Yet today, their work has taken up residence in the same halls at the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts (MMFA). Georgia O’Keeffe and Henry Moore: Giants of Modern Art, organized by the San Diego Museum of Art, reveals an obvious dialogue between the two modernists’ oeuvre.

Having both relocated from the busy centers of New York and London to New Mexico and rural Hertfordshire early in their careers, O’Keeffe and Moore became inextricably linked to their respective environments. The MMFA’s exhibition emphasizes the artists’ shared wonder of the natural world, dividing itself into four rooms: bones, stones, shells, and flowers.

The viewer is immediately drawn to O’Keeffe’s famous large-scale paintings of flowers, which are often regarded as erotic. It is easy to see why: her close-up views often border on abstraction, emphasizing shape, form, and color. Series I White & Blue Flower Shapes (1919), an oil on board painting displayed in the first gallery, acutely suggests female genitalia. So much so that during my visit, it left a group of high schoolers spellbound. One of them cleverly pointed out that the painting focuses on the flower’s reproductive organs, so that it is, in a way, sexual. “It does challenge perception and ignite the imagination,” answered their tour guide, who proceeded to lecture the class on how cropping and enlarging a detail — a convention O’Keeffe borrowed from photography — can summon the viewer into an intimate exploration of nature’s intricacies.

The class snapped a few pictures before moving on to Stringed Figures (1938), one of Moore’s lead sculptures. According to the artwork’s didactic, Moore produced about 20 lead works at his countryside cottage, where he experimented with casting lead in his own pots and pans in the late 1930s. Much like O’Keeffe’s flowers, the sculpture possesses an uncanny sensual quality: its smooth curves and surfaces almost invite touch.

Moore was foremost a carver. He made several large elmwood carvings throughout his career, such as Reclining Figure (1959-64), which reflects his growing interest in landscape. The form of the figure follows the grain of the wood while its hollows and overhanging limbs evoke cliffs and caves.

The pair is at their most symbiotic in the bones portion of the exhibition. Here, one can admire O’Keeffe’s paintings by peering through the holes of Moore’s sculptures. Such is the case with Reclining Figure Bone (1975). Carved in travertine marble, the structure resembles an elongated bone — or is it a figure? — that is pierced in two places. It sits on a large table in the middle of the room, putting it in conversation with O’Keeffe’s paintings of pelvic bones, which hang on the wall directly behind it.

Similarly, in Pedernal from the Ranch #1 (1956), O’Keeffe uses a pelvic bone as a window to frame the landscape. Flirting with surrealism, she manipulates scale and perspective by juxtaposing the small object with Pedernal Peak, her favorite mountain in New Mexico. Through her adept use of colour, she conveys the timeless beauty of the Southwestern desert. The use of burnt orange helps capture the desert’s warmth and aridity, while the sky’s shades of blue and lavender clash with the mountain to accentuate its edges.

About halfway through the exhibition, visitors are invited to step into recreations of the artists’ studios, another testament to their shared philosophy. If one wasn’t convinced of their connection, here lies the evidence: feathers, leaves, shells, animal skulls, stones, and pebbles lie here and there on each of their workstations, drawing attention to their shared thematic material.

Both O’Keefe and Moore found magic and beauty in the uncanny. Their captivation with the living world and the various methods they employed to highlight different natural features are so striking that the viewer feels as if they are encountering everyday subjects — flowers, stones, and leaves — for the first time. Moreover, by giving their subjects anthropomorphic qualities, they prompt us to recognize nature’s vitality — to pause and consider our interconnectedness.

Whether or not they ever got to shake hands, O’Keeffe and Moore certainly knew of one another: both were honoured with retrospective exhibitions at the MoMA in 1946, held only a few months apart. It is worth pointing out that both of them also died in the same year — 1986, another bizarre manifestation of their parallel trajectories. The MMFA’s latest exhibition invites Montreal’s museumgoers to reflect on the incredible similarities between Georgia O’Keeffe and Henry Moore’s lives and work, helping cement their status as giants of modern art.

Georgia O’Keeffe and Henry Moore: Giants of Modern Art will be on display at the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts until June 2. For more information, visit the MMFA’s website at www.mbam.qc.ca.

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This very dilemma was raised at the AI and the Future of Writing event, a panel discussion put on by the Quebec Writers’ Federation (QWF) on September 21 at the Atwater Library. A packed house listened with rapt attention as moderator Julian Sher led QWF vice-president Crystal Chan, author Sean Michaels, and McGill professor Andrew Piper in a lively reflection on the uses of artificial intelligence in creative writing.

