Blood Wedding at Khaos Company Theatre

I compliment Khaos Company Theatre and director Anthony Nathan for having the originality and courage to choose such a rarely produced piece, but unfortunately, its execution was woefully inadequate.
The set relied on a series of sheets which barely masked the backstage space, and when backlit, provided a bit of a tease as the cast’s silhouettes undressed. There was no lighting except for a single work light and a digital projector, used to clumsily project various images over the cast throughout the performance. These projections were never very effective, ranging from flowers to a bunch of pictures of sad models and skulls which would not be out of place on a thirteen-year-old emo girl’s English Lit. binder.
The scene transitions were awkward to non-existent; the first act ended with the cast standing in tableau looking like deer staring down an oncoming semi then abruptly scattering off stage. What’s more, Frederico Garcia Lorca’s poetry and peasant songs became out of place song breaks, particularly during the wedding party, at which point it started to feel like Seven Brides for Seven Brothers had forced itself upon the play.
The costumes might have been attempts at period clothing, but it was difficult to discern. They also suffered from repeated wing difficulty. First, in an inspired choice, Nathan combined the group of woodcutters commenting on the events of the play into a single mad prophet, but his fairy wings repeatedly poked at the poor woman seated next to his exit. The incarnation of the moon wore a cape she repeatedly held up like Batman wings, which eventually left the gentleman beside me reaching out to politely pull one side so as not to block his view entirely. The incarnation of death completely abandoned the playwright’s original notion of appearing as a morbid beggar, draped instead in black lace from head to toe.
The cast itself could never seem to deliver any plausible performances, but I think Todd Crickmore as the Father of the Bride could have probably offered up a pretty good interpretation had he not been stuck with his Frito Bandito accent and the role of conducting the mid-play hoedown.
Finally, and most importantly, the first murder, as the result of a clunkily choreographed knife fight, was actually shown instead of only heard off stage as originally scripted. The playing space was practically in the laps of the audience, and though the actors doing the stage combat were pretty slow about it, I am still somewhat concerned about the safety of this production.

At The Age of Adaline Premiere, It Was All Eyes on Blake Lively

"Imagine what it must be like if everywhere you went, ever, it was like it was your wedding,” I commented to one of my colleagues last night, at the after-party for the premiere of The Age of Adaline, as we watched Blake Livelypose for a scrum of about 15 photographers at the entrance to the Metropolitan Club. Lively, the film’s star, had just arrived, minutes before 11 P.M. and about an hour and a half after the party had started. Of course, the party hadn’t really started at all, though, as everyone had been, more or less, waiting for Lively’s arrival, gathered in small groups by the front door, pretending to focus on what their friends were saying while regularly glancing up at the door. And when she did finally enter, there was no pretense of “playing it cool,” as men, women, and children—all dressed in wedding-formal attire—craned and reached their phones into the air, gathered to snare a snap of the 27-year-old, who presumably is used to causing this sort of traffic pile-up by her mere presence at this point.
The scene inside the Metropolitan Club—located right off of the southeast corner of Central Park—resembled that of a Disney theme park re-creation of a Gatsby party. A live jazz band performed as teenagers flitted about in tuxes. Champagne flutes were handed out as ushers chastised guests who dared place empty plates on reserved tables. There was a shrine of sorts comprised of framed pictures of Adaline, Lively’s character in the movie, surrounded by candles. Lively was the bride, the birthday girl, the guest of honor. She was at all times surrounded by a mass of at least 10 to 20 people, all clearly waiting for a selfie, a hug, or a conversation. (We watched as two young men gleefully bounced away from Lively post-selfie, as though they had just dismounted from a roller coaster.) When Lively was finally able to sit down at her table, about an hour after arriving, she had the countenance of a middle schooler who had just finished his math homework so he could now play video games.
Lively—who, to the premiere itself, wore a red “leather and lace” Monique Lhuillier dress (which she dubbed “emoji chic” on her Instagram account, in reference to the salsa-dancer emoji) (that salsa-dancer emoji has an excellent publicist, no?)—changed for the after-party, into a ensemble made up of a sheer star-patterned one-piece with a black coat draped over it. She looked like the most glamorous resident from the year 2078, joining us in 2015 for a night. Neither husband Ryan Reynolds nor daughter James were present at the premiere or after-party (though Reynolds chimed in via Twitter, commenting, in the semi-saucy Reynolds social-media tradition, on a picture of Lively and Adaline co-star Michiel Huisman). Lively was joined at the premiere by her mother, Elaine, and brother Eric, as well as by Gossip Girl co-stars Kelly Rutherford (Lily!) and Zuzanna Szadkowski(Dorota!), in addition to Anna Wintour, Lindsey Vonn, Lena Hall, and the Brant brothers. For one brief moment, when I noticed Rutherford clutching her chest, in apparent pride, on her way out of the premiere, it was possible to imagine the whole night was a Gossip Girl epilogue, that Serena van der Woodsen’s fame had only ascended since we had last checked in with her, that Lily was bowled over by the sheer hugeness of her daughter’s life (Anna Wintour at her movie premiere!?) and Blair Waldorf—estranged from Serena for years, at this point—had sent Dorota as a spy of sorts, to keep her abreast of every last hors d’oeuvre, well-wisher, and paparazzo Serena might encounter.

