Entertainment
Review: Matthew Bourne shifts 'Romeo and Juliet' into an asylum for maximum menace
Choreographer Matthew Bourne transposes Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet” to an asylum for young people. Ostensibly disturbed, the inhabitants of the Verona Institute seem normal enough, if perhaps understandably forlorn for having been discarded by parents who didn’t want to deal with their challenges.
The youngsters sulk, stomp and scamper, pull pranks and horse around. Eluding authority is a game — a dangerous one. They are united in their experience of oppression and their longing for justice, as seen in the way they quickly come to one another’s defense.
In short, they’re like adolescents anywhere, wild at heart and vulnerable beyond their comprehension. At the mercy of their hormones, they find that doing what comes naturally only makes the adults clamp down on them harder.
Rory MacLeod and Monique Jonas in “Matthew Bourne’s Romeo and Juliet.”
(Johan Persson)
“Romeo and Juliet,” which had its North American premiere on Wednesday at the Ahmanson Theatre, combines the brooding sexual melancholy of “Spring Awakening” and the nuthouse authoritarianism of “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.” Bourne, as he did to memorable effect in his version of “Swan Lake,” reworks a classic story for maximum menace. Sergei Prokofiev’s score encourages the twisted turns and foreboding touches of Bourne’s imagination.
The set and costumes by Lez Brotherston create a blizzard of institutional white. Tiled walls with built-in ladders conjure an ominous gymnasium, where accidents are meant to happen. An upper level walkway serves as a balcony but worryingly offers itself up as a suicide perch.
Prison bars make clear that freedom is limited and conditional. Participation in the daily routine — morning calisthenics, medical check-ins, recreational hour — isn’t optional. The residents here are inmates, their lives controlled by a medical staff whose orders are enforced by guards.
From left: Richard Winsor, Paris Fitzpatrick, Danny Reubens, Euan Garrett, Rory MacLeod and Cordelia Braithwaite in “Matthew Bourne’s Romeo and Juliet.”
(Johan Persson)
Romeo is dropped off by his parents, who seem eager to relinquish all responsibility for their troubled boy. Father and mother act like demagogue politicians, waving at crowds from balconies while relieving themselves of the burden of their impossible son. (The youth in this adaptation are victims of a nonchalant fascism rather than a blood feud.)
Dressed at first in preppy clothes, Romeo (Paris Fitzpatrick at the reviewed performance) is initiated by a group of resident boys before even his paperwork is completed. They strip him, leaving him shivering in his skivvies before donning him in the institute’s requisite ghostly attire.
Romeo has no choice but to play along. The exposure of his flesh embarrasses him. But he’s being welcomed into a band of Lost Boys, gay and straight alike, who find solidarity in their state of rejection.
The scene pulses with athletic jocularity, good-spirited fun with an edge of danger. The earlier ensemble dance sequences laying out the rituals of the Verona Institute are a bit muddled. Bourne’s choreography here is more striking in smaller groupings.
Monique Jonas in “Matthew Bourne’s Romeo and Juliet.”
(Johan Persson)
Juliet (performed by Monique Jonas on opening night) immediately seizes his attention. Unfortunately, she’s already activated the predatory interest of Tybalt (Adam Galbraith assumed the role on Wednesday), a Bluto-like guard with an unsavory interest in underage girls.
Shakespeare’s tragedy is rearranged in a way that rebuffs careful inspection. When Bourne clarifies his story line, the production turns melodramatic, cheesily so on occasion. Villainous Tybalt is a pantomime baddie. Rev. Bernadette Laurence (Daisy May Kemp had the honors at opening night), a go-between for the young lovers, is a hapless goodie.
Best to relieve yourself of textual worries and bask in the fraught lyricism. The balcony scene, following a soiree at the institute designed to let the residents dress up and blow off some steam, is moodily reimagined. If the moment-to-moment meaning of the scene sometimes requires guesswork, the love story at the heart of the tale is achingly clear.
Monique Jonas and Rory Macleod in “Matthew Bourne’s Romeo and Juliet.”
(Johan Persson)
Romeo and Juliet are conquered by their mutual ardor, writhing in a pleasure that in the absence of the beloved turns immediately into pain. Desire is borne by them like an affliction.
The somber intensity of romance brings out the best of Bourne. The dancers droop and drag when they’re alone, anxiously turning in on themselves as though they might like to disappear entirely. Reunited, they are restored to life, magnetized into ecstasy, determined to do everything humanly possible to merge into a single organism.
Although they are young, time isn’t on their side, so they race to catch a fleeting glimpse of what is too pure to endure. Bodies contort into poetry. Fitzpatrick and Jonas bring emotional grace to Romeo and Juliet’s ruin. The revised ending narrows the tragedy. Shakespeare knew better, but a sizable portion of the pathos is renewed in Bourne’s vocabulary of stylized torment.
‘Matthew Bourne’s Romeo and Juliet’
Where: Ahmanson Theatre, 135 N. Grand Ave., L.A.
When: 8 p.m. Tuesdays-Fridays, 2 and 8 p.m. Saturdays, 1 and 6:30 p.m. Sundays. (Check for exceptions.) Ends Feb. 25.
