Liars and Saints

  I generally don't have a problem with Jesse Greene's 2025 Tony Award wishes--but I do have to comment on the omission of Sadie Sink. "John Proctor Is the Villain" opened to nearly unanimous raves. The one ambivalent review--from the Post--is sort of embarrassing for the review's editor. It's embarrassing because it complains that Ebert's performance is "too chirpy," when in fact the chirpiness is the point. The chirpiness is a sensible, intelligent choice--its meaning becomes clear by the end of the evening. (The Times understands this. It's not hard to understand this.) A crime has two halves--a victim and a perpetrator. As a victim, Sadie Sink is compelling. She hypnotizes the people around her because she is mysterious and unpredictable. When she begins to fight for her life, we don't really understand what she is doing--then, suddenly, we do. Her triumph--with great, deeply moving assistance from a counselor--seems plausible and ...

 It's so interesting to read about power. It doesn't make me a better person; it doesn't enrich my soul; it's just like savoring a large, greasy slice of pizza. "All or Nothing" revisits many horrifying highlights of Trump's campaign. Among the eye-catching moments: Trump endures a possibly fatal blow when a MAGA comic refers to Puerto Rico as a "floating island of garbage." Biden need not say a thing. Instead, Biden indicates that "the only garbage out there is the mob of Trump supporters." Amazingly, like characters on "Veep," the Democrats then try to finesse the remark. "We're looking at an aborted independent clause here. 'The only garbage out there....' THEN we get a NEW independent clause....'The mob of Trump supporters....'" I was also captivated by the Melania gossip. Apparently, it's an open secret that Melania despises her husband. At one point in the book, she indicates that she ca...

  I'm always drawn to crime stories, and though "Hacks" may not literally involve a crime, it does highlight a moral transgression, a case of blackmail. The most recent episode features Ava--the schemer--at her desk with a stress ball. We watch the stress ball taking various shapes--over several weeks--until, finally, it explodes in Ava's hands, leaving residue all over her fingers. Ava next breaks the law by stashing her car in the parking lot of a sex shop (with no intention of making a purchase). She attempts to rectify her error by buying a dildo, but by the end of the longwinded vendor-speech about "water on silicone," the car has made its exit via tow-truck. The script scores points with observations about Ava's breezy self-absorption. We catch the end of a soliloquy we can easily imagine; when one scene begins, Ava is telling two strangers, "THAT is when I first understood that I had an allergy to peanut butter...." Later, a hospital cal...

 Bernadette Peters recently gave an interview extolling the virtues of a "day out" in NYC. I generally follow Bernadette's advice, so I designed a day of my own: *The Met. The big news here is that a blockbuster Sargent exhibition is about to occur. Sargent was technically American, but he was born in Florence, and his miraculous decade unfolded in Paris. He was a mover and shaker; by design, he befriended the brightest social and literary lights. Do you know how Cynthia Nixon always seems to be at major artistic events? You flip through the pages of gala photos--and there is Cynthia Nixon. That same role was designed by Sargent in Paris in the 1880s. Henry James was always writing--and wringing his hands--about John Singer Sargent. *Film Forum. I went for the Ozon, which was terrific, but the happiest news was that there will soon be a big festival devoted to Jack Lemmon. To me, this is like an extra dose of Lexapro. Thank God for the Jack Lemmon Festival. *Three Lives. ...

  Four girls in small-town Georgia in 2018 linger after class to discuss Taylor Swift. "I just prefer her stuff from the earlier era, when the songs weren't so sexual," says Raelynn. "I think you're misreading her. Taylor was writing about sex back in the 'Speak Now' days. I mean, have you *really* listened to 'Sparks Fly'?" "Or think about 'Dear John.' Sometimes, I wish that Taylor Swift would kill John Mayer. She would be disguised, and the death would look like an accident. No one would ever know. But *I* would know. And I would see her onstage, and I'd give her a look, like,  Good for you. I'm talking about that time when you secretly killed John Mayer.  And she would look back, and her eyes would be like,  You're right. No one else knows--but you're right ." I think that this deranged chat nicely illustrates how brilliant Kimberly Belflower is. Like God, she has created an entire world. On some level, I ...

