A native of Rochester, N.Y., Claire Huangci (pronounced “huang-see”) got off to an undistinguished start with Beethoven’s 28th Piano Sonata. Beethoven’s mystical late sonatas can be tough nuts to crack. This pianist couldn’t seem to find a way in. Her Beethoven wasn’t unpleasant, just boring. Mendelssohn’s “Scottish Sonata” was more up her alley, and she played it with nice colors and worked herself into a good lather. I couldn’t figure out what she was doing with the three Rachmaninov preludes, though. She noodled with them, treating the climaxes like buildup and vice versa. All in all, this recital didn’t come together.

Italy’s Scipione Sangiovanni did much better, commanding attention from the first phrase of Bach’s Sixth Partita. His recital was well-planned, proceeding from the Bach to a majestic rendition of Busoni’s Indianisches Tagebuch (“Indian diary”) and then to Busoni’s transcriptions of three Bach selections. This pianist is quite comfortable with Busoni’s bigness and late-Romantic medium, not to mention the Italian composer’s feel for the piano. I also noticed Sangiovanni gesturing with his left hand during passages when his right hand was playing alone. I remember Davide Cabassi doing the same thing when he competed here in 2005. I wondered if this was an Italian thing, but I got my answer later in the day.

His compatriot Beatrice Rana (whose last name means “frog” in Italian) went with Muzio Clementi’s Sonata in B minor as her opener. Clementi is regarded in some quarters as a lightweight contemporary of Mozart, but she made his piece sound like really good non-Beethoven Beethoven, with all the attendant Sturm und Drang. She followed that with a careful reading of Schumann’s Symphonic Études. Too careful, in fact, though her interpretation was accomplished, and she did well with Schumann’s more roiling selections. I’d like to hear her open up the throttle at some point. I’m looking forward to her second go-around, in any event.

I ate lunch at Salata, which was not equipped to handle the competition crowds. Still, it was great to hear the people around me discussing the pianists. I had a nice conversation with a man named Dinesh, who was eating standing up next to my table, and who had traveled in from Albuquerque for the day for the Cliburn. That was nice.

Let’s get this out of the way. Steven Lin is no relation to me. Neither is Lin Kuan-Ting, the pianist who plays his first recital here tomorrow. Nor is Jeremy Lin, nor is Justin Lin, the director of the Fast & Furious movies. The American pianist looks like he weighs about 100 pounds with his pockets full of quarters, but he can seriously play. He started with Bach’s French Overture, and offered up a Bach that was cleaner and more crystalline than Sangiovanni’s. They were both good, but I tend to prefer Bach played Lin’s way. He followed that with Mendelssohn’s “Scottish Sonata”. Was his version of the piece more focused than Huangci’s, or is that just my impression? I have a sneaking suspicion it might be the former. He ended with Carl Vine’s First Piano Sonata and even though he lost a bit of momentum in the middle, he brought plenty of fury to it.

Next came two guys who played here back in February for the screening recitals. I didn’t care for Marcin Koziak (pronounced mar-cheen koh-zhyak) back then, and his performance today didn’t change my impression, though as a TCU student, he does have the locals behind him. I found him missing the humor and perversity in Chopin’s Second Scherzo, the elegance and sensuality of Chopin’s Nocturne in F-sharp major (Op. 15, No. 2), and the tragic power of Rachmaninov’s Second Sonata. I did like the rhythm he brought to the four mazurkas by Szymanowski. The mazurka’s peculiar rhythm seems to be difficult for non-Poles to imitate, but Polish pianists just seem to get it. I hope he shows me more in his second recital.

Dallas product Alex McDonald got a big ovation from the crowd before he even walked on stage. I can’t remember if his hair was piled as high back in February as it was today. Whatever, his resemblance to Van Cliburn is more unmistakable than ever. The adrenaline seemed to get the better of him as he opened with Haydn’s Sonata in B minor (Hob. XVI: 32), but he did calm down as the piece went on. I was less enamored with his rendition of Liszt’s B minor Sonata than most of my fellow critics. McDonald apparently has a doctorate from research on editions of that piece, but I found his performance fuzzy. He fluffed an octave during the piece’s big, explosive opening (where it’s really noticeable), and though he played at breakneck speed during the fast passages and with great lyricism during the slow ones, they never seemed to gel. He ended with a pretty rendition of Toru Takemitsu’s Rain Tree Sketch II. Maybe I was just disappointed because I went in expecting him to bring the house down, but I do still believe in him, and since his second recital contains the same pieces that he played at the screening recital, I have every reason to think he can do better.

