film classics

Of all the Golden Age of Hollywood filmmakers, director Frank Borzage often lays claim to the most romantic. The amour is certainly off the charts in this genre-hopping effort, which stars Jean Arthur as a woman out to divorce her rich husband and Charles Boyer as a waiter/budding restaurateur who sweeps her off her feet. There’s intrigue courtesy Arthur’s jealous spouse (played with surprising nuance by Colin Clive), slapstick comedy in the form of the Boyer character’s effusive Eye-talian best friend (Leo Carrillo), and swooning moments of ardor just about every time Arthur and Boyer lock eyes. It all culminates in an incredible sinking ship setpiece (one that in several of its particulars recalls the doomed Titanic) where all the heedless romanticism comes to a wondrously complex and transcendent head.

(Streaming on Criterion Channel.)

How deep is your love for the John Travolta strut, which is on spinetingling display in the opening scene of this classic doomy drama with dance numbers. When people talk about Saturday Night Fever they’re usually referencing the point-to-the-heavens/crouch-to-theground/hip-flipping disco poses struck by Travolta’s blue-collar Brooklynite Tony Manero. What’s often forgotten is that he cavorts each Saturday night to escape his goin’ nowhere existence. Somebody help him! The thrilling hoofer scenes are an oasis of ecstasy within a movie that follows the gritty template of many a ‘70s American flick in which life is tough and ambivalence and ambiguity rule the day. (A Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge death scene still shocks with its sudden brutality.) Saturday Night Fever nonetheless gestures toward hope by the end, which makes it, like Sylvester Stallone’s equally crowd-pleasing Rocky of the previous year, a picture on the precipice of a motion-picture sea change, one where triumphant happy endings, however unearned, became a Hollywood default. (Streaming on Amazon Prime.)

One of the major works by documentarian Frederick Wiseman focuses on the very American residents of the Canal Zone, which was situated in the very not-American republic of Panama from the years 19031979. Imagine a U.S. township transplanted wholesale into the middle of a foreign land, an entire other country and culture mere minutes away at the city limits, and you’ll get an idea of the experience. For three captivating hours, Wiseman immerses us in this nationalist fauxutopia, with its supermarkets and restaurants and fashion shows and military pageantry. Only occasionally does the tumultuous outside world seep in, and it is often easily ignored — though the Zone was, at

CONTINUED ON PAGE 28

CITY / CONTINUED FROM PAGE 12

Usually I make ‘spring really hangs me up the most’ jokes and do some “Ides of March” bit here, but you know what? We’ve had Covid for over 2 years, and anything that gets and keeps us out of the house is worthwhile.

Disney100: The Exhibition is in full swing at the Franklin Institute through August 27, 2023. No, it is not one long ad for The Mandalorian. But there is more Obi Wan than Mickey Mouse to be found at the Franklin, and for this, I’m sad.

It is very telling that Philly Fashion Week—this city’s annual fashionforward celebration of local designers, design competitions and runway shows at locations throughout town—is only four-days long: March 2-5, 2023. Can we at least bust a fifth day?

The biggest show in March is something of a warm up for his stadium shows to follow: Bruce Springsteen and the E-Street Band at the Wells Fargo Center on March 16. If we’re being honest, you are uncomfortable with the fact that Springsteen is crying poor regarding overcharging longtime fans and newfound ones the outrageous ticket prices he has on this tour. Thankfully not putting the blame on anyone but his own greed, Springsteen has stated that he and his band age out at mostly over-70 years old and that the towering sliding scale ticket prices ($5,000 in some cases) are comparable to other acts of the Boss’ stature. And that may be true. But that’s sadder still. Music, in that regard, is simply a province of the wealthy. Look, I am a capitalist with a capital C, and in no way expect Springsteen to charge discount prices. But c’mon. C’MON?! Also, the EStreet Band is stretched beyond its improvisational breadth with more background vocalists than the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. Springsteen en masse are playing songs from that terrible, overly slick 2022 R&B cover album of his. And honestly, I find Springsteen’s new haircut annoying. Oh, but I’ll be there. Rest assured I wouldn’t miss a show from the Boss if my life depended upon it. I will however gripe about it.

