Gabriel García Márquez, the Colombian novelist and Nobel Prize winner, died Thursday in Mexico City, his publisher confirms. A forefather of magical realism, Márquez was best known for his seminal 1967 novel One Hundred Years of Solitude, which sold over 20 million copies and inspired countless undergraduate semesters abroad. Márquez was diagnosed with lymphatic cancer in 1999, and spent most of his later years writing memoirs; his Random House editor told the New York Times that Márquez was working on a novel at the time of his death but seemed “disinclined” to publish it. ("He told me, ‘This far along I don’t need to publish more.’”) Márquez was 87.
New York Times theater critic Ben Brantley was not the biggest fan of the latest stage incarnation of John Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men, which stars James Franco and Chris O'Dowd. (Vulture's theater critic Jesse Green, on the other hand, was.) And James Franco is not a fan of New York Times theater critic Ben Brantley, calling him a "little bitch" and suggesting an alternate job in an Instagram post that was later edited to remove the insult. Here is a screenshot of the orginal:
Just three months after its publication in book form in February 1937, Of Mice and Men was staged in San Francisco. This was unusual but not unauthorized: Steinbeck had deliberately written the tale, which he called “a kind of playable novel,” in dialogue that could be enacted “as it stands.” He was right: It stood then and it stands up now, as the new Broadway production starring James Franco and Chris O’Dowd as the odd-couple bindlestiffs proves.
Douglas Coupland built a reputation as an author-futurist nonpareil with his first novel, Generation X: occasionally glib or fuzzy but often prescient, never dull, and certainly never idle. Today the former art student spends more time on visual work, including large public projects all over Canada and his own line of furniture. Currently preparing for his first big solo survey in his native Vancouver — where he lives in wooded mid-century splendor with his architect partner and acres of Pop Art — Coupland also happens to have a novel out. Worst. Person. Ever. follows the bizarre exploits of a nasty cameraman named Raymond Gunt. Sent to Kiribati to film an awful reality show, this evil amalgam of Larry David and Mr. Bean endures misfortunes hilarious, disgusting, and well-deserved. Coupland spoke by phone about that, the “torture” of interviews, and much more with Boris Kachka.
The Museum of Modern Art’s sprawling extravagant “Alibis: Sigmar Polke 1963–2010” is really good. How could it not be, with more than 260 works by a great artist on hand? When Polke died at 69 in 2010, John Baldessari observed that “Any one [Polke] move can provide a career for a lesser artist.” The Whitney curator Chrissie Iles said, "I don’t like using terms like ‘master,’ but Polke is a master; he knows it, and we know it." I think of him as a Rosetta Stone for young artists, one whose material glee, anarchic inventiveness, and hallucinogenic Blakean imagination puts him in the same influential postwar class with Pollock, Johns, Rauschenberg, Warhol, and his old friend and nemesis Gerhard Richter. He created his own ravishingly visual, impish blends of Pop, Conceptualism, Neo-Dada, Fluxus, Constructivism, and Process Art, all replete with philosophical heft, social bite, and an extraordinary combination of chaos and control.
If you want a vivid example of how a director can shape (or reshape) a play, compare the author’s description of the set for The Library with what actually appears on the Public Theater’s Newman stage. In his script, Scott Z. Burns details the scene of a Columbine-like massacre with (among other naturalistic indicators) backpacks, bookshelves, books scattered everywhere, a charred sofa, fallen chairs, and bloodstains on the carpet. But what the director Steven Soderbergh (working with the designer Riccardo Hernandez) gives us instead is the antiseptic inside of a white lacquer box. It looks like the meditation room of a moon colony, with almost no props, let alone those bloodstains. Which is apt, I suppose; The Library is the chicest high-school mass-murder drama yet.
Donna Tartt’s much anticipated and then much acclaimed novel The Goldfinch has won the 2014 Pulitzer Prize for fiction. Annie Baker's The Flick won the drama prize, Alan Taylor's The Internal Enemy: Slavery and War in Virginia, 1772-1832 won the history prize, Megan Marshall's Margaret Fuller: A New American Life won the biography/autobiography prize, Vijay Seshadr's 3 Sections won the poetry prize, Don Fagin's Toms River: A Story of Science and Salvation won the general nonfiction prize, and John Luther Adams's Become Ocean the music prize.
