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    How Ingrid Michaelson Made ‘The Notebook’ Into a Musical

    Family history is “wrapped up in these songs,” said the singer-songwriter Ingrid Michaelson, who is making the leap to Broadway with an adaptation of the popular romance novel.The stage manager’s office on the second floor of the Gerald Schoenfeld Theater in Times Square is about the size of a half bathroom and has the charm of a utility closet. It’s crowded and overlit, thanks to a high-wattage vanity mirror situated near a 1970s-era mini sink.Ingrid Michaelson surveyed the room where we were to begin our interview, and sighed. “It’s not glamorous at all — but it is,” she said. “There’s just a small, lucky group that gets to see these little rooms.”With the opening of “The Notebook” on Thursday, Michaelson will make the turn from a successful mid-list singer-songwriter to Broadway composer. Though other pop writers have made the same foray into musical theater — including Dolly Parton, Cyndi Lauper, and Michaelson’s friend Sara Bareilles — Michaelson was an unlikely choice, because “The Notebook” is a huge franchise and she isn’t a hitmaker. “Quirky” is a word that turns up in articles about her, and quirky is rarely a mass-market trait.Nicholas Sparks’s 1996 romance novel was a publishing phenomenon that has sold 14 million copies worldwide. In 2004, it was adapted into a film starring Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams, and its feverishly passionate dialogue (“It wasn’t over. It still isn’t over!” Gosling shouts, in the middle of a rainstorm.) made it as beloved by fans as it was scorned by critics. Wielding a double-barreled shotgun in his review for The New York Times, the critic Stephen Holden dismissed Sparks’s book as “treacly” and called the film “a high-toned cinematic greeting card.”“I remember watching the movie with my friend — we rented it from Blockbuster,” Michaelson, 44, recalled. “I cried and cried and cried at the end.” She was dressed casually, in a gray knit cap, baggy flannel shirt and torn jeans. In conversation, she gravitated toward self-deprecation and the spilling-over candor of a lifelong New Yorker. She was droll and funny, but cried several times during our interview. At one point, on the topic of losing our parents, we both cried at the same time.“The Notebook” begins in an old age home, where Allie, who has Alzheimer’s disease, doesn’t recognize her husband, Noah. He reads to her from a notebook, which tells the story of how they met and fell in love in their late teens, only to be separated by a conniving parent. They meet again 10 years later, when Allie is engaged to someone else. Will her marital pledge hold firm in the face of true love? We know the answer, but the reward of their reunion is offset by the pain of seeing them both in distress.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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    Melissa Benoist Hits the Campaign Trail in ‘The Girls on the Bus’

    After six years on “Supergirl,” the actor and producer took a crash course in political journalism to prep for a new Max series.Melissa Benoist has made a habit of playing journalists on television.She spent six years as the hero of “Supergirl,” Kara Danvers, who works in media when she’s not saving the world. Now Benoist is taking on the role of a campaign reporter named Sadie McCarthy in the Max series “The Girls on the Bus,” a very loose adaptation of the former New York Times reporter Amy Chozick’s nonfiction book “Chasing Hillary.”But Benoist does not think she’d be a good fit for the profession. Asked about the choice of some political reporters to refrain from voting in the elections they cover, she explained in a phone interview that she would be a “terrible journalist.”“I’m too emotional,” she said. “I’d for sure be biased.”“The Girls on the Bus,” created by Chozick and Julie Plec (“The Vampire Diaries”), is a fictional and frothy account of the lives of women chronicling a series of Democratic presidential contenders on their way to the national convention. Benoist’s Sadie works for a New York Times stand-in called The New York Sentinel, and is given an opportunity to return to the road after being publicly embarrassed during the previous election cycle when a video of her crying after her candidate lost, a journalistic no-no, went viral.The show has a fantastical bent, and not just because Sadie has conversations with the ghost of Hunter S. Thompson (P.J. Sosko). Despite arriving in an election year and taking inspiration from Chozick’s book about covering Hillary Clinton, the political landscape of the show looks very different from our current one. Sadie and her cohorts grapple with familiar topics, but they do so in a sort of parallel universe where the bonds they form while tracking down sources is at the center of the tale.In the series, Benoist’s character, left, competes and bonds with other reporters on the campaign trail played by, from left, Carla Gugino, Christina Elmore and Natasha Behnam.Nicole Rivelli/MaxFor Benoist, the show is her first series regular role since “Supergirl” and her first venture as a producer. In an interview, she discussed her crash course in political reporting and why that word “girl” keeps following her around. These are edited excerpts from the conversation.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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    Dominique Blanc, at 67, Is in Her Prime

