More stories

  • in

    ‘Hors Pistes’ Is an Arts Festival About Sports, for People Who Don’t Like Sports

    A series of events in preparation for the Paris Olympics explores a paradox, since arts and sports rarely mix in France.When it comes to the biggest sports show on earth, many Parisians have reached the stage of begrudging acceptance. The level of disruption — and metro price hikes — to get the city ready for this summer’s Olympic Games hasn’t exactly endeared the event to locals, especially those who favor culture over sports.“The Olympics are coming — whether we like it or not,” a curator from the Pompidou Center, Linus Gratte, said as he introduced a performance there this past weekend as part of the “Hors Pistes” festival. The audience chuckled.“Hors Pistes” (meaning “Off-Piste”), a festival the Pompidou Center says is devoted to “moving images,” came with an Olympic-ready theme this year: “The Rules of Sport.” It is part of the Cultural Olympiad, the program of arts events that is now a part of the Olympic experience in every host city.For the Paris Cultural Olympiad — spearheaded by Dominique Hervieu, an experienced performing arts curator — the city has opted to go big. Any cultural institution could apply for the “Olympiad” label, leading to a sprawling lineup of sports-related exhibitions and performances, which started back in 2022. This has led to a degree of confusion over what, exactly, the Olympiad stands for: Its official website currently lists no fewer than 984 upcoming events.And quite a few of them end up exploring a paradox, because art and sports rarely mix in France. As a rule, the country’s artistic output leans toward intellectualism rather than the virtuosity embodied by high-level athletes. The Pompidou Center, a flagship venue for contemporary art, telegraphs as much in its “Hors Pistes” publicity material, which says the festival’s goal is “to question and subvert the rules of sport, and to imagine new interpretations of them.”While the Pompidou is primarily an art museum, and “Hors Pistes” comes with a small exhibition, the festival features a significant number of performances, onstage in the center’s theater, or in its galleries. Some of these struggled to find coherent common ground with sports, however, like Anna Chirescu and Grégoire Schaller’s “Dirty Dancers,” an hourlong dance performance staged in the exhibition space, with sports-style bleachers for the audience.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

  • in

    ‘Passport’ Review: A Master of Comedy in a Migrant Camp

    The new show by Alexis Michalik, a star of commercial theater, wades into political battles in France, where immigration restrictions have been at the forefront of the government’s agenda.Badly injured from a fight, a man wakes up in the Calais Jungle, a ramshackle camp for migrants in northern France. His memory is gone, and all he has on him is an Eritrean passport with the name “Issa.”That’s the premise of Alexis Michalik’s brisk, effective new play “Passport,” which was greeted with a standing ovation last weekend in Paris. Until it was demolished in 2016, the overcrowded Jungle encampment stood as a symbol of Europe’s refugee crisis, which hasn’t entirely subsided. While the site itself is gone, migrants still regularly attempt to cross the English Channel from the Calais area and reach Britain.Many in the French theater world publicly supported the people living in the Jungle, and a handful of small-scale productions in France took the camp as inspiration. Still, the first major play about it came from Britain, in 2017: Joe Murphy and Joe Robertson’s immersive “The Jungle” was inspired by the directors’ time in Calais, where they set up a theater with migrants. It went on to become a trans-Atlantic hit, and was revived last year at St. Ann’s Warehouse in Brooklyn.In some ways, Michalik was an unlikely name to follow suit. A star of the commercial theater sector in France, he has built his reputation on accessible, fast-paced comedy dramas like “Edmond,” a “Shakespeare in Love”-style spin on the life of the French playwright Edmond Rostand. His last stage endeavor was a French-language adaptation of the Mel Brooks musical “The Producers.”Yet Michalik has tiptoed into heavier subject matters in recent years — first with “Intra Muros,” a play set in a maximum-security prison, then with “A Love Story,” which centered on a lesbian couple’s I.V.F. journey.“Passport,” which is playing at the Théâtre de la Renaissance through June 30, wades even more openly into current political battles in France, where immigration restrictions have been at the forefront of President Emmanuel Macron’s agenda. In response, Michalik, who wrote and directed the play, invokes the audience’s empathy. “Imagine if a war started here, in your country,” one actor tells us near the beginning. “Your life is threatened, so logically, you decide to leave.”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?  More

  • in

    Just How Rich Were the McCallisters in ‘Home Alone’?