Yes, I am annoyed by the presence of PEEPS® as a dietary staple at Easter time but am not stupid or cruel enough to deny their attractiveness as a design aesthetic. So PEEPS® in the Village at Peddler’s Village (March 13 through April 23) features “dozens of cute creations” of sugary and colorful confection is an annual competition that “sees the Pennsylvania-made marshmallow-y sweet treats used in adorable dioramas, intricate sculptures and 2-D wall art.” Yay, Peddler's Village, 100 Peddlers Village, Lahaska.

You know what’s good in March? Hope. That all of us can strive and be better, that we can set goals based on the things and the people that we love and achieve them every time we strive together as one. Sound lofty? Maybe. But hope is the centerpiece of Tony-winning playwright Lynn Nottage’s Clyde’s. Currently running at Old City’s Arden Theatre until March 12, the warmly humorous tale tackles the story of once-incarcerated group of kitchen workers at a Pennsylvania truck stop diner who are given an opportunity at personal and profession redemption through the shared quest: to create a perfect sandwich. Clyde’s director Malika Oyetimein and actors Tiffany Barrett, Walter DeShields and J Hernandez make hope palpable, even when it is debatable Plus, Clyde’s is a food-intensive theater piece that took its cast through the paces of learning hardcore knife skills and spicing. How often do you get hope, spice, and knife work in one play? n

The students were included in this project. They got a tour of the president’s art collection, which includes my work, and I gave them a presentation about the role and process of art. I visited some studios where I talked to the artists and got to preview a show that was just about to open in the student gallery. Some came to watch me paint at the game too.

When researching the university, I noticed that it has a studentrun planetarium. I went there the night before the game. Planetariums have evolved since the days of the mantis-like device in the middle of the room. The images are digitally projected from the dome's rim and interlaced seamlessly on the curved ceiling. This was a round, two-story room, 36 feet in diameter, with rows of inclined seating facing the entry and a complicated DJ-like control table at the back. Two guys sat at the table. There was nobody else in the place. The lights were turned way down. Galaxies shot over my head.

I was the only one there, so I spent twenty minutes asking all my cosmology questions. Then the guys custom-tailored the visual presentation to match our conversation.

Before they began, one of my hosts, a physics major, ran through the prerequisite trashcan announcement, pointing out its location should I get pukey and letting me know it was my job to clean it up if I missed. That bit of housekeeping out of the way; we had a great evening. I signed the guest book as I left, the first visitor in over a week. They thanked me for coming.

I tried to visit the stadium to get the lay of things, but the first few times I went, the women's lacrosse team was practicing, and I didn’t want to be that strange guy hanging around. I went over early on the morning of the football game, and nobody was there. I grabbed a stray chair, sat where I planned to paint, and let the spirits talk to me for about an hour. No students, no planets, no GPS voice giving me directions. Just sunshine, breeze, and the flags snapping over the press box.

I’d never been to a college game, so as I sat in the sun, I called my friend Alan and asked him what I would experience. He produced football games for NFL Films, and he would know. Alan gave me great information and told me to look for the spectacle.

I had a beautiful fall evening to paint the game. By then, I had talked to the president, the head groundskeeper, his staff, and the coach. We had a plan in case it rained. I was set up on the visitor’s side of the running track, just off the end zone—a spot I picked from photos and films I had received from SRU. That position gave me a good view of the home stands. The visiting band was behind me on the other side of the fence, and they were delighted to watch me paint. The guy with the tuba gave me occasional blasts to keep me sharp.

Come game time; I had my hands full with the changing light. It was day when I started, and would be night at the end of the game. In addition, I knew that if I didn’t see some action at my end of the field, I would have to make it up. Whenever the play came my way, I paid attention to what it looked like from ground level. By the end of the third quarter, I felt I had captured the spectacle’s place, but I still didn’t have the spectacle’s moment, so I opted to invent a touchdown pass. It was a risky move, with fifteen minutes left and just one shot at this, but tuba man had faith, and I wasn’t going to let him down.

