“This isn’t an essay about clothes, exactly, nor is it about fashion, quite. It is about women and clothes and something that happens between them that we could think of as a kind of third rail of female experience.”
The story behind Tony Kushner’s examination of AIDS and homosexuality.
The playwright’s forgotten son.
“Didion was one of the boys, clearly, in the sense that men had noticed her writing and wanted to publish her. But she also couldn’t quite fit into their regime.”
On photographer Garry Winogrand and the unedited archive of more than half a million exposures he left behind.
A profile of Spears at her nadir.
Then there’s Mark Kostabi, the former New York gossip column fixture and self-professed “con artist” who everybody remembers but nobody talks about. Christie’s and Sotheby’s have no comment. Neither does the MoMA, the Guggenheim, or the Met, despite the curious fact that they all have Kostabis in their permanent collections. As for quotes from some highfalutin critics expounding on the semiotics of cone hats, cash registers, and the Sony Walkman in Kostabi’s work? Not a chance.
In 2001, a young Japanese woman walked into the North Dakota woods and froze to death. Had she come in search of the $1 million dollars buried nearby in the film Fargo?
How to run a fashion empire.
On William Eggleston’s The Red Ceiling and an unsolved murder.
An interview with Maurice Sendak.
How the way we’re taught to look at female-centric TV, books and movies is ruining our ability to see good art.
A profile of director Guillermo del Toro.
As early as 1948, the Oscars sucked.
Inside the disturbing “cult” of young acolytes that catapulted conductor James Levine’s career.
A feat of elegant design wowed elite architects and promised to bring education to poor children in Nigeria. Then it collapsed.
“A unicorn, a monster, a phoenix, a machine, a heavyweight fighter, an astronaut, a superhero, a thoroughbred, a home-run hitter, a waitress juggling ‘16 entrees, 42 starters, 16 desserts,’ a jazz virtuoso, LeBron James, Magellan, Snuffleupagus. The actress Laurie Metcalf has been compared to all of these things.”
The creator of the California-based food chain kills his mother, sister and, finally, himself.
From Hollywood to Anaheim, he had opened a chain of fast-food rotisserie chicken restaurants that dazzled the food critics and turned customers into a cult. Poets wrote about his Zankou chicken. Musicians sang about his Zankou chicken. Now that he was dying, his dream of building an empire, 100 Zankous across the land, a Zankou in every major city, would be his four sons’ to pursue. In the days before, he had pulled them aside one by one -- Dikran, Steve, Ara, Vartkes -- and told them he had no regrets. He was 56 years old, that was true, but life had not cheated him. He did not tell them he had just one more piece of business left to do.
“There’s always room for another story. There’s always room for another tune.”
Why was Christopher Priest nearly written out of comics history?
How legends of the American music industry made millions off the work of Solomon Linda, a Zulu tribesman who wrote “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” and died a pauper.
Riding along with the El Paso congressman.
Leïla Slimani’s best-seller explores the dark relationship of a mother and her babysitter.
Searching for Dave Chappelle ten years after he left his show.
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A review of several books on Rupert Murdoch first criticizes the authors for not grasping the many sides of their subject, then offers a thesis of its own. He’s “not so much a man, or a cultural force, as a portrait of the modern world.”
