Oscar Wrap-up!

Oscar Wrap-up!

The Duelling Duo Christina Waters and Lisa Jensen add their final two cents (ha! that’ll be the day) to this year’s nominations. Read on!

CW: Best Original Screenplay  Well here again I didn’t see one of the nominees, First Reformed, but based on the films I did screen I’d say that Vice was the sassiest, The Favourite was the most eccentric, and Green Book the most appealing. BUT, I’m thinking that Roma will take it based upon the care with which Cuaron’s memory revealed the many tiers of the class structure and family realities in Mexico City in the 60s. This may be where Roma was at its best.

LJ: And I’m at a disadvantage for not having seen Vice. I did see First Reformed, which unspooled as a taut, tightly-wound tirade against modern disconnection, as only veteran Paul Schrader (Taxi Drivr; Raging Bull) can deliver. The Academy might go for it, in honor of Schrader’s sheer, stubborn longevity. I don’t think Roma’s greatest strength is in its scriptwriting, as much as in the scope of its storytelling, but if it wins Best Picture it will likely win this prize too. By the way, of the Adapted Screenplay nominees, I only saw is Can You Ever Forgive Me, so I don’t feel qualified to weigh in on that category.

CW: Makeup and Hair: Well it HAS to be Vice for its miraculous transformation of some fine actors—especially Steve Carell, Christian Bale and Sam Rockwell—into some of the highest profile politicos in the 20th century.

LJ: Agreed! Transforming Christian Bale into Dick Cheney seems more like a job for the CGI department, but they pulled it off with cosmetic wizardry alone!

CW: Costume Design: Wish I’d seen Black Panther because I have a strong feeling that Ruth E. Carter’s costumes were bravura. But since I didn’t, I’ll take the foppish decadent crowd of 18th century dandies brilliantly costumed by Sandy Powell for The Favourite.

 

LJ: Black Panther all the way for me. The rich Tribal-Meets-Techno vibe created by Ruth E. Carter was eye-popping, fun, and so smart! Whereas, The Favourite costumes looked slightly fake to me, like costumes you make for the Renaissance Faire with store-bought materials like rick-rack instead of elaborate period embroidery. But, intentionally fake, like everyone in the movie was in on a big joke, and they were all sniggering behind their fans at the absurdity of it all.

CW: Lisa, Lisa, Lisa! Those costumes could have rolled right out of the history books they were so bloody exact. The film itself might have seemed absurd, but the costuming smacked of authenticity, to me.

CW: Sound, there are actually two sound awards, one for editing—and here I’ll take Bohemian Rhapsody, although I was intrigued by the sound in Roma; And there’s Sound Mixing. Ditto Bohemian Rhapsody. Seriously, the Freddie Mercury & Queen rockumentary offered up a lavish tsunami of prime ripping, peeling, screaming rock’n’roll. The sound was one of the most potent characters in the film and moved us in, out and upwards through the mercurial (sorry) journey of this tragic rock icon.

LJ: I’m with you on Bohemian Rhapsody for Sound Mixing: getting all that iconic music to blend so perfectly in and out of the narrative was quite a feat. But let me play devil’s advocate in the Sound Editing category, where one of the nominees is A Quiet Place— a vaguely futuristic, dystopian thriller in which a family must learn to hide in silence when stalked by deadly creatures with acute hearing. No, I didn’t see it (or hear it), but it sounds like the kind of stunt movie Academy voters might take note of.

And that’s it for this year’s Oscar predix! Don’t forget to tune in on Sunday Febnruary 24 to see how it all ends up!

Cold War: Love in Black & White

Cold War: Love in Black & White

In real life, an Impossible love affair is agony.  But in cinema it’s the stuff of enchantment. Cold War is the captivating odyssey of such a love. Seductive music and obsessive love perfume this gorgeous black and white loveletter to director/screenwriter Pawel Pawlikowski‘s native Poland, captured with stark tenderness in this Oscar-nominated elegy.

