What’s your favorite sin? Or, to put it another way, what’s the sin you find hardest to resist?
This year’s Yale Summer Cabaret team — Elizabeth Dinkova and Jesse Rasmussen, co-artistic directors, and Emily Reeder, producing director — has enlisted all seven deadly sins in the Summer Cab’s schedule.
Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec is hunched over a table in a dirty cabaret when he discovers absinthe. It comes to him in the form of a dancer. She is borne aloft by several men so effortlessly, and her own movements are so fluid, that she appears to be half-flying, half-swimming through the air, bathed in green light. The music, born of the bal musette but reaching all the way to the present day, swells and swoons.
Taking in the sounds of Dr. Caterwaul’s Cadre of Clairvoyant Claptraps and Arms & Voices as a mist began to fall over Whalley Avenue, pint-sized Westvillian Ava Kimbro and her mom Marjorie made a decision: stick it out, at least until Ava could get a big, blooming flower painted on her face. After all, this was their third Westville Artwalk, and they weren’t going to be that easily deterred. They inched toward the front of the line, where face artist Lauren Wilson was hard at work with her palettes, brushes, and stencils.
If there is a mathematical proof sitting on a picnic table, and a young woman says she wrote it, and no one believes her because she is a young woman, and cannot possibly be as in control of her actions as she thinks she is ... what is the probability of her statement actually being true?
A play about what happens when two married men — one an architect, the other his assistant (whose wife is pregnant) — realize they are in love. A play about middle-aged siblings having to tell their sister, institutionalized with Down syndrome, about the death of their last remaining parent. A play that looks at how black lives matter at three points in history: a slave plantation in 1822, a classroom in 2016, and a spaceship in 2300.
High school senior Jamia Jones found it “nerve-racking” to stand at the open mic to begin her spoken-word piece on the floor of the Long Wharf Theatre main stage at the second annual Moments and Minutes Festival.
We’re on a patch of sand next to a local highway outside of Lewiston, Idaho. There’s a wonderfully gaudy, yet nearly defunct fireworks stand to the left of us. It’s right before the Fourth of July, but there isn’t a customer in sight.
Nearby, Alice and Connor, two people old enough to be grandparents, are testing some of their supply. It gives off a few sparks, just sputters and fizzles out.
Posed against a backdrop of newspapers too small for the audience to read, Shadi Ghaheri was trying to introduce herself to Stella Baker. A jumble of words flowed from her mouth into the space between them, where they languished in the silence that followed. Baker was trying to do the same, taking on a bouncy, bell-like tone as she presented her name like an offering, and waited for Ghaheri to acknowledge receipt of it.