You will undoubtedly hear that what Audra McDonald is doing as Billie Holiday in Lady Day at Emerson’s Bar & Grill is not an impersonation. It is, though. However much more it eventually becomes, it starts with capturing that eccentric, heartbreaking voice — and the capture is uncanny. Right from the first syllables of “I Wonder Where Our Love Has Gone,” which opens the show, McDonald nails the pinched tone, side-mouth delivery, and precipitous register leaps of Holiday in her heyday. Consonants are negotiable: “love” is more like “luhw.” Final vowels become dramatic opportunities: “Hear my plea-uh and hurry home to me-uh!” Pitch is obscure or even absent; some notes sound fried in place yet remain part of the melody. McDonald’s Holiday doesn’t so much sing as play her voice, like a saxophone, with perfect confidence in (or indifference to) its expressive powers.
Two years ago, choreographer and New York City Ballet dancer Justin Peck needed someone to write the score for a new project and asked Sufjan Stevens — a musician with a penchant for flourescent stagewear, Hula-Hoops, and songs about Illinois. That collaboration resulted in Year of the Rabbit, showcasing the refreshingly youthful, inventive choreography that made Peck a wunderkind of the ballet world (and you can get a close-up look at his work process in Ballet 422, a highly anticipated documentary by Jody Lee Lipes debuting at the Tribeca Film Festival), with a rollicking all-string score by Stevens that was surprisingly well matched. Now they’ve put together a new piece, Everywhere We Go, which premieres May 8 at City Ballet, and it's an even more ambitious task for Stevens: a nine-movement orchestral score. For a sneak peek at both the dance and music, Lipes directed this short film, featuring principal dancers Tiler Peck, Teresa Reichlen, and Amar Ramasar.
Whatever musical comedy is, there hasn’t been much of it this season. We’ve seen plenty of musical drama, sure. A few revues and bio-jukeboxes. Even, God help us, a rock-star rabbi. But of the four new shows that could possibly be considered heirs to the once dominant Broadway category, one feels more like an operetta (A Gentleman’s Guide to Love and Murder), one’s a Disney retread (Aladdin), and one (First Date) was basically a skit and died. That leaves only Bullets Over Broadway — Woody Allen’s stage adaptation of his charming 1994 movie, with Susan Stroman directing and choreographing — to hoist the pinstripes-and-marabou flag above midtown. Unfortunately, as musical comedy goes, it’s neither.
If Marin Mazzie were to play herself in a hack Broadway show, she’d be the plucky, hardworking stage veteran finally landing the role of a lifetime at 53. But Woody Allen, whose Bullets Over Broadway—about a delusionally bad playwright and his mobster producer—is being remade as a Broadway musical, probably wouldn’t get many gags out of that. And if he could, Mazzie wouldn’t get a chance at her own star turn as the show’s relentlessly actressy Helen Sinclair, a character made famous by Dianne Wiest and her overwrought directive “Don’t speak!”
Shows opening late in the Broadway season tend to do better at the Tony awards—which is one big reason so many now make their debuts in April. Here, experts break down the odds.
Best Musical and Best Revival of a Musical
The most commercially valuable award—Best Musical—is a real contest. Bullets Over Broadway and the already opened The Bridges of Madison County, After Midnight, A Gentleman’s Guide to Love and Murder, and If/Then are all competing for the four (or occasionally five) slots; Beautiful and Rocky, too, despite uneven reviews. But Violet and Hedwig and the Angry Inch, both of which have had substantial Off Broadway runs, are wild cards. If they are ruled eligible in the new-musicals category, either could knock one of the weaker titles off the list. If they’re revivals, they’ll be front-runners in a sparse category. As for who’ll win Best Musical, it’s still early, but Bullets is the kind of feel-good show voters like, and its buzz is good, apart from the Dylan Farrow factor.
Michael Cera, Kieran Culkin, and Tavi Gevinson will be making their Broadway debuts later this year in Kenneth Lonergan's 1996 play This Is Our Youth, the Chicago Tribune reports. The production will open at Chicago's Steppenwolf Upstairs Theater in June and move to New York in August. The show, set in 1982, follows three characters over the course of two nights: Cera will play Warren, the maladjusted 19-year-old who just stole $15,000 from his lingerie-magnate father; Culkin will play Dennis, the small-time drug dealer; and Gevinson, in her first stage role, will play Jessica, an antsy fashion student. Cera and Culkin were in an Australian production of the show in 2012, and Gevinson played an antsy high-school student in Enough Said, so everyone seems to be on familiar footing. Watch out, Regan-era hopelessness!
