEST_1200-160x67.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/3-LaVona-Golden-Allison-Janney-and-her-pet-bird-in-I-TONYA-courtesy-of-NEON-and-30WEST_1200-800x335.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/3-LaVona-Golden-Allison-Janney-and-her-pet-bird-in-I-TONYA-courtesy-of-NEON-and-30WEST_1200-768x321.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/3-LaVona-Golden-Allison-Janney-and-her-pet-bird-in-I-TONYA-courtesy-of-NEON-and-30WEST_1200-1020x427.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/3-LaVona-Golden-Allison-Janney-and-her-pet-bird-in-I-TONYA-courtesy-of-NEON-and-30WEST_1200-1180x494.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/3-LaVona-Golden-Allison-Janney-and-her-pet-bird-in-I-TONYA-courtesy-of-NEON-and-30WEST_1200-960x402.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/3-LaVona-Golden-Allison-Janney-and-her-pet-bird-in-I-TONYA-courtesy-of-NEON-and-30WEST_1200-240x100.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/3-LaVona-Golden-Allison-Janney-and-her-pet-bird-in-I-TONYA-courtesy-of-NEON-and-30WEST_1200-375x157.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/3-LaVona-Golden-Allison-Janney-and-her-pet-bird-in-I-TONYA-courtesy-of-NEON-and-30WEST_1200-520x218.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Allison Janney as LaVona Golden, with her pet bird in ‘I, Tonya.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of NEON and 30WEST)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>\u003cem>I, Tonya\u003c/em>\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>Take any of the numerous instances when Margot Robbie’s Tonya Harding sits in her kitchen, looks straight at the camera and explicitly or implicitly dares us to disbelieve her version of the events that made her famous. Let’s be blunt: She’s challenging us to dismiss her as white trash and to withhold our empathy. Alison Janney’s direct addresses to the audience, as Tonya’s heinous mother LaVona, are also embedded in my cerebral cortex.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817822\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/the-florida-project-TFP_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Christopher Rivera, Brooklynn Prince, and Valeria Cotto in 'The Florida Project.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"503\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13817822\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/the-florida-project-TFP_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/the-florida-project-TFP_1200-160x67.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/the-florida-project-TFP_1200-800x335.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/the-florida-project-TFP_1200-768x322.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/the-florida-project-TFP_1200-1020x428.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/the-florida-project-TFP_1200-1180x495.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/the-florida-project-TFP_1200-960x402.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/the-florida-project-TFP_1200-240x101.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/the-florida-project-TFP_1200-375x157.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/the-florida-project-TFP_1200-520x218.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Christopher Rivera, Brooklynn Prince, and Valeria Cotto in ‘The Florida Project.’ \u003ccite>(Photo courtesy of A24)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>\u003cem>The Florida Project\u003c/em>\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>Similarly, the images I keep from Sean Baker’s candy-colored, neo-neorealist mother-daughter saga are of faces: Brooklynn Prince conveys childish enthusiasm and candor along with calculated manipulation as the irrepressible, undisciplined Moonee. Hailey (Bria Vinaite), her desperately amoral mom, is scarcely more mature or capable of hiding her emotions. Like Tonya Harding’s mother, Hailey bulldozes through every drop of audience goodwill by the last reel. Moonee, however, transcends our judgments. She’s a child; she is blameless.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817823\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/12_brigsby_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Kyle Mooney and Jorge Lendeborg Jr. in 'Brigsby Bear.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"800\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13817823\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/12_brigsby_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/12_brigsby_1200-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/12_brigsby_1200-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/12_brigsby_1200-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/12_brigsby_1200-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/12_brigsby_1200-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/12_brigsby_1200-960x640.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/12_brigsby_1200-240x160.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/12_brigsby_1200-375x250.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/12_brigsby_1200-520x347.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Kyle Mooney and Jorge Lendeborg Jr. in ‘Brigsby Bear.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Sony Pictures Classics)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>\u003cem>Brigsby Bear\u003c/em>\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>Kyle Mooney and Dave McCary’s gently touching fable imagines a sheltered young man forced to acclimate to the real world. Resisting the pressure to forget the fictional characters and sci-fi world that his parents created for his benefit, James writes and films a new chapter in the Hallmarkish but never mawkish fantasy — with the help of new friends. Unfamiliar with digital effects, James devises an explosion the old-fashioned (analog?) way, to the shock of his collaborators and (inevitably) the cops. \u003cem>Brigsby Bear\u003c/em> can be interpreted at varying points as a savage dig at the masses who worship the mythology of \u003cem>Star Wars\u003c/em> (Mark Hamill has a small role) or as an affectionate hug to people who bond over alternate universes populated by trustworthy heroes.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817825\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/7_square_1200.jpg\" alt=\"A disrupted dinner scene from 'The Square.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"649\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13817825\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/7_square_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/7_square_1200-160x87.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/7_square_1200-800x433.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/7_square_1200-768x415.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/7_square_1200-1020x552.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/7_square_1200-1180x638.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/7_square_1200-960x519.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/7_square_1200-240x130.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/7_square_1200-375x203.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/7_square_1200-520x281.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">A disrupted dinner scene from ‘The Square.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Magnolia Pictures)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>\u003cem>The Square\u003c/em>\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>An art installation provides a framework to consider morality as a social experiment, but it is the questionable behavior toward one another outside of the square that concerns Swedish writer-director Ruben Östlund. The centerpiece of his quietly confrontational film is a black-tie fundraising dinner for the museum at which a bare-chested performer, in the guise of an aggressive primate, puts his artistic integrity above the conventional norms of polite society. Östlund’s integrity is such that he extends the scene, and several others, beyond the point of audience discomfort.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817826\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/1945_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Hermann Sámuel (Iván Angelus) and his son (Marcell Nagy) arrive via train to a small village in Hungary full of secrets in '1945.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"788\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13817826\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/1945_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/1945_1200-160x105.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/1945_1200-800x525.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/1945_1200-768x504.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/1945_1200-1020x670.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/1945_1200-1180x775.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/1945_1200-960x630.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/1945_1200-240x158.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/1945_1200-375x246.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/1945_1200-520x341.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Hermann Sámuel (Iván Angelus) and his son (Marcell Nagy) arrive via train to a small village in Hungary full of secrets in ‘1945.’ \u003ccite>(Lenke Szilagyi / Menemsha Films)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>\u003cem>1945\u003c/em>\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>Two unsmiling men, dressed in black, purposefully step off a train somewhere in the Hungarian countryside shortly after World War II. What is their business? Their beards and long coats suggest they are Jewish; they look like emissaries from the 19th century. To the station master and other bystanders, the father-and-son duo could be exemplars of justice or, worse, avenging angels. With barely a line or two of dialogue, writer-director Ferenc Török introduces a mystery and stimulates acres of tension — grounded in a black, white and gray epoch of history we are aware of. And if we aren’t, we soon will be.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cp>In these end days of the year and perhaps the country, we might ask, just to while away the time, what we want from our American plays.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s a child’s experiment, really, as there’s no theater imaginable that might save us from the disasters looming before us. Still, we might ask of our American playwrights that they perhaps point out a way, a path to follow that might have escaped our sight, or to paint a sign in the woods that might lead us to a new and secret city on a hill.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Here’s a rare group of American plays that did just that in the Bay Area of 2017, giving us a few gentle hints of where others have gone and where we might run.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>6. The Curran Theater, Taylor Mac’s \u003cem>A 24-Decade History of Popular Music\u003c/em>\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817664\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-13817664 size-medium\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/taylor_mac_act_3-17-e1513570788927-800x450.jpg\" alt=\"Taylor Mac lights up American song in 'A 24-Decade History of Popular Music' at the Curran.\" width=\"800\" height=\"450\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/taylor_mac_act_3-17-e1513570788927-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/taylor_mac_act_3-17-e1513570788927-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/taylor_mac_act_3-17-e1513570788927-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/taylor_mac_act_3-17-e1513570788927.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/taylor_mac_act_3-17-e1513570788927-240x135.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/taylor_mac_act_3-17-e1513570788927-375x211.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/taylor_mac_act_3-17-e1513570788927-520x293.