Tickets: Start at $35
Information: (213) 628-2772 or CenterTheatreGroup.org
Running time: 2 hours, including intermission
Entertainment
Ulysses Jenkins, Los Angeles artist and pioneer of Black experimental video, dies at 79
Ulysses Jenkins, the pioneering Los Angeles-born video artist whose avant-garde compositions embodied Black experimentalism, has died. He was 79.
Jenkins’ death was confirmed by his alma mater Otis College, where he studied under renowned painter and printmaker Charles White in the late 1970s and returned as an instructor years later. The Los Angeles art and design school shared a statement from the Charles White Archive, which said, “Jenkins had a profound impact on contemporary art and media practices.”
“A trailblazing figure in Black experimental video, he was widely recognized for works that used image, sound, and cultural iconography to examine representation, race, gender, ritual, history, and power,” the statement said.
A self-proclaimed “griot,” Jenkins throughout his decades-spanning career maintained an art practice grounded in the tradition of those West African oral historians who came before him. Through archival documentaries like “The Nomadics” and surrealist murals like “1848: Bandaide,” he leveraged alternative media to challenge Eurocentric representations of Black Americans in popular culture.
He was both an artist and a storyteller who sought to “reassert the history and the culture,” he told The Times in 2022. That year, the Hammer Museum presented Jenkins’ first major retrospective, “Ulysses Jenkins: Without Your Interpretation.”
“Early video art was about the problems with the media that we are still having today: the notions of truth,” Jenkins said. “To that extent, early video art was a construct that was anti-media … a critical analysis of the media that we were viewing every night.”
Born in 1946 to Los Angeles transplants from the South, Jenkins was ambivalent about the city, which offered his parents some refuge from the blatant systemic racism they encountered in their hometowns, but housed an entertainment industry that had long perpetuated anti-Black sentiment.
“What Hollywood represents, especially in my work, is the classic plantation mentality,” Jenkins told The Times in 1986. “Although people aren’t necessarily enslaved by it, people enslave themselves to it because they’re told how fantastic it is to help manifest these illusions for a corporate sponsor.”
Jenkins, who participated in a group of artists committed to spontaneous action called Studio Z, was naturally drawn to video art over Hollywood filmmaking. “I can address any issue and I don’t have to wait for [the studios’] big OK. I thought this was a land of freedom, and video allows me that freedom and opportunity that I can create for myself and at least feel that part of being an American,” he said.
Jenkins went on to deconstruct Hollywood’s vision of the Black diaspora in experimental video compositions including “Mass of Images,” which incorporates clips from D.W. Griffith’s notoriously racist “The Birth of a Nation,” and “Two-Tone Transfer,” which depicts, in Jenkins’ words, a “dreamscape in which the dreamer awakens to a visitation of three minstrels who tell the story of the development of African American stereotypes in the American entertainment industry.”
Jenkins’ legacy is not only artistic but institutional, with the luminary having held teaching appointments at UCSD and UCI, where he co-founded the digital filmmaking minor with fellow Southern California-based artists Bruce Yonemoto and Bryan Jackson.
As artist and educator Suzanne Lacy penned in her social media tribute to Jenkins, which showed him speaking to students at REDCAT in L.A., “he has been an important part of our histories here in Southern California as video and performance artists evolved their practices.”
Movie Reviews
Review | Hoppers: Pixar’s new animation is a hilarious, heartfelt animal Avatar
4/5 stars
Bounding into cinemas just in time for spring, the latest Pixar animation is a pleasingly charming tale of man vs nature, with a bit of crazy robot tech thrown in.
The star of Hoppers is Mabel Tanaka (voiced by Piper Curda), a young animal-lover leading a one-girl protest over a freeway being built through the tranquil countryside near her hometown of Beaverton.
Because the freeway is the pet project of the town’s popular mayor, Jerry (Jon Hamm), who is vying for re-election, Mabel’s protests fall on deaf ears.
Everything changes when she stumbles upon top-secret research by her biology professor, Dr Sam Fairfax (Kathy Najimy), that allows for the human consciousness to be linked to robotic animals. This lets users get up close and personal with other species.
Entertainment
Kurt Cobain’s Fender, Beatles drum head among $1-billion collection going to auction
In the summer of 1991, Nirvana filmed the music video for “Smells Like Teen Spirit” on a Culver City sound stage. Kurt Cobain strummed the grunge anthem’s iconic four-chord opening riff on a 1969 Fender Mustang, Lake Placid Blue with a signature racing stripe.
Nearly 35 years later, the six-string relic hung on a gallery wall at Christie’s in Beverly Hills as part of a display of late billionaire businessman Jim Irsay’s world-renowned guitar collection, which heads to auction at Christie’s, New York, beginning Tuesday. Each piece in the Beverly Hills gallery, illuminated by an arched spotlight and flanked by a label chronicling its history, carried the aura of a Renaissance painting.