When I look at the paintings of George W. Bush, it’s like seeing an incubus on America, as freakish and off-putting as his presidency was. Yet the art critic in me has to grant that if I stumbled on three or four of Bush's paintings in a flea market by an anonymous artist, I'd snap them right up. The first batch of his paintings we saw, in 2012, were of landscapes, churches, Bush himself in the bathtub, and other scenes, and I liked them for their sheer weird obliviousness, their zonked-out earnest attempts at figuration, the odd feel for form and space, light, color, and softly contoured edges. If I didn't know they were by Bush, I'd imagine they were made by a diligent high-school senior, maybe a beauty queen perfecting her talent, maybe a mischievous frat boy spying on his father, possibly an onanist. I liked these amateurish paintings for their perverted pictorial twists and psycho subject matter. Now Bush is having his first-ever solo exhibition of 30 of his new oil paintings, most of which are portraits of world leaders. It’s at his presidential library, with the bogus title "The Art of Leadership: A President's Personal Diplomacy," and we are all considering Bush As Artist once again.
Rob Lowe’s second memoir, Love Life, is more notable for what isn’t there than what is. For instance, there’s no mention in the just-published book of the infamous sex tape he filmed with an underage teen, the nanny lawsuits, or if he ever got anything in return for sending a nude photo of himself wrapped in a toy snake to Andy Warhol. What Rob Lowe, now 50, does want you to know, however, is that he’s older and wiser and loves his family — especially his wife, Sheryl — very, very much. At times, he seems a little bit like his character Chris Traeger from Parks and Recreation: buoyantly optimistic with a belief that hard work and dedication are the ultimate determinants for success. Still, there are plenty of anecdotes from the 259-page memoir that Lowe fans will enjoy, including why he turned down Grey's Anatomy and behind-the-scenes tales from the set of the short-lived Lyons Den.
In her 1980 book A View From a Broad (re-released last week), Bette Midler wrote what she hoped would be the last word on playing the Continental Baths, the infamous gay bathhouse where she got her New York beginnings: "I did not perform in the middle of a steam room, but in the poolside cafe next to the steam room ... And by the way, I never laid my eyes on a single penis, even though I was looking really hard." That being said, then, the Divine Miss M has a lot more to say about the less-explored early parts of her career, which she shared with Vulture during a recent conversation.
Michelle Williams gasps: “I haven’t seen a bus with Cabaret on it, and we just drove past one,” she says from her car. “There’s no face on the bus, thank God. Oh, look—there’s a Jersey Boys bus. There’s a Newsies bus! I never noticed all these musical buses!” She’s headed to rehearsal for her Broadway debut as Sally Bowles (opening April 24), and this MTA moment is one of many novel ones she’s had lately. “Every time I rehearse, there’s a tiny bubble of a breakthrough,” she says. “And now those are happening in front of people.” She emits a nervous laugh. In her first previews, she says, she’s realized “how many things you can be thinking while you’re performing: There’s a thousand people out there … Oh, I really need to tack this slip to the dress, ’cause it’s getting stuck when I lift this … Didn’t really land that as well as I did the last time. And you’re singing and you’re dancing at the same time!”
Is Will Eno the absurdist Neil Simon? The 49-year-old playwright, a Pulitzer finalist in 2005 for Thom Pain (based on nothing), certainly has a gift for metaphysical one-liners, especially paraprosdokians, those jack-in-the-box epigrams that seem to lead one way before feinting another. Alas, in his first Broadway outing, it’s a gift he keeps giving till it hurts: The Realistic Joneses is a four-character play in which everyone talks like the deadpan comic Steven Wright.
For the latest edition of "Life in Pictures," photographer Tim Hailand followed 76-year-old romance novelist Jackie Collins for seven hours in Beverly Hills (during which she wore four different blazers). Click through the gallery ahead for a day filled with drugstore splurges, gossipy lunches, and shirtless men.
It's called The Buried Giant, and plot details are scarce (it's "something of a departure," says Knopf — illuminating). But anyway, Kazuo Ishiguro's first novel since 2005's Never Let Me Go will be published in spring 2015. Don't forget how to read before then.