The Order of Time is a little wonder of a book. It provides surprising insights into an increasingly mysterious world, offers warmly humane reflections on our existential condition, and sustains a virtual conversation that will continue long after the reading has ceased.
As Splendor and Misery in the Weimar Republic conveys, Expressionism seems to proclaim, we feel alike; whereas New Objectivity doesn't attempt to express alienation -- it induces it.
Sophie Tucker's delivery is both blatant emotion revealed to be pretense and pretension discovered to be deadly serious. Unfortunately, Red Hot Mama provides no real examination of Tucker's artistry.
For Plutarch, life and the course of history insist that we face up to who we are and this is as harrowing as it is liberating; it is the source of our destruction as much as it is the springboard for our accomplishments.
The film is imbued with a painterly quality wherein the not-quite static framing of the human visage is its main concern, its aesthetic gambit, and the source of its affective impact.
When anyone looks in the mirror, Le Courbeau's Vorzet suggests, they see a devil accompanied by an angel. See the premiere of a new 4K restoration with an all-new translation of Le Corbeau at Film Forum NYC 20 April through 1 May.
The initial role Ulrich took on as the archivist of the Timothy Leary archive was to publish excerpts from it on a public blog. That seems more suitable than this rather stolid book.
Ernst Ludwig Kirchner knew that melancholy arises from our longing to connect with the world and our knowledge that it continually slips from our embrace.
There's no need for a suspension of disbelief in this film insofar as An Actor's Revenge revels in our disbelief, our constant awareness of the staginess of the action—regardless of whether we are witnessing kabuki performances or the carrying out of the revenge plot itself.
A. J. Baime offers his readers an "aw shucks" story of an American Everyman thrust into a position of awesome power and somehow "makin' good".
For the titular Tom and those of the "angry young men" art movement, all the world is a courtroom, judging and evaluating them, condemning them to a life they would not choose. It just so happens that Tom enjoys his captivity.
Perhaps, Kenneth Whyte suggests, Hoover was not the failure he is often made out to be, and consequently, FDR is not nearly the success he appears to have been.
In Piccoli's characters there are always at least two selves—an outer self that strikes out at the world with aplomb and confidence and an inner self that crouches diffidently behind the façade, hoping not to be found out, hoping to get away with the deception.
To get people to care about the planet they must feel a connection to it. In this, the BBC Blue Planet series succeeds.
By serving as a midwife to artists, the "Dean of the Harlem Renaissance" Alain Locke would help foster an art that would stand as a midwife to a better future.
Prize-winning historian Jane Kaminsky's Revolution in Color paints the era of the American Revolution with beguiling precision; John Singleton Copley, a man who resisted what we regard as the inevitable outcome of the era, emerges sharp and distinct.
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