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Taylor Mac lights up American song in ‘A 24-Decade History of Popular Music’ at the Curran. \u003ccite>(Photo courtesy of the company)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>If America were a 24-hour queer slumber party, then it would be something like \u003ca href=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/2016/10/12/how-i-survived-taylor-macs-24-hour-long-musical-history-lesson/\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">Taylor Mac’s \u003cem>A 24-Decade History of Popular Music\u003c/em>\u003c/a> — the country’s history at its most unguarded, wacky, and tragic. Mac is an extravagant realist, daring us to experience in full the songs that have marked the history of the nation for over 240 years. It’s an audacious examination and surrender to all the delights and discontents of the simple pleasures of song. Mac knows what we’ve felt and what we’re feeling, and he yanks it all out onto the open stage for everyone to see — with a razor wit and hard-fought joy.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>5. The Shotgun Players, William Burroughs and Tom Waits’ \u003cem>The Black Rider: The Casting of the Magic Bullets\u003c/em>\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817665\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13817665\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackrider-4896-e1513570964847-800x480.jpg\" alt=\"Peg Leg (Rotimi Agbabiaka) has an offer of some magic bullets in 'The Black Rider' by William Burroughs and Tom Waits.\" width=\"800\" height=\"480\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackrider-4896-e1513570964847-800x480.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackrider-4896-e1513570964847-160x96.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackrider-4896-e1513570964847-768x461.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackrider-4896-e1513570964847-240x144.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackrider-4896-e1513570964847-375x225.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackrider-4896-e1513570964847-520x312.jpg 520w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackrider-4896-e1513570964847.jpg 900w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Peg Leg (Rotimi Agbabiaka) has an offer of some magic bullets in ‘The Black Rider’ by William Burroughs and Tom Waits. \u003ccite>(Photo: Cheshire Isaacs)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Robert Wilson’s production of \u003ca href=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/2017/11/23/shotguns-daring-black-rider-aims-shoots-and-pierces-americas-heart/\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">\u003cem>The Black Rider\u003c/em>\u003c/a> was an international sensation, a lavish valentine to German expressionism, and a lovely artifact of what the lush, extravagant subsidies of European Art House Theater can accomplish. Yet lurking beneath all those Euros was a nasty American attack dog of a play. Director Mark Jackson strips William Burroughs and Tom Waits’ fairy tale of magic bullets down to dime store essentials and subjects us to the logic of a brutal equation — if you love to shoot, you’re aiming to kill. A beautiful and entrancing nightmare for which, unfortunately, there is no antidote. (You can still see the bullets fly in the \u003ca href=\"https://shotgunplayers.org/Online/default.asp\">Shotgun Players\u003c/a>’ production running through Sunday, Jan. 21.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>4. Ubuntu Theater Project, Lisa Ramirez’s \u003cem>To The Bone\u003c/em>\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817666\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13817666\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Tothebone1A-e1513571265910-800x449.jpg\" alt=\"(L to R) Juana (Sarita Ocón) confronts the angelic Carmen (Carla Gallardo) in the Ubuntu Theater Project's production of 'To the Bone' by Lisa Ramirez.\" width=\"800\" height=\"449\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Tothebone1A-e1513571265910-800x449.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Tothebone1A-e1513571265910-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Tothebone1A-e1513571265910-768x431.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Tothebone1A-e1513571265910-1020x573.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Tothebone1A-e1513571265910-1920x1079.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Tothebone1A-e1513571265910-1180x663.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Tothebone1A-e1513571265910-960x539.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Tothebone1A-e1513571265910-240x135.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Tothebone1A-e1513571265910-375x211.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Tothebone1A-e1513571265910-520x292.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">(L to R) Juana (Sarita Ocón) confronts the angelic Carmen (Carla Gallardo) in the Ubuntu Theater Project’s production of ‘To the Bone’ by Lisa Ramirez. \u003ccite>(Photo: Courtesy of the Company)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Lisa Ramirez’s play about a community of immigrant women working in a poultry preparation facility is an off-key bit of terror. Most of the screams are silent, and the victims more likely to simply vanish than to suffer the fate of the slaughterhouse — though that’s a constant threat, too. The play’s politics might be ripped from the headlines, but Ramirez’s characters are startling for their everyday dreams and concerns. This is what happens in America to all those the law refuses to recognize. And \u003ca href=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/2017/04/05/to-the-bone-explores-workers-lives-outside-the-law/\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">the Ubuntu production\u003c/a>, under Michael Maron’s direction, never lets us escape the awful truth that what we’re really watching is a human preparation facility — as if cutting up chickens wasn’t bad enough.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>3. The Wooster Group, \u003cem>The Town Hall Affair\u003c/em> (at the Z Space)\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817668\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13817668\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/TWG_THE-TOWN-HALL-AFFAIR_04_photo-by-Zbigniew-Bzymek_Kate-Valk_IMG_9196-e1513571974674-800x450.jpg\" alt=\"Jill Johnston (Kate Valk) surveys her desk for clues to a wild evening in 'Town Hall Affair' by the Wooster Group.\" width=\"800\" height=\"450\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/TWG_THE-TOWN-HALL-AFFAIR_04_photo-by-Zbigniew-Bzymek_Kate-Valk_IMG_9196-e1513571974674-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/TWG_THE-TOWN-HALL-AFFAIR_04_photo-by-Zbigniew-Bzymek_Kate-Valk_IMG_9196-e1513571974674-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/TWG_THE-TOWN-HALL-AFFAIR_04_photo-by-Zbigniew-Bzymek_Kate-Valk_IMG_9196-e1513571974674-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/TWG_THE-TOWN-HALL-AFFAIR_04_photo-by-Zbigniew-Bzymek_Kate-Valk_IMG_9196-e1513571974674-1020x574.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/TWG_THE-TOWN-HALL-AFFAIR_04_photo-by-Zbigniew-Bzymek_Kate-Valk_IMG_9196-e1513571974674-1920x1080.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/TWG_THE-TOWN-HALL-AFFAIR_04_photo-by-Zbigniew-Bzymek_Kate-Valk_IMG_9196-e1513571974674-1180x664.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/TWG_THE-TOWN-HALL-AFFAIR_04_photo-by-Zbigniew-Bzymek_Kate-Valk_IMG_9196-e1513571974674-960x540.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/TWG_THE-TOWN-HALL-AFFAIR_04_photo-by-Zbigniew-Bzymek_Kate-Valk_IMG_9196-e1513571974674-240x135.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/TWG_THE-TOWN-HALL-AFFAIR_04_photo-by-Zbigniew-Bzymek_Kate-Valk_IMG_9196-e1513571974674-375x211.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/TWG_THE-TOWN-HALL-AFFAIR_04_photo-by-Zbigniew-Bzymek_Kate-Valk_IMG_9196-e1513571974674-520x292.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Jill Johnston (Kate Valk) surveys her desk for clues to a wild evening in ‘Town Hall Affair’ by the Wooster Group. \u003ccite>(Photo: Zbigniew Bzymek)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The Wooster Group often finds plays in the garbage heap of history, and \u003ca href=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/2017/04/11/wooster-group-reimagines-crazed-1971-feminist-debate-with-norman-mailer/\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">\u003cem>The Town Hall Affair\u003c/em>\u003c/a> is as stunning a dumpster dive into the past as you’re likely to get: an acid-tinged recreation of Norman Mailer’s infamous 1971 state-of-the-woman summit, where the pugilist-minded author opined, bullied, and presided over a panel of feminist luminaries to hilarious effect. The sly Germaine Greer and the erudite Diana Trilling are worthy foils to Mailer, but it is \u003cem>Village Voice\u003c/em> columnist and goofball supreme Jill Johnston who steals the show — and our hearts. In her antic tomfoolery, the Woosters discover a lovely dream of a possible future, one we’re only just beginning to glimpse.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>2. California Shakespeare Theater, Marcus Gardley’s \u003cem>Black Odyssey\u003c/em>\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817669\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13817669\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackodyssey4-e1513572353376-800x450.jpg\" alt=\"(Foreground) Ulysses Lincoln (J. Alphose Nicholson) attempts to control a roiling storm as (L to R) Paw Sidin (Aldo Billingslea) causes trouble for Benevolence (Safiya Fredericks) and ticks off Great Grand Daddy (Lamont Thompson) in 'Black Odyssey' by Marcus Gardley.\" width=\"800\" height=\"450\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackodyssey4-e1513572353376-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackodyssey4-e1513572353376-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackodyssey4-e1513572353376-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackodyssey4-e1513572353376-1020x574.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackodyssey4-e1513572353376-1920x1080.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackodyssey4-e1513572353376-1180x664.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackodyssey4-e1513572353376-960x540.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackodyssey4-e1513572353376-240x135.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackodyssey4-e1513572353376-375x211.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackodyssey4-e1513572353376-520x293.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">(Foreground) Ulysses Lincoln (J. Alphose Nicholson) attempts to control a roiling storm as (L to R) Paw Sidin (Aldo Billingslea) causes trouble for Benevolence (Safiya Fredericks) and ticks off Great Grand Daddy (Lamont Thompson) in ‘Black Odyssey’ by Marcus Gardley. \u003ccite>(Photo: Kevin Berne)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Why Shakespeare isn’t a model for American playwrights is a mystery of the field and an odd cultural misstep down the stairs of irrelevance. For now, at least we can marvel at Marcus Gardley’s contemporary twist on the Shakespearian romance, \u003ca href=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/2017/08/16/black-odyssey-evokes-emmett-till-hurricane-katrina-and-homer/\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">\u003cem>Black Odyssey\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, simultaneously a love letter to Oakland, a testament to African-American faith and resilience, and a complex accounting of guilt and innocence. Here is a true epic, where the twists and turns of life keep on revealing what a miracle it is just to hold on and make it through one more day — over 16 long years of struggle. (\u003cem>Black Odyssey\u003c/em> returns to \u003ca href=\"http://www.calshakes.org\">Cal Shakes\u003c/a> for two weeks at the end of next summer.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>1. Marin Theatre Company, Thomas Bradshaw’s \u003cem>Thomas and Sally\u003c/em> \u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817670\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13817670\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/MTC_TandS_Phillips_Pacheco_HiRes-e1513572783555-800x448.jpg\" alt=\"Thomas Jefferson (Mark Anderson Phillips) and Sally Hemings (Tara Pacheco) start with music and then things get more complex in 'Thomas and Sally' by Thomas Bradshaw.\" width=\"800\" height=\"448\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/MTC_TandS_Phillips_Pacheco_HiRes-e1513572783555-800x448.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/MTC_TandS_Phillips_Pacheco_HiRes-e1513572783555-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/MTC_TandS_Phillips_Pacheco_HiRes-e1513572783555-768x430.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/MTC_TandS_Phillips_Pacheco_HiRes-e1513572783555-1020x571.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/MTC_TandS_Phillips_Pacheco_HiRes-e1513572783555-1920x1075.