Ivy Buck: How did the idea to make HARK! come about? 

Akasha Brahmbhatt: [In the winter] we all registered for Devising Theatre (THST 355), and we [the registered students] went in with the understanding that whatever came out of it would be the mainstage production. THST 355 has an open-ended schedule; we knew we would have show dates in April, and we knew the theme would be the environment or climate change, and we knew we would be the people to write, perform and design the play. But we didn’t know exactly what “HARK!” would look like. We started with various assignments and skits that we would write and eventually perform –– sometimes they would be only a few minutes long, sometimes it would be a movement piece [or] sometimes it would be a game.

Buck: What was the experience like of creating a show with all ages in mind? 

AB: This was something I had never done before, but it was really interesting because I got to tap into my inner child and remember the performances that I enjoyed as a kid, but most importantly decide what messages we wanted to send out into the world––especially in this day and age. There was a lot of pressure, but we did some workshops with the WCCC (Wellesley Community Children’s Center) and Wellesley Elementary School. 

Buck: Yes! I heard you got to perform in a school… 

AB: Yeah! We workshopped some of our pieces [for “HARK!”] there, and it was very formative; the kids were super responsive to what we had. We developed a song that framed the show, with the message “do I want to go outside?” and “what can I explore outside?” More of a question, than a statement, so it would hopefully spark some inspiration [amongst the kids.]

Buck: As an actor who has had previous experience doing scenic design for WCT, how did you envision this for “HARK”? 

AB: I got my inspiration from the Kennedy Center’s American College Theatre Festival in January. Actually…I was looking around the other students’ props and set poster boards, and one person’s props were made entirely out of cardboard. I was really inspired by that and brought the idea back to Wellesley. As we were developing the show, I thought it would be really cool to use recycled materials, and try to build a world as we build our show together. We got a bunch of cardboard from the dumpster and from each others’ delivered packages, and a lot of our set ended up being constructed from that cardboard. Throughout the process, when we were developing a narrative around a tree and rebuilding something as a community, we thought about rebuilding a tree in the center of our stage. We constructed boxes [to eventually form the tree] and as the show progresses, our props fill these boxes to create a “patchwork quilt” situation at the end. 

Buck: As you approach graduation, how do you think this experience of acting, producing and set-designing all at once will serve your future interests? 

AB: As someone who would love to have a career doing something creative, this has been a more valuable experience to conclude my Wellesley College Theatre education than a traditional scripted play, because I got to tap into all of my [theatrical] training. To create something from scratch is really incredible, it was a feeling I will take with me no matter what career I have or what I do after Wellesley. It’s been awesome to see all of these skills come together to create something out of nothing, with primarily a six-person team. It’s really inspiring! 

Buck: Describe “HARK” in five words or less…

AB: Hilarious. Adventure. Really. Killer. Exclamation point!

“The White Lotus” is one of HBO’s biggest hits and Emmy nomination-earners, and after originally being greenlit for a miniseries run in 2020, it blossomed into a multi-season anthology series. Self-described as a “black comedy drama,” “The White Lotus” packs each seasons’ respective figures into the resort at the chosen vacation destination, and lets them run wild. Over the years, we’ve seen under-the-counter drug deals in Hawaii, Jennifer Coolidge falling overboard in Italy (“these gays, they’re trying to murder me!”) and apparently now, a weed-addled Rick, played by Walton Goggins, setting a plethora of venomous snakes loose in Thailand. 

Each episode escalates the rising tension between wealthy guests at the White Lotus resorts. As the story progresses, we learn that each “group” of guests has more in common with each other than meets the eye, and eventually we become privy to dark secrets, class inequality and immorality abounds. However, “The White Lotus” adopts an abnormally slow pace for a show averaging only eight episodes per season. This is its greatest skill, and also its greatest source of criticism from fans and reviewers alike. 

If what I saw on X in the weeks since the third season’s premiere of “The White Lotus” is anything to go by, fans are either bored with the creeping pace of the season so far, or frustrated with said bored people for not understanding how the show “works.” “Nothing happened this episode,” read a post in response to the newly-released third episode. “Average White Lotus episode,” read another. “Each character has their own conflicts and we’re seeing this develop,” responded someone else. “What are [you] expecting? This is the standard.” 

