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PUNCH TO THE GUT: A CYMBELINE FOR OUR TIME

The pure and passionate love between Princess Imogen (Jennifer Lim) and Posthumus Leonatus (KK Moggie) is challenged in NAATCO’s Cymbeline (photo by Julieta Cervantes)

CYMBELINE
Lynn F. Angelson Theater
136 East Thirteenth St. between Third & Fourth Aves.
Tuesday – Sunday through February 15, $25-$55
https://www.naatco.org

“Context is everything,” according to a phrase attributed to twentieth-century sociologist Alvin Ward Gouldner, author of such books as The Coming Crisis of Western Sociology and Against Fragmentation: The Origins of Marxism and the Sociology of Intellectuals.

That expression was on my mind as I watched the National Asian American Theatre Co.’s (NAATCO) splendid production of William Shakespeare’s Cymbeline, running at the Lynn F. Angelson Theater through February 15.

When I saw Heidi Schreck’s What the Constitution Means to Me at New York Theatre Workshop in 2018, it was the day that the Judiciary Committee had voted to advance the nomination of Brett Kavanaugh for Supreme Court Justice to the Senate floor. The air was thick with that event, which Schreck shrewdly noted without getting specific, but the entertaining show soon had the audience laughing.

I saw Cymbeline the day I learned that President Donald J. Trump had signed an executive order declaring, “It is the policy of the United States to recognize two sexes, male and female. These sexes are not changeable and are grounded in fundamental and incontrovertible reality. . . . Agencies shall remove all statements, policies, regulations, forms, communications, or other internal and external messages that promote or otherwise inculcate gender ideology, and shall cease issuing such statements, policies, regulations, forms, communications or other messages.”

Andrea Thome’s modern-verse adaptation, which identifies itself as “all-femme, all–Asian American,” feels like a punch to the gut of that executive order, which essentially seeks to ban the word “gender” from the English language. It is particularly relevant in a work by Shakespeare, since original productions of his plays featured all-male casts because women were not permitted to perform onstage in Elizabethan times. , as it was considered unladylike and demeaning to their established role in Victorian society.

In Ancient Britain, King Cymbeline (Amy Hill) has banished Posthumus Leonatus (KK Moggie), a soldier who has wed his daughter, the princess Imogen (Jennifer Lim), without royal permission, ignoring their deep love for each other. The queen (Maria-Christina Oliveras) is determined that her son from a previous marriage, Cloten (Jeena Yi), will be Imogen’s husband, ensuring he will be the next ruler.

In exile in Rome, Posthumus boasts to a group of men from Italy, the Netherlands, Spain, and France about his true love’s undying fidelity. The Frenchman tells the doubting Iachimo (Anna Ishida) of a conversation he had with Posthumus the night before in which they both were “lavishly praising our beloved mademoiselles back home; this gentleman at the time vouching (and vowing to defend it with his blood) that his lady was more lovely, virtuous, wise, chaste, faithful, praiseworthy and less temptable to seduction than any of the most extraordinary ladies in France.”

Iachimo takes that as a challenge and offers half his estate against Posthumus’s diamond ring, which belonged to Imogen’s mother, that he can seduce the princess and bring back absolute proof of his success. “The goodness of my mistress exceeds the depth of your vulgarity. I dare you to this match,” Posthumus says, agreeing to the bet and adding that they will duel when Iachimo fails.

Cymbeline features an “all-femme, all–Asian American” cast (photo by Julieta Cervantes)

Even though Imogen boldly rejects Iachimo’s advances, he tricks Posthumus into believing that the princess did indeed surrender her honor, prompting Posthumus to write to Imogen advising her to meet him in the Welsh town of Milford Haven and commanding his loyal servant, Pisanio (Julyana Soelistyo), to kill her because of her adultery. “Do I seem to the world to lack humanity so much as this crime asks?” Pisanio says, questioning the order.

In addition, the foolish Cloten has decided that he too will head to Milford Haven, to kill Posthumus and “defile” Imogen on his path to becoming next in line for the throne.

Meanwhile, the Roman ambassador Caius Lucius (Purva Bedi) has threatened King Cymbeline with war if he does not pay tribute tax to Augustus Caesar; the queen has acquired poison from the doctor, Cornelius (Narea Kang), that she intends to use on Imogen; and on her way to Wales disguised as a boy named Fidele, Imogen encounters a father and his two boys, who live in a cave, surviving on sheer will. Little does she know that it is actually Belarius (Oliveras), who was wrongly banished by Cymbeline many years before and who absconded with Arviragus (Annie Fang) and Guiderius (Sarah Suzuki), the king’s two young sons and her half brothers, who the ruler believes are dead.