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/MTC_TandS_Phillips_Pacheco_HiRes-e1513572783555-1180x661.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/MTC_TandS_Phillips_Pacheco_HiRes-e1513572783555-960x538.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/MTC_TandS_Phillips_Pacheco_HiRes-e1513572783555-240x134.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/MTC_TandS_Phillips_Pacheco_HiRes-e1513572783555-375x210.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/MTC_TandS_Phillips_Pacheco_HiRes-e1513572783555-520x291.jpg 520w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/MTC_TandS_Phillips_Pacheco_HiRes-e1513572783555.jpg 2048w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Thomas Jefferson (Mark Anderson Phillips) and Sally Hemings (Tara Pacheco) start with music and then things get more complex in ‘Thomas and Sally’ by Thomas Bradshaw. \u003ccite>(Photo: Kevin Berne)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Easily 2017’s most controversial and outrageous play, \u003ca href=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/2017/10/12/thomas-and-sally-thomas-bradshaw-marin-theater-company/\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">\u003cem>Thomas and Sally\u003c/em>\u003c/a> (a Marin Theatre Company world premiere) rushes headlong into the shadows and corners of a newly minted America already tainted by its idiot embrace of slavery. Bradshaw’s depiction of the 44-year old Thomas Jefferson’s love affair with his 15-year old slave Sally Hemings is both a bold, grand romance and a wary take on whether love is even possible under those conditions. With a scientist’s eye for the ugly facts of human nature and a touch of Hitchcock’s \u003cem>Vertigo\u003c/em> (Hemings was the half-sister of Jefferson’s dead wife), Bradshaw’s comic epic imagines that we are all the daughters of the revolution — just not the revolution we thought.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-800x78.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" class=\"aligncenter size-medium wp-image-12127869\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>In these end days of the year and perhaps the country, we might ask, just to while away the time, what we want from our American plays.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s a child’s experiment, really, as there’s no theater imaginable that might save us from the disasters looming before us. Still, we might ask of our American playwrights that they perhaps point out a way, a path to follow that might have escaped our sight, or to paint a sign in the woods that might lead us to a new and secret city on a hill.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Here’s a rare group of American plays that did just that in the Bay Area of 2017, giving us a few gentle hints of where others have gone and where we might run.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>6. The Curran Theater, Taylor Mac’s \u003cem>A 24-Decade History of Popular Music\u003c/em>\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817664\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-13817664 size-medium\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/taylor_mac_act_3-17-e1513570788927-800x450.jpg\" alt=\"Taylor Mac lights up American song in 'A 24-Decade History of Popular Music' at the Curran.\" width=\"800\" height=\"450\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/taylor_mac_act_3-17-e1513570788927-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/taylor_mac_act_3-17-e1513570788927-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/taylor_mac_act_3-17-e1513570788927-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/taylor_mac_act_3-17-e1513570788927.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/taylor_mac_act_3-17-e1513570788927-240x135.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/taylor_mac_act_3-17-e1513570788927-375x211.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/taylor_mac_act_3-17-e1513570788927-520x293.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Taylor Mac lights up American song in ‘A 24-Decade History of Popular Music’ at the Curran. \u003ccite>(Photo courtesy of the company)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>If America were a 24-hour queer slumber party, then it would be something like \u003ca href=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/2016/10/12/how-i-survived-taylor-macs-24-hour-long-musical-history-lesson/\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">Taylor Mac’s \u003cem>A 24-Decade History of Popular Music\u003c/em>\u003c/a> — the country’s history at its most unguarded, wacky, and tragic. Mac is an extravagant realist, daring us to experience in full the songs that have marked the history of the nation for over 240 years. It’s an audacious examination and surrender to all the delights and discontents of the simple pleasures of song. Mac knows what we’ve felt and what we’re feeling, and he yanks it all out onto the open stage for everyone to see — with a razor wit and hard-fought joy.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>5. The Shotgun Players, William Burroughs and Tom Waits’ \u003cem>The Black Rider: The Casting of the Magic Bullets\u003c/em>\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817665\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13817665\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackrider-4896-e1513570964847-800x480.jpg\" alt=\"Peg Leg (Rotimi Agbabiaka) has an offer of some magic bullets in 'The Black Rider' by William Burroughs and Tom Waits.\" width=\"800\" height=\"480\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackrider-4896-e1513570964847-800x480.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackrider-4896-e1513570964847-160x96.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackrider-4896-e1513570964847-768x461.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackrider-4896-e1513570964847-240x144.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackrider-4896-e1513570964847-375x225.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackrider-4896-e1513570964847-520x312.jpg 520w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackrider-4896-e1513570964847.jpg 900w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Peg Leg (Rotimi Agbabiaka) has an offer of some magic bullets in ‘The Black Rider’ by William Burroughs and Tom Waits. \u003ccite>(Photo: Cheshire Isaacs)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Robert Wilson’s production of \u003ca href=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/2017/11/23/shotguns-daring-black-rider-aims-shoots-and-pierces-americas-heart/\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">\u003cem>The Black Rider\u003c/em>\u003c/a> was an international sensation, a lavish valentine to German expressionism, and a lovely artifact of what the lush, extravagant subsidies of European Art House Theater can accomplish. Yet lurking beneath all those Euros was a nasty American attack dog of a play. Director Mark Jackson strips William Burroughs and Tom Waits’ fairy tale of magic bullets down to dime store essentials and subjects us to the logic of a brutal equation — if you love to shoot, you’re aiming to kill. A beautiful and entrancing nightmare for which, unfortunately, there is no antidote. (You can still see the bullets fly in the \u003ca href=\"https://shotgunplayers.org/Online/default.asp\">Shotgun Players\u003c/a>’ production running through Sunday, Jan. 21.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>4. Ubuntu Theater Project, Lisa Ramirez’s \u003cem>To The Bone\u003c/em>\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817666\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13817666\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Tothebone1A-e1513571265910-800x449.jpg\" alt=\"(L to R) Juana (Sarita Ocón) confronts the angelic Carmen (Carla Gallardo) in the Ubuntu Theater Project's production of 'To the Bone' by Lisa Ramirez.\" width=\"800\" height=\"449\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Tothebone1A-e1513571265910-800x449.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Tothebone1A-e1513571265910-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Tothebone1A-e1513571265910-768x431.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Tothebone1A-e1513571265910-1020x573.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Tothebone1A-e1513571265910-1920x1079.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Tothebone1A-e1513571265910-1180x663.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Tothebone1A-e1513571265910-960x539.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Tothebone1A-e1513571265910-240x135.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Tothebone1A-e1513571265910-375x211.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Tothebone1A-e1513571265910-520x292.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">(L to R) Juana (Sarita Ocón) confronts the angelic Carmen (Carla Gallardo) in the Ubuntu Theater Project’s production of ‘To the Bone’ by Lisa Ramirez. \u003ccite>(Photo: Courtesy of the Company)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Lisa Ramirez’s play about a community of immigrant women working in a poultry preparation facility is an off-key bit of terror. Most of the screams are silent, and the victims more likely to simply vanish than to suffer the fate of the slaughterhouse — though that’s a constant threat, too. The play’s politics might be ripped from the headlines, but Ramirez’s characters are startling for their everyday dreams and concerns. This is what happens in America to all those the law refuses to recognize. And \u003ca href=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/2017/04/05/to-the-bone-explores-workers-lives-outside-the-law/\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">the Ubuntu production\u003c/a>, under Michael Maron’s direction, never lets us escape the awful truth that what we’re really watching is a human preparation facility — as if cutting up chickens wasn’t bad enough.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>3. The Wooster Group, \u003cem>The Town Hall Affair\u003c/em> (at the Z Space)\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817668\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13817668\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/TWG_THE-TOWN-HALL-AFFAIR_04_photo-by-Zbigniew-Bzymek_Kate-Valk_IMG_9196-e1513571974674-800x450.jpg\" alt=\"Jill Johnston (Kate Valk) surveys her desk for clues to a wild evening in 'Town Hall Affair' by the Wooster Group.\" width=\"800\" height=\"450\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/TWG_THE-TOWN-HALL-AFFAIR_04_photo-by-Zbigniew-Bzymek_Kate-Valk_IMG_9196-e1513571974674-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/TWG_THE-TOWN-HALL-AFFAIR_04_photo-by-Zbigniew-Bzymek_Kate-Valk_IMG_9196-e1513571974674-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/TWG_THE-TOWN-HALL-AFFAIR_04_photo-by-Zbigniew-Bzymek_Kate-Valk_IMG_9196-e1513571974674-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/TWG_THE-TOWN-HALL-AFFAIR_04_photo-by-Zbigniew-Bzymek_Kate-Valk_IMG_9196-e1513571974674-1020x574.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/TWG_THE-TOWN-HALL-AFFAIR_04_photo-by-Zbigniew-Bzymek_Kate-Valk_IMG_9196-e1513571974674-1920x1080.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/TWG_THE-TOWN-HALL-AFFAIR_04_photo-by-Zbigniew-Bzymek_Kate-Valk_IMG_9196-e1513571974674-1180x664.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/TWG_THE-TOWN-HALL-AFFAIR_04_photo-by-Zbigniew-Bzymek_Kate-Valk_IMG_9196-e1513571974674-960x540.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/TWG_THE-TOWN-HALL-AFFAIR_04_photo-by-Zbigniew-Bzymek_Kate-Valk_IMG_9196-e1513571974674-240x135.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/TWG_THE-TOWN-HALL-AFFAIR_04_photo-by-Zbigniew-Bzymek_Kate-Valk_IMG_9196-e1513571974674-375x211.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/TWG_THE-TOWN-HALL-AFFAIR_04_photo-by-Zbigniew-Bzymek_Kate-Valk_IMG_9196-e1513571974674-520x292.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Jill Johnston (Kate Valk) surveys her desk for clues to a wild evening in ‘Town Hall Affair’ by the Wooster Group. \u003ccite>(Photo: Zbigniew Bzymek)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The Wooster Group often finds plays in the garbage heap of history, and \u003ca href=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/2017/04/11/wooster-group-reimagines-crazed-1971-feminist-debate-with-norman-mailer/\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">\u003cem>The Town Hall Affair\u003c/em>\u003c/a> is as stunning a dumpster dive into the past as you’re likely to get: an acid-tinged recreation of Norman Mailer’s infamous 1971 state-of-the-woman summit, where the pugilist-minded author opined, bullied, and presided over a panel of feminist luminaries to hilarious effect. The sly Germaine Greer and the erudite Diana Trilling are worthy foils to Mailer, but it is \u003cem>Village Voice\u003c/em> columnist and goofball supreme Jill Johnston who steals the show — and our hearts. In her antic tomfoolery, the Woosters discover a lovely dream of a possible future, one we’re only just beginning to glimpse.