    In 2003, three decades into her career, Dominique Blanc experienced every actor’s worst nightmare: The phone stopped ringing.Approaching 50, she was one of France’s most celebrated performers, fresh off an acclaimed stage run in a classic tragedy, Jean Racine’s “Phèdre.” But the subsequent, yearslong lack of offers “deeply unsettled me,” Blanc said in a recent interview. “I found myself in extreme solitude. I really believed I would never be able to set foot on a stage again.”“La Douleur,” a searing, award-winning one-woman show that will have its American premiere at the FIAF Florence Gould Hall in New York on March 13, became a way to process the hurt and take charge. Blanc’s character, lifted from a book by the French author Marguerite Duras, awaits her husband’s return from a Nazi concentration camp in 1945, uncertain whether he is even alive.The show grew out of a series of readings she did from the book with the director Patrice Chéreau, a longtime collaborator. In 2008, Blanc pitched him a light stage version, requiring only a table, chairs and old costumes from Blanc’s closet. While Duras’s book was translated into English as “The War: A Memoir,” its original title simply means “Pain,” and in her show, Blanc starkly recreates women’s anguish as their partners return from untold horrors.“It was the first time I was completely alone onstage, with this extraordinary yet difficult text. I had so much fear,” Blanc said. “But it saved me.”For several years, Blanc reclaimed her artistic agency by performing “La Douleur” in theaters, school gymnasiums and prisons, both in France and abroad. In 2022, as the theater world prepared to mark the 10th anniversary of Chéreau’s death, the production was revived.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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    ‘The Late Show’ Goes Live to Recap the State of the Union

    “Depending on what happens in November, next year might just be a Kid Rock concert and an immigrant catapult,” Stephen Colbert joked.Welcome to Best of Late Night, a rundown of the previous night’s highlights that lets you sleep — and lets us get paid to watch comedy. Here are the 50 best movies on Netflix right now.Biden State of Mind“The Late Show” went live on Thursday night, after President Joe Biden’s State of the Union address.Stephen Colbert said that the press had so far described Biden’s address as “feisty, fiery, heated, supreme, crunch wrap. I’m sorry. It’s really late and I’m hungry.”“It was kind of a tense night, because it feels like this might be the last time we get a State of the Union. Depending on what happens in November, next year might just be a Kid Rock concert and an immigrant catapult.” — STEPHEN COLBERT“Now, coming into tonight’s speech, critics said Biden’s State of the Union challenge was to dispel ‘old-man vibes.’ Really? In Congress? Kinda hard to fight off the old-man vibe when you’re speaking to a room that looks like an open casket convention.” — STEPHEN COLBERT“On the Democratic side, they wore white. On the Republican side, they were white.” — STEPHEN COLBERTThe Punchiest Punchlines (State of the Union Edition)“Well, guys, if you’re watching at home, I assume you’re still cleaning up from your big State of the Union party. Yeah. What kind of wings do you want — right wing, left wing?” — JIMMY FALLON“Yeah, earlier tonight, President Biden delivered the annual State of the Union address, and Biden’s speech was historic. It was the first time that the font size on the teleprompter was 8,000.” — JIMMY FALLON“Biden looked out at the members of Congress and said, ‘Finally, a place where I seem pretty young.’” — JIMMY FALLON“Thanks to rules giving former members of Congress floor access, George Santos attended the State of the Union. Come on! You can’t just go back to your old job like you never left — unless you’re Jon Stewart. Keep it up, Jon! You’re crushing it.” — STEPHEN COLBERT“Tonight, the room was filled with over 500 members of Congress, but Senator Mitch McConnell wasn’t there. Well, he attended, but he wasn’t there.” — JIMMY FALLON“Ahead of the president’s arrival there, members of the Supreme Court filed in. Interestingly, Justice Clarence Thomas did not attend. It’s nice to know he’s willing to recuse himself from something.” — STEPHEN COLBERTThe Bits Worth WatchingOn Thursday’s “Daily Show,” Ronny Chieng asked his “Kung Fu Panda 4” co-star Awkwafina to interview him about his role in the movie.Also, Check This OutKaty O’Brian and Kristen Stewart in “Love Lies Bleeding.”Anna Kooris/A24Kristen Stewart and Katy O’Brian find love in a hopeless place in Rose Glass’s new neo-noir thriller “Love Lies Bleeding.” More

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    Review: Welcome to ‘Illinoise,’ Land of Love, Grief and Zombies