  For a long while, the NY Times paid close attention to true crime books; these books weren't just reviewed; the books were judged and ranked, each December, so you could identify the best of the year. Also, the Times hopped all over the fifty states and selected a crime chronicle for each state; these titles are outstanding. The Times can direct you to "Judgment Ridge," "After the Eclipse," "American Heiress"--titles you might otherwise overlook. Recently, it has become fashionable to feel disgusted by true crime. This sort of book repackages a real person's suffering for entertainment. Also, a true crime saga often fails to "center the victim." I have a few thoughts about this. First, it seems clear to me that criminals are often "centered" because criminals are fascinating; if you exist on the margins of society, it's likely (not definite) that you may be an intriguing companion. By contrast, having suffered at the hands...

 At times, parenting really puts the "Let Them" approach to the test. For example, my son's generally excellent teacher has a passive-aggressive habit of asking this: "Any potty training updates?" I wish that the graduate degree in education required a "Fight Passive Aggression" credit. It is especially tiresome to (a) recognize what the teacher is doing, (b) make an effort to pretend not to notice what the teacher is doing, and (c) answer the question in a cheerful, ingenuous way, as if I have just been asked about the weather "in my neck of the woods." Then there is the sitter who texts that she cannot perform her duties tomorrow "because of a stomach bug." How difficult it is not to reply. "It's a two-hour gig, and the only requirement is that you keep the children alive. Show up, wear a mask, and put a cartoon on the TV."  Also, the "basketball coach" has a tantrum because my child has tipped over s bike....

 Some critics felt that the antihero era ended with "Breaking Bad." What more could anyone say about this type of character? Then "Better Call Saul" happened. Kim Wexler--with her bizarre wish to destroy a good man "in an effort to secure funds for struggling legal-aid programs"--became just as watchable as Walter White. Now we have Madeline Matlock. Previously, no one had thought that an antihero could be a woman in her mid-seventies. Matlock hurts others. She toys with a young woman's legal career--and crushes this person's hope (when the young person has done nothing wrong). Matlock repeatedly lies to an ally and creates distrust in a fragile co-parenting situation. (In these scenes, Madeline seems to give little or no thought to the two small children in her orbit.) Finally, Madeline distracts her own young grandson with her various schemes (and she deceives her husband as she works). It's fascinating to watch Kathy Bates testing our sympat...

  I was recently at war with a firm that tries to prep kids for college admissions. One facet of the war was this. A school asked, "If you could choose or design one course for fun, what would you choose? What academic project is intriguing to you?" I took this question at face value. A student of mine--though ostensibly interested in a business career--happened to have a deep love for the Titanic. She was curious about the class divisions, the reasoning behind the terrible engineering, the role of the crash in literary history and film history. Given that a liberal arts degree is about asking questions, learning how to learn, the Titanic topic seemed worth exploring. My employer was aghast. She said, "No school wants to hear what the child is actually interested in. This question is an opportunity for pre-professional musing. If the child doesn't have a profession in mind, she should just make one up, and she should tailor her answer to fit that particular body....

  It's frustrating for me to hear Bergoglio described as "the less awful pope"--because awful is still awful. I think I get fixated on ideas of purity, which can be juvenile, but putting that aside, here are some things that Bergoglio could have done and did not. (I'm quoting from a survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of the Church.) He could levy the harshest penalty, excommunication, against a dozen or more of the most egregious abuse enabling church officials. (He's done this to no enablers, or predators for that matter.) He could insist that every diocese and religious order turn over every record they have about suspected and known abusers to law enforcement. Francis could order every prelate on the planet to post on his diocesan website the names of every proven, admitted and credibly accused child molesting cleric. (Imagine how much safer children would be if police, prosecutors, parents and the public knew the identities of these potentially dangerous me...