Television with sharp social commentary often produces such dividing lines; those eager to critically dissect each and every moment seethe at those who express their emotional reactions at face value. In the case of “The White Lotus,” both are valid: the show exists to absorb the viewer in its universe, and also push them to analyze what they’re seeing. The writing is so meticulously crafted that viewers often receive very little “action” to dissect, and analysis drifts to the minute details: a glance between two characters, a moment’s conversation, or telling body language. Will Belinda connect Greg to the death of his ex-wife, Tanya? Will Laurie confront Kate over her vote for Trump? Does Rick secretly despise Chelsea? (Don’t worry about not knowing each character. Each of them embodies an archetype of someone we probably know in our own lives, anyway). 

It takes far more than an episode –– maybe even an entire season –– to get an answer to any of these questions, and that is the ultimate test of “The White Lotus:” to see if we have the attention span to stick around. In an age where short-form TikTok content dominates attention spans and splices them in half, “The White Lotus” succeeds on its long-form subtlety, forcing viewers to pay attention if they want any sense of what’s going on. The pace may drag, but it also serves to build eerie anticipation –– for you, and for each character whose turning point lies just out of reach. 

Contact the editors responsible for this article: Norah Catlin, Anabelle Meyers 

It’s no secret that over the course of her nearly 20-year career, Lady Gaga has perfected the art of creating entire visionary universes for each of her albums. Fans (“Little Monsters”) danced underage in gay bars for “The Fame” and “The Fame Monster,” wrapped pride flags and medieval chains around shoulders for “Born This Way,” screamed in the face of unimpressed critics for “ARTPOP,” cried country tears for “Joanne,” boarded hot pink flights to outer space for “Chromatica,” and for “MAYHEM,” who knows? But if the “Abracadabra” video –– co-directed by Parris Goebel, Bethany Vargas, and Gaga herself –– gives us any hint, it’s to get a headstart on any and all caffeine consumption. 

Arguably the highest-energy club anthem Gaga has released in over a decade (except perhaps “Stupid Love” or “Rain on Me,” the releases of which were thwarted by the COVID-19 pandemic), “Abracadabra” is a nearly-monochromatic, vaguely-Catholic, and absolutely Camp dance battle to the death between the lightest and darkest parts of Gaga herself.

“Mayhem is utter chaos!” Gaga told Lotte Jeffs for her cover feature in Elle last month. “[It] just felt good to me. It sounds good. It breaks a lot of rules and has a lot of fun.” 

‘“Good”’ is perhaps an understatement, but ‘“chaos”’ hits the bullseye. Over the course of four and a half minutes, Gaga treats viewers strapped in for “Abracadabra” to choreography reminiscent of “Judas” and “Bad Romance”; 2010s Gaga classics which combine heavy beats, haunting and sometimes operatic vocals, and dance of the highest queer standard. Yet along with multiple homages to prior eras of her artistry, “Abracadabra” offers something new for newborn and ancient fans alike: an evolving and thriving Lady Gaga who is the happiest and healthiest she’s been in years. Newly married to Harvard-educated tech investor Michael Polansky, Gaga expressed in Elle her love for her current life, and to the music which surrounds and sustains it.

“I’m so grateful,” she said. “Because I found a sense of happiness and joy that is true to me. The chaos I thought was long gone is fully intact and ready to greet me whenever I’d like. Part of the message of [MAYHEM] is that your demons are with you in the beginning and they are with you in the end, and I don’t mean it in a bleak way. Maybe we can make friends sooner with this reality instead of running all the time.” 

The music video for MAYHEM’s lead single “Disease,” released in October 2024, saw Gaga sprinting away from several iterations of partially demonic Gaga clones. By the end, it’s unclear if she makes it out alive. In “Ab

racadabra” however, Gaga looks the “Lady in Red,” her alter ego, right in the eye. Leaning on her army of angel-esque bodies for support, the Gaga in “Abracadabra” is defiant to the end, yes, but also, perhaps a bit more brave. 

“MAYHEM” is set to release worldwide on March 7. Buckle up, Little Monsters.

Contact the editor responsible for this story: Norah Catlin 

In the 253 years since the Boston Massacre, political art has continued to have a large presence in the American public sphere. From Andy Warhol’s screen prints of the Birmingham Race Riots in 1964 to Tanekeya Word’s “We Were There. We Are Here. We Are In The Future.”–– a powerful defense of Black womens’ continuous but undercredited presence in the fight for equity in America –– art that responds to political injustice can often in-turn become a symbol for various movements seeking freedom from oppression. 

