logo
A.R.T. announces 2025/2026 season, will premiere new musical adapted from the film ‘Black Swan'

A.R.T. announces 2025/2026 season, will premiere new musical adapted from the film ‘Black Swan'

Boston Globe05-06-2025

In a telephone interview, A.R.T. artistic director Diane Paulus said that 'Wonder' is driven by 'a very fresh, contemporary sound,' with 'equal parts catchy pop tunes and emotional heart' in the music and lyrics by A Great Big World, a duo consisting of singer-songwriters Ian Axel and Chad King. The book is by playwright Sarah Ruhl.
Advertisement
(Disclosure: Paulus directed my son Matt's opera, 'Crossing,' in 2015, and Ruhl collaborated with him on 'Eurydice,' an opera that premiered in 2021 and was based on her play of the same name.)
The A.R.T.'s production of
With music and lyrics by Dave Malloy ('
Advertisement
According to Paulus, 'Black Swan' will 'delve into the theme of perfection, the world of ballet, and the pressures on women.' She said that 'a story told through dance and movement' is 'right up A.R.T.'s alley,' adding: 'For me, theater as a form is physical. It's visceral. It's about communication, not only through text and words and music, but the body, and movement.'
Starting this fall, Paulus will direct a concert tour of 'Dear Everything,' which was commissioned and developed by the A.R.T., and premiered in concert form in 2021 under the name 'WILD: A Musical Becoming,' starring Idina Menzel.
The overall picture for the A.R.T., which is based at Harvard, is clouded by the university's ongoing confrontation with President Trump, who has cut billions of dollars in federal grants and contracts to Harvard.
Asked how concerned she is about the potential impact on her company, Paulus replied: 'It's a very challenging time. We are navigating changing waters on a daily basis.'
'As a theater, as a company like A.R.T., we are committed to continuing to bring people together,' she added. 'Theater is a community builder. That is our greatest role, right? Humans coming together in time and space and listening to stories that are not our own.'
The A.R.T.'s season will launch Sept. 2-26 with
Advertisement
The season will also include Sam Kissajukian's autobiographical solo show, '300 Paintings,' scheduled to be at Harvard's Farkas Hall Oct. 1-19, 2025. Paulus said '300 Paintings' explores 'how all of the arts and mental health and creativity are in relation to one another.'
Don Aucoin can be reached at

Orange background

Try Our AI Features

Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:

Comments

No comments yet...

Related Articles

‘The Scrapbook' considers the weight of history on a modern love
‘The Scrapbook' considers the weight of history on a modern love