Michaels broke the ice by reminding everyone that there is nothing new about systems like ChatGPT.  “Think of auto-complete on your phone, or spell check in Microsoft Word,” he told the crowd. The Montreal-based writer went on to tell the story of his introduction to the chatbot in 2019, on a website called Talk to Transformer, and how it led him to write his most recent book, Do You Remember Being Born?, a novel about the intersection of AI and poetry.

“I just stumbled onto this space and I started writing some things, and I found myself deeply disquieted, unsettled, and at times a little bit delighted by what it was feeding back to me,” he recalls. Once Michaels presented his fiction to the AI, he received new writing in a voice eerily similar to his own. “It had kind of an unsettlingly good – not great – but an unsettlingly good grasp of aspects of my writing style,” he shared. The experiment led him to write Do You Remember Being Born?, a novel about a 75-year-old poet who moves to California to write a poem with the Silicon Valley Company’s new poetry AI. The book, which was published a few weeks ago through Random House Canada, was written by Micheals with the help of an AI program of his design, making it a great example of how artificial intelligence can be used to supplement creativity. 

For Crystal Chan, QWF’s vice-president, ChatGPT is not cheeky nor is it creative. “It doesn’t just create something out of thin air, it’s predicting based on existing content,” she explains. She finds that in terms of mysticism and magic, artists and writers are doing unpredictable things with AI, not the other way around. She points to Micheals’ achievement and reminds everyone that the idea for the novel came from him: “It is interesting to play around with artificial intelligence to see what it is good at, what it is bad at, but you must factor in some lore of your own, too.”  

Andrew Piper, who teaches in the Department of Languages, Literatures, and Cultures at McGill University, supported Chan’s argument. “It’s forcing us to rethink how we write, or how we assign writing,” he says of the chatbot. Professor Piper expressed his concern that tools like ChatGPT could eventually replace skills like writing, but thinks the software could potentially be beneficial in the long run. “We know some kids really succeed at writing. Some kids really fail at it. But imagine if this thing could be some kind of writing assistant, a sort of personalized interactive bot that could help you be a little more creative, help you figure out how to express your thoughts through writing. That could be very exciting,” he shares. 

In the end, all three panelists agreed that using AI to complement your creative process is not without risks. Although the outcome can be fascinating when put into the hands of highly discerning creative professionals, they believe writers must have already honed their hard skills in order to use a chatbot effectively. In other words, ChatGPT cannot turn you into a writer. At least not for now. “Could this tool somehow augment and facilitate learning? We just don’t know yet,” concluded Professor Piper. 

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First in line is the Venice International Film Festival, which opens on Wednesday, August 30. It will, for the most part, be unaffected by the strike. SAG-AFTRA is an American labour union, which means international actors are not affected by its protest. Actors who worked on independent films are also exempt from the injunction. Alberto Barbera, the festival’s artistic director, has stated that despite losing their opening film, Luca Guadagnito’s Challengers, the impact of the strike has been “quite modest.” Their planned lineup, which will run until September 9, remains unchanged despite the absence of Hollywood actors. Ava DuVernay’s Origin, an adaptation of Caste: The Origins of Our Discontents, Bradley Cooper’s Maestro, a biographical drama about American composer Leonard Bernstein, and Sofia Coppola’s Priscilla, based on the 1985 memoir Elvis and Me by Priscilla Presley, will be among the films competing for the Golden Lion, the festival’s top prize.

The Telluride Film Festival (TFF) will take place concurrently, starting on Thursday, August 31. Since it operates on a much smaller scale, it too should not be greatly affected by the disputes. TFF only reveals their programming at the very last minute, once their attendees have gathered on the western flank of the San Juan Mountains, making it impossible to know if their lineup was disrupted by the ongoing negotiations. What’s more, the festival is not intended to be a competition, but rather a celebration of cinema. This means no prizes are awarded, no press conferences are held, and no sit-down talks are organized. In other words, Telluride is a place where celebrities can lay low and blend in with the crowd. They could technically show up to screenings as fans, however it is unlikely they would risk being identified as strike-breakers. The festival, which will close on September 4, has become an important touchstone of the fall circuit thanks to its quirkiness. Many acclaimed filmmakers have premiered their work in Telluride, including Ang Lee (Brokeback Mountain, in 2005), Barry Jenkins (Moonlight, in 2016) and Greta Gerwig (Lady Bird, in 2017).