The numerous subplots all come together in a rousingly satisfying finale.

Cymbeline is a problematic play that is far from the Bard’s finest. It feels cobbled together with leftovers from such other works as Twelfth Night, Romeo and Juliet, The Comedy of Errors, Richard III, Hamlet, and Othello. A dream sequence involving the god Jupiter (Soelistyo) is one of Shakespeare’s strangest, most awkward scenes. The dialogue lacks memorable, familiar lines. At nearly three hours (with intermission), it is too long. In New York City, the play has never made it to Broadway; the Public has presented it three times in its Shakespeare in the Park festival, in 1971, 1998, and, most recently, 2015, with Patrick Page as the king, Kate Burton as the queen and Belarius, Hamish Linklater as Posthumus and Cloten, Lily Rabe as Imogen, and Raúl Esparza as Iachomo.

But NAATCO, in partnership with Play On Shakespeare, has breathed new life into the show. Yi-Hsuan (Ant) Ma’s spare, often bare set is highlighted by a multipurpose large stretch of cloth that cleverly morphs from a bedsheet to royal drapery to a cave entrance, evoking what would be considered then women’s work, made by seamstresses. Mariko Ohigashi’s costumes feature lots of black leather and British and Roman finery that stand in contrast to the princess’s white gown. Yiyuan Li’s lighting keeps the audience, sitting on three sides of the action, visible through much of the show, as if we are all part of the kingdom, especially on the several occasions where the fourth wall is broken. Caroline Eng’s sound includes musical chimes that signal various changes.

The banished Belarius (Maria-Christina Oliveras) has raised Arviragus (Annie Fang) and Guiderius (Sarah Suzuki) in a cave in the woods (photo by Julieta Cervantes)

The majority of the cast is exemplary, ably emitting Shakespeare’s poetic iambic pentameter even when Thome’s contemporary translation uses modern language, although Bard purists should not be too worried.

Here is one example of Thome’s (Pinkolandia, A Dozen Dreams) style, with the Folger Library version first, followed by the new adaptation:

Cloten: Was there ever man had such luck? When I
kissed the jack, upon an upcast to be hit away? I
had a hundred pound on ’t. And then a whoreson
jackanapes must take me up for swearing, as if I
borrowed mine oaths of him and might not spend
them at my pleasure.

Cloten: Has there ever been a man with luck like mine? I’d bowled my
ball, just kissed the jack . . . and then was hit away! I had bet a
hundred pounds on that game: and then that damned monkey
son of a whore had to scold me for swearing.

It is important to point out that the ensemble is identified as “all-femme,” not “all-woman”; in real life, not all of the actors use the pronouns “she/her.” In addition, being “all–Asian American” is a strong rejoinder to the Asian and immigrant hate so pervasive in America today and apparently supported by the current administration, which is also seeking to subvert the fourteenth amendment by ending birthright citizenship and to deport Dreamers. Director Stephen Brown-Fried (Misalliance, Awake and Sing!), who does a terrific job guiding the proceedings, does not emphasize any of that, instead letting it all unfurl in an organic and natural way, gender be damned.

“I see a man’s life is a tedious one,” Imogen says in a soliloquy in Act 3, Scene 6, in front of the cave in the Wales forest.

In this wonderful adaptation in these troubled times, that statement speaks volumes.

[There are several special postshow events scheduled: January 29 is AAPINH Night, with a talkback with the director, members of the cast, and the casting company; February 2 is Shakespeare Trivia Night after the matinee; and the February 6 performance will be followed by the panel discussion “Shakespeare in Translation: Body and Verse,” with Lue Douthit, Karen Shimakawa, and Thome.]

[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer and editor; you can follow him on Substack here.]

A SINKING SHIP: SHOW BOAT / A RIVER AT NYU SKIRBALL

Target Margin Theater’s adaptation of Show Boat continues at NYU Skirball through January 26 (photo by Greg Kessler)

SHOW/BOAT: A RIVER
NYU Skirball Center for the Performing Arts
566 La Guardia Pl.
Through January 26, $60
nyuskirball.org

In 1927, Jerome Kern and Oscar Hammerstein II’s Show Boat revolutionized musical theater, taking on such tough topics as racism and addiction while making the narrative central to the production. Hammerstein called it a “musical play,” and Richard Rodgers announced that it was “trailblazing.”