    Sufjan Stevens’s 2005 concept album has become an unlikely and unforgettable dance-musical hybrid, directed and choreographed by Justin Peck.When emotions get too big for speech, you sing; when too big even for song, you dance.Or so goes the standard theatrical formula. But what if the emotions are huge from the get-go?That’s the challenge and, it turns out, the glory of “Illinoise,” a mysterious and deeply moving dance-musical hybrid based on Sufjan Stevens’s similarly named 2005 concept album. (The title has acquired an extra “e.”) Exploring the hot zone between childhood and adulthood, when emotions can be at their most overwhelming, the show dispenses with dialogue completely and leaps directly to movement and song.But not together: Among a thousand other smart choices, Justin Peck (who directed and choreographed) and Jackie Sibblies Drury (who, with Peck, wrote the story) have delaminated the songs from the characters, thus avoiding the jukebox trap that diminishes both.Instead, in the show, which opened on Thursday at the Park Avenue Armory, Stevens’s wistful and sometimes enigmatic numbers, set in various Illinois locations, are performed by three vocalists on platforms high above the action, wearing butterfly wings as if to stay aloft. Below, the 12 acting dancers (or are they dancing actors?) perform a parallel story without being forced into overliteral connections.Or rather, they perform an anthology of stories, a kind of exquisite corpse of late adolescence. As they collect around a clump of lanterns that suggest an urban campfire — the poetic set, including upside-down trees, is by Adam Rigg — they engage in what seems to be a rite of passage: the sharing of deep truths with sympathetic friends. The truths are often traumas, of course: first love, first loss, first disillusionment, first death. They are “read” (that is, danced) from notebooks decorated, again, with butterflies, suggesting the privacy of cocoons and the fragility of emergence.Twelve acting dancers (or are they dancing actors?) perform a story that’s parallel to the one told in Sufjan Stevens’s wistful songs set in various Illinois locations.Sara Krulwich/The New York TimesWe are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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    Review: In ‘Doubt,’ What He Knows, She Knows, God Knows

    Liev Schreiber and Amy Ryan star in a revival of John Patrick Shanley’s moral head spinner about pride, the priesthood and presumptions of pedophilia.Here are a few things Sister Aloysius cannot abide: ballpoint pens, “Frosty the Snowman,” long fingernails like Father Flynn’s, Father Flynn himself.She is what you’d call a forbidding nun, a Sister of Charity without much of it. (Her name means something like “warrior.”) The principal of a Catholic school in the Bronx in 1964, she defines a good teacher as one who is a discomfort to her students, a “fierce moral guardian,” not a friend.“If you are vigilant,” she tells young Sister James, “they will not need to be.”But Father Flynn, following the spirit of the recent Second Vatican Council, and presumably his own inclinations, does not lead with fear. In ministering to his mostly Italian and Irish congregation, he seeks to give the church “a more familiar face.” His sermons are warm, told with jokes and accents. He coaches the boys’ basketball team. Add to Sister Aloysius’s catalog of unholy tendencies his suggestion that they occasionally take the students for ice cream.Even if nothing else set these two forces in opposition, there would be enough here for a fine play about varieties of faith. But John Patrick Shanley’s “Doubt: A Parable,” first seen on Broadway in 2005, is much more than that. It is a sturdy melodrama, an infallible crowd-pleaser, a detective yarn, a character study and an inquest into the unknowable.It is also, in the handsome revival that opened on Thursday at the Todd Haimes Theater, something I hadn’t really noticed before: a battle of the sexes. For in the church of that day, as perhaps in our own, mutual distrust often arose between the men who had all the power and the women who saw how they used it.Why, after all, should Aloysius (Amy Ryan) already dislike the popular Flynn (Liev Schreiber) when the action begins? Why should she suspect that behind his “more familiar face” lies overfamiliarity? Is it his ballpoint pen? Those detestable fingernails?We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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    What to Watch This Weekend: A Surreal Family Comedy