Washington Post

timea day ago

  • Washington Post

‘The Scrapbook' considers the weight of history on a modern love

How does history constrain our personal choices? Can we and should we try to break free? Heather Clark, author of the splendid Sylvia Plath biography 'Red Comet' (2020), poses these questions in her immersive first novel, 'The Scrapbook.' One inspiration, she reveals in an author's note, was her grandfather's World War II scrapbook, with its gruesome photographs of the Dachau concentration camp after liberation. But the novel's core narrative involves a passionate and seemingly doomed collegiate love affair five decades later. The protagonist, Anna, is relating the main story, set in the late 1990s, in retrospect. She seems at times completely in the (remembered) moment; at other points, she is clearly looking back, or flashing forward to the romance's unraveling. Her journal of the period, she says, has been lost. Clark omits quotation marks around dialogue, speeding the narrative flow. Anna, a gifted Harvard senior on the verge of graduation, falls for Christoph, a thrillingly handsome and seductive German student who is visiting from abroad. They meet at a party and, immediately smitten, she spends the week before finals engaged in deep conversations with him. (The sex comes later.) Despite the unwieldiness of their long-distance romance, the cultural gulf between them, Christoph's intermittent aloofness and warnings from her friends, Anna stays smitten, building her postgraduate life around him — or trying to. 'He was everything to me then,' she recalls, in an obvious intimation of disaster. Later she'll admit that her vision of the relationship 'had the hazy, shimmering quality of a mirage.' The book's simple-enough plot is fleshed out with literary references (Plath's poem 'Daddy' merits a callout, as do Rainer Maria Rilke, Heinrich Heine, Tadeusz Borowski and, more obliquely, W.H. Auden). Clark invests even more in her characters' conversations about the politics and landscape of Holocaust memory. The bibliography appended to the novel shows how deeply she has steeped herself in the subject. The dialectic between remembering and forgetting turns out to be a complicated one, as each German generation struggles anew with the country's criminal past. Christoph views popular allegiance to Hitler as a case of mass hypnosis. Anna acquits him, reasonably enough, of any complicity. 'He wasn't a Nazi,' she tells herself. 'He was a twenty-three-year-old German man wrestling with questions of evil and guilt and responsibility, questions that would probably haunt him all his life.' The central narrative is interrupted by the wartime adventures of Anna's soldier grandfather, whose photographs fill the scrapbook of the title, and both of Christoph's grandfathers, who participated, in different ways, in the German war effort. There are surprises here, but also literary conundrums: Who is relating these stories, and why? How reliable is the third-person narrator of the historical sections? And what light do these vignettes shed on Anna and Christoph's entanglement? These interpolations seem to have their rationale in the novel's thematic concerns. Clark is interrogating whether past misdeeds implicate future generations — and whether they should. In an epigraph, she quotes the German writer W.G. Sebald, who notes that when he saw images of war, 'horrors I did not experience cast a shadow over me, and one from which I shall never entirely emerge.' To appreciate 'The Scrapbook,' it helps to remember the pull of youthful, hormone-fueled love based on magnetic, perhaps ineffable attraction. The ineffability is, of course, a challenge for the novelist. 'I closed my eyes and my body became the sea,' Clark writes, in one attempt to capture Anna's sexual acquiescence. Only the force of her infatuation can compel Anna (if not the reader) to disregard the many indications that Christoph isn't quite who she imagines — or wants — him to be. To begin with, Anna's Harvard roommates, both Jewish, dislike Christoph, mainly because he is German — a reaction at once harshly intolerant and understandable. More worrying is Christoph's own behavior. When Anna visits him in Germany, he wanders off at parties and ignores her. He belongs to a fencing fraternity whose hazing rituals seem ominous or, at best, ill-conceived. He breaks a promise to visit the United States again. And even though she ditched her studying for his company when they first met, Christoph seems to put his own studies first. When she telephones him during a long, transatlantic separation, he is often mysteriously absent — and unwilling even to call her back. As Clark depicts him, Christoph, however self-centered, also displays considerable sophistication and historical savvy. Banal treachery seems beneath him. That makes his behavior in the book's climactic scene seem surprising, even preposterous, despite Clark's careful foreshadowing. There are nevertheless hints that the story of the two lovers may not be over. An open-ended epilogue offers a glimmer of hope that love may yet overcome history. Julia M. Klein is the contributing book critic at the Forward, and she reviews for the Wall Street Journal, Los Angeles Times, Boston Globe and other publications. By Heather Clark Pantheon. 244 pp. $28

‘A powerful statement': Zakes Bantwini celebrates graduation from Harvard Business School
‘A powerful statement': Zakes Bantwini celebrates graduation from Harvard Business School

News24

time4 days ago

  • News24

‘A powerful statement': Zakes Bantwini celebrates graduation from Harvard Business School

Grammy Award-winning musician Zakes Bantwini has been celebrating his graduation from Harvard Business School's Business of Entertainment, Media, and Sports (BEMS) programme. The Boston executive education programme is geared toward working professionals across a range of disciplines. 'Completing this programme at Harvard is more than a personal achievement; it's a powerful statement about where African creatives belong in every global conversation, in every boardroom, and at every table where the future is being shaped,' Bantwini wrote on social media. View this post on Instagram A post shared by Zakes Bantwini (@zakesbantwini) He also posted about the programme earlier this month, writing on his X account, 'Feels good to be a student again.' Bantwini was originally selected for the program in 2020, but his attendance was postponed due to the Covid-19 pandemic. He later reapplied and went forward with the programme. The producer previously won a Grammy for his 2022 song Bayethe with Nomcebo Zikode and Wouter Kellerman. He previously told News24 that he hopes to use his platform to elevate other South African artists and give them more exposure. 'I don't work with big names. I only work with talent. But if talent is a big name, then it's beautiful,' he said. He also hopes to win even more Grammys for South Africa. 'I'll probably die with five Grammys on my name,' he said.