A passionate pianist and a duplicitous singer fall desperately in love from the very start, and the film—shot in Poland, Croatia, and Paris— follows the vertigo of their searing connection. Their struggle to find a world they can live in mirrors the tensions besetting post WWII Poland, whose broken dreams  form the background metaphor for the protagonists’ love.

A perfect film, Cold War is Polish director Pawlikowski’s loveletter to his native land, its traditions, its grim years during the Soviet era, and to his parents who provided the inspiration for the volatile and charismatic main characters.

The lovers first make an electrifying connection when the young blonde Zula auditions for a Polish folksong and dance troupe, Mazurk, training to begin a tour of Eastern European cities. Wiktor (Tomasz Kot) is one of the music instructors, and when he hears Zula (Joanna Kulig) audition he is immediately drawn to her bright energy. She is as sensuous as he is brooding. But as he quickly learns, she has a checkered past, and uses the musical ensemble as a means of escape into a more exciting life.

The theme—lovers who cannot quite find the right timing—and its variations take the action from the peasant villages of Poland, where we first meet Wiktor recording the song “Two Hearts,” a folksong that will evolve throughout the film, played and sung in many variations, and ultimately become a successful record made by the two protagonists during their time in Paris.

With post-war Poland still in ruins, the folkloric troupe quickly becomes a sensation. And the success of this touring musical showcase comes to the attention of the communist propogandists, who intervene with the request that more state propaganda be added to the productions. The lovers plan to escape to the West during one of the performance dates in Berlin. But fate steps in, and when they finally meet again it’s two years later in Paris, where he plays piano in smoky jazz clubs and she escapes the Iron Curtain thanks to an Italian husband.

Life in exile from their beloved Poland proves to be the one pain the two cannot exorcize, as each in his and her own way keep making arrangements with the West, breaking each other’s hearts again and again, and then finding each other, again and again.

Nothing can keep them apart. Or together. And the film’s genius lies in showing us the angst of a love that, while obviously deep and true, is subject to the destructive influence of post-war ruin, the neferious Soviet surveillance system, and the mercurial personalities of the lovers themselves.

What a feast for the eyes! The two lead actors burn for each other and their wildly erratic passion seems to sear the screen itself. It is a sensuous treat to watch them storm and fight, dance, love, and weep, stricken by the depth of their feelings for each other trapped in an uneasy halfway house of history.

Pawlikowski’s musical score is as much a player in this richly atmospheric film as is the bleak beauty of the country itself. From the haunting folk songs, collected and recorded at the start of the film so that Wiktor and his musical partner can shape the concert that Mazurk will perform, to the earthy, smoky blues and searing bebop of the jazz clubs. The sounds and blazing camerawork fuse to create scenes and moments of almost magic realist intensity.

Stunningly shot by cinematographer Lukasz Zal (who similarly turned Pawlikowski’s Ida, into an Oscar-winning masterpiece of unflinching nostalgia.), Cold War liberates 21st century viewers from our own political maelstroms and internet-driven minutiae. It is bracing to be confronted with recent history that feels so very far away, and yet whose harrowing failures we continue to repeat.

Graced by a spectacularly perfect ending, the film will break your heart.

You won’t see many films like this, and Cold War will make you rethink the dominance of color cinema. Without all the extraneous information of color footage, we are able to see Pawlikowski’s grimly beatific Poland all the more clearly. This is black and white that throbs and burns with life and color.

 

 

Oscars 2019: Part II

Oscars 2019: Part II

Duelling Divas — my film buddy Lisa Jensen and I — continue to ponder our Oscar favorites. . .

CW: Best Cinematography.

It’s gotta be Cold War. Every moment of its eloquent visual storytelling surrounded its central characters with the bohemian allure and political ruin of their eastern european milieu. I admit I was mesmerized by the art direction in The Favourite but while engaged by the camerawork I was too aware of the use of fisheye lenses and other tricks. All of these visual devices worked to push the film’s story around without moving it foreward. If Roma starts sweeping its nominated categories, it will very likely win in this category, but having said that I have to question the softness of imagery and lack of contrast. Instead of crisp blacks and whites, Cuarón gives us fifty shades of grey. The film’s murkiness might be a metaphor for the occluded (polluted) skies of Mexico City.

