Latest news with #Mass'
New York Times
02-05-2025
- Entertainment
- New York Times
Our Dad, Leonard Bernstein, Would Want His Music Played at the Kennedy Center
Our father, the composer and conductor Leonard Bernstein, liked to tell us about the time Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis called to ask him to be the first executive director of the Kennedy Center in Washington, which was being built as a memorial to her slain husband. He was so honored that he blurted out a yes — then hung up aghast. He didn't feel remotely suited to be executive director of anything. Our mother, Felicia, called Mrs. Onassis back to say that her husband was deeply humbled, but suggested it might be more appropriate for him to, perhaps, compose a piece to inaugurate the center. That was how 'Mass' came to be written. We were in the audience for the first performance on Sept. 8, 1971, when the work's multifarious sounds and enormous, diverse cast filled the Kennedy Center Opera House with melody, spectacle and joy. Our father's music has had a special place at the Kennedy Center ever since. Since President Trump has asserted control over the center, making himself chairman and purging its board and administration in favor of his loyalists, a number of artists (though certainly not all) have severed ties with the institution in protest. Many friends and associates have urged us, the rights holders of our father's music, to withdraw his works from a gala program on Saturday. We asked ourselves: What would our dad do? In our hearts, we already knew the answer. He would let his music be heard. The Kennedy Center was created to gather and uplift all Americans, and all of America's visitors. Our father felt exactly the same way about making music; he strove to embrace and unite humanity through the works he wrote and performed. On many occasions, he felt pressured to modify or curtail his own artistic activity. Sometimes the pressure came from the U.S. government: During the Red-baiting hysteria of the 1950s, he faced difficulties in renewing his passport, and almost didn't make it to Milan to conduct Maria Callas at La Scala. Often, he felt pressure from those who wished to punish onetime oppressors. Many people, for example, urged him not to perform with orchestras in postwar Germany and Austria. In maybe the toughest situation of all for our father, he anguished over whether to perform in Israel, whose land and people he loved, but whose bellicose government at times gave him profound misgivings. In every circumstance, after much soul-searching, our father chose to play music. He believed in music's power — its emotionality beyond words, its harmonic architecture, fundamental as DNA — to raise listeners to a higher level of discourse where beauty would outshine violence and hate. 'We can never overestimate the good that comes from artistic communication,' he said in a speech in 1963. 'When we touch one another through music, we are touching the heart, the mind and the spirit, all at once.' Growing up, we observed how our father struggled to make sense of mankind's cruelties and suffering. We could hear those struggles in his own compositions: the narrator shaking his fist at God in his Symphony No. 3, 'Kaddish,' or the boy alto's innocent voice drowned out by the warlike snarls of the men's chorus in 'Chichester Psalms.' Bernstein described 'Mass' as the expression of a crisis of faith in our own society. He anguished over the disconnect between the people who longed for justice and authenticity, and the fraudulence of the authority figures they turned to for succor. The message of 'Mass' has lost none of its urgency. The final, hushed words, sung by the entire ensemble, are: 'And fill with grace / All who dwell in this place. Amen.' The Saturday performance at the Kennedy Center is a fund-raiser for the Washington National Opera under the theme 'American Rhapsody.' Two Bernstein songs are on the program. The first is the 'Tonight' quintet from 'West Side Story,' which conveys the coiled anger of the Sharks and the Jets, combined with Tony and Maria's soaring melody of longing for their love to raise them safely beyond violence. The second is 'Make Our Garden Grow,' the finale from the operetta/musical 'Candide.' The characters, after undergoing a cascade of troubles, at the end express humbler aspirations: baking bread, tending the earth — and caring for one another. The work's upward-reaching melodic phrases suggest that humankind has the ability to better itself, to blossom forth in literal and figurative harmony. These days, battered and stung as so many of us feel by President Trump's relentless assaults on civil rights and the Constitution itself, we can find comfort in our father's music. His notes invoke the courage to be ourselves, to express ourselves — and to be what Americans have always aspired to be: free. So we have elected to keep Leonard Bernstein's music ringing out at the Kennedy Center in the coming seasons. Citizens have many ways to express their alarm right now. We understand if artists feel the best way for them is to refuse to appear at the Kennedy Center. But we believe that we can make our own strong statement, in honor of our father, by letting people hear his music in that space, as an audible rebuke to Mr. Trump's ugly policies. We plan to donate whatever proceeds we receive from upcoming Kennedy Center performances to the American Civil Liberties Union. As our father once said: 'It's the artists of the world, the feelers and thinkers, who will ultimately save us; who can articulate, educate, defy, insist, sing and shout the big dreams.'