    The Turkish series “A Round of Applause” offers a fresh and surprising vision of anxiety and alienation.Cihat Suvarioglu in a scene from “A Round of Applause.”NetflixThe Turkish series “A Round of Applause” (in Turkish, with subtitles, or dubbed) is a vivid, imaginative depiction of family neuroses. The concept of sublimated despair is a pillar of contemporary television, but the show’s surrealism is fresh and surprising — made even more so by the sense of creeping sameness of so many other shows right now.“Applause,” on Netflix, follows Zeynep (Aslihan Gurbuz), her husband, Mehmet (Fatih Artman), and her son, Metin (played at various ages by Rezdar Tastan, Eyup Mert Ilkis and Cihat Suvarioglu), though the show begins before his conception. First, Zeynep and Mehmet have some friends over for dinner, but the guests’ behavior becomes stranger and more childlike during the visit — they’re too scared to sleep in their own bed during a thunderstorm, they say. They behave petulantly at the breakfast table and eventually go so far as to call Zeynep and Mehmet “mom” and “dad.” The show’s surrealism gains momentum from there, and the warped perspective becomes more central — more grotesque, more exciting, funnier — as the show goes on.When we meet Metin, he’s in utero, portrayed as grown man, bearded and smoking and ranting like a political prisoner. He has already absorbed all of his mother’s unhappiness, he wails, yanking on a massive umbilical cord for emphasis. He lacks purpose; he feels oppressed; he doesn’t want to be born, not yet at least, not until he’s ready. Metin’s mournful skepticism of life itself plays out through his hyper-articulate childhood and adrift adulthood, first as a boy whose playground girlfriend dumps him for being “suffocating,” then as a 13-year-old who writes his mother a rap called “The Funeral of Meaning on Earth,” and later as a grandiose, depressed DJ. On the one hand, this despondence has been with Metin since before he even existed. On the other, it is nurtured throughout his life by his mother’s blind praise and his father’s emotional detachment.There are six half-hour episodes of “Applause,” and they left me in a glorious daze, both delighted by its absurdist humor and fascinated by its dreamlike vision of anxiety and alienation. The show is an unflattering portrait, but it’s not a caricature; its exaggerations become truer than true, more like a myth than a joke. More

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    Taylor Tomlinson Is the Perfect Late-Night Host for The TikTok Era

    ‘After Midnight’ is not a conventional late-night show with monologue, desk and A-list guests. But that may be a good thing.If you picture a modern late-night show, you’ll probably envision a heavy, glossy desk next to an armchair or a couch, with an artificial city vista twinkling behind them. A man, most likely a white man, dressed in a dark suit. Maybe a button-down with the sleeves casually rolled up, if that man’s name is Seth Meyers.“After Midnight,” a CBS late-night show that debuted in mid-January, is altogether different. Based on Comedy Central’s “@Midnight With Chris Hardwick,” “After Midnight” pits three celebrity panelists against one another in a series of games about the latest oddities of the internet. Its host, the 30-year-old stand-up comedian Taylor Tomlinson, described it as “the smartest comedy show about the dumbest things on the internet.” Indeed, “After Midnight” looks like the screen-addicted grandchild of “Jeopardy!,” with colorful pixelated designs floating behind the contestants’ lecterns. On Tomlinson’s right, like a glowing idol, is a gigantic phone-shaped screen that displays the videos and social-media posts that serve as fodder for the show’s jokes.The first episode of “After Midnight” elicited confusion and disappointment from some fans, who thought Tomlinson would be hosting a more traditional entertainment talk show, with an opening monologue and celebrity guests. She had, after all, taken over the time slot vacated by “The Late Late Show With James Corden,” which followed that format and ended last year. At least one commenter wondered if Tomlinson had been hoodwinked by the higher-ups at CBS. In a later episode, she explained that she had not been duped: “You think I want to ask Daniel Day-Lewis about preparing for his role as an 1800s Polish butcher? No! I want to make him do #fartsongs.” Still, “After Midnight” added a winking “Talk Show Portion,” in which the host asks each panelist silly questions, simultaneously trolling the trolls and poking fun at the promotional nature of the late-night celebrity interview. A question posed to the comedian Riki Lindhome is a breezy non sequitur, not selling anything: “Riki, did you ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?”Tomlinson has emerged as one of her generation’s leading comedians; her third special, “Have It All,” was the sixth-most-watched English-language TV show on Netflix the week of its Feb. 13 debut. She’s known for her preparation and precision, with an affinity for crowd work that translates well into riffing with the contestants on her show. Tomlinson brings an easy confidence to “After Midnight,” and at its best, it feels like hanging out with a group of very funny friends. The internet is dumb and the joke parade is fun, but there is something heavier riding on “After Midnight.” That is, of course, the well-documented fact that Tomlinson is the lone woman headlining a late-night network show, a form historically dominated by men. Although a number of women have won a late-night slot in recent years, only a couple of their shows have lasted more than a few seasons. After a while, news coverage of their appointments tends to have a “Groundhog Day” effect. The title of “only woman in late night” sure has been applied to a lot of people.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More