Giuliana Rancic Will Return To 'Fashion Police,' Plus What She Has To Say About Kelly Osbourne

Though things have been a bit rough for the E! star, Giuliana Rancic is returning to Fashion Police. The E! News anchor and red carpet guru spoke with Access Hollywood Live today about the future of the show and her place on it. Not only did the style maven reveal the return, but she also spoke about her private interactions with former co-star Kelly Osbourne.
Earlier this year, Rancic underwent some major criticism after the 2015 Oscars Red Carpet. In a criticism of Zendaya’s look, the anchor and host stated that the star looked as if, “she smells like patchouli oil… or maybe weed.” The comments were definitely insensitive to the women of color with natural hair and showed a true and deep misunderstanding of traditional hairstyles for these women. Since then, Rancic has issued a seemingly heartfelt apology, but it didn’t seem to do her a ton of good with her co-stars. Kelly Osbourne andKathy Griffin both ended up leaving Fashion Police following the incident and had their fair share of criticism for Rancic.
The star, however, doesn’t seem like she’s going to meekly continue her gig on Fashion Police. Of the controversy and her return, Rancic states, “I think more than ever, [Fashion Police] is definitely coming back, because [the controversy] shows that a lot of people were watching the show and enjoyed the show…So yeah, it’s coming back in September, in time for the Emmys.” Though Rancic and Brad Goreski are both set to return, two seats will still need to be filled for Griffin and Osbourne. Osbourne’s departure from the show is notable because of her very public reaction to the controversy and statements about her co-host. Of their relationship, Rancic explains that Kelly reached out to her after the comments as a friend. Later, however, Osbourne spoke with the press, harshly criticizing Rancic and sent out some very vague but harsh tweets. Guiliana, however, had no explanation for Kelly’s statements to the press or comments on twitter.
Regardless of Rancic and Osbourne’s personal relationship and in defiance of the criticism, the show will go on. Whether or not the series will continue to be a success is yet to be seen, but I do applaud Rancic for facing her critics head on.