    Fans have been debating the McCallister family’s wealth for years. We asked the Federal Reserve for answers.The battle in “Home Alone” between 8-year-old Kevin McCallister (Macaulay Culkin) and two burglars known as the Wet Bandits has unfolded on screens around the world every Christmas since the film premiered in 1990.And each year, for some viewers, the McCallisters’ grand home and lifestyle inspires its own tradition: wondering just how rich this family was.The New York Times turned to economists and people involved with the film to find the answer.The McCallisters are the 1 Percent.The McCallister family home is a real house in Winnetka, Ill., a wealthy suburb of Chicago.Erin Hooley/Chicago Tribune va Getty ImagesEarly in the film, one of the burglars, Harry (Joe Pesci), tells his fellow Wet Bandit, Marv (Daniel Stern), that the McCallister home is their top target in a wealthy neighborhood.“That’s the one, Marv, that’s the silver tuna,” Harry says, before speculating that the house contains a lot of “top-flight goods,” including VCRs, stereos, very fine jewelry and “odd marketable securities.”The home is the best clue as to how much money the McCallisters have.The silver tuna, or its exterior anyway, is a real-world house at 671 Lincoln Avenue in the Chicago suburb of Winnetka, one of the most expensive neighborhoods in the United States, according to Realtor.com. It appears to have enough space for Kevin and his four siblings to each have their own rooms, but also can accommodate an army of visitors.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?  More

