Last week, thanks to Greg's commitment to affordable ticket-buying, the two of us saw LoveMusik, the new musical based on the letters between Kurt Weill and Lotte Lenya. I want to have at it before the critics do, lest I be accused of just rehashing their points.
Amazingly, Greg, our former theater prof Sam, and I all had the exact same criticism of the show: It was, like, half-assedly Brechtian. Now, this is a specific enough criticism that when it comes from three sources, you know it's got to be accurate. The production had some trademark Brechtian elements—a second proscenium, time and place captions before each scene—but it had absolutely no Brechtian message. And the whole point of doing it Brecht-style is to get some point across and effect change (sorry, old theater professors, if I'm totally butchering this). There was no call to action here...in fact, there was more or less no dramatic tension here. It was just the story of Weill's life, focusing on his relationship with his wife. Which made it slow as hell.
I love Weill's music, really I do. And I love Michael Cerveris and Donna Murphy. But the music didn't come across that well in very forced contexts...although I liked the amusing "Schickelgruber," a song about Hitler rising to power from shameful origins (Schickelgruber was Hitler's last name at birth, apparently). I also sometimes find translations of his German songs a little unwieldy. That much female angst doesn't play especially well in English. And I was really bothered by the crappy humor. It seems to be a common problem that characters with accents (ugh, the accents) will make a very unclever joke and the director will expect a laugh. Is there someone writing or directing this that thinks they're just touching on such timeless comic themes the jokes will, of course, be funny? (Such timeless comic themes might include "my husband is such a slob!" "He eats so much!" That sort of crap.) If someone's speaking in an accent, you have to work harder to make it funny enough to get a laugh. This show gave up on humor somewhere in the middle of the first scene.
So yeah, I was disappointed. I'm still waiting for a show with great Weill music. Maybe one day they'll revive One Touch of Venus. That one seems like it might have promise.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Let's Go Out to the Lobby
My God, is this movie bad. After doing my UUST class homework and all but three squares of the Saturday puzzle (curse you, three squares!), I decided to relax by watching the telly. IFC had a movie starting at 5:10, so I flipped on Roman Polanski's "The Ninth Gate." Wow. The movie stars Johnny Depp and Frank Langella in what have to be their least believable, most overaffected/underworked performances ever. Johnny trades in rare books, and he's hopping around Europe looking to authenticate a particular copy of "The Nine Gates"—one of three possibly in existence, estimated value: $1M. I can't get over the fact that he regularly just flips through this book with his bare hands, hands it to other people to flip through, carries it through the rain in his messenger bag, and, yes, smokes while he reads it. WTF!?, as the kids say. At Beinecke, I couldn't read a Jonathan Swift ripoff from 1726 (The Sixpenny miscellany, or, A Dissertation upon pissing...a great read, to be sure) without getting out the foam bookstands and page turners and blah di blah di blah. And this guy's schlepping around a million dollar edition? Christ a'mighty.
I did much better with this week's double feature of movies where Will Smith plays a ridiculously smart, motivated, and charming poor guy who has to fit in with rich, white people as part of getting what he wants. Name the movies and win...nothing. Ah, well.
I did much better with this week's double feature of movies where Will Smith plays a ridiculously smart, motivated, and charming poor guy who has to fit in with rich, white people as part of getting what he wants. Name the movies and win...nothing. Ah, well.
Monday, April 09, 2007
Obscure and Cryptic Old Cube: A Cryptic Crossword Primer
It's actually a square, not a cube. But today, with a whoosh of satisfaction, I completed this weekend's cryptic crossword. I swear, I could build a frickin' bridge, and I wouldn't feel half the sense of accomplishment that comes with every answer in this beautiful, beautiful puzzle. Woo!
If you're one of the many people whose faces drop as soon as they turn to the back of the magazine section and see barely parsable clues, this post's for you. If you DO like, say, the regular Saturday puzzle, and you treasure great puzzle themes, you'll probably love the cryptic, once you get the hang of it.
