Culture

There’s a moment in portraiture when people started having a mind of their own. All of a sudden you see it in the faces: the eyes, the brow, the lip. We are no longer looking at a figure for all time — or even a sitter in a moment in time — but at something more like “me time.” The focus is not on outward appearances but inward looking. These people are lost in thought. That’s just where Hans Holbein the Younger, the great portraitist of the early sixteenth century, found them. The German artist, born into a family of painters around 1497, could conjure the smallest details at his fingertips. He quickly became the most sought-after portraitist in Europe and, by 1536, the court painter of Henry VIII (at a time when Henry himself was courting).

There are few world leaders braver than Volodymyr Zelensky. Ukraine's president spends his time holed up in his capital, defending his homeland from an onslaught of invading Russian troops. He's addressed every major parliament in the West to plead for weapons and aid. Joe Biden calls him weekly; Emmanuel Macron has started to dress like him. Given his present international standing, it's incredible to think that just six and a half years ago, Zelensky was settling down to watch himself play the president of Ukraine in the premiere of Servant of the People, the sitcom which set the stage for his political career.

Star Trek: Discovery took one giant leap for the leftist ideology that defines it in its fourth season finale this week. Enter President Stacey Abrams, leader of the thirty-second century’s United Earth. Perhaps deliberately, the sci-fi show’s writers left viewers ignorant as to whether President Abrams was democratically elected to her fictional role. Star Trek’s democratic ideals, after all, seem poorly matched to a politician who lost an election and then claimed that it had been “stolen from the voters of Georgia.” No worries, however: Abrams’s future is bright. Concluding her cameo, Abrams asks Discovery’s star Sonequa Martin-Green, “there's a lot of work to do, are you ready for that?

In the three weeks since Vladimir Putin launched his shocking invasion of Ukraine, the West has surprised the world with the severity of the economic sanctions it's imposed. No one has been more surprised than Putin himself, who believed the West too soft and his own nation’s oil too crucial to the global economy. How the West can further support Ukraine — while also avoiding the not-insignificant risk of a nuclear war — is a complex question. It will not be answered, however, by indulging in ugly prejudices or shunning Russian culture writ large. Since the war began, vandals have targeted businesses that are Russian-themed or owned by Russian expatriates.

It is a depressing statement on the banality of the film industry that the death of actor William Hurt, at the age of seventy-one, was marked by at least one obituary stating, “Avengers star dies.” Hurt, who appeared in several Marvel films as the military character Thaddeus Ross in his latter-day career, did indeed appear in the mega-grossing Avengers films Infinity War and Endgame, and I very much hope that he received some tiny portion of the films’ enormous box office receipts in recognition of his appearance. But to describe Hurt’s life and work as defined by his Marvel roles reminded me of the great Alan Bennett line about his sexuality: “It’s like asking a man who has just crossed the Sahara whether he would prefer Perrier or Evian water.

I receive a lot of books in the mail. Perhaps you do, too. Some of these I order. Most come from publishers or authors hoping for a review. A few are gifts. I prefer to buy books at used bookstores. You never know what they might have on hand, and there’s nothing better than discovering a gem of a book by a writer you’ve never heard of. Plus, the price is always right. Independent bookstores are great, too. I’m no snob. I bought a book just the other day at the gamified Barnes and Noble in town — the atrociously overrated Call Us What We Carry by Amanda Gorman, who read at Joe Biden’s inauguration (more on that at some point, perhaps). But I prefer independent bookstores because, like at used bookstores, there’s an element of surprise in the store’s stock.

The life story of Madonna Louise Ciccone is one of the most interesting real-life narratives of any twentieth-century star. From her Michigan origins to her world-conquering career as "Queen of Pop" and her continual, Bowie-esque reinventions, she has lasted decades in a notoriously fickle industry through a combination of chutzpah, publicity savvy and talent, to say nothing of allying herself with some extremely talented collaborators along the way. "It’d make a great film," people have said repeatedly. But what they should have quickly added is, "But Madonna herself must not write and direct it." It is a problem that only people at the highest, Olympian levels of fame face, but nobody will say no to them, no matter how stupid their ideas.