The most eloquent black and white cinematography seen in recent decades comes from Cold War’s Lukasz Zal, for his work in Pavel Pawlikowski‘s captivating cinematic love story.  His astonishing eye for contrast caresses the tragic lovers in ways that convince you real life should be understood in black and white.

LJ: I love that two of the nominated film are in black-and-white. The technique doesn’t have to be crisp, for my money, only evocative, which Roma definitely is. Think of it as moody and pearlescent, not grey! And besides the chiaroscuro effect of black-and-white, Cuaron’s compositions are enthralling, even if it’s just water washing over a tile floor. If the Academy wants to give Spike Lee the directing nod, this award could be Cuaron’s “consolation prize.”

CW: I’ll grant you Lisa, that opening of the water on the tiles, and the plane flying overhead reflected in the water—was enthralling. As good as Bergman. But chiaroscuro Roma wasn’t. Very mise en scene, keeping the camera in one place and having life move in and out of it—that can work if there’s some authentic emotional urgency, rather than bombarding us with a string of embarrassing and/or unpleasant incidents. Just didn’t do it for me.

CW: Best Supporting Actress. Is it just me, or is Amy Adams just not much of anything? I have never been able to figure out why she is even in movies. Anything she can do, Julianne Moore or Nicole Kidman or Julia Roberts can do much better. So she’s out. Emma Stone, who was wonderful and Rachel Weisz, who can do no wrong, cancelled each other out in the sense that they were both equally terrific in roles that literally supported the fabulous Olivia Coleman’s Queen Anne. My money’s on the memorable Marina de Tavira, who helped give depth and emotional shape to Roma.

LJ: I haven’t seen If Beale Steet Could Talk, or Vice yet, so I can’t comment on Regina King or Amy Adams’ chances. I don’t necessarily think Stone and Weiss cancel each other out because they’re both nominated for the same movie, but they both have recently won Oscars (Stone for La La Land, just two years ago), so probably will not be seen as due for another one so soon. I agree, Maria de Tavira has the inside track here, especially if Roma cleans up in other categories.

CW: Best Supporting Actor. Sam Rockwell is a sly fox and he was a great George W. Bush in Vice. But again, I felt it was more impersonation. He gave us an original character in Three Billboards. And since I can’t comment on Adam Driver, the ever-perfect, never-won-an-Oscar Sam Elliott, or Richard E Grant, I’ll go with the elegant Mahershala Ali, who made the perfect foil for Viggo, and vice versa. Those two had chemistry to burn. Plus Ali just won the Screen Actor’s Guild award for this part.

LJ: Sam Rockwell is out, only because he won in this category last year in Three Billboards. Mahershala Ali won two years ago (and deservedly so) in Moonlight. It’s funny that Adam Driver is nominated in the supporting category when his co-star, John David Washington  (who played the black Klansman of the title) was passed over for a Best Actor nomination.

On the other hand, Richard E. Grant was great, caustic, slinky fun in Can You Ever Forgive Me? I don’t think his co-star, Melissa McCarthy will win for Best Actress (she’s de-glamorized in every movie she’s in), but the movie’s insider’s look at literary shenanigans might have enough partisans to tip the gold to Grant.the most reliable character actors in the biz — with perhaps the most distinctive voice — Elliott is overdue for an accoldade, and the high-profile A Star Is Born could be his E ticket.

CW: Best Film Editing—I’d have to go with Bohemian Rhapsody on this. Seamless movement through time, space, and emotional volume as the camera shifted perfectly from Mercury’s anxieties to edgy rehearsals and up onto the stage itself, offering us the strutting Highness of Queen, as well as the adoring audiences responding. Fabulous immersion into Mercury’s ascent, decline, and legacy.

LJ: Um, I never actually notice film editing, unless it’s so clunky, it stops the action cold. As long as the picture keeps moving, I’m happy!