The first thing to know about the cryptic is that almost every clue has both a physical clue and a definitional clue. The definitional clue is exactly what it sounds like: the meaning of the answer. The physical clue is a little bit trickier—it somehow describes the word either through its syllables or through an anagram...somehow it lays out the letters of the word for you. A classic cryptic clue that's purely physical is "senselessness (1)." The answer has one letter (that's the number in the parentheses). Give up? The answer is "e." If you take the word "sense" less (i.e., minus) "ness," you get "e." It's the only letter remaining when you take the letters n-e-s-s away from the letters s-e-n-s-e. Get it? Good. If not, I'll go through a few examples soon. Occasionally clues are doubly definitional—"Plain hot dog (5)" points to "frank"—but that's not too common and usually fairly easy to spot.
Now it's time to learn a few conventions. Woo! These may seem superfluous, but it can be a huge pain in the ass if you don't realize, say, a proper noun often just points to its first letter. So here are a few. If any (of my legions of) commenters suggest more, I'll put them in:
Fuck punctuation. It means nothing to you. OK, that's not true, occasionally punctuation is meaningful in cryptics, but know that it really, really doesn't have to be. If there's a comma between two words, they may still be a phrase. Perhaps more importantly, your definitional clue and your physical clue can break without any indication in the punctuation. They'll just flow right into each other. When you assume you make "an ass out of you and me" an appropriate clue. (Ok, that's not true: "An ass out of you and me" would probably put "ass" or a synonym around "we" or something. Anyway...)
Anagrams are everywhere. Something like a quarter of your answers in a given puzzle will be straight-up anagrams of something in the clue. Look for three things if you want to anagram:1) Words or phrases with the same number of letters as are in the answer. Anagrams are always directly from the clue, so you'll never have to find definitions of words and then anagram those. If you don't have any words or phrases with the right number of letters, it's not an anagram. 2) A word that gives you an excuse to anagram. These words can vary from the relatively obvious ("mixed up," "stirred," "disorganized") to the bizarre ("sad," "broken," "fixed," "hurt"). If you get a clue like "windy east central Manhattan thoroughfare (11)," you can look at "windy" as an excuse to anagram "east central" and get "Canal Street," a Manhattan thoroughfare. 3) A hella-awkward phrase. If two adjacent words just make absolutely no sense together, they might be an anagram.
Sometimes, instead of anagramming, you need to actually find the answer within two words that run together. I'm pulling this off the top of my (dirty) head, but "Shorten the hard organ to create passion (5)" might be a clue for "ardor," which you can find when you shorten the phrase "hard organ." And it means "passion." Look out for those in awkward phrases as well.
More often then not, your physical clue will just spell out syllables for you. More from the top of my head: "Pleasant odor for each stew (7)" could be "perfume." Pleasant odor would be "perfume" itself, and "for each" would be "per" and "stew" would be "fume." Like, in the anger way. So there you go. Per. Fume. Perfume. I don't think the syllables you decipher have to be pronounced or spelled in the same way as they'll appear in the ultimate answer. One of the two, always, but not necessarily both.
Look for Roman numerals. They'll show up. And as I mentioned briefly, sometimes proper names just turn into their first initial. Sometimes other words go by their first initial, but there will be some indication that you're looking at the start of that word.
Look for other physical clues. Often (very often in this week's puzzle), one word will go inside another: "Woods around California make predictions (9)" would be "Forecasts." "Forests" goes around "CA" (for California) to make a synonym for "predictions." Other times you might be clued to read a word backwards. Be flexible about this stuff.
Did I mention, "be flexible?" It's really the most important thing and the whole reason these puzzles are so much fun.
OK, enough tips. Now to go through the ENTIRE puzzle. Answers and explanations are in black. Highlight them to read:
1A. Guide the woman in spring (6)
Sherpa
Meaning = guide. "The woman" points to "her," which is inside "spa," a synonym for spring.
4A. Roof application to set in spring (8)
Housetop
Meaning = roof application. I believe "set" here points to "use to," which is inside "hop," another synonym for spring.
10A. Say, Harry Potter's pal in spring (8)
Pronounce
Meaning = say. Harry Potter's pal is "Ron," and he's in "pounce," yet another...synonym for spring.
11A. Discourage Democratic relative (5)
Daunt
Meaning = discourage. Just take the D from Democrat (that proper noun). Your aunt's a relative. Send her flowers.
12A. "Superman" actor taking part in free verse (5)
Reeve
Christopher Reeve played Superman. If you take part of free verse, you get Reeve.
13A. Grabber of winks – or a lynx? (9)
Catnapper
This one's just cute and plays on the double meaning of "nap," sleeping or stealing.
