It might have been my worn-out DVD of Singin’ In the Rain or an all-consuming Hamilton infatuation (I swear, I liked it before it was cool), but somewhere in that span of time between birth and university, there was a spark in me that lit my passion for the theater.

This spring, a number of student-led theatrical productions were deep into their months-long rehearsal schedules when Columbia administration made the call to move courses online for the remainder of the semester due to the COVID-19 pandemic. Without warning, the long work invested in these plays and musicals came to a sudden halt.

When Columbia announced students’ departure from campus amid the COVID-19 pandemic in early March, Samuel Powell, CC ’20, was working with his classmates to create a new adaptation of Euripides’ “Medea” for the acting course entitled Performing Greek Tragedy on the Modern Stage. Prior to the evacuation of students, Powell’s group reimagined the play, setting it amid a quarantine in which characters communicated over video, incorporating the play’s themes of isolation and distance.

Eight mysterious figures, a semicircle of red chairs, and a hollow, gray stage––together, a town hall meeting at the edge of a world in crisis. Immediately, these figures warn the audience: “This is serious.” However, they go on: “This is not important,” “[This is] just a play.”

In its quest to uplift the voices of women in leadership roles, the 10th annual Athena Film Festival shined a spotlight on women who often go unseen within society and the subsequent issues that they face, spanning from wage inequality to the accessibility of confidential healthcare resources.

“They took our language.”

Tumultuous, turbulent, and, altogether, chaotic.

Broadway legend Patti LuPone has donated her personal theatrical archive to Columbia’s Rare Book & Manuscript Library. Containing scrapbooks, scripts, sheet music, programs, and more, the collection chronicles the life and illustrious stage career of the performer.

“I love black women.”

When thinking of Dionysus, one might picture a plump, haughty God, wrapped in vines, perhaps clutching a glass of wine. Enter instead: a tutu, lace-tight, and faux fur-clad gender-fluid being, bewitching and beguiling. This is Charles Mee’s modern Dionysus.