  James Marshall's George and Martha are frequently half-antagonistic; there is generally a disagreement in the air. I can think of two exceptions: "The Tooth" and "The French Lesson." Those stories are pure examples of romance. The hippos take care of each other and even indulge in a second of physical affection. The George/Martha spirit helped Marshall through his final project--an adaptation of "The Owl and the Pussy-cat." In this poem, like George, the Owl delights his beloved: He looked up to the stars above-- And sang to a small guitar-- O, lovely Pussy, O Pussy, my love, What a beautiful Pussy you are! The ensuing events are mainly acquisitions. The Owl and the Pussy-cat find a wedding ring. They persuade a turkey to officiate in the marriage ceremony. These small scenes allow Marshall to fill his pages with benevolent, strange, wordless secondary characters, who evoke thoughts of the bookseller and the ticket-taker from "George and Martha:...

 The classic template for a musical requires a strong-willed hero with a larger than life wish. "Kimberly Akimbo"--despite its oddness--could be a Richard Rodgers show. Kimberly wants to fight back against penury and parental neglect; by doing so, she will realize her ultimate dream to  travel the world . She could easily be a soul sister of Maria the postulant, hoping to reform greedy children and discover her life's purpose before the 11:00 number. If you're pursuing a massive wish, you're going to encounter enemies and tricksters. Kimberly is doing battle with her villainous father, who sort of (subconsciously) wishes that Kimberly were already dead. Of course the postulant Maria has to square off against a Nazi boy, who would murder her before allowing her to run off and open a little Northeastern American inn. Big wishes, big enemies. These are the facets that lend urgency to a musical story. So the musical "Dead Outlaw" is subversive. The protagoni...

 The other day, I researched the "Let Them" theory; I had been deeply irritated by a random event in NYC, and I thought some self-help might be useful. Here's what happened. I was standing on the edge--not in the middle--of a New York sidewalk with my husband. This was a crowded area near Times Square. A mentally ill person made a beeline for the exact spot where I was standing. "Move it," he said in a breathtaking way. It really was breathtaking. He added, "You know how to use your legs, idiot. You can do it. You can walk." Here is some context. It's stressful to be in Times Square. It's a sensory assault; it is among my least favorite spots on the planet. There is a great deal to loathe. The swerving bicycles are at the top of my list. If I'm in a car, I tend to close my eyes, because the random bodies throwing themselves in front of the windshield make me slightly ill. Finally, I become catatonic when I observe bad behavior in long lines...

  At the height of his powers, Sondheim wrote "A Weekend in the Country," whose lyrics I once scribbled on various math assignments during my highschool years. It's an astonishing transitional number in "A Little Night Music." Desiree has invited her former flame to a party, perhaps hoping to stage an extramarital coup. The new wife--Anne--is scandalized. It's that woman! It's that Armfeldt! The actress! The ghoul! She may hope to make her charm felt... But she's mad if she thinks I would be such a fool-- As to weekend in the country.... Sondheim understands that Anne--despite her protests--secretly craves drama. Anne is unhappy in her marriage. A trainwreck might be useful. A friend persuades Anne to *accept* the invitation--and to flaunt her youthful beauty. "Wear your hair down--and a flower. Don't use makeup. Dress in white. Desiree will grow older by the hour--and be hopelessly shattered by Saturday night." With stunning ease, Sond...

  "Casebook" is a novel about spying. A little boy discovers that he can pick up an extension in his bedroom and listen to covert conversations. (I can't recall how the issue of his breathing is handled.) The boy quickly learns that his parents have not really had sex in a decade; a divorce ensues. The boy, Miles, isn't ready for this; he resents learning about his mother's sexual neurosis and observing awkward moments in his mother's dating life. (One boyfriend can remember every birthday, every detail. By contrast, Mom can't remember which region of the U.S. this boyfriend was born in.) At the same time, the boy is growing up and navigating his own romantic drama. He has a friend who is more or less available to him, but his real love is for a damaged kid who is likely bad news and who won't give him any attention. As the boy becomes increasingly interested in his mother's problematic new crush, he begins a cartoon entitled  Our Psychopath . He h...

