October 22, 2014
LUCKY GIRL: That’s the title of this oil-on-panel painting by renowned Bucks County artist Robert Beck, who will be exhibiting his latest works at the Gallery of Robert Beck, 204 North Union Street, Lambertville from October 25 through November 23. A free public reception for the opening will take place on Saturday, October 25, from 5 to 8 p.m.; a second reception will take place on Sunday, October 26, from 1 to 4 p.m. The artist’s work can be seen at www.robertbeck.net. For more information contact (609) 397-5679 or robert@robertbeck.net.(Photo by Jeffrey Apoian)

LUCKY GIRL: That’s the title of this oil-on-panel painting by renowned Bucks County artist Robert Beck, who will be exhibiting his latest works at the Gallery of Robert Beck, 204 North Union Street, Lambertville from October 25 through November 23. A free public reception for the opening will take place on Saturday, October 25, from 5 to 8 p.m.; a second reception will take place on Sunday, October 26, from 1 to 4 p.m. The artist’s work can be seen at www.robertbeck.net. For more information contact (609) 397-5679 or robert@robertbeck.net. (Photo by Jeffrey Apoian)

Bucks County artist Robert Beck, whose works are popular among local art collectors, was one of three internationally acclaimed artists to be honored by The Philadelphia Sketch Club at its 154th Anniversary Gala last week. Together with Elizabeth Osborne and Moe Brooker, Mr. Beck received the the Sketch Club Medal. The medal will join no less than 28 other major awards the artist has received over the years; past recipients include Jamie Wyeth and Robert Venturi.

Visitors to Mr. Beck’s gallery, at 204 North Union Street, Lambertville, will have an opportunity to see his recent paintings in an exhibition appropriately titled, “Open Road,” opening with a public reception on Saturday, October 25, from 5 to 8 p.m. A second reception will take place on Sunday, October 26, from 1 to 4 p.m. The exhibition will continue through November 23.

Described as “a Renaissance man,” Mr. Beck is not only an accomplished painter, he has taught other artists, curated art exhibits, and sat on numerous arts organization boards. He’s also hosted a radio show and is a columnist for ICON magazine. He’s known for representational paintings unrestricted by subject matter or genre, and for painting live events in unusual or difficult environments.

Over the years, Mr. Beck, who attended the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, has built a portfolio of images that speak to the American experience. His subjects show people at work and at play. They depict, he once explained, “who we as Americans are by painting what we do, where we do it, and by giving our everyday world a second look.”

“Open Road” comprises 39 oil-on-panel paintings and one sketch for Lucky Girl, shown here. Visitors will discover plein air paintings and larger studio works of subjects ranging from Maine, New York, and Vienna, as well as local images.

The paintings depict scenes of people at work, in coffee shops and bars, gathered around a table for storytelling, or playing music together as in Jam Session.

“Regardless of genre, I want my paintings to strike a chord in the viewer that gives association to something in memory,” said the artist. “I don’t want to tell you it is a lunch counter; I want you to feel what you felt when you ate at one. I want you to hear the plates.”

“Open Road” includes scenes that will resonate with New Jersey and Bucks County residents such as Stockton Inn, and Behind Phillips Mill, as well as scenes of Manhattan. Especially evocative are Mr. Beck’s snowscapes and night scenes like Night Snow, Manhattan and Broadway, above Columbus, all of which can be viewed on the artist’s website (www.robertbeck.net).

According to his artist’s statement, Mr. Beck has “always been fascinated by what makes things happen” and he uses painting in order to “investigate events that combine to make life’s parade.”

“I really enjoy working under the difficult and distracting circumstances that come with being in the middle of a crowded event, faced with the multiple challenges of motion, unusual lighting, limited time, and interaction with the public. Painting from life adds substance a camera can’t record. Your wet feet make you consider the puddles, and the wind on your face draws attention to the swirl of the leaves and sway of the branches. The experience is included in the artwork and felt by the viewer. I spend hours in one spot taking a good look and, in a form, creating an iconic image of what I see. Over time I observe rhythms that add to the identity of the scene, absorbing a great deal of sensory information.”

Mr. Beck has had dozens of solo shows; his representational style has won awards at the Phillips’ Mill Annual Juried Exhibition, the Woodmere Art Museum Annual Juried Exhibition, the Lambertville Historical Society Annual Juried Exhibition, and the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts Fellowship Exhibition.

He is represented in galleries in New York, Philadelphia and extensively through the region, including the National Arts Club, and in numerous collections, including the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, University of Pennsylvania, and the James A. Michener Art Museum, which selected 37 of his paintings for exhibition in 1999. More recently, the City of Trenton Museum at Ellarslie presented a retrospective of his work in 2007.

The artist’s philosophy is expressed in this remark: “Art is the sum of our collective experience and imagination, and the most powerful way to present ideas that we have. It’s not an answer, it’s a proposition. It keeps the human conversation from going circular.”

Of his most recent work, the artist said: “This has been a year of probing boundaries for me. I’m always trying to identify a basic truth about that first moment when you engage a subject — that thing that gives it identity — and I’m still discovering new ways to describe the world around me.”

The Gallery of Robert Beck is open Saturdays and Sundays, from noon to 4 p.m., and by appointment. For more information, call (215) 982-0074, or visit: www.robertbeck.net.

 

REHEARSAL WOES: Harry (Adam Green), in the title role, is surprised to find that his jilted ex-fiancee Roxanne (Danielle Skraastad) is the stage manager, running the understudy rehearsal - and that's just one of many mishaps that ensue in McCarter Theatre's production of Theresa Rebeck's "The Understudy," playing at McCarter's Matthews Theatre through November 2.

REHEARSAL WOES: Harry (Adam Green), in the title role, is surprised to find that his jilted ex-fiancee Roxanne (Danielle Skraastad) is the stage manager, running the understudy rehearsal – and that’s just one of many mishaps that ensue in McCarter Theatre’s production of Theresa Rebeck’s “The Understudy,” playing at McCarter’s Matthews Theatre through November 2.

Theresa Rebeck’s The Understudy (2008) is a comical, 90-minute, one-act depiction of life in the theater. The setting is a theater during a special rehearsal to help prepare the new understudy for a Broadway premiere of a recently discovered work by Franz Kafka. On the big stage at McCarter’s Matthews Theatre through November 2, The Understudy presents a humorous and affectionate representation of two actors and their stage manager — all under unusual personal and occupational stresses.

From the opening sound of a gunshot until the final curtain, high tension and multiple mishaps, both human and technical, proliferate. It’s a funny play, with some razor sharp wit, clever dialogue, and rich comical situations evolving as rehearsal and personal relationships progress. Ms. Rebeck is also delivering an indictment of the American Theater’s obsession with celebrity and the debilitating, dehumanizing effects of that obsession on the dedicated artists who continue the work they love as actors, stage managers, and other theater artists. The fact that the play-within-the-play is a lost work by Franz Kafka helps to ensure that the comedy served here will at times be dark and satirical.

This production, under the resourceful direction of Adam Immerwahr, in his first time directing on a McCarter main stage, merges a dynamically interesting, energetic, and talented cast of three with an extravagantly engaging set design and dazzling production values. What the script may lack in depth or development of plot and characters, this vibrant trio of experienced young actors, along with Eugene Lee’s fascinating, frequently moving set as a fourth character, provide to successfully capture the audience’s attention and interest.

The central metaphor here compares these anxious, isolated actors to characters from Kafka’s stories, particularly The Trial and The Castle — placed in mysterious, surreal situations, controlled by irrational forces in a dark, absurd world where there is no choice but to forge ahead. In The Understudy those tyrannical, invisible, offstage forces include not just the Hollywood-driven financial powers of the acting hierarchy and the whims of the businessmen producers, but also the erratic behavior of a stoned light board operator with her abundant supply of wheeling and flying scenery and special effects. Roxanne, the stage manager character, and her two actors, Harry and Jake, are, of course, also subject to the vicissitudes of human behavior in the tangles of a romantic triangle of sorts.

As the McCarter program points out, however, “everything you need to know about Kafka to enjoy The Understudy is “nothing at all …” Despite Kafka’s brooding black and white visage and a greatly enlarged page from an edited manuscript hanging over the stage, profundity, character exploration, and plot development are not priorities here. Comedy and a fascinating, quirky glimpse at the creative process of theater are the order of the day for this show, and the opening-night audience responded with abundant laughter from start to finish.

In the role of Harry the understudy, Adam Green establishes a winning rapport with the audience in his brilliantly funny, satiric, psychologically-revealing opening monologue. He continues to navigate skillfully the difficulties of the journeyman actor confronting first Jake (JD Taylor), his rival “Hollywood” scene counterpart, then Roxanne (Danielle Skraastad), his stage manager/boss, who also happens to be the woman he jilted just two weeks before their scheduled wedding. Mr. Green, who played Figaro in last spring’s acclaimed McCarter productions of The Barber of Seville and The Marriage of Figaro, is charming and sympathetic in his frustrations (“I mean it’s not — and it’s not that I’m bitter. People look at you; they say oh he’s an actor who’s not liked so he must be kind of bitter, and I am, I am bitter, but that doesn’t mean that movies don’t suck …”) — an ideal guide to lead us into the crazy backstage world of actors and the rehearsal process.

Mr. Taylor’s Jake, a screen star known for his roles in action movies, commands $2 million for his film roles, yet remains at the mercy of bigger Hollywood names and ruthless producers. His conventional good looks and dashing presence have gone a long way for Jake, who knows how to draw a gun with panache and apparently reached the apex of his career with his recent movie line: “Get on the truck!” Mr. Taylor persuasively embodies both the much mocked matinee idol/action movie star and also a more sympathetic actor coming to terms with a challenging stage role, two psychologically complex colleagues and the realities of life in the theater.

Ms. Skraastad’s Roxanne is commanding and larger than life as stage manager and woman scorned. She battles valiantly against the forces of fate and theatrical mischance to try to keep the rehearsal and her life moving forward. Harry explains that “the stage manager is the one person in the theater you’re supposed to be able to count on to keep her head. That’s the job description: to always have six kinds of duct tape, a pencil sharpener, Band-Aids, and a cool head” — but under the circumstances the cool head is too much to expect. Roxanne is understandably, comically flummoxed in her struggles with the intoxicated light board operator, the actors and the producers on the phone — not to mention the unexpected appearance of her ex-fiancé. With her air of authority, barely covering fierce anger and hysteria, she is funny and admirably convincing.

Mr. Lee’s set uses the immense Matthews stage and many of its accessories to full advantage, representing, and at the same time exaggerating and satirizing, the excesses of the big-budget Broadway show. With dozens of lighting instruments on all sides, a giant wind machine, melodramatic music and sound effects, picturesque onstage precipitation, a ghost light at center stage, a vast “Broadway-style” proscenium arch complete with golden-harp motif, along with a variety of set pieces wheeling on and off, and huge backdrops of a study, a tavern, and a dungeon — this animated set creates a comedy of its own. And of course there’s the face and manuscript of Kafka hanging at center stage above this Kafka-esque world. A large, well-equipped stage manager’s table in the front section amidst the orchestra seats provides Roxanne with a command post from which she vainly attempts to rein in the chaos of this rehearsal. The much acclaimed Mr. Lee, designer of The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon and at Saturday Night Live since 1974, has designed many Broadway shows, including the current long-running musical Wicked.

Kafka, who, supposedly, actually wrote a play that no longer exists and whose aura does pervade The Understudy and the play-within-the-play, once stated: “There is plenty of hope, an infinite amount of hope in the universe — but not for us.” In the end, however, Ms. Rebeck’s indomitable characters and her comedic perspective on the underbelly of the theater world, succeed in transcending the hopelessness and leaving us with a joyful affirmation of life and theater.

With a sea of musicians on the Richardson Auditorium stage, the Princeton University Orchestra launched its new season this past weekend with a concert of lush and Romantic music featuring two exceptional soloists. By the end of Friday night’s concert (the performance was repeated Saturday night), conductor Michael Pratt was understandably proud of how the students rose to the challenge of this year’s opening night.

The works on the program were linked by their use of indigenous music as well as concerto structure. The piano concerto of Edvard Grieg and bass clarinet concerto of Jonathan Russell were clear in the role of the solo instruments, but more veiled was the structure of George Gershwin’s Cuban Overture as a concerto for the unique percussion instruments Gershwin encountered in his travels to the Caribbean nation. Collectively, the members of the orchestra clearly had a good time as the musical school year got off to a joyous start.

Sophomore Marc Fishman was a winner of last year’s Princeton University Orchestra Concerto Competition, saving his prize-winning performance for this season. With its opening chords and flowing arpeggios, Edvard Grieg’s 1868 Piano Concerto in A minor, Op. 16 is recognizable, and challenging for a performer of any age. From the start, Mr. Fishman took his time on the decisive chords and sinuous solo passages, maintaining a thoughtful and exacting approach to the music. Grieg was inspired by Schumann in the composition of this three-movement work, and the music well reflects the luxurious orchestral writing and keyboard virtuosity of the late Romantics of northern Europe and Russia. Mr. Fishman executed light playing of the opening passages and found the playfulness of the second theme, with both drama and delicacy in the cadenza which closed the first movement.

Mr. Pratt wisely allowed the piano soloist to dictate some of the pacing of the concerto, and built the accompanying orchestral swells effectively. The University Orchestra showed itself in strong form throughout the concerto, from a lyrical sectional cello melody in the first movement to the majestic and lush third movement. Within the orchestra, elegant instrumental solos were provided by flutist Marcelo Rochabrun and hornist Bryan Jacobowitz.

A different kind of concerto style was heard from Jonathan Russell’s Concerto for Bass Clarinet, performed by the orchestra in a world premiere. Mr. Russell, currently a PhD candidate in composition at Princeton, has composed a work which seeks to show a “virtuostically wide range of colors and approaches to the instrument.” In composing this work, Mr. Russell emphasized all the bass clarinet’s unique musical effects, including the instrument’s “altissimo” passages and the use of “throat harmonics,” a technique he describes as “changes in throat position to create buzzy overtones of the fundamental pitch in the manner of a throat singer.”

Mr. Russell began the solo line of his concerto with a single held note, played with minimal vibrato, hauntingly accompanied by strings. The concerto proved to be an appealing work to hear, often with a melancholy reminiscence of Samuel Barber’s orchestral works. Mr. Russell moved easily through all the registers of the instrument, incorporating funk and jazz styles in long melodic lines. The orchestra played a solid rhythmic ostinato, broken by occasional instrumental solos. With an extended cadenza that was more of a meditation than a standard 19th-century cadenza, this work succeeded in introducing the audience to the full capabilities of a unique instrument.

Bracketing these two concerti were sprightly works by Antonin Dvorak and George Gershwin. In the opening work of the program, the University Orchestra brought out well Dvorak’s gift for melody in Carnival Overture, Op. 90, and the augmented percussion section seemed to have the best time in Gershwin’s Cuban Overture. After three lush works, Gershwin’s one-movement Overture was as fun as it should have been, with maracas, bongos, a gourd, and claves spicing up the rhythm. This piece seemed to be a concerto for Cuban instruments, and Mr. Pratt and the players took a sufficiently saucy approach to close the concert in high spirits.

MAYBE WE WERE MEANT FOR EACH OTHER: Former high school sweethearts, Dawson Cole (James Marsden, right) and Amanda Collier (Michelle Monaghan) find themselves attracted to each other again when they reunite at an old friends funeral in their hometown. Will Dawson and Amanda get together as adults, or is this attraction for each other only a passing fancy. To find out, see the movie.(Photo by Peter Iovino - © 2014 Best of Me Productions, LLC. All Rights Reserved)

MAYBE WE WERE MEANT FOR EACH OTHER: Former high school sweethearts, Dawson Cole (James Marsden, right) and Amanda Collier (Michelle Monaghan) find themselves attracted to each other again when they reunite at an old friends funeral in their hometown. Will Dawson and Amanda get together as adults, or is this attraction for each other only a passing fancy. To find out, see the movie. (Photo by Peter Iovino – © 2014 Best of Me Productions, LLC. All Rights Reserved)

The true test of a good tearjerker movie is whether or not it moves you to tears. And this movie managed to make me cry in spite of myself.