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>2. California Shakespeare Theater, Marcus Gardley’s \u003cem>Black Odyssey\u003c/em>\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817669\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13817669\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackodyssey4-e1513572353376-800x450.jpg\" alt=\"(Foreground) Ulysses Lincoln (J. Alphose Nicholson) attempts to control a roiling storm as (L to R) Paw Sidin (Aldo Billingslea) causes trouble for Benevolence (Safiya Fredericks) and ticks off Great Grand Daddy (Lamont Thompson) in 'Black Odyssey' by Marcus Gardley.\" width=\"800\" height=\"450\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackodyssey4-e1513572353376-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackodyssey4-e1513572353376-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackodyssey4-e1513572353376-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackodyssey4-e1513572353376-1020x574.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackodyssey4-e1513572353376-1920x1080.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackodyssey4-e1513572353376-1180x664.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackodyssey4-e1513572353376-960x540.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackodyssey4-e1513572353376-240x135.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackodyssey4-e1513572353376-375x211.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/blackodyssey4-e1513572353376-520x293.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">(Foreground) Ulysses Lincoln (J. Alphose Nicholson) attempts to control a roiling storm as (L to R) Paw Sidin (Aldo Billingslea) causes trouble for Benevolence (Safiya Fredericks) and ticks off Great Grand Daddy (Lamont Thompson) in ‘Black Odyssey’ by Marcus Gardley. \u003ccite>(Photo: Kevin Berne)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Why Shakespeare isn’t a model for American playwrights is a mystery of the field and an odd cultural misstep down the stairs of irrelevance. For now, at least we can marvel at Marcus Gardley’s contemporary twist on the Shakespearian romance, \u003ca href=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/2017/08/16/black-odyssey-evokes-emmett-till-hurricane-katrina-and-homer/\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">\u003cem>Black Odyssey\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, simultaneously a love letter to Oakland, a testament to African-American faith and resilience, and a complex accounting of guilt and innocence. Here is a true epic, where the twists and turns of life keep on revealing what a miracle it is just to hold on and make it through one more day — over 16 long years of struggle. (\u003cem>Black Odyssey\u003c/em> returns to \u003ca href=\"http://www.calshakes.org\">Cal Shakes\u003c/a> for two weeks at the end of next summer.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>1. Marin Theatre Company, Thomas Bradshaw’s \u003cem>Thomas and Sally\u003c/em> \u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817670\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13817670\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/MTC_TandS_Phillips_Pacheco_HiRes-e1513572783555-800x448.jpg\" alt=\"Thomas Jefferson (Mark Anderson Phillips) and Sally Hemings (Tara Pacheco) start with music and then things get more complex in 'Thomas and Sally' by Thomas Bradshaw.\" width=\"800\" height=\"448\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/MTC_TandS_Phillips_Pacheco_HiRes-e1513572783555-800x448.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/MTC_TandS_Phillips_Pacheco_HiRes-e1513572783555-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/MTC_TandS_Phillips_Pacheco_HiRes-e1513572783555-768x430.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/MTC_TandS_Phillips_Pacheco_HiRes-e1513572783555-1020x571.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/MTC_TandS_Phillips_Pacheco_HiRes-e1513572783555-1920x1075.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/MTC_TandS_Phillips_Pacheco_HiRes-e1513572783555-1180x661.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/MTC_TandS_Phillips_Pacheco_HiRes-e1513572783555-960x538.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/MTC_TandS_Phillips_Pacheco_HiRes-e1513572783555-240x134.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/MTC_TandS_Phillips_Pacheco_HiRes-e1513572783555-375x210.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/MTC_TandS_Phillips_Pacheco_HiRes-e1513572783555-520x291.jpg 520w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/MTC_TandS_Phillips_Pacheco_HiRes-e1513572783555.jpg 2048w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Thomas Jefferson (Mark Anderson Phillips) and Sally Hemings (Tara Pacheco) start with music and then things get more complex in ‘Thomas and Sally’ by Thomas Bradshaw. \u003ccite>(Photo: Kevin Berne)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Easily 2017’s most controversial and outrageous play, \u003ca href=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/2017/10/12/thomas-and-sally-thomas-bradshaw-marin-theater-company/\" rel=\"noopener\" target=\"_blank\">\u003cem>Thomas and Sally\u003c/em>\u003c/a> (a Marin Theatre Company world premiere) rushes headlong into the shadows and corners of a newly minted America already tainted by its idiot embrace of slavery. Bradshaw’s depiction of the 44-year old Thomas Jefferson’s love affair with his 15-year old slave Sally Hemings is both a bold, grand romance and a wary take on whether love is even possible under those conditions. With a scientist’s eye for the ugly facts of human nature and a touch of Hitchcock’s \u003cem>Vertigo\u003c/em> (Hemings was the half-sister of Jefferson’s dead wife), Bradshaw’s comic epic imagines that we are all the daughters of the revolution — just not the revolution we thought.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"title": "'Call Me By Your Name' Believes in the Power of Utopia",
"headTitle": "‘Call Me By Your Name’ Believes in the Power of Utopia | KQED",
"content": "\u003cp>Luca Guadagnino is an unapologetic hedonist. The Italian director films erotic fever dreams set in exquisite surroundings.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In his 2009 film \u003cem>I Am Love \u003c/em>, Tilda Swinton leaves her husband and their privileged life in Milan for a man half her age. She’s a modern day Emma Bovary who finds sexual and spiritual liberation in a younger lover’s arms. Guadagnino then turned his attention to Ralph Fiennes’ volcanic emotions in 2005’s \u003cem>A Bigger Splash\u003c/em>. On a Mediterranean island, the director orchestrates two love triangles. Fiennes and Dakota Johnson star as the worst houseguests in cinematic history, responsible for a staggering amount of sexual aggression toward their unsuspecting hosts.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The houses, or, more accurately, the estates where these amatory adventures take place provoke feelings of envy and covetousness in the audience. These property owners and their companions dine al fresco, with the help of servants, usually poolside. In his latest film \u003cem>Call Me By Your Name\u003c/em>, Guadagnino continues to focus on opulent imagery — with unrestrained devotion — and on characters who can afford to indulge in pleasures of the flesh.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817262\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13817262\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/LucaII.jpg\" alt=\"Left to right: Timothée Chalamet, director Luca Guadagnino and Armie Hammer.\" width=\"1200\" height=\"800\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/LucaII.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/LucaII-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/LucaII-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/LucaII-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/LucaII-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/LucaII-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/LucaII-960x640.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/LucaII-240x160.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/LucaII-375x250.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/LucaII-520x347.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Left to right: Timothée Chalamet, director Luca Guadagnino and Armie Hammer. \u003ccite>(Photo by Peter Spears; courtesy of Sony Pictures Classics)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>While attending this year’s Napa Valley Film Festival, the director spoke over the phone about this approach to filmmaking, saying, “I believe that the practice of utopia is what we need to be doing constantly in our life.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>You can easily dismiss this belief with a dash of proletarian scorn — the stories are just about rich people with enough leisure time to wallow in anguished love affairs. Or you can watch his movies with unguarded emotions, as utopian fantasies that are suffused with nostalgia.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Seventeen-year-old Elio (Timothée Chalamet) is the subject of \u003cem>Call Me By Your Name\u003c/em>. He lives with his parents outside of a small town in the Italian countryside. And yes, they have a pool. As aspirational fictions, these well-appointed homes are tantalizing yet out of reach for most ordinary mortals. Based on André Aciman’s novel of the same name, the film is a record of Elio’s first explorations with his newly emergent sexuality. When Oliver (Armie Hammer), one of his father’s graduate students, shows up for a summer internship, Elio develops a mad crush.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817263\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 918px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13817263\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Hammer.jpg\" alt=\"Armie Hammer as Oliver in 'Call Me By Your Name.'\" width=\"918\" height=\"612\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Hammer.jpg 918w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Hammer-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Hammer-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Hammer-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Hammer-240x160.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Hammer-375x250.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Hammer-520x347.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 918px) 100vw, 918px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Armie Hammer as Oliver in ‘Call Me By Your Name.’ \u003ccite>(Photo by Sayombhu Mukdeeprom; courtesy of Sony Pictures Classics)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Guadagnino’s camera orbits around Hammer the way the earth revolves around the sun. We see him through a burnished lens. He’s a golden-haired Apollo with tanned, bare legs that are perilously draped. The attraction between Elio and Oliver is mutual but halting and often frustrated.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>According to the director, he wanted to show their courtship from the point of view of someone who is in the midst of his first love. “They try to understand one another, and they’re confused, and Elio’s confused,” Guadagnino says. “It’s more about, as Freud would say, connecting yourself to your desires and what happens in your id.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This idealized, romantic theme can be traced directly back to the films of Merchant Ivory, in which passion triumphs over repression — \u003cem>A Room with a View\u003c/em> (1985) being the supreme example. In that classic Merchant-Ivory film, Lucy Honeychurch (Helena Bonham Carter) resists George Emerson (Julian Sands) until she can’t. You’ll recognize the same gentility in Guadagnino’s movie because James Ivory, \u003cem>Room\u003c/em>‘s director, initially adapted the screenplay for \u003ci>Call Me By Your Name\u003c/i>. He was also hired to direct the film. But by the time it went into production, the budget had shrunk. And, concurrently, Guadagnino’s stock as a director had risen.