However, there is also value in turning towards any type of art –– strictly political or not –– during times of collective stress. In the hours, days, and now weeks since Donald Trump was announced to have won the 2024 Presidential Election, I have found myself with a reinvigorated desire to create art. At first, I wasn’t sure exactly why; in the depths of uncertainty and heartbreak I had expected to retreat into myself, as a possible defense against a political climate I am now terrified to exist within.

However, after the dust of seven red swing states and a shocking popular vote win began to settle –– though trust me, I’ll be reeling for quite a while –– the idea of creating something intentional with my hands became powerfully appealing. Not only can creating art ground oneself in the present moment, but it is a wholeheartedly radical act to continuously create, through whatever the medium may be, in a country where a majority of its voters currently support political agendas which seek to ban books, defund the arts and rewrite history. 

Of course, indulging in art for personal or political sake should be no substitute for political action which must, to some degree, operate at a level beyond the artistic. “White women, put down the knitting needles!” I heard someone on TikTok say in the days following the election, after scores of internet users took to their platforms to preach the importance of self-care and self-indulgence for those hurt by the election results. And I agree; turning towards art is not an excuse to become politically ignorant. But art is a tool and also a reprieve, to be used for both the political and personal. It is a privilege to have the ability to choose the latter, and often out of necessity we gravitate towards the former. Nonetheless, art has value during times of political chaos, even if just for a moment it clears the mind and brings inspiration, solace, or joy.

Heartbroken? Create. Angry? Create. Overjoyed? Create some more. Exhausted? Create slowly. Want to organize? Create with others. 

Create, create, create. 

Contact the editor responsible for this article: Norah Catlin

Crafted by cartoonist Johnny DiNapoli, viewers were greeted with a simple sketch of a piece of candy corn, looking at itself in the mirror. 

“Well, I like me”, read the caption. 

And if that didn’t almost bring me to tears. As Halloween comes and goes every year, conversation amongst celebrating areas of the world inevitably comes back to candy. 

Is it socially acceptable to not give out candy to trick-or-treaters? Are houses with king-sized candy bars inherently worthy of more clout? How about the rising prices of Halloween candy? I recently came across a Costo-sized box of large candy bars, priced at over one hundred dollars. No, thank you!

However, despite egregious prices for the more popular types of Halloween candy (Twix, Hershey, Reeses, Milky Way, etc.), it seems –– based on DiNapoli’s “New Yorker” cartoon –– that the most potent Halloween controversy may concern candy corn. Not that I ever remember receiving pieces of candy corn on Halloween, but during my childhood, my mom typically kept a bowl on the dining room table every October. Thanks to me, it would often disappear within days. 

I’ve heard complaints throughout the years that candy corn is flavorless, bad in texture, and simply an underperforming candy compared to all others. The candy corn in DiNapoli’s cartoon is not loved by many, but fear not! He can proudly hype himself up in the mirror. 

But should he have to do so? I don’t recall candy corn ever doing anything wrong: the flavor and texture are so consistent across brands (and trust me on this, I’ve tried many) that it feels almost nostalgic to encounter it each Halloween season. 

Is it the most flavorful? Not really. Does it sometimes seem outdated when we live in a world filled with endless flavors of M&Ms and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups? Maybe. But does it deserve enough hate to warrant a cartoon that makes you want to tear your heart out and give a hug to an anthropomorphized piece of candy corn? Absolutely not. I stand proudly on this hill! 

Candy corn was invented in the 1880s by candy confectioner George Renninger, and sir, please accept my sincerest thanks. Candy corn might not be the most popular Halloween treat –– it might even be the most disliked –– but it’s a pretty good sugar hit when you need one. And I, for one, am grateful for its humble and sweet existence. 

And yet, maybe that is what we need. When “Call Her Daddy” host Alex Cooper sat down with Harris in a Washington D.C. hotel in September –– the room decorated in imitation of Cooper’s real podcast set in Los Angeles –– Harris wasn’t there to give a traditional campaign stump speech. She was there with the intent to reach new ears; primarily those of women from all sides of the political spectrum, who tune in millions to “Call Her Daddy” every week for conversations typically devoid of political themes.

“I want ‘Call Her Daddy’ to be a place where everyone feels comfortable tuning in,” stated Cooper before introducing Harris to the episode, released on Oct. 6. “I do not usually discuss politics or have politicians on this show.” 

With a primarily-female listenership and an advertising statement fit perfectly to match (“the most-listened to podcast by women”), “Call Her Daddy” has become an outlet for Cooper to intimately discuss culture, sex and relationships with predominantly female guests. 