  • in

    How Richard Nelson’s ‘Our Life in Art’ Was Translated, Twice

    Richard Nelson seemed to have found the perfect home for his play “Our Life in Art.”He had written a show about the Moscow Art Theater’s 1923 tour of the United States with its director, Konstantin Stanislavski, and was planning to have a Russian translation presented by the company’s modern leader at a performance space that Stanislavski had built on the grounds of his family’s factory.What’s more, the Brooklyn Academy of Music was interested in bringing the production to New York, where Nelson is best known as the author of the “Rhinebeck Panorama,” a collection of a dozen intimate plays that document and dissect slices of American life and history through nothing more than dinner conversation.A major step toward the play’s premiere in Moscow came on Feb. 23, 2022, when the director, Sergei Zhenovach, read through it with his company. Everyone seemed enthusiastic about the project, but Nelson awoke the next day to a message that read, “Something awful has happened.”Russia had invaded Ukraine.“That was it,” Nelson recalled during a recent video interview. “The war cut all ties to Russian theater, so it was over.”“Our Life in Art,” Nelson’s play about a close-knit theater troupe of the past, is being performed by a close-knit French theater troupe of the present.Elliott Verdier for The New York TimesThe war, and a fresh crackdown on dissent in Russia, made “Our Life in Art” all the more necessary. Its plot, which unfurls between Moscow Art Theater performances in Chicago, examines and questions how art is navigated within world events and politics. “The play has evolved into being about itself,” Nelson said. “What’s happened while trying to get the play on has now affected how it is seen. So many people I know in Russian theater and art — it’s just a very difficult time, and all of these issues are in the air.”In the air, and finally onstage. In the end, Nelson’s play about a close-knit troupe of the past was taken up by a close-knit troupe of the present: “Our Life in Art” found a new home at the Théâtre du Soleil in Paris, where it is running through March 2, translated into French by that company’s director, Ariane Mnouchkine.The production has put Nelson on the other end of work he has previously done translating Russian theater classics into English with Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky, the power couple behind many Russian literature translations in print today. So, Nelson knows that the process is more than mapping one language onto another; as with the plays by his hero and aesthetic ancestor, Anton Chekhov, it also requires the preservation of a specific, crucial sensibility.In the works of both Chekhov and Nelson, the extraordinary emerges only from the ordinary. Revelations come not in speeches, but in passing comments. And, above all, in the spirit of verisimilitude, people have true conversations. Nelson’s characters speak to one another, not to the audience. He likes to tell actors that the performance “is the relationship you have with everyone else.”That’s a level of lived-in mastery rarely seen even in naturalistic theater. Not for nothing does Nelson tend to work with the same actors as a de facto company; Jay O. Sanders and Maryann Plunkett appeared in all the Rhinebeck plays, but as members of three different families. And Sanders starred in Nelson, Pevear and Volokhonsky’s translation of Chekhov’s “Uncle Vanya.”The translators got to know Nelson when he had mailed them a letter introducing himself and expressing interest in a collaboration. They later met in New York, during the release of their version of “War and Peace” about 15 years ago, and the three of them decided to embark on translating Russian theater, starting with Turgenev’s “A Month in the Country.”“He’s a man of very great integrity,” Volokhonsky said of Nelson, “and he has a gift for friendship.”The three quickly grew close, and built up their working relationship to translating all the major plays of Chekhov. “We would submit the text to him,” Pevear said, “and he would go through it and say, ‘My actors wouldn’t say that, what if we did it this way?’ That’s why we only wanted to do this work with a playwright. It’s not just about narrative.”So, when Nelson wrote “Our Life in Art” — a nod to Stanislavski’s book “My Life in Art” — in fall 2020, he recruited Volokhonsky to translate it. Originally, it had been planned for Lev Dodin, the artistic director of the Maly Drama Theater in St. Petersburg, but he and Nelson had different visions for the play, about whether it should be understated or eruptive, and their collaboration ended on friendly terms. Next, the show was taken up by Sergei Zhenovach before he left the Moscow Art Theater, and by that point, Volokhonsky said, her work on the show was done; anything further would be refined in rehearsals. But those never came.“To have this luxury and this luck, where every day, for months and months, I am just able to focus on making theater without any other pressures or anything else going on, is a piece of profound fortune,” Nelson said of working with the Théâtre du Soleil in Paris.Elliott Verdier for The New York TimesAs the play lay dormant, Mnouchkine, who had seen Nelson’s work in New York, approached him about creating something for Théâtre du Soleil. He told her that he happened to have a show about an acting company, and sent it to her. She read “Our Life in Art” overnight and decided to mount it, with him directing, as he often does with productions of his plays in the United States.Mnouchkine translated the text quickly, she said, “while he was already rehearsing” with her actors, over a luxuriously long 10 weeks last spring. “I had to go quite fast, but I needed to have this very high-standard, delicate easiness, which seems easy to say but is not easy. And I wanted to have the same rhythm as Richard.”The translation was not without its complications. Nelson doesn’t speak French, and not everyone in the Théâtre du Soleil company speaks English. A translator was an essential intermediary. He would tell the actors what was happening in a scene, and if they responded, “That’s not quite what’s here in the text,” they would together work toward a more accurate turn of phrase. They talked through complicated idioms, untranslated figures of speech and, most difficult, the difference between pronouns, a nonissue in English: When should characters who are close but still colleagues address each another as the informal “tu” or the formal “vous”?It helps that, after more rehearsals this fall, Nelson had 14 weeks with the actors, and spent that time living in the company’s home, La Cartoucherie, in the bucolic Bois de Vincennes on the outskirts of Paris, seeing them behave as a true company. “There are no stage managers, there are no real designers,” he said. “The actors do everything: They clean toilets, they move furniture around. This is their home, and they own this.”The result may not have been an unequivocal success — in The New York Times, the critic Laura Cappelle found the play’s realistic conversations casual to the point of rendering historical context inaccessible — but Mnouchkine said she and her actors were “very pleased” to work with Nelson. For his part, he felt as if the most difficult translation, of his nothing-forced aesthetic, was achieved.“I’m really happy with where the play has landed,” Nelson said. “At a time when the American theater is in crisis, to have this luxury and this luck, where every day, for months and months, I am just able to focus on making theater without any other pressures or anything else going on, is a piece of profound fortune.” More