For me, the real marker of the first day was thrown down by Russia’s Nikita Mndoyants, whose name will not cause any spelling or pronunciation problems in the days ahead. He began with Beethoven’s Op. 111 Sonata, and a popping first movement gave way to a great, hushed second movement, with the pianist doing breathtaking work on the sustained chords at the beginning and the extended trills near the end. The pianissimo passages were just magical. He then segued into Chopin’s Polonaise-fantaisie, a canny piece of programming. As opposed to Chopin’s more martial polonaises, this piece is stranger and more ethereal, and along with the Beethoven, it seemed to exist apart from our world, touched by divine grace. The Russian ended with a more traditional showpiece, Prokofiev’s Scherzo in A minor. The highest praise I can give this is that I found myself grinning like an idiot while he played. The crowd ate it up, and so did I.

The most flamboyant pianist we’ve seen so far, Luca Buratto looked like a hipster: thick, curly hair, black-rimmed glasses, and sideburns that are too thin to be called mutton-chop, but are headed in that direction. He lifted his hands significantly higher than he needed to and audibly stamped his left foot on the floor during some of his exertions. Most notably, he made the same hand gesture as Sangiovanni! Since not all the Italian pianists are doing this, I wondered if it was a regional affectation, but Buratto is from Milan (in the northern part of the country) and Sangiovanni hails from near Lecce (in the heel of Italy’s boot). In running all this down, I didn’t forget that Buratto also played some music. He played Haydn’s Sonata in C major (Hob XVI: 50), and while the opening was sunny and good-humored, the later movements reminded me of a Rococo china doll behind a glass case. Great thing about being a Rococo china doll is, you’re pretty. Bad thing is, you’re cold and lifeless. Fortunately, that didn’t describe the other item on his program, Schumann’s Fantasy in C major. He gave an impassioned, refulgent reading of the piece, with great torrents of sound issuing from the piano. It was too much at times, but much of it was good.

Giuseppe Greco played in what I call “the death slot.” That last entry on Friday night is the worst spot, because audiences are tired from the workweek and from the two performances earlier in the evening. With this new format, maybe that won’t be the case. Then again, Greco had plenty to overcome the bad spot in any case. The fatigue I felt at that point in a long day may have been the reason why his Beethoven Sonata in E-flat major (Op. 31, No. 3) didn’t register with me, but either I was able to refocus or he was able to find his swagger when he launched into Liszt’s B minor Ballade. His attractive playing in the lyrical parts was allied with great aplomb and volcanic intensity in the dramatic passages toward the end. The energy propelled him into a terrific performance of Debussy’s L’isle joyeuse, a lively and mischievous capper that roused a tired audience from their seats. It’s been an eventful first day. Five more to go in this first round.

This is the most love Fort Worth artists have ever received from the event. For the last Biennial (2011), only one Fort Worthian, multimedia artist Tim Harding, was chosen, and throughout the previous three iterations of the event (2005, 2007, 2009), only Harmony Padgett and Winter Rusilowski were invited to participate on behalf of yon towne of cow.

Running through Fort Worth’s 2013 Biennial batch is a streak of purple. TCU’s MFA program, whose national (and international) profile seems to be growing larger with every new group of grads, has recently produced sculptors Kubo and Ruppe and also two leaders of HOMECOMING!, sculptor Bradly Brown and painter Devon Nowlin.

All of the participants –– multimedia artists Huckaby, Kallus, who shows mostly in California and Nevada, and Gibbons, who shows almost exclusively in Dallas –– are outstanding. Congrats to everyone.

As we all know, Tiger Woods always skips our home town golf tourney. For free tickets, answer this question:  If you could give Tiger one reason to play the Colonial, what would it be?

Just post your answer in the comments section to be eligible for the tickets.  We’ll pick a winner by 5 p.m.

Please Note: You have to pick up the tickets at our office at 3311 Hamilton Ave. by 6 p.m.

Expect a large turnout by the 18-29 year-old set (and other concerned folks) at the March Against Monsanto, a grassroots rally and protest march starting 1pm tomorrow (Sat May 25) at General Worth Square, 900 Main St, FW. The Fort Worth march coincides with protest events planned all over the country to highlight the so-called Monsanto Protection Act, a rider quietly attached to a recent Senate appropriations bill. Signed into law in March by Pres. Obama, the provision shields the Missouri-based ag biotech company Monsanto from legal action even if one of their genetically altered crops is found to be dangerous to public health or the environment. It’s one of those un-sexy issues that has potentially huge ramifications for consumers, so educate yourself and get involved.