   I've read enough negative buzz about "Floyd Collins"; I'm abandoning that dream. I do have one eye on "John Proctor Is the Villain." As the adult half of my family gets ready for "Old Friends," I have been watching clips of Jasmine Forsberg from "Six." I've also studied interviews with the cast members; it's surprising to hear that (the grown-up) Bernadette Peters first became acquainted with Sondheim's work through the revue "Side by Side by Sondheim." Later, she found herself walking around--for weeks and weeks--"humming those tunes." Mainly, my husband wants to hear Bernadette sing these immortal lines: If you wanna bump it... Bump it with a trumpet! Of course I've texted Marc with the important sentence from the NY Post: "Bernadette's Act One parasol seems to shield her from the sun on La Grande Jatte--but really it's there to protect her from the many buckets of tears that members o...

  I generally like character-driven writing, but sometimes a set-up is so fun, all incidental missteps can be forgiven. "Drop" features a young widow on a first date. She has left her little son in the care of his aunt. The woman, Violet, receives a mysterious message: "Your son is now my hostage. Kill your date--or your son dies. Make any noise about this, and your son dies." Because of the limitations of "drop" technology, Violet knows that the messages are coming from somewhere within a tight circle surrounding her body. Someone in the restaurant is sending the messages. But this is all that Violet knows. Violet is smart and inventive; she tries commandeering the hostess station (where you can send IMs to a domestic-abuse counselor through "support.com"). Violet writes a desperate message on a napkin; she uses lipstick. Moments from imploding, Violet does some fancy work with a lime-slice from a shot of tequila; to say more right here would be...

 Truman Capote was a monster; after "In Cold Blood," he wrote a bitchy story about a friend, and the friend killed herself. His remarks on Marlon Brando were so scathing, they led Brando to retreat from the spotlight (temporarily). Capote gave little (if any) credit to Harper Lee, though Lee clearly did heavy lifting on the Clutter story. Capote claimed to have a deep interest in the Clutters, but he didn't really write much about them, and he felt free to invent lies. (Living Clutter relatives are still indignant to this day.) The bulk of "In Cold Blood" is a love letter to a murderer, Perry Smith, and the lies are rampant here, as well. Smith was not a deep soul; he was a killer. He did not apologize to his victims. He did not offer a concise explanation of his motives. (Capote would have you think otherwise.) A recent study of "In Cold Blood" suggests a motive that Capote himself overlooked. Perry Smith and Richard Hickock were obviously lovers; Cap...

  My frenemy painted his house blue. Previously, it had been a kind of odd, ugly, minty green, and I respected the green; I respected the weirdness of the green. The particular shade of blue is just boring. It could be called "Conformist Blue." I was thinking these hateful thoughts while walking my dog the other day; then, I spotted my frenemy's husband. This was a chance to mend fences--but, instead, I turned away and willed myself to be invisible (just as you might sit in the back row in high-school English, if you had forgotten to do the assigned reading). A few weeks ago, I was fined for a failure to clear snow from my sidewalk. I wondered if my frenemy had called in an anonymous tip. It's madness to spiral with that kind of thinking--so I told myself to stop. I do know that my frenemy's children are alive and well; I see photos of the birthday parties I am no longer invited to. The photos are stagey and lacking in imagination; you would put them aside and thi...

  "Troubling Love" is the name of an Elena Ferrante novel, but it could also be used for a Sondheim revue. Again and again, Sondheim looked at examples of unrequited love: Herbie, Sally Durant, Countess Charlotte, Mrs. Lovett, John Hinckley, Jr., Mary Flynn.... Another thing about Sondheim. He always enjoyed making use of a gerund. The "continuous present." A gerund implies a journey from A to B. "Being Alive," "Waiting for the Girls," "Finishing the Hat," "Getting Away With Murder," "Putting It Together," "Losing My Mind," "Not Getting Married," "Good Thing Going," "Growing Up," "Opening Doors." "Loving You," from "Passion," is both (a) an unrequited love song and (b) a gerund/journey song. Disgusted by the thought of "toning down" her love, Fosca makes an observation. Loving you is not a choice. It's who I am. Loving you is not a ch...