  • in

    Michel Ciment, Eminent French Film Critic, Is Dead at 85

    He helped define cinema as high art for generations of moviegoers and filmmakers in France and beyond, even if he irked some of them with his passion for Hollywood.Michel Ciment, a French film critic whose passion for cinema helped define it as serious art for generations of French moviegoers, directors and producers, even while irking some of them with his unabashed love of American film, died on Nov. 13 in Paris. He was 85.His death was confirmed by the film magazine Positif, for which he had long served as editor in chief, and by the Cannes Film Festival, which called him “a free spirit with an insatiable curiosity” and “the embodiment of cinephilia.”Mr. Ciment (pronounced SEE-mah) derived his authority from just that: his unbounded love of movies and an encyclopedic knowledge of film that sprang from it. He was an adept of the uniquely French cult of movies as high art, and of the great director as genius. But that was counterbalanced by an embrace of “all types of cinema,” the Cannes festival said, a passion born in his childhood addiction to American westerns and gangster movies.Mr. Ciment was an unabashed Americanophile in a French cultural environment in which checking the anti-American box is often a prerequisite to being taken seriously. He was sometimes reproached for it, his son Gilles recalled; in later years he became a senior lecturer in American Civilization at the University of Paris.He communicated his enthusiasm for film, beginning with his first critical forays in the early 1960s, in a torrent of books, reviews, interviews and radio broadcasts. (His status in the world of film criticism was such that he was often interviewed by other critics.)Mr. Ciment celebrated the great directors of the 1950s, ’60s and ’70s in books on Joseph Losey, Stanley Kubrick, Elia Kazan and Francesco Rosi, each thick with probing interviews in which critic startles director with his detailed knowledge of their films.These directors trusted him and opened up to him because, he told the Toronto Film Review in 2020, “I asked questions that were about philosophy, about history, about politics.”His son recalled: “They would say that an exchange with Michel Ciment was like nothing else. With him, he really knows your film, he remembers the characters’ names. And then he would put your film in relation to the history of cinema.”For his book “Kazan on Kazan” (1973), Mr. Ciment spent 10 days with the director and conducted 40 hours of interviews. That was typical of his methods. He favored those who believed, like him, that “all the arts are found in cinema,” as he put it to an interviewer this year with the radio channel France Culture. For him, the superior film combined visual, aural and literary greatness.A 2009 book by Mr. Ciment compiling interviews he conducted with many movie directors. They opened up to him, he said, because “I asked questions that were about philosophy, about history, about politics.”Berg Publishers“All the great directors I hung out with — whether it was Losey, Kubrick, Kazan — they had a generalized culture,” Mr. Ciment said in the radio interview. “These were people who had read an enormous amount, who listened to music, who had seen lots of paintings.”He criticized contemporary directors like Quentin Tarantino, who, he said, work in a cruder idiom and have “encouraged the young toward an absence of culture.”The son of a Hungarian-Jewish immigrant tailor who narrowly escaped being rounded up with other Jews in Paris by Nazi collaborators during World War II, Mr. Ciment traced his pro-American views to childhood memories of the liberation of France in 1944.“At 6, to see the Americans disembark, pitching cans of food, chewing gum — it’s thanks to them we regained our liberty,” he told France Culture.In contrast to the sometimes doctrinaire impulses of that other pole of French film criticism, the magazine Cahiers du Cinema, where directors like Jean-Luc Godard and François Truffaut propagated theories of cinema that they went on to put into practice, Mr. Ciment’s instinct at Positif was free-form.