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817264\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13817264\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Stuhlbarg.jpg\" alt=\"Michael Stulhbarg as Mr. Perlman in 'Call Me By Your Name.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"800\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Stuhlbarg.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Stuhlbarg-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Stuhlbarg-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Stuhlbarg-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Stuhlbarg-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Stuhlbarg-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Stuhlbarg-960x640.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Stuhlbarg-240x160.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Stuhlbarg-375x250.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Stuhlbarg-520x347.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Michael Stulhbarg as Mr. Perlman in ‘Call Me By Your Name.’ \u003ccite>(Photo by Luca Campri; courtesy of Sony Pictures Classics)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>“The script became the outcome of our collaboration,” Guadagnino says. He points to his own influences, more ruminative filmmakers like Jean Renoir (\u003cem>A Day in the Country\u003c/em>), Maurice Pialat (\u003cem>À nos amours\u003c/em>) and Eric Rohmer (\u003cem>Pauline at the Beach\u003c/em>). Despite all its lavish meals and idyllic summer scenery, \u003cem>Call Me By Your Name\u003c/em> offers something psychologically substantial. Elio’s parents accept their son’s homosexuality quietly, without melodramatic reactions.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Guadagnino, along with a strong supporting performance by Michael Stuhlbarg as Elio’s father, provides an alternate vision of what accepting parents can look like. The director says, “I think we have the power of imagining things that can be radically different and what may feel for us is impossible, but eventually is really possible.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Stuhlbarg, who was traveling with him in Napa, added, “If this performance, if this film can salve old wounds for anybody, or if it can present another eye-opening vision of what people might have gone through in their youth, all the better.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>‘Call Me By Your Name’ opens Friday, Dec. 15 at San Francisco’s Landmark Embarcadero and the AMC Kabuki.\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "Director Luca Guadagnino's third film sets a psychologically substantial coming-of-age story in the idyllic Italian countryside. ",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Luca Guadagnino is an unapologetic hedonist. The Italian director films erotic fever dreams set in exquisite surroundings.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In his 2009 film \u003cem>I Am Love \u003c/em>, Tilda Swinton leaves her husband and their privileged life in Milan for a man half her age. She’s a modern day Emma Bovary who finds sexual and spiritual liberation in a younger lover’s arms. Guadagnino then turned his attention to Ralph Fiennes’ volcanic emotions in 2005’s \u003cem>A Bigger Splash\u003c/em>. On a Mediterranean island, the director orchestrates two love triangles. Fiennes and Dakota Johnson star as the worst houseguests in cinematic history, responsible for a staggering amount of sexual aggression toward their unsuspecting hosts.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The houses, or, more accurately, the estates where these amatory adventures take place provoke feelings of envy and covetousness in the audience. These property owners and their companions dine al fresco, with the help of servants, usually poolside. In his latest film \u003cem>Call Me By Your Name\u003c/em>, Guadagnino continues to focus on opulent imagery — with unrestrained devotion — and on characters who can afford to indulge in pleasures of the flesh.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817262\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13817262\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/LucaII.jpg\" alt=\"Left to right: Timothée Chalamet, director Luca Guadagnino and Armie Hammer.\" width=\"1200\" height=\"800\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/LucaII.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/LucaII-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/LucaII-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/LucaII-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/LucaII-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/LucaII-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/LucaII-960x640.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/LucaII-240x160.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/LucaII-375x250.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/LucaII-520x347.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Left to right: Timothée Chalamet, director Luca Guadagnino and Armie Hammer. \u003ccite>(Photo by Peter Spears; courtesy of Sony Pictures Classics)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>While attending this year’s Napa Valley Film Festival, the director spoke over the phone about this approach to filmmaking, saying, “I believe that the practice of utopia is what we need to be doing constantly in our life.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>You can easily dismiss this belief with a dash of proletarian scorn — the stories are just about rich people with enough leisure time to wallow in anguished love affairs. Or you can watch his movies with unguarded emotions, as utopian fantasies that are suffused with nostalgia.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Seventeen-year-old Elio (Timothée Chalamet) is the subject of \u003cem>Call Me By Your Name\u003c/em>. He lives with his parents outside of a small town in the Italian countryside. And yes, they have a pool. As aspirational fictions, these well-appointed homes are tantalizing yet out of reach for most ordinary mortals. Based on André Aciman’s novel of the same name, the film is a record of Elio’s first explorations with his newly emergent sexuality. When Oliver (Armie Hammer), one of his father’s graduate students, shows up for a summer internship, Elio develops a mad crush.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817263\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 918px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13817263\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Hammer.jpg\" alt=\"Armie Hammer as Oliver in 'Call Me By Your Name.'\" width=\"918\" height=\"612\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Hammer.jpg 918w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Hammer-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Hammer-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Hammer-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Hammer-240x160.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Hammer-375x250.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Hammer-520x347.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 918px) 100vw, 918px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Armie Hammer as Oliver in ‘Call Me By Your Name.’ \u003ccite>(Photo by Sayombhu Mukdeeprom; courtesy of Sony Pictures Classics)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Guadagnino’s camera orbits around Hammer the way the earth revolves around the sun. We see him through a burnished lens. He’s a golden-haired Apollo with tanned, bare legs that are perilously draped. The attraction between Elio and Oliver is mutual but halting and often frustrated.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>According to the director, he wanted to show their courtship from the point of view of someone who is in the midst of his first love. “They try to understand one another, and they’re confused, and Elio’s confused,” Guadagnino says. “It’s more about, as Freud would say, connecting yourself to your desires and what happens in your id.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This idealized, romantic theme can be traced directly back to the films of Merchant Ivory, in which passion triumphs over repression — \u003cem>A Room with a View\u003c/em> (1985) being the supreme example. In that classic Merchant-Ivory film, Lucy Honeychurch (Helena Bonham Carter) resists George Emerson (Julian Sands) until she can’t. You’ll recognize the same gentility in Guadagnino’s movie because James Ivory, \u003cem>Room\u003c/em>‘s director, initially adapted the screenplay for \u003ci>Call Me By Your Name\u003c/i>. He was also hired to direct the film. But by the time it went into production, the budget had shrunk. And, concurrently, Guadagnino’s stock as a director had risen.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817264\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-13817264\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Stuhlbarg.jpg\" alt=\"Michael Stulhbarg as Mr. Perlman in 'Call Me By Your Name.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"800\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Stuhlbarg.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Stuhlbarg-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Stuhlbarg-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Stuhlbarg-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Stuhlbarg-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Stuhlbarg-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Stuhlbarg-960x640.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Stuhlbarg-240x160.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Stuhlbarg-375x250.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/Stuhlbarg-520x347.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Michael Stulhbarg as Mr. Perlman in ‘Call Me By Your Name.’ \u003ccite>(Photo by Luca Campri; courtesy of Sony Pictures Classics)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>“The script became the outcome of our collaboration,” Guadagnino says. He points to his own influences, more ruminative filmmakers like Jean Renoir (\u003cem>A Day in the Country\u003c/em>), Maurice Pialat (\u003cem>À nos amours\u003c/em>) and Eric Rohmer (\u003cem>Pauline at the Beach\u003c/em>). Despite all its lavish meals and idyllic summer scenery, \u003cem>Call Me By Your Name\u003c/em> offers something psychologically substantial. Elio’s parents accept their son’s homosexuality quietly, without melodramatic reactions.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Guadagnino, along with a strong supporting performance by Michael Stuhlbarg as Elio’s father, provides an alternate vision of what accepting parents can look like. The director says, “I think we have the power of imagining things that can be radically different and what may feel for us is impossible, but eventually is really possible.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Stuhlbarg, who was traveling with him in Napa, added, “If this performance, if this film can salve old wounds for anybody, or if it can present another eye-opening vision of what people might have gone through in their youth, all the better.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>‘Call Me By Your Name’ opens Friday, Dec. 15 at San Francisco’s Landmark Embarcadero and the AMC Kabuki.\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"slug": "two-sly-inversions-of-the-epic-at-counterpulses-diaspora-2017",
"title": "Two Sly Inversions of the Epic at CounterPulse's 'Diaspora 2017'",
