STAGE REVIEW: ROMEO AND JULIET

A scene from Romeo and Juliet.

1000

By Ed Rampell

“O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou, Romeo?” Why, along with his gal pal Juliet, he’s at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion through Sunday, July 13, as the National Ballet of Canada presents Sergei Prokofiev’s version of Romeo and Juliet. Alexei Ratmansky, the Bolshoi Ballet’s former artistic director, choreographed this elegant production that renders William Shakespeare’s immortal play about doomed young lovers into the idiom of dance and music, pure sight and sound.

As we celebrate the 450^th birthday of the Bard who is best known for his plots and arguably (to quote Polonius in Hamlet) “this above all else” his dialogue, it’s intriguing to encounter a Shakespearean experience minus a single spoken line. Can one appreciate the Stratford-upon-Avon dramatist’s work without one word uttered? Is the text as meaningful without any of Will’s indelible dialogue, such as Mercutio’s curse: “A plague upon both your houses”? (Contrary to popular belief, Romeo’s buddy was not referring to the Democratic and Republican parties, but rather to those warring families, the Capulets and Montagues, from whence our title characters sprang.)

The characters and the entire story are expressed through Prokofiev’s music, Ratmansky’s gravity-defying choreo, Jennifer Tipton’s lighting, as well as by Richard Hudson’s set and costume design, which are all important, as they enhance a sense of time (the Renaissance) and place (“fair Verona”). Another important element that tends to be overlooked amidst ballet’s Balanchine- and Nijinsky-like aeronautics is acting. Since there is no spoken dialogue this acting is most akin to that of the cinema prior to talkies, when thespians had to use facial expressions, body movements and the like to convey what they couldn’t by voicing lines. (Notice, Dear Reader, that I didn’t say “silent films,” because many of those early movies were accompanied by piano and even orchestras -- often with music specifically composed for particular pictures. And given Prokofiev’s sonorous score, the ballet is anything but silent.)

Although not as essential as their dancing per se, on opening night the acting by Moscow-born Elena Lobsanova and Quebec-born Guillaume Côté as Shakespeare’s “star-crossed lovers” (other dancers alternate in the Juliet and Romeo roles) was vital in conveying the drama’s romanticism and adolescent angst (worthy of a WB series, by the way). The premiere’s best acting was by Poland-born Piotr Stanczyk as the mercurial, merry Mercutio of the Montagues. His clowning around (Mercutio is surely one of those people who doesn’t know when to quit kidding or enough is enough) is as significant to Stanczyk’s part as is his deft, daft dancing. Not to mention the scene-stealing Stanczyk’s swordplay, as Mercutio crosses blades with the Capulet clan’s menacing McGee Maddox as Tybalt, the quintessential character when it comes to not quite getting the joke. (Both Stanczyk and Maddox alternate in the roles with other performers, but reprise their parts on the evening of July 12.)    

Naturally, the choreography elevates and heightens the drama. When the title characters meet at a masked ball in the Capulets’ household, it’s interesting to see the ballet version of this initial encounter and to compare it with the brilliantly lensed scene in the school gym in 1961’s West Side Story, where all time and space stops as Tony just meets a girl named Maria in that latter day adaptation of Romeo and Juliet set in New York City. When she leaps through the air to alight upon Romeo’s shoulders or back, 27-ish year old Elena Lobsanova’s Juliet seems to be in flight. The two lovers look like birds taking wing in an almost aerial pas de deux in her bedroom, with its four-poster bed and canopy -- an especially lyrical evocation of lovemaking’s raptures. 

From the vantage point of my center row seats in the orchestra, Lobsanova and Côté also looked like teenagers, which seems age appropriate per Shakespeare’s text. The youthfulness of 18-year-old Leonard Whiting and 17-year-old Olivia Hussey helped make Franco Zeffirelli’s 1968 film version so refreshing and memorable, whereas in 1936, 43-year-old Leslie Howard and 34-year-old Norma Shearer essayed the roles in George Cukor’s screen version of  Romeo and Juliet -- with a 54-year-old John Barrymore as Mercutio!)