It’s nifty when you think about it. When people look at this painting, that touchdown pass will become part of the game for them. Possibly more so than others that really happened. The Grassy Knoll of third-down conversions. n

Cronenberg rarely manages to wrangle the from-the-id craziness of the premise into something truly and potently disturbing. [R] HH

Knock at the Cabin (Dir. M. Night Shyamalan). Starring: Dave Bautista, Jonathan Groff, Ben Aldridge. A gay couple (Jonathan Groff and Ben Aldridge) vacationing in a remote cabin with their adopted daughter (Kristen Cui) are set upon by a disparate quartet of people, led by the genially imposing Dave Bautista, who are convinced that the world is going to end unless the family willingly submits to a sacrifice. Cowriter-director M. Night Shyamalan does his best to milk this premise, adapted from a novel by Paul Tremblay, for edge-of-the-abyss tension, though the film is rarely scary and its end-times fervor is pretty much hand-me-down (like Tarkovsky, the broodingly spiritualist Russian director, defanged and mainstreamed). Add to this Shyamalan’s penchant for irritatingly unnaturalistic dialogue that the performers, game as many of them are, can’t raise above a certain firstdraft-sounding level. There are still a few adept compositions (Jarin Blaschke and Lowell A. Meyer share cinematography duties) and an intriguing emotional undercurrent, particularly once the apocalyptic scheiße hits the fan, that makes you recall the talent Shyamalan displayed with more consistency long, long ago. [R] HH

Magic Mike’s Last Dance (Dir. Steven Soderbergh). Starring: Channing Tatum, Salma Hayek, Caitlin Gerard. Exotic dancer Mike Lane (Channing Tatum) returns to bare both abs and heart in Steven Soderbergh’s uneven third film in the Magic Mike series. Down and out eco- nomically because of the COVID-19 pandemic, Mike finds opportunity, and maybe more, in the form of wealthy socialite Maxandra Mendoza (Salma Hayek), who he woos in a stunningly sexy opening dance number. She’s so taken with his physical and bro-philosophical prowess that she flies Mike to London and finances a show (put on in a historically prissy British theater) that will bring his variety of erotic satisfaction to the masses. The heat generated by the initial scenes quickly dissipates as Mike navigates culture shock and an upper-crust social circle resistant to cutting loose. Soderbergh has cited Ernst Lubitsch as a touchstone for the comic shenanigans, though his touch is far from that great filmmaker at his best. It doesn’t help that this feels mostly like a commercial for the Magic Mike stage show spun off from the previous two movies — a brand extension more than a story that cried out to be told. [R] HH n

The grid for last month’s puzzle, CAPTAIN OBVIOUS GOES TO THE MUSEUM, was wrong. Here is the correct grid. We apologize for the error.

VALLEY / CONTINUED FROM PAGE 14 burgers) and decent beers (Samuel Adams), and a Tim Horton’s store with decent doughnuts and much more than decent coffee. (701 Hamilton St., Allentown; 610-224-4625; pplcenter.com)

The movie theaters at SteelStacks have radically improved local film watching the way Wegman’s has radically improved local grocery shopping. The Valley’s only side-by-side art/indie houses serve a banquet of first-run, first-rate pictures. I’ve seen plenty of Oscar winners—Green Book, Spotlight, Parasite—that actually deserve Oscars. I’ve also seen a fair share of concert movies—George Harrison’s memorial gig; Joni Mitchell’s 75th birthday party—charged with an electric onstage energy by a wide screen, a robust sound system and seats much plusher than typical concert-hall chairs. What separates SteelStacks from the pack are showcases for directors, stars, classics, cult classics, racial groups and gender genres. The quirkiest series is Unknown Planet, a menu of daring, rare pictures shown once a month, with titles unknown to subscribers until the screenings. Outside the theaters is a sleek, two-story lobby with a jolting view of Bethlehem Steel’s titanic blast furnaces, bathed at night in Tequila Sunrise spotlights. It’s a colorful spot to wind up or down. (100 Founders Way, Bethlehem; 610-332-1300; steelstacks.org)