As this film unfolded, I found myself criticizing its considerable structural flaws; the questionable casting, the farfetched storyline, and one humdinger of a reveal. Nevertheless, as the closing credits rolled, I found myself wiping my eyes, a sure sign that this melodrama had achieved its goal.

Directed by Michael Hoffman (The Last Station), the picture is loosely based on the Nicholas Sparks best seller of the same name published in 2011. Sparks is the author of 18 romance novels, and half of them have been adapted to the big screen, most notably Message in a Bottle and The Notebook, with more in the works.

Set in Oriental, North Carolina, The Best of Me stars James Marsden and Michelle Monaghan as Dawson Cole and Amanda Collier, former high school sweethearts who haven’t seen each other in a couple decades. Strangely, the teenage versions of the same characters are played in a series of flashbacks by Luke Bracey and Liana Liberato, who don’t look at all like their older versions.

The point of departure is the present, where we learn that Dawson, who never married or attended college, is employed on an oil rig off the coast of Louisiana. He barely survives a deepwater explosion that blows him off a hundred-foot high platform and turns the Gulf of Mexico into a sea of fire. Meanwhile Amanda, who is unhappily married, is living in Baton Rouge where she has stuck it out for 18 years with her abusive alcoholic husband (Sebastian Arcelus) for the sake of their son (Ian Nelson).

Fate brings the two back to their tiny hometown for the funeral of Tuck (Gerald McRaney), a mutual friend who had a posthumous agenda. He named them both in his will with the hope of arranging a reunion of the high school lovers — whom he thought were meant for each other. Sure enough, sparks fly, but will they share more than a brief dalliance?

Very Good (***). Rated PG-13 for sexuality, violence, brief profanity, and some drug use. Running time: 117 minutes. Distributor: Relativity Media.

 

October 15, 2014

book FrannyzooeyHere are two thoughts about the power outage that occurred around 11 p.m. Monday night as I was writing about Princeton’s role in J.D. Salinger’s Franny and Zooey, a first edition of which is among the featured volumes in the upcoming Friends of the Library Book Sale.

First, it gave me an excuse to get out my little booklight and dive at random into Shakespeare, the same refuge I found when Sandy hit. As the power came on I was reading aloud, with requisite angst, the last lines of Shylock’s Act III rant in The Merchant of Venice: “… loss upon loss! the thief gone with so much, and so much to find the thief; and no satisfaction, no revenge: nor no ill luck stirring but what lights on my shoulders; no sighs but of my breathing; no tears but of my shedding.”

Second thought: it could have been worse, if, say, the television had gone dark during the previous night’s NLCS Game 2 after the Giants came back to tie the Cardinals on a wild pitch in the top of the ninth. The outage would have deprived Cardinal fans like myself of the brief stunned transition between dejection and joy as the uncanny Kolten Wong lofts a mighty walk-off home run on the second pitch thrown by Sergio Romo, who looks like he could have been a captain of the guard in Shylock’s Venice.

Baseball, beautiful baseball — it’s October and once again the Cardinals find some magic. What a sight, music to the eyes, the way the crowd in the right field stands seems to rise en masse with the arc of the ball soaring toward them, as if Busch Stadium had turned into a giant concertina being squeezed by a blind street singer with his head in the stars. Then the sight of Kolten Wong hopping and skipping in lunatic glee around the bases to be mobbed by his teammates, who tear off the top of his uniform as if he were a rock star thrown on the mercy of the mosh pit.

Day-to-day following a team with which you feel a lifelong visceral connection, every win gives your spirits a lift and every loss leaves you shaking your head and telling yourself “life goes on.”

Ted Williams in Princeton?

Speaking of baseball, another featured volume at this year’s Book Sale is a first edition of My Turn At Bat, the autobiography of the great Ted Williams, who only played in one World Series. On the unlikely chance that the Splendid Splinter might have found some reason to visit our town with the other celebrities who rode the Dinky to the terminus on University Place, I took a look online and found “Ted Williams connected to Princeton forever …. Called by some the best hitter ever in baseball, he visited Princeton on a regular basis and ended up marrying a Princeton woman.”

I thought the genies of the Net were kidding. Could it be? No, it’s the Princeton in Minnesota, where if you happened to drop in at the Kallas Cafe on the corner of Rum River Drive and First Street in the 1940s, your chances of seeing The Kid were pretty good. Just don’t ask for his autograph.

The Dinky Connection

Writing about Franny and Zooey on the front page of the Sept. 17, 1961 New York Times Book Review, John Updike begins his recap of “Franny” like this: “In the first story, she arrives by train from a Smith-like college to spend the week-end of the Yale game at what must be Princeton.”

There’s no “must be” about it. Though the evidence may be circumstantial, it can be shown beyond the shadow of a dinky doubt that Salinger had Princeton’s station and its platform in mind when he wrote the opening paragraphs of “Franny,” which first appeared in the Jan. 29, 1955 New Yorker and created a sensation, attracting more mail than any work of fiction in the magazine’s history.

Dinky lovers still smarting from the violation of the terminus have good reason to feel a wistful fondness for the opening pages of Franny and Zooey. Salinger prevails and endures among American writers of the last half of the 20th century because of his ability to make everything he touches matter, illuminating a scene or a moment so that it stands for all such scenes and moments. It’s the same way with Salinger in Central Park. He owns it for the ages. It’s his as soon as Holden Caulfield asks the cab driver about the ducks or watches kids ride the carousel, and when Salinger’s readers go there, they’re in his and Holden’s world, just as they’re in his and Franny’s when they get off the Dinky and alight on the platform — except the platform’s not there any more. Never mind, it will always be there in literature because Salinger will always be read.

His readers are, as they say, legion. Like The Catcher in the Rye (1951) ten years before it, Franny and Zooey went right to the top of the New York Times Best-Seller list and held on for 25 weeks. Readers smitten with Holden Caulfield gravitated to anything new by his creator, and whether you read of her in The New Yorker or in the book, Franny was a charmingly vulnerable, perceptive, and wary-of-phonies incarnation of Holden.

The Princeton Connection

Salinger’s stated admiration for Scott Fitzgerald underscores the Princeton connection in “Franny.” Besides more than once acknowledging Fitzgerald as an influence and an inspiration, Salinger suggests as much in his work when Holden admits he was “crazy about The Great Gatsby. Old Gatsby. Old sport. That killed me.”

There’s a prototype for Salinger’s Dinky opening in the episode in Fitzgerald’s Princeton novel This Side of Paradise, where a precursor to Franny, the “blithesome Phyllis,” steps “gayly from the train” only to see her boyfriend and a fellow Princeton student on the platform “arrayed to the last dot like the lurid figures on college posters. They had bought flaring suits with huge peg-top trousers and gigantic padded shoulders. On their heads were rakish college hats, pinned up in front and sporting bright orange-and-black bands, while from their celluloid collars blossomed flaming orange ties. They wore black arm-bands with orange ‘P’s,’ and carried canes flying Princeton pennants, the effect completed by socks and peeping handkerchiefs in the same color motifs.”

In Salinger’s version, the platform is the setting for a no less collegiate opening as Princeton students await the arrival of girlfriends or dates. Franny’s English major boyfriend, Lane, is outside the waiting room rereading her latest letter, after which he endures a brief exchange with a classmate who wants to know “what this bastard Rilke was all about,” a reminder that you’re in the domain of the author of one of the most famous first sentences in American literature, with its reference to “all that David Copperfield kind of crap.”

The style takes a clear turn in Fitzgerald’s direction when the boys, who have been keeping warm in the waiting room, come out to meet the train, “most of them giving the impression of having at least three lighted cigarettes in each hand.” You don’t have to read far in Gatsby or in Fitzgerald’s best stories or the notebook entries in The Crack-Up to find similarly clever word-pictures. A touch that evokes Fitzgerald’s way of expressing the poetry of Gatsby’s devotion to Daisy Buchanan is in Lane’s intimate relationship with Franny’s “sheared raccoon coat,” the sight of which rouses the thought that he’s the only one on the platform “who really knew Franny’s coat” and could remember “that once, in a borrowed car, after kissing Franny for a half hour or so, he had kissed her coat lapel, as though it were a perfectly desirable, organic extension of the person herself.”

A Station-Platform Kiss

Then there’s the moment when Franny and Lane embrace: “She threw her arms around him and kissed him. It was a station-platform kiss — spontaneous enough to begin with, but rather uninhibited in the follow-through, and with somewhat of a forehead-bumping aspect.”

I have no idea how many station-platform kisses have been described in stories and novels through the ages, but this is the one, the exemplar, the common denominator, the ultimate station-platform kiss that puts the Dinky on the literary map, there for all time as part of the Complete Chronicle of the Glass Family that will reportedly see the light between 2015 and 2020.

The Cool Lima Bean

Three decades ago, in the days when libraries still attached cards with the borrowers’ names to the inside back pages of books, I was looking at a book in the stacks of Firestone Library and did a double take: the name written on the card was Matthew Salinger. Like numerous other readers of Franny and Zooey I’d first seen that name on the dedication page with its reference to “Matthew Salinger, age one, urging a luncheon companion to accept a cool lima bean.” It was Salinger’s characteristically playful way of dedicating “this pretty skimpy-looking book” to that “lover of the long shot,” his editor at The New Yorker, William Shawn. Twenty years later Matthew Salinger was a Princeton student. I suppose it could be mere coincidence that his son would end up at the school in the story. Though Matthew didn’t graduate (he transferred to Columbia, earning a degree in art history and drama), you don’t have to be “a lover of the long shot” to figure that he spent plenty of time departing and arriving at the station his father captured for posterity, and isn’t it possible that he’d have been there to meet him on the Dinky at least once?

Finally, in the context of posterity and Salinger and Princeton, the Salinger Mecca for biographers and fans is the archive of manuscripts in the Rare Book and Special Collection department of Firestone Library.

 

CIRCUMSTANCES SOMETIMES BRING PEOPLE TOGETHER AGAIN: Judge Robert Palmer (Robert Duvall, right) is being defended by his estranged son Hank (Robert Downey, Jr.), who is a successful criminal defense attorney in Chicago. The judge has been arrested for allegedly being involved in a hit and run killing and Hank, who left home several years ago after managing to alienate himself from his father and brother, agrees to defend his father.(© 2014 - Warner Bros. Pictures/Village Roadshow Pictures)

CIRCUMSTANCES SOMETIMES BRING PEOPLE TOGETHER AGAIN: Judge Robert Palmer (Robert Duvall, right) is being defended by his estranged son Hank (Robert Downey, Jr.), who is a successful criminal defense attorney in Chicago. The judge has been arrested for allegedly being involved in a hit and run killing and Hank, who left home several years ago after managing to alienate himself from his father and brother, agrees to defend his father. (© 2014 – Warner Bros. Pictures/Village Roadshow Pictures)

Hank Palmer (Robert Downey, Jr.) is a successful criminal defense attorney with a good reason to hide his humble roots. It seems he was a rebellious child who frequently landed in trouble with the law while growing up in Carlinville, Indiana.

His juvenile delinquency alienated him from his father, Joseph (Robert Duvall), who happened to be the town’s only judge. In addition, Hank managed to permanently estrange himself from his older brother, Glen (Vincent D’Onofrio). Unfortunately, their other sibling, Dale (Jeremy Palmer), was mentally handicapped, As a result, Hank hadn’t been back home in ages until he received word that his mother (Catherine Cummings) had died.

He had planned to make a perfunctory appearance at the funeral and quickly return to Chicago where he had his hands full. In addition to his busy law practice, he was involved in a custody battle with his estranged wife (Sarah Lancaster) over their young daughter (Emma Tremblay). However, everything changed for Hank when his father, Judge Palmer, was arrested in the hit-and-run killing of a convict (Mark Kiely) whom he had publicly castigated in court before releasing him from police custody.

This shocking development forces Hank to represent his father, and simultaneously allows him to mend a few fences at home. In addition, Hank seduces a woman he meets in a bar (Leighton Meester), who turns out to be the daughter of his high school sweetheart (Vera Farmiga), and who might be his own love child.

Thus unfolds The Judge, a drama which is half whodunit, half soap opera that pulls a rabbit out of the hat every five minutes or so. Thanks to Robert Duvall, who plays the Palmer family patriarch with a sobering, stone cold gravitas, the film remains rather well grounded.

Also, Robert Downey, Jr. and Billy Bob Thornton turn in inspired performances as the opposing attorneys matching wits in a classic courtroom showdown. Excellent (***½). Rated R for profanity and sexual references. Running time: 141 minutes. Distributor: Warner Brothers.

October 8, 2014

rec rev albumThey were rather war-weary during Beatles for Sale. One must remember that they’d been battered like mad throughout ’64, and much of ’63. Success is a wonderful thing, but it is very, very tiring.”

—George Martin

You can see the fatigue on the cover of Beatles for Sale. They look older and wiser. Instead of the Fab Four sitting on top of the world, these guys seem to be feeling the weight of it, as if global adulation were a burden. Put those four somber faces together with that title and the message is more cynical than playful. As the hottest property in the universe, with rigid recording deadlines to meet and exhausting tours to endure, the group is being packaged and sold to the nth degree. Still, they look great. There’s a Bohemian charisma about the cover image. You can imagine they have it in them to surprise the world, but surely not to amaze and even change it, which is what they would accomplish before the decade was over.

Fifty years ago they were in the EMI’s Abbey Road studios recording the album featuring the cover image of four “war-weary” musicians. Perhaps that’s one reason Beatles for Sale was never released in America, at least not until a 1987 CD. A butchered version (minus six songs) was packaged as Beatles ‘65, with a more conventional cover showing the group in various meant-to-be-cute-and-amusing poses. It didn’t matter to me one way or the other since I had them at my fingertips on the radio of the company car I was driving as a college traveler for W.W. Norton. I loved the music, singing along with it as I drove from campus to campus showing off the new Norton Anthologies in a ten-state swath from Alabama to North Dakota. I first heard “Eight Days a Week,” in downtown Memphis, “I Feel Fine,” on the car radio outside Little Rock, “She’s a Woman,” on a jukebox in Kansas City, and “Ticket to Ride” driving through the Badlands, windows down, spring blowing through.

I’d thought that traveling for a publisher would be a profitable way to satisfy my yen for the road, like commissioned vagabondage, but by the end of the first semester I was grinding through a miasma of motels and roadkill, nothing eventful happening until the day I arrived at the Chattanooga Tennessee Holiday Inn. Waiting for me, forwarded by the New York office, was a diseased-looking Indian airletter postmarked Udaipur that seemed to pulse and hum in my hand as I read the message inside, written on a leaky ballpoint by a British friend with a vivid prose style. He was describing a fascinatingly chaotic night journey on Indian Railways and urging me to join him. He concluded with this advisory: “Go with 10 pounds of luggage, 15,000 pounds peace of mind and the balance (say at least 100,000 tons) pure and indifferent love of humanity (a half ounce of tolerance will do here). Otherwise India will bring nothing but misery to you.”

Up to that moment I hadn’t been serious about going to India. I only knew that thanks to an expense account and the fact that each installment of my salary was being directly deposited, come summer I’d have saved enough to live for a year or more on the road. Due in great part to that letter, I turned down a job in the front office and got a ticket on the Queen Elizabeth, where I bunked with a guy from Liverpool who looked like John Lennon and had been exploiting the cult of the British invasion. One word from him in his Liverpool accent and American girls were swooning at his feet.

In Istanbul, after watching A Hard Day’s Night for the sixth time in a moviehouse near Taksim Square, I took an evening ferry across the Bosporus to Asia, caught a ride in a big truck and was on my way.

India Everywhere

There are times when memory blends so fluidly with experience that it becomes possible to imagine India beginning with the Beatles and continuing across Turkey to Tehran, to Kabul, to New Delhi with the Beatles singing “Every Little Thing” and “I’ll Follow the Sun” in a record store listening booth on the great Wheel of the Available called Connaught Circus.