Prokofiev’s superb score, which he’d composed by 1935, is ably performed by an orchestra consisting of local musicians and conducted by the National Ballet of Canada’s music director and principal conductor, David Briskin. Audiences will likely recognize the dissonant "Dance of the Knights", which has been used in movies such as Caligula and TV shows like The Simpsons and the British reality series, The Apprentice. This piece, also known as “Montagues and Capulets”, conjures a mood of foreboding musically expressed through the strings playing pianissimo or softly, contrasted by the woodwinds and horns blowing fortissimo. Prokofiev has a very strong visual sense which served him well in composing music for ballet -- shortly after creating Romeo and Juliet’s sonic score he joined with that other Sergei (Eisenstein) to compose the score for the 1938 epic, Alexander Nevsky. The composer and director closely collaborated on this movie, with Prokofiev composing notes to accompany Eisenstein’s frames of film.

Speaking of which, the National Ballet of Canada production, overseen by artistic director Karen Kain, uses cinematic sleight of hand. Not only in the rapid scene changes but in what is a clever use of split screen, which, minus Shakespeare’s dialogue, is intended to explain how Friar Lawrence’s (Peter Ottmann alternates in this role with Kevin Bowles) potions will affect Juliet. Alas  poor sweet Juliet and her beloved Romeo experience what is probably the stage’s biggest mix up, and their poor timing results in… But you know how the rest of it goes, don’t you dear reader?

I have one minor complaint: the famous balcony scene actually does not feature a balcony per se, but merely Juliet at her window, as the two say sweet nothings to one another. At least Tony and Maria got a fire escape in West Side Story! But this is a mere quibble that should not deter viewers from strapping on their ballet shoes and dancing down to the Music Center while they still can to experience what is otherwise a superb, effervescent production of the Bard’s classic (by way of Prokofiev) with its eternal message: Make love, not war.

Romeo and Juliet runs through tomorrow at LA Opera at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, 135 N. Grand Ave. For more info: 2130-72-8001; www.laopera.com.

THEATER REVIEW: THE MAGIC FLUTE

A scene from The Magic Flute.

Sigh-lenses and breath

By Ed Rampell

The current version of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s The Magic Flute presented by LA Opera raises two essential artistic questions (plus, perhaps, eyebrows). Pouring vintage works into new bottles can be problematic, and in this reviewer’s opinion, more often than not they are not successful. This year I saw three modern dress Greek tragedies and, sans togas, only the Getty Villa’s Prometheus Bound worked. Resetting the other two myths in modern times served solely to detract from the original intents of the creators, and did absolutely nothing to enhance the banal productions.

On the other hand, every once in a while, a Leonard Bernstein, Arthur Laurents, Jerome Robbins, Stephen Sondheim and company come along, updating Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, whipping up a whole new, relevant concoction like West Side Story. It was a stroke of genius to replace Juliet’s balcony with a Manhattan fire escape. So I’m happy to say that the British “1927” theatre company and Komische Oper Berlin rendition of Mozart’s 1791 Flute -- the planet’s most produced German-language opera -- falls into this latter category of reconfigured and re-jiggered classics.

The company’s artistic conceit is to draw upon the conventions and aesthetics of silent films in order to express the fairy tale by Mozart and librettist Schikaneder. As such, we have some Hollywood studio slapstick and German expressionist elements, with references from Clara Bow’s “It Girl” to The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari to Fritz Lang’s Dr. Mabuse.

To be specific, the character Monostatos (tenor Rodell Rosel), who is identified (perhaps in a racist way?) as a “Moor” and chief of the slaves of the temple, is straight out of Nosferatu, F.W. Murnau’s 1922 creepy forerunner to Dracula. Pamina (soprano Janai Brugger) is suggestive of those Jazz Age sexually liberated flappers, such as Louise Brooks, the American-born actress who starred in G.W. Pabst’s 1920s German films, such as the daring Pandora’s Box -- one half expects her to burst out dancing the Charleston. Papageno (baritone Rodion Pogossov) is dressed like none other than that king of silent comedians, Buster Keaton (BTW, French Stewart is reviving the stellar bioplay Stoneface in June 2014 at the Pasadena Playhouse).

