In May 1941, Stalin was warned that the Germans were about to invade the Soviet Union. As it happens, the warning came from a man who was—how to put this fairly?—a liar and a drunkard, a philanderer and a smell-smock, a gambler and, in truth, a world-class crackpot. He was also possibly the greatest spy who ever lived, and Stalin’s refusal to believe him lasted only about a month. On June 22, the Nazis poured 14 panzer divisions across the Russian border.
Subtlety is, perhaps, an overrated quality in art—give people enough room to interpret and they’re liable to come up with any goofy thing—but there’s still something to be said for trusting your audience to intuit what you’re up to rather than simply telling them.
The Shakespeare Theatre in Washington, D.C., just closed its production of Richard III this week—but not before opening it to a host of revisions intended to promote the tragedy’s “parallels to the contemporary moment.”
Does Henrik Ibsen still matter? Does the man still count? In any number of ways, the question is absurd, of course. From the strange fantasy of his 1867 Peer Gynt to the grim neurosis of his 1890 Hedda Gabler, the 19th-century Norwegian playwright is as famous as a modern dramatist can be.
Triple Frontier, out on Netflix now, asks of its characters, and of us, a simple question: Is it okay—just, even—to profit from immoral actions if they are undertaken for moral reasons?
A German town is patting itself on the back for rescuing a fat rat that was stuck in a manhole.
The crypto-currency advocacy group the Chamber of Digital Commerce has asked the U.S. government to outline a plan for designing and protecting blockchain industries in the United States.
This is the future the liberals want: you get your first sex change at age 9. You can vote (for the socialists, naturally) at age 16. But you can’t smoke a cigarette until you’re 21.
John Ronald Reuel Tolkien’s fantasy world Middle-earth had been decades in the making before The Hobbit was published in 1937. An orphan by age 12, Tolkien cradled a pure, child-like imagination his whole life. He began creating the language of his Elves when he was a teenager, he illustrated fantasy worlds in striking watercolor paintings that would influence his vision for Middle-earth’s landscapes, and he began writing lore for the nascent world in a unique, arabesque script that closely resembled that of his deceased mother. Until May 12, these manuscripts, paintings, and other personal items of the author are on view at the Morgan Library in New York City, in its captivating exhibit “Tolkien: Maker of Middle-earth.” It has drawn crowds of fans eager to see the genesis of The Lord of the Rings—last century’s most influential and beloved fantasy series described by Tolkien’s friend C.S. Lewis as “a lightning bolt from a clear sky.”
Paul Le Roux was basically a spammer. A guy who flooded computers with unsolicited email and shady websites offering to treat hair loss, migraine headaches, and erectile dysfunction. Tired of standing in line at pharmacies? Tired of sitting in doctors’ offices? Get the meds YOU WANT online! Online. That was the key. Jeff Bezos saw it and built Amazon. Paul Le Roux saw it and went to jail.