CW: Lisa! I’m shocked. Editing is what propels, or slows, or fixes the narrative arc of a film. Quick cuts move us swiftly, back and forth in time, in and out of a character’s stream of consciousness. The fixed camera forces us to watch the action in real time, creating a whole new rhythm to the storytelling, e.g. Antonioni’s slow, granular vistas as opposed to any one of the James Bond action flicks.

Okay, so how are we feeling about Sound, Costumes, and Screenplays? Stay tuned for our final Oscar installment from Duelling Divas, Christina Waters and Lisa Jensen.

And as a parenthetical note, the Academy has reversed its initial (and utterly lame) announcement to give awards for non-celebrity-filled categories such as Cinematography, Costumes, Screenplays, etc. during commercial breaks at the Oscars on February 24. Whew!

 

 

Oscars 2019! Part I

Oscars 2019! Part I

I chat with GTWeekly film critic Lisa Jensen about the Oscar nominations.

CW: Hey there Lisa—well I have to say of this list of eight nominees for Best Picture this year, I have seen only 5 (five!).

Bohemian Rhapsody—heart-pounding music and attitude; Roma—languid, real-time memoir; The Favourite—visceral history lesson with three powerful dames; Green Book—crisp storytelling with appealing characters; and Vice—gritty and ugly underbelly of politics.

Didn’t see: Black Panther, A Star is Born, or BlacKkKlansman, all three of which left town before I had a chance to check them out. So I’m going to be clueless about Spike Lee’s long overdue Oscar nomination, as well as the Marvel Comics saga, and whether or not Lady Gaga is the star that was born.

Any comments about this lineup of nominees?

LJ: Black Panther was a helluva lot of fun (although my favorite Straight Outta Oakland movie of the year was the exceptional Blindspotting). (Actually, it’s my favorite movie of the year, period.) I think the main thing you can see from this list is that Academy voters were trying to support diversity of themes, cultures, and styles in their nominees.

Only A Star Is Born is the kind of old-fashioned manstream melodrama that Hollywood always used to recognize with Oscar nominations —pretty much to the exclusion of any other kind of movie.

I too missed BlacKkKlansman, but if it has an iota of the wit and audacity of Lee’s best (Do The Right Thing or She’s Gotta Have It), it’ll be a worthy contender.

I loved Bohemian Rhapsody, Queen nut that I am, but I’m surprised it’s getting so much year-end awards attention. (But not displeased.) Despite—or possibly because of—its slow beginning, Roma really touched me as a mood piece about stillness and observation and being present in the journey of life. Green Book was highly entertaining, thanks to well-matched co-stars Viggo Mortensen and Mahershala Ali, and I’ll bet Vice is a riot, in its own weird way, although I haven’t caught up with it yet.

The Favourite is the only nominee I question on the list. All three lead actresses were terrific, but I don’t understand why Yorgos Lanthimos has a career, or what he’s trying to do with it.

CW: As I watched the very stylish, postmodern, and over-the-top The Favourite I realized quickly that I was watching Olivia Coleman win the Best Actress Oscar. Her daring, generous, and courageous performance, throwing herself into the least flattering situations and camera angles, all the while moving with lightening speed from despair to delight, was a tour de force. And while I agree with you that Lanthimos’ filmography is beyond weird, the performances definitely held my attention. No holds barred as far as the three female characters/actors went.

LJ: I agree about Olivia Coleman; she was absolutey fearless in staying true to her cranky, sad-sack character, no matter how awful she looked onscreen — and that’s the kind of anti-glam riskiness that wins Oscar votes. (Just ask Charlize Theron or Nicole Kidman.) She was also brilliant in creating the only character in this very mannered and peculiar movie viewers could possibly care about, in all her imperious vulnerability.

But let’s not count out Glenn Close. After a high-profile career full of nominations, she has yet to be the bride. Whatever might be said about The Wife, it might simply be Close’s turn.

CW: Yes, it’s high time Close won (even though I hope that Coleman gets it), and her recent SAG award tends to point her toward an Oscar.