In addition to the innate artistry pertaining to and peculiar to silent movies, the 1927/Komische Oper Berlin production uses lots of 1927’s Paul Barritt-designed animation, which is the format the non-live action imagery is actually projected in, onto the wall Esther Bialas (who is also the costume designer) had constructed, in lieu of LA Opera’s usually lavish sets. This backdrop has elevated portals with sort of revolving doors out of which the various characters appear (strapped in harnesses, as they are on high). The visuals are often witty, and reminiscent of the type of animated images seen in the Beatles’ Yellow Submarine, Monty Python, Betty Boop Max Fleischer cartoons, and Dumbo -- although they never attain the polished perfection of works by Disney or Pixar.

This production is gloriously and very precisely, painstakingly co-directed by Suzanne Andrade, an Englishwoman, and Australian Barrie Kosky, who is the Intendant (chief administrator) of the Komische Oper Berlin. Viewer/listener beware: One misses it at his or her own peril, and an extra performance has been added. In our violent world, Mozart’s opera persuasively argues in favor of less Glocks -- and more glockenspiels. This rapturously imaginative Magic Flute is nothing less than -- well -- magical.

 

The Magic Flute runs through Dec. 13 at LA Opera at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, 135 N. Grand Ave. For more info: 213-972-8001; www.laopera.com.

THEATER REVIEW: THE FLYING DUTCHMAN

Tomas Tomasson in The Flying Dutchman.

Pop Cultured

By Ed Rampell

There is a popular misconception regarding so-called “high art,” like plays by Shakespeare and operas are elitist, only able to be fully understood and appreciated by the hoity-toity. But is this reputation deserved? What is Hamlet other than a revenge tale worthy of Quentin Tarantino and a ghost story? And what is Richard Wagner’s The Flying Dutchman (Der Fliegende Holländer) if not a rip roaring ghost story, highly charged by greed, and lest we forget, sexual frisson?

The composer adapted his 1843 opera from 17^thcentury seafaring folklore, about a phantom ship roaming the high seas, never able to return to its home port. Only one thing can spare the ship’s captain -- the eponymous Dutchman (Icelandic baritone Tomas Tomasson) -- from his eternal nautical roaming: true love. Due to a storm off the coast of Norway the Dutchman encounters Daland (bass James Creswell), and they strike a sort of Faustian bargain: The Dutchman offers the Norwegian captain a treasure chest in exchange for his daughter’s hand in marriage.

Senta was to be played by Portuguese soprano Elisabete Matos, but according to L.A. Opera’s publicist, 12 minutes before the curtain was scheduled to rise on opening night, March 9, in a scene straight out of a 1930s Hollywood musical, Matos “had suddenly become indisposed, and would be unable to perform. Instead, soprano Julie Makerov would.

As the old saying puts it, “the show must go on!”, and boy, did it ever -- and marvelously so. Maerov flew right into The Flying Dutchman. Fortunately, according to her website bio, Makerov had previously played Senta at Canada and Salzburg, and she performed peerlessly at the premiere. Makerov brought the wronged Senta vividly to life with song and acting, as she tried to defend her honor and purity to two suitors: The Dutchman and the hunter Erik (American tenor Corey Bix). Senta’s sonorous, spirited self defense might even make a Shakespeare write “methinks the lady doth not protest too much.” Whether singing “Senta’s Ballad” or the famous duet with the nautical specter she is betrothed to, Makerov admirably rose to the occasion -- especially given her 12-minute notice to report for duty aboard the HMS Chandler.

The sets by Bavarian scenery designer Raimund Bauer, costumes by his fellow German Andrea Schmidt-Futterer and lighting design by Duane Schuler, strike the right imaginative, eerie chords in expressing this shadowy, supernatural saga. During the emotion laden 10-minute overture, a scrim of surging seas is accompanied by music that could best be called “Wagnerian,” conveying a sense of turbulent, crashing waves. Act I transports us out to sea aboard creatively evoked ships near a Norwegian harbor. Later in this three-acter the entire ensemble gathers at Daland’s Scandinavian village, and the mass mise-en-scene is quite impressive and at times appropriately ghoulish. During these scenes the work of choreographer Denni Sayers -- with some balletic moves -- and chorus director Grant Gershon especially shine.

