Evil counterpart in an 1886 novella / SUN 4-19-26 / Winged beings of folklore / Heavy metal instrument in Verdi's "Il Trovatore" / Dooley Wilson's role in "Casablanca" / Slang term for a recording studio / Extract said to promote relaxation / Fatty tuna, at a sushi bar / Old name for Tokyo / Half of a candy duo / Eponymous hypnotist / Elaborate invitation from a senior, maybe

Constructor: Michael Lieberman

Relative difficulty: Medium

[I missed a a double Star Wars day on Friday!]

***Important Message from the NYT for PRINT SOLVERS***: 

Editor’s note: If you plan to solve the Sunday Crossword in this week’s New York Times Magazine, you will find that the answers will not fit. After the issue had already been printed, we discovered that there was an error with the solvable grid of the Sunday Crossword. A corrected version of the puzzle can be found on Page 25 of Sunday’s daily New York Times. We sincerely apologize for the confusion. The grids available to print online are correct.

THEME: "Nuclear Fusion" — six Down answers are two-word answers where each word is four letters and both words share a core (i.e. they have the same two center letters, hence "nuclear fusion"); these six answers are represented in the grid as one four-letter answer, with the first and last square of each answer (the non-core part) containing two letters. Thus, DEAD HEAT, for example, becomes [D/H] EA [D/T] (the "dead" and the "heat" parts are both present simultaneously but are to be taken sequentially). In the crosses, the doubled-letters are read as sequential letters (e.g., in the DEAD HEAT example, the crosses for the first and last letters are ISLAN[D/H]OPPED and PLAYE[D/T]O WIN:

Theme answers:

[D/H] EA [D/T] ("dead heat") (24D: Race that's too close to call)

• ISLAN[D H]OPPED (23A: Traveled from Syros to Naxos to Mykonos, say)
• PLAYE[D T]O WIN (36A: Wasn't messing around, say)

[L/G] AS [T/P] ("last gasp") (26D: Desperate final effort)

• I FEE[L G]REAT (25A: "That was rejuvenating!")
• SECRE[T P]LOTS (39A: Cabal's schemes)

[Y/C] AR [D/E] ("yardcare") (50D: Mowing, mulching, raking, etc.)

[B/L] OA [T/D] ("boat load") (64D: Ton of cargo)

• HAPP[Y C]AMPERS (49A: They've got no complaints)
• CIN[DE]R[BL]OCK (63A: Masonry unit)
• CONCER[T D]ATES (83A: Listings on a band T-shirt)

[S/H] EL [F/P] ("self-help") (92D: Where "The Four Agreements" and "The Five Love Languages" may be shelved)

• TEXA[S H]OLD 'EM (90A: Popular poker variant)
• OUT O[F P]LACE (107A: How a misfit might feel)

[H/W] AR [D/E] ("hardware") (94D: Most merchandise at Ace and True Value)

• BIRT[H W]EIGHT (93A: Baby book datum)
• UNREA[D E]MAILS (109A: Inbox zero targets)

Word of the Day: HELEN Frankenthaler (46A: Abstract Expressionist Frankenthaler) —

[Mauve District, 1966]

Helen Frankenthaler (December 12, 1928 – December 27, 2011) was an American abstract expressionist painter. She was a major contributor to the history of postwar American painting. Having exhibited her work for over six decades (early 1950s until 2011), she spanned several generations of abstract painters while continuing to produce vital and ever-changing new work. Frankenthaler began exhibiting her large-scale abstract expressionist paintings in contemporary museums and galleries in the early 1950s. She was included in the 1964 Post-Painterly Abstraction exhibition curated by Clement Greenberg that introduced a newer generation of abstract painting that came to be known as color field. Born in Manhattan, she was influenced by Greenberg, Hans Hofmann, and Jackson Pollock's paintings. Her work has been the subject of several retrospective exhibitions, including a 1989 retrospective at the Museum of Modern Art in New York City, and been exhibited worldwide since the 1950s. In 2001, she was awarded the National Medal of Arts.