You wouldn’t know any of that from Target Margin Theater’s head-scratching adaptation, renamed Show/Boat: A River, that is confusing audiences at NYU Skirball through January 26 as part of the Under the Radar festival.

There’s something off from the very first moments. The lights are on throughout the theater as several actors take the spare stage, the only design a large white cloth in the back with two doorways cut out, one marked “White,” the other “Black,” seen backward, meaning we are inside, not outside, but of what there is no telling. They begin singing “Cotton Blossom,” explaining, “Listen / N-word — work on de Mississippi / Black people work while de white folks play — / Loadin’ up boats wid the bales of cotton, / Gittin’ no rest till the Judgment day.”

The use of “N-word” is like nails on a chalkboard, and the first act doesn’t get any better. Each cast member wears a beauty-pageant-like sash that identifies their character as either white or black, and since some actors play multiple roles without costume changes, it’s impossible to know who’s who; one character is even portrayed by two people at the same time. I tried to make sense of it all by reading Target Margin Theater founding artistic director David Herskovits’s script after seeing the show, but it refers to the speakers and singers by their real first names, not the characters’. I initially was trying to figure out who Ruby is, as she’s not listed in the program as a performer and is not the name of any character, major or minor, but realized that it refers to the woman playing Magnolia; my first guess was they changed actors but didn’t update the script, although it now looks like Ruby is the nickname for the actor.

The plot, or what I could make of it, does follow the original story line, based on Edna Ferber’s 1926 novel. It’s the late 1880s, and Capt. Andy Hawks (Steven Rattazzi) owns and operates the Cotton Blossom, a riverboat docked in Natchez, Mississippi, whose star entertainer is Julie LaVerne (Stephanie Weeks), who is married to leading man Steve Baker (Edwin Joseph). Julie is half Black but passing as white. Capt. Andy and his unpleasant wife, Parthy (J Molière), have a daughter, Magnolia (Rebbekah “Ruby Reb” Vega-Romero), who is a burgeoning star. Known as Nola, she hooks up with smarmy gambler Gaylord Ravenal (Philip Themio Stoddard). Villain Frank Schultz (Tẹmídayọ Amay) and his wife, Ellie May Chipley (Caitlin Nasema Cassidy), the toast of Cairo, Illinois, are supporting actors in the troupe. Joe (Alvin Crawford) is a dockworker whose wife, Queenie (Suzanne Darrell), is the ship’s cook.

Pete (Stoddard), an engineer, has the hots for Julie and had given her a brooch that she then gifted to Queenie. The jewelry becomes a key symbol, bringing up issues of race, infidelity, and ownership — of things and people.

“That’s hell of a thing to do — givin’ my presents to a n—,” Pete tells her. She responds, “Pete — if Steve ever knew about you sending me that brooch, I declare he’d just about beat you to death.” Pete then threatens, “Well, he better not try, and you better be pretty nice to me — or you’ll be mighty sorry.”

A few moments later, Frank asks Queenie, “Where you get that brooch you got on?” She answers simply, “It was given to me.” Gaylord demands, “Who give it to you?” and she says, “Ax me no questions ‘n’ ah’ll tell y’no lies!”

It’s often difficult to tell who’s who and what’s what in Show/Boat: A River (photo by Greg Kessler)

Show Boat debuted on Broadway in 1927, with revivals in 1932, 1948, 1983, and, most recently, 1994, with Rebecca Luker, Lonette McKee, Robert Morse, Elaine Stritch, John McMartin, and Cloris Leachman. The musical was made into a film in 1936 by James Whale, with Irene Dunne as Magnolia, Hattie McDaniel as Queenie, Helen Morgan as Julie, and Robeson, who was not in the original Broadway cast, as Joe; George Sidney’s 1951 movie, starring Kathryn Grayson, Ava Gardner, Howard Keel, Joe E. Brown, Marge and Gower Champion, and Agnes Moorehead, earned Oscar nods for Best Color Cinematography and Best Scoring of a Musical Picture.

The first act of Herskovits’s two-and-a-half-hour Show/Boat: A River feels like an open rehearsal that still needs a lot of work. Early on, the “Show Boat parade” celebrates the upcoming performances on board the Cotton Blossom; during intermission, a very different kind of parade occurred, as dozens of audience members abandoned ship and left the theater. They did not return.