Easton Cemetery is a monumental memorial park. Behind the castle-like main entrance, eight blocks from my father’s birth house, is a sprawling, rolling estate with beautiful trees, shrubs and gardens; charismatic tombstones and tombs, and avenues branching to grassy amphitheaters. Opened in 1849, the graveyard was conceived by the perfectly named Traill Green, a botanist and chemistry professor who believed the deceased and their survivors deserve a sanctuary far from the unsanitary crowd. My favorite parts feature sunken, spacious lawns full of intriguing tributes. A northeastern section contains a salute to champion boxer Larry Holmes’ mother Flossie and her rallying cry “I Wanna Go Home to Dance.” The northern-most section includes a gyroscopic abstract sculpture honoring Cecil and Eleanor Lipkin, whose furniture store funded their cultural philanthropy. Elsewhere you’ll find homages to George Taylor, who signed the Declaration of Independence; George Oliver Barclay, who invented the football helmet, and Lucy Minturn Barnet, who died in 1853 after living 518 days. All sorts of gifts—dolls, toys, Halloween pumpkins—accompany a stone infant sleeping on a canopied bed, making Lucy’s final resting place a genuine shrine. (401 N. 7th St.; 610-252-1741; thehistoriceastoncemetery.org)

Stations Café is the only eatery on Bethlehem’s Restaurant Row with a curbside kitchen. Behind the picture window owner/chef Minh Tran prepares food equally healthy, tasty and zesty. The Vietnam native makes rotisserie-chicken sandwiches on vegan flat bread, blackbean burgers, organic pepperoni-and-cheese soft pretzels, Vietnamese hoagies (banh mi) and nine soups per day. I recently enjoyed the chipotle sweet potato soup, smoothly creamy and delicately rootsy, and the chicken pho, a noodle broth packed with savory flavors. Also available are coffees, cocktails, pastries and no-preservative ice creams from Longacre’s, the celebrated dairy in Barto, Berks County. Tucked inside a semi-mall in a former department store, Stations has been a community treasure for 16 years, an eternity for a small restaurant. Regular customers admire Minh for her hard work, cheerfulness and good will. One of her best regulars is my friend Thor, a German/Native American and an A-plus dog whisperer. Our pal Jake the Schnoodle gives him two paws up. (559 Main St., Suite 120, Bethlehem; 610-625-5200; stationscafe.com) n

CITY / CONTINUED FROM PAGE 14

Village (March 13 through April 23) features “dozens of cute creations” of sugary and colorful confection is an annual competition that “sees the Pennsylvania-made marshmallow-y sweet treats used in adorable dioramas, intricate sculptures and 2-D wall art.” Yay, Peddler's Village, 100 Peddlers Village, Lahaska.

You know what’s good in March? Hope. That all of us can strive and be better, that we can set goals based on the things and the people that we love and achieve them every time we strive together as one. Sound lofty? Maybe. But hope is the centerpiece of Tony-winning playwright Lynn Nottage’s Clyde’s. Currently running at Old City’s Arden Theatre until March 12, the warmly humorous tale tackles the story of onceincarcerated group of kitchen workers at a Pennsylvania truck stop diner who are given an opportunity at personal and profession redemption through the shared quest: to create a perfect sandwich. Clyde’s director Malika Oyetimein and actors Tiffany Barrett, Walter DeShields and J Hernandez make hope palpable, even when it is debatable Plus, Clyde’s is a food-intensive theater piece that took its cast through the paces of learning hardcore knife skills and spicing. How often do you get hope, spice, and knife work in one play?

From March 4 to March 12, and indoors once more after two warm, pandemic ears in FDR Park, the Philadelphia Flower Show returns to the Pennsylvania Convention Center under the umbrella theme “The Garden Electric.” There is a lot of live music to go with the PFS’ breathtaking LCD lit-up displays by the world’s premier floral and landscape designers. And while I’m happy not to deal with the outdoor elements of wind and rain, I will miss South Philly’s Lakes and the Swedish Museum. Sigh. n

FILM CLASSICS / CONTINUED FROM PAGE 22 this point, only a few years away from decommission. Wiseman’s provocative point (subtly yet rigorously expressed, as always) seems to be that, among its many dubious virtues, the land of the free and the home of the brave excels at willful isolation and ignorance. (Streaming on Kanopy.)