This leaves us with the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF), which will take place after Venice and Telluride close, starting Thursday, September 7. The festival, which prides itself on being an event put on for the public, has been associated with big American premiers in past years. Roaming the streets of downtown Toronto to rub shoulders with A-listers is a big part of the TIFF experience, one which movie lovers will have to do without this year. The festival did manage to secure Hayao Miyazaki’s hit animated feature The Boy and the Heron for its opening night. They have also announced that Hong Kong actor Andy Lau will be in attendance for a moderated conversation, as will ​​writer-director Pedro Almodóvar. Set to premiere are Craig Gillespie’s Dumb Money, a comedy-drama film about the 2021 GameStop short squeeze, Justine Triet’s Anatomy of a Fall, which won this year’s Palme d’Or at Cannes, and Hitman, Richard Linklater’s new film starring Glen Powell. 

While film festivals are not all about pageantry, red carpets and celebrity appearances are a huge part of their appeal. Photo calls generate lots of excitement and remain an essential promotional tool for studios. The absence of actors from the festival circuit – no matter their level of fame – will certainly reduce media coverage, and in turn, lower cinema attendance. If the strikes are still ongoing during these high-profile events, the potential loss in revenue could put additional pressure on the WGA, the SAG-AFTRA, and the AMPTP to come to an agreement quickly. Although the settlement of labour disputes involves complex and strenuous negotiations, one can only hope that the spotlight cast on these festivals will amplify the need for a quick and equitable resolution. 

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Let’s flashback to November 2022. Following the release of her tenth studio album, Midnights, Taylor Swift announced she was going on an all-stadium concert tour that would take her across the United States. Swift explained the tour’s concept as a “journey through all of [her] musical eras,” a proposition that was sure to bring immense excitement – and demand – from her fans. When the ticket sale kicked off on November 18, 14 million people formed a virtual line on Ticketmaster’s website. Three million of them had registered for the Verified Fan program that gave them access to a special pre-sale. 

Yet fans waited for hours on Ticketmaster’s website. Some saw the tickets they had selected disappear from their carts, while others lost their places in line when the website glitched. Within an hour, the website crashed, stranding users in frozen queues. Those fortunate enough to secure tickets had to pay high service fees while resellers began listing them online for thousands of dollars. Ticketmaster eventually cancelled the general on-sale due to “insufficient” inventory. 

Inability to handle such high demand is understandable, but Ticketmaster has been enabled to treat fans poorly without being held accountable as a result of market monopoly. 

It goes without saying that when there is a fundamental supply and demand imbalance – roughly 15 million people want to see Taylor Swift in concert, but only two million tickets are available – a lot of people are going to be disappointed no matter what system is used to distribute the goods. Given that imbalance, the price of tickets is bound to rise and someone will step in to fill that gap, whether that be scalpers on StubHub or Ticketmaster via dynamic pricing. Even an artist as significant as Swift cannot overcome these hurdles, for there are no independent venues or ticket-selling businesses big enough to feasibly accommodate her and her fans. 

During last week’s hearing, a great deal of attention was paid to Swift’s fans and how disappointed they were about not being able to get tour tickets because of high demand. The problem with the judicial hearing is that US senators assumed that the root of the problem lay in the lack of access to tickets. In reality, the issue with Ticketmaster and Live Nation’s merger is so much more profound.  

The main issue here is that Live Nation has contracts with nearly every major stadium and arena in North America that restrict each venue to the exclusive use of Ticketmaster when selling tickets. In other words, venues are Ticketmaster’s primary customers, not artists and fans. Ticketmaster serves the venues by giving them a significant cut of their fees, and as a result, both parties have little incentive to improve the way they treat concertgoers. 

To make matters worse, the hearing turned into a bit of a circus when senators started showing off their knowledge of Taylor Swift lyrics by incorporating them into their statements. While amusing at first, these bits undermined the very real problems facing Ticketmaster and Live Nation. Meanwhile, hardly any media have acknowledged how artists are being strong-armed out of profits for their own shows and merchandise, an issue that has led to numerous cancellations of tours from musicians like Santigold and Little Simz. There is no mention, either, of the literal blood Live Nation has on its hands due to inadequate crowd planning for Travis Scott’s Astroworld Festival, which led to the death of ten people from compression asphyxia. Silence, also, when it comes to discussing their inability to protect an artist from harm; in 2021, Drakeo the Ruler and his entourage were attacked backstage at the Once Upon a Time in LA festival by “around 40, 60 men” in masks, which led to the rapper’s death. His family sued Live Nation, which put on the event, citing negligence from the venue and inadequate security measures. 