“Always a bit anarchist, libertarian, we couldn’t have cared less about fashions,” he told the Toronto Film Review. “We said what we thought about films, what we loved about films, without preconceptions.”His serious approach to film is evident in his book about the politically oriented realist Italian director Francesco Rosi, who made films about the mafia, corruption, injustice and war. Implicit in the book is the idea that film is as worthy of close analysis as serious literature, a view Mr. Ciment gained from his early studies with two postwar French masters of literary and philosophical criticism, Paul Benichou and Gilles Deleuze.Mr. Ciment praised Mr. Rosi for “hunting down the lie, cornering it in its hide-out,” for a “close engagement with reality in which the smallest false step would have been a betrayal,” and for being “conscious of the impossibility of reaching the truth.”Even in this early book, Mr. Ciment’s attention to detail in film is evident: At one point, referring to Mr. Rosi’s antiwar film “Many Wars Ago” (1970), he asks the director why “the night battle sequence is predominantly blue in color.”Mr. Ciment, second from left, with fellow members of the jury for the 1978 International Film Festival in Cannes, France. The American director Alan J. Pakula is third from left, and the Norwegian actress Liv Ullmann is next to him. Jean Jacques Levy/Associated PressMichel Jean Ciment was born on May 26, 1938, in Paris to Alexander and Helene Cziment. His father “Frenchified” the name after the war, Gilles Ciment said. Michel’s father, who had immigrated from Hungary in the early 1920s, was a tailor for the great French fashion houses, and his wife worked with him.One morning in July 1942, the police came by the house to warn Helene that her husband had best not come home that evening: It was the eve of the great roundup of Paris Jews known as the Vel’ d’Hiv, named after the stadium where they were taken. Some 13,000 Jews were seized and subsequently sent to the death camp at Auschwitz.The elder Mr. Ciment escaped to Normandy and was hidden by peasants there for the duration of the war. His son followed him there, and his wife went back and forth from Paris.The family regrouped in Paris after the Liberation, and Michel Ciment went on to study at two prestigious secondary schools, the Lycée Louis-Le-Grand and the Lycée Condorcet. It was as a student that he discovered, in the intense Paris film culture of the day, the great silent films of Erich von Stroheim, F.W. Murnau and Fritz Lang.He later studied at the Sorbonne and received a Fulbright Scholarship in the early 1960s, allowing him to study at Amherst College in Massachusetts. “It was American education that completely confirmed me in my tastes,” Mr. Ciment told France Culture.He made his debut as a critic with a defense of Orson Welles in Positif in 1963. He later joined its staff and went on to become editor in chief.From the 1970s on he published a stream of books. Besides the ones on Kazan and Rosi, there were others on American cinema, Losey, Stanley Kubrick and Theo Angelopoulos as well as “Passport to Hollywood,” a book of interviews with directors, including Roman Polanski, Milos Forman and Wim Wenders.In addition to his son, he is survived by his second wife, Evelyne Hazan-Ciment. His first wife, Jeannine Ciment, who worked with him at Positif, died in 1986.Mr. Ciment’s passion for film never flagged. As Jérôme Garcin, his colleague on the popular French public radio cultural review “Le Masque et La Plume,” said of him in the French magazine L’Obs, “At 85, he remained, when the lights went out and the magic lantern began to dispense onscreen its dream-colors, a child in wonderment.” More