The second act is significantly better, although not necessarily anything to sing about. The sashes have been replaced by circular buttons, Kaye Voyce’s set adds numerous elements, Dina El-Aziz’s costumes get to shine, and Cha See’s lighting is not always annoyingly on, all combining to finally achieve important character and plot development. Perhaps more important, the score by musical directors Dionne McClain-Freeney (also vocal arranger) and Dan Schlosberg (also orchestrator) settles into a groove, performed by Nan-Cheng Chen on cello, Nicole DeMaio and Kristina Teuschler on reeds, Thomas Flippin on guitar, and Sam Zagnit on bass, the band visible in the pit where the actors occasionally take rests.

Among the highlights of Kern’s music and Hammerstein’s lyrics (he also wrote the book) are such songs as “Make Believe,” a duet between Stoddard and Vega-Romero; “Can’t Help Lovin’ Dat Man,” which becomes Nola’s dazzling audition number; “In Dahomey,” a racist tune at the World’s Fair; the moving “Bill,” achingly delivered by Weeks; and the show’s standard-bearer and underlying theme, “Ol’ Man River,” made famous by Paul Robeson as Joe and here boldly performed by Crawford: “Dere’s an ol’ man called de Mississippi; / Dat’s de ol’ man dat I’d like to be! / What does he care if de world’s got troubles? / What does he care if de land ain’t free?” he asks, bellowing, “Ol’ Man River / Dat Ol’ Man River, / He mus’ know sumpin’ / But don’t say nuthin’, / He jes’ keeps rollin’, /
He keeps on rollin’ along. . . . Ah gits weary / An’ sick of tryin’, / Ah’m tired of livin’ / An’ scared of dyin’, / But ol’ Man River, / He jes’ keeps rollin’ along.”

Oh, and don’t wait for “After the Ball,” because it’s been left on the cutting-room floor.

It all adds up to too little, too late by a beloved Brooklyn-based company that has been staging unique versions of classic and new works for four decades. Sometimes, as in this case, the ship just sinks.

[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer and editor; you can follow him on Substack here.]

HOPE IS THE THING WITH FEATHERS: DEAD AS A DODO AT BARUCH PAC

A dodo and a young boy are best friends fighting to survive in Dead as a Dodo (photo by Richard Termine)

DEAD AS A DODO
Baruch PAC
55 Lexington Ave. between Twenty-Fourth & Twenty-Fifth Sts.
Tuesday – Sunday through February 9, $55
utrfest.org
bpac.baruch.cuny.edu

“The race is over!” the Dodo suddenly calls out in Lewis Carroll’s 1865 masterpiece, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. Its animal friends crowd around, pant, and ask, “But who has won?”

You might be surprised by who wins in Wakka Wakka’s Dead as a Dodo, an awe-inspiring, visually stunning parable about the potential end of the human race and the tenuous future of the planet, sensationally staged with puppets. Running through February 9 at Baruch PAC as part of the Under the Radar festival, the eighty-minute extravaganza plays off the old adage “as dead as a dodo,” which refers to a person, place, or thing that is either no longer alive or decidedly out of date. The dodo (Raphus cucullatus) itself was a flightless bird of Mauritius that was last spotted in 1662.

In the Bone Realm, a pair of skeletons, a female dodo and a young boy, are besties. The boy is searching for bones to replace his arm and leg, digging into the basalt for anything that will fit. “So I’m missing an arm / And my ribs are all broken / I’ve lost half my teeth / And my skull is cracked open,” he sings. “Yes, I’m falling apart / And I’m close to the end / Still I’ve gotta take heart / Because I’ve got a friend / And my friend is a dodo.”

The two are always on the lookout for the Bone King and his daughter, the conniving princess, who are determined to own every bone in the land and are prepared to rip them right off the boy if necessary. “After life is stripped away / All the flesh has decayed / What remains? / Nothing but the bones / Nothing but the bones,” the king chants with dastardly glee. “All the bones in the fields are mine / You can try to take ’em if you got the spine.”

The greedy Bone King wants to own it all in sensationally eerie Dead as a Dodo (photo by Erato Tzavara)

As the boy fears he is disappearing, he notices that the dodo has grown a new feather or two — indications of life. When the Bone King discovers the feathers as well, the Bone Doctor, a kind of Grim Reaper, commands, “It is a plague upon our kingdom. There is only one thing to do. . . . You, sire! — Must chop it up and throw it into the fiery waters of the River Styx!”

The boy and the dodo then set off on a dangerous journey into other realms, where they meet a scavenging demon, a chatty gondolieri, a giant glowing fish, devil goats, a woolly mammoth, and a scientist named Phinneas who believes that the resurgent dodo is a sign that “the Age of Shimmering Darkness and Fog is coming to an end.”