But Ticketmaster and Live Nation have no real competition, so why would they change? Capturing revenue from whoever is willing to pay is what capitalism is all about, and as long as there are no competitors to drive convenience fees down, block bots, or instigate greater security measures, Ticketmaster will continue operating the way it does. If someone is willing to pay $20,000 to stand in a constricted crowd, why would Ticketmaster stop them? 

In order to see a change in the way the ticketing industry operates, Ticketmaster and Live Nation’s merger needs to be broken up. The enterprise may operate in a natural economic system, but its situation needs oversight and regulation for the benefit and safety of the general public. If Congress wants to dismantle this merger, it has the power to do so, but it is important to note that the Senate hearing was prompted by the noise created by unhappy fans. Their advocacy for change cannot be overstated, as it is unlikely many of these senators would have taken the steps needed to break this monopoly up on their own. 

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This likely won’t be the last time you make a fool of yourself; imitation has always played an integral part in music production. The process of emulation is as old as written music itself – Western classical composers studied the old masters by quite literally copying their work. By mirroring the sounds of accomplished artists, the Beatles were able to perfect their craft and develop their own style of composition. In our current era of streaming, referencing musical touchpoints is more prominent than ever. In fact, many of the songs that defined 2022 relied on sampling, the process of incorporating a section of audio from a previously recorded song into a new song. References to the past were featured on singles from well-established artists like Beyoncé, but they also aided the ascension of newcomers such as Tate McRae, revealing the role comfort and nostalgia play in generating and sustaining stardom in the modern age. 

As we entered a post-pandemic era, Beyoncé unveiled Renaissance, a dance music album that sought  “to inspire joy and escapism in listeners who had experienced isolation.” Released in July, the record is a tribute to the post-1970s club culture that encouraged outsiders and people from marginalized groups to let loose on the dance floor. Nearly every song on the album samples pre-existing rhythms, beats, and vocals created by disco, house, and dance music’s Black and queer pioneers. The album comes with an extensive list of production and songwriting credits because the singer wanted to give centre stage to the creatives who helped pave the way for her success. 

Many creators have expressed gratitude to Beyoncé for featuring their work on this project. Ts Madison, a reality television personality whose YouTube video “B**ch, I’m Black” is sampled on the track “Cozy,” said she felt thankful for being given the opportunity “to use her voice” in front of such a “global audience.” On the flip side, conversations have arisen surrounding music ownership and the legality of songwriting credits. Singer-songwriter Kelis, whose 2003 hit single “Milkshake” was sampled on “Energy,” did not feel as grateful – her track was used without her consent. Beyoncé turned to Pharrell Williams and Chad Hugo, the production duo behind the song and the sole rights owners of “Milkshake,” to gain permission to use the interpolation. Kelis called out the misdeed on social media, claiming that she should have been notified of the song’s use in advance. The sample was ultimately removed from “Energy.” 

Beyoncé utilized sampling to celebrate the work of artists that came before her. As one of the most potent pop stars in the world, she knew how much visibility Renaissance could bring to the music of the past. Yet sampling can also be used in a reverse scenario. Artists who may already have a bit of momentum but who wish to solidify their position on the music scene can use track referencing to implicitly associate themselves with more established stars. Jack Harlow incorporated this technique in Come Home the Kids Miss You, an album released this past May. His song “First Class,” which hit number one on the Billboard Hot 100, used a sample of Fergie’s 2007 classic “Glamorous.” Newcomer Tate McRae put herself in a similar position by sampling “Ride Wit Me,” a track by Nelly featuring City Spud from 2000, on her song “Don’t Come Back.” 

Harlow and McRae were at a similar crossroads. Both had solid fan bases but needed to deliver strong projects in order to truly make a name for themselves. In a conversation with Complex, Angel Lopez, an executive producer on Harlow’s album, claimed there were discussions early on “about finding something obvious that’ll connect with people instantly.” He mentioned that the American rapper had sent him “a playlist of about 12 songs” to choose from, which led to the sampling of the multiple tracks from the early 2000s heard on Come Home the Kids Miss You. In both Harlow and McRae’s cases, channelling the energy of their predecessors came with big rewards – the former was nominated for three Grammy Awards, while the latter used her success to embark on a tour across North America, Europe, and Australia. 

The act of borrowing sounds from yesterday’s successes was a hallmark of last year’s music production, to say the least. But what happens when our obsession with nostalgia brings back an entire hit altogether? In late May, Netflix released the fourth season of its massively popular series Stranger Things. Kate Bush’s 1985 hit “Running Up That Hill” played a vital role in the show’s plot, which led to the song’s resurgence in popular culture. The track could be heard everywhere for the better part of the summer and introduced many of the show’s young viewers to the ’80s icon. In turn, the song’s edgy synthesizers served as inspiration for artists working today. When Taylor Swift released Midnights in October, music critics pointed out that the album’s lead single “Anti-Hero” relied on synth-based instrumentation similar to the one heard on “Running Up That Hill.” 