  • in

    ‘Our Life in Art’ Review: Stanislavski’s Work and Times

    In Paris, a new production from Richard Nelson imagines a day on tour with Konstantin Stanislavski’s theater company in 1923, but misses the historical context.What do you know about the Russian theater director Konstantin Stanislavski? If your answer doesn’t go much further than “He designed a method for training actors,” you are much like the audience members who were recently mystified by parts of “Our Life in Art,” a highly anticipated collaboration between the American playwright and director Richard Nelson and Théâtre du Soleil, in Paris.Its title is a nod to “My Life in Art,” an autobiography by Stanislavski that first came out in English in the 1920s. The “Our” refers to the renowned company he co-founded, the Moscow Art Theater, which, in 1923, embarked on a lengthy tour of the United States. In this new play, presented in collaboration with the multidisciplinary Festival d’Automne, Nelson imagines a day the company spent between performances in Chicago.Onstage, Stanislavski and his 10-person ensemble — who mostly use Russian nicknames for each other — bicker, eat dinner and talk about Russia and the United States. There are oblique references to the 1917 Russian Revolution and its aftermath; to Anton Chekhov, whose plays the Moscow Art Theater championed; and to the impact the tour and Stanislavski’s theories had on American art.But it takes much of the play to even establish that one of the characters was Chekhov’s wife. The complex historical context to “Our Life in Art” is rarely addressed head-on, and won’t necessarily be obvious to Parisian theatergoers, most of whom are also encountering Nelson’s work for the first time. While he is a prominent figure in American theater, with several dozens plays to his name (including a recent 12-part project, “Rhinebeck Panorama”), this is the first production Nelson has directed in French.The sense that “Our Life in Art” wasn’t meant for its current audience is appropriate. Nelson originally intended for the play to be performed in Russia. He made several trips to the country, in 2020 and 2021, to start work on a production there, Nelson explains in a playbill interview.Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine upended these plans. Not long afterward, the Théâtre du Soleil — one of France’s top theater companies, led by the renowned director Ariane Mnouchkine — came calling, and Nelson offered “Our Life in Art” to the company.Before the performance started, Mnouchkine explained that there were donation boxes in the hall to raise money for humanitarian relief in Ukraine. In the playbill, Nelson also said that the war had “added another dimension to the play, a feeling of powerlessness.”On opening night, there was a palpable sense of curiosity at La Cartoucherie, the company’s home in Vincennes, a Paris suburb. Mnouchkine has personally overseen nearly every production performed by the Théâtre du Soleil since 1964, and Nelson is only the third outside director to work with the troupe in 59 years. The last was Robert Lepage, from Canada, whose 2018 work “Kanata — Episode 1 — The Controversy” brought, well, controversy.The Théâtre du Soleil tends to overhaul its own venue for every new production, and “Our Life in Art” is no exception. Instead of the usual auditorium, the play is staged in a narrow space flanked by audience members on both sides. (The seating, akin to tiered pews, is exceptionally uncomfortable.)This allows Nelson, who often works in the round, to create a new level of intimacy with the actors. Whereas Mnouchkine likes sweeping, large-scale tableaux, Nelson prefers to zoom in on smaller situations and conversations.Around a large table, a couple, Nina and Vassily, trade barbs about Vassily’s cheating tendencies. Pyotr, a younger actor, is reprimanded for drinking too much and playing Lopakhin, a central character in Chekhov’s “The Cherry Orchard,” too coarsely. Masha, another company member, cooks pelmeni, Russian dumplings, for a celebratory dinner, during which everyone toasts the 25th anniversary of the Moscow Art Theater.Like the company onstage, the Théâtre du Soleil is an ensemble theater, with a permanent troupe of actors and a singular vision, sustained over decades. Its players have a different kind of rapport than freelancers: When the characters sit down to eat together, their banter feels entirely natural. Nelson brings out a welcome new side of them, more casual than Mnouchkine’s directing style.“Our Life in Art” really shines when Nelson plays up the contrast between the artists’ lives and the ideological pressure they were under in the Soviet Union. The play is book-ended by two letters Stanislavski wrote to Stalin in the 1930s, read onstage by the actor Arman Saribekyan. In them, Stanislavski praises “the great Communist Party” and the “spring of life” it supposedly brought to Russian art. “That’s why I love my homeland,” he says.Saribekyan explains that Stanislavski signed the letters under duress, and that their sentiment is purposely at odds with the restrained, laconic director we witness in the play, as performed by Maurice Durozier. Stanislavski grew up in an affluent family under the czars before adjusting to the communist system after the Revolution, and Nelson touches on the “re-education” that Stanislavski had to endure.There is a sense, in “Our Life In Art,” that Stanislavski and his touring actors are trapped between ruthless American businessmen — who rig the contracts to put all the financial risk on the company — and the looming threat of being deemed unpatriotic when they go home. The artists’ interactions with Russian émigrés in the United States are reported as suspicious in the Soviet press, and clippings are sent to the company as a warning of sorts.In scenes like these, art and ideology collide. At one point, Stanislavski makes a speech about the players’ shared craft, their ability to zoom in on gestures and create art through verisimilitude, rather than through ideas. This is also what Nelson does in “Our Life in Art,” but that means that many things — from the politics of the time to shifting expectations of theater in Soviet Russia — go unexplained. Making them more accessible would only enhance the experience.Our Life in ArtThrough March 3, 2024 at the Théâtre du Soleil, Paris; theatre-du-soleil.fr. More

  • in

    A Play About Black Women’s Experiences, Met With Violence

    Rébecca Chaillon’s “Carte Noire Named Desire” provoked harassment in France this summer, leading one actor to pull out of a new run in Paris.One performer is missing from the current Parisian run of Rébecca Chaillon’s “Carte Noire Named Desire,” an arresting show about the experiences of Black women in France. When the actors gathered onstage for a dinner scene at the Odéon–Théâtre de l’Europe this week, Fatou Siby’s chair remained empty, and a monologue inspired by her life was delivered instead by a guest artist.The reason for Siby’s absence? She and other members of the all-Black cast were targets of racist attacks after “Carte Noire” played this summer at the Avignon Festival, which followed widespread protests in France over the police shooting of Nahel M., a 17-year-old of North African descent.“I need to protect myself,” Siby told the French news site Mediapart of her decision to withdraw from the Paris performances.In one short scene from “Carte Noire,” the cast stages a game of charades inspired by anti-Black racism. To help the audience guess the answer “colonization” this summer, Siby went into the auditorium and jokingly took bags and coats belonging to audience members. (The items were then set aside near the exit to be collected after the show.)According to Mediapart, one male audience member forcefully twisted Siby’s arm as she performed the scene. Others physically hit performers, called them “dictators” and implied they didn’t belong in France. In the days that followed, Siby told Mediapart, an audience member accosted her and her child on the street in Avignon. Since the incidents became public — in a statement, the Avignon Festival described them as “an outpouring of hate” — Chaillon and her team have also been cyber-harassed and become the subject of far-right pundits.Sitting in the audience at the Odéon this week, I found it hard not to feel anger on behalf of the seven cast members who have soldiered on. “Carte Noire” relies on their willingness to be highly vulnerable onstage. The excessive media attention on the charades scene obscured the rest of the piece, which is by turns powerful, lyrical and visually dazzling — an ode to Black women’s imagination in a world whose default setting is whiteness.In the show, Makeda Monnet sings a song about coffee — a product often produced in colonized countries — before being covered in a cloud of cocoa powder.Vincent Zobler“Carte Noire Named Desire” — the title is a play on a famous French ad for the coffee brand — offers some redress, starting with the seating arrangement. As the audience streams into the theater, a recorded announcement explains that 20 or so seats are reserved on comfortable-looking couches at the back of the stage for Black women or nonbinary people. There, they’re handed drinks, while the rest of the audience remains in folding seats for the next 2 hours and 40 minutes.The first half-hour prompts a different kind of discomfort. On her hands and knees, Chaillon, dressed in white, with white lenses covering her pupils and white powder all over her skin, tries to scrub an all-white floor clean, even as darker liquid drips from cups above her. As the scene stretches on, she starts stripping and using her own clothes as mops, ultimately dragging herself around the floor to wipe it.Coolly, without a word, the scene speaks to the disproportionate number of Black people in menial jobs in France. Chaillon, a bold performer and director who has been at the helm of her own company, Dans le Ventre, since 2006, excels at showing before telling. A castmate ultimately pulls her from the floor, and slowly washes the white powder off her body. Then the other women gather around her to braid oversized ropes into her hair — an evocative variation on a Black hair salon.The scenes that follow are often humorous and surreal. Chaillon reads from classified ads written by white men looking for Black women. Makeda Monnet, a trained soprano, trills her way through a song about coffee — a product often produced in colonized countries — on a table engulfed in white foam, before being covered in a cloud of cocoa powder.On the night I attended, however, the game of charades steered clear of its most controversial element. While the performers had audience members guess “Black Sea,” “Josephine Baker” or the film “12 Years a Slave,” the game didn’t include “colonization,” and no bags or coats were taken. While that word was intentionally removed from one Avignon performance to protect the cast, a spokeswoman for Dans Le Ventre said that its absence in Paris that night was random; charade rounds are sometimes skipped over when the game runs too long.What remained that night was a deeply felt production, interspersed with skits and monologues that walk a fine line between true accounts of pain and quasi-performance poetry. On that day, the story of the absent Siby was delivered by special guest Alice Diop, the filmmaker behind the award-winning “Saint Omer,” who sat on the couches in the back with other Black women.At the very end, the audience was left with an indelible tableau: Chaillon, naked, her heavy braids attached to a tangle of ropes above, as the other women sat at her feet — all assembled like roots in a tree of life. That any actor would be fearful of joining them onstage in “Carte Noire” only proves Chaillon’s point: For Black women, even an act of community is political.Carte Noire Named DesireOdéon–Théâtre de l’Europe through Dec. 17; theatre-odeon.eu More