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Irsay’s billion-dollar guitar arsenal, crowned “The Greatest Guitar Collection on Earth” by Guitar World magazine, is the focal point of the Christie’s auction, which has split approximately 400 objects — about half of which are guitars — into four segments: the “Hall of Fame” group of anchor items, the “Icons of Pop Culture” class of miscellaneous memorabilia, the “Icons of Music” mixed batch of electric and acoustic guitars and an online segment that compiles the remainder of Irsay’s collection. The online sale, featuring various autographed items, smaller instruments and historical documents, features the items at the lowest price points.
A portion of auction proceeds will be donated to charities that Irsay supported during his lifetime.
The instruments of famous musicians have long been coveted collector’s items. But in the case of the Jim Irsay Collection, the handcrafted six-strings have acquired a more ephemeral quality in the eyes of their admirers.
Amelia Walker, the specialist head of private and iconic collections at Christie’s, said at the recent highlight exhibition in L.A. that the auction represents “a real moment where these [objects] are being elevated beyond what we traditionally call memorabilia” into artistic masterpieces.
“They deserve the kind of the pedestal that we give to art as well,” Walker said. “Because they are not only works of art in terms of their creation, but what they have created, what their owners have created with them — it’s the purest form of art.”
Cobain’s Fender was only one of the music history treasures nestled in Christie’s gallery. A few paces away, Jerry Garcia’s “Budman” amplifier, once part of the Grateful Dead’s three-story high “Wall of Sound,” perched atop a podium. Just past it lay the Beatles logo drum head (estimated between $1 million and $2 million) used for the band’s debut appearance on “The Ed Sullivan Show,” which garnered a historic 73 million viewers and catalyzed the British Invasion. Pencil lines were still visible beneath the logo’s signature “drop T.”
Pencil lines are still visible on the drum head Ringo Starr played during the Beatles’ debut appearance on “The Ed Sullivan Show.”
(Christie’s Images LTD, 2026)
It is exceptionally rare for even one such artifact to go to market, let alone a billion-dollar group of them at once, Walker said. But a public sale enabling many to participate and demonstrate the “true market value” of these objects is what Irsay would have wanted, she added.
Dropping tens of millions of dollars on pop culture memorabilia may seem an odd hobby for an NFL general manager, yet Irsay viewed collecting much like he viewed leading the Indianapolis Colts.
Irsay, the youngest NFL general manager in history, said in a 2014 Colts Media interview that watching and emulating the legendary NFL owners who came before him “really taught me to be a steward.”
“Ownership is a great responsibility. You can’t buy respect,” he said. “Respect only comes from you being a steward.”
The first major acquisition in Irsay’s collection came in 2001, with his $2.4-million purchase of the original 120-foot scroll for Jack Kerouac’s 1957 novel, “On the Road.” He loved the book and wanted to preserve it, Walker said. But he also frequently lent it out, just like he regularly toured his guitar collection beginning 20 years later.
Jim Irsay purchased the original 120-foot scroll manuscript of Jack Kerouac’s “On the Road” for $2.4 million in 2001.
(Christie’s Images)
“He said publicly, ‘I’m not the owner of these things. I’m just that current custodian looking after them for future generations,’ ” Walker said. “And I think that’s what true collectors always say.”
At its L.A. highlight exhibition, Irsay’s collection held an air of synchronicity. Paul McCartney’s handwritten lyrics for “Hey Jude” hung just a few steps from a promotional poster — the only one in existence — for the 1959 concert Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and J.P. “The Big Bopper” Richardson were en route to perform when their plane crashed. The tragedy spurred Don McLean to write “American Pie,” about “the day the music died.”
Holly was McCartney’s “great inspiration,” Christie’s specialist Zita Gibson said. “So everything connects.”
Later, the Beatles’ 1966 song “Paperback Writer” played over the speakers near-parallel to the guitars the song was written on.
Irsay’s collection also contains a bit of whimsy, with gems like a prop golden ticket from 1971’s “Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory” — estimated between $60,000 and $120,000 — and reading, “In your wildest dreams you could not imagine the marvelous surprises that await you!”
Another fan-favorite is the “Wilson” volleyball from 2000’s “Cast Away,” starring Tom Hanks, estimated between $60,000 and $80,000, Gibson said.
Historically, such objects were often preserved by accident. But as the memorabilia market has ballooned over the last decade or so, Gibson said, “a lot of artists are much more careful about making sure that things don’t get into the wrong hands. After rehearsals, they tidy up after themselves.”
If anything proves the market value of seemingly worthless ephemera, Walker added, it’s fans clawing for printed set lists at the end of a concert.
“They’re desperate for that connection. This is what it’s all about,” the specialist said. It’s what drove Irsay as well, she said: “He wanted to have a connection with these great artists of his generation and also the generation above him. And he wanted to share them with people.”
In Irsay’s home, his favorite guitars weren’t hung like classic paintings. Instead, they were strewn about the rooms he frequented, available for him to play whenever the urge struck him.
Thanks to tune-up efforts from Walker, many of the guitars headed to auction are fully operational in the hopes that their buyers can do the same.
“They’re working instruments. They need to be looked after, to be played,” Walker said. And even though they make for great gallery art, “they’re not just for hanging on the wall.”
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