14A. Wastes what you've got coming (7)
Deserts
This is just a double definition, I believe. Wastelands are deserts. And what you deserve are your deserts.
15A. Broadcast medium misrepresented diorama (2,5)
AM Radio
Finally, an anagram! AM Radio is a broadcast medium. "Misrepresented" should clue you into the anagram. Play around with diorama, it should come quickly.
17A. Song about villain in an idyllic spot (7)
Arcadia
Meaning = an ideallic spot. "Song" points to "aria," and "villain" is "cad." About means one's outside the other.
20A. Soldier talk – it gives you a lot of info (7)
Gigabit
This one took me a while. A gigabit is a lot of info. "GI" is a soldier (no trouble there), "gab" is talk (right-o), and in true cryptic fashion, the next word after "soldier talk" is "it." Just stick in on.
22A. Old Greek restored a lost rite (9)
Aristotle
He was an old Greek! And you have to "restore" (i.e., anagram) "lost rite" to get his name.
24A. Neckwear for a companion of Burns (5)
Ascot
Really, how many five letter neckwears are there? And good ol' Rabbie Burns was a Scot. His friends were, too.
26A. Private meal not starting (5)
Inner
"Inner" and "private" can be synonyms. The meal is "dinner." It's without it's start. Womp womp.
27A. Former medicine for John Jacob in spring (6,3)
Castor Oil
That was a medicine at one point, right? A spring is a coil. Barring Mr. Jingleheimerschmidt, Astor's the only John Jacob around.
28A. Superficial need changed in spring (4-4)
Skin-Deep
Meaning = superficial. The spring here is "skip" and you stick a "changed" (again, anagrammed) need in there.
29A. Approach of the French in spring (4-2)
Lead-Up
Meaning = approach. Leap is clearly spring. I don't know why "du" is the French. "Le," is "the" in French, right? If you know, tell me.
Downs!
1D. Great new purse (5)
Super
Meaning = great. Make "purse" new by anagramming it.
2D. Runaway lovers break up or sleep (7)
Elopers
Meaning = runaway lovers. You break up (anagram) "or sleep."
3D. Started with π + 1 before 500 (9)
Pioneered
This may be my favorite clue in the puzzle. Meaning = started. π = pi, 1 = one, before = ere, 500 = D (Roman). String 'em together.
5D. Orioles trainer somewhat fat? – not really (7)
Olestra
Great exercise in how to kill punctuation. The physical clue is "Orioles trainer somewhat." Take part of Orioles trainer to get something that's not really fat.
6D. Singer's first thought for 45-r.p.m. feature (4,1)
Side A
Meaning is "45-rpm feature." Singer's first (letter) is S. Thought is idea. Ta-da!
7D. Beat time like Quasimodo? (7)
Thumped
Meaning = beat. Time just turns into "t" here; it's one of those things. Quasimodo was humped.
8D. Sadly, our septet loses pep (6,3)
Peters Out
Meaning = loses pep. "Sadly" is one of those anagram cues. Do it to "our septet."
9D. N.B.A. team said no (6)
Knicks
They're an NBA team. "Said" clues you in to a homophone. Say "nix," a synonym for "no."
14D. Shot a jerk's overtheatrical behavior (9)
Dramatics
Meaning = overtheatrical behavior. "Shot" is "dram." "Jerk's" = "tics." And, love those cryptics, "a" = "a."
16D. Arrange mom part in confusing procedure (9)
Rigmarole
This took me a while, too. Meaning = confusing procedure. Arrange = rig, mom = ma, part = role. There ya' go.
18D. Greek character opposed to Italian wine (7)
Chianti
So elegant! Chianti is an Italian wine (a delicious one, no less). One Greek character (letter) is chi. "Opposed to" is "anti."
19D. For example, a botched recital (7)
Article
Meaning = example. Botch (anagram) "recital."
20D. Oil country, from the sound of it (6)
Grease
I'm not sure if you can REALLY know this is "Grease" and not "Greece" from the clue, but the acrosses tell you. You've got the "sound of it" homophone clue. "Oil country" is pretty clear.
21D. Obscure and cryptic old cube (7)
Becloud
It's the title of the post! Meaning = obscure. Both the word "cryptic" and the weirdness of the phrase "old cube" should clue you into the anagram.