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"content": "\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://counterpulse.org\">CounterPulse\u003c/a>’s residency programs cover a lot of conceptual ground. In 2017, they’ve produced the “edge,” the “combustible,” and now the “diaspora” residencies, where two different artists or groups give us an evening of performance often form-fitted to the company’s Tenderloin space. Despite the thematic overlay, what you get always feels idiosyncratic, human, and alive to a vast variety of experiences.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In many ways the series is a sly and casual inversion of what we’ve come to understand as the epic. There are no superheroes or villains, no cities under threat of alien invasion, no CGI of worlds at war and vast armies. Instead, there’s a simple understanding that to experience the epic, we have to identify with its opposite — the lost traveller (Odysseus), the scared child (Huckleberry Finn), the harried bureaucrat (Joseph K.), anyone who feels the vastness of our everyday world and is at its mercy.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And so \u003cem>Performing Diaspora 2017\u003c/em> offers to great effect two delicate heroes — the son, and specifically the idea of the son, in Javier Stell-Frésquez, Ivan “Ivy” Monteiro, and Davia Spain’s \u003cem>Mother The Verb\u003c/em>, and a lonely witness to atrocity in choreographer Randy Reyes’ \u003cem>Lxs Desaparecidxs\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>‘Mother the Verb\u003c/h2>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817220\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-13817220 size-medium\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP10-e1513068244566-800x450.jpg\" alt=\"Javier Stell-Frésquez searches for his mother in the distance in 'Mother The Verb' at CounterPulse.\" width=\"800\" height=\"450\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP10-e1513068244566-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP10-e1513068244566-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP10-e1513068244566-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP10-e1513068244566-1020x574.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP10-e1513068244566-1920x1080.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP10-e1513068244566-1180x664.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP10-e1513068244566-960x540.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP10-e1513068244566-240x135.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP10-e1513068244566-375x211.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP10-e1513068244566-520x292.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Javier Stell-Frésquez searches for his mother in the distance in ‘Mother The Verb’ at CounterPulse. \u003ccite>(Photo: Courtesy of the Company)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>At first, \u003cem>Mother The Verb\u003c/em> has the feel of a performance art stunt. Stell-Frésquez stands next to a coatrack in the CounterPulse lobby with a sign that says, “Dress Me As My Authentic Self.” Let’s just say he has quite a roving eye for the clothing of random audience members. Escape that trap and you’ll find yourself face-to-face with Monteiro (camped out on the theater’s risers) in a massive wig of wavy black hair and two plastic spray cans taped to his chest, spouting lines seemingly swiped from any number of nightmare mother plays — “I’m done trying to make you comfortable, fit in!”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In an audience discussion afterwards, the performers were vaguely surprised that everyone seemed a little wary during the prologue. They might underestimate the intensity of their personas, the way their commitment to the moment verges on what feels like a brutal psychic break with the world. Nothing that follows would dispel that notion.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The conflict is archetypal: the hectoring mother and the son seeking escape. Stell-Frésquez’s long flowing hair and Monteiro’s nutty wig give them the look of mismatched twins. The first time they approach each other is more than a little disconcerting, and as the piece continues there are times where they are impossible to tell apart. Or, better put, their performances are so tightly bound that it’s easy to lose sight of the one for the other, as they seem to switch roles and flip back again in an instance.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817214\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13817214\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP3-e1513066347983-800x451.jpg\" alt=\"Javier Stell-Frésquez and Ivan “Ivy” Monteiro dance a strange duet in 'Mother The Verb' at CounterPulse.\" width=\"800\" height=\"451\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP3-e1513066347983-800x451.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP3-e1513066347983-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP3-e1513066347983-768x433.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP3-e1513066347983-1020x576.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP3-e1513066347983-1920x1083.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP3-e1513066347983-1180x666.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP3-e1513066347983-960x542.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP3-e1513066347983-240x135.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP3-e1513066347983-375x212.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP3-e1513066347983-520x293.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Javier Stell-Frésquez and Ivan “Ivy” Monteiro dance a strange duet in ‘Mother The Verb’ at CounterPulse. \u003ccite>(Photo: Courtesy of the Company)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Stell-Frésquez is a graceful and fluid dancer. You can feel the joy and precision of ballet in his movements, whereas Monteiro’s body is powerful and earthbound. To see them tied together by a swatch of red cloth as they try to negotiate a series of complex flips and turns is to see two people who can’t quite be free with or without each other. The contrast is shocking in its precision and the failure of their duet a crucial part of the tense beauty on show here.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s as if the dance is dedicated to confounding and succumbing to all the failures of motherhood, both as a debt and an endless source of creative inspiration. So, true to its title, \u003cem>Mother The Verb\u003c/em> is constantly acting out and searching for new ways of being. When Stell-Frésquez lets loose a huge sheet of clear plastic over the stage, the child’s desires and the world suddenly become enormous. And in a touching end, it is that sense of a limitless imagination that proves too much for the mother to survive.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>‘Lxs Desaparecidxs’\u003c/h2>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817212\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP9-e1513065846194-800x440.jpg\" alt=\"(L to R) Dancers Felix (Sol) Linck Frenz, Emilia Martinez Brumbaugh, Jose Abad, Randy Reyes, Stephanie Hewett and Bariel Christian feel the presence of the missing in 'Lxs Desaparecidxs' at CounterPulse.\" width=\"800\" height=\"440\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13817212\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP9-e1513065846194-800x440.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP9-e1513065846194-160x88.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP9-e1513065846194-768x422.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP9-e1513065846194-1020x561.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP9-e1513065846194-1920x1056.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP9-e1513065846194-1180x649.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP9-e1513065846194-960x528.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP9-e1513065846194-240x132.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP9-e1513065846194-375x206.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP9-e1513065846194-520x286.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">(L to R) Dancers Felix (Sol) Linck Frenz, Emilia Martinez Brumbaugh, Jose Abad, Randy Reyes, Stephanie Hewett and Bariel Christian feel the presence of the missing in ‘Lxs Desaparecidxs’ at CounterPulse. \u003ccite>(Photo: Courtesy of the Company)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Lxs Desaparecidxs\u003c/em> really begins before it begins. As we return from the lobby to the theater, the dancers are huddled together off to the side of the risers. At a glance it feels like nothing more than a brief glimpse of a backstage get-together, and yet a more careful appraisal would have caught the religious overtones — bowed heads and an altar — and a sense that something or someone is missing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But you unconsciously forget that as the dancers file onto the stage one after the other. And then they stand there. And then one person falls and gets up. And another. And another. Over and over again.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The opening has all the qualities of an exercise or game, a bit of contact improv, though each dancer does hit the ground with a nice, hollow thud. It’s the type of thud that makes you think a soul has departed; that is, if it weren’t for the way their eyes flutter while on the ground, and the preternatural way they hop back up.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Gradually, falling turns into snuggling, and snuggling turns into strange, precise swipes at one and other. A wrestling match breaks out, and then music, and we’re at a disco. The dancing turns solitary and frenzied, yet you feel the presence of others. And what was a slight feeling — someone’s missing — becomes a conscious idea. You start to think that there’s some invisible force or world shaping every aspect of these people’s lives.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817222\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13817222\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP5-e1513068716177-800x447.jpg\" alt=\"Reyes and his dancers start to strip off their clothes, though they never finish in 'Lxs Desaparecidxs' at CounterPulse.\" width=\"800\" height=\"447\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP5-e1513068716177-800x447.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP5-e1513068716177-160x89.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP5-e1513068716177-768x429.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP5-e1513068716177-1020x569.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP5-e1513068716177-1920x1072.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP5-e1513068716177-1180x659.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP5-e1513068716177-960x536.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP5-e1513068716177-240x134.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP5-e1513068716177-375x209.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP5-e1513068716177-520x290.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Reyes and his dancers start to strip off their clothes, though they never finish in ‘Lxs Desaparecidxs’ at CounterPulse. \u003ccite>(Photo: Courtesy of the Company)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Reyes’ choreography is so fluid that you forget that anything is happening, and yet in the end the question of who is \u003cem>not\u003c/em> there is addressed, at least as it pertains to rituals and why we might have gathered at CounterPulse to begin with. We can at least say that there has been an offering to the unknown world around us, and that someone has kept a keen eye on the world of the missing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-800x78.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" class=\"aligncenter size-medium wp-image-12127869\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Performing Diaspora 2017’ runs through Saturday, Dec. 16 at CounterPulse. For tickets and information \u003ca href=\"http://counterpulse.org\">click here\u003c/a>.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "Two invigorating pieces resonate for those who feel the vastness of our everyday world and are at its mercy.\r\n",