But no one knows what will happen if the dodo actually returns to the Living Realm, rising like a phoenix. “Ha! That is not the order of things,” the gondolieri argues. “The river only flows in one direction.”

The staging of Dead as a Dodo is a marvel of technology and DIY ingenuity. There are three layers of opaque black string curtains onto which Erato Tzavara’s projections and Daphne Agosin’s lighting lend the proceedings a breathtaking 3D atmosphere. Lei-Lei Bavoil, Alexandra Bråss, Andy Manjuck, Hanna Margrete Muir, Sigurd Rosenberg, Marie Skogvang Stork, Anna Soland, and Kirjan Waage, dressed in black sequined costumes that meld into the background except for their glitter, operate the puppets with great skill and more than a touch of jaw-dropping magic.

The set and costumes are by Wakka Wakka cofounding artistic directors Gwendolyn Warnock and Waage, who also wrote and directed the production; in addition, Waage designed the puppets, based on actual skeletons. Thor Gunnar Thorvaldsson’s music and soundscape, harvested from geodes and crystals and featuring bells and gongs, keep the audience immersed in the riveting narrative, which evokes the climate change, war, and greed that threaten the earth today.

The look and feel of the show were inspired by Tales from the Crypt, Dante’s Inferno, old Silly Symphonies cartoons, and the art of Hieronymus Bosch, a mix that relates to the company’s Bioeccentrism Manifesto, which states, “Life like art is hyperbolically weird, stupendous, openly ridiculous, momentary, rapid, flashy fleshy and loud,” words that can also describe Dead as a Dodo and such previous Wakka Wakka works as The Immortal Jellyfish Girl, Animal R.I.O.T., and Saga.

The show is also about our own fear of death. “When you vanish, will you forget everyone you love?” the basalt asks at the beginning. Shortly after that, the dodo pulls an alarm clock out of the rubble and it rings. “That’s just junk,” the boy says, ignoring the literal and figurative wake-up call, a warning cry to all of us that humanity is on the brink of extinction.

“What do you think happens when you disappear completely? Are you going to forget about me? Will I forget you?” the boy says to the dodo, continuing, “I don’t want to disappear. I’m not ready.”

Then again, as Emily Dickinson once wrote, “Hope is the thing with feathers / That perches in the soul, / And sings the tune without the words, / And never stops at all.”

[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer and editor; you can follow him on Substack here.]

TO THE MOON AND BEYOND: LUNA LUNA AT THE SHED

“Luna Luna: Forgotten Fantasy” features large-scale amusement-park installations by Kenny Scharf, Jean-Michel Basquiat, David Hockney, Arik Brauer, and many others (photo by twi-ny/mdr)

LUNA LUNA: FORGOTTEN FANTASY
The McCourt at the Shed
The Bloomberg Building
545 West 30th St. at Eleventh Ave.
Through March 16, $25-$49
theshed.org
lunaluna.com
luna luna online slideshow

In the summer of 1987, a one-of-a-kind art-musement park delighted audiences in Hamburg, Germany. Curated by Viennese artist André Heller, it boasted contributions from more than thirty international artists, who Heller enticed with the following pitch: “‘Listen, you are constantly getting the greatest commissions, everyone wants your paintings or sculptures, but I am inviting you to take a trip back to your own childhood. You can design your very own amusement park, just as you think would be right today,’ and really without exception everyone answered by saying, sure, that’s a nice, pleasant challenge.”

The park opened for several months during a rainy European summer and was scheduled to travel to the Netherlands and San Diego, but the stock market crash of October 1987 and legal entanglements shelved that plan, and the works were eventually packed away in containers and stored in a Texas warehouse. In 2022, rapper Drake and his DreamCrew team bought the forty-four containers, sight unseen, put the surviving pieces back together, and opened “Luna Luna: Forgotten Fantasy” in Los Angeles, consisting of about half of the original attractions.

Visitors can enter Roy Lichtenstein’s Luna Luna Pavilion glass labyrinth (photo by twi-ny/mdr)

“Luna Luna” is now open at the Shed’s McCourt space in Hudson Yards through February 23, and it is a barrel of fun, for art lovers, amusement park fans, and just about anyone else willing to take a joyful and thoroughly entertaining trip back to their childhood — and the 1980s.

Although you can’t go on any of the rides because of their fragility and for safety reasons, you can marvel at the dazzling installations: Jean-Michel Basquiat’s white Ferris wheel, which rotates to Miles Davis’s “Tutu,” is decorated with familiar Basquiat visual tropes and such words and phrases as “Pornography,” “Jim Crow,” and “Skeezix.” Kenny Scharf’s chair swing ride has panels of his trademark cosmic characters, some of whom also hang out around the piece. Keith Haring’s carousel is populated by his unique stencil caricatures and silhouettes. Birds, fish, animals, and hands (the grune welt, pferdehand, nixe, wolfin) spin on Arik Brauer’s carousel.