LJ: Also, pay attention to Yalitza Aparicio, who is living the Star-Is-Born dream in real life as an unknown getting the lead in Roma. If the multi-nominated Roma shows signs of sweeping, her chances are excellent.

CW: Can’t agree with you about this performance. The director seemed to insist that we be impressed, and often with Roma I felt manipulated.

The Best Actor category seems more closely matched. Viggo Mortensen was fantastic as the loud, crude, decent blue collar driver—he embedded himself in this role and clearly had a great time with it. It showed Viggo’s oft-overlooked depth as a resourceful actor.

Willem Dafoe was so obviously acting, and while I love him (or perhaps I should say I love looking at him—the teeth, and jaw, and wild eyes), he didn’t convince me. And he was the best thing about this moronic home movie by a spoiled artist. Christian Bale was spot on as Dick Cheney, but I felt as though I were watching a reenactment rather than a creative interpretation, whereas Rami Malek, as Freddie Mercury seemed to illuminate the man, the insecure boy looking for love, and ultimately the consummate rock star. Maybe I was just rocked by the music, but that last scene at the Live Aid concert was as good as music film gets.

So Rami Malek gets my vote as winner. And there seems to be some momentum in his favor.

LJ: Rami Malek was outstanding; he inhabited Freddie Mercury right down to the prosthetic overbite! I love Willem Dafoe too, but the despairing angst with which he was encouraged to chew his way through the horribly misbegotten At Eternity’s Gate will probably not be mistaken for a great performance by Academy voters.Besides, only 12 people in the world saw the movie, including you and me, and we’re not voting. Meanwhile, Mortensen could cruise to gold as a genial, blue-collar shmo who discovers, and then rises above, his own racism in Green Book. (He also packed on 40 pounds for the role, the male equivalent of an actress deglamorizing herself, by Oscar standards.)

But I can’t help but think that Academy voters might go for Christian Bale, a chameleon who physically remakes himself for every role. The politics of Vice align with a large percentage of Hollywood and its Oscar voters. And who wouldn’t be seduced by Bale’s acceptance speech at the Globes, where he thanked Satan for giving him the inspiration to play Dick Cheney?

CW: Best Director: I realize there will be some serious momentum for Spike Lee for what is incredibly only his first nomination. Unfortunately he’s up against auteur Alfonso Cuarón, whose Roma was a poetic memoir of his own childhood. The Academy adores that kind of stuff. He wrote, produced, photographed, and directed this black and white elegy. But I didn’t love the film. There was something missing, that something that kindles rather than insists upon my empathy. The film did not touch me. But I absolutely appreciate the scope of his ambition here. And I think he will take the Oscar.

LJ: I’m just tickled that two of the five directors are nominated for foreign-language films—unusual in Oscar history (if one is not named Fellini). Cuaron already has an impressive Hollywood track record (from Y Tu Mama Tambien to the third Harry Potter movie, to Children Of Men). So he might have an edge here, even though he already has a directing Oscar for Gravity.

I agree that Lee’s chances are excellent in his first-ever directing nomination—far better than Adam McKay’s for Vice, making an irreverent comedy out of the Bush/Cheney moment in American politics. And I continue to be mystified by the Svengali-like hold that Yorgos Lanthimos exerts over the moviegoing public, especially critics. I passionately hated his breakout movie, The Lobster, for its mean-spirited cruelty in the name of satire, and the smug, farcical, slapstick tone of The Favourite just eludes me. I don’t get it.

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Stay tuned for our continuing conversation as we hash out the remaining Oscar nominations, including Supporting Actors, Cinematography, and Editing. All in time for the Oscars on Sunday February 24.

Ceci n’est pas un film

Ceci n’est pas un film

Dear Peter – I know you’re a professional art dealer and connoisseur. You’ve been around the block.

And I also know that, like me, you had a poster of Van Gogh’s Starry Night on your bedroom wall when you were in high school. Who didn’t have a crush on Vincent? We all read his letters to his brother Theo. We were mesmerized by his friendship with Gauguin, their break-up, Vincent’s descent into madness, the thing with the ear. And we weren’t alone.