23D. Shot, like a car's wheels? (5)
Tired
I hope you got this one :) It's a double definition, woo!
25D. Oddly lit up item in a bed (5)
Tulip
Meaning = "item in a bed," because, you know, there are beds of flowers. "Oddly" tells you to anagram "lit up."
And that's the puzzle. I've spent way too much time on this. I hope some poeple actually use the examples to learn how to do cryptics. They're the puzzler's puzzle. They're Will Shortz's puzzle. Spread the endless joy!
If you're one of the many people whose faces drop as soon as they turn to the back of the magazine section and see barely parsable clues, this post's for you. If you DO like, say, the regular Saturday puzzle, and you treasure great puzzle themes, you'll probably love the cryptic, once you get the hang of it.
The first thing to know about the cryptic is that almost every clue has both a physical clue and a definitional clue. The definitional clue is exactly what it sounds like: the meaning of the answer. The physical clue is a little bit trickier—it somehow describes the word either through its syllables or through an anagram...somehow it lays out the letters of the word for you. A classic cryptic clue that's purely physical is "senselessness (1)." The answer has one letter (that's the number in the parentheses). Give up? The answer is "e." If you take the word "sense" less (i.e., minus) "ness," you get "e." It's the only letter remaining when you take the letters n-e-s-s away from the letters s-e-n-s-e. Get it? Good. If not, I'll go through a few examples soon. Occasionally clues are doubly definitional—"Plain hot dog (5)" points to "frank"—but that's not too common and usually fairly easy to spot.
Now it's time to learn a few conventions. Woo! These may seem superfluous, but it can be a huge pain in the ass if you don't realize, say, a proper noun often just points to its first letter. So here are a few. If any (of my legions of) commenters suggest more, I'll put them in:
OK, enough tips. Now to go through the ENTIRE puzzle. Answers and explanations are in black. Highlight them to read:
1A. Guide the woman in spring (6)
Sherpa
Meaning = guide. "The woman" points to "her," which is inside "spa," a synonym for spring.
4A. Roof application to set in spring (8)
Housetop
Meaning = roof application. I believe "set" here points to "use to," which is inside "hop," another synonym for spring.
10A. Say, Harry Potter's pal in spring (8)
Pronounce
Meaning = say. Harry Potter's pal is "Ron," and he's in "pounce," yet another...synonym for spring.
11A. Discourage Democratic relative (5)
Daunt
Meaning = discourage. Just take the D from Democrat (that proper noun). Your aunt's a relative. Send her flowers.
12A. "Superman" actor taking part in free verse (5)
Reeve
Christopher Reeve played Superman. If you take part of free verse, you get Reeve.
13A. Grabber of winks – or a lynx? (9)
Catnapper
This one's just cute and plays on the double meaning of "nap," sleeping or stealing.
14A. Wastes what you've got coming (7)
Deserts
This is just a double definition, I believe. Wastelands are deserts. And what you deserve are your deserts.
15A. Broadcast medium misrepresented diorama (2,5)
AM Radio
Finally, an anagram! AM Radio is a broadcast medium. "Misrepresented" should clue you into the anagram. Play around with diorama, it should come quickly.
17A. Song about villain in an idyllic spot (7)
Arcadia
Meaning = an ideallic spot. "Song" points to "aria," and "villain" is "cad." About means one's outside the other.
20A. Soldier talk – it gives you a lot of info (7)
Gigabit
This one took me a while. A gigabit is a lot of info. "GI" is a soldier (no trouble there), "gab" is talk (right-o), and in true cryptic fashion, the next word after "soldier talk" is "it." Just stick in on.
22A. Old Greek restored a lost rite (9)
Aristotle
He was an old Greek! And you have to "restore" (i.e., anagram) "lost rite" to get his name.
24A. Neckwear for a companion of Burns (5)
Ascot
Really, how many five letter neckwears are there? And good ol' Rabbie Burns was a Scot. His friends were, too.
26A. Private meal not starting (5)
Inner
"Inner" and "private" can be synonyms. The meal is "dinner." It's without it's start. Womp womp.
27A. Former medicine for John Jacob in spring (6,3)
Castor Oil
That was a medicine at one point, right? A spring is a coil. Barring Mr. Jingleheimerschmidt, Astor's the only John Jacob around.