I remember enjoying Murder on the Orient Express a few years ago, when I took refuge from a real-life blizzard in a Jackson, Wyoming theater to watch Kenneth Branagh’s decadent take on Agatha Christie’s snow-covered murder mystery. It was memorably cast with big-name talent (Johnny Depp makes one heck of a sleazy bad guy) and exquisite, if sometimes over-the-top, costumes and décor. If memory serves, the movie ended as a suspenseful and satisfying cinematic treat. Death on the Nile, not so much. Branagh teased his next adaptation of an Hercule Poirot novel at the end of Orient Express, but I found his second attempt wasn't worth the five-year wait.

The similarities between acting and politics are obvious. Someone stands on a stage, wearing makeup and an appropriate costume. With suitable gravitas, they read out a speech that someone else has written. If it goes well, there is applause. (If not, there can be booing, or a riot.) If they are good at their job, they can continue at a high-profile level for a considerable time, and arouse great public affection. If they are not, they are either swiftly forgotten or, at worst, become a figure of public loathing, a status that they might never live down for their rest of their lives.

This year marks the forty-fifth anniversary of Arvo Pärt’s Fratres — one of a series of groundbreaking compositions that Pärt wrote between 1976 and 1978 using his tintinnabuli style. Most of Pärt’s works in this compositional style, which means “little bells,” are in two voices — usually one a triad and the other a melody — which are played in such a way as to create an underlying drone. This creates a piece of music that is both concrete (single notes ring out clearly) and ephemeral. We see this in pieces like Für Alina (1976), Fratres (1977) and Spiegel im Spiegel (1978). Pärt was born in Estonia and grew up in the Soviet Union, but was influenced by twelve-tone serialists like Pierre Boulez and Karlheinz Stockhausen.

As Alan Bennett’s Prince Regent almost said in The Madness of King George, "Being Batman is not a position. It’s a predicament." Actors including Michael Keaton, Christian Bale, Ben Affleck, George Clooney, Val Kilmer and (vocally) Will Arnett have all had their turn at being the Bat-person over the past few decades, vying with one another to adopt their gruffest and manliest voice as they fly around dressed as a giant nocturnal mammal. It’s not quite Stanislavsky, but the various award-winning thespians have given it their all. Their mothers, and agents, must be proud. And now the youngest of their number, 35-year-old Robert Pattinson, has joined their Bat-ranks.

There is currently a poem going viral on Twitter. “We Lived Happily During the War” is by the Ukrainian-American poet Ilya Kaminsky, and it is the first poem of his prize-winning collection Deaf Republic (2019). It is easy to see why it feels particularly relevant: Kaminsky was born in the former Soviet city of Odessa, which is now under attack from Russia. The poem opens: “We Lived Happily During the War” And when they bombed other people’s houses, we protested but not enough, we opposed them but not enough. It is a heart-breaking meditation on the way normal life continues despite crises. The speaker describes how “I took a chair outside and watched the sun.” But he ends with a plea: “we (forgive us) / lived happily during the war.

In last weekend’s Wall Street Journal, James R. Hagerty and Anne Steele argue that pop artists are using more imperfect — that is, half or slant — rhymes than before because of the pressure to be original in the age of Spotify. This, plus the influence of rap, which “requires verbal virtuosity,” they argue, “has upped the ante on originality in rhyming.” Color me unconvinced. Olivia Rodrigo rhymes “smart” with “car” in “Brutal.” Dua Lipa’s “Don’t Start Now” rhymes “full 180” with “crazy.” For Hagerty and Steele, these are examples of stunning creativity. But lyricists have been using slant rhymes for a long time. Why? Mainly because they are easier than perfect rhymes, at least in English.