Turns out that art world poseur and world-class narcissist Julian Schnabel also had a crush on Vincent Van Gogh, arguably the most daring, original, and iconoclastic artist who ever lived. (Van Gogh, not Schnabel.)

Schnabel also has buddies in Manhattan, and he texted them a few years ago and asked if they wanted to come to the south of France. Well nobody doesn’t want to go to the south of France! The result of this fieldtrip is a film, At Eternity’s Gate, so amateurish, so inexcusably uninspired that many an undergraduate would hesitate to submit it as a Film 101 final project.

Full disclosure: sight unseen I already had misgivings about this film. I’d actually sat through Schnabel’s excremental 2007 film effort, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, and so I should have known better. But I’d walk a mile just to watch Willem Dafoe sell vacuum cleaners. So I went to see the latest Schnabel home movie.

Watching the off-kilter, hand-held camera explorations of blades of grass, cobblestoned streets, more blades of grass, and very south-of-france allée of sycamores, it took me a while to realize that these jiggling images were actual directorial choices, not simply outtakes. I could practically hear Schnabel; “okay Will, lay down and close your eyes, grin a lot, and now get up—quick—and run as fast as you can toward the trees! Right, okay. Now lay down in the grass again while I spin the camera around. Let’s get a few close-ups. Great! Now for a beer!”

At Eternity’s Gate produces a sort of existential vertigo. Yes, you know that you’re watching the only actor on the planet who can convincingly play the tortured Dutch artist. But even Willem Dafoe isn’t sure how to inhabit van Gogh. What we see onscreen is Willem Dafoe the actor playing Vincent van Gogh the painter.

He wears the correct French starving artist’s blue shirt, filthy shoes, and dirty suspenders. The straw hat, the easel back pack—all terrifically authentic. And they’re even filming it in Arles! But it ain’t enough.

Dragging the film into cinematic purgatory is Schnabel’s utter cluelessness. Not to mention spoiled rich man’s chutzpah. He doesn’t know what he’s trying to show us about Van Gogh’s last years. He has zero insight, but he does know how to unfocus the camera’s lens so we get that “cool” atmospheric look. (Can it be possible that this is a post-midlife crisis marijuana film? A laid-back retort to the coke films of the 80s? Art therapy?) And all the while we’re forced to listen to what sounds like Schnabel’s grandkids practicing their piano lessons.

And then there’s Paul Gauguin as a Tribeca alt art league organizer, played by Oscar Isaacs, who also has no idea why he’s there except it’s the south of France and what’s not to like?

Schnabel tries to pull his act together once or twice. He allows the artist buddies to actually paint together. And when we watch Dafoe sketching the fields, rocks, trees—looking intensely at the natural world, soaking up the brilliant light and cobalt blue skies—for a moment we feel we are in the presence of van Gogh’s turbulent days at the end of the 19th century.

But the camera starts whirling around again, shifting out of focus (for no particular reason, for no reason that advances the narrative or even provides interesting visuals), and Dafoe is questioned by the doctors, by the priest (an understated Mads Mikkelson), by the asylum director, by the bar maid. Lots of questions. Hmm, thinks Schnabel, that’ll sound deep.

NB: There is no more interesting face on the screen today than Dafoe’s. Perhaps we should thank Schnabel for providing so much of Willem Dafoe to savor. It is impossible not to be mesmerized by his mercurial expressions, the deep grooves of his brow, the wild eyes, the impossible cheekbones, the madness of his teeth. His is a gorgeous facial landscape and this film allows us to devour his least gesture.

Other than the national treasure that is Dafoe’s face, only the scene in which Theo comes to visit Vincent in the asylum lends the film some dignity. Rupert Friend as Theo convinces us of the tender bond between the brothers. As he cradles his despairing brother in his arms, he shows us how desperately alone the great painter must have felt.

But like I said Peter, I came away from this with renewed appreciation for just how super-sized Schnabel’s narcissistic ego must be these days. He got a great actor who looks exactly like Vincent van Gogh to play the part of Vincent van Gogh—and forgot to give him a script, motivation, purpose, inspiration, direction, or insight. (And it took three (3) people to “write” this script, which is pretty much hacked from the letters between the brothers van Gogh.)