Korea Herald
16-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Korea Herald
Ron Mueck's hyperrealist sculptures evoke fear, compassion
Australian artist's first major solo exhibition in Korea at MMCA showcases three decades of captivating sculpture Australian artist Ron Mueck's handmade sculptures of humans are stunningly realistic. One features a mother carrying her baby in a sling almost completely hidden by her large overcoat as she carries bags of groceries -- a scene you might encounter on any street. The artist titled the sculpture 'Woman with Shopping.' Mueck's first major exhibition in South Korea opened Friday at the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, Korea, where 24 of the artist's selected sculptures and documentary films are on display. At the entrance to the exhibition lies the artist's self-portrait sculpture 'Mask II' -- an oversized face lying sideways with the eyes closed and the mouth slightly open as though the figure is asleep. Not until the figure is seen from behind does it become clear that the face is a mask -- its head hollow and empty. The discovery leaves viewers baffled, forcing them to think about the presence that they had been so sure of when seen from the front. '(His art) is not to explain something, to preach something, or to speak to the audiences from a position of greater knowledge or authority. I think the work is an attempt to just allow a space for the viewers to contemplate for themselves,' said Charlie Clarke, an associate curator of the exhibition and director of the artist's studio, at the press tour on April 10. 'They don't look happy or sad or in any particular state, and I think that is because Ron is not trying to depict something very specific,' he added. Mueck's sculptures can be minute or monumental. He is known to have created only 48 works in his three-decade artistic career, sticking to the time-intensive, traditional sculptural process of clay molding and casting in silicone. His works are known to explore themes of humanity, death, vulnerability and birth, and evoke a variety of emotions through the delicate facial expressions and gestures of his subjects, which amount to psychological portraits. 'Although I spend a lot of time on the surface, it is the life inside I want to capture,' the artist once said of his work. The monumental installation 'Mass' comprises one hundred giant human skulls. The title itself can refer either to a heap or pile of something, a crowd of people or a religious ceremony. The installation, created in 2018, is the artist's pivotal work, showing his desire to embrace new ways of art in his style, according to the museum. 'Even if somehow it has a link with what we did before, it is a unique exhibition in the sense that you are going to see that 'Mass' installation ... has a very direct and very strong relationship with the venue it hosts,' said Chiara Agradi, associate curator of the Cartier Foundation for Contemporary Art. The foundation has maintained a long relationship with the artist, supporting his solo exhibitions since 2005.
Los Angeles Times
04-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Los Angeles Times
In the wake of a school shooting, a mother reckons with her neighbors in ‘Eric LaRue'
As America's plague of school shootings continues unabated, a steady stream of movies has cropped up in response to the ongoing tragedy. These films have run the gamut — sometimes focusing on the survivors, sometimes on the shooters, sometimes on the parents — and likewise their strategies have varied, either promising catharsis, hope or insight. So perhaps it's fitting that the most recent addition to this sad subgenre is the numbest. After all, who needs catharsis, hope or insight when these killings keep occurring? Based on Brett Neveu's 2002 play, which he adapted into a script, the brittle drama 'Eric LaRue' reflects the intense, earnest style of its director, Oscar-nominated actor Michael Shannon, who makes his feature debut behind the camera. The film derives its title from the name of a teenager who decided one day to shoot dead three of his classmates, devastating a small town in general and the parents of both the victims and the shooter in specific. Shannon, who doesn't act in the movie, focuses on one parent: Eric's mother, Janice (Judy Greer), who has lived her life since the murders in a fog. She doesn't know how to act and she doesn't know how to feel. It's a testament to Shannon's direction that he fully commits to submerging us into Janice's unimaginable emotional stupor, even when that gutsy approach ultimately proves to be the film's undoing. Greer leverages her considerable appeal to play someone who would like nothing more than to be left alone. Smoking a string of cigarettes or blankly watching whatever's on television, her face a canvas of exhaustion and depression, Janice is struggling to pick up the pieces. Tellingly, the film never specifies how long ago the shooting occurred. All we know is that the trial is over and Eric is in prison, and that he's been there for enough time that Janice's ineffectual, awkward pastor Steve (Paul Sparks) is surprised she hasn't yet visited him yet. 