Along with the liveness of unmediated human presence, THE CONSOLE manages to be zeitgeisty, equal parts response to Covid isolation and election anxiety, in a way that isn’t instructive. It feels vital, earnest, and all the more critically alive for its irreverence.
This is that Marco Polo shit, I realized. This city, we’ve inherited it. We’re in it. And I didn’t think anybody else besides Sam would care with the fervor that I did.
“Ghosts” at BAM Harvey Theater.