Swift, who is known for delving into themes of reminiscence and yearning in her songwriting, is certainly one to understand the power of nostalgia. She went so far as to sample one of her own songs, “Out of the Woods” from her 2014 album 1989, on “Question…?,” one of Midnights’ thirteen tracks. It is also worth mentioning that the country singer-turned-pop star, who is in the midst of re-recording her early albums following a dispute concerning the legal ownership of her masters (yet another exercise in nostalgia), was nominated for a 2023 Grammy Award in the Song of the Year category for the ten-minute version of “All Too Well,” a song released in its original format more than ten years ago.  

Elton John is another artist from a bygone era that had a big moment this year. In August, he re-released “Tiny Dancer” as a single featuring Britney Spears to huge commercial success. The song combines elements from John’s original 1971 version of “Tiny Dancer,” “The One” (1992), and “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” (1976). This is not the first time the British icon has collaborated with a pop sensation in recent years. In 2021, his duet with Dua Lipa, “Cold Heart,” which references his 1972 hit “Rocket Man” as well as “Sacrifice” (1989) and “Kiss the Bride” (1983), became John’s first number one single in 16 years.  

So what does our infatuation with nostalgia say about us? Has the pandemic condemned us to constantly seek comfort? Has streaming made old and new sounds indistinguishable? More importantly, how can new voices find success in such a context? Maybe the answers to these questions are not so profound. As long as artists have wanted to gain a foothold in popular culture, they have sampled, borrowed, and copied from other musicians. And is that really so bad? A case in point: 2022’s Grammy Award for Best New Artist went to Olivia Rodrigo, a youngster who is praised for her moxie but whose music is a pastiche of punk-pop sounds we have heard before. Yet this may be the very reason for her success. Rodrigo’s demographic is young, but by making use of sonic touchpoints that recall artists such as Paramore and Alanis Morissette, the 19-year-old can make her music legible to a wider audience. In fact, Rodrigo appeals to a lot of older millennials because her songs bring them back to their own adolescence. Truth is, it’s brutal out here. Sometimes we just need to indulge in a little nostalgia to get through, and in 2022, it seems we did just that. 

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Born Diane Nemerov on March 14, 1923, in New York City, Arbus grew up in an affluent Jewish family. A gifted student, she was initially drawn to writing and painting before being introduced to photography by her boyfriend, Allan Arbus. The pair married in 1941 and began a joint career in fashion photography. The business did well—their work was published in magazines such as Glamour and Vogue—but Diane came to disrelish the world of fashion. “I hate fashion photography because the clothes don’t belong to the people who are wearing them,” she once confided to a reporter, “When the clothes do belong to the person wearing them, they take on a person’s flaws and characteristics, and are wonderful.” Yearning for something more authentic, she turned to street photography and produced some of the most hauntingly original photographs of the 20th century.

Arbus took most of her photographs in and around the streets of New York City and selected her subjects based on their unique appearances. At a time when mainstream visual culture emphasized  uniformity and conformity, Arbus chose to highlight individuals who stood out. As David Vestal wrote in Infinity magazine, “she photograph[ed] individuals who in one way or another depart[ed] from conventional behaviour or appearance, but she d[id] not emphasize their ‘abnormal’ or ‘freak’ character.” Rather, she showed that they shared much in common with the people around them.

The exhibition hosted by the MMFA presents Arbus’ career chronologically. It begins with her intimate explorations of New York City’s streets and public places from 1956 to 1962 and culminates with her most famous work: the unwavering portraits shot from 1962 to 1971.

Some  of the gallery’s most interesting images were taken at Hubert’s Dime Museum and Flea Circus. Located in a basement underneath an arcade near Times Square, the establishment was a well-known safe space for members of the 2SLGBTQ+ community. In Three female impersonators, N.Y.C., three iron-willed performers pose in Hubert’s dressing room*. The trio is in full hair and make-up and stares directly into Arbus’ lens, their gazes uncannily intense. It is a mesmerizing image that stopped several museum-goers in their tracks. 

Another fascinating portrait is Identical Twins, Roselle, New Jersey, taken in 1967. The image of seven-year-olds Cathleen and Colleen in matching outfits was shot at a Christmas party and said to have inspired Stanley Kubrick’s characters in The Shining (1980).