This week, Christopher Nolan’s new picture Oppenheimer began production. Its star-studded cast features everyone from Cillian Murphy as the theoretical physicist J. Robert Oppenheimer to Emily Blunt (as his wife Katherine) to Matt Damon (Manhattan Project director Leslie Groves) to Robert Downey Jr. (as Oppenheimer’s nemesis Lewis Strauss), with Florence Pugh, Rami Malek and Kenneth Branagh in support. Nolan has been granted a $100 million budget by his new studio, Universal, after angrily leaving Warner Bros. in a row over their decision to deny their 2021 pictures an exclusive theatrical release. The implication is clear: Oppenheimer will be a very big deal indeed. Nolan himself possesses a unique level of influence in contemporary Hollywood.

When it comes to music in the classical era, central Europe — or, to put it is where most of the action has taken place. Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert and Brahms are, in a sense, the Big Five, commanding the limelight, with the likes of Mendelssohn and Mahler bringing up the rear. But if geography has somehow played a key role in the development of modern classical music, then another region has been gradually nudging its way into view. Names from northern Europe such as Kalevi Aho, Leif Segerstam, Per Nørgård and Vagn Holmboe must figure prominently in any tally of leading composers who have expanded the boundaries of musical expression.Take Holmboe’s brilliantly imaginative Concerto No. 11 for trumpet and orchestra.

How was your Super Bowl party? I spent mine investing all my money in crypto and then blowing it on Peacock subscriptions. For once it was the commercials that were the most memorable part of the game — not Matthew Stafford's lightning arm, not even 50 Cent entering the halftime show upside-down like a bat. And that was because every ad was a broadside of celebrities. Not a fan of Bud Light Seltzer? Wait until it's pitched to you by Guy Fieri and a race of Eloi-like doppelgangers (spoiler: you still won't be a fan of Bud Light Seltzer). And how can I not order Uber Eats after watching Gwyneth Paltrow smell her own vagina candle while Trevor Noah eats deodorant? I'm old enough to remember when movie stars starred in movies; now they're hawking Doritos and cheap flights to Istanbul.

In 2019, the aspiring filmmaker Morgan Cooper had a clever idea. He took the cheery early Nineties Will Smith comedy The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air and reimagined it as a gritty social realist drama, even making a low-budget trailer for his idea. It went viral, and the streaming service Peacock turned it into a series, now titled Bel-Air. The protagonist (still named Will Smith) is again removed to his aunt and uncle’s care after getting involved in gang tensions in West Philadelphia, but the show is largely devoid of jokes. Instead, it tries to offer a serious look at the young African-American experience in the contemporary United States, complete with Instagram influencers as supporting characters. It is not much fun. Television dramas reinvented as comedies are nothing new.

The death of filmmaker Ivan Reitman was announced early on Valentine’s Day, which seems grimly appropriate. Although Reitman was not exclusively a director of romantic comedies, his films all had a cheerfully good-natured quality that generally made them significant box office successes. From his debut proper, the Bill Murray comedy Meatballs, to his final film, the Kevin Costner sports drama Draft Day, his films tended to celebrate the warmer and happier aspects of life. You might even call them Capra-esque, although Frank Capra never made a picture in which a giant, phantasmal marshmallow terrifies New York City. One-nil, Reitman.

Lady Gaga fans, unite in grief. Their idol — who was widely expected to win the Best Actress Oscar this year for her performance as the murderous Patrizia Reggiani in Ridley Scott’s House of Gucci — has not even been nominated for the award. In her place are Kristen Stewart, Jessica Chastain and Nicole Kidman — who are recognized for playing real people, respectively Princess Diana, Tammy Faye Messner and Lucille Ball — as well as Oscar stalwarts Olivia Colman and Penélope Cruz. Any of them stands a decent chance of winning now that the Gaga threat has been removed. But this still represents the greatest volte-face in what is otherwise a largely predictable set of Academy Award nominations.