To Sleep with Anger (1990, Charles Burnett, United States)

Most know writer-director Charles Burnett, if they know him at all (he’s one of the most egregiously overlooked of great American directors), for his devastating dramatic debut Killer of Sheep (1978). That film is one for the ages, but his 1990 dark dramedy To Sleep with Anger is no less a masterpiece. Danny Glover stars as Harry, a charismatic mystery man who pays a visit to a South Central Los Angeles couple, Gideon (Paul Butler) and Suzie (Mary Alice), who he was friends with many years before. His presence is destabilizing bordering on demonic, upending not only Gideon and Suzie’s lives, but also those of their grown children (Richard Brooks and Carl Lumbly). Whether all the crises that result are for an ultimately greater good is always up for debate. And Burnett gives the film a bewitchingly magical realist vibe that only adds to the story’s evocative quandaries and conundrums regarding familial dysfunction and cultural alienation. (Streaming on MUBI.) n

THE HEADHUNTERS / CONTINUED FROM PAGE 19 music, and I pinch myself at the thought.

A.D: You mentioned Herbie, so I’ll go back for one minute to the Headhunters start. What can you recall of what you first wanted this band to be?

B.S: There wasn’t a Headhunters at first, that is, until Mike and I created an identity, developed an identity on the road. Harvey (Mason) wouldn’t go on the road with us. Actually, I didn’t even go on the road at first because I was the bongo player and treated as expendable. During the first tour that Michael was on, I wasn’t even there.

M.C: Correct.

B.S: Herbie’s people didn’t want to pay my airfare or hotel room stays, so I became expendable. That is the raw truth. You just opened Pandora’s Box. In the beginning, the band was fragmented, and didn’t truly begin to come together until Mike got there. We came together, put our eggs in one basket, and dedicated ourselves to caring for each other. And that’s how we brought the funk, and still do. And we influence the entire planet from there.

M.C: He just nailed it. It’s all true.

A.D: Talking about money, Survival of the Fittest yielded one huge hit, “God Make Me Funky,’ that has since become a hip-hop sample staple. Anybody pay you for that?

M.C: Noooooooo. That is the answer. Yes, we would love to get paid. If anyone knows Dr. Dre since his first music featured our song as his sample, perhaps we can get a quote from him. I think that song has been sampled to the tune of 24 million streams.

D.C: You have to find the right people to talk to. The further back the royalty goes, the harder it is to get the full amount.

Bill Summer: We should each own a yacht from those samples. Either way, I’m going to be happy every day. n

duosetting.

With that, so much of who Charming Disaster is comes in finding what lies in-between filling in the blanks and connecting the dots — the mysteries within.

“We’re really nimble as a two-person project,” noted Bisker. “We’re versatile and can go many different places on our records. When performing in live settings, we can adapt physically to any size stage.”

Aesthetically, the non-linear Our Lady of Radium and the theoretical Super Natural History touch on realms beyond their usual while marrying its themes to all that is familiar to Charming Disaster. “On the face of it, there is a science to be found in all that is Marie Curie,” said Bisker. “But, in reality, hers is a story of human curiosity.” The early 20th-century spiritual phenomenon of speaking to the dead and of X-ray technology — trying to capture the soul and the body in one swoop — drives the many threads of Our Lady of Radium. “Magic and science are never far apart,” said Bisker.

Morris continued. “Because there were so many threads to Curie’s story involving seances, duels, and other drama, that touched on the occult, that touched upon spiritualism, that was all very attractive to us.”

Super Natural History is an extension of all the research, intuition, and invention Charming Disaster put into Our Lady of Radium. To Morris, Super Natural History is about wonder and awe, “from occult origins to ad admiration of beauty that is the natural world. It is not a theme but part of our usual cabinet of curiosities of things we collect and observe. These are all wonderful things that bring beauty and joy.” n