Those two songs from Beatles for Sale rarely show up on lists of favorite Beatles tracks, but they’re in my top 20, if only because they blossomed in India. Paul was 16 when he wrote “I’ll Follow the Sun,” a perfect road song (“One day you’ll look to see I’ve gone, but tomorrow may rain, so I’ll follow the sun”) with as sweet a middle eight as anyone this side of Schubert could have composed. McCartney also wrote “Every Little Thing,” which may seem like just another “silly love song,” until you’re hearing John Lennon sing it in India.

Out of Reach

The other day I was thinking how different that year and a half on the other side of the world would have been if today’s communication devices had been available. At the heart of the whole experience was knowing that I was out of reach of my parents and everything to do with the routine reality of home or work life in the States. Looking back, I know a cell phone or iPad would have been good to have during the nine days I spent in a Katmandu fleabag reading The Sound and the Fury and experiencing Dostoevskian fevers as I fought off a mysterious virus. I could have texted my parents, thereby putting them in a panic with phone calls to the embassy for the immediate assistance of a trustworthy, preferably American doctor.

Fate Finds Me

Since my schedule was all over the place, the only way I could get mail was at Poste Restante in one city or another among the rough outline of my route I’d given my parents and friends (and agent). It was in Goa that the long arm of the homeland reached out and, most fatefully, found me. I was about to board an overnight train to Madras when a frantic postal clerk came running after me with a letter from my father in Indiana. I’d just checked for mail at Poste Restante in Panjim one last time and had been informed by this same clerk that nothing was there for Mr Stuart, no letters, it was impossible that anything had come. One of the unreal realities of the Indian experience lived in the gulf between the Possible and the Impossible. Now here was the postal clerk defying the impossible as he chased me down to personally deliver a message he assumed must be of supreme importance.

And he was right. Inside the envelope instead of the expected letter from my father was one to me at my home address from a girl I’d met in California some years before. My father’s note said “I enclose a letter from What’s-her-name in San Francisco.” That forwarded letter began the lively correspondence that led to a meeting the following summer in Venice, which led to an October 8 marriage to Miss “What’s-her-name.”

rec rev bookNarayan Meets the Beatles

This past week, besides listening numerous times to “Every Little Thing,” “I’ll Follow the Sun,” and the other Lennon-McCartney songs on Beatles for Sale, I’ve been reading stories by the Indian writer R.K. Narayan, who creates characters not unlike the noble postal clerk in Goa who went out of his way for me that day. Reading Narayan and listening to the Beatles is like drinking good strong Indian chai in earthenware cups and eating scones with jam and clotted cream. Which is to say they are not mutually exclusive activities. Like the music of the Beatles, Narayan’s stories make you smile, lift your spirits, engage your sense of wonder, enrich your life, and infect you with a touch of the wanderlust.

The love-is-tough and life-is-hard songs on Beatles for Sale — such as “I’m a Loser,” “No Reply,” “Baby’s In Black,” “I Don’t Want to Spoil the Party,” “What You’re Doing” — have equivalents in the stories of Narayan. One way or the other, every one of those songs is about thwarted love and embattled relationships, whether you’re a loser (“Of all the love I have won or have lost/There is one love I should never have crossed”) or your girl friend is cheating on you in “No Reply” (“I saw the lie, I saw the lie”), or if she’s left the party with someone else (“I wonder what went wrong, I’ve waited far too long, I think I’ll take a walk and look for her”).

Versions of these possibilities are in play in Narayan’s “The Shelter,” which begins with a man taking cover from a sudden heavy rain by ducking under a banyan tree. Soon he becomes aware of another person, oops, it’s his estranged wife. There they are, stuck together while the rain pours as only rain can in south India. The man tries to make conversation. He’s feeling awkward and she’s giving him nothing. As he natters on about rain and umbrellas and the coincidence of their meeting, she ignores him.

Married couples, especially those celebrating four decades or more together, will nod knowingly to read that Narayan’s couple “had had several crises in their years of married life. Every other hour they expressed differing views on everything under the sun …. Anything led to a breach between the partners for a number of days, to be followed by a reconciliation and an excessive friendliness.” Now that “the good rain” has “brought them together,” the man makes courtly overtures, and expects her to “be touched by his solicitude,” but she’s having none of it. He says he’s sorry, claims to be a changed man, tries to find out where she’s living, and finally says of the rain, “We have got to face it together,” to which she says “Not necessarily” and dashes off, disappearing into the downpour. Narayan’s hapless husband calls out to her, but it’s no use. Will he chase after her? Probably not. Of course if you’re sufficiently lucky or resilient or devoted, you’ll stay under the banyan tree, facing the rain together.

 

“LOW TIDE, VINALHAVEN:” This 28 x 23 inch acrylic painting by local artist Charles McVicker will be on display at the Arts Council of Princeton (ACP) alongside work by members of the Princeton Artists Alliance, the group which Mr. McVicker founded with several other local artists 25 years ago. The ACP show features 21 artists and opens Saturday October 11, with an public reception from 3 to 5 p.m. For more information, call (609) 924-8777, or visit: www.artscouncilofprinceton.org.

“LOW TIDE, VINALHAVEN:” This 28 x 23 inch acrylic painting by local artist Charles McVicker will be on display at the Arts Council of Princeton (ACP) alongside work by members of the Princeton Artists Alliance, the group which Mr. McVicker founded with several other local artists 25 years ago. The ACP show features 21 artists and opens Saturday October 11, with an public reception from 3 to 5 p.m. For more information, call (609) 924-8777, or visit: www.artscouncilofprinceton.org.

It’s been 25 years since the accomplished local painter Charles McVicker reached out to fellow Princeton artists to form The Princeton Artists Alliance (PAA). An exhibition in celebration of the group opens at the Arts Council of Princeton with a reception this Saturday, October 11, from 3 to 5 p.m.

Inspired by Impressionist painters who had met in Parisian cafes and legendary discussions by Abstract Expressionists at the Cedar Bar in Greenwich Village, Mr. McVicker got together with Margaret Kennard Johnson, Marie Sturken, Jane Eccles, and Joanne Scott. They each made a list of artists they thought might form an interesting salon; 20 was thought to be about right number, and the artists invited to join were charmed by the idea. The aim was to enrich the Princeton art community with talks, open studios, demonstrations, and exhibitions. To this day, the group has maintained its manageable size and its goal of enriching Princeton’s art scene.

Today, as 25 years ago, its members are painters, sculptors, printmakers, and photographers; some recognized nationally, some internationally.

Recalling the group’s beginnings, Mr. McVicker remembers monthly meetings and exhibits wherever an empty space could be found, in empty stores, model homes, and corporate galleries. “Each artist showed their best work, and the art was diverse,” he said in a statement of PAA history. “At some point it was suggested that we have a ‘theme’ for our next show. Robert Fagles of Princeton University, had just released his highly-regarded translation of Homer’s Odyssey and we liked the idea of using this story as a basis for an exhibition.”

Not surprisingly, the exhibition was recommended viewing for a number of college literature classes. After being shown in a corporate gallery, it went on to the Newark Museum, two college galleries, and a cultural foundation in New York City. After such initial success, PAA produced more themed exhibitions, including several focused on the New Jersey landscape and the need to protect it. PAA members have produced work on the Trenton Marsh and the Pine Barrens, a show which ran at The Noyes Museum. Recently, they have presented work that draws attention to the havoc of Superstorm Sandy and global warming at the D&R Greenway Land Trust. Several years ago, they collaborated with poets for a show at the State Museum in Trenton. And this fall, they will feature in another, “America Through Artists’ Eyes,” curated by Margaret O’Reilly.

Over the years, the group has renewed itself as members have left and been replaced. “But,” said Mr. McVicker, “the dedication of the Alliance to high quality shows and the enrichment of the Princeton art community and beyond has never waned. Like the Impressionists, life-long friendships have been made and the cross-pollination of ideas holds the group together, and benefits the community as well.”

“Little did I realize that joining PAA in 2000 would become a turning point in my work,” said Shellie Jacobson, an award-winning ceramicist, book-maker and teacher. “Not only have I grown more confident as an artist, but over time my focus became stronger and my work more mature as we offer each other suggestions and lend support through our common struggles and accomplishments as artists.” Ms. Jacobson’s artists’ books are part of the permanent collection of the Newark Museum and the Ben Shahn Gallery and she has exhibited in Korea, Japan, Mexico, Costa Rica, and Greece. For more of her work, visit: www.shelliejacobson.com.

Alongside such newer members, Mr. McVicker, Ms. Kennard Johnson and others of the original 20-member group, including Marie Sturken, Joanne Augustine, Anita Benarde, and Lucy Graves McVicker, continue as vital members of PAA. Ms. Eccles and Ms. Scott have since moved from Princeton.

Mr. McVicker (www.charlesmcvicker.com), former president of the Garden State Watercolor Society and the Society of Illustrators, is a retired professor of art at The College of New Jersey. His work has garnered many top awards at regional and national juried shows and has been featured in The Artist’s Magazine and International Artist Magazine. His paintings are in the permanent collections of the U.S. Capitol, Princeton University, Dupont and Johnson & Johnson, among others.

Margaret Kennard Johnson (wmgallery.com/Johnson.html) studied with Joseph Albers and taught studio art at the Museum of Modern Art for23 years. Her work is in the collections of the British Museum, The U.S. Library of Congress, and the Tochigi Museum in Japan. The art of Japan, where she lived for eight years, remains a primary influence on her work.

Paper- and print-maker Marie Sturken (www.mariesturken.com) works out of the Dieu Donne Paper Mill in New York City, where she enjoys the “low-tech aspect of making paper by hand, of natural fibers.” Her primary focus of late is to embed a wide variety of materials into the pulp: fabric, yarn, and printed words. Her work is included in public and corporate collections including the New Jersey State Museum, Johnson and Johnson, and the University Medical Center of Princeton at Plainsboro.

Joanne Augustine (coryellgallery.com/artists/Augustine/) has a passion for “flowers and beautiful weeds,” and tries to capture their essence in her work. “I find them a spiritual resource, putting me in touch with my own intuition and reverence for nature,” she has said. “As a metaphor for our own lives, they challenge us to remember that we, too, exist on borrowed time.”

Mixed media artist Anita Benarde (www.benardeart.weebly.com) is also a paper- and print-maker. She has published illustrated books for children, including The Pumpkin Smasher, which is part of the Children’s Rare Book Collection at Princeton University’s Firestone Library.

Work by Lucy Graves McVicker (www.lucygravesmcvicker.com) has been shown in national and state-wide exhibitions and competitions and has received numerous awards, including a Gold Medal from the Audubon National juried show in New York. It has featured in exhibitions at Rider University, Lambertville’s Coryell Gallery, and Kean University, and included in private and public collections like Johnson and Johnson, DuPont Corporation, Capital Health System, Princeton University, AtlantiCare, the University Medical Center at Princeton, and the New Jersey State Council of the Arts.

Arts Council Show

The Arts Council of Princeton will showcase the work of 21 PAA artists. In addition to the above mentioned, the show features works by the late Nancy Lee Kern, combining the artist’s love of nature and color. The other artists are: Hetty Baiz, (www.hettybaiz.artspan.com), whose large-scale mixed-media images of animals were the centerpiece of last year’s Woodrow Wilson School exhibition “NonHuman Animals: Eat, Test, Love;” painter, mixed media artist, and poet, Joy Barth (www.joybarth.artspan.com); the English-born Zenna Broomer (www.zennabroomer.com), currently exploring printmaking to visualize abstraction in the urban landscape, and incorporating steel, copper and metal shavings into her work; Jennifer Cadoff (www.jennifercadoff.com), a signature member of the Philadelphia Watercolor Society; Rajie Cook (www.rajie.org), who creates three-dimensional sculptural assemblages; photographers Clem Fiori (www.fioriworks.com) and Thomas Francisco (www.thomasfranciscopho
tography.com); landscape painter Carol Hanson; Harry I. Naar (www.harrynaar.com), director of the art gallery at Rider University; sculptors James Perry (www.jimperrystudio.com) and Richard Sanders (www.richardsanders@carbonmade.com); Madelaine Shellaby (www.madelaineshellaby.com); and watercolorist Barbara Watts.

The Arts Council of Princeton will celebrate the 25th anniversary of the Princeton Artists Alliance with an exhibition of work from Saturday, October 11 through Wednesday, November 26. Related events include gallery talks on Saturdays, October 25, November 8, and November 22, from 2 to 3 p.m.; and a panel discussion, Saturday, November 1, from 2 to 3 p.m.

The Arts Council of Princeton is open Monday through Saturday, 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. For more information, call (609) 924-8777, or visit: www.artscouncilofprinceton.org.

 

DOTTING THE T’S AND CROSSING THE I’S: Gary Webb (Jeremy Renner) carefully checks his facts during the course of gathering information to be used in his inflammatory esposé of the Central Intelligence Agency’s dealings with the Nicaraguan Contras. Webb’s story “Dark Alliance” was published in the San Jose Mercury News, in a series of articles in 1996. (Photo by Chuck Zlotnick, © 2013, Focus Features LLC. All Rights Reserved)

DOTTING THE T’S AND CROSSING THE I’S: Gary Webb (Jeremy Renner) carefully checks his facts during the course of gathering information to be used in his inflammatory esposé of the Central Intelligence Agency’s dealings with the Nicaraguan Contras. Webb’s story “Dark Alliance” was published in the San Jose Mercury News, in a series of articles in 1996.
(Photo by Chuck Zlotnick, © 2013, Focus Features LLC. All Rights Reserved)

In August of 1996, the San Jose Mercury News published an exposé detailing how the Central Intelligence Agency had orchestrated the importation of crack cocaine from Nicaragua and its distribution in the black community of South Central Los Angeles. Entitled “Dark Alliance,” the series of stories were written by Gary Webb (Jeremy Renner), an investigative journalist who had risked life and limb to obtain and release the incendiary information.

For example, while conducting his research, he had been asked by a CIA operative who was trying to intimidate him “Do you have a family?” The spy agency was determined to suppress any facts that might shed light on its covert dealings with the Contras, the rebels who were attempting to topple the government of Nicaragua.

But Webb, a Pulitzer Prize-winning reporter, would not be intimidated and he completed the piece. And even though he had supported his allegations with declassified documents obtained via the Freedom of Information Act, the CIA secretly enlisted the assistance of the New York Times, the Washington Post, and the Los Angeles Times to discredit him.

These prominent papers discredited the notion that the CIA was behind the dissemination of crack in the inner-city. Nevertheless, Dark Alliance became the biggest story of the year, especially among African-Americans, many of whom surfed the internet in order to read the damning report.

Congresswoman Maxine Waters (Dem-Calif.) took to the House floor warning that “Somebody’s going to have to pay for what they have done to my people.” Yet, the revelations seemed to take the greatest toll on Gary Webb, who lost his good name, his job, his career, his home, and even his wife (Rosemarie DeWitt).

This shameful chapter in American history is the subject of Kill the Messenger, a sobering biopic directed by Michael Cuesta and starring Jeremy Renner. The film features a cast that includes Ray Liotta, Barry Pepper, Tim Blake Nelson, Andy Garcia, Oliver Platt, Michael Sheen, Robert Patrick, and Paz Vega.

However, this riveting thriller is Renner’s movie, and the two time Academy Award-nominee (The Hurt Locker and The Town) delivers another Oscar-quality performance as a family man and respected writer who slowly becomes a paranoid soul haunted by demons and hunted by Machiavellian mercenaries.

Excellent (****). Rated R for profanity and drug use. Running time: 112 minutes. Distributor: Focus Features.

 

October 1, 2014

book stevensI thought on the train how utterly we have forsaken the Earth, in the sense of excluding it from our thoughts. There are but few who consider its physical hugeness, its rough enormity. It is still a disparate monstrosity, full of solitudes & barrens & wilds. It still dwarfs & terrifies & crushes. The rivers still roar, the mountains still crash, the winds still shatter. Man is an affair of cities. His gardens & orchards & fields are mere scrapings. Somehow, however, he has managed to shut out the face of the giant from his windows. But the giant is there, nevertheless.