Frankenthaler had a home and studio in Darien, Connecticut. (wikipedia)

• • •

Wow. Exhausting just to explain and type out that theme. Like many architectural marvels whose distinguishing characteristics are solely architectural, this one left me a little cold. It does its thing, repeatedly, and ... that's that. There's no wordplay or cleverness beyond the puzzle title. I kept waiting for a revealer that never came. Eventually I realized that the title itself was the revealer. Was it easy for you to grasp the meaning of the title, even after you understood what was physically going on in the grid? I think it's pretty self-evident, but can see even a regular solver being pretty lost. But I don't know, maybe the meaning of "Nuclear Fusion" was transparent to everyone—once you figured out the theme, of course. Before that? Woof, good luck. Chaos! And even if you went looking for a revealer clue to help you out, as I've already said, there was none to be found. So you really had to hack at this thing to get it to reveal its mysteries. I did, anyway. I was well into the grid before I understood what was happening. From where I was sitting, at first it looking like the "H" was missing from "ISLAN[D-H]OPPED" and the "HEAT' was missing from "DEAD HEAT." The next themer that I "got" was all the way down the west side at TEXA[S H]OLD 'EM, where, once again, it looked like an "H" was missing in the Across (TEXAS OLD 'EM!) and the four-letter "H" word (in this case, the HELP from SELF HELP) was missing from the Down. So I thought it was an "H"-related theme ... and with the title being "Nuclear Fusion," I thought maybe the "H" was supposed to be Hydrogen. Seriously, I thought that. It seemed ... logical, at the time. Logical-ish. Not sure when or how I finally realized what the entire gimmick was (shared core in the Downs, double-letters for the crosses of the first and last squares of those Downs). I just know it was a slog getting there. Once I got there, the puzzle got easier. I wish it had been more interesting. The puzzle is impressive, in its way, but in the end its impressiveness is purely structural, which left me a little cold.

[45A: Dooley Wilson's role in "Casablanca"]

[Sam plays it, and plays it again, but no one ever says "Play it again, Sam"]

The puzzle played about as hard as a Sunday should play, I think. The theme might've been a little harder than usual to suss out, but the rest was very doable, while not being ridiculously easy. There were lots of non-theme answers that gave me at least a little bit of trouble. "HOLY ___"! So many options. Moley, Moses, Toledo, Cow, Smokes, etc. Couldn't think of the one that fit until I got a few crosses (3D: "Mamma mia!"). Both "SO MAD" and "SO EXCITED" took some doing. I don't really get why the "SO MAD" clue is in brackets (34A: ["Unbe-frickin-lievable!"]). Without the brackets ... it makes sense. Or is "SO MAD" a state of being as opposed to an actual exclamation? Seems awkward, but OK. CBD OIL took some effort, for sure, as I wanted a word, but then got an initialism, but then got both an initialism and a word! Twofer! (63D: Extract said to promote relaxation). The LAB / BANG bit stumped me for a bit, too. I guess I've heard a studio called a "LAB" (108D: Slang term for a recording studio), but if I've heard a "!" called a BANG, I don't remember it. I can infer it from the portmanteau "interrobang," which is a fusion of a question mark and exclamation point: 

But I've only ever referred to an exclamation point as an "exclamation point." Somehow I thought a PALISADE was a walkway and not a 54A: Defensive fortification, so that one took a little effort. My cabal had SECRET PLANS before they had SECRET PLOTS. And I think I had a CREAM EGG before I had a CREME EGG (84D: Cadbury confection). I did manage to remember who Renée RAPP was today (she was "Word of the Day" fairly recently), so that's nice. Nice for my brain, that it's not leaking All the new information it takes in. The one thing I truly don't understand in this puzzle is the clue on 1-Down. [Locks up?] = HAIR??? Obviously "locks" = "HAIR," but what the hell is this "up" business? I had UPDO in there at first, but the doubling up of "UP" made me think "well that ain't right." If "Locks" = HAIR (and it does), then I don't know what "up" is doing here. Seems entirely extraneous. I see that the clue wants to do a cheeky prison-related misdirect, but ... is the idea that you HAIR is "up" on your head!?!?!? If that's it, wow is that bad. People have HAIR on their damned feet. Come on, now ... It's true no one has "Locks" of HAIR on their feet, because locks appear only on the head ... which is why, as I say, you do not need the "up"—where else are locks going to be but "up" on your head?! These "?" clues have to land!

Bullets:

• 20A: ___ pasta (rhyming fusion dish) (RASTA) — easy, and it's got "fusion" in there (nice callback to the theme), but I wish the clue had given me any indication of what this dish actually consists of. I would've guessed something to do with jerk chicken, and apparently that is mostly correct. 
• 59A: Fatty tuna, at a sushi bar (TORO) — remembered this one today! (with a little nudge from the "T"). With two types of TORO already occupying my brain (the Spanish "bull," the snowblower brand), I figured I was doomed never to make a third meaning stick, but apparently, sticking hath occurred. More good news for my aging brain.

• 115A: Heavