I spent the beginning of the summer after graduation putting on a brave face for my parents—as I am sure they were doing for me—and drinking cheap wine with my friends. As those June days dragged on and my friends began to leave home one after another, I realized just what a momentous transition I was about to endure. That is precisely when the beautifully discordant, haunting, and melodic “Franks Wild Years” found me.
Everyone thinks that Crimson Arts is some super cool conglomerate of people with great taste and better haircuts. However, this is not the case. Some really uncool stuff has happened over the last year and I feel that I am perfectly situated to blow the whistle on these lapses in Arts’ hip persona.
All men wish they could be Humphrey Bogart—the type of man that ladies swoon over, who can walk away from the beautiful female lead without ever looking back, leaving her with only memories of amorous adventures in exotic locales and one unforgettable parting line.
Through a conversation that often feels like a duel between a seasoned field operative and a young up-and-coming agent, “The Farm” brilliantly explores the emotional cost and moral ambiguities faced by the members of America’s intelligence community.
Through a beautifully visual piece of theatre that incorporates dance and performance art into the show, Radulian expresses the longing and loneliness that is at the heart of the human experience and the desperate action one man will take to stave off this inevitability.
In 1958, a young, soon-to-be Boston University dropout named Joan Baez played her first live show. It was at a venue called Club 47 just outside of Harvard Square, and only eight people were in attendance.