Wallace Stevens, April 18, 1904

The poet, who turned 25 on October 2 of the same year, had these thoughts on his way back to New York City after a 42-mile walk from Manhattan to Fort Montgomery, “just failing of West Point.” He walked from seven in the morning until half-past six at night “without stopping longer than a minute or two at a time,” noting “How clean & precise the lines of the world are early in the morning! The light is perfect — absolute — one sees the bark of the trees high up on the hills, the seams of rocks, the color & compass of things.” After observing that “seven is the hour for birds, as well as for dogs and the sun,” he writes, “God! What a thing blue is! It is one of the few things left that bring tears to my eyes (or almost). It pulls at the heart with an irresistible sadness.”

That Stevens’s birthday is this Thursday coincides well with a column written in the wake of the Climate March and the Climate Summit at the U.N. One way to set the crowd cheering at a rally about global warming would be for a charismatic reader to celebrate “the color & compass of things” expressed in the poetry of Wallace Stevens.

Given his fascinating, perverse, and outré world of verse, where “man is the intelligence of his soil,/The sovereign ghost … the Socrates/Of snails, musician of pears,” Stevens never seemed the companionable sort of poet you could put in your pocket and wander in the country with the way you might with, say, Keats and Coleridge. You could see him as E.M. Forster did C.P. Cavafy, standing “at a slight angle to the universe,” but if you read the notebook entries recording epic treks over the Palisades and the Poconos in his mid-20s, you find yourself following someone who strides through the universe in seven-league boots and is still going strong at 63, “like a man/In the body of a violent beast.” The poem, “Poetry Is a Destructive Force,” from Parts of a World (1942), ends as “The lion sleeps in the sun./Its nose is on its paws./It can kill a man.” In “A Weak Mind in the Mountains,” the poet imagines: “Yet there was a man within me/Could have risen to the clouds,/Could have touched these winds,/Bent and broken them down,/Could have stood up sharply in the sky.”

The Old Clothes Man

The hulking 24-year-old who wrote of the earth that “dwarfs & terrifies & crushes” is someone you’d definitely make way for if you were in his path. Here he is February 1906, on his way “to Morristown and back” (meaning he walked from Manhattan and back, about 26 miles): “Yesterday I was in my element — alone on an up-and-downish road, in old clothes, quick with the wind and the cold …. Old clothes men are indescribable impostors and boors — yet I am one of them! … My brain was like so much cold pudding. First, I loathed every man that I met, and wanted to get away, as if I were some wild beast.” What does he find to admire? “A bird on a telephone wire that seemed to enjoy the raking. Good old fellow! … What I did enjoy was the tear on my body — the beat of the blood all over me.”

Later in the same entry, he admits, “I can’t make head or tail of Life. Love is a fine thing. Art is a fine thing. Nature is a fine thing, but the average human mind and spirit are confusing beyond measure …. What a bore to have to think all these things over, like a German student, or a French poet, or an English socialist! It would be much nicer to have things definite — both human and divine. One wants to be decent and to know the reason why. I think I’d enjoy being an executioner, or a Russian policeman.”

He closes that dizzying soliloquy by wondering: “May it be that I am only a New Jersey Epicurean?”

Out of the old clothes man’s mind — Stevens in a nut-shell, like Hamlet: “O God, I could be bounded in a nut-shell and count myself king of infinite space” — come works like “The Poems of Our Climate,” “The Comedian as the Letter C,” “Of Hartford in a Purple Light,” “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird,” and “A Rabbit as King of the Ghosts,” where “The trees around are for you,/The whole of the wideness of night is for you,/A self that touches all edges,” a “self that fills the four corners of night.”

Stevens in the Barracks

A case for a companionable Stevens is made by Anatole Broyard in the Sunday, September 12, 1982, New York Times, where he recalls being “a rookie soldier” in an Army camp, “a barren and featureless place filled with strangers.” At times when “the world was too little with me …. I would go to my footlocker for the poems of Stevens.” While other men in the barracks had brought with them something from civilian life to prove “to the others, or to themselves, who they were or had been,” Broyard brought four volumes of Stevens’s poems: “He had a line for everything that was happening to me. When I looked at the sky, it ‘cried out a literate despair.’ The life I led in the Army was ‘a revolution of things colliding.’ I had no doubt that ‘these days of disinheritance, we feast on human heads.’ I saw myself caught ‘in the glares of this present, this science, this unrecognized, this outpost, this douce, this dumb, this dead.’ We were not allowed off the post during basic training, and Stevens was my favorite means of escape.”

Quoting Frank Kermode on “The Comedian as the Letter C’’ (“a sustained nightmare of unexpected diction”), Broyard says “Nothing could have suited me better, because the talk in my barracks was a sustained nightmare of expected diction.”

Boxing With Hemingway 

One odd example of “unexpected diction” in the Holly Stevens’s edition of her father’s letters (Knopf 1966) is his reply in July 1941 to a friend on the Princeton faculty who was looking for someone to lead a lecture series on “actuality.” After discussing several more conventional possibilities, Stevens recommends Ernest Hemingway. “Most people don’t think of Hemingway as a poet,” he explains, “but obviously he is a poet and I should say, offhand, the most significant of living poets so far as the subject of EXTRAORDINARY ACTUALITY is concerned.” Stevens, who more than once puts the words in capital letters, goes on to speculate on the fee Hemingway might require. “My guess is that … if he understood that Princeton was merely a place to speak on the subject and that his audience was to be merely a group of young men exactly like himself, interested in the same thing, he would come for, say, $500.”

It feels like entering a Stevens poem simply to imagine Hemingway, who as far as I know never gave a lecture in his life, presenting one on the subject of “extraordinary actuality” to a Princeton University audience, never mind the fee. The elephant in the room of the Hemingway-Stevens story, such as it is, concerns the incident five years earlier when the two men fought it out on a street in Key West. Stevens broke his hand on Hemingway’s jaw after which Hemingway knocked him down, more than once. The insurance executive was 20 years older, and, one would assume, less fit than the sportsman/novelist. Hemingway boasted about it, even giving his opponent’s dimensions, 6’2, 220 pounds, as if Stevens were a lion he’d brought down in the wild. The way Hemingway tells it in a letter, Stevens had said unpleasant things about him to his sister and had come looking for a fight at the same moment Hemingway was on his way to start one. The most curious detail is that Hemingway was wearing glasses and Stevens did not make his move until Hemingway took them off. Perhaps Stevens, like his younger, “old-clothes-man” self, was in a “loathing every man” mind-set when Hemingway walked into his path.

Walking

It seems likely that Stevens’s inclination for the unexpected was nurtured during those compulsive perambulations of his youth. In a New York Times interview with Lewis Nichols the year before he died, Stevens says, “I just write poetry when I feel like it. I write best when I can concentrate, and do that best while walking. Any number of poems have been written on the way from the house to the office.” But with a force as stately and surreal as Stevens, a mere house and office are not worthy. “Setting out on Stevens for the first time,” Randall Jarrell wrote, “would be like setting out to be an explorer of Earth.”

In his essay, “Imagination as Value,” Stevens observes that while the world may be “lost to the poet … it is not lost to the imagination … because, for one thing, the great poems of heaven and hell have been written and the great poem of the earth remains to be written.”

I found the notebook accounts of Stevens’s rambles in Souvenirs and Prophecies, The Young Wallace Stevens, edited, again, by Holly, whose nature-rooted name will come as no surprise if you read in and about her father.

INSIGHT FOR SORE EYES: Offering a strange if grotesque beauty, the above ground power and telephone lines at the intersection of Lover’s Lane and Mercer Street in Princeton are a sight that most of us take for granted. Photographer Alan Chimacoff hopes to change that and prompt those who view his work on display at the Princeton Public Library into a discussion that would see all such wires moved underground by the year 2020. Mr. Chimacoff will discuss his view at the library Thursday evening at 7 p.m. in the Community Room.(Image courtesy of the artist)

INSIGHT FOR SORE EYES: Offering a strange if grotesque beauty, the above ground power and telephone lines at the intersection of Lover’s Lane and Mercer Street in Princeton are a sight that most of us take for granted. Photographer Alan Chimacoff hopes to change that and prompt those who view his work on display at the Princeton Public Library into a discussion that would see all such wires moved underground by the year 2020. Mr. Chimacoff will discuss his view at the library Thursday evening at 7 p.m. in the Community Room. (Image courtesy of the artist)

Who hasn’t looked with sadness, even horror, at some roadside tree misshapen by utility companies into a v-shaped caricature of its former self. Perhaps you might have wondered about the purpose and value of such prunings and whether they really do the job of protecting power and telephone lines from storms that are sure to come. Ridgeview Road resident Alan Chimacoff certainly has. One such sight spurred to action the photographer/architect who came to Princeton in 1973 to teach in the School of Architecture. A series of his photographs are currently on display on the second floor of the Princeton Public Library.

Mr. Chimacoff will put his argument for putting utility wires underground before a Princeton audience on Thursday, October 2, at 7 p.m. when he speaks in the Community Room at the Princeton Public Library (PPL).

The photographer makes his case with visual eloquence in the exhibition of 25 images that comprise “Princeton Underground 2020,” which will be on display through January 4, 2015.

His eye-catching images of complex systems of wires and pockmarked wood utility poles against sky and tangled tree limbs manifest his belief that Princeton “needs to put utility wiring underground in order to avoid continual power outages.” He’d like to see an end to telephone poles overloaded with wires, cables, splice boxes, light fixtures, cell booster boxes, and the rest.

Mr. Chimacoff’s one-man crusade against above-ground wires began several years ago in response to what he saw as “the wanton destruction and removal of trees” and days without power during storms. His work shows the absurd manner in which problems are “fixed” that simply exacerbate the situation. After taking numerous photographs, he approached PPL Director Leslie Burger and the current exhibition, curated by the Arts Council of Princeton’s Maria Evans, is the result.

The display highlights what most people drive past each day, without remark, having become used to the “mess” that results from the decisions of engineers who are “totally unregulated and totally uneducated about the way things ought to look,” said Mr. Chimacoff, who has received much comment in response to the exhibition. “It’s been gratifying to know that people look at these and see great photographs, and that is most meaningful to me since my photographs are generally neither topical nor political but rather have high artistic aspirations.” If the artist has his way, however, the subject of his art might disappear.

The exhibition’s title conveys not only conveys Mr. Chimacoff’s call for change to be accomplished by the year 2020, “it’s also a play on the numbers used to describe perfect vision, in this case hindsight and foresight,” he said, in an email interview Monday.

With one or two exceptions showing scenes in neighboring towns such as Lawrenceville and Hopewell, all of the photographs were taken in Princeton.

According to the photographer, it is inevitable that “storms with big winds, big rains and big snows will snap and uproot trees, knock down power lines and power poles, and leave us in the dark unless you happen to be in the center of Princeton or on the Princeton University campus, where the utilities are underground.”

“In the late 19th century, the telegraph and telephone revolutionized communication,” he explained. “Single wires strung between series’ of wooden poles enabled the most technologically advanced communication and stood as signs of progress. Today, 150 years later, the same poles are overloaded with literally tons of wires, cables, splice boxes, light fixtures, cell booster boxes, and myriad additional devices.

“Overloaded so heavily and asymmetrically, the poles bend and can break, even without a storm. Many are held upright with steel guy wires to keep them from overturning under their burden. Broken poles often are not replaced but reinforced with a second pole lashed to the first with yellow plastic rope — a caricature of a broken clipper ship mast (also of the 19th century) repaired in a storm at sea,” he said.

Putting all of the wiring underground would eliminate regular power outages as well as the cost of importing tech crews and tree crews from around the country, and the costs of restoration and repairs that continue year after year. While acknowledging that such change would be costly, Mr. Chimacoff questions whether we can afford not to do it. “Can everyone afford the cost of auxiliary power generators for their homes?”

The images on display at the library are a small fraction of the thousands of similar grotesqueries that can be seen in and around Princeton, said the photographer/architect who has taught at Princeton University as well as at Cornell University, Syracuse University, and the University of Maryland. In 1986, he joined Hillier Architecture as director of design. He left the Princeton faculty 1988 and is now principal of his own firm ikon.5 architects.

His previous solo exhibitions include JAMuse at Cornell University Johnson Art Museum, in Ithaca, N.Y., last year and and the Architects Gallery in Los Angeles, also last year. He’s shown at Princeton’s Art Times Two Gallery and at the Gensler New York, Architects Gallery, and is featured in the permanent collections at Cornell University Johnson Museum of Art, Princeton University, and in the homes of numerous private collectors.

His extensive list of accomplishments includes state and national design awards; national and international publications of buildings and writing; and a number of winning design competitions. He lectures broadly across the country.

For more on Mr. Chimacoff’s work, visit: www.chimacoff.com.

MASTER CLASS: Mark Rothko (John Fairchild, on left) uses his assistant Dan (Ryan Gedrich) as student, sounding board, and lackey, as the two clash frequently while creating Rothko’s massive paintings, in Theatre Intime’s production of John Logan’s “Red” (2009) at the Hamilton-Murray Theater on the Princeton University campus through October 4.

MASTER CLASS: Mark Rothko (John Fairchild, on left) uses his assistant Dan (Ryan Gedrich) as student, sounding board, and lackey, as the two clash frequently while creating Rothko’s massive paintings, in Theatre Intime’s production of John Logan’s “Red” (2009) at the Hamilton-Murray Theater on the Princeton University campus through October 4.

In 1958, Mark Rothko, in his mid-50s, vastly successful and in the final years of transition towards abstraction in his painting, undertook one of the most prestigious and lucrative commissions ever offered to an artist. At the behest of architects Phillip Johnson and Mies van der Rohe, Rothko began work on his Seagram Murals for the Four Seasons Restaurant in the new Seagram Building on Park Avenue. Rothko created these massive, magnificent canvases, rectangular fields of reds and black, in his old gymnasium studio in the Bowery, New York City.

Intensely serious, brilliant, arrogant, fiercely opinionated, and obsessive, Rothko painted at least 30 of these murals, though only seven were required, but he eventually repudiated the commission, and returned the advance money. The famous Seagram Murals today hang in the Tate Museum in London, the National Gallery in Washington D.C. and the Kawamura Memorial Museum in Japan.

John Logan’s two-character drama Red (2009), originally produced at the Donmar Warehouse in London with Alfred Molina in the role of Rothko, then brought to Broadway the following year, and now through October 4 at Theatre Intime on the Princeton University campus, portrays the artist in his studio over a period of a few months in 1958-59. The play, winner of six Tony Awards, including Best Play, is about the relationship between the artist and his work, and also about the growing, conflict-ridden connection between Rothko and his young assistant. Rothko’s work and increasingly dark aesthetic focused on engaging with and enveloping the viewer, and Mr. Logan’s play also attempts to embrace the audience and explore the relationship between the artistic work and the spectator.

Felicitously scheduled to coincide with an exhibit of abstract expressionist works, including a painting by Rothko, at the Princeton University Art Museum, this production of Red provides, in five scenes without intermission, a rich theoretical discussion of modern art, a master class of sorts, and a glimpse into the world of Rothko’s atelier. Red is also an intriguing human drama and a compelling story of a young artist coming of age through his struggles with the overpowering shadow of his controlling mentor/father figure.

Mr. Logan’s dramatic device here of presenting Rothko and his work through his interactions and dialogue with his young assistant Ken is a rewarding stratagem that both reveals the man and his art and tells a dramatically engaging story — occasionally contrived and not quite historically accurate, but mostly convincing and full of striking truths.

The Theatre Intime Princeton University undergraduate company, under the direction here of junior Oge Ude, has taken on this serious, challenging script, with focus, thoughtful intelligence, creativity and commitment that befit the subject matter and the artist they are portraying.

John Fairchild, as Rothko, making the stretch to portray this domineering icon more than twice his own age, does, unsurprisingly, lack the gravitas of this fearsome artist. The moments when Rothko should be roaring are somewhat toned down here, but Mr. Fairchild succeeds in bringing to life the profound seriousness and passion of the character. Lightly bearded with shaved head and glasses, short-tempered, nervous and full of pent-up energy, he makes this character, in his anger, despair and transcendent intensity, both credible and thoroughly absorbing.

