Word: tempests
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Dates: during 2000-2009
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...after viewing the Harvard-Radcliffe Dramatic Club’s new production of “The Tempest,” directed by Rob D. Salas ’09 and Sarah C. Kenney ’08, and executive produced by Ben M. Poppel ’09, I found myself wishing that someone had gone digging through Shakespeare’s last, great, plotless Romance with a little more enthusiasm. While this production has some neat dramatic tricks and a few lovely moments, its incredibly rich script floats by with little to no examination. Why do a play...
...mean to say that this production should have provided an answer. The music and dance evoke the metaphysical uncertainty of Prospero’s island in some terrific ways. Still, a mood is not an intellectual stance. “The Tempest,” as a text, is so experimental and so daring that I cannot understand why this production seemed to be unwilling to wrestle with Shakespeare’s many suggestive questions...
Whitehall Palace. The Royal Shakespeare Company. Broadway. And now, the Loeb Mainstage. Tonight, at 8 p.m., the curtain will go up on William Shakespeare’s “The Tempest.” This integrative presentation of Shakespeare’s classic is one of the most ambitious performances put on by the Harvard-Radcliffe Dramatic Club in recent history. Incorporating dance as well as a full orchestra, the creators behind “The Tempest” are hoping to take the Mainstage by storm. Director Robert D. Salas ’08 first became interested...
...example of his social satire at its most exquisitely cutting. Beckmann finds the gruesome in the glamorous, as bored and beautiful women in profile dance with men whose eyes they won’t meet. 1932’s “Landscape with Tempest,” dark and brooding where the other is light, could be interpreted as an ominous acknowledgment of Beckmann’s own fears—a label points out the hint of a swastika in a bent tree’s branches. “Woman with Mandolin in Yellow and Red?...
...Your Leopard, Upon the End of Your Feral Days” is not what it initially seems: what begins as a somewhat silly candy-covered synth-pop wash evolves subtly into a furious electronic symphony, and then transforms yet again into a guitar-driven tempest. Here is “Lover”’s finest moment. The album does, however, have its shortcomings. After about ninety seconds of bizarre vocal interjections and erratic drumming, “The Courtesan Has Sung” decides to go somewhere; unfortunately, that somewhere is a Specter-esque thoroughfare, complete with...