As well it should be, the production is quite Germanic -- Schmidt-Futterer’s costumes are at times extremely suggestive of German silent cinema’s Expressionism, with period apparel reminiscent of the demonic title character of The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari and F.W. Murnau’s telling of the Dracula fable, Nosferatu. In other scenes the costuming reminded me of L.A. Opera’s highly stylized re-telling of Wagner’s Ring Cycle a few seasons back, with its pseudo-Star Wars panache.

And what of The Flying Dutchman’s music and of the librettist and composer, who about 30 years later would complete The Ring of the Nibelungen? The Flying Dutchman’s theme of exile would psychologically appeal to Wagner -- not only because he was a globetrotter himself, but in only five or so years after presenting The Flying Dutchmanhe would himself become a stateless wanderer due to his taking part in Europe’s 1848 workers revolution. Wagner was forced to flee Germany and live abroad in Switzerland for around 12 years. Like the Dutchman, Wagner would be “banished from his homeland.” The phantom mariner was the first of Wagner’s exile characters, and on a metaphorical, metaphysical level one can perceive that this genius would identify with the outcast. Wagner knew what it felt like to be a persona non grata. And given his tumultuous private life Wagner could presumably relate to the turmoil of the relationship between the Dutchman, Senta and Erik -- a rather messy ménage-a-trois, if ever there was one, with that fourth partner named “fate.”

The sonorous score, deftly conducted by James Conlon, is full of Wagner’s hallmark sonic sturm und drang: brassy refrains, drums, dramatic outbursts and the like, which some might consider to be bombastic. But the earnest music also conveys a powerful, transcendent sense of yearning and longing -- to belong, be loved and for home.

Please note: The two and a half hour-plus opera is performed sans intermission.



The Flying Dutchman runs through March 30 at L.A. Opera at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, 135 N. Grand Ave. For more info: 213-972-8001; www.laopera.com.

 

DVD REVIEW: INSPIRED THE VOICES AGAINST PROP 8

A scene from Inspired: The Voices Against Prop. 8.

Frogs out of hot water

By John Esther

Exactly four years and one month ago, a majority of California voters passed Proposition 8, thus revoking the short-lived marriage rights for same sex couples. As a result, members of the GLBT community who, often, widely overestimated the intelligence of the California voter, were galvanized to action.

Days and weeks later, the community, along with their non-gay allies, took to the streets throughout Los Angeles County -- from Long Beach, Pasadena, East Los Angeles, West Hollywood -- and beyond to protest this dismantling of civil rights.

Capturing the lives of these activists -- both old and new -- in the wake of Prop 8., director Charlie Gage's Inspired: The Voices Against Prop 8 is a sweet and speedy jaunt through a small piece of California history pro-civil rights viewers will enjoy.

Although unified in their opposition of "Prop H8" different factions along geopolitical grounds took different approaches. West of downtown Los Angeles, protests consisted of predominately white people occupying the streets of largely GLBT-friendly communities or stayed indoors to do a little phone banking. Meanwhile, the predominately "Sí, se puede" pro-GLBT Latino elements east of Los Angeles took on a different approach in considerably more difficult terrain where race played a factor, albeit not the way mainstream media reported. (Fox commentator Bill O'Reilly, as usual, comes of as ill-informed jerk in one segment.)

These different approaches caused quite a bit of friction amongst like-minded people. There is also a segment where people debate whether the boycott against El Coyote restaurant in Los Angeles was a good thing (it was), thus illustrating that the GLBT community is not some monolithic entity but consists of people with various points of views.

Featuring talking heads mixed with foot-age footage, the film interviews several important Los Angeles activists, such as noted protester Jimmy Chen, political whiz Sergio Carrillo, L.A. Gay and Lesbian Center Activities Coordinator Dahlia Ferlito, Los Angeles attorney Tim Lykowski, and Vanessa Romain of Long Beach Lesbian & Gay Pride Inc., today's release of the DVD and VOD of Inspired: The Voices Against Prop 8 coincides with many Californians (and Americans) waiting to hear if the United States Supreme Court will hear arguments on Prop. 8.

THEATER REVIEW: LA BOHEME

A scene from La Bohème.