The show concludes with pictures taken at a number of state institutions in New Jersey that housed individuals with developmental disabilities. Most of the series consists of large prints on 16 x 20-inch paper, making them impossible to overlook. In one of the most touching shots, a group of residents dressed for Halloween proudly show off their costumes. It is a peculiar image, but one that prompts audiences to take a closer look at the people who compose it. There lies the power of Arbus’ photography: the subjects are so candid and honest that one cannot help but be drawn to them.

Although Arbus’s fascination with subjects who created their own identities is endearing to modern viewers, her methods raise questions of exploitation. Did Arbus take advantage of the most vulnerable? Was she a humanist or a voyeur? In her 1977 book of essays, On Photography, Susan Sontag suggests that Arbus’ work is “based on distance, on privilege, on a feeling that what the viewer is asked to look at is really other.” Even supposing Arbus identified with her subjects’ outsider statuses, her family’s upper-class background bound her to New York City’s higher society. While her subjects were ostracized from the world at large, she had access to connections and resources.

All in all, Arbus’s portraits retain their power to unsettle and enthrall no matter the period or space they are presented in. Her photographs remain significant not just because of their peculiar beauty or their sharp construction, but because they ask us to reflect on the predatory nature of photography, to consider the lengths people go to capture the perfect shot, and to meditate on the complicity of the viewer in it all.

Diane Arbus: Photographs, 1956-1971, will run until January 29, 2023.

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Originally directed and choreographed by Bob Fosse, Sweet Charity premiered on Broadway in 1966 with Gwen Verdon as its leading lady. The show tells the story of the ever-hopeful Charity Hope Valentine, a dance partner-for-hire at the Fandango Ballroom in 1960s New York City. When what was supposed to be a temporary job turns into an eight-year gig, Charity begins to seek escape from her precarious status. Eager to fall in love and marry, she starts dating a series of malicious and abusive men who carelessly break her heart. Through its emphasis on camaraderie, joy, and self-love, the production transcends the pain that is thrown at the young woman. The story of Sweet Charity is ultimately one of hope and feminine resilience amidst patriarchal power. 

“For me, this show is a big celebration of musical theatre,” says Patrick Dale, the AUTS show’s director and choreographer. “After a year of missing musical theatre, it just felt like the right show to put on.” If the road leading to opening night was arduous, the performers did not let it show. “All of our rehearsals were completely masked. For the first little while, they were on Zoom. Throughout the show, there were different waves of [COVID-19], so we were held on pause for two months during the run. It backed up our show dates and we had to find a new venue. Basically, every roadblock you can imagine, we went through!” Be that as it may, as soon as the lights went out and the spotlights came on, the company performed heartily.

The show’s contagious optimism was epitomized by Zoe Vegh-Gross, whose performance as the wide-eyed, larger-than-life Charity was absolutely enchanting. A seasoned pro, she charmed spectators left and right with her powerful vocals, crisp diction, and heart-wrenching acting. In fact, all of the ensemble actors were impressively well-rounded. Due to the production’s high number of ancillary roles, each cast member got to have their shining moment. Jessica O’Gorman and Caroline Lauf displayed genuine chemistry as Nickie and Helene, Charity’s closest friends and fellow dancers at the Fandango Ballroom. Both women excelled in “There’s Gotta Be Something Better Than This,” demonstrating their wide vocal range and charismatic stage presence. Adam Motaouakkil had the crowd wrapped around his finger as Vittorio Vidal, the famous Italian movie star, while Louie Gilette offered an emotional performance as the introverted Oscar Lindquist. Special mention to Megan Siow, who was brilliant as the shallow Ursula March. Her over-the-top persona had the audience giggling at every turn.

Lighting played an important part in the show’s mise-en-scène by dressing up the stage to alternate between Central Park, the Pompeii Club, and a New York City apartment. Michelle Yang and Benjamin Ogden’s imaginative work as lighting designers and board operators made up for the lack of props and set decoration; the crisp spotlights of a stranded elevator conveyed feelings of claustrophobia, while the striking reds and blues of the Fandango Ballroom reflected the club’s sensual atmosphere. 

With its intimate size and small dimensions, the black box theatre gave the audience a sense of being completely immersed in the story. The simplicity of the space allowed for a variety of configurations both on stage and in the audience, with performers inhabiting every angle of the room. 