You can wander into David Hockney’s Enchanted Tree, a shadowy silo with music by the Berlin Philharmonic; carefully navigate Roy Lichtenstein’s dark glass labyrinth to the sounds of Philip Glass; walk through Sonia Delaunay’s painted entrance archway and under Monika Gil’Sing’s twenty-eight flags; saunter along several large-scale horizontal tarp murals by Keith Haring; stop by Manfred Deix’s Palace of the Winds, an orchestra of butt blasts; and linger in Salvador Dalí’s geodesic Dalídom, a mirrored infinity room with ever-changing hues.

Unfortunately, you cannot test your romantic future (damage, madness, tenderness, magic, embrace, touch) with Rebecca Horn’s Love Thermometer, but you can renew your vows — or marry anyone, or anything, you’d like — in Heller’s Wedding Chapel, where you’ll receive a certificate and Polaroid of the ceremony. You can also dance and interact with Poncili Creación’s costumed performers and giant puppet people who pop up from time to time, ranging from an elephant trainer and her pachyderm to strange, tall creatures, as music by André 3000, Floating Points, Jamie xx, Daniel Wohl, and others waft over the space. (You can listen to a “Luna Luna” playlist here, with songs by Eric B. & Rakim, Kraftwerk, Madonna, Art of Noise, Talking Heads, Neneh Cherry, and others.)

Among the original installations that are not part of this revival are Erté’s Mystère Cagliostro, Gertie Fröhlich’s gingerbread booth, Jörg Immendorff’s and Wolfgang Herzig’s shooting galleries, Susanne Schmögner’s spiral-shaped labyrinth, Patrick Raynaud’s Playground, August Walla’s circus wagon, Günter Brus’s Universe of Crayons, Christian Ludwig Attersee’s boat swing ride, Jim Whiting’s Mechanical Theater, Heller’s Dream Station, and pavilions by Roland Topor, Hubert Aratym, and Georg Baselitz. You can find elements of Daniel Spoerri’s Crap Chancellery in a side room that documents some of the history of “Luna Luna,” with a wall of twenty of the moon paintings Heller asked the artists to make. A timeline details the complicated history of “Luna Luna,” with video of the restoration.

Be sure to visit the upstairs Butterfly Bar, where an overlook offers a sensational view of Scharf’s, Basquiat’s, and Brauer’s rides, which turn on one by one while the Philip Glass Ensemble’s “In the Upper Room: Dance II” booms through the hall and lights flash, unveiling an audiovisual sensation.

Moon paintings can be found in history room (photo by twi-ny/mdr)

“Art should come in unconventional guises and be brought to those who might not ordinarily seek it out in more predictable settings,” Heller, who is not affiliated with this reboot, said of the project.

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“Luna Luna: Forgotten Fantasy” is a must-see adventure, filled with exciting art in unconventional guises for all ages, although it’s an especially poignant bit of time travel for Gen Xers who remember the glee and whimsy of a time before AIDS and addiction had ravaged the creators of New York’s downtown scene, before digital photography, cell phones, and email became always available in your pocket, when discovering new art wasn’t quite so easy and perhaps a lot more thrilling. Yet “Luna Luna” is much more than a journey into the past; it’s a vibrant presentation of art that can inspire today — and in the future.

[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer and editor; you can follow him on Substack here.]

SILENCE IS GOLDEN: PICO IYER AT ASIA SOCIETY

Who: Pico Iyer, William Green
What: Book launch and conversation
Where: Asia Society, 725 Park Ave. at Seventieth St.
When: Wednesday, January 22, $15, 6:30
Why: Pico Iyer dedicates his new book, Aflame: Learning from Silence (Riverhead, January 14, 2025, $30), to “the monks and nuns, in every tradition, who have sustained so many of us, visibly and invisibly, through so many lifetimes.” The Oxford-born Iyer, who has written such books as The Art of Stillness: Adventures in Going Nowhere, The Half Known Life: In Search of Paradise, and The Lady and the Monk: Four Seasons in Kyoto, will be at Asia Society on January 22 to launch Aflame, in conversation with William Green, author of Richer, Wiser, Happier: How the World’s Greatest Investors Win in Markets and Life. In the book, Iyer traces three decades of silent retreats at a Benedictine monastery in Big Sur as he faces the ups and downs of life, from glorious successes to personal tragedy. His Holiness the Dalai Lama has praised the work, offering, “Reading Aflame may help many to lead lives of greater compassion and deeper peace of mind.” Tickets for the event, which is copresented with the South Asian Journalists Association (SAJA), are only $15. Below is an excerpt from chapter two.

