Save this storySave this storySave this storySave this story “If that shit don’t work, I don’t wear it,” the director and writer George C. Wolfe told me when we spoke last month. He was talking about the baggage of childhood…
Save this storySave this storySave this storySave this story Earlier this year, Ben Smith, the former editor-in-chief of BuzzFeed News and a onetime New York Times columnist, published a book, titled “Traffic: Genius, Rivalry, and Delusion in the Billion-Dollar Race…
Save this storySave this storySave this storySave this story You could write dozens of obituaries a year for beloved New York restaurants that have shuttered their doors. One of the things I love most about this city is how regenerative…
Save this storySave this storySave this storySave this story Snatch Adams, a six-foot-tall walking vagina working as a red-nose clown, would usually be entertaining folks on the vaudevillian “Borsch” Belt comedy circuit—“borsch” as in (a)bort(ion)—but extremists have been closing Planned…
Save this storySave this storySave this storySave this story The new retrospective of the Dutch painter Frans Hals at the National Gallery in London—the first major exhibition of his work since 1989—is a slightly nervous event for the most talented…
Save this storySave this storySave this storySave this story In early 2019, I travelled to Afghanistan to investigate the deaths of my mother and sister three decades earlier—a personal search for answers. While seeking out distant relatives in a remote…
Save this storySave this storySave this storySave this story In a year of impressive débuts, the first feature by the writer and director Raven Jackson, “All Dirt Roads Taste of Salt,” which opens Friday, is the best so far. It’s…
Save this storySave this storySave this storySave this story Fiction Studios, a recording venue in Farringdon, central London, is a study in scrupulous unkemptness. At first glance, it looks like the kind of secondhand bookshop you don’t see anymore—shelves overflowing…
Save this storySave this storySave this storySave this story When Robert Brustein died, at ninety-six, he concluded not one but four stunning careers. A critic at The New Republic, off and on, for more than forty years, he was a…
Save this storySave this storySave this storySave this story When Robert Brustein died, at ninety-six, he concluded not one but four stunning careers. A critic at The New Republic, off and on, for more than forty years, he was a…