28A. Superficial need changed in spring (4-4)
Skin-Deep
Meaning = superficial. The spring here is "skip" and you stick a "changed" (again, anagrammed) need in there.
29A. Approach of the French in spring (4-2)
Lead-Up
Meaning = approach. Leap is clearly spring. I don't know why "du" is the French. "Le," is "the" in French, right? If you know, tell me.
Downs!
1D. Great new purse (5)
Super
Meaning = great. Make "purse" new by anagramming it.
2D. Runaway lovers break up or sleep (7)
Elopers
Meaning = runaway lovers. You break up (anagram) "or sleep."
3D. Started with π + 1 before 500 (9)
Pioneered
This may be my favorite clue in the puzzle. Meaning = started. π = pi, 1 = one, before = ere, 500 = D (Roman). String 'em together.
5D. Orioles trainer somewhat fat? – not really (7)
Olestra
Great exercise in how to kill punctuation. The physical clue is "Orioles trainer somewhat." Take part of Orioles trainer to get something that's not really fat.
6D. Singer's first thought for 45-r.p.m. feature (4,1)
Side A
Meaning is "45-rpm feature." Singer's first (letter) is S. Thought is idea. Ta-da!
7D. Beat time like Quasimodo? (7)
Thumped
Meaning = beat. Time just turns into "t" here; it's one of those things. Quasimodo was humped.
8D. Sadly, our septet loses pep (6,3)
Peters Out
Meaning = loses pep. "Sadly" is one of those anagram cues. Do it to "our septet."
9D. N.B.A. team said no (6)
Knicks
They're an NBA team. "Said" clues you in to a homophone. Say "nix," a synonym for "no."
14D. Shot a jerk's overtheatrical behavior (9)
Dramatics
Meaning = overtheatrical behavior. "Shot" is "dram." "Jerk's" = "tics." And, love those cryptics, "a" = "a."
16D. Arrange mom part in confusing procedure (9)
Rigmarole
This took me a while, too. Meaning = confusing procedure. Arrange = rig, mom = ma, part = role. There ya' go.
18D. Greek character opposed to Italian wine (7)
Chianti
So elegant! Chianti is an Italian wine (a delicious one, no less). One Greek character (letter) is chi. "Opposed to" is "anti."
19D. For example, a botched recital (7)
Article
Meaning = example. Botch (anagram) "recital."
20D. Oil country, from the sound of it (6)
Grease
I'm not sure if you can REALLY know this is "Grease" and not "Greece" from the clue, but the acrosses tell you. You've got the "sound of it" homophone clue. "Oil country" is pretty clear.
21D. Obscure and cryptic old cube (7)
Becloud
It's the title of the post! Meaning = obscure. Both the word "cryptic" and the weirdness of the phrase "old cube" should clue you into the anagram.
23D. Shot, like a car's wheels? (5)
Tired
I hope you got this one :) It's a double definition, woo!
25D. Oddly lit up item in a bed (5)
Tulip
Meaning = "item in a bed," because, you know, there are beds of flowers. "Oddly" tells you to anagram "lit up."
And that's the puzzle. I've spent way too much time on this. I hope some poeple actually use the examples to learn how to do cryptics. They're the puzzler's puzzle. They're Will Shortz's puzzle. Spread the endless joy!
Sunday, April 01, 2007
There's No Such Thing
Occasionally nights are so good they're actually depressing.
Yesterday was extravagant dinner number three: Bouley. V and I got seated on the same side of the table...for most it's canoodling position. For us, it was the ideal people-watching setup. The people, alas, were not especially hilarious, although V did catch one adorable waiter's eye. And I tactlessly called him on it. Heh heh. The meal began with (what else?) foie gras. Next to my inability to write thank-you notes, my love for foie gras is perhaps my worst trait. It really is crazy delicious. V got the egg (yup, an egg), which he aptly described as "eggs Benedict on crack...in a good way." The main course was perfectly-cooked lamb with Jerusalem artichoke, a green that was new to both of us and totally salty and wonderful. There was one especially good cheese from the cheese course—practically a butter substitute. And the dessert. Oh. The dessert. The chocolate frivolous (who cares what part of speech it is, just stare deep into the chocolate and all will be well) consisted of an incredibly dense and sweet souffle, a chocolate brulee with a sugar crust, ice cream, a small chocolate layer cake with some fruity/liquor-ish filling and this Platonic ideal of a kit kat. Astounding.
