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I love political thrillers. Even if there are plot holes a-gaping and narrative twists as implausible as Ashlee Simpson’s career, it’s fine by me, because it’s all in the name of intrigue. That’s why, despite some problems, I really enjoyed The Interpreter.
The story starts out strong. Playing the title character, an interpreter at the UN, Nicole Kidman adds to her list of attempted accents with a charming Afrikaans-ish lilt. One night, she overhears a whispered conversation about a seeming assassination plot against an African dictator who’s scheduled to deliver a speech at the UN General Assembly. This brings Sean Penn onto the scene as a Secret Service investigator whose job is just as much to investigate the mysterious Kidman as it is to thwart the alleged assassination plot.
Once just the soundtrack of the cities, hip hop has become the soundtrack of the world. Self-described “hip-hop head,” Patrick Neate set off to explore how the four elements of hip hop—graffiti, emceeing/rapping, breakdancing, and turntabling—look and sound from city to city and culture to culture. Where You’re At: Notes from the Frontline of a Hip-Hop Planet, the excellent result of his explorations, begins in New York City, the birthplace of the genre, and ends in Rio de Janiero, where Neate discovers an organization that’s using music to enact social change.
The last time I saw Kathleen Turner, she was on “Friends,” playing Chandler’s transsexual father—simply frightening. She looked the part… I mean really looked the part. So, it was with great trepidation that I went to see the new Broadway production of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? This is all wrong, I thought. But then again, here is an actress who certainly wears her monster on her sleeve. Maybe she is right for the fire-breathing role of Martha in this award-winning play. As it turned out, this production of Edward Albee’s classic play failed to reach me for more significant reasons.
I had my first taste of the South this weekend when I traveled to New Orleans. The occasion was the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival, aka Jazz Fest—an annual two-weekend-long music and food blowout that draws musicians and spectators from all over the country. I’d been told by a Jazz Fest veteran that only Grateful Dead concerts had this festival beat.
About seventy musicians and groups performed on Friday, from 11:00am until 7:00pm, on eleven different outdoor stages. It was impossible to see everyone—even getting a glimpse of each one was impossible—and people-watching was almost more tempting than settling in for a performance. But I wound up seeing some excellent music, including Susan Cowsill, Amanda Shaw and the Cute Guys, The Black Crowes, Ozomatli, and Wilco. They all put on great shows, but Ozomatli seemed especially suited to performing to a totally laid-back, giddily happy, well-fed, sunburned crowd.
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