'Eric LaRue' lays out only the barest of backstories — we learn Eric wasn't popular — but unlike a similarly mother-centered drama, 'We Need to Talk About Kevin,' the killer's motivations aren't meant to be unraveled. Eric murdered those boys and has been sent away. All Janice can do now is wonder what happens next. Most movies about school shootings, including 'Elephant,' 'Mass' and 'The Fallout,' tackle the shock, sorrow and horror that ripple through communities. But Shannon's starchy tone, accented by Jonathan Mastro's mournful score, allows no room for emotional theatrics or pat psychological breakthroughs. Instead, 'Eric LaRue' critiques society's (and maybe also Hollywood's) need to make sense of senselessness. Everyone around Janice is trying to find ways to come to terms with what happened, but Janice unflinchingly wants no part. The problem is, she's not quite sure what it is she does want. Eric's act has driven a wedge between Janice and her husband, Ron (Alexander Skarsgård). Both characters are religious, but after the shooting, Ron drifted away from Steve's Presbyterian church, seduced by Bill (Tracy Letts), a charismatic (and regressive) pastor who tells the fragile Ron what he wants to hear about putting his faith in a Jesus who will wash away his pain. Janice, who is unwilling or unable to open up, is not nearly as needy as her spouse, who starts espousing biblical platitudes with the desperate certainty of a drowning man grateful for any life raft. Although Greer is a terrific comedic actress, she only shows that side occasionally in 'Eric LaRue' and very subtly, once Janice starts to react to Ron's empty philosophizing. There's an integrity to Janice's prickly resistance to soothing herself with touchy-feely God talk, although as she watches Ron find solace in Bill's drivel, we sense hints of envy: At least he can sleep at night. Banal balms surround Janice, slowly driving her mad. Whether it's at the hardware store where Janice works — an insipid motivational poster hangs on the boss' wall encouraging passersby to 'Commit to change! Change to commit!' — or Steve's own clumsy attempts to bring Janice and the victims' mothers together for a meeting so they can 'heal,' Shannon laments how little genuine assistance there is for people caught in the crosshairs of tragedy. 'Eric LaRue' is best when its quietest points strike loudest. Janice's superiors advise her against returning to work — it's bad for employee morale, they explain — and yet, no one at Ron's office job, including Alison Pill's flirty HR director Lisa (a fervent follower of Bill's), bats an eye about having him around. Such insidious sexism appears throughout 'Eric LaRue' as Janice unknowingly places herself inside a metaphorical cage because she won't follow an unwritten rulebook about how a grieving mom is 'supposed' to behave. Withdrawn and caustic, Janice is a raw lump of unresponsiveness bombarded by those determined to 'fix' her. But when the psychological wounds cut so deep, how can she possibly know what fixing herself would even mean? Longtime Shannon collaborator Jeff Nichols serves as an executive producer and 'Eric LaRue' echoes that filmmaker's careful attention to unexamined pockets of American life, specifically, the uneasy tension between God and guns. Unfortunately, the film lacks Nichols' graceful portrayal of the everyday. Despite its respectful restraint, 'Eric LaRue' can be smothering in its solemnity, leaving Janice feeling one-note rather than a woman lost in her tangle of emotions. And some of the supporting performances are simplistic, with Sparks' Steve unbelievably hapless as a spiritual guide and Skarsgård's Ron a cartoonish imagining of blind religious devotion. But just when the film's missteps start to frustrate, the story lands on a stunningly understated moment that suggests the potentially rich character study underneath. Eventually, Janice will visit her son, played provocatively by Nation Sage Henrikson. The ending shouldn't be spoiled, but even at its finale, 'Eric LaRue' refuses to provide clear-cut clues on how to feel about this mother or her boy. There will be more school shootings and inevitably more movies confronting this epidemic. Shannon laudably offers no easy solutions, although his sincerely crafted dead end feels insufficient in its own way.
