| ◼ The Flanders Festival, a classical music festival held in September in the Belgian city of Ghent, invited the Munich Philharmonic, led by conductor Lahav Shani, to give a concert. The festival organizers then disinvited the orchestra because—and this is the plain, naked truth—Shani is Israeli. “We are unable to provide sufficient clarity about his attitude to the genocidal regime in Tel Aviv,” the organizers said. Never mind the tendentious use of “Tel Aviv” rather than “Jerusalem,” or the monstrous lie of the “genocide” charge, or the notion that a musician would have to pass an attitude test. Never mind that Shani, the chief conductor of the Israel Philharmonic, “has spoken out in favor of peace and reconciliation several times in the past,” as the Belgians conceded. Merely his nationality was disqualifying. Germans cried foul. “A top German orchestra and its Jewish chief conductor are being disinvited—this is a disgrace for Europe,” said German culture minister Wolfram Weimer on X. “This is pure anti-Semitism.” Florian Wiegand, executive director of the Munich Philharmonic, expressed shock that such a decision was taken “in the heart of Europe.” Belgium’s prime minister, Bart De Wever, showed decency when he called out his countrymen for their “antisemitic” decision and went to Germany to show his support for Shani in person. An online petition decrying the “morally bankrupt” disinvitation, begun by four leading classical musicians, has attracted 16,000 signatures. The festival organizers, however, made their decision final: The Israeli Jewish conductor, because he is an Israeli Jew, is not welcome in Ghent.
◼ The United States Postal Service rolled out a stamp honoring our founder, William F. Buckley Jr., in the year of his centennial. A single image cannot convey his wit and warmth. But the one chosen, based on a photo, aptly depicts him with his eyes set to the horizon. A stamp is not only a worthy honor, given his manifold contributions to American public life, but a fitting one: WFB was an indefatigable correspondent. In addition to nonfiction books, novels, magazine editorials, and columns, WFB wrote thousands of letters and postcards to friends, to subscribers, to donors, to activists, to the powerful, and to the humble and anonymous. Lawrence Perelman’s book American Impresario, for example, describes how Perelman’s life was changed by writing to WFB as an 18-year-old and receiving a letter in return. A man of letters indeed. P.S., we still think the Postal Service should be privatized.
◼ Robert Redford’s impressive career in acting and directing ran, in its heyday, for nearly three decades. It spanned the divides between Old Hollywood, New Hollywood, and modern Hollywood. Redford spent his early career in the Sixties playing blandly handsome supporting characters, as befitted the film industry’s reaction to his prepossessing good looks. Terrified of being typecast as little better than a “male bimbo,” Redford found his niche in 1969’s Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, playing alongside Paul Newman (a slightly older and similarly handsome actor who had fought his own earlier war against typecasting) in a buddy comedy that immediately launched Redford to stardom by featuring his sardonic wit and not just his looks. This launched a career that carried on through several memorable roles in the Seventies—The Candidate, Three Days of the Condor, All the President’s Men, and especially his reunion with Newman in The Sting. In the Eighties, he starred in such roles as Roy Hobbs in The Natural, and had a superb turn behind the camera with 1980’s Ordinary People. In 1992, he would achieve both simultaneously with A River Runs Through It, a film that brought the young Brad Pitt to national fame. But Redford’s truly standout role perhaps remains his turn as the namesake of 1972’s Jeremiah Johnson, which has barely any dialogue whatsoever. No more proof is needed to explain why Redford was one of the greatest film stars of our era than to watch him dominate the screen—in near-silence. Dead at 89. R.I.P. |