“Hasson is a 49 year-old white man, therefore he was probably “economically insecure,” intimidated by globalization and unsure how to approach women in the aftermath of the #MeToo movement. The world has browned before his very eyes. If only Democrats could figure out a better narrative, a more approachable way to speak to voters like Hasson, well then maybe we could all live more peacefully.
It’s not an important story. Hasson was stopped before he hurt anyone, right? It would be journalistic malpractice if the case were used to foster a real public discussion about systemic racism, the proliferation of easy weapons within our borders and the violence-inciting rhetoric vomited up by the President of the United States on the hour. Make it go away and focus on the GAY BLACK MAN guilty of fraud and manipulation. An easy target made that much richer by his own shameful behavior.
Time has found a weird way of speeding up in the Trump era. The calumny and disgrace comes at us in chunks of corrosion so quickly and damaging to our country and culture, we can hardly keep up. A week of rapid-fire scandal feels like a lifetime. And in short order, we’ll forget about Jussie Smollett as we should. His story is not part of a larger epidemic. It’s the one-off curiosity of a selfish, lying fame seeker.
Hasson’s story however, is bigger than one white man larded up with weapons and self-righteous anger. His arrest marks the fifth domestic terrorist plot interrupted during the Trump administration. Two years, five Caucasian male ISIS and Nazi sympathizers empowered by the Racist-in-Chief. That should be the headline.”
“Some of these themes are timeless, such as the tensions between father and son, and the experience of growing up black and gay in a red state, as Marty does. That said, the action takes place in 1960s Alabama, and so the Civil Rights Movement is a de facto character, shaping the musical present and futures of Marty and his gospel star father, Joe. At varying intervals, both characters are slapped with “Uncle Tom” labels by their community, in direct correlation with the growth of their financial prospects. Then as now, racial tensions and economics are interconnected.
Although the story is ostensibly Marty’s (and other idealistic, disillusioned, queer black men of the era for whom Marty speaks), it is Joe Roy’s voice we hear first. Given life by actor and Poi Dog Pondering band member Robert Cornelius, what a voice is it. The show opens with Joe’s barn burning, blues gospel number “That’s Why…” which is an instant classic.
In case you’re wondering what comes after the ellipses, the full chorus of the song is “That’s Why…He’s Jesus and You’re Not, Whitey.” The amazing soundtrack bursts with rich tunes that break the mold of traditional spirituals. They are infused with anger, pain, irreverence, passion, truth and hope. Irrespective of one’s relationship with the Holy Ghost, audience members will be summoned from their chairs and moved to their feet.”
“This week, Chicago’s Raven Theatre continued its 2018-2019 season with a revival of Vogel’s seminal work. A cross-functional discomfort with the painful, once socially taboo issues that the 21st Century #MeToo movement has dragged from the shadows appears to have undermined the laudable artistic effort.
Helmed by Raven Theatre’s Artistic Director Cody Estle, nearly every performer onstage during the production, except for actress Kathryn Acosta (Female Greek Chorus), looks like they’d rather be somewhere else. At all times. While this makes sense for the haunted, broken and threatening character of Uncle Peck (played with admirable complexity by Rivendell Theatre Ensemble member Mark Ulrich), the lack of emotional commitment doesn’t work for the rest of the cast. It’s hard to determine if Mr. Estle directed the artistic conflict or if it is the organic result of too much creative self-awareness. In either case, the ambivalence spills onto the audience in Raven’s 99-seat East Stage theatre.
I wasn’t expecting standup comedy from lead actress Eliza Stoughton, who inhabits the character of L’il Bit. She is asked to translate and communicate the 1960s rural experience of a girl born into a family with an absent father, and assigned a nickname that’s a euphemism for female genitalia. The compulsion to strip any hint of humor from that starkly depressing origin story must be strong. But it’s not what Ms. Vogel intended.”
“Henrik Ibsen’s 1879 play, A Doll’s House, was a prescient work ahead of its time. Nora’s abandonment of her husband Torvald and their family at the conclusion of Ibsen’s infamous script left a number of open questions that linger into 2019. Into this void steps playwright Lucas Hnath and the renowned Steppenwolf Theatre with the Chicago premiere ofA Doll’s House, Part 2. (The 2017 Broadway production received raves by critics. Its leading lady and Steppenwolf member, Laurie Metcalf, won a Tony Award for her performance.)
So whatever became of the Helmer children? Did Torval learn anything from Nora’s departure or did he simply remarry and move on with his life? And most urgently, what did Nora do to sustain herself after she fled? Was she happy, fulfilled, or did she come to regret her choices? Ibsen’s vibrant, bold work is heavy on intrigue, light on closure.
A Doll’s House, Part 2 presents a vision of the Hellmer family’s fourth act that dares to imagine Nora as a Jackie Collins or Danielle Steele for the 19th century, successful, wealthy and most of all, unrepentant. She may be writing under a pseudonym but Nora is definitely not hiding. She is signing contracts, taking lovers and purchasing property like the empowered, now-single woman she believes herself to be.”
“Look, it was more than bad enough that Northam had to apologize for the existence of racist medical school yearbook photos. The Trump era is opening up a whole new world of fantastically ignorant possibility. Henceforth I feel compelled to add a new question to the list of those posed to doctors treating me for any serious condition. How long have you been in practice? What’s your success record? And also, have you ever donned a KKK robe?
Then the nation awoke this morning to find Northam attempting a death defying and foolhardy backpedal so ill-advised, reading stories about it in order to inform this column was a physically painful exercise. In short, the governor’s new defense amounts to this: it can’t be me in those racist yearbook photos. I was too busy practicing my Michael Jackson blackface. Rather than absolving Northam, this shaky on the best day alibi only raises more questions about Virginia’s Chief Executive and his judgment. From the governor’s own statement:
‘My belief that I did not wear that costume or attend that party stems in part from my clear memory of other mistakes that I made in the same period of my life…That same year, I did participate in a dance contest in San Antonio in which I darkened my face as part of a Michael Jackson costume.’
Then – and I swear, you can’t make this stuff up – Northam actually mentioned that he’d spoken to his black friend ‘Seth’ about his mistakes and learned why his actions were so hurtful. Seth, if you’re listening, this is not your emotional labor to bear. The guy has an M.D. attached to his name. He should be able to figure out that Michael Jackson cosplay is not for him. On his fall from the tree of respectability, humanity and common sense, Ralph Northam hit every single white stereotype branch.”