On Oct. 1, Jane Fonda helped relaunch the Committee for the First Amendment, standing alongside many members of the entertainment industry in an open letter condemning the federal government for being “engaged in a coordinated campaign to silence critics in the government, the media, the judiciary, academia, and the entertainment industry.”
Situated among the Boston MFA’s proud Asian collection is a dimly lit exhibition hall whose inconspicuous presence belies the crowds of visitors frequenting its displays. To protect the fragility of the Xuan paper and silk scrolls, as well as to ensure the ink doesn’t fade, each work is spotlighted under a single warm light. However, these soft beige and brown illuminations do not dull the vibrancy of Qi’s colors nor detract from the eccentricity of his brushstrokes.
In these times of turbulent change in our government, our communities and our homes, why does it continue to matter so fervently what is seen in our institutions? Why is it important for these familiar institutions to evolve now?
The 24-hour musical: where silence on the Cohen Auditorium stage is rewarded with raucous laughter and applause from the audience. We’re not in some polished, rehearsed Kansas anymore — we have landed in a raucous, occasionally ad-libbed Oz.
In the late hours of Nov. 5, 2024, former Vice President Kamala Harris’ campaign chair, Jen O’Malley Dillon, called with news that put a decisive and devastating cap on her past 107 days: “I don’t think you’re going to get there.”
To accurately describe the scene of something as modern as the new Paul Thomas Anderson film, it’s necessary to tap the rewind button to early leftist, revolutionary politics. During the ’70s, we heard rallying cries, people holding onto any form of comfort so as to make the bad times less trying. In Gil-Scott Heron’s 1971’s black liberation anthem, “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised,” he exclaims, “Green Acres, Beverly Hillbillies, and Hooterville Junction will no longer be so damn relevant.” The metaphor here hinges on Heron citing these 1960s television programs (“Green Acres,” “Beverly Hillbillies”), and their themes — rooted in hoisting wealth and perseverance in white America — as no longer relevant. These people, and their glorified existence, are still living beneath the corrupt government. While “One Battle After Another” takes Heron’s comedic jabs at the 1960s government, it contrarily applies it under the dome of a Trumpist agenda. The movie turns into something beaming with dimension and intelligence while also delivering those laughworthy moments via outrageous allusion and mockery, much akin to Heron.
Recently, strolling down Broadway has felt more like scrolling through Netflix. Names like Daniel Craig, Keanu Reeves, Sarah Paulson, Eddie Redmayne, Kieran Culkin, Elle Fanning, Daniel Radcliffe, Rachel McAdams, Lola Tung, Nick Jonas and countless others have all been written in Broadway’s flashing lights over the past few years. MTA subway advertisements urge commuters not to miss Steve Carell in “Uncle Vanya” or George Clooney in “Good Night, and Good Luck” while Sandra Oh waltzes around the stage of a star-studded Shakespeare in the Park production for those lucky enough to possess coveted tickets.
If you don’t have TikTok downloaded, you might not know what “His Nerd” is. But if you’ve doom-scrolled long enough, chances are you’ve stumbled across an ad for a microdrama. Titles like “His Nerd” and “Loving My Brother’s Best Friend” have become ubiquitous online, enticing viewers with quick romance and melodramatic twists.
Founded by Justine Wiltshire Cohen in 2004 in a church basement in Newton Highlands, the Down Under School of Yoga stands as one of Boston’s most esteemed yoga studios. Cohen’s yoga journey began at a very young age. Her parents, both journalists, worked with the Dalai Lama’s community in India, teaching English to Tibetan monks. Cohen’s own teaching career has now spanned over two decades. Notably, while working in Washington, D.C., as an international human rights lawyer, she combined her passion for law and classical yoga to become the yoga teacher to the U.S. Supreme Court.
