Liars and Saints

 Chita Rivera's wonderful memoir indicates that she, Chita, had brains. She knew how to bite her tongue. For example, she describes Liza Minelli's insufferable behavior during the run of "The Rink." Many storytellers (e.g. Patti LuPone) would choose to assault Liza with grievances and bitter memories. But Chita (and Chita's ghostwriter) would rather opt for compassion. It's an impressive passage. As much as I love Victoria Clark, I find Clark's protestations of fatigue slightly tiresome. ("We actors are Olympic athletes!" "I was certain I was over the hill!") To this, I'd respond with clips of Chita, in her sixties, doing "Kiss of the Spider Woman." Chita basically *was* an Olympic athlete. By this point, she had already survived a traumatic car crash. I do not recall her whining about the "steep staircase" backstage. "Kiss of the Spider Woman" was like my Bible throughout high school. I did not have th...

 This novel is flawed and overhyped, but it's still much better than so many options "out there." Sam is hospitalized in the early nineties; his foot is crushed. A car accident has killed his mother. He is a little boy, and he has been almost mute for six months. A girl, Sadie, visits; her sister is confined to a bed (because of cancer). Sam and Sadie bond over video games--but Sadie neglects to mention that she is logging her visitation hours as part of a "community service" project. It's not that she sees Sam as something less than a friend. It's just childish thoughtlessness. But when the secret pops out, a rupture occurs. Amazingly, after several years, Sam and Sadie reunite; they are in the Boston area, in college. They begin to *design* video games together. But their relationship always has the stain of that original sin--Sadie's betrayal. Sadie resents Sam for claiming creative ownership that isn't entirely his. Sam resents Sadie for purs...

 I thought there was wisdom in spacing my two children apart--but, because of some developmental delays, I really feel that I have a pair of "terrible twos" right now. The tantrums seem symphonic; something happens in the woodwinds, then the brass section does its own thing. In these moments, I find myself asking, "What would Peter Krause do?" Krause is the star of the series "Parenthood"; he gives a subtle, smart performance, and he is often better than the intermittently syrupy writing. Krause has a chaotic household; he has to dig deep for something that resembles self-control. He reminds me of Pamela Adlon, in "Better Things"--another unusually honest portrait of domestic life. I had a weird encounter at the playground. (And I think "Encounters at the Playground" may become the title of my memoir.) I was talking to an awkward neighbor-dad about fits of rage. He was recalling that his daughter had just had a volcanic meltdown because...

 In "Mean Girls," there is one character worth playing, and it's Regina George. I can't help but wonder, if Lindsay Lohan had insisted on playing Regina, might her career have unfolded in a different way? My favorite moment in the original film is when Regina observes that Cady looks pretty in a certain shirt. Cady shrugs and offers thanks. This is a major sin: The correct response would have been a needy, whiny kind of protest. ("Omigod, I look SO AWFUL!") Regina seizes the moment: "You agree with me? You personally think that you look pretty?" (Calculations are occurring in Rachel McAdams's brain.) A new anthem, co-written by Renee Rapp, imagines what Regina might say to a protege. Regina puts herself in the shoes of her audience, reciting her frenemies' questions: Where she at? What's she doing? Who's she with and where's she from? Oh, she's this. Oh, she's that. She's a flight risk on the run. She's back... S...

 Ron DeSantis attended Yale and Harvard; he worked, at night, to chip away at his tuition. He also taught, briefly; there was a perception that his relationships with students were sometimes inappropriate. Though it's confirmed he occasionally attended student parties (a bad idea), the story seems to end here. When Donald Trump gained power, he appreciated the way that DeSantis would slavishly defend Trumpian missteps on Fox News. Trump rewarded this behavior by endorsing DeSantis in the Florida gubernatorial race. So Trump anointed DeSantis; DeSantis went from obscurity to fame very quickly. Trump has a well-documented love of glossiness: Ivy League degrees, telegenic profiles. Trump wants you to "look the part." But, also, Trump is deeply confused; though a part of him likes the Ivy League, he really has the greatest respect for a person who fights from penury to billionaire status. (Of course, this doesn't describe Trump himself, though Trump doesn't seem to un...

  Every winter, I like to complain about the Super Bowl. This February, the event threatened to clash with my tickets for Stephen Sondheim's "Merrily We Roll Along"; my blood pressure climbed, and I recalled all the times in high school when I noticed the arts department playing second fiddle to "athletics and fitness." Then, I realized: false alarm. I stay out of many political disputes, but the Super Bowl did make my blood boil this year. It did! A family member dismissed the artist Usher as "irrelevant." I bit my tongue--but I felt an urge to point out that Usher is phenomenally talented, and that his current Vegas residency is a subject of national news coverage. In my house, the children watch Usher videos as a kind of curriculum, and we're all especially fond of Usher's appearance on "Sesame Street." It seems like marriage equality might have helped to remove football from my life, but I have married one of Earth's few Mahom...

  I'm always irritated by the small-mindedness of the Oscars; a "narrative" sets in, and movies with substantial flaws become "films of the year." (In the current crop, at least one film, "Barbie," is simply a mess.) No one expected "You Hurt My Feelings" to earn Oscar nominations this year, although it's a work of art. To omit Tobias Menzies (in favor of Sterling K. Brown?) seems especially silly. Another heartbreaker: The absence of "Are You There, God, It's Me, Margaret." This is (largely) the story of a mom who moves from NYC to New Jersey. (Her husband has a new job.) The mom, Barbara, is an artist, but she drifts from her work to become involved in the PTA. Specifically, the PTA needs literally one thousand small glow-in-the-dark stars, cut from cloth, to be affixed to the ceiling of the gym. Barbara finds herself doing the cutting (and perhaps contemplating suicide).  Barbara does not share her parents' Christian ...