“Beauty and the Beast” is delectably done; when it’s over, though, and when the spell is snapped, it melts away, like cotton candy on the tongue. [Anthony Lane, “Pretty and Gritty”]
Wednesday, March 29, 2017
March 27, 2017, Issue
I have to say I’m not crazy about any of the pieces in this
week’s issue. But there are at least three sentences in which genuine inspiration appears to be present:
Strobe lights flashed
on the placid face of the patron pink-bowed cat, which beamed down from the
ceiling. [Wei Tchou, “Bar Tab: 100 Fun”]
Politics percolate in
evocations of social class and function, with verisimilitude tipping toward the
surreal in, for example, a set that suggests at once a beauty parlor, a medical
facility, and a prison. [Peter Schjeldahl, “What’s New?”]
“Beauty and the Beast” is delectably done; when it’s over, though, and when the spell is snapped, it melts away, like cotton candy on the tongue. [Anthony Lane, “Pretty and Gritty”]
Labels:
Anthony Lane,
Peter Schjeldahl,
The New Yorker,
Wei Tchou
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