At Eternity’s Gate is a waste of time, money, talent, and a once-in-a-lifetime casting opportunity. A craft project by a complete phony, disguised as an art film.

Peter if you truly cherish the work of Vincent van Gogh, you will avoid seeing this film. To see it will pollute your affection for a great painter.

a day in October

a day in October

Carmel without fog, exciting new opera, and a dinner of sophisticated comfort food. What an afternoon! Thanks to the innovative Days and Nights Festival that is one of the West Coast laboratories for friends and colleagues of composer Philip Glass (image: Chad Buchanan), we were on our way to a matinee performance of Glass’ jewelbox chamber opera In the Penal Colony. Story by Kafka, crystalline music by Glass, production by Brian Staufenbiel and chamber orchestra conducted by Nicole Paiement, of Opera Parallele.

On a day warm enough to be called “hot” we parked and walked down into the heart of Carmel by the Sea, oozing visitors, designer canines, and toybox boutiques and found our way to the restored 1929 Golden Bough Playhouse.

The pretty theater on one of those oh so Doris Day residential streets in this landmark town was open for ticket holders to the final day of Glass four-day arts festival. Having worked with the Opera Parallele founders when they were in residence at UC Santa Cruz, we were familiar with the style of performance.

Projected and devised scenic design by David Murakami of what Staufenbiel described to us as “deconstructed animation,” the stage already contained the prisoner of Kafka’s absurdist story. Wrapped in gauze, the figure lay at the center of the Golden Bough’s revolving double stage. Staufenbiel moved his small ensemble effectively within the encircling space, creating non-stop momentum of story and music. The outer circle became the main platform for the table, chair, and ultimately the execution “machine”—a gorgeous assemblage of casket, and shimmering chandelier of lethal spikes, created by Noah Kramer. To the right of the stage, Paiement and her quintet of strings waited to begin what would be a brisk, riveting hour and a half of quintessential Philip Glass orchestration pushing against the gorgeous arias sung by Robert Orth and Javier Abreu, as the Officer and the Visitor.

Like most Glass operas, this one pried open the bloody heart of side-street existentialist themes. Forcing the audience to confront the paradoxes of alleged civilization, surfed on endless variations of Glassian arpeggios.

After the performance Katya and I congratulated Paiement, who introduced us to the composer—a gracious and rumpled 80something—before everyone hit the foyer for wine, cookies, and schmoozing.

On the drive back to Santa Cruz the air grew distinctly smoky. And smokier. A quick call from the car determined two things: a fire in Bonny Doon that was small, and another fire in Solano County that was not small. Smoke from the Solano fire lent ominous beauty to the fields and estuaries near Moss Landing and Corralitos.

Dinner was waiting at La Posta, in midtown Santa Cruz, where chef Katherine Stern showed once again that her conceptual grasp of seasonal flavors keeps stride with the reigning culinary zeitgeist. In New York several weeks ago I had noticed the prevalence of wild herbal flavors and sauces, e.g. sorrel and nasturtium in mains as well as desserts. At La Posta we began with a shared salad of rose-colored chicories, luscious burrata, a few slices of nectarine, a yellow beet, and a dusting of toasted pistachios. Early autumn in every bite.

Katya’s entree was a Fogline Farms chicken breast stuffed with spinach and ricotta, sliced into plump cylinders on a bed of leeks and crispy roast brussels sprouts. My entree was a cittarra spaghetti tossed with housemade Italian sausage, loaded with fennel, Early Girl tomatoes, and spicy red chiles. A dazzling pasta, which is exactly what I expect of La Posta.

More easy-to-love dazzle came in the form of an apple cornmeal cake,on a pool of fennel crema topped with quince mousse.  Unexpected and resonant flavors combined in each bite. Apple, quince, fennel. A brilliant dish.

Then home to watch one of the last episode of The Forsyte Saga. How did we miss it the first time around?