Money woes, grumbling vendors, and employees walking off the job don’t exactly make LaGrave Field seem like an innocent playground of baseball, mom, and apple pie.

Bringing in Canseco as a player-coach this season was supposed to provide a fun distraction.

Instead, Canseco arrived at D/FW International Airport yesterday and the first thing news reporters did was ask him about his connection to an alleged rape in Las Vegas.

Fort Worth Weekly reporter Eric Griffey just happened to be at the airport to pick up his hot girlfriend (why are you so surprised that Griffey has a hot girlfriend?) and was the first to spot Canseco coming into the lobby.

“He was easy to spot, he’s this giant guy wearing sunglasses and a backwards hat,” Griffey said. “He was like a giant among insects.  Even if you didn’t know it was Jose Canseco you knew he was some kind of athlete or bodybuilder.”

The two stood beside each other at the baggage claim area.

“I had just written a blog about him and I thought, ‘I need to interview this guy.’ “

Just then, a TV reporter charged up with a cameraman and started asking about the rape allegations.

“Jose’s answer was he’d already passed a polygraph and all the details would come out later and he’d rather talk about baseball,” Griffey said. “He was definitely uncomfortable and a little dismissive but he didn’t walk away or tell the guy to fuck off.”

At Any Price (R) The latest film by Ramin Bahrani (Goodbye Solo) stars Dennis Quaid and Zac Efron as a battling father and son who are forced to deal with a crisis at their expanding family farming business. Also with Kim Dickens, Clancy Brown, Chelcie Ross, Red West, and Heather Graham. (Opens Friday at AMC Grapevine Mills)

Frances Ha (R) Greta Gerwig stars in and co-writes this dramedy directed by Noah Baumbach as a modern dancer who tries to cope when her best friend and roommate (Mickey Sumner) announces that she’s moving in with her boyfriend. Also with Adam Driver, Michael Esper, Charlotte d’Amboise, and Grace Gummer. (Opens Friday in Dallas)

The Hangover Part III (R) Bradley Cooper, Zach Galifianakis, and Ed Helms (and Justin Bartha, too, I guess) return for one last adventure in Las Vegas. Also with Ken Jeong, John Goodman, Jeffrey Tambor, Mike Epps, Sasha Barrese, Jamie Chung, Gillian Vigman, Sondra Currie, Melissa McCarthy, and Heather Graham. (Opens Friday)

The Iceman (R) Michael Shannon’s smoldering-volcano intensity is pretty much the only reason to watch this bleak, monotonous mob drama. He portrays Richard Kuklinski, a real-life contract killer for the New Jersey mafia who murdered more than 100 people over more than 20 years. First-time feature director Ariel Vromen films this like high tragedy, with little flair or imagination and zero humor. He needs to learn that grim does not equal profound. There’s an eye-opening turn by Chris Evans as a scuzzy fellow killer, but it’s a coiled, strained Shannon who commands your attention, slightly darkening his expression to indicate that he’s just decided to kill the person he’s talking to. Also with Winona Ryder, Ray Liotta, David Schwimmer, John Ventimiglia, Danny A. Abeckaser, Robert Davi, Stephen Dorff, and James Franco. (Opens Friday at AMC Grapevine Mills)

Love Is All You Need (R) The latest film by Susanne Bier (In a Better World, After the Wedding) stars Pierce Brosnan as a British widower who meets a cheated-on Danish wife (Trine Dyrholm) while they’re attending a wedding in Italy. Also with Paprika Steen, Sebastian Jessen, Molly Blixt Egelind, Ciro Petrone, Marco D’Amore, and Line Kruse. (Opens Friday in Dallas)

What Maisie Knew (R) The team of Scott McGehee and David Siegel (Bee Season, The Deep End) direct this modern-day adaptation of Henry James’ novel about the acrimonious breakup of a marriage, seen through the eyes of the couple’s 7-year-old daughter (Onata Aprile). Also with Julianne Moore, Steve Coogan, Alexander Skarsgård, Joanna Vanderham, Sadie Rae, Amelia Campbell, and Maddie Corman. (Opens Friday in Dallas)

Cinco de Mayo, La Batalla (R) Produced for the 150th anniversary of the Battle of Puebla, Rafa Lara’s epic re-creates that battle for Mexican independence from the French, starring Kuno Becker, Christian Vasquez, Liz Gallardo, William Miller, Noé Hernández, and Angélica Aragón.