The proximity to the performers infused the extravagant dance numbers with great energy. Patrick Dale’s choreography combined Fosse’s signature moves with traditional Broadway steps, resulting in delightful visuals that did not compromise the performers’ vocal abilities. The iconic “Rich Man’s Frug” sequence, which integrated bits of original choreography from the 1969 movie adaptation, was executed masterfully. Paired with Sydney “Freddy” Van Camp’s slick costumes – little black dresses and colorful tights – the well-rehearsed performance was the best dance routine of the night. Musical numbers “The Rythm of Life” and “I Love to Cry at Weddings” showcased impressive polyphony as multiple vocalists belted different melodies simultaneously. Overall, the ensemble cast truly worked as a unit, with each of its 12 members knowing each other’s exact placement at all times. Witnessing their camaraderie firsthand was a very moving experience. That is, after all, what musical theatre is all about.

When all is said and done, what does Patrick Dale want the audience to take away from his AUTS directorial debut? “I hope people take Charity as an example: to take no bullshit from any man and to never let the world take away your sense of hope or self.” To make the show more engaging for a modern audience, they even brought changes to the conclusion. “The original 1966 production follows an ending that just doesn’t feel right for Charity’s story,” says Dale. Indeed, in the show’s initial coda, Oscar breaks off his engagement to Charity and pushes her into a lake, leaving the protagonist completely humiliated. “In the 2005 Broadway revival, the ending was changed to a much stronger, more empowering ending for Charity. We kind of smashed the two together and made it into this whole new thing.” The AUTS’ production did culminate in brutal heartbreak, but as in the millennial revision, Charity’s poignant rendition of “I’m the bravest individual I have ever met” reminded us all that while getting ill-treated by others may be part of life, it should never hinder our pursuit of personal fulfillment.

Sweet Charity was performed from Thursday, April 7, to Saturday, April 9, at 7:30 p.m. at the Mainline Theatre. The AUTS is always looking for new students to get involved. Interested in participating in their next production? Visit https://autstheatre.ca/.

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Celebrity book clubs are popular for a reason: they are easy to join, require little engagement, and provide intimate access to Hollywood’s biggest stars. You can read and follow along on your own or create a small group with friends and family. In any case, the book club figurehead will accompany you through the reading process and lead discussions on important themes. Because their celebrity status grants them access to key players in the literary field, many of these stars organize sit-downs with authors to discuss novels even further. This factor is especially important in understanding the power of the celebrity book club. Winfrey’s model remains successful because it was marketed towards one group in particular: the “middlebrow,” as referred to by scholar and professor Beth Driscoll. This group consists of readers that occupy a space in contemporary literature that is considered less elite than literary fiction. Namely, they are working professionals with a university degree who have time to read recreationally. The middlebrow is also feminized and ambitious; they have the drive to increase their status but rely on cultural mediators to help them break into the elite cultural sphere. In fact, this orientation towards women readers, characters, and subject matter is the reason the club’s status was considered middlebrow in the first place.

In The New Literary Middlebrow, Driscoll asserts that women’s reading has historically been degraded because it tends to emphasize emotional connections rather than literary quality and innovation. In response to those beliefs, Oprah’s Book Club created a mediated model where women could engage with popular literature and interrogate the critical values of their patriarchal societies. Winfrey offered women a safe space to exchange ideas and her public persona gave the club credibility as a model for literacy. Her charismatic demeanor laid the foundation for an unintimidating and accessible setting where pleasurable and complex novels could be explored without judgment.

 The massive success of the celebrity book club has provoked the classist response that if a written work is accessible, then there is little cultural capital to be gained from it. In other words, book clubs have no serious literary value because they were created for the masses. This criticism follows a long line of condescending responses to cultural forms targeting and consumed primarily by women. Strictly speaking, these criticisms hide discrediting attitudes towards the activities women tend to partake in. Winfrey chose to empower diverse groups of women by telling them they are capable of exploring various literary works. Such examples of support and personal growth abound. For instance, in January 1998, Oprah’s Book Club studied Paradise (1997) by Toni Morrison. At the time, the novel was fresh off the press and represented Morrison’s first novel since winning the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1993. Winfrey expected the reading experience to be arduous and invited the award-winning author to lead a formal seminar for her audience. In conversation with Winfrey,  Morrison was quick to offer comfort: “That you got it is what I’m trying to tell you. You got it and you didn’t believe you got it.” Morrison’s intention was to validate the audience’s disorientation, to reassure them that it was normal not to “get” everything in Paradise. However, she also sought to change  the way these women approached their incomprehension. She incited them to think of “not getting it” in a  way that focuses less on the author’s intention and more on personal interpretation. In the end, Morrison empowered Winfrey’s readers by applauding their willingness and authenticating their efforts rather than belittling the way they approach literature. Like Winfrey, she recognized the eagerness of the crowd and pushed for their accreditation. 

