A small and relatively new human, 1-year-old Amber Little, stretched out a little handful of straw towards a sight she had never seen before: Pollyanna, an 8-year old teenage dromedary, an animal of the season.
One of New Haven’s last downtown holes is about to be filled by yet another 269 market-rate apartments, a project that drew kudos and some traffic and parking questions when the developer unveiled it Monday night.
The first time Paul Dwyer did the time warp, it was 1979 and New Haven’s Westville Theater was packed to the gills. He shimmied. He shook. He learned the requisite choreography—just a step to the left, and a jump to the riiiight—attended a few screenings of The Rocky Horror Picture Show in which the song features, and played around with the movie’s themes of drag and rock n’ roll.
Then he grew up, got a job as a journalist, and assumed he’d never see the cult classic again.
Just moments after a woman has screamed from the pain of childbirth, fists are flying. Limbs are lunging. On one end of the room, a grandmother emerges from her dreary shuffle to restrain the pregnant woman, one elbow cutting across her neck as the other swings back, ready to move into action. Just feet away, a father and son wrestle each other to the floor, alternating swings as they rotate around each other, grudging and violent planets in paternal orbit. Their bodies, seething with anger and distrust, fill the space.
Somehow, everything operates at a whisper. The whoosh of labored breath is the only guaranteed sound. They, these weary and wary fighters, know what we in the audience are still learning: If the woman screams again, it could cause an avalanche to come crashing down on their home, and their village.