Those topics, of course, are political, but as Cooper explains, “Call Her Daddy” rarely if ever looks through a lens of partisan politics. But as Americans prepare for an election where the reproductive rights of millions of women hang on the line, Cooper’s podcast –– listened to by many of said women –– could provide a space to address those issues head-on. They’re already on the ballot. Why can’t they take up space in more ‘casual’ media outlets like podcasts, too?

Cooper’s interview with Harris was no hard-hitting accountability interview, and certainly not an endorsement, but it didn’t need to be. In the span of their time together, Cooper and Harris –– occasionally trading stories about their own mothers and important women in their lives –– created a substantial and highly relevant conversation about women’s rights, women’s safety and security, and the importance of voting for, rather than only against, something in 2024. 

As a presidential candidate, Harris appeals to women in the United States who value bodily autonomy, personal freedom, and the importance of, as she said, “lifting each other up.” Her commitment to restoring the protections once offered by Roe v. Wade, as well as newly-released policy plans aimed at supporting young families, single mothers, and small businesses, all attempt to fill a gap expanded primarily by former President Trump’s ultra-masculine brand of conservatism –– a brand whose policies and beliefs, Harris implies, are detrimental to women’s livelihoods. 

After telling Cooper the story of Amber Thurman, a young woman in Georgia who died in 2022 from blood poisoning after failing to secure a safe abortion in the restricted state, Harris stated candidly,

 “You know what that [the ability to secure an abortion only when the life of the mother is at risk] means, in practical terms? She’s almost dead before you decide to give her care.” 

It’s both a stunning and disturbing point, one which Harris has repeatedly told during recent weeks of campaigning. And more than that, it’s real. Even for listeners who have never needed (or wanted) to access reproductive care, we’ve all heard horror stories from family, friends, and yes, strangers on the internet. More than 25 million women nationwide live in states with partial or near-total abortion bans. Chances are, some of them tune in to “Call Her Daddy” each week, and regardless of their party affiliation or personal opinions about Kamala Harris, they might find some common ground with a woman who believes, in her own words, that “the government should not be telling [women] what to do.” 

Since “Call Her Daddy” hosted Kamala Harris, all three parties –– Cooper, Harris and the podcast itself –– have faced enormous backlash from fans and haters alike. Some denounced “Call Her Daddy” for hosting a politician at all, and some referred to the interview as a ‘joke’ –– a fluff piece for a female candidate who, apparently by virtue of being female, garners unconditional female support. 

Of course, we know that’s false. White female voters, straying away from Hillary Clinton, helped carry Trump to victory in 2016, and current polling shows Harris –– a Black and South Asian woman –– in nearly a dead-tie with Trump amongst that very same demographic. 

It was both strategic and smart for Harris to sit down and speak candidly on “Call Her Daddy”. Regardless of outrage over the presence of politics –– and female-centered politics at that –– on Cooper’s podcast, each listener got the opportunity to see Harris in a new light. It’s not the Harris campaign’s first attempt to engage with specific voting blocs, and it won’t be the last. 

For Harris, a politician through and through, “Call Her Daddy” might be, at first glance, an unconventional stop on the campaign trail. However, like so many members of Cooper’s “Daddy Gang,” Harris is also someone’s daughter, sister, aunt, wife, “Mamala” and friend. In an election climate overpopulated with identity-based discrimination seen in rhetoric and policy, an appeal to shared experiences –– along with a promise to put a positive foot forwards –– never hurts, and it just might help.

Contact the editors responsible for this article: Norah Catlin, Anabelle Meyers

What do you get when a fictional, unnamed male President refers to his wife having a “cunty” morning in front of the media, several international diplomats and the woman in question herself? Care to add one of the President’s sexual affairs (resulting in pregnancy) to the mix? Or his drug-dealing lesbian sister –– recently out of prison and begging for a presidential pardon — arriving unexpectedly at the White House? Or the looming endorsement deadline for a gubernatorial candidate? Or the fact that the President can’t sit down due to an unfortunate skin condition from various anal sex-capades with the mother of his unplanned child? What do you get? You’ll get “POTUS,” a farcical tour-de-force of theater that is all that, and somehow even more. 