Joseph Strauss, chief engineer of the Golden Gate Bridge, said: “Bridges are a monument to progress.” Such is the case of the recently completed William Fenton ‘Bill’ Russell Bridge, named after the Celtics player and civil rights activist, which honors Boston’s past changemakers while innovating for its future. The bridge was designed by Miguel Rosales, a Boston-based architect and president of the architecture firm Rosales+ Partners. Rosales has designed some of the most well-known bridges in the country, including the Zakim and Charlestown Bridges in Boston, the Woodrow Wilson Bridge in DC and the Puente Centenario Bridge across the Panama Canal. Born to a middle-class family in Guatemala, Rosales earned an architecture degree from University Francisco Marroquín before continuing his studies at MIT, earning a Masters of Science in Architecture Studies. Rosales credits his education in architecture, urban planning and engineering for his unique designs saying, “I think I combined all of those disciplines into one person, and I think that makes me special and be able to do the work I do.”
The job hunt is never easy. In today’s world of LinkedIn connections, coffee chats and endless interviews, the search for work can drive even a modest family man to madness — or worse. At least that’s the opinion of Park Chan-wook, the visionary behind “Oldboy” (2003) and “The Handmaiden” (2016), whose latest work, “No Other Choice” (2025), proves to be a hysterical, scathing portrait of modern capitalism.
To understand why Geese’s new record “Getting Killed” — released Friday via Partisan Records — sounds the way it does, you must understand what came before.
A play is isolated from reality, forever fixed in its own little pocket of space and time. “The Hills of California” is distinctly aware of this fact, presenting the house the story unfolds in as both a sanctuary and a prison, where dreams are expressed and reminisced on but never able to come to fruition.
In our dining halls, plates are merely vessels of utility. Students stack them high with Dewick-MacPhie Dining Center fries or Fresh at Carmichael Dining Center pancakes, slam them down on plastic trays beside their friends, and later let them rattle down a conveyor belt to be stripped of ketchup stains and congealed maple syrup residue by custodial staff. For those living off campus, Amazon boxes or Target bags deliver inexpensive, replaceable dishware, valued for durability. Beauty here is an afterthought, or not a thought at all — a convenience that disappears into the dishwasher before a 9 a.m. class.
For decades, American television followed a rigid formula: around 22-episode seasons running from September to May. But in the past decade, this model has nearly disappeared. In its place are shorter runs of six to ten episodes, as well as one-off limited series that feel more like long films than open-ended serials. What changed?
There comes a point in many directors’ careers when making a sprawling passion project seems to be the natural progression. For Francis Ford Coppola, it was the tumultuous “Megalopolis.” For Steven Spielberg, it was the autobiographical “The Fabelmans.” And now, for three-time Oscar winner Guillermo del Toro, that career-defining victory lap arrives with “Frankenstein” (2025). The most recent entry into a canon of adaptations that ranges from James Whale’s 1931 original to Mel Brooks’ 1974 comedic spin, Del Toro’s version is a sturdy yet relatively risk-averse take on Mary Shelley’s 1818 novel.
What does it mean to ‘grow up?’ As a college student, this seems like an essential and painfully pressing question that no one knows how to answer. Does it mean becoming self-sufficient without the support of your parents? Does it mean actualizing a career out of a degree you worked tirelessly to obtain? Is there a marker for it — some event or moment that lets you know you have finally crossed the threshold into the next chapter of your life? Is there even an answer to the question? That’s where Benito Skinner, Rebecca Shaw and Ben Kronengold come in.
In many a school auditorium, a theater kid could be spotted sitting cross-legged with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, surrounded by peers who had just belted their way through the entire Hamilton soundtrack. Between bites, they sipped water to preserve their voices, already preparing for the next reprise.
Depop was once imagined as the future of sustainable fashion. When it was founded in 2011, the resale platform offered itself as an antidote to fast fashion: a community marketplace where clothes that were already in circulation could be given a second life. Its design looked more like Instagram than eBay, and that was the point. Shopping on Depop felt less like scrolling through dusty thrift store racks in a Goodwill or Savers and more like browsing someone’s curated Pinterest board. For a generation raised primarily on social media, it offered a way to shop that felt authentic, personal and, most importantly, socially conscious.
If you’ve walked around Boston, you’ve probably seen a CorePower Yoga studio. But what exactly is CorePower Yoga? Beyond being an intense workout that combines strength, flexibility and mindfulness, CorePower is a vibrant community of passionate ‘yogis’ across the country and right here in Boston.