  • in

    Your Next 10 Steps After Watching the New ‘Napoleon’ Film

    If you want to read his biography, or even see his horse, you can.With the new Ridley Scott film “Napoleon,” starring Joaquin Phoenix and Vanessa Kirby, hitting theaters this week, General Bonaparte is having a cultural moment.Another one.As historical figures go, Napoleon maintains a ubiquity 200 years after his death that far exceeds influential contemporaries like James Madison, Emperor Kokaku or Czar Alexander I. That’s in part because of his historic importance and military feats. But maybe also it’s that hat. (One just sold for $2 million.)Here are 10 more ways to immerse yourself in Napoleana before, after or in lieu of seeing the film.1. Read a biography“Napoleon: A Life,” an “epically scaled” biography.Napoleon has fascinated biographers for two centuries. Andrew Roberts’s “Napoleon: A Life” (2014) is a comprehensive look at the rise and fall of a man who made it from Corsica to the Palace of Versailles to (nearly) mastery of all of Europe.In The New York Times Book Review, Duncan Kelly called it “epically scaled” and said, “Roberts brilliantly conveys the sheer energy and presence of Napoleon the organizational and military whirlwind.” At 900-plus pages, it will admittedly take you longer to read than watching the 157-minute film.2. Listen to a podcastOn “Noble Blood,” the host Dana Schwartz takes a closer look at royals of all stripes. One episode, “Dumas and Napoleon,” reveals an unexpected link with Thomas-Alexandre Dumas (the father of the “Three Musketeers” author Alexandre), a Creole general who served under, but also clashed with, Napoleon.3. Go to a museumThe final resting place of Napoleon in Paris. The skeleton above is a modern work of art depicting one of his horses.Stephane De Sakutin/Agence France-Presse — Getty ImagesThe Musée de l’Armée at Les Invalides in Paris has room after room of Napoleonic banners, uniforms and memorabilia, enough to overload the most ardent fan.Somewhat more ghoulishly, you can see the bed in which Napoleon died in exile on the island of St. Helena. And then there’s his horse, Vizir, and his dog, both stuffed and on display.Afterward, head to Napoleon’s tomb under the Dôme des Invalides.4. See a painting“Le Sacre de Napoléon” by Jacques-Louis David, at the Louvre.Martin Bureau/Agence France-Presse — Getty ImagesSince you’re already in Paris to see that horse, stop by the Louvre for one of Jacques-Louis David’s masterworks: “Le Sacre de Napoléon” (1807).At a massive 33 by 20 feet, and packed with historical characters, the painting depicts the moment in 1804 when Napoleon, in the presence of the Pope, crowned himself emperor at Notre Dame.5. Read a novelIn Leo Tolstoy’s masterpiece “War and Peace,” Napoleon not only preoccupies the minds of the Russian characters as his Grande Armée bears down on Moscow, but he also appears as a major character himself. Far from a stock figure, he is a fully realized person in the novel, displaying egotism, anger and a liking for snuff.Don’t be put off that upon its release in 1886, The Times panned it.If that famously thick book is too much, there are several film versions. Herbert Lom plays Napoleon in a 1956 Hollywood film starring Audrey Hepburn and Henry Fonda. And Prokofiev wrote an opera that was last seen at the Met in 2008, but is readily available on streaming services.Napoleon’s towering influence on his era means he looms over many other novels, including William Thackeray’s “Vanity Fair” and Stendhal’s “Le Rouge et le Noir.” And it is no coincidence that the pig who becomes a dictator in George Orwell’s “Animal Farm” is named Napoleon.6. See a silent filmWorking on the reconstruction of the Napoleon movie of 1927.Stephane De Sakutin/Agence France-Presse — Getty ImagesThere are many other films based on Napoleon’s life, but one of the classics was made 10 years before Ridley Scott was born. Of his 1927 silent epic “Napoléon,” the director Abel Gance boasted: “I have made a tangible effort toward a somewhat richer and more elevated form of cinema.”The film has innovations to spare: Wide-screen formatting, quick editing and hand-held camerawork all took big steps forward with its release. It can be found for viewing at home, but it also pops up in revival houses from time to time.7. Have a laughNapoleon, played by Terry Camilleri, struggled with bowling in “Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure.”AlamyNapoleon, with his distinctive (and usually ahistorical) mannerisms, turns up as a supporting character, or easy joke, in a wide range of films. Marlon Brando plays him in “Désirée” (1954) and Rod Steiger in “Waterloo” (1970).His appearance in the time-travel comedy “Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure” (1989) is a lot lighter: Terry Camilleri’s Napoleon, collected from a battlefield and thrust into 1980s Southern California, bowls, devours ice cream and enjoys a waterslide at a park called (what else?) Waterloo.8. Play a gameHistory buffs can reshape the world in the long-running computer game Civilization. (“There may not be a game franchise I have enjoyed more consistently over the last two decades than Civilization,” the Times reviewer Seth Schiesel wrote in 2010.)Napoleon appears only as a general in the latest iteration, Civilization VI, but in Civilization V, he leads the French forces. Here’s a chance to finally win the Battle of Waterloo and maybe conquer the world.9. Watch a cartoonIn the Bugs Bunny short “Napoleon Bunny-Part” (1956), Bugs encounters Napoleon and quickly infuriates the easily infuriated caricature, as only Bugs Bunny can, while narrowly eluding the guillotine. A highlight is when he disguises himself as Josephine and rather easily fools the little general. “What’s up, Nappy?”10. Eat dessertA mille-feuille at the West Village restaurant Noortwyck.Karsten Moran for The New York TimesAfter all the tomes, films and traveling, reward yourself. You could make a delicious mille-feuille, the puff pastry with cream, using the New York Times recipe. Or just buy one at the namesake pâtisserie Mille-Feuille on LaGuardia Place in Greenwich Village.Oh, yes — the mille-feuille is commonly known as a Napoleon. Bon appétit, mon général. More