—————————————————————————

The silence of a monastery is not like that of a deep forest or mountaintop; it’s active and thrumming, almost palpable. And part of its beauty—what deepens and extends it—is that it belongs to all of us. Every now and then I hear a car door slam, or movement in the communal kitchen, and I’m reminded, thrillingly, that this place isn’t outside the world, but hidden at its very heart.

In the solitude of my cell, I often feel closer to the people I care for than when they’re in the same room, reminded in the sharpest way of why I love them; in silence, all the unmet strangers across the property come to feel like friends, joined at the root. When we pass one another on the road, we say very little, but it’s all we don’t say that we share.

***

Coming out one afternoon into the singing stillness, I pass a woman, tall and blond, looking like she might be from the twenty‑fifth‑floor office in Midtown where my bosses await my essays. She smiles. “You’re Pico?”

“I am.”

“I’m Paula. I wrote you a letter last year to see if you could come speak to my class.”

She’s a novelist, I gather—complete with agent, good New York publisher, grant from the National Endowment for the Arts—and she teaches down the road, two hours to the south. She fled Christianity as a girl, growing up in Lutheran Minnesota, but now—well, now she’s been brought back into silence and a sense of warm community.

“Do you write while you’re here?” she asks.

“All I seem to do is write! But only for myself. This is the one place in life where I’m happy not to write in any public way.”

She smiles in recognition. The point of being here is not to get anything done; only to see what might be worth doing.

***

The others I pass along the way, or see in the shared kitchen, are not at all the solemn, stiff ones I might have expected. One greets me with a Buddhist bow, another with a Hindu namaste. On the cars outside the retreat‑house I read i brake for mushrooms, notice a fish that announces, darwin. We’re not joined by any doctrine, I realize, or mortal being or holy book; only by a silence that speaks for some universal intimation.

“What do you think of this?” an older man asks as we pass one another near a bench.

“Nothing,” I say, and he looks puzzled until he sees what I’m about.

“That’s the liberation, don’t you find?” I go on. “There’s nothing to think about other than oak tree and ocean. Nothing to smudge the wonder of . . .” and then I say no more.

We look out together at the tremble of light across the water.

THE HARRIET ZONE: LIFE ON AND OFF MARS

Who: Harriet Stubbs
What: City Vineyard Sessions
Where: City Vineyard at City Winery, 223 West St. at Pier 26
When: Tuesday, January 21, $22 in advance, $28 day of show, 7:30
Why: “There’s nothing like playing to my adopted hometown of New York; it’s electrifying,” Harriet Stubbs told twi-ny in a May 2024 interview. The British classical pianist, William Blake scholar, and Bowie aficionado was preparing for a show at Joe’s Pub, where she played her latest album, Living on Mars; the record includes Stubbs’s unique adaptations of such songs as David Bowie’s “Space Oddity” and “Life on Mars,” Nick Cave’s “Push the Sky Away,” Paul McCartney’s “Blackbird,” and Beethoven’s “Pathétique” in addition to homages to the duos of J. S. Bach/Glenn Gould and Frédéric Chopin/Leopold Godowsky. It all makes for an eclectic and unpredictable setlist.

Stubbs is an intoxicating pianist, performing in spectacular glittery outfits and exuding warmth and charm; Paul Cavalconte, the renowned DJ at New York’s classical radio station, WQXR (as well as WFUV and WNYC), calls it the Harriet Zone. On January 21, she’ll be at City Vineyard at City Winery, promising to play “a mix of Living on Mars and some core classical, with maybe a few surprises!” General admission tickets are $22 in advance and $28 at the door. Be prepared for a special, unusual evening of fabulous music, with a touch of magic.

[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer and editor; you can follow him on Substack here.]