Great Moments in Dandyism, From Brummel to Kanye

Long before menswear was preceded by a hashtag, fire alphets took social media by storm, or Four Pins was a gleam in anyone's eye, men cared a lot about their clothes. At least fops, dandies, and macaronis — historians' terms for different tribes of fashion-focused men — certainly did.
A name that's still synonymous with dandyism is Beau Brummel, the 19th-century British gentleman of society who spent a mere five hours putting together his outfit every day. Brummel, explains Valerie Steele, director and chief curator at the Museum at FIT, "was known for wearing very simple navy jackets; really impeccable, clean white linen; a carefully tied cravat — things like that, but very much focusing on tailoring, cleanliness, simplicity, which is really the beginning of the new movement in menswear away from decoration and color and adornment and toward sobriety and a focus on tailoring and fine material. So the rise of the dandy is really associated with the rise of the gentleman and is sometimes called the ‘great masculine renunciation’ of giving up fancy clothes." Cartoonists like George Cruikshank loved nothing more than to poke fun at the burgeoning fashion movement, "depicting [dandies] being laced into corsetry so tight they fainted."
While England, Brummel's home turf, was initially where the dandy came into being, the style soon spread to France, with poet Charles Baudelaire numbering among the many wearers of the look. "With Baudelaire, you see the beginning of the idea of black as being associated with what the dandies are wearing," explains Steele. "Brummel wasn’t wearing black clothes, but Baudelaire was wearing all black and was very much about a less-is-more look, a new aristocratic style that was very sober and refined as opposed to being highly decorative. It wasn’t about being an old-style aristocrat, but a new kind of aristocracy of the mind." For Baudelaire and his ilk, the goal was to be "not an old-school aristocrat but also not a money-grubbing bourgeois — in simpler terms, the equivalent of a hipster now. It had nothing whatsoever to do with being over-dressed or fancifully dressed, but, on the contrary, a very kind of minimal and austere look. And an attitude of coolness or hipness."
Steele cites the writer Jules Amédée Barbey d’Aurevilly, who defined the style in 1859, writing “the dandy is the black prince of elegance ... indifferent to the horse he mounts, to the women that he greets, to the man that he approaches, and to whom he stares for a moment before acknowledging him and wearing written on his forehead in English this insolent inscription ‘what is there in common between you and me?’" (Steele points out that since this was a French writer, the reference to an English inscription indicates snobbery.) There is, she says, "this idea that the dandy is distinguishing himself from other people. There’s this kind of arrogance, boredom, and the idea that he’s really only interested in judging himself, and he doesn’t admit that anyone has the right to judge him."
As the dandy evolved, notables like Oscar Wilde became associated with the style. "At first he was more foppish with his aesthetic style," Steele notes, with "pseudo-18th-century breeches and long hair and ruffled collars, but then he gives all that up and goes into a much more hypermasculine [mode], with a dark suit. That’s where the dandy becomes associated with homosexuality. The idea that it’s a masquerade of masculinity but it’s done just a little bit too well. The dandy [became] a very important queer archetype, but that really emerges in Oscar Wilde’s era, around the late 19th century."
Today plenty of men own up to considering themselves modern-day dandies, but the concept goes far beyond just being well-dressed. Rather, it's an ethos of self-presentation. "I've always loved the term," says Chris Benz, the creative director of Bill Blass. "When you want to feel a little outrageous, and menswear can be a little more subtle. It's an easy platform to just be like, 'Oh, I'm doing a little dandy moment.'" Street-style star Nick Wooster is a tad more nonchalant, saying, "My style is 'whatever's closest.' I just get dressed; I can't describe it. Peaky Blinders meets Miss Selfridge. A little masculine and a little feminine. I think that's an okay place to be." And Waris Ahluwalia, the jewelry designer who's known for his louche take on the look — think a shirt unbuttoned well past the breastbone — sums up the appeal of the lifestyle as follows: "The hope is that if one looks like a gentleman, one may be inclined to behave like a gentleman."
Today the notion of men dressing well has become increasingly disentangled from sexuality. Johnny Weir, with his elaborate headgear, takes the dandy look to decorative, Liberace-esque extremes, but Kanye West also has dandy influences, favoring dramatic, Baudelaire-worthy black cape coats, crisp monochrome white getups, and, of course, the occasional Céline blouse. As for whether it takes him a Brummel-esque five hours to get ready, only his mirror knows for sure.