A distinctive spectacle exists within the music realm that recently graced the Rialto Theater stage here in Tucson. It is one that is unmatched in its ability to unify the youthful and the aged alike, bringing the Rialto’s varied occupants together by the collective power of rhythm, lyric, syncopation, and harmony. This artistic force has captivated listeners across generations and created an intersecting line between adolescents and geriatrics. It is a force that goes by the whimsical name of Yo La Tengo.

Late desert evenings carry with them a certain mysticism; quiet, yet full of life, possessing warmness and camaraderie in the most unexpected places. The dark alleyways of Tucson’s Church Avenue and Washington street ooze with this mysticism. Bouts of distant laughter cut the stillness of the air, and a closer look through the rustic wooden gates of La Cocina reveals a cozy conglomerate of friends huddled together in an old adobe building, drinks in hand, as they watch local Tucson band Ex-Cowboy serenade those in attendance. There are smiles all around, and everyone is basking in the celebration of Tucson’s local solidarity. From an outsider’s perspective this is a special moment in time, but for La Cocina’s friendly staff, this is Thursday. This magic occurs every night at the local eatery, bar, and music venue. And with additional local and national musicians pouring in to grace La Cocina’s stage, there is no doubt that the enchantment will continue to flourish for some time.

After achieving a $35 million opening weekend, the Seth Gordon-directed "Identity Thief" has staked its claim on the pockets and purses of the public. The new release falls into the sub-genres of buddy films and road comedies such as "Planes, Trains, and Automobiles," "Dumb and Dumber," and "Tommy Boy".

On Feb. 24, millions of television sets across the globe tuned in to one of the most celebrated and glamorous celebrity spectacles of the modern era: The Oscars. Yet, within the aftermath of this 85th Oscar ceremony, it is important to note that all too often viewers are somehow missing the bigger picture. Within the Oscar experience, there is a plethora of trivial and somewhat meaningless aspects of the evening that many people choose to highlight. What designer clothing is Meryl Streep going to wear as she struts down the carpet? Did Robert Downey Jr. have something done to his nose? Did you hear about Jennifer Lawrence’s wardrobe malfunction? It is a melancholy truth that these topics are brought to the forefront of discussion.

At what point can we safely say that a filmmaker has cemented himself as a true mover and shaker in the industry? Probably around the time when multi -billion dollar production companies begin trading ownership of entire franchises like two boys swapping baseball cards, in order to obtain rights to co-produce his work. This is where Christopher Nolan’s career has taken him. Once it became clear that Nolan’s newest cerebral project, Interstellar, would be produced by Paramount rather than Warner Bros., the latter felt it best to place a few of its cards on the table in order to obtain a piece of Nolan the cash cow. Paramount named its price of allowing Warner Bros. to co-produce the upcoming film, and it was exclusive rights to produce a sequel to 2009’s Friday the 13th, as well as a new Southpark film. 

The sporting world, in its very nature, harbors an inherent athletic Darwinism. The strong continually trump the weaker opponents, until only two competitors remain. However, this inborn trait of competition becomes complicated, and is often compromised in the sport of boxing. It is a sport in which weight classes and multiple league promotions become barriers that rob fans of dream matchups. Given this complicated boxing climate, it often becomes difficult for polarizing figures of the sport to cement their legacy as all time greats unless they take enormous risks by fighting out of their normal weight class. And amongst current pugilists, there are none more polarizing than the eccentric Floyd “Money” Mayweather. 

Playwright Bruce Norris has chosen not to fabricate the truth in order to invent a story. He offers no make believe worlds, no climactic battles of good and evil, no metaphorical calls to action, no romantic flickers of passion, no moments of inspiration, no heroes, no villains, no damsels, or vixens. Instead, the award-winning author of “Clybourne Park” has elected to present his audience with an unflattering reflection from a mirror. His play brings humanity face to face with its own imperfect image, and forces it to observe the ugly facts of life. 

The present cinematic climate is plagued by shallow productions that utilize large explosions, killer robots, and computer-generated creatures with Gumby-like mannerisms to enhance the 3D experience at $15 a seat.

In 1998 NBA Finals, the most monumental athlete in sports history, Michael Jordan, executed a perfect crossover jump shot that sealed his sixth NBA title, and became the perfect send-off for his last ride into the sunset. All that remained were memories, record books rewritten, and an uncertain future over who would carry the torch as the NBA’s new model champion. Jordan’s retirement birthed the rise of a new champion, albeit a different one: The San Antonio Spurs. 

The increasingly intense desert heat is a tell tale sign that summer is nearly upon us, and with it, the obligatory season of blockbuster films. With a jam packed lineup that includes Iron Man 3, Star Trek Into Darkness, Fast and Furious 6, Man of Steel, Pacific Rim, and World War Z, it is clear that big time producers in LA are gearing up to entice audiences with the usual explosions, car chases, zombie attacks, space battles, and robot wars, all enhanced by the technological advancements of 3D cameras. But despite the current technological prowess that is obtainable to all filmmakers with money to burn, we have reached an age where the standard gimmicks may no longer be sufficient for the 21st century viewer.