Word: host
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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Opening next week at the Loeb, along with a host of other shows, is the Mainstage production of Marat/Sade, directed by Kerry Konrad '78. Tonight, the Loeb Ex will showcase Forbidden Fruits, an original play by Paul Frohock. Our roving photographer caught piquant moments in both rehearsals...
Finally, Peter Johnson will host an evening of live folk music (this as opposed to dead-folk music) at 8 p.m., Monday night at the Cantab Lounge, 738 Mass. Ave, Admission is free; you get blues, bluegrass, and Scotch and Irish music. "And more," promises Peter. Enjoy...
EVERYONE KNOWS the story of Dracula: an "undead" creature refuses to lie still in the grave, sustaining himself, between sunset and sunrise, on the blood of innocent mortals. This Anti-Christ dooms his victims to flock in his unearthly host forever; they become "flesh of his flesh." Only herbs or holy objects can ward him off, and only a stake through his heart can end his lecherous career. The story is terrifically titillating: all that sacrilege and perverse sexuality to relish...
Apartheid requires rigid classification of races and a host of humiliating laws to back it up. Every South African is registered by race: white, Coloured, Asian or African. Skilled jobs are frequently reserved for whites. Marriage or sexual relations across the color line are illegal, with long jail sentences attached. Africans may only go to special "Bantu" schools, designed to train them as servants in white-owned in dustry; blacks must pay for their education, while whites get it free. "Bantu Education" features classes in housework and 60 children to a classroom...
Chagall's compositions juxtapose everyday types--lovers, dancers, clowns--with fantasy creatures and settings that include two-headed monsters, violinists with goats' heads and a host of other mythological figures in bizarre and often sinister landscapes. He draws heavily on recollections of his childhood in Russia and the folk tales of that country. And yet viewing these prints one feels an uncanny sense of deja vu regardless of nationality--it is as if Chagall had painted what he could remember of a dream of his, and it is the kind we have all had occasionally. It is one of those...