ELIZABETH CATLETT: “I AM THE BLACK WOMAN”

Installation view of “Elizabeth Catlett: A Black Revolutionary Artist and All That It Implies,” including Target Practice, Political Prisoner, and Black Unity (photo by Paula Abreu Pita)

ELIZABETH CATLETT: A BLACK REVOLUTIONARY AND ALL THAT IT IMPLIES
Brooklyn Museum
200 Eastern Parkway at Washington St.
Elizabeth A. Sackler Center for Feminist Art, Morris A. and Meyer Schapiro Wing, fourth floor
Through January 19, $14-$20 ($17-$25 including “Solid Gold”)
www.brooklynmuseum.org

“Unfortunately, for me, I was refused [a visa to enter the United States] on the grounds that, as a foreigner, there was a possibility I would interfere in social or political problems, and thus, I constituted a threat to the well-being of the United States of America,” Washington, DC-born artist Elizabeth Catlett said in 1970. “To the degree and in the proportion that the United States constitute a threat to Black People, to that degree and more, do I hope I have earned that honor. For I have been, and am currently, and always hope to be a Black Revolutionary Artist, and all that it implies!”

This is the last weekend to see “Elizabeth Catlett: A Black Revolutionary Artist and All That It Implies” at the Brooklyn Museum, a revelatory show that traces Catlett’s extraordinary career as an artist, teacher, and activist. Divided into ten sections, including “I Am the Black Woman,” “Roots and Awakening,” “Motherhood and Family,” and “The Black Woman Speaks,” the exhibit features more than two hundred objects, from sculpture, painting, and drawing to linocuts, lithographs, political posters, and ephemera (documents, archival photographs, scrapbooks, postcards, pamphlets).

Elizabeth Catlett, three versions of Sharecropper (photo by Paula Abreu Pita)

Born in 1915, Catlett earned degrees from Howard and the University of Iowa, studying with Loïs Mailou Jones, James A. Porter, James Lesesne Wells, Grant Wood, H. W. Janson, and Henry Stinson. In 1946, her Rosenwald Fellowship, to work on a “series of lithographs, paintings, and sculptures on the role of the Negro woman in the fight for democratic rights in the history of America,” led her to Mexico, where she joined the revolutionary art collective Taller de Gráfica Popular, became a Mexican citizen, and married artist Francisco “Pancho” Mora, her partner for fifty-five years.

Catlett, known informally as Betty, amassed a remarkable output that is wonderfully organized by Dalila Scruggs of the Smithsonian, Catherine Morris of the Brooklyn Museum, and Mary Lee Corlett of the National Gallery, spread across numerous rooms. Among the works to watch out for are poignant oil on canvas and linocut renderings of Sharecropper, perhaps her most famous image; the “I Am the Black Woman” series, which unfolds in a poetic narrative; a trio of heads on a horizontal plinth; several heart-wrenching depictions of a mother and child; Target Practice, a bronze bust of a head with a circular target in front of it; Black Unity, a cedar sculpture with two faces on one side and a large, clenched fist on the other; a foil screenprint and life-size sculpture of Angela Davis, each bursting with shocking color; bronze maquettes for public art statues of Mahalia Jackson and Sojourner Truth; and the stunning Floating Family, created for the Chicago Public Library, in which a mother and daughter, carved from the trunk of a primavera tree, reach out and join hands, floating horizontally so people can walk under them. There are also three videos of her at work.

In her “Statement of Plan” for the Rosenwald Fellowship, Catlett wrote, “Negro women in America have long suffered under the double handicap of race and sex. Because of subtle American propaganda in the movies, radio and stage, they have come to be generally regarded as good cooks, housemaids and nurses and little else. At this time when we are fighting an all out war against tyranny and oppression, it is extremely important that the picture of Negro women as participants in this fight, throughout the history of America, be sharply drawn. . . . It is my earnest desire to portray this history of Negro womanhood in lithography, painting and sculpture and to send these portrayals to Negro and white colleges so that young men and women, especially in the south, can get some idea of the contributions of Negro American women.”

EInstallation view of “Elizabeth Catlett: A Black Revolutionary Artist and All That It Implies,” including Bather, Floating Family, Mahalia Jackson, New Orleans, and Sojourner (photo by Paula Abreu Pita)

Catlett — who died in 2012 in her home studio in Cuernavaca at the age of ninety-six and is survived by three sons, ten grandchildren, and six great-grandchildren — concluded her Rosenwald statement by explaining, “As to my future plans, I want to establish myself as an artist so that I can develop, as I feel that my greatest contribution to the forward progress of the Negro can be made in this field. The opportunity to devote one year to painting and sculpture would be of extreme importance in realizing this aim.”

As “Elizabeth Catlett: A Black Revolutionary Artist and All That It Implies” displays, Catlett made the most of that opportunity, leaving behind a legacy of extreme importance.

[Mark Rifkin is a Brooklyn-born, Manhattan-based writer and editor; you can follow him on Substack here.]