How Jensen McRae became L.A.'s next great songwriter
How Jensen McRae became L.A.'s next great songwriter

Los Angeles Times

time5 days ago

  • Los Angeles Times

How Jensen McRae became L.A.'s next great songwriter

Jensen McRae is still chewing over something her therapist told her during their first session together. 'I was talking about how sensitive I am and how I was feeling all these feelings,' the 27-year-old singer and songwriter recalls, 'and she was like, 'You have yet to describe a feeling to me — everything you've described is a thought.'' McRae's eyes widen behind her stylish glasses. 'That destroyed me. She said, 'Feelings are in your body. Thoughts are in your head.' 'This was like six years ago, and I think about it constantly.' A proudly bookish Los Angeles native whose academic ambitions took her to the competitive Harvard-Westlake School, McRae wrote her first song at around age 8; by the time she was a teenager, music had become her way to cope with the cruelty of the world. Yet when she looks back at the stuff she wrote when she was younger, what strikes her isn't that it was too raw — it's that it wasn't raw enough. 'I think I was trying to intellectualize my feelings to get away from being vulnerable,' she says. 'Now I know there's room for both — there's a way to be intellectually rigorous about my sensitivity.' Indeed there is, as McRae demonstrates on her knockout of a sophomore album, 'I Don't Know How But They Found Me!' Released in April by the respected indie label Dead Oceans (whose other acts include Mitski and Phoebe Bridgers), the LP documents the dissolution of two romantic relationships in gleaming acoustic pop songs that use gut-punch emotional detail to ponder complicated ideas of gender, privilege and abuse. In 'Massachusetts,' a snippet of which blew up when she posted it on TikTok in 2023, she captures the private universe she shared with an ex, while 'Let Me Be Wrong' thrums with an overachiever's desperation: 'Something twisted in my chest says I'm good but not the best,' she sings, the rhyme so neat that you can almost see her awaiting the listener's approving nod. 'I Can Change Him' is an unsparing account of the narrator's savior complex that McRae was tempted to leave off the album until her team convinced her otherwise. 'I think of myself as an evolved and self-actualized woman,' she says with a laugh. 'So the admission that I thought it would be my love that transforms this person — I mean, it's super embarrassing.' Then there's 'Savannah,' which lays out the lasting damage left behind after a breakup, and the chilling 'Daffodils,' in which McRae sings about a guy who 'steals base while I sleep.' McRae's songs don't flinch from trauma, but they can also be very funny. 'I'd like to blame the drugs,' she sings, longing for toxic old comforts in a song called 'I Don't Do Drugs.' And here's how she brings the guy in 'I Can Change Him' to life in just a few lines: Same old eight-dollar cologneSame old he can't be aloneSame old cigarettes he rollsSame old Cozmo's 'Plastic Soul' Asked whether she'd rather make someone laugh or cry, McRae needs no time to think. 'I'm always proud when I make someone cry,' she says as she sits on a park bench in Silver Lake on a recent afternoon. 'But more important to me than being the sad girl is that I'm funny — that's way more important to my identity.' She smiles. 'I've definitely made dark jokes where people are like, 'That's horrible that you think you can joke about that,'' she says. 'I'm like, 'It's my thing — the sad thing happened to me.'' McRae's music has attracted some famous fans. In 2024 she opened for Noah Kahan on tour, and she recently jammed with Justin Bieber at his place after the former teen idol reached out on Instagram with kind words about 'Massachusetts.' Last month, McRae — a graduate of USC's Thornton School of Music — played a pair of packed hometown shows at the El Rey where she introduced 'Savannah' by telling the crowd, 'You are not defined by the worst thing that ever happened to you.' 'Jensen is extremely … if I say the word 'gifted,' you'll be like, 'okay' — but she truly is a gifted individual,' says Patrice Rushen, the veteran jazz and R&B musician who mentored McRae as chair of the Thornton School's popular music program. (Among the classics McRae learned to perform during her studies was Rushen's 1982 'Forget Me Nots.') Rushen praises the depth and precision of McRae's songwriting — 'her ability to see beyond what's right in front of her and to find just the right word or texture in her storytelling.' 'I adored her as a student,' Rushen adds. McRae was born in Santa Monica and grew up in Woodland Hills in a tight-knit family; her dad is Black and her mom is Jewish, and she has two brothers — the older of whom is her business manager, the younger of whom plays keyboard in her road band. The singer describes herself as both a goody two-shoes and a teacher's pet, which she affectionately blames on her father, a lawyer who went to UCLA and Harvard Law School. 'He was born in 1965 — his birth certificate says 'Negro' on it, which is crazy,' she says. 'His whole life, it was: 'You have to be twice as good to get half as far.' And even though I was born in the '90s, that was still kind of instilled in us. 