Word: stopparded
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REAL INSPECTOR HOUND/BLACK COMEDY. This doubleheader of serious comedies offers up Tom Stoppard (Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead) and Peter Shaffer (Equus, Amadeus) at their funniest. The plays operate within the conceits of the dramatic and artistic spheres, respectively, in order to highlight the contrasts between illusion and reality, the unseen and the visible. Both plays tinker with theatrical conventions to create an evening of non-stop hysterics. Through Saturday, April 12 at 8 p.m. Tickets $8, $5 for students and seniors, $4 for Adams House residents, available at the Harvard Box Office, (617) 496-2222. Adams House Pool Theatre...
...older brother, James A. Carmichael ’01; Tom Stoppard, the playwright; Bill Waterson, the creator of Calvin and Hobbes; and Wayne Thiebaud, the painter...
...piquant proposition and find they have talked themselves into a terminus. Do they contradict themselves? Very well, they contradict themselves. And they have such fun doing so; this is revolution as parlor sport. But the chat has gravity, for at issue is the question of how men shall live. Stoppard, himself a child refugee from the Soviet bloc, has embraced liberal humanism - human-ness, humaneness - in all his work. At the very end of the trilogy, when he bequeaths Herzen one final speech to rebut Marx's theory of historical inevitability, Stoppard is doubtless speaking for himself in articulating...
...last word of the first and third "Utopia" plays; in each case it is spoken indulgently, as a mother would to calm a child's questing, questioning spirit. The political theories of Bakunin, Herzen and their coteries were expressions of a dream for universal betterment. As Shaw and Stoppard know, men are the dreamers, women the realists. Women are the land men return to when Utopia has faded or their ship foundered...
...What is to become of this monument? Edwin Booth said an actor was "a sculptor in snow." The gifted company of "The Coast of Utopia" sculpted a grand and intimate panorama of 19th century Europe from the marble of Stoppard's teeming brain. Tonight at 11, the sculpture begins to melt. It may be frozen - a living frieze - in the memories of those who saw the piece assembled, five nights a week and three times on Saturday. It is can be admired in its one official preserved form, on paper, and surely the plays read wonderfully in their published form...