Ending on a high note

By Ed Rampell

Giacomo Puccini is to opera what Gucci is to handbags: The gold standard. The libretto of the prolific composer’s 1896 La Bohème is by Giuseppe Giacosa and Luigi Illica, based on fictitious stories Henry Murger began writing in the 1840s. Puccini’s La Bohème set the template for productions about starving artistes in their garrets, aesthetic outcasts living on the fringes of society -- often in a not so Gay Paree. From Somerset Maugham’s Paul Gauguin-inspired The Moon and Sixpence to the 1990s rock musical Rent, which re-set La Bohème in modern Manhattan’s milieu of struggling artists, works in this genre bear Puccini’s indelible stamp, but rarely, if ever, surpass his masterpiece.

L.A. Opera’s presentation of La Bohème is true to the spirit and letter of Puccini’s four act-er; there’s no screwing around with the basics by way of updating the action to another time period, placing it at another locale and/or whiz bang special effects. These adaptations sometimes work -- as with Pacific Opera Project’s recent mounting of Cosi Fan Tutte, which cleverly transposed Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s meditation on sexuality in 18^thcentury Europe to the American Civil War. But often these new fangled versions merely muddy the waters, add nothing to the creators’ original intent and worse, distract from same.

With his glorious Parisian sets and scrims, Gerard Howland visualizes Puccini’s howling, and are (pardon the pun, considering the opera) to die for. This veteran set designer has not only worked for numerous operatic companies, but also for theater, film (most recently, HBO’s just premiered Spanish Civil War-set Hemingway and Gellhorn), theme parks, Michael Jackson, the Rolling Stones, etc., and Howland faithfully brings his pictorial panache to  Puccini’s Paris-set saga. His renderings of Latin Quarter garrets, rooftops and Café Momus exquisitely express the romanticism inherent in Puccini’s opera. However, Howland’s tavern set in Act III has too much empty space; the stage -- like nature -- abhors a vacuum. And depending on one’s seat in the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, viewers may have to be contortionists in order to be able to see Howland’s Eiffel Tower at stage right.

Lighting designer Daniel Ordower aesthetically illumines the City of Lights with rapturous moonlight and twinkling constellations that likewise give form to Puccini’s amorous tale of Parisian Bohemians in love. They are brought to life by a dazzling, youthful cast, headlined by tenor Stephen Costello as the poet Rodolfo and soprano Ailyn Perez, an ailing seamstress who sews silky roses. Offstage, the performers who incarnate these lovers are not only real life  husband and wife, but both recipients of the operatic realm’s prestigious Richard Tucker Award. (Perez is the first Hispanic to ever receive this coveted honor, opera’s equivalent to the Heisman Trophy.)

The Bohemians include the musician Schaunard (baritone Museop Kim) and philosophy student Colline (bass Robert Pomakov). As is often the price of nonconformity, the characters are frequently stony broke, and to stay warm during Parisian winters must feed the flames of an insatiable stove with their works, used as kindling. The outsiders’ poverty weighs heavily upon them, especially on the consumption stricken Mimi, and the painter Marcello (baritone Artur Rucinski), who romances that Belle Époque belle of the ball Musetta (soprano Valentina Fleer), who aspires to be what Billy Joel dubbed “an Uptown girl.”

Impoverished Marcello has woes because he woos a beautiful gold digger who can attract wealthy, uh, patrons of the arts, to stick the bills with. Musetta and Marcello’s big number at the Café Momus (not to be confused with the Spearmint Rhino) brings down the house, as the sexual frisson between the two estranged lovers explodes with what may be the original table dancing. Their Act II delicious tabletop tangos are in the same scene as the jester Parpignol’s (tenor Ben Bliss, who also cut loose in the title role of L.A. Opera’s production this season of Benjamin Britten’s Albert Herring) clownish antics, in one of the opera’s mass tableaux, which presented 60-ish performers onstage en masse, including members of the Los Angeles Children’s Chorus.

In his L.A. Opera directorial debut, Gregory Fortner (who crewed for Michael Moore’s Oscar-winning Bowling for Columbine) adroitly helms the mise-en-scene, in mass and more intimate scenes alike. Conductor Patrick Summers is a worthy successor to Arturo Toscanini, who conducted La Bohème’s 1890s premiere in Turin.

The plot of La Bohème may be skimpy, but the forte of the operatic medium is to let themusic do the talking, so to say. Puccini’s sonorous score gives aural shape to the story’s lush romanticism, speaking volumes more than plot points and dialogue ever could. And, on a personal note, after experiencing this performance, I could see why La Bohème was my late dad’s favorite opera.