Left to clean up the President’s many messes are, as the play’s title suggests, the seven women in the Oval Office who eventually bond through the attempt to avoid international catastrophe. There’s Margaret, our croc-wearing FLOTUS; Harriet, the culturally out-of-touch Chief of Staff; Jean, the tense but soft-hearted Press Secretary; Stephanie, an anxiety-riddled Presidential Secretary; Chris, a working mother and White House reporter extraordinaire; Bernadette, the sister of POTUS and ex-girlfriend of Jean; and last but certainly not least, Dusty: a peppy, slushy-drinking, fellating farm girl and future mother to POTUS’s child out-of-wedlock. 

As chaos inevitably ensued throughout the play’s 90-minute single act, I left the theater stunned by the extraordinary nuance each Emerson student actor gave to their character. There may be seven of them (and often all on stage at once), but Fillinger’s script lends itself well to individual comedic interpretation, even if the writing itself is chock-full of slapstick comedy gold. It’ll take a while to get Grace Lenore Rodgers’s performance of Stephanie out of my head; her timid character’s sudden descent into a drug-fueled mania that leaves her covered in POTUS’s blood (trust me, I’m not making this up) was hysterical. Or Sky Fortes’ rendition of FLOTUS Margaret –– who made the room stand still with her character’s powerful yet improvised speech on the White House lawn, and shake with laughter at her crocs, her shoe of choice which she appeared to bedazzle after changing into formal evening wear. 

“We’ve all just shared the space so well,” said Lulu Royce, who played Jean, in a ‘Meet the Cast’ video from Emerson Stage. “And given room for all of us to make mistakes and work well together.”

“Being with an entirely non-male cast has been really awesome,” added Rodgers. “Working on a show with so much physical comedy is hard . . . it’s funny because it’s so silly, but we have to take that silliness very seriously because there’s so much storytelling and so much chaos going on that it has to be very intricately choreographed.”

Choreography indeed. “POTUS” would no doubt succeed with just its comedic dialogue, but it excels in tandem with its choreographed physicality. And, as Ella Hagg (Harriet) aptly put it, “Comedy is only funny when it speaks to a truth that is recognizable to the audience. [POTUS is] ridiculous, but it’s real. It’s so ridiculous that it can only be real life.” 

While I can’t say for sure if senior staff members in the real White House have ever had to (spoiler) wheel a presumably-dead President out of sight in a trash cart, Hagg speaks a truth herself: the ridiculousness of “POTUS” is unfortunately all too relatable. Former presidential candidate Robert F. Kennedy Jr. confessed to leaving a dead bear in Central Park. Just last week, Lieutenant Governor Mark Robinson (R-NC) stood next to cardboard cutouts of Donald and Melania Trump during a campaign stop, devoid of the real figures because of his recent personal controversies –– including his unearthed and highly incendiary comments on a pornographic website. “POTUS” speaks truth not in its specific plotline, but through the existence of truth in farce itself.

When five-time Tony Award-winning director Susan Stroman reviewed “POTUS” on Broadway in 2022, she wrote, “We don’t know if the unseen president is Democrat or Republican, we just know he’s someone who practices his position with the same narcissism, arrogance, and abuse that we’ve come to expect from people in power.” 

Watching Emerson’s take on “POTUS” rang similar bells in my mind. In the two years since “POTUS” closed on Broadway, the American political climate has only become more polarized and violently strained from one end of the spectrum to the other. However, the possibility for net positive change in politics remains. As student Sky Fortes (Margaret) said to her fellow “POTUS” castmates, “Being a Black woman and seeing how there possibly could be a Black woman in office, I think that [“POTUS”] relates in that way as well, and the audience may get a kick out of it.” 

The audience certainly did. When applause erupted in the theater after one of Forte’s many fiery character monologues, it became clear that despite the chaos around them, Margaret would be a far better President than her husband. So would Press Secretary Harriet, or reporter Chris, or hell –– any of them. 

“On the eve of the 2024 election, POTUS encourages first-time voters to consider what Americans have to lose, register to vote, and make their choice heard,” wrote Emerson Dramaturg Sam Evans ahead of the show’s opening. “POTUS” shines a light on intelligent but chaos-prone women in politics, challenging the notion that women in the White House can only exist as side characters. But of course, as a cathartic yet vicious farce, “POTUS” doesn’t wipe them clean of imperfections.

“It’s not that voters like the President, so much as they’re scared of the alternative,” says Bernadette in the final moments of the play. When questioned as to who or what that is, her response is pitch-perfect for the moment and yes, hilarious: 

“Us.”

Contact the editors responsible for this story: Norah Catlin, Anabelle Meyers