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"title": "Two Sly Inversions of the Epic at CounterPulse's 'Diaspora 2017' | KQED",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://counterpulse.org\">CounterPulse\u003c/a>’s residency programs cover a lot of conceptual ground. In 2017, they’ve produced the “edge,” the “combustible,” and now the “diaspora” residencies, where two different artists or groups give us an evening of performance often form-fitted to the company’s Tenderloin space. Despite the thematic overlay, what you get always feels idiosyncratic, human, and alive to a vast variety of experiences.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In many ways the series is a sly and casual inversion of what we’ve come to understand as the epic. There are no superheroes or villains, no cities under threat of alien invasion, no CGI of worlds at war and vast armies. Instead, there’s a simple understanding that to experience the epic, we have to identify with its opposite — the lost traveller (Odysseus), the scared child (Huckleberry Finn), the harried bureaucrat (Joseph K.), anyone who feels the vastness of our everyday world and is at its mercy.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And so \u003cem>Performing Diaspora 2017\u003c/em> offers to great effect two delicate heroes — the son, and specifically the idea of the son, in Javier Stell-Frésquez, Ivan “Ivy” Monteiro, and Davia Spain’s \u003cem>Mother The Verb\u003c/em>, and a lonely witness to atrocity in choreographer Randy Reyes’ \u003cem>Lxs Desaparecidxs\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>‘Mother the Verb\u003c/h2>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817220\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-13817220 size-medium\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP10-e1513068244566-800x450.jpg\" alt=\"Javier Stell-Frésquez searches for his mother in the distance in 'Mother The Verb' at CounterPulse.\" width=\"800\" height=\"450\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP10-e1513068244566-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP10-e1513068244566-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP10-e1513068244566-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP10-e1513068244566-1020x574.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP10-e1513068244566-1920x1080.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP10-e1513068244566-1180x664.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP10-e1513068244566-960x540.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP10-e1513068244566-240x135.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP10-e1513068244566-375x211.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP10-e1513068244566-520x292.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Javier Stell-Frésquez searches for his mother in the distance in ‘Mother The Verb’ at CounterPulse. \u003ccite>(Photo: Courtesy of the Company)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>At first, \u003cem>Mother The Verb\u003c/em> has the feel of a performance art stunt. Stell-Frésquez stands next to a coatrack in the CounterPulse lobby with a sign that says, “Dress Me As My Authentic Self.” Let’s just say he has quite a roving eye for the clothing of random audience members. Escape that trap and you’ll find yourself face-to-face with Monteiro (camped out on the theater’s risers) in a massive wig of wavy black hair and two plastic spray cans taped to his chest, spouting lines seemingly swiped from any number of nightmare mother plays — “I’m done trying to make you comfortable, fit in!”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In an audience discussion afterwards, the performers were vaguely surprised that everyone seemed a little wary during the prologue. They might underestimate the intensity of their personas, the way their commitment to the moment verges on what feels like a brutal psychic break with the world. Nothing that follows would dispel that notion.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The conflict is archetypal: the hectoring mother and the son seeking escape. Stell-Frésquez’s long flowing hair and Monteiro’s nutty wig give them the look of mismatched twins. The first time they approach each other is more than a little disconcerting, and as the piece continues there are times where they are impossible to tell apart. Or, better put, their performances are so tightly bound that it’s easy to lose sight of the one for the other, as they seem to switch roles and flip back again in an instance.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817214\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13817214\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP3-e1513066347983-800x451.jpg\" alt=\"Javier Stell-Frésquez and Ivan “Ivy” Monteiro dance a strange duet in 'Mother The Verb' at CounterPulse.\" width=\"800\" height=\"451\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP3-e1513066347983-800x451.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP3-e1513066347983-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP3-e1513066347983-768x433.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP3-e1513066347983-1020x576.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP3-e1513066347983-1920x1083.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP3-e1513066347983-1180x666.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP3-e1513066347983-960x542.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP3-e1513066347983-240x135.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP3-e1513066347983-375x212.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP3-e1513066347983-520x293.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Javier Stell-Frésquez and Ivan “Ivy” Monteiro dance a strange duet in ‘Mother The Verb’ at CounterPulse. \u003ccite>(Photo: Courtesy of the Company)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Stell-Frésquez is a graceful and fluid dancer. You can feel the joy and precision of ballet in his movements, whereas Monteiro’s body is powerful and earthbound. To see them tied together by a swatch of red cloth as they try to negotiate a series of complex flips and turns is to see two people who can’t quite be free with or without each other. The contrast is shocking in its precision and the failure of their duet a crucial part of the tense beauty on show here.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s as if the dance is dedicated to confounding and succumbing to all the failures of motherhood, both as a debt and an endless source of creative inspiration. So, true to its title, \u003cem>Mother The Verb\u003c/em> is constantly acting out and searching for new ways of being. When Stell-Frésquez lets loose a huge sheet of clear plastic over the stage, the child’s desires and the world suddenly become enormous. And in a touching end, it is that sense of a limitless imagination that proves too much for the mother to survive.\u003c/p>\n\u003ch2>‘Lxs Desaparecidxs’\u003c/h2>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817212\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP9-e1513065846194-800x440.jpg\" alt=\"(L to R) Dancers Felix (Sol) Linck Frenz, Emilia Martinez Brumbaugh, Jose Abad, Randy Reyes, Stephanie Hewett and Bariel Christian feel the presence of the missing in 'Lxs Desaparecidxs' at CounterPulse.\" width=\"800\" height=\"440\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13817212\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP9-e1513065846194-800x440.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP9-e1513065846194-160x88.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP9-e1513065846194-768x422.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP9-e1513065846194-1020x561.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP9-e1513065846194-1920x1056.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP9-e1513065846194-1180x649.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP9-e1513065846194-960x528.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP9-e1513065846194-240x132.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP9-e1513065846194-375x206.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP9-e1513065846194-520x286.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">(L to R) Dancers Felix (Sol) Linck Frenz, Emilia Martinez Brumbaugh, Jose Abad, Randy Reyes, Stephanie Hewett and Bariel Christian feel the presence of the missing in ‘Lxs Desaparecidxs’ at CounterPulse. \u003ccite>(Photo: Courtesy of the Company)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Lxs Desaparecidxs\u003c/em> really begins before it begins. As we return from the lobby to the theater, the dancers are huddled together off to the side of the risers. At a glance it feels like nothing more than a brief glimpse of a backstage get-together, and yet a more careful appraisal would have caught the religious overtones — bowed heads and an altar — and a sense that something or someone is missing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But you unconsciously forget that as the dancers file onto the stage one after the other. And then they stand there. And then one person falls and gets up. And another. And another. Over and over again.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The opening has all the qualities of an exercise or game, a bit of contact improv, though each dancer does hit the ground with a nice, hollow thud. It’s the type of thud that makes you think a soul has departed; that is, if it weren’t for the way their eyes flutter while on the ground, and the preternatural way they hop back up.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Gradually, falling turns into snuggling, and snuggling turns into strange, precise swipes at one and other. A wrestling match breaks out, and then music, and we’re at a disco. The dancing turns solitary and frenzied, yet you feel the presence of others. And what was a slight feeling — someone’s missing — becomes a conscious idea. You start to think that there’s some invisible force or world shaping every aspect of these people’s lives.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_13817222\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-13817222\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP5-e1513068716177-800x447.jpg\" alt=\"Reyes and his dancers start to strip off their clothes, though they never finish in 'Lxs Desaparecidxs' at CounterPulse.\" width=\"800\" height=\"447\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP5-e1513068716177-800x447.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP5-e1513068716177-160x89.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP5-e1513068716177-768x429.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP5-e1513068716177-1020x569.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP5-e1513068716177-1920x1072.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP5-e1513068716177-1180x659.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP5-e1513068716177-960x536.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP5-e1513068716177-240x134.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP5-e1513068716177-375x209.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2017/12/CP5-e1513068716177-520x290.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Reyes and his dancers start to strip off their clothes, though they never finish in ‘Lxs Desaparecidxs’ at CounterPulse. \u003ccite>(Photo: Courtesy of the Company)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Reyes’ choreography is so fluid that you forget that anything is happening, and yet in the end the question of who is \u003cem>not\u003c/em> there is addressed, at least as it pertains to rituals and why we might have gathered at CounterPulse to begin with. We can at least say that there has been an offering to the unknown world around us, and that someone has kept a keen eye on the world of the missing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-800x78.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" class=\"aligncenter size-medium wp-image-12127869\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Performing Diaspora 2017’ runs through Saturday, Dec. 16 at CounterPulse. For tickets and information \u003ca href=\"http://counterpulse.org\">click here\u003c/a>.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "Rollicking 'Star Wars: The Last Jedi' Introduces Welcome Shades Of (G)Rey",