I also believe that Rodolfo’s final exclamation of grief as Mimi is consumed with consumption is where the term “the Screaming Mimis” is derived from. The Screaming Mimis has some off-color definitions I won’t repeat here, but it can refer to expressions of lamentation that are often hysterical in nature. At an after talk following the performance I attended, I asked the young married co-stars Perez and Costello if this was indeed the case, but the charming couple had never heard of this before. Perhaps this discovery -- if correct -- is your humble scribe’s contribution to opera reviewing?

In any case, as La Bohème marks the end of L.A. Opera’s current season, and opera fans will have to wait, alas, for four whole months until the new season starts. I feel like I have the Screaming Mimis. In any case, along with Giuseppe Verdi’s Simon Boccanegra and Mozart’s Cosi Fan Tutte, La Bohème certainly ranks among L.A. Opera’s finest 2011/2012 seasonal offerings. Tomorrow is your last chance to see La Bohème.


La Bohème will be performed Saturday, June 2 at 2:00 p.m. at L.A. Opera at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, 135 N. Grand Ave. For more info: (213)972-8001; www.laopera.com.

SFIFF 2011: TABLOID

Joyce McKinney in Tabloid.

Thrash trash that talk

By Don Simpson

Former Miss Wyoming and S&M call girl with an IQ of 168 and a penchant for cinnamon massage oil, kidnaps and rapes a rotund Mormon. Years later, she clones her dog…creating five new Boogers! Boy, it sure does not get much better that that. That is the stuff that tabloids -- and Errol Morris’ Tabloid -- are made of!

By way of McKinney (it turns out that you just need to point a camera at her and she will run and run and run with her story), the snarky and sardonic documentarian Morris unearths a subject that allows his off-kilter sense of humor to run rampant. As is typically the case with Morris, Tabloid reveals that his technique is not malicious (unless you’re a Mormon, then you will certainly take offense); Morris allows his subjects to dig their own graves, as he frequently catches the various interviewees flagrantly embellishing their stories and contradicting each other.

This brings us to the favorite subject of the 2008 recipient of SFIFF's Golden Gate Persistence of Vision Award: the truth. In Tabloid, thanks to all of the contradictions and untrustworthy commentary, Morris is unable to reveal an absolute truth. Instead it seems that the truth does not really matter in the context of this documentary (though if you want it, the truth is probably located somewhere in between the interviews). Here, Morris is more interested in how truth can be mediated and distorted. It is often apparent that McKinney’s version of the story is not true, yet she appears to believe her story completely. As McKinney explains, “You can tell a lie for long enough that you believe it." She is not talking about herself, though the statement certainly fits her as snug as her see-through blouse.

Morris is a documentarian, but first and foremost he is an entertainer. No matter how serious his subject, Morris has proved time and time again that he possesses an obvious knack for comedic timing and punctuation -- as with the flashes of words like “Spread-eagle!” and “Barking mad!” on screen in order to further accentuate his interviewee’s verbal flourishes. His other strong suit is his utilization of humorous archival material, which often features quirky film clips from the 1950s and 60s. In Tabloid, Morris utilizes clips from The God Makers (1982), an animated film that takes a highly critical view of the beliefs of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

McKinney certainly proves that people with a sensational sense of self are engagingly entertaining, but what makes a documentary about McKinney any better than a reality show about the Jersey Shore? Is McKinney’s story strong or meaningful enough to justify a 90-minute documentary about it? Is there anything to be learned from Tabloid? (Besides the obvious “fact” that Mormon’s are incredibly silly!) Is Tabloid a vessel for Morris to comment upon gossip rags, tabloids and “reality” entertainment? Or is this all just for shits and giggles? (Admittedly, I shat and giggled simultaneously when McKinney stated that her raping a man would be like “trying to stuff a marshmallow into a parking meter.” Uh, what?!)

In case you are wondering, the infamous manacled Mormon, Kirk Anderson, declined to be interviewed for Tabloid.

Tabloid screens May 3, 9:30 p.m, Sundance Kabuki Cinemas; May 5, 2:45 p.m., New People. For more information: Tabloid.