The Croods (PG) This fitfully inspired animated comedy is about a family of prehistoric cavepeople headed by an overprotective, risk-averse dad (voiced by Nicolas Cage) until their home is destroyed and they’re forced to journey many miles to find a new place. The movie’s fanciful prehistoric landscape is nice to see, and terrific voice work from both Cage and Emma Stone as his adventurous daughter gives the movie some personality. However, the movie never really hits any memorable highs or sustains any sort of momentum and is populated by bizarre creatures. Check out the graceful flock of cute, murderous little red birds. Additional voices by Ryan Reynolds, Catherine Keener, Clark Duke, Chris Sanders, and Cloris Leachman.

Disconnect (R) Apparently, the technology that’s supposed to connect us is making us lonelier and more isolated than ever. Oh, spare me, seriously. This hysterically overwrought drama tells the interlocking stories of a TV reporter (Andrea Riseborough) who exploits a webcam prostitute (Max Thieriot) for a story, a bereaved couple (Alexander Skarsgård and Paula Patton) who fall victim to identity theft, and a lonely teenager (Jonah Bobo) who gets Catfished by a couple of sadistic classmates (Colin Ford and Aviad Bernstein). Director Henry Alex Rubin (Murderball) does his best to bring the temperature down, but neither he nor this talented cast can do anything about the relentless line of Luddite crap that this movie pushes. Also with Jason Bateman, Hope Davis, Frank Grillo, Michael Nyqvist, and Norbert Leo Butz.

42 (PG-13) A museum piece, not a movie. This biography of Jackie Robinson focuses on the three years leading up to the baseball star’s tumultuous 1947 season, when he integrated his sport as a player for the Brooklyn Dodgers. Writer-director Brian Helgeland tries to create scope by taking us through dead-end subplots with poorly characterized supporting roles. This is forgivable; less so is Helgeland’s failure to give us a sense of how widespread racism was among fans, the press, and executives. The racial slurs that Robinson (Chadwick Boseman, doing what he can with a plaster saint of a role) encounters seem to come mostly from a few troublemakers. Had Helgeland been more willing to court controversy, this might have been the great American story that it promised to be. Also with Harrison Ford, Nicole Beharie, Christopher Meloni, Ryan Merriman, Lucas Black, Andre Holland, Alan Tudyk, Hamish Linklater, T.R. Knight, and John C. McGinley.

The Great Gatsby (PG-13) Ridiculous. And also pretty cool. Baz Luhrmann (Moulin Rouge!) adapts F. Scott Fitzgerald’s novel into a piece of spectacle that overloads your senses. Leonardo DiCaprio (looser and more romantic than he’s been since Titanic) portrays Gatsby, while Carey Mulligan pulls off the near-miraculous feat of making Daisy interesting. Their performances help make this version of Gatsby feel more alive than more realistic versions, as does Luhrmann’s gleefully anachronistic soundtrack and his scrupulously composed, frenetically edited scenes of revelry. The movie flattens out the novel’s themes and waters down its critique of capitalism, but Luhrmann manages to make this classic into very much his own opulent, tragic creation. Also with Tobey Maguire, Joel Edgerton, Isla Fisher, Elizabeth Debicki, Jason Clarke, Callan McAuliffe, and Amitabh Bachchan.

Iron Man 3 (PG-13) An excellent finish to the series. Suffering crippling anxiety attacks, Tony Stark (Robert Downey Jr.) must deal with a terrorist bomber (Ben Kingsley) who leaves him without power for his suit. New director/co-writer Shane Black likes staging low-fi action sequences that force Tony to rely on his unaided wits and limbs. The banter between Tony and Rhodey (Don Cheadle) may be a bit worn, but robbing Tony of his armor re-establishes the character’s humanity in his love for his girlfriend (Gwyneth Paltrow) and his best friend (Jon Favreau). We wouldn’t mind seeing this Tony every couple of summers. Also with Guy Pearce, Rebecca Hall, Stephanie Szostak, James Badge Dale, Ty Simpkins, and an uncredited Mark Ruffalo. — Steve Steward

Mud (R) Jeff Nichols (Take Shelter) juxtaposes childhood against cold, hard reality in his second film. Tye Sheridan and Jacob Lofland play 14-year-old boys who discover a mysterious drifter (Matthew McConaughey) living on an island in the Mississippi River. Nichols evokes a world filled with stunted men who refuse to adapt to change, couching this story as a drama whose slow pace suggests the river’s quiet, inexorable movement. The movie shines brightest when the characters finally come to grips with the hidden truths about themselves coming to light. Also with Reese Witherspoon, Michael Shannon, Ray McKinnon, Sarah Paulson, Joe Don Baker, and Sam Shepard. — Steve Steward