Today, similar discussions continue to take place on social media. According to Instagram director of fashion partnerships Eva Chen, the platform has shown “a significant spike” in literature-related content in recent years, with the hashtag #bookstagram being excessively popular during the first week of every month, when Reese’s Book Club and Well-Read Black Girl announce their new picks. In 2019, Noname started the Noname Book Club, which “is a Black-led worker cooperative connecting community members both inside and outside carceral facilities with radical books.” More recently, Kaia Gerber uploaded a video of her chat with the playwright Jeremy O. Harris. The talk, watched by thousands, brought Harris to share a list of Black and queer theory texts, thereby granting her millions of followers access to graduate-level discourse. Now more open and public than ever, women-focused book clubs serve as powerful mediums that push many to refuse their marginalized positions. 

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A Beginner’s Mind, Stevens and De Augustine’s first collaborative effort, was written during a one-month stay at a friend’s cabin in upstate New York. Cozied up by a crackling fire, the artists watched movies every day for inspiration and composed a total of 14 songs, each of them inspired by a film they had seen. Despite choosing motion pictures that cover a wide array of genres, such as “Night of the Living Dead,” “Return to Oz,” and  “Bring It on Again,” the result is surprisingly cohesive. 

The album opens with “Reach Out,” an invitation into the duo’s reverie. The piece sets the tone for the LP by offering the same beloved folk ambiance as the one in Carrie & Lowell, an opus that was revered by both fans and critics alike back in 2015, and the equally charming Songs for Christmas (2006), one of my personal favourites. The song was inspired by Wings of Desire, a 1988 film that follows two angels as they wander the streets of postwar Berlin. The allusion to the two songwriters’ own withdrawal from society is hard to miss, as they harmoniously sing about “a time and place where history resigned.” With A Beginner’s Mind, Stevens and De Augustine offer their own take on the recluse aesthetic that has been guiding the creative process of many folk artists for some time. Indeed, many of their predecessors have also written and recorded songs in isolation; Bon Iver’s For Emma, Forever Ago, was famously written in his father’s remote hunting cabin in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. More recently, folklore by Taylor Swift was recorded at the Long Pond Studio, an isolated recording space in the Hudson Valley.

Stevens and De Augustine’s compositions were born out of a creative film-viewing experience, but their album is nonetheless based on a concept that has already been explored multiple times in the indie genre — particularly by white artists. The isolation album has become somewhat of a trope among folk songwriters and the musical exile narrative is slowly getting old. Moreover, the historically problematic role of wilderness as a tool of colonialism in the United States is, to a certain degree, perpetuated by these kinds of projects. Indeed, the idea of getting back to nature and engaging with wanderlust to foster creativity is rooted in settler privilege. Indigenous peoples often do not have the privilege of escaping to nature, although these lands belong to them: cabins and cottages are expensive second properties owned by the affluent. When enjoying a piece of music inspired by the cottage recluse aesthetic, you should keep in mind that these idealized sites are not always pristine, uninhabited lands, and are predominantly owned by the white and wealthy.

Despite these few shortcomings, A Beginner’s Mind’s cozy cabin ambiance is inviting. The tone is not dark, as is common in many cabin albums. Instead, the collaborators distance themselves from the cliché concept by proposing a more blissful sound. “This Is (The Thing)” is a piano-driven solace that showcases the duo’s swooning soprano voices. The lyrics are sung in a peculiar meditative hush, providing a sense of stillness. Other notable moments include the eclectic guitar groove of “Back to Oz” and Stevens’ signature dreamlike acoustics in “Fictional California,” whose lyrics are sometimes amusing (“our school spirit was defined by dance and drama”) sometimes glum (“I look alive but I feel so dead, inside I’m bleeding.”) Themes and lyrics go in every direction, which means that it is up to the musical arrangements to hold the album together. The skillful musicians make use of every instrument from bass and drums to harp and jingle bells, but never resort to the elaborate instrumental sections associated with film scores. Rather, they aim for a simpler sound, one that is in line with the stripped-down, natural melody indie fans are so fond of. Even their voices participate in this mystical amalgam; the two men’s harmonies are so tight, it is hard to tell whose voice is whose.  

When compared to the rest of Stevens’ discography, A Beginner’s Mind does not offer much innovation. That said, it would be unfair to reproach the Detroit native for a lack of originality knowing he has released 12 full-length studio albums and authored over 200 songs. Seriously, what more could you ask of an indie rocker who has already released two Christmas albums? Illinois (2005) and Carrie & Lowell (2015) remain his best records to date, but this new collaborative opus certainly delivers what it had promised: gentle melodies to cozy up to this autumn.

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