  A story has to include so many things: a setting, a group of characters, a conflict, a sense of movement, an ending, a kind of subtextual "humming." It's no wonder that many picture-book writers handle the challenge by simply pretending it doesn't exist; so many writers churn out plotless sermons instead of stories. That's what makes "Extra Yarn" special. In very few words, Mac Barnett tells a complete story. Little Annabelle lives in a snow-covered town. One day, she stumbles on a box of yarn. She begins knitting--and, almost immediately, she encounters nastiness. The town bully alludes to "your stupid yarn." And, blithely, Annabelle says, "You're just jealous." (Annabelle is correct.) A powerful fashionista archduke learns of Annabelle--and he tries to buy the yarn. When she refuses, he just steals the yarn. But, in a foreign kingdom, the yarn-box loses its magical powers; it's just empty. The archduke throws the box into ...

  Mike White has explained the genesis of the "blondes trio" in his most recent scripts. He was on vacation, and he saw three friends in a cluster. Whenever one friend would leave, the other two would gossip about the absent friend. This insight triggered a series of defensive reader posts in the NYTimes. "That's not how MY friendships work." "I have NEVER been in Carrie Coon's shoes." (The squirming within these posts helped to suggest that perhaps the writers were not yet fully acquainted with themselves.) I did relate to Carrie Coon throughout this most recent season. I especially liked when Coon wanted to put Michelle Monaghan on trial for Monaghan's naughtiness; this was anxious, controlling behavior. Coon had the wrong idea that "punishing" Monaghan for a perceived transgression would be a step toward correcting the universe, making everything right. I have been in this position so often. For example, this week, I dreamed of tat...

 When I think of the circus, I think of the amazingly tasteless musical "Side Show," which assigns these lyrics to conjoined twins: I will never leave you! I will never go away. We were meant to share this moment. Beside you is where I will stay! To its credit, the Ringling Museum in Florida doesn't shy away from the troubling history of the Side Show. There is an ad for "Bird Girl," whose posture resembles the posture of a penguin. There is also a gigantic man, a woman with unusually long hair, a photo of (yes) conjoined twins, a bearded lady, a three-legged man. When the circus was most popular, in or around the 1930s, you, a performer, would travel all over the country (staying for one day in each new spot with few exceptions). You would eat your meals in a tent. And you would share transit accommodations with aerialists, clowns, lion tamers, strongmen, tightrope walkers. The Ringling has a special alcove that describes the training of clowns and distinguishe...

  "Like Father, Like Clown" is a beautiful episode from the third season of "The Simpsons." It's one of only three cases in history in which a guest actor won an Emmy for a "Simpsons" voiceover (a performance by Jackie Mason as Hyman Krustofsky). The episode rewrites Paul's famous monologue from the climax of "A Chorus Line." A young man has a taboo interest--an interest in clowning. His imperious father, the rabbi, says that the interest must die. The boy Herschel locks himself in the bathroom--we think he is masturbating--but a violent act destroys the lock. (Nothing onanistic was happening; Herschel was just trying to teach himself how to juggle.) Later, in the Catskills, Herschel paints his face white; attending a rabbinical conference, Hyman doesn't recognize the clown. A bucket of water falls from on high; the makeup is washed away. Hyman understands that he is looking at his son, and a rupture occurs. The reconciliation is sill...

 Yesterday, I was in a small hot tub; I watched as a ten-year-old boy slowly and deliberately spat a wad of mucus into the tub. This kid's father was distracted. Surely, the act wouldn't happen again? Then it happened again. Before I could stop myself, I was interceding. I sternly announced that there was to be no spitting in the hot tub. The father observed none of this. Later, my husband spotted the father pointing at me. Perhaps there would be a physical altercation! But--to his relief--Marc saw that the father was not notably mobile. We could outrun him. All this interested me for a few reasons. Had I been impetuous--speaking directly to the kid and not to his parent? What if the father had *sanctioned* the spitting? Did my spouse really think that an altercation could be in the cards? And what was going on in the kid's head? Was the spitting a cry for help (as in the little Spatafore's public pooping incident at the end of "The Sopranos")? This is what I ...