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"content": "\u003cp>If they are to successfully make the jump to light speed, \u003cem>Star Wars\u003c/em> movies require a precisely calibrated fuel mixture: one-third epic space battles, one-third narrow escapes and duly buckled swashes, one-third hooded beardy dudes standing around looking pained while solemnly intoning the cheesiest hokum about Darkness and Light as if it’s Hamlet’s Yorick speech (which in a way, it is).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Rian Johnson, director and writer of \u003cem>Star Wars: The Last Jedi\u003c/em> (a.k.a. \u003cem>Episode VIII\u003c/em>, a.k.a \u003cem>The One Without Any Big Round Thing That Needs To Get Destroyed By Exploiting A Weakness In Its Design, Thank God\u003c/em>) knows how vital each of those bedrock elements prove, and he’s struck upon precisely the right alchemical formula without making a franchise film that feels formulaic. \u003cem>The Last Jedi\u003c/em> is fun and fast, rollicking and suspenseful. It supplies us with all the things we expect — nay, \u003cem>demand \u003c/em>— in a \u003cem>Star Wars\u003c/em> movie, and manages to surprise us by revealing that this fictional universe, in which we’ve already clocked so many hours, can still surprise us.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>To do so, Johnson supplies two fuel additives to the existing mix. One, he leans into the sly, knowing sense of humor that was present in the original trilogy (“I love you.” “I know.”), but that then got dumbed way, way down in the prequels (“How wuuuude!”) and forcefully reawakened in J.J. Abrams’ \u003cem>Star Wars: The Force Awakens\u003c/em> (“Who talks first? Do you talk first or do I talk first?”).\u003cem> The Last Jedi \u003c/em>is both jokier and funnier (two very different things) than \u003cem>The Force Awakens\u003c/em> — there’s a solid conference call bit in the first reel, for example, and later a very clever throwaway visual gag destined to join \u003cem>Raiders of the Lost Ark\u003c/em>‘s “interrogation device or coat hanger?” sequence, in the admittedly tiny \u003cem>Cinematic Conflations of Torture and Clothing-Care Hall of Fame\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The other thing Johnson introduces is something the various \u003cem>Star Wars\u003c/em> offshoots (novels, games, animated series, etc.) have explored, but that has been assiduously kept out of the main series’ simple, rigorously Manichean, Dark Side vs. Light Side infrastructure: grayscale. There is a welcome attempt, in \u003cem>The Last Jedi\u003c/em>, to depict characters and their motivations in less stark and increasingly nuanced terms. This is both smart and inevitable, for a franchise that’s hung around long enough for its themes and plot-beats to become as pervasive as these have. Yes, sure: Joseph Campbell, monomyth, Good and Evil, blah blah blah. These films \u003cem>do \u003c/em>require a stark, easily apprehensible symbolic underpinning — but they also need to work as \u003cem>films\u003c/em>, and that means having characters whose every choice we won’t see coming, whose behaviors are not dictated by the color of their space-couture. In \u003cem>The Force Awakens\u003c/em>, Adam Driver’s Kylo Ren was evil, but (we were told, repeatedly) conflicted; here, he’s conflicted, but evil — and this time we see and feel him struggle. (When he’s not lashing out at underlings, or elevators — long story — Driver’s Ren is amusingly albeit chillingly understated; he’s your Bad Space Boyfriend, forever space-gaslighting you.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Fine, but what is it \u003cem>about\u003c/em>? I’ll keep things vague, but I can say that the bulk of the film is taken up by what is essentially a slow-speed chase — the tiny Resistance fleet, led by General Leia Organa (the late Carrie Fisher), struggles to outrun the eeeeevil First Order, led by General Hux (Domnhall Gleeson, reveling in sniveling). Along for the ride: Kylo Ren and his master, Supreme Leader Snoke (a CGI creation voiced by Andy Serkis), who turns out to be more given to swanning around the joint in a gold lamé kaftan than we had perhaps been led to expect. This is not a complaint.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Everyone who was around when the Force got so rudely awakened is back, though they promptly get sorted into different plot threads. Poe (Oscar Isaac) proves himself as much a hot-head as a hotshot, this time around. Ex-Stormtrooper Finn (John Boyega) gets paired up with Resistance back-bencher/fangirl Rose (Kelly Marie Tran) on a mission that goes on a wee bit too long but that provides the film with the closest thing it gets to a vaguely political point-of-view — and another opportunity to underscore its emerging theme of moral relativism.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And of course there’s Rey (Daisy Ridley), stuck on a gorgeous, remote, windswept island with Luke Skywalker himself (Mark Hamill), who’s locked into the mode of Gruff Reluctant Mentor. Rey must implore him to teach her the ways of the Force, and he must refuse, until he doesn’t, because even a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, there must have been kung fu movies that taught everyone the rhythm of these things.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s a testament to Johnson and his editor, Bob Ducsay, that a film so loaded with characters and storylines can feel as sleek and propulsive as this one. There’s a moment at about the movie’s midway point when all of its different threads reach a violent turning point. As we jump between them, their disparate events seem to layer atop one another, each cut increasing in pace and intensity until the shattering payoff(s); it’s a mini-master class in storytelling, and the movie’s not near done with us.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Everyone gets a hero moment, a scene that showcases their respective, resplendent badassery, even, especially, Fisher’s Leia — though hers does seem to belong to a wholly different film franchise (you’ll know the one).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Many of the questions raised in \u003cem>The Force Awakes\u003c/em> receive their answers here — some with a very decisive, and surprising, finality. It will likely leave you wondering where the franchise is headed next — and that, in and of itself, in a film series that’s gone on this long, filled with characters who wear black because they are capital-e Evil, is a bracingly positive turn of events that will send you from the theater filled with a new hope. \u003c/p>\n\u003cdiv class=\"fullattribution\">Copyright 2017 NPR. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.\u003cimg decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://www.google-analytics.com/__utm.gif?utmac=UA-5828686-4&utmdt=Rollicking+%27Star+Wars%3A+The+Last+Jedi%27+Introduces+Welcome+Shades+Of+%28G%29Rey&utme=8(APIKey)9(MDAxOTAwOTE4MDEyMTkxMDAzNjczZDljZA004)\">\u003c/div>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>If they are to successfully make the jump to light speed, \u003cem>Star Wars\u003c/em> movies require a precisely calibrated fuel mixture: one-third epic space battles, one-third narrow escapes and duly buckled swashes, one-third hooded beardy dudes standing around looking pained while solemnly intoning the cheesiest hokum about Darkness and Light as if it’s Hamlet’s Yorick speech (which in a way, it is).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Rian Johnson, director and writer of \u003cem>Star Wars: The Last Jedi\u003c/em> (a.k.a. \u003cem>Episode VIII\u003c/em>, a.k.a \u003cem>The One Without Any Big Round Thing That Needs To Get Destroyed By Exploiting A Weakness In Its Design, Thank God\u003c/em>) knows how vital each of those bedrock elements prove, and he’s struck upon precisely the right alchemical formula without making a franchise film that feels formulaic. \u003cem>The Last Jedi\u003c/em> is fun and fast, rollicking and suspenseful. It supplies us with all the things we expect — nay, \u003cem>demand \u003c/em>— in a \u003cem>Star Wars\u003c/em> movie, and manages to surprise us by revealing that this fictional universe, in which we’ve already clocked so many hours, can still surprise us.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>To do so, Johnson supplies two fuel additives to the existing mix. One, he leans into the sly, knowing sense of humor that was present in the original trilogy (“I love you.” “I know.”), but that then got dumbed way, way down in the prequels (“How wuuuude!”) and forcefully reawakened in J.J. Abrams’ \u003cem>Star Wars: The Force Awakens\u003c/em> (“Who talks first? Do you talk first or do I talk first?”).\u003cem> The Last Jedi \u003c/em>is both jokier and funnier (two very different things) than \u003cem>The Force Awakens\u003c/em> — there’s a solid conference call bit in the first reel, for example, and later a very clever throwaway visual gag destined to join \u003cem>Raiders of the Lost Ark\u003c/em>‘s “interrogation device or coat hanger?” sequence, in the admittedly tiny \u003cem>Cinematic Conflations of Torture and Clothing-Care Hall of Fame\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The other thing Johnson introduces is something the various \u003cem>Star Wars\u003c/em> offshoots (novels, games, animated series, etc.) have explored, but that has been assiduously kept out of the main series’ simple, rigorously Manichean, Dark Side vs. Light Side infrastructure: grayscale. There is a welcome attempt, in \u003cem>The Last Jedi\u003c/em>, to depict characters and their motivations in less stark and increasingly nuanced terms. This is both smart and inevitable, for a franchise that’s hung around long enough for its themes and plot-beats to become as pervasive as these have. Yes, sure: Joseph Campbell, monomyth, Good and Evil, blah blah blah. These films \u003cem>do \u003c/em>require a stark, easily apprehensible symbolic underpinning — but they also need to work as \u003cem>films\u003c/em>, and that means having characters whose every choice we won’t see coming, whose behaviors are not dictated by the color of their space-couture. In \u003cem>The Force Awakens\u003c/em>, Adam Driver’s Kylo Ren was evil, but (we were told, repeatedly) conflicted; here, he’s conflicted, but evil — and this time we see and feel him struggle. (When he’s not lashing out at underlings, or elevators — long story — Driver’s Ren is amusingly albeit chillingly understated; he’s your Bad Space Boyfriend, forever space-gaslighting you.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Fine, but what is it \u003cem>about\u003c/em>? I’ll keep things vague, but I can say that the bulk of the film is taken up by what is essentially a slow-speed chase — the tiny Resistance fleet, led by General Leia Organa (the late Carrie Fisher), struggles to outrun the eeeeevil First Order, led by General Hux (Domnhall Gleeson, reveling in sniveling). Along for the ride: Kylo Ren and his master, Supreme Leader Snoke (a CGI creation voiced by Andy Serkis), who turns out to be more given to swanning around the joint in a gold lamé kaftan than we had perhaps been led to expect. This is not a complaint.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Everyone who was around when the Force got so rudely awakened is back, though they promptly get sorted into different plot threads. Poe (Oscar Isaac) proves himself as much a hot-head as a hotshot, this time around. Ex-Stormtrooper Finn (John Boyega) gets paired up with Resistance back-bencher/fangirl Rose (Kelly Marie Tran) on a mission that goes on a wee bit too long but that provides the film with the closest thing it gets to a vaguely political point-of-view — and another opportunity to underscore its emerging theme of moral relativism.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And of course there’s Rey (Daisy Ridley), stuck on a gorgeous, remote, windswept island with Luke Skywalker himself (Mark Hamill), who’s locked into the mode of Gruff Reluctant Mentor. Rey must implore him to teach her the ways of the Force, and he must refuse, until he doesn’t, because even a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, there must have been kung fu movies that taught everyone the rhythm of these things.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s a testament to Johnson and his editor, Bob Ducsay, that a film so loaded with characters and storylines can feel as sleek and propulsive as this one. There’s a moment at about the movie’s midway point when all of its different threads reach a violent turning point. As we jump between them, their disparate events seem to layer atop one another, each cut increasing in pace and intensity until the shattering payoff(s); it’s a mini-master class in storytelling, and the movie’s not near done with us.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Everyone gets a hero moment, a scene that showcases their respective, resplendent badassery, even, especially, Fisher’s Leia — though hers does seem to belong to a wholly different film franchise (you’ll know the one).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Many of the questions raised in \u003cem>The Force Awakes\u003c/em> receive their answers here — some with a very decisive, and surprising, finality. It will likely leave you wondering where the franchise is headed next — and that, in and of itself, in a film series that’s gone on this long, filled with characters who wear black because they are capital-e Evil, is a bracingly positive turn of events that will send you from the theater filled with a new hope. \u003c/p>\n\u003cdiv class=\"fullattribution\">Copyright 2017 NPR. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.\u003cimg decoding=\"async\" src=\"https://www.google-analytics.com/__utm.gif?utmac=UA-5828686-4&utmdt=Rollicking+%27Star+Wars%3A+The+Last+Jedi%27+Introduces+Welcome+Shades+Of+%28G%29Rey&utme=8(APIKey)9(MDAxOTAwOTE4MDEyMTkxMDAzNjczZDljZA004)\">\u003c/div>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"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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"tagline": "Art is where you find it",
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"soldout": {
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