It was my happy task to join Daisy Rosario, Stephen Thompson, and Glen Weldon for a sadly Linda Holmes-free PCHH dissecting Deadpool 2, a movie that in my view succeeds utterly in being the meaningless and mercilessly self-trolling thing it sets out to be. To paraphrase the critic Homer Simpson, writing in Cahiers du Cinéma: I prefer to watch John Wick.
Your mileage may vary!
Zazie Beetz and Ryan Reynolds want to touch the light, the heat they see in your eyes. (Fox)
How to Talk to Girls at Parties, John Cameron Mitchell’s expansion of a Neil Gaiman short story, premiered at the Cannes Film Festival a year ago. I don’t know why we’re only seeing it now, but I’m glad we are. Here’s my NPR review.
My review of Scena Theatre’s production of the the Duncan MacMillan/Robert Ickes adaptation of Nineteen Eighty-Four that I first saw at the Shakespeare Theatre two years ago is in this week’s Washington City Paper. In the years since I saw this script staged the first time, I have acquired a copy of Eurythmics’ Greatest Hits on LP, which includes the unfortunate “Sexcrime (Nineteen Eighty-Four)” that accompanied the release of Michael Radford’s 1984 movie version.
Photo: Oscar Ceville as Winston Smith (Jae Yi Photography)
My first Washington Post byline in two years in a review of Steven Hyden’s new book Twilight of the Gods: A Journey to the End of Classic Rock. I had it with me on my own journey to the end of classic rock, when I caught an Amtrak up to New York two months ago to see Springsteen on Broadway. (I wrote up my impressions for Slate.) Strangely enough, my prior Post item was a review of Hyden’s previous book, Your Favorite Band Is Killing Me. That book was good. This one is better. Maybe your mom would enjoy receiving a copy on Sunday. I don’t know. I don’t know your mom.
My review of Signature Theatre’s production of Girlfriend, wherein book writer (and songwriter, though not here) David Almond takes a (then) 20-year-old album Matthew Sweet wrote about his divorce and retcons it into a minimalist musical about two boys falling in love in Nebraska the summer after high school, is in this week’s Washington City Paper. A fine little show. Nothing wrong with that sort of appropriation. But everyone I’ve heard from who really loves it has never heard the album from which Almond borrowed its music.
Criticism imitating art imitating life: My Washington City Paper review of Annie Baker’s John at Signature Theatre is three times as long as my review of the touring Underground Railroad Game at Woolly Mammoth, just as John is three times as long as Underground Railroad Game. And roughly a third as rewarding.
Your mileage, as ever, may vary.
Nearly four interminable months after Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle, a movie based on a movie based on a children’s book and appended with a 30-year-old Guns N’ Roses jam, Dwayne Johnson—the once and future Rock and 2032 Instagram Party presidential candidate—is back. In a movie, in the legal sense, based on a video game.
My NPR review of Rampage (from the director of San Andreas!) is here. I’m not sure who it was at Warner Bros. and or New Line who forgot to put the exclamation point in the title, but I trust that heads shall (the) roll.