Yesterday I was fortunate enough to catch the National Theatre’s 50th Anniversary production at a cinema.
The production was awesome. It was like a sampler of plays. 464 more words
Last week, the most unusual pop album ever was released. That’s an incredible overstatement, literally unbelievable, because who has listened to all those truly out-there albums and how could you possibly contrast and compare them anyway? 482 more words
Betrayal is a perfect work of art and probably the greatest play not written by Shakespeare. Harold Pinter has a total mastery over his language, distilling it in a way that even surpasses Beckett—every word, every moment is essential, and the cumulative effect of his silences and terse sentences is shattering.
Tried in my halting French to outline my views on A Murder is Announced to my fellow conversationalists. “Ah”, said Carol (reverting to English,which we all do when our French vocab can’t keep up with what we want to say), “But you’re a Tom Stoppard fan aren’t you? 59 more words