The blogosphere might be very useful as propaganda or as therapy. But it’s not journalism.
Cinema reviewing exists as a respected profession only as long as the traditional role of the critic is honored.
An appreciation of a footbridge that intertwines nature with our humanity.
It gradually became clear to me by the mid-’80s that Alan Parker films were, more than those of any other filmmaker, an integral part of my identity as a film lover.
The final, ineluctable quality that Ornette Coleman brought to the table was that he had an individual “voice,” which is the sine qua non and preeminent ethos in jazz.
Feisty, funny, frightening when necessary, Boston’s Frank Gallop classed-up the airwaves.
Taking action on even a modest number of these suggestions will undoubtedly shake up the current puerility of much of American theater criticism.
Our opera-loving reviewer contrasts his own pieces, written 48 years apart, on the same Offenbach operetta.
What lies beyond COVID-19 for the arts community?
Now that the real live boy is an old man, how’s he holding up in 2020?