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Tomorrow morning's copy of The Crimson has a series of articles on the U.S. Census. We're taking a look at what professors predict the Census will show about demographic shifts in America as well as what the Census Bureau and Harvard students are doing to reach out to students to make sure everyone is counted...
Despite these generally strong performances, the show is much too long, and the plot drags heavily in the middle. Suffering from surfeit scene changes and repetitive, pedantic monologues on life, sex, morality, and meaning, the show’s pacing quickly becomes bogged down in the mire of political and philosophical musings. The action also becomes unnecessarily convoluted in the middle acts, with the confusing web of deception and devious plotting further detracting from the play’s potential dramatic effect. At two hours, the show feels wearying; at almost three, it borders on insufferable...
Musically, the production makes occasional use of the vocal talents of Stewart N. Kramer ’12, whose powerful voice opens the show with a rousing, half-drunk chorus of “Vive la Compagnie.” He also briefly appears as a sage street performer singing for his supper. For its many scene transitions, the show too-frequently utilizes the Johnny Cash song “God’s Gonna Cut You Down,” a catchy, yet repetitive tune which rather abruptly jerks the listener out of eighteenth-century France and into...
Gervais and Merchant’s acquaintance with Pilkington is the comedic equivalent of the discovery of penicillin. Before the success of “The Office,” the two had co-presented a radio show on Xfm London. Upon their return to the station in 2001, they were serendipitously assigned Pilkington as their producer. Little by little, Gervais and Merchant realized the volume of the wondrous iceberg of Karl’s weirdness, and his airtime steadily increased...
...overwhelmingly deserved—success of “The Office” and “Extras,” both co-created with Merchant, I can’t imagine Gervais is looking to make a quick buck. He believes in “The Ricky Gervais Show,” because he believes that the world needs to meet Karl Pilkington and probe his brain. And it does—my own fanaticism stops just short of distributing religious tracts honoring Karl in the Times Square subway station. If a spoonful of TV sugar is necessary...