But of course the evening couldn't end with so few great loves. We walked from TriBeCa to SoHo, where we tore through the Saturday puzzle at a wine bar (I got a glass of port, V got the Riesling flight; no surprises there). It's amazing how quickly the crosswords go with a second person. It's an exponential improvement. The point is we rule.
It seemed like the evening was winding down. We headed up Varick toward the Christopher Street 1 stop, and when we got into the area, V mentioned the Duplex was his old watering hole back in high school (precocious children, those Catholic schoolboys). I still had never been there, so we decided to stop in for a drink. The place was, well, wonderful in every way. The schticky-but-not-schmaltzy piano player bangs out and sings a totally sing-alongable collection from the 60s, 70s, 80s, and (less) 90s. The whole place has this great high-fun, low-key vibe. According to V, the lines have stayed more or less the same since 1990. Like, the piano player would say, "And now it's time for a little Mama Cass," and the entire crowd would shout, "There's no such thing as a little Mama Cass!" Amazing. He played a few Redhot songs, reminding me of the reunion I was missing but also allowing me to impress V with my vast knowledge of "Sweet Blindness." Aw, yeah. The whole thing was a blast.
We parted ways at midnight. My stomach kind of went crazy after I got home...after the full meal, one glass of port and two bottle of Corona, it wasn't entirely surprising. Too much for one small organ (everyone knows the kidneys are just there for show). And now it is all done and I am back to UUSTing and watching Beaches. I've never seen the whole thing and will have to miss the (supposedly wildly sad) ending for UUST class. Shame.
Yesterday was extravagant dinner number three: Bouley. V and I got seated on the same side of the table...for most it's canoodling position. For us, it was the ideal people-watching setup. The people, alas, were not especially hilarious, although V did catch one adorable waiter's eye. And I tactlessly called him on it. Heh heh. The meal began with (what else?) foie gras. Next to my inability to write thank-you notes, my love for foie gras is perhaps my worst trait. It really is crazy delicious. V got the egg (yup, an egg), which he aptly described as "eggs Benedict on crack...in a good way." The main course was perfectly-cooked lamb with Jerusalem artichoke, a green that was new to both of us and totally salty and wonderful. There was one especially good cheese from the cheese course—practically a butter substitute. And the dessert. Oh. The dessert. The chocolate frivolous (who cares what part of speech it is, just stare deep into the chocolate and all will be well) consisted of an incredibly dense and sweet souffle, a chocolate brulee with a sugar crust, ice cream, a small chocolate layer cake with some fruity/liquor-ish filling and this Platonic ideal of a kit kat. Astounding.
But of course the evening couldn't end with so few great loves. We walked from TriBeCa to SoHo, where we tore through the Saturday puzzle at a wine bar (I got a glass of port, V got the Riesling flight; no surprises there). It's amazing how quickly the crosswords go with a second person. It's an exponential improvement. The point is we rule.
It seemed like the evening was winding down. We headed up Varick toward the Christopher Street 1 stop, and when we got into the area, V mentioned the Duplex was his old watering hole back in high school (precocious children, those Catholic schoolboys). I still had never been there, so we decided to stop in for a drink. The place was, well, wonderful in every way. The schticky-but-not-schmaltzy piano player bangs out and sings a totally sing-alongable collection from the 60s, 70s, 80s, and (less) 90s. The whole place has this great high-fun, low-key vibe. According to V, the lines have stayed more or less the same since 1990. Like, the piano player would say, "And now it's time for a little Mama Cass," and the entire crowd would shout, "There's no such thing as a little Mama Cass!" Amazing. He played a few Redhot songs, reminding me of the reunion I was missing but also allowing me to impress V with my vast knowledge of "Sweet Blindness." Aw, yeah. The whole thing was a blast.
We parted ways at midnight. My stomach kind of went crazy after I got home...after the full meal, one glass of port and two bottle of Corona, it wasn't entirely surprising. Too much for one small organ (everyone knows the kidneys are just there for show). And now it is all done and I am back to UUSTing and watching Beaches. I've never seen the whole thing and will have to miss the (supposedly wildly sad) ending for UUST class. Shame.
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