Liars and Saints

Maycomb was an old town, but it was a tired old town when I first knew it. In rainy weather the streets turned to red slop; grass grew on the sidewalks, the courthouse sagged in the square. Somehow, it was hotter then: a black dog suffered on a summer’s day; bony mules hitched to Hoover carts flicked flies in the sweltering shade of the live oaks on the square. Men’s stiff collars wilted by nine in the morning. Ladies bathed before noon, after their three-o’clock naps, and by nightfall were like soft teacakes with frostings of sweat and sweet talcum.  People moved slowly then. They ambled across the square, shuffled in and out of the stores around it, took their time about everything. A day was twenty-four hours long but seemed longer. There was no hurry, for there was nowhere to go, nothing to buy and no money to buy it with, nothing to see outside the boundaries of Maycomb County. But it was a time of vague optimism for some of the people: Maycomb County had recently been told t...

It's possible to think of everything that unfolds onstage as a power struggle; everything is two (or more) people struggling to get what they want. Maybe life isn't always like this, but life isn't theater. Part of the fun of going to a play is considering all of the decisions--behind props, behind an actor's posture, behind lighting--that go into even one moment, even one split-second. "American Son," on Broadway, is overly-schematic. The characters feel like devices. There's a sense of "agit-prop"; rather than trying to capture enduring, subtle truths, the playwright might just want to "stir you up." But it's still fun. It's fun to consider everything happening "underneath the dialogue." A white officer assumes a black visitor's son is "a certain kind" of person; the visitor throws him off when she mentions that her son loves Emily Dickinson. And then, this absurd and still striking exchange. The ...

I have mixed feelings about "The Assassination of Gianni Versace." On the one hand, you wonder, what the hell is Ryan Murphy doing? Responding to Murphy's OJ Simpson saga, Lorrie Moore asked, "Why  serve  this up--distressingly--as entertainment?" And people don't like being Ryan Murphy's subjects. They tend to produce lawsuits. Think of Olivia de Havilland, or of the actual Versace family. (Though, apparently, Donatella is happy to have been played by Penelope Cruz. Take this with a grain of salt.) One good idea in the intermittently compelling, tacky carnival that is Murphy's "Versace" is: focusing on the victims. Surely the least-engaging player is Andrew Cunanan--unaided, here, by a flashy, shallow performance (from Darren Criss). The victims provide a kind of "theme and variations": the perils of being gay in the nineties. You have the closeted, married architect (with Judith Light making a feast of the wife role, the speec...

(1) Listen to many, many true crime podcasts, such that you become convinced that all strangers are out to get you. They will lure you into vehicles, then dismember you and bury you in a construction pit. They will also take your money. (2) Call the American Auto Academy and demand a quote, so that your instructor cannot fleece you. Obtain the quote. Meet your instructor. Recognize that he is fleecing you. Pay him, anyway; perhaps he has a hard life. (3) Your instructor will have an anxiety disorder, and each order he gives will be restated three times. "Turn the wheel. Turn the wheel. Turn the wheel. Turn the wheel." Find yourself murmuring: "Actually, I heard you." And: "Easy does it!" These words will have the opposite of their intended effect. (4) Ask your instructor: "What do *A* and *I* mean, on the road test results?" And the man will say, "A: Good. I: Bad." Recall that, on your failed road test, you received all Is, though...

"Louisiana's Way Home." I have never had unqualified love for a Kate DiCamillo book, and I've read at least three. Still, the writer is impressive. She has conquered the world. She has a JK Rowling-ish gift for dreaming up clearly-defined, entertaining characters. And December seems like a fine time for regressing; it's a time when we all should consider reading children's books. I will have thoughts on "Louisiana" soon. -There is a short, unspooling web series on Suzanne Jovin's murder: https://www.siliconinvestor.com/subject.aspx?subjectid=32074 The author seems to be an investor who knew the falsely implicated Yale professor many years ago. The motive seems to be a wish to clear James Van de Velde's name (though the author states the opposite). Part of the author's hope is to raise enough GoFundMe money to make possible high-tech DNA testing from Jovin's clothing. Then, he will go to the police and say, "Here. Here is your...

I wish Nicole Kidman hadn't done that stupid Kevin Hart/Bryan Cranston movie. Maybe she needed to buy a new house or something. This movie, or the idea of this movie, annoyed me when it was in its French iteration (an iteration I didn't see). It annoys me now, in its American iteration (which I don't want to see and probably will see). Let me explain. First, I can anticipate lapses in taste from Bryan Cranston. Mr. Cranston's post-"Breaking Bad" career has had more misfires than exciting moments, and so I don't expect all that much from him in the decision-making realm. And heaven knows I expect nothing from Kevin Hart. This man's work has never shown evidence of talent or even, really, a sense of humor, and I don't anticipate changes. (That said, I think the national response to Mr. Hart's dumb Tweets and dumb, homophobic, old standup has been overblown. It brings to mind the term: "witch hunt.") But Nicole Kidman? Ms. Kidman has...

"Yeep! sang Ramona one warm September afternoon, as she knelt on a chair at the kitchen table to make out her Christmas list. She had enjoyed a good day in second grade, and she looked forward to working on her list. For Ramona a Christmas list was a list of presents she hoped to receive, not presents she planned to give. "Yeep!" she sang again. "Thank goodness today is payday," remarked Mrs. Quimby, as she opened the refrigerator to see what she could find for supper. "Yeep!" sang Ramona, as she printed MICE OR GINNY PIG on her list with purple crayon. Next to Christmas and her birthday, her father's payday was her favorite day. His payday meant treats. Her mother's payday from her part-time job in a doctor's office meant they could make payments on the bedroom the Quimbys had added to their house when Ramona was in first grade.... Looking for a good Christmas story? There is none better than "Ramona and Her Father." H...