'Especially being at Harvard-Westlake,' she adds. 'I was one of the few Black kids, and I didn't want to be underestimated. Now, I find being underestimated kind of funny because I have so much confidence in my own ability that when someone thinks I'm not gifted in whatever way, I'm like, 'Oh, you'll find out you're wrong soon enough.'' Having absorbed the songwriting fundamentals of James Taylor, Sara Bareilles and Taylor Swift, McRae entered USC in 2015 and played her first gig — 'the first one that wasn't a school talent show,' she clarifies — at L.A.'s Hotel Cafe after her freshman year. 'I don't know if my mom knows this, but I told her not to come,' she recalls with a laugh. 'I was like, 'I'm 18 — I'm grown up now — and I'm gonna be hanging with all these cool people.'' In fact, her audience that night consisted of only the bartender and the other acts on the bill. Her creative breakthrough came when she wrote her song 'White Boy' when she was 20. It's about feeling invisible, and McRae knew she'd achieved something because 'when I finished it, I was like, 'I can never play this in front of anyone.'' A few years later, during the COVID-19 pandemic, she fired off a jokey tweet imagining that Bridgers would soon write a song about 'hooking up in the car while waiting in line to get vaccinated at dodger stadium'; the post went viral, racking up shares from thousands of people, including Bridgers. 'I had to put my phone in a drawer because it was buzzing so much,' says McRae, who ended up writing the song herself and calling it 'Immune.' For 'I Don't Know How But They Found Me!' — the title borrows a line of dialogue from 'Back to the Future' — McRae sought a lusher sound than she got on her folky 2022 debut; she recorded the album in North Carolina with the producer Brad Cook, who's also worked with Bon Iver and Waxahatchee and who helped fill out the songs with appealing traces of turn-of-the-millennium pop by Avril Lavigne and Ashlee Simpson. As a singer, McRae can expertly control the sob in her voice, as in 'Tuesday,' a stark piano ballad about a betrayal made all the more painful by how little it meant to the traitor. At the El Rey, McRae doubled down on that theme in a florid yet intimate rendition of 'I Can't Make You Love Me,' the Mike Reid/Allen Shamblin tune that Bonnie Raitt turned into one of pop's greatest anthems of dejection. What did McRae learn about songwriting at USC? She mentions a technique called 'toggling,' which one professor illustrated using John Mayer's 'Why Georgia.' 'The first line is, 'I'm driving up '85 in the kind of morning that lasts all afternoon,'' McRae says. 'That's a description of the outside world. Then the next line is, 'I'm just stuck inside the gloom,' toggling back to the internal emotion. That's something I pay attention to now. If I'm writing a verse, I'll do scene-setting, scene-setting, scene-setting, then how do I feel about it?' McRae is particularly good at dropping the listener into a scenario, as in 'Savannah,' which starts: 'There is an intersection in your college town with your name on it.' To get to that kind of intriguing specificity, she'll sometimes write six or eight lines of a verse, to discard the first few — 'Those are often just filler words,' she says — and 'rearrange the rest so that whatever I had at the end goes at the top. Now I have to beat that.' For all her craft, McRae knows that songwriting is just one of the skills required of any aspiring pop star. She loves performing on the road, though touring has become 'physically punishing,' as she puts it, since she was diagnosed a few years ago with a thyroid condition and chronic hives, both of which have led to a severely restricted diet. She recently posted a TikTok in which she detailed her regimen of medications — one attempt, she says, to bring some visibility to the topic of chronic illness. (That said, McRae admits to being unsettled by the DM she received the other day from a fan who recognized her at her allergist's office: 'They're like, 'Hey, I saw you — I was going in to get my shots too.'') McRae views social media more broadly as 'a factory that I clock into and clock out of.' She's well aware that it's what enabled her to start building an audience. And she's hardly anti-phone. 'I love being on my phone,' she says. 'I literally was born in the right generation. But when it comes to constantly looking at images of myself, that's my business card or my portfolio — it's not actually me, the human being.' In January, she deleted TikTok during the brief outage related to President Trump's ban of the app. 'Then, of course, it came back right away, but I couldn't re-download it. So for a month I didn't have TikTok. As it turns out, I was fine.' Arguably better? 'Probably, yeah. I'm back on it now, obviously, because I have to do promo. At first I thought it was the loudest, most overstimulating thing in the world — I couldn't believe I used it. Then after a week, I was like, oh yeah, no, I'm reacclimated.'

DOWNLOAD THE APP

Get Started Now: Download the App

Ready to dive into a world of global content with local flavor? Download Daily8 app today from your preferred app store and start exploring.
app-storeplay-store