As the new assistant Ken, Ryan Gedrich provides a strong counterpart to the powerful Rothko. From the opening line, Rothko’s “What do you see?” followed by his first diatribe/sermon, Ken listens and, throughout the play, increasingly finds his own voice, develops his own independent character and identity as an artist, despite the overweening dominance of his dogmatic mentor. Mr. Gedrich’s depiction of this young man coming of age, who, as it turns out, has a dark secret of his own, is dynamically interesting and sympathetic, deftly providing the audience with an illuminating perspective on Rothko the man, Rothko the artist and his realm of abstract expressionism. “This is the first time you’ve existed,” Rothko tells Ken after his protégé, for the first time in their mounting Oedipal conflict, challenges Rothko, fights back, and asserts himself. Besides being a counterbalance to the monumental Rothko, Ken also speaks for the new generation of artists — Jasper Johns, Robert Rauschenberg, Andy Warhol, and others — whom Rothko sees as threats to his supremacy.

Becoming an integral part of this production between scenes, sometimes on stage and sometimes in the aisles, is a six-person modern dance troupe: Peter Deffeback, Selah Hampton, Kamber Hart, Casey Ivanovich, Tess Marchant and Glenna Yu. Contributing to the abstract expressionism of the style, theme, and subject matter of the rest of the production, the dancers also interact with the paint, and in paint-splattered t-shirts and fiery red light they reflect the tension and movement in the paintings and in the psychological struggles of the drama. Less skilled dancers or a less subtle, sensitive, sophisticated director could make this choreographic addition to the play an intrusion or distraction, but here the dance interludes are both riveting and appropriately complementary to the human drama at center stage.

Original, mostly atonal music by Sam Kaseta is also highly effective in establishing the dark, unsettling tone and mood of the piece. Marissa Applegate’s unit set design, with scenic design by David White and lighting by Alana Jaskir, is realistic, detailed, and believable in creating Rothko’s cluttered gymnasium studio with vivid, specific details: paint cans, brushes, bottles of Scotch, a phonograph and records, stovetop, phone, and, most importantly, large representations of three of Rothko’s canvases in red with black lines. The lighting appropriately remains dim throughout most of the play, as Rothko himself demanded dim lighting in attempting to control the environment in which his work would be seen.

Rothko orders his assistant Ken to read Freud, Jung, Shakespeare, and Nietzsche’s Birth of Tragedy. (The battle in the work of art and in life is always the battle of Greek tragedy, the battle between the order and reason of Apollo and the irrational passion and energy of Dionysus.) The references here to artists, writers, and thinkers are abundant. The 90-minute play, among other things, is certainly a sort of master class for the audience. Rothko’s question, “What do you see?” at both the beginning and end of the play, as he looks at the imaginary fourth-wall painting hanging in front of the audience, is a crucial question for Ken and for us. We too are the work. It is our class, and we too must accept the invitation to become immersed and enlightened in our encounters with the artist’s creation.

Theatre Intime’s production of John Logan’s “Red” will run for one more weekend with performances at 8 p.m. Thursday and Friday, October 2 and 3, and at 2 and 8 p.m. on Saturday, October 4, in the Hamilton-Murray Theater on the Princeton University campus. For tickets and information call (609) 258-1742 or visit www.theatreintime.org.

A 30-year history is an accomplishment, whether in a job, residence, or membership in a club. In the case of The Princeton Singers, a 30-year history has meant growth from a British-focused volunteer chorus to a fully professional vocal ensemble well known in choral circles. With only two conductors in its esteemed history, The Princeton Singers had a lot to celebrate this past weekend.

“The Dream Concert,” the ensemble’s 30th anniversary celebration, musically summarized the programming dreams of the chorus, both past and present. Reaching back to the Edwardian British and Renaissance with which John Bertalot launched the Singers, and looking ahead to the 21st century through music composed by current conductor Steven Sametz, the concert Saturday night at Trinity Church showed that throughout these past 30 years, the emphasis on vocal tuning and precise musicianship has never wavered.

As Mr. Sametz expressed in his opening remarks, conductor John Bertalot dreamed The Princeton Singers into reality, largely through exploring the multi-century English choral tradition. The Singers paid tribute to these origins in their opening selections, C.V. Stanford’s double chorus Coelos Ascendit Hodie, followed by a two 16th and 17th-century works. The augmented chorus of The Princeton Singers, including all alumni who were in attendance, demonstrated a full and rich choral sound in what was a joyful way to start a concert. Monteverdi’s Si ch’io vorrei morire, sung by the Singers alone, presented a sharp and crisp sound as the chorus stood at the foot of Trinity’s chancel. The typically Monteverdian tuning quirks and suspensions came through well, and the women’s sections were especially well tuned, as Mr. Sametz built the tension well toward the end of the jubilant text. The poignant text of Philippe Verdelot’s patriotic Italia mia was performed with smooth homophony, as this mid-16th century piece proved as passionately nationalistic as the more well-known 19th-century works of Verdi.

Mr. Sametz selected several contemporary works for this performance, including one of the classic “dream” choral works — Eric Whitacre’s Leonardo Dreams of his Flying Machine. Musically depicting the little known legend that Da Vinci envisioned flying machines even in the late 15th century, Whitacre wrote a piece in which the singers tell the story through complex harmonies and a clever text well set for voices. Sound effects become part of the fabric, and The Princeton Singers had no trouble shifting gears from Renaissance polyphony to the sharp and decisive tone required by this piece.

The versatility of The Singers was demonstrated multiple times throughout the concert, including in Mr. Sametz’s two compositions programmed for the evening. Three Mystical Choruses set three different texts in three different languages, and The Singers presented each well from three different locations within the chancel. As a composer, Mr. Sametz clearly knows the chorus well, finding especially silky harmonies in the setting of the Shabbat blessing “En kelohenu.” The setting of Kabir’s “Mein to tere paas me” showed a much more sparse vocal color, and the chorus had no trouble with the off-rhythms in the piece. The other work of Mr. Sametz performed, Dante’s Dream, set an extensive passage of Dante Alighieri’s text in a chant-like manner and a vocal effect which was pointillist and full of light. Especially impressive was mezzo-soprano Sage Lutton, who sang a lyrical solo in “Niño de Rosas,” the first of Sametz’s Three Mystical Choruses.

The Princeton Singers has made a reputation presenting multicultural contemporary works, and one of its trademark pieces is Stephen Leek’s Knowee, the story of an Aboriginal figure. In Aboriginal folklore, Knowee wanders the skies looking for her son, and the women of the Singers proved they were all independently strong singers as they wandered through the aisles of Trinity Church, each musically looking for her mythical son. In the same multicultural and complex vein, the arrangement of the Iroquois Peyote Song featured soprano Victoria Jueds in an appealing piece reminiscent of the Eastern European choral style of the 1990s.

It may have been fairly easy to start a choral ensemble in the 1980s, but as the myriad of folded arts organizations in this country will tell, it certainly has not been easy to maintain a performing organization, particularly in these economic times. Thanks to consistently high performance standards and seemingly avoiding the temptation to over-expand, The Princeton Singers has a solid hold on its position in the choral arena as the ensemble enjoys its next decades.

GETTING TO KNOW YOU: Mild mannered, seemingly innocuous Robert McCall (left) is intrigued by the prostitute Teri (Chloe Grace Moretz) whom he comes to know during his late night visits to the diner whenever he has bouts of insomnia. Teri frequents the diner during breaks between her clients, and McCall befriends her. When Teri comes in one night with a black eye, McCall, who is a retired spy, takes it upon himself to punish the person who beat up Teri.

GETTING TO KNOW YOU: Mild mannered, seemingly innocuous Robert McCall (left) is intrigued by the prostitute Teri (Chloe Grace Moretz) whom he comes to know during his late night visits to the diner whenever he has bouts of insomnia. Teri frequents the diner during breaks between her clients, and McCall befriends her. When Teri comes in one night with a black eye, McCall, who is a retired spy, takes it upon himself to punish the person who beat up Teri.

On the surface, Robert McCall (Denzel Washington) is a pleasant hail fellow well met person. By day, the affable widower works as a sales associate at a hardware superstore where he jokes with co-workers who call him “Pops.” Evenings, he retires to a modest apartment in a working class Boston community, although bouts of insomnia often have him going to a nearby diner to read a book into the wee hours of the morning.

The dingy joint looks a lot like the diner depicted by Edward Hopper in the classic painting Nighthawks. Among the seedy haunt’s habitués is Teri (Chloe Grace Moretz), a teen age prostitute who hangs out there between clients.

Robert takes a personal interest in the troubled teen who is a recent immigrant whose real name is Alina. He soon learns that she’d rather be pursuing a musical career than sleeping with stranger after stranger. Trouble is she’s under the thumb of Slavi (David Meunier), a sadistic pimp who’ll stop at nothing to keep her in check.

A critical moment arrives the night she arrives in the restaurant and hands Robert her new demo tape while trying to hide a black-eye. But he becomes less interested in the CD than in the whereabouts of the person who gave her the shiner.

What neither Teri, nor anybody else knows, is that Robert is a retired spy who has a set of deadly skills that he learned as part of his past job. At this juncture, the mild mannered retiree reluctantly morphs into an anonymous vigilante who doles out street justice on behalf of Teri and other vulnerable crime victims who have no other recourse for justice.

Thus unfolds The Equalizer, a riveting, gruesome adaptation of the popular 1980s TV series. Directed by Antoine Fuqua, this version is actually more reminiscent of Death Wish (1974), because the film’s protagonist behaves more like the brutal avenging angel portrayed on the big screen by Charles Bronson than the television show’s British gentleman.

Considerable credit goes to Oscar winner Mauro Fiore’s (Avatar) captivating cinematography that shows Boston in a way which is somehow both stylish and haunting. Nevertheless, the panoramas only serve as a backdrop for Denzel who is even better here than in his Oscar winning collaboration with Fuqua in Training Day.

Excellent (****). Rated R for graphic violence, sexual references, and pervasive profanity. In English and Russian with subtitles. Running time: 131 minutes. Distributor: Sony Pictures.

 

September 24, 2014

Book revAmong American writers, my mother favored Scott Fitzgerald, who was born on September 24, 1896, and died December 21, 1940. A hundred years ago this month he was starting his sophomore year at Princeton.

My mother had a small study adjoining my father’s big study, with just room enough for a desk, a chair, and some bookshelves. There were always books around, mostly paperbacks, but the only novel of Fitzgerald’s I remember seeing there was Tender Is the Night, which Scribners first published 80 years ago this spring. The cover of the Bantam paperback caught my adolescent attention because of the woman with the towel draped around everything but her back and legs; the sentence under the title said: “The famous novel of a strong, strange love — and a man who risked destruction.” The man on the cover was looking sideways at the woman, as if he were bored. Outside the window was a painted view meant to be the French Riviera.

“Some day you’ll be old enough to read this,” my mother told me. I figured she meant old enough to comprehend what “strong, strange love” was all about and how a man in such intimate proximity to a half-naked woman could look so bored.

In the Shadow of “Gatsby”

I’ve never really liked Tender Is the Night. Both before and after I was “old enough to read it” I found it scattered, wordy, and full of expendable dialogue, its characters off-putting, as if after all that work, the author himself finally couldn’t find it in his heart to care about them. Reading The Great Gatsby, you know Fitzgerald loves his characters and his creation. My reaction to the later, much longer, more ambitious novel has been somewhat complicated by the fact that there are two versions. In the original 1934 edition, which I first read in the paperback with the sexy cover, the narrative begins on the Riviera in 1925 with a young movie starlet named Rosemary Hoyt. A great deal happens before the novel flashes back to Zurich in 1917 and its true protagonist, Dr. Richard Diver. Pondering the book’s disappointing reception, Fitzgerald began to think that the true beginning was with “the young psychiatrist in Switzerland,” and in 1951, a decade after his death, Scribners published the chronological version of Tender Is the Night “with the author’s revisions” in a single volume with The Great Gatsby and the unfinished Hollywood novel, The Last Tycoon. The critic Malcolm Cowley, who introduced and edited the revision, ends by making a case for the superiority of the chronological version.

All this month I’ve been rereading Tender Is the Night and comparing the chronological revision with the original. I also revisited Keats’s “Ode to a Nightingale,” which provided the title, and read around in The Crack-Up, a posthumous collection of Fitzgerald’s essays, correspondence, and notebooks put together by his friend and Princeton classmate Edmund Wilson. Either way, I find a brave, driven, sprawling, fascinatingly flawed work that anyone who loves Fitzgerald and Gatsby should value the same way readers who love Melville and Moby Dick cherish Pierre, both books written in the shadow of their great predecessors. To begin to fathom what Fitzgerald was up against in the nine years it took him to pull together Tender Is the Night, imagine sitting down to write another novel after producing one that T.S. Eliot called “the first step American fiction has taken since Henry James.”

Then there was the timing. The Great Gatsby arrived at the heart of the era it evoked. Tender Is the Night, with its wealthy, neurotic characters partying and sunning themselves in European settings, was not a good fit for 1934. Fitzgerald had become so much the dated emblem of the roaring twenties, the Depression had no place for him. Not that any of it mattered to mainstream reviewers who had been no less clueless about Gatsby, or to a reading public whose response to that “first step” since Henry James was registered in hugely disappointing sales compared to those of Fitzgerald’s Princeton novel, This Side of Paradise (1920).

Clinical vs. Lyrical

In his appendix to the 1951 revision, after describing the various drafts of Tender Is the Night “kept in six big blue cartons” in the Princeton University Library’s Manuscript Room, Malcolm Cowley finds that they “reveal how an author who was not a born novelist, but rather a romantic poet with a gift for social observation, a highly developed critical sense, and a capacity for taking infinite pains, went about the long task of putting his world into a book.”

Chances are that had the novel achieved acclaim and sales worthy of his expectations, Fitzgerald would have resisted tampering with a narrative form resembling the one he employed in Gatsby, where the romantic poet and socially aware novelist sustain a brilliant balance. The opening paragraph of the revision, with “Doctor Richard Diver arriving in Zurich at 26 (“a fine age for a man, indeed the very acme of bachelorhood”), is flatly expository. In the original version, the misbegotten poet is there from the beginning, with the first paragraph’s image of “the cupolas of a dozen old villas rotted like water lilies among the massed pines.” In the second paragraph, poetry and prose coalesce in a sentence worthy of Gatsby: “The hotel and its bright tan prayer rug of a beach were one.” The poet and novelist connect less smoothly in the description of Rosemary, “who had magic in her pink palms and her cheeks lit to a lovely flame, like the thrilling flush of children after their cold baths in the evening. Her fine forehead sloped gently up to where her hair, bordering it like an armorial shield, burst into lovelocks and waves and curlicues of ash blonde and gold. Her eyes were bright, big, clear, wet, and shining, the color of her cheeks was real, breaking close to the surface from the strong young pump of her heart. Her body hovered delicately on the last edge of childhood — she was almost eighteen, nearly complete, but the dew was still on her.”

Though the poet is clearly present in that passage, the stress on “children after their cold baths” and the “strong young pump of her heart” seems more clinical than lyrical. While it could be interpreted as a suggestion of the doctor’s point of view, the description feels like a formal offering, as if the author were a chef spreading a full course of imagery before the reader.

It gets more complicated if you look at Fitzgerald’s presentation of Dick’s beautiful schizophrenic wife Nicole, who is modeled on Scott’s Zelda. In the original version, you see her first from Rosemary’s point of view, “Her face was hard and lovely and pitiful,” a sentence that reads less like the observation of an 18-year-old starlet than a salute to Hemingway. A few chapters later, a touch of Keats enters the cadence of Rosemary’s impression of Nicole’s beauty: “Her face, the face of a saint, a viking Madonna, shone through the faint motes that snowed across the candlelight, drew down its flush from the wine-colored lanterns in the pine. She was still as still.”

