Books and Arts

What Mindy Kaling gets about work-love balance that most rom-com writers don't.

READ MORE >>

Can you tell the difference between Naomi Wolf's prose and Wiccan literature? Or Cosmo?

READ MORE >>

Jay Pharaoh's Obama impersonation on Saturday Night Live is too realistic for its own good.

READ MORE >>

I wanted "The Master" to be great. Instead, it's a pretentious dud.

READ MORE >>

"Oslo, August 31st" is a film in love with life and light and faces, and it just came out on DVD.

READ MORE >>

Reading about the latest controversy at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles—the apparently forced resignation of the longtime head curator Paul Schimmel over the pop-culture exhibitions that the new director Jeffrey Deitch is bringing to the museum—I experienced my usual feelings of disbelief.

READ MORE >>

"Lawless" is an excuse to round up some attractive actors and let them loose. That doesn't mean it's not worth seeing.

READ MORE >>

Republicans know a great, great deal about the power of popular music in the merchandising of ideology for electoral gain

READ MORE >>

It is called The Black Panther, and for the moment at least it cannot be seen in America. I daresay it deserves another title, now, one that avoids suggestions of horror or intimations of radical black politics. There is horror in this movie, though our standards for that genre have changed so much since 1977, when the film very briefly opened in Britain.

READ MORE >>

Our Playhouse

We played in the shadow Of murderers’ at work, Kneading soldiers out of mud, Stepping on them When we were done playing.  Girls walking the streets Gave us bread to eat. An old dog with a limp Kept us warm at night As we huddled in doorways.  My friends, my playmates, We never saw the dead, Only the birds scatter After we heard the gunshots And ducked our heads.  This poem appeared in the September 13, 2012 issue of the magazine.  

Pages

SHARE HIGHLIGHT

0 CHARACTERS SELECTED

TWEET THIS

POST TO TUMBLR