“Verduous Glooms”

One of the few reasons to prefer the revised, chronological beginning is that the moment in the novel where poet and novelist seem truly in harmony comes in the fifth chapter of Book I, rather than many pages later in the fifth chapter of Book 2. Given the almost total absence of poetry in the narrative detailing Dick Diver’s descent into ruin and obscurity, however, it might have been more powerful and poignant for the reader to see Nicole at that point not through the eyes of Rosemary but as Dick does in the ecstasy of falling in love, when her “moving childish smile … was like all the lost youth in the world.”

In view of the novel’s long, ugly, aggressively anti-lyrical denouement, where the “strong, strange love” does indeed destroy the man who “risked destruction,” the lyrical summit of Tender Is the Night, its “Ode to a Nightingale” moment where aura and atmosphere take on the glow of Keat’s “high romance,” is in the scene where Dick and Nicole listen to songs together, “as if this were the exact moment when she was coming from a wood into clear moonlight. The unknown yielded her up; Dick wished she had no background, that she was just a girl lost with no address save the night from which she had come.”

When Nicole sings to Dick, “The thin tunes, holding lost times and future hopes in liaison, twisted upon the Valais night. In the lulls of the phonograph a cricket held the scene together with a single note.” After her song, she smiles at him, “making sure that the smile gathered up everything inside her and directed it toward him, making him a profound promise of herself for so little, for the beat of a response, the assurance of a complimentary vibration in him. Minute by minute the sweetness drained down into her out of the willow trees, out of the dark world.”

Fitzgerald’s shading of the scene evokes the mood of the lines from “Ode to a Nightingale” he uses for an epigraph, “Already with thee! tender is the night …. But here there is no light,/Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown/Through verduous glooms and winding mossy ways.”

Fitzgerald Reading

There’s a posting on YouTube of Fitzgerald reading a portion of “Ode to a Nightingale,” which must have been from memory because there are errors and omissions in nearly every line. So deeply felt is the recitation, however, no one hearing it would quibble. From all accounts, Keats’s poetry was already one of Fitzgerald’s guiding lights when he came to Princeton as a freshman in 1913.

Long ago, around the time I was gawking at the lady on the cover of the paperback, my parents and I drove through nighttime Princeton on the last leg of a two-day drive to New York. As we passed the campus gates, my mother said, “This is where Scott Fitzgerald went to school.” When we walked by the Plaza Hotel a few days later, she told me about Scott and Zelda’s notorious drunken swim in the fountain. A serious drinker herself, she thought of Fitzgerald as a compadre, but it wasn’t the darling of the Jazz Age she felt true kinship with, it was the handsome, greying “has been” who died at 44 in Hollywood making notes on next year’s Princeton football team in his copy of the Princeton Alumni Weekly.

 

The quote about Fitzgerald’s death is based on the account in Andrew Turnbull’s biography.

UNDERGROUND RAILROAD: Inspired by the Underground Railroad, this mural can be found behind the Arts Council of Princeton’s Paul Robeson Center, where it was completed by artists Will “Kasso” Condry and James “Luv 1” Kelewae on Sunday, September 14. Both artists are members of the S.A.G.E. Coalition. For more information, call (609) 924 8777, or visit www.artscouncilofprinceton.org.

UNDERGROUND RAILROAD: Inspired by the Underground Railroad, this mural can be found behind the Arts Council of Princeton’s Paul Robeson Center, where it was completed by artists Will “Kasso” Condry and James “Luv 1” Kelewae on Sunday, September 14. Both artists are members of the S.A.G.E. Coalition. For more information, call (609) 924 8777, or visit www.artscouncilofprinceton.org.

It’s not visible from Witherspoon Street, so you’ll have to look behind the Arts Council of Princeton’s Paul Robeson Center building to discover the brightly-colored mural that was painted there on Sunday, September 14.

The mural’s clandestine positioning speaks directly to the subject that inspired the artwork. Titled Underground Railroad, the mural commemorates the historic web of routes and safe houses that escaped slaves from the south followed and found refuge in on their harrowing journeys to freedom.

The routes covered thousands of miles and ran through New Jersey. Sections were known as “stations,” and Station A ran through Princeton’s Witherspoon-Jackson neighborhood. The mural thus serves as a reminder of Princeton’s historical involvement in the Underground Railroad.

“Those viewers who choose to wander in and explore the ‘hidden’ wall will experience the clandestine nature of the Underground Railroad as well as that of contemporary urban art,” said local curator, writer, teacher and photographer Ricardo Barros who conceived of the work.

Completed in one day by Will “Kasso” Condry and James “Luv 1” Kelewae of Trenton’s S.A.G.E. Coalition, the mural also pays homage to the tradition of quilt-making. According to a press release following the event, “the alternating diamond patterns and geometric shapes that can be seen throughout the mural are directly inspired by African-American quilt patterns, bringing to mind their importance in telling the story of the Underground Railroad.”

As members of the S.A.G.E. nonprofit organization formed in 2012 to initiate, plan, and execute inner-city beautification projects, both artists are used to being watched by the public as they work, in this case to the music of OLD SOL, a Trenton-based funk, hip-hop, and soul band. The arts coalition is a diverse group of visual artists, engineers, fabricators, musicians, and teachers who create everything from murals to 3-D models. Kasso and Luv 1 have already created a series of public art projects in Trenton, including a depiction of Gandhi, the Dalai Lama, and Barack Obama. The Gandhi mural generated a strong, positive, public response, and led to the transformation of an abandoned lot into a public urban garden, known as Gandhi’s Garden.

The ACP abstract mural, which took 10 hours to complete, interweaves symbolic images such as lantern, sailboat, sun, moon, and star. The project brings together the art communities of Princeton and Trenton, which is exactly what Mr. Barros, a resident of the Witherspoon-Jackson neighborhood and ACP Exhibition Committee member, had in mind.

“This day will go down in history. Not because of what we painted, but because of the connections that were made and the new bridges that were built,” said Kasso in a recent blog post on the ACP website, where comments and perspectives on the mural can be viewed.

For more on the S.A.G.E. Coalition, visit http://sagecoalitionnj.com/. For more information, visit www.artscouncilofprinceton.org or call (609) 924-8777.

 

On paper it probably sounded so simple: a narrator reads from literature while a string quartet plays music suitable to the text. This type of concert fits in well with Princeton University Concerts’ aim to engage larger audiences in chamber music and emphasize the connections among art forms through interdisciplinary performance. But things are not always what they seem. What made last Friday night’s Princeton University Concerts presentation in Richardson Auditorium unique and not so simple was the caliber of performers engaged — the narration of Philip Roth’s Everyman was read by multiple Academy Award®-winner Meryl Streep, accompanied by the renowned Takács String Quartet. This concert of simplicity became the event of the month to attend to open Princeton University Concerts 2014-15 season.

Ms. Streep is no stranger to Princeton; she has given at least one lecture on campus in recent history. The text Ms. Streep read as narration in this concert was a set of four scenes from Philip Roth’s novella Everyman, a literary meditation on death, the “common experience that terrifies all of us.” The Takács String Quartet provided a musical backdrop in the quartet music of contemporary Estonian composer Arvo Pärt, whose sparse, yet rich music perfectly matched the narration of loss and regret. Friday night’s performance was the second time this music and fiction had come together — the first performance of this combination was in 2007, with Philip Seymour Hoffman as narrator.

The Pärt-Roth pairing was divided into four parts, with the Takács playing a movement of music followed by Ms. Streep reading 20-25 pages of text. The opening sections of Pärt’s Fratres for string quartet were hymn-like, and easily depicted the cemetery scene with which Roth’s work opens. The members of the Takács String Quartet (violinists Edward Dusinberre and Károly Schranz, violist Geraldine Walther, and cellist András Fejér) kept the musical atmosphere dry, playing without vibrato but still staying very much in tune. A master of voice and character, Ms. Streep held the audience in rapt attention when reading the opening pages of Roth’s text.

The music of each section seemed to perfectly complement the subsequent text; the second Summa was musically more upbeat, as if walking away from the grave and onto the next thing in life and the third and fourth sections brought peaceful reflection into the mix. Pärt’s music, including the entire Fratres, the one-movement Summa and his Psalom for string quartet, was marked by a great deal of repetition, but with different colors among the instruments. Particularly sensitive were the sonorities between viola and cello and viola and second violin. Mr. Dusinberre’s first violin playing was darker than one might hear in Italianate music, and the overall effect from all four players well fit this musical commentary on death. Despite the lengthiness of some of Roth’s passages, the full house at Richardson Auditorium had no trouble staying with Ms. Streep’s captivating narration and spoken exploration of the characters in Roth’s writing.

The Takács String Quartet paired the multidisciplinary Pärt/Roth work with a piece seemingly on the same theme. Franz Schubert’s 1824 string quartet Death and the Maiden was considered Schubert’s testament to death. Closely related to an 1817 song Schubert composed of the same name, this four-movement work came about at a time of great personal struggle for Schubert, and contains the same graceful melodic style for which the composer was known. The Schubert quartet was a chance for the members of the Takács to play full out, and the piece was well in the ensemble’s wheelhouse. The overall musical character was more uplifting than Pärt’s chamber music, and the Takács ensemble took full advantage of the ample room for intensity within the music. Mr. Dusinberre’s delicate cadenza-like passage at the end of the first movement complemented well the unity in speed and transition from the others in the Takács Quartet. As one would expect from a significant Schubert work, the second movement “Andante” was songlike, even while in a minor key — homophonic and hymn-like, with collective unison in dynamics, as the musicians’ bows never seemed to leave the strings. Mr. Dusinberre demonstrated a particularly rich tone in the lower register of the first violin part, and the cello melody in the second variation of the theme was elegantly played by Mr. Fejér. The rollicking closing “Presto,” full of quick dotted rhythms, showed the uniformity of the Takács String Quartet which comes from years of playing together, bringing the high-powered evening to a close.

 

THE BEGINNING OF HECTOR’S QUEST FOR HAPPINESS: At last Anjali (Veronica Ferres, back to camera), one of Hector’s (Simon Pegg) patients summons up the courage to tell him that he is not helping her at all. (Photo by Ed Araquel,  © 2014 Egoli Tossell Film/ Co-Produktionsgesellschaft “Hector 1” GmbH & Co. KG/ Happiness Productions Inc./ Wild Bunch Germany)

THE BEGINNING OF HECTOR’S QUEST FOR HAPPINESS: At last Anjali (Veronica Ferres, back to camera), one of Hector’s (Simon Pegg) patients summons up the courage to tell him that he is not helping her at all.
(Photo by Ed Araquel, © 2014 Egoli Tossell Film/ Co-Produktionsgesellschaft “Hector 1” GmbH & Co. KG/ Happiness Productions Inc./ Wild Bunch Germany)

Hector (Simon Pegg) is a funny duck. The eccentric neat freak is lucky to have a girlfriend like Clara (Rosamund Pike) who’s willing to put up with his odd requests, such as arranging everything in perfect order, from his socks to his sandwiches. He’s even more fortunate to have a thriving psychiatric practice, in spite of the barely contained contempt he feels for his patients.

A moment of truth arrives the day one of them (Veronica Ferres) finally tells him to his face that he’s transparent, inauthentic, and just going through the motions. Conceding that he’s become so jaded and unhappy that he isn’t helping his patients anymore, Hector decides to embark on a globe spanning spiritual quest for the fulfillment and happiness that has escaped him.

After all, how could he not be happy, when he is surrounded by all the trappings of success? Hector’s plans have Clara concerned about whether their relationship is on shaky ground, because she’s been reluctant to start a family and she’s also aware that he has a former girl friend (Toni Collette) whom he still cares about.

Hector and the Search for Happiness is an introspective travelogue played mostly for laughs. Simon Pegg exhibits an endearing naïvete as the peripatetic protagonist, whether misreading the flirtations of a prostitute (Ming Zhao) in China or not realizing that his cab has been car-jacked by the underlings of an African crime boss (Akin Omotoso).

Such perils notwithstanding, our hero persists in asking his pressing question “What is happiness?” at each stop as he circumnavigates the globe. Taking copious notes on a writing pad, he records the answers he receives, like “Being loved for who you are,” “Answering your calling,” and “Feeling completely alive.”

Eventually, Hector experiences the epiphany he’s been searching for, and revitalized, rushes home to Clara, his career, and his clients, who might not be so annoying after all.

Excellent (****). Rated R for profanity and brief nudity. In English, French, and German with subtitles. Running time: 114 minutes. Distributor: Relativity Media.

 

September 18, 2014

Princeton University is steeped in tradition, as is classical music, but music is a continually evolving medium. Well into the second decade of the 21st century, the University’s department of music has established a new residency collaboration with one of music’s most innovative ensembles. So Percussion, a quartet of four human rhythm machines who have been performing together for 15 years, opened its residency with a concert in Richardson Auditorium last Friday night. Following the former Edward T. Cone Performers-in-Residence — the mufti-faceted Brentano String Quartet, So Percussion may have had a big job introducing their repertoire and style of music to the Princeton audience. However the four musicians of So Percussion (Eric Beach, Josh Quillen, Adam Sliwinski, and Jason Treuting) are no strangers to the Princeton community and quickly made themselves at home.

The New York Times recently called the percussion ensemble the “string quartet of the 21st century,” and attendees at orchestra concerts can easily make an evening out of watching the percussion section. It is therefore no surprise that the percussion section has stepped out of the orchestra on its own as a performing ensemble. Melodic line and sinuous melodies may not always be present in the repertoire of percussion ensembles, but Friday night’s concert showed that great variety could be found in the diversity of instruments and rhythmic intensity of the music.

So Percussion presented three works from the 20th and 21st century, one of which demonstrated that music for this genre goes back further than one would think. American composer John Cage composed Third Construction in 1941, surely before anyone thought this medium would be popular. Cage wrote this one movement work for both traditional instruments and objects found around the house. So Percussion set the stage with a collection of drums, as well as tin cans, South American and Northwest Indian instruments, and some of the lesser-heard instruments of the orchestra. Composed for a very early percussion ensemble with which Cage was involved in the 1940s, Third Construction required each musician of So Percussion to play at least five instruments. All players demonstrated exacting rhythm and communication with one another. Among the more unique instruments played were Northwest Indian rattles, claves, a conch, and a “lion’s roar” — a membranophone bringing of a sound from the depths.

As an ensemble, So Percussion not only focuses on music of the past century, but also creates its own repertory. In 2006 founding member Jason Treuting created a series of short pieces entitled amid the noise, several of which were performed in this concert. Again, each musician played multiple instruments at once, and especially in the first “life is (blank)” the rhythm and percussive action were so fast it was difficult to tell who was playing what instrument when. The second and more improvisatory “June” contrasted pitched percussion instruments with an electronic drone carried through the audience and to various parts of the stage. The “noises” of amid the noise are sounds of both traditional classical music and sounds of the concert hall in which the piece is played. Audience involvement is another component of So Percussion performances, and the audience at Richardson was more than willing to participate.

So Percussion likes to devote the second half of the ensemble’s concerts to a single work, and Bryce Dessner’s 2013 Music for Wood and Strings showed innovation both in compositional style and instrumentation. Dessner composed this work for four “chordsticks,” a newly-invented instrument which was a cross between a guitar and hammered dulcimer. Resembling a zither and played with sticks the size of pencils, the “chordstick” was fretted as a guitar, yet also bowed with a violin bow at times. The four members of So Percussion each played one of these instruments throughout Dessner’s piece, creating a more mellow sound than one would hear from a dulcimer. The music appeared to be notated on cards (with Mr. Sliwinski impressively playing without any apparent written score) and the overall effect built in intensity as the piece went on.

Music in the 21st century has entered a new era of evolution, and Princeton University has placed itself in the thick of it with the appointment of So Percussion as performers-in-residence. Much of the ensemble’s responsibilities will involve working with students, which will no doubt open up new avenues of creativity within the department of music. Princeton audiences as well will surely enjoy hearing music at its evolutionary best through this unique ensemble.

September 17, 2014
“BAYOU” (egg tempera on panel 18 x15 inches): This work by Mavis Smith can be seen in “Think Again,” at Monmouth University’s DiMattio Gallery, through October 17, with the opening on Friday September 19, from 7 to 9 p.m. The artist will be giving a talk at 2:30 p.m. on Thursday October 2, at the gallery, 400 Cedar Ave West in Long Branch.

“BAYOU” (egg tempera on panel 18 x15 inches): This work by Mavis Smith can be seen in “Think Again,” at Monmouth University’s DiMattio Gallery, through October 17, with the opening on Friday September 19, from 7 to 9 p.m. The artist will be giving a talk at 2:30 p.m. on Thursday October 2, at the gallery, 400 Cedar Ave West in Long Branch.

Mavis Smith, the “honored artist” at the Phillips’ Mill 85th Annual Juried Art Show, has new work on display at Monmouth University’s DiMattio Gallery. Titled “Think Again,” the exhibit will run through October 17, with the opening event set for Friday September 19, from 7 to 9 p.m. The Phillips Mill show will run from Saturday, September 20, through Saturday, October 25 from 1 to 5 p.m.

Mavis Smith will be giving a talk at 2:30 p.m. on Thursday October 2, at the gallery, 400 Cedar Ave West in Long Branch.

An American Arts Quarterly review of “Hidden Realities,” the 2012 exhibit at the James A. Michener Art Museum in Doylestown, Pa., describes “an accomplished tempera painter” who “depicts calm, stylized figures, often young girls, in quiet interiors” and “whose implicit scenarios suggest contemporary fairy tales.”

According to the artist herself, “It’s not so much specific people or events, but the general sense of unknown depths that intrigues me. It does not have to be dark heroic acts toward total strangers; simple people rising to extraordinary occasions are equally in the mix.” About working with egg tempera, she said she has “a love/hate relationship …. It’s a labor intensive medium, but the luminous effects you can achieve makes it seem worth it to me. I build up layer upon layer of thicker paint, alternating with sheer washes of pigment — back and forth, back and forth. The actual process is very meditative, and I believe it contributes to my subconscious imagination coming into play.”

art lead 2

“RED ROOM” (egg tempera on panel 16 x12 inches): According to the artist, “We come into contact with dozens of people on a daily basis, catch their eyes for a brief moment and move on, never knowing the intricate accumulation of experience that forms their reality. My work is about that moment — hinting at a narrative, yet remaining intentionally elusive.” Mavis Smith’s new exhibit, “Think Again,” will be at Monmouth University’s DiMattio Gallery through October 17, with the opening on Friday September 19, from 7 to 9 p.m.

Mavis Smith studied at the Pratt Institute in the 1970s, and in addition to her solo show at the Michener, has exhibited her work in Holland and Switzerland as well as Santa Fe, New York City, and several venues in New Jersey and Pennsylvania. She is also an illustrator and author of children’s books, having authored 10 and illustrated some 75. This exhibition samples a range of work from years past, as well as several new pieces, including both paintings and works on paper as well as some recent sculptural works incorporating egg shells.

“Hidden Realities” was reviewed in Town Topics, February 22, 2012.

“LET ROME IN TIBER MELT”: Mark Antony (Esau Pritchett), general and co-ruler of Rome, romances the Egyptian queen Cleopatra (Nicole Ari Parker), as civil wars rage throughout the Roman world, in William Shakespeare’s “Antony and Cleopatra” at McCarter’s Berlind Theatre through October 5.(Photo by T. Charles Erickson}

“LET ROME IN TIBER MELT”: Mark Antony (Esau Pritchett), general and co-ruler of Rome, romances the Egyptian queen Cleopatra (Nicole Ari Parker), as civil wars rage throughout the Roman world, in William Shakespeare’s “Antony and Cleopatra” at McCarter’s Berlind Theatre through October 5. (Photo by T. Charles Erickson}

Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra (1606-07), written after the great tragedies of Hamlet, Othello, King Lear, and Macbeth, is seen by scholars and theater practitioners as a “problem play.” Despite the fame of its protagonists and the richness of the plot and poetry, the play is seldom produced, and assessments of its text and its characters diverge widely. Emily Mann’s current production of Antony and Cleopatra at McCarter’s Berlind Theatre in Princeton is an exciting theatrical event and a bold, engaging endeavor to present and overcome the challenges of this perplexing masterwork.

The problems start with the play’s genre. Is it history, tragedy, romance, comedy, or something else? (The McCarter website, mccarter.org, gives you an opportunity to vote on this question.) The historical detail here is extensive — Plutarch’s Lives (translated into English in 1579) is Shakespeare’s principal source — as Antony, Cleopatra, Octavius Caesar and others engage in the civil wars, after the death of Julius Caesar, which eventually lead to the end of the Roman Republic and the establishment of the Roman Empire. The grandeur of the two protagonists and the sense of loss and waste in their devastating fall certainly evoke the thoughts and emotions of tragedy. But there is also a spirit and tone here that is lighter than that of the great tragedies. The romance here — both in the love between Antony and Cleopatra and in the contrasts between the stern, efficient reality of Rome and the exotic, emotional, sensual attractions of Egypt — is a powerful element of the play.

The problems, both practical and theoretical, multiply for producers of this play. How do you stage a script that includes 42 scenes, as the action of the play shifts rapidly back and forth between Rome and Alexandria in Egypt, from palaces to battlefields and elsewhere throughout the Mediterranean, and calls for more than 40 different characters? And how do you interpret these heroic, larger-than-life, even mythical main characters with their fatal flaws, their moral ambiguity, and their destructive actions?

Ms. Mann has made judicious cuts in the original script, eliminating several short scenes and merging or eliminating a few minor characters, in order to focus the action and bring the running time to just two and a half hours. Only 11 actors here play 21 different roles. Audiences are not likely to miss the deleted lines, characters, or events. Also streamlining the action and enhancing pace, continuity, and dramatic tension are Daniel Ostling’s unit set design, finely coordinated with Paul Tazewell’s striking costumes, Edward Pierce’s lavish and varied expressionistic lighting and Mark Bennett’s original music and sound, mostly performed onstage by percussionist Mark Katsaounis.

The simple set, following the principle of Shakespeare’s bare platform stage without curtains, consists only of three large panels — like three huge sails? — golden in color and origami-like in their texture and folds. The actors and their lines, aided by costumes, music and lighting, splendidly and clearly delineate the shifting locales and contrasting worlds of this play. Individually and in finely coordinated collaboration, the clothing, the soundscape, the colors, and the nuances of light reflect the clashing of the cold, martial efficiency of Octavius’s Rome with the warmer, less rigid, more mysterious allures of Egypt.

An even bigger challenge with this problem play lies in the two monumental protagonists and their troubled, intense relationship. Again Ms. Mann has risen to the challenges in her casting of Esau Pritchett and Nicole Ari Parker. Mr. Pritchett played the leading role of Troy Maxson in August Wilson’s Fences at McCarter last January and last spring performed as a younger Antony in Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar (1599) at the Orlando Shakespeare Theatre. The imposing character of Troy, albeit in mid-20th century Pittsburgh rather than first century B.C. Rome, shares a number of Antony’s strengths and flaws, and Mr. Pritchett, with numerous other Shakespearean roles on his resume, is superbly qualified to don the mantel of Antony here. He is physically and vocally able to command the stage — convincing as the great, aging military and political leader and also fully believable as the lover of Cleopatra. As he moves back and forth between Rome and Egypt, Mr. Pritchett’s Antony vividly embodies the noble, admirable qualities and the morally ambiguous, flawed qualities of both worlds. He is convincing as both mighty warrior and infatuated lover, in grandeur and in human weakness. He is both “the triple pillar of the world” and ”a strumpet’s fool,” as he is described by one of his followers in the opening scene.

As Cleopatra, Ms. Parker, star of films and Showtime’s Soul Food series, is, in many ways, a worthy counterpart to this Antony. Dazzlingly beautiful in an array of stunning costumes, she brings the character to life with a contemporary flair that works effectively in portraying Cleopatra in many of her more human moments of worry, of anger, of cattiness, of bantering affection with Antony, of jealousy when she hears of Antony’s arranged marriage. She is less adept than Mr. Pritchett with the poetic lines, however, less clear in communicating the rich language and less able to rise to the grand stature of this mighty queen and last reigning pharaoh of Egypt.

As Antony’s friend and follower Enobarbus, Michael Siberry creates a sympathetic character, torn by central conflicts of the play. He also provides a valuable, often ambivalent perspective on the proceedings and delivers, most eloquently, some of the Bard’s finest poetry. For example, he describes Cleopatra: “The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne,/Burnt on the water. The poop was beaten gold;/Purple the sails, and so perfumed that/The winds were lovesick with them … Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale/Her infinite variety.”

As Cleopatra’s eunuch Mardian, the incomparable Everett Quinton, bedecked in bright orange with appropriate nail polish and shimmering handbag, creates a character — fascinating, extravagant, at times comical, yet believable too — to embody the gender conflicts and ambiguities of the play. Mr. Quinton plays a second very different role, also convincing, in the final scene of the play as he delivers the basket of deadly asps to his queen.

As Octavius Caesar, the cold, calculating, consummate leader, nephew, and adoptive son of Julius Caesar, soon to become the triumphant Caesar Augustus, Tobias Segal, not large in size but mighty in authority, delivers his part with imperious command.

The first-rate supporting cast is impressively strong, well-rehearsed and consistently in character. Mairin Lee in two roles as Octavia, sister of Octavius, betrothed to Antony in an arranged political marriage, and also as Cleopatra’s servant Iras is on target and affecting, as is Zainab Jah as another attendant on the queen. Tom Sesma in a variety of roles, Philippe Bowgen as Octavius’ stern lieutenant, Keith Eric Chappelle as a mesmerizing soothsayer and other roles, and Warner Miller as Antony’s faithful right-hand man–all lend credible, invaluable support.

Mr. Katsaounis, the percussionist, ensconced on stage left but emerging at key moments with an enormous red, war drum, rightfully joins the cast list, as a significant dynamic player in the drama.

“Give me my robe. Put on my crown. I have/Immortal longings in me,” Cleopatra tells her attendants as her end approaches in the final scene of the play.

Despite all the “problems” of Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra, the play is undeniably one of the Bard’s greatest poetic masterpieces and a brilliant study of two of the most fascinating, memorable characters in all literature and history. The theatricality here is brilliant. Ms. Mann and the McCarter company successfully bring Shakespeare’s colorful, transcendently poetic vision to life in this stirring production.

 

BUT THIS WAS YOUR FATHER’S DYING WISH: Mort Altman’s (Will Swenson, not shown) dying wish was that his family observe shiva, the traditional Jewish mourning period of seven days, in spite of the fact that he was not an observant Jew, and in fact was an atheist. During this period of mourning, the problems of each of the children, from left Judd (Justin Bateman), Paul (Corey Stoll), Wendy (Tina Fey), and Phillip (Adam Driver) are revealed in this dramatic comedy.

BUT THIS WAS YOUR FATHER’S DYING WISH: Mort Altman’s (Will Swenson, not shown) dying wish was that his family observe shiva, the traditional Jewish mourning period of seven days, in spite of the fact that he was not an observant Jew, and in fact was an atheist. During this period of mourning, the problems of each of the children, from left Judd (Justin Bateman), Paul (Corey Stoll), Wendy (Tina Fey), and Phillip (Adam Driver) are revealed in this dramatic comedy.

When Mort Altman (Will Swenson) passed away, his children returned home expecting to remain in town for a day or two. After all, despite being raised as Jews, they had no reason to expect to sit shiva (the traditional seven day mourning period), since their father was an avowed atheist and their psychologist mother Hillary (Jane Fonda) is a gentile.

However, after the funeral, their mother informs the children of their father’s dying wish that they mourn him for a week in accordance with religious tradition. And then she announces that they’re all grounded for seven days.

This development doesn’t sit well with any of them, since they don’t get along with each other and this is the first time in years that they’ve all been sleeping under the same roof. Furthermore, their father’s death couldn’t have come at a more inopportune moment, since each of them is in the midst of a midlife crisis.

Judd (Jason Bateman) has just learned that his wife (Abigail Spencer) is having an affair with his boss (Dax Shepard). Meanwhile, brother Paul’s (Corey Stoll) marriage is in jeopardy because his wife (Kathryn Hahn), whose biological clock is ticking, has been unable to become pregnant.

Then there’s the playboy baby brother, Philip (Adam Driver), a narcissist with unresolved oedipal issues, and is dating a psychologist (Connie Britton) who is old enough to be his mother. However, he’s such a womanizer that he doesn’t think twice about shamelessly flirting with an old flame (Carly Brooke Pearlstein) right in front of his mortified girlfriend.

Finally, although their sister Wendy (Tina Fey) seems to be the most stable of the four, who is a mother of two with a devoted, but emotionally distant, husband Barry (Aaron Lazar) who is also a great provider. However, Barry’s obsession with his career on Wall Street has come at the cost of losing the passion and intimacy in their relationship. So, the last thing Wendy needs now is the temptation of an affair with Horry (Timothy Olyphant), her high school sweetheart who is still single, still in shape, and still living right across the street, even if he’s brain-damaged and lives with his mother (Debra Monk).

All of these situations serve as fodder for sophisticated humor in This Is Where I Leave You, a droll dramatic comedy directed by Shawn Levy (Date Night). Adapted to the screen by Jonathan Tropper, author of the best seller of the same name, this witty film features funny repartee as it explores themes ranging from religion, mortality, love, and betrayal.

Excellent (****). Rated R for profanity, sexuality, and drug use. Running time: 103 minutes. Distributor: Warner Brothers.

 

GROVER’S CORNERS: Mary Barton, shown here with Richard Kondras in the 1995 production of Philip Jerry’s “Our Town” by American Repertory Ballet, coaches current dancers by relaying the late Mr. Jerry’s direction “almost word for word.” “Our Town” is being presented this weekend at Rider University.

GROVER’S CORNERS: Mary Barton, shown here with Richard Kondras in the 1995 production of Philip Jerry’s “Our Town” by American Repertory Ballet, coaches current dancers by relaying the late Mr. Jerry’s direction “almost word for word.” “Our Town” is being presented this weekend at Rider University.

Nineteen years ago, American Repertory Ballet (ARB) debuted the ballet Our Town, based on the play by Thornton Wilder that won the playwright a Pulitzer Prize in 1938. Choreographed by Philip Jerry, who was ballet master of the company while earning his undergraduate degree at Princeton University, the affecting drama was made all the more poignant by Mr. Jerry’s death from AIDS not long after the premiere. He was 41.

The fact that the ballet company has continued to perform Our Town over the ensuing two decades is testament to its dramatic power. This weekend, it is one of four works on a program ARB is presenting at Rider University’s Bart Luedeke Center. Coaching the dancers are artistic director Douglas Martin and the company’s ballet mistress Mary Barton, who starred in “Our Town” at its premiere. The two, who celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary last week, knew Mr. Jerry from when they were all members of The Joffrey Ballet in the 1980s.

“He was very clear about what he wanted,” Ms. Barton said, recalling Mr. Jerry before a rehearsal of Our Town last week. “We only had a week to learn the ballet. But he was so articulate and such a good actor that he got me to fully understand what he wanted. And I relay that today, almost word for word.”

Ms. Barton played Emily Webb, a central character in the story of Grover’s Corners, an average, early 20th century New England town as depicted through the simplicity of everyday life. Emily’s childhood, her romance with George Gibbs (played by Mr. Martin), her death giving birth to her second child, and her wrenching return to Earth for just one day are the crux of the three-act play, which Mr. Jerry condensed into one act.

“Philip had done a first draft of it elsewhere, but not on professional dancers,” Ms. Barton continued. “When he set it on us, a professional company, it felt like it was real to him, I think. This was his first drama. He had done some ballets for Joffrey 2 [the Joffrey Ballet’s second company] that were strictly just movement. But this was what he was really great at, in my opinion. The music, by Aaron Copland, really sweeps you along. Philip arranged it beautifully and set it in such a way that it just flowed from your body.”

Mr. Jerry was first accepted at Princeton University in 1972, but he deferred to pursue a dance career in New York. He was a member of the Joffrey Ballet until 1991, when he left to enroll at the University. He graduated with honors in art history and a certificate in French.

“Philip was very well read and very intelligent,” said Mr. Martin, during a rehearsal break last week. “He understood what artists of the early 20th century did, and he was so smart at understanding character.” As a younger dancer with the Joffrey, Mr. Martin remembers following Mr. Jerry into several roles. “I spent a lot of time with him in the rehearsal hall,” he recalled. “I mean, he had learned the role of the Chinese Conjurer (in the revival of the historic 1917 ballet Parade by Leonide Massine) from Massine himself. He was my role model.”

The local connections with Our Town go back to Mr. Wilder’s day. He taught French at The Lawrenceville School between 1921 and 1928. While there, he earned a master’s degree in French from Princeton University. Mr. Wilder won his first Pulitzer, for the novel The Bridge of San Luis Rey, before resigning from Lawrenceville in 1928. When Our Town premiered a decade later, it was at Princeton’s McCarter Theatre.

The ballet Our Town was also given its first viewing at McCarter. “We performed it with the scrim up, as the play had been done,” said Ms. Barton. “Then we did it again during Douglas’s first year as artistic director.”

Monica Giragosian and Cameron Auble Branigan play Emily and George in the current version of Our Town. Jumping up during rehearsal to demonstrate Emily and George’s loving glances at each other and the baby in Emily’s arms, Ms. Barton and Mr. Martin look completely believable as the young couple. “After I learned the ballet, I felt like I had become Emily,” Ms. Barton said. “It was very powerful.”

It’s all about simplicity, Mr. Martin tells the dancers. “When you do it right, you feel the righteousness of this New England town. It’s about community. It’s almost like a Capra film. It’s a day in the life of everybody, and people are doing so much. If the people in the background aren’t doing their job, it doesn’t work.”

The ballet “is more about the story than the steps,” Ms. Barton said. “The way Philip felt about it — and I’m sure he knew his situation — imbued you with how important a piece it was. You felt entrusted with something very precious.”

American Repertory Ballet performs Our Town, Confetti, Fantasy Baroque, and Dreams Interrupted Friday and Saturday, September 19 and 20, at 7:30 p.m. at Rider University’s Bart Luedeke Center. Tickets are $20; $10 for students and seniors. Call (609) 896-7775.

 

September 10, 2014

book revOur tuxedo cat, Nora, was not named for James Joyce’s wife. She and her brother Nick got their names from Nick and Nora Charles (William Powell and Myrna Loy) of The Thin Man movies. That said, it wasn’t until I was curled up with her early one morning reading Joyce’s Dubliners, which was published 100 years ago this June, that I made the Joycean connection. In addition to her name, Nora the cat shares Nora Joyce’s no-nonsense disposition. Just when she’s nuzzling and purring most blissfully, she’ll abandon me without so much as a farewell meow, and though she doesn’t expect breakfast in bed like Nora Joyce’s fictional alter ego Molly Bloom, she wakes me at 6 a.m. with a poke of the paw and down I go sleepwalking to the kitchen to open the cat food for her and her big brother.

Fighting for His Art

My Nora stayed within cuddling range right through to the end of “Two Gallants,” a slice of Dublin street life that evokes the moment when Joyce approached Nora Barnacle of Galway (“a tall young woman, auburn-haired, walking with a proud stride”) on Nassau Street in Dublin, spoke to her, and set things in motion for a meeting that took place on June 16, 1904, the day Joyce singled out for Ulysses, thereafter known and celebrated as Bloomsday. My reason for reading “Two Gallants,” however, is that it was the story “destined to precipitate disaster” for Dubliners, according to Richard Ellman’s James Joyce (1959). An English publisher, Grant Richards, had accepted the book early in 1906, a contract had been drawn up and signed, and all was well until the printer had issues with “Two Gallants” and then went on to mark passages in other stories he deemed objectionable. The result was a domino effect, with Richards taking a closer look and finding more to object to, including the use of the adjective “bloody” in various stories and numerous suggestive sexual nuances, not to mention unflattering references to Edward VII. Joyce argued that these details were crucial to the stories, that cutting them would leave Dubliners “like an egg without salt.” Richards not only stood his ground, he asked that “Two Gallants” be dropped altogether, and eventually decided against publishing the book, putting Joyce off with a vague promise “to do the stories later.”

In 1912 Joyce fought the good fight even more doggedly than before, this time with an Irish publisher, who came to the conclusion that the book was “anti-Irish” and whose demands for cuts and changes were even more excessive and peremptory than Grant Richard’s (a key problem was Joyce’s persistent use of real names for various pubs and places of business). In the end, though the book had been typeset, the publisher refused to publish it. Fortunately Joyce managed to obtain a complete set of the proofs before the printer destroyed the lot. Thanks to the proofs Joyce rescued, thus bypassing another fretful printer, the first edition of Dubliners was published in June 1914 — by Grant Richards.

Heroic Joyce

As can happen with geniuses as witty, eloquent, and indomitable as Joyce, the flap occasioned by Dubliners was almost worth the long delay, given the colorful blowback it inspired. In one letter on the first go-round with Richards, Joyce makes a Cyclops of his nemesis: “O one-eyed printer! Why has he descended with his blue pencil, full of the Holy Ghost, upon these passages?” He then urges Richards to join him in elevating English taste, reflecting on whether English literature “deserves or not the eminence which it occupies as the laughing-stock of Europe.” In another letter, the self-exiled author becomes a moral and spiritual patriot in the cause of salvaging the threatened passages: “If I eliminate them what becomes of the chapter of the moral history of my country? … I have taken the first step towards the spiritual liberation of my country.”

Richards chides Joyce, telling him he “could not afford to be so heroic about his art.” Of course one of Joyce’s most characteristic qualities is his heroic vision of himself, his struggle, his art, and the sordid poetry with which he makes his case: “It is not my fault that the odour of ashpits and old weeds and offal hangs round my stories. I seriously believe that you will retard the course of civilization in Ireland by preventing the Irish people from having one good look at themselves in my nicely polished looking-glass.”

Joyce’s Range

Joyce shaped the order of the stories to reflect the movement from childhood to youth to adulthood and old age, from solitude to society to death. In the opening paragraph of the first story, “The Sisters,” a boy inhabited by the author gazes up at the lighted window of the room where the old priest who had been his “great friend” lies dying, and says softly to himself the word “paralysis,” which sounded “like the name of some maleficent and sinful being. It filled me with fear, and yet I longed to be nearer to it and to look upon its deadly work.”

After the Joyce who can expand on the word “paralysis” in the style of Walter Pater describing the Mona Lisa, there’s the Joyce with an ear for the street talk of Lenehan and Corley in “Two Gallants,” which I read aloud with Nora the cat throatily ruminating at my side. Who could resist giving voice to Lenehan’s reaction to Corley’s tale of conquest: “Well …. That takes the biscuit! …. That takes the solitary, unique, and, if I may so call it, recherché biscuit!” And when Lenehan asks about a second pick-up, Corley says, “One night, man …. I was going along Dame Street and I spotted a fine tart under Waterhouse’s clock, and said good-night, you know. So we went for a walk round by the canal, and she told me she was a slavey in a house in Baggot Street. I put my arm round her and squeezed her a bit that night. Then next Sunday, man, I met her by appointment. We went out to Donnybrook and I brought her into a field there …. It was fine, man.”

It was poetry, man. Especially when you recall how James Joyce picked up a girl from Galway on Nassau Street and later “met her by appointment,” an everyday Dublin liaison that changed the course of 20th-century literature. When Joyce spoke to Nora Barnacle, she was not “a slavey,” just a chambermaid at a “slightly exalted rooming house” then called Finn’s Hotel. Had there been no Nora in Joyce’s life, Ulysses would be without the Molly Bloom who performs the long and lusty night song that brings the book home to the essence of its humanity, a sexually active woman saying “Yes.” When Nora claimed not to have read a word of “that book,” and said that “nothing would induce her to open it,” Princeton native Sylvia Beach, the owner of Shakespeare and Company and publisher/savior of Ulysses, knew Nora had no need to read it since she herself was “the source of the book’s inspiration” and one of the luckiest things that “ever befell” its author.

Michael’s Song

Nora Barnacle was no less vital to “The Dead,” the masterpiece that brings Dubliners to its moving conclusion. For the first 40 pages of the 57-page story the scene is a holiday party hosted by two elderly sisters, Kate and Julia Morkan, where numerous characters, themes and motifs are kept in play, interacting with and accompanied by a subtle recognition in the prose of a “death in life” undercurrent of disembodied sounds and voices,

At the center of the story, which Joyce conceived in Rome in 1907, is Kate and Julia’s nephew, Gabriel Conroy, whose wife Gretta is from the provinces like Nora (“country cute” says Gabriel’s mother). Though there are some distinct differences, it’s clear that Gretta and Gabriel are modeled on Nora and Joyce, who had only been together three years and thus were still in close proximity to the incident that inspired the story’s justly renowned conclusion. As Ellman recounts, Nora had been courted by a tubercular boy named Michael in Galway the year before she met Joyce. Michael “stole out of his sick room in spite of the rainy weather, to sing to her under an apple tree and bid her goodbye.” Shortly after this happened, Nora went to Dublin, where she learned that the boy had died.

If you read Ellman’s biography, you know how sensitive Joyce would have been to the idea of a wife haunted by the thought of a boy who might have died for love of her. He himself was so haunted by the notion that he wove it into the fabric of “The Dead.”

As the party ends, Gabriel is in the entry hall making conversation with the departing guests when he sees Gretta at the top of the stairs, “listening to something.” All he can hear is “a few chords struck on the piano and a few notes of a man’s voice singing.” When Gretta comes down she’s so deep in the plaintive mood of the music, she seems unaware of the talk going on around her. Back in their room at the hotel, she’s still abstracted, still in the music. He asks what she’s thinking about. She mentions the name of the song and bursts into tears. Asked why the song makes her cry, she says, “I am thinking about a person long ago who used to sing that song.” Almost in spite of himself, he wants to know more, and every word she says harrows his heart — “I think he died for me …,” “I was great with him at that time …,” “Poor fellow … he was very fond of me and he was such a gentle boy …,” “O, the day I heard that, that he was dead!”

The rest of the story defies paraphrasing. There’s no way to do justice to the extended coda that begins with a single sentence — ”She was fast asleep” — followed by five paragraphs resembling movements or themes in a sonata with the title, “One by one, they were all becoming shades.” As Gabriel’s soul approaches “that region where dwell the vast hosts of the dead,” James Joyce enters “that region where dwell the vast hosts” of English language and literature, which he will in time meditate upon, explore and exploit, unmake and remake, but never again quite so simply and beautifully as he does here with “the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.”

———

Nora’s looking up at me as I write, not unlike Leopold Bloom’s “pussens” as she stalks (“Prr. Scratch my head. Prr … Mkgnao!”) over his writing table.

“Mr. Bloom watched curiously, kindly, the lithe black form. Clean to see: the gloss of her sleek hide, the white button under the butt of her tail, the green flashing eyes.”

What do you know, “the pussens” is a tuxedo.

 

MURAL ART COMING TO PRINCETON: Shown here is a mural by artists of the S.A.G.E. Coalition that was created in Hopewell. This weekend S.A.G.E artists, Will “Kasso” Condry and James “Luv 1” Kelewae will create a mural for the Arts Council of Princeton. Inspired by the Underground Railroad, the mural will take shape behind the Arts Council of Princeton’s Paul Robeson Center throughout the day, beginning at noon, on Sunday, September 14. For more information, call (609) 924 8777, or visit www.artscouncilofprinceton.org.

MURAL ART COMING TO PRINCETON: Shown here is a mural by artists of the S.A.G.E. Coalition that was created in Hopewell. This weekend S.A.G.E artists, Will “Kasso” Condry and James “Luv 1” Kelewae will create a mural for the Arts Council of Princeton. Inspired by the Underground Railroad, the mural will take shape behind the Arts Council of Princeton’s Paul Robeson Center throughout the day, beginning at noon, on Sunday, September 14. For more information, call (609) 924 8777, or visit www.artscouncilofprinceton.org.

The walls may be small, but the subject of the mural that will cover them is large. And the artists who will carry it out are the larger than life Will “Kasso” Condry and James “Luv 1” Kelewae of Trenton’s S.A.G.E. Coalition, the Trenton-based nonprofit organization that was formed in 2012 to initiate, plan, and execute inner-city beautification projects.

The two artists will create a mural that will span two small brick walls behind the Arts Council of Princeton’s (ACP) Paul Robeson Center for the Arts on Witherspoon Street. The work will be carried out and completed throughout the day on Sunday, September 14, beginning at noon.

The mural is inspired by the Underground Railroad and quilt-making tradition. The Underground Railroad was a web of routes covering thousands of miles, several of which ran through New Jersey. Sections were known as “stations,” and Station A ran through Princeton’s Witherspoon-Jackson neighborhood.

According to an ACP press release, “members of the Witherspoon Street Presbyterian Church, spoke out against slavery as early as the 1840s and assisted escaping slaves in their passage north.”

The father of Princeton’s Paul Robeson, after whom the ACP building is named, was a slave who escaped a Southern plantation and eventually settled in Princeton’s Witherspoon-Jackson neighborhood, where his son Paul was born. For a time, Paul Robeson’s father was minister of the Witherspoon Street Presbyterian Church. Paul was born on April 9, 1898, in the church parsonage nearby. He graduated from Rutgers University and Columbia Law School and went on to international acclaim as an actor, singer, and humanitarian. He was an uncompromising champion of black civil rights.

Conceived by local curator, writer, teacher and photographer Ricardo Barros, the mural project will be one of several carried out by members of S.A.G.E., a diverse group of visual artists, engineers, fabricators, musicians and teachers, who create everything from murals to 3-D models.

“The mural will present a stylized, interpretive take on the Underground Railroad, reflecting the S.A.G.E. Coalition’s urban roots,” said Mr. Barros, a resident of the Witherspoon-Jackson neighborhood and ACP Exhibition Committee member. “The mural will not be visible from the street, but those viewers who choose to wander in and explore the “hidden” wall will experience the clandestine nature of the Underground Railroad as well as that of contemporary urban art.”

Kasso and Luv have already created a series of public art projects in Trenton, including a depiction of Mahatma Gandhi, the Dalai Lama, and Barack Obama. The Gandhi mural in particular generated a surprisingly strong, positive, public response, which led to the transformation of a derelict, abandoned lot into a public urban garden, known as Gandhi’s Garden.

The artists are accustomed to completing their murals in one day and welcome a public audience. They also enjoy working to music, and live musicians and DJs will add to the festive occasion. It’s been rumored that a few break dancers may make an appearance as well.

“The ACP is proud to support the S.A.G.E. Coalition and bring their unique urban vision to Princeton,” said Executive Director Jeff Nathanson.

Founded in 1967, the Arts Council of Princeton (ACP), is a non-profit organization with a mission of building community through the arts. Housed in the landmark Paul Robeson Center for the Arts, designed by architect Michael Graves, the ACP fulfills its mission by presenting a wide range of programs including exhibitions, performances, free community cultural events, and studio-based classes and workshops in a wide range of media. Arts Council of Princeton programs are designed to be high-quality, engaging, affordable, and accessible for the diverse population of the greater Princeton region.

The Arts Council of Princeton is located at 102 Witherspoon Street. The creation of the mural will coincide with the ACP’s Free Fall Open House, from noon to 3 p.m. and its annual Members’ Show, from 3 to 5 p.m. All events are open to the public and free of charge. Parking is available in the Spring and Hulfish Street Garages and at metered spots along Witherspoon Street and Paul Robeson Place.

For additional information about the S.A.G.E. Coalition and to see photographs of previous work, visit http://sagecoalitionnj.com/. For more information about this event, please visit www.artscouncilofprinceton.org or contact Alyssa Gillon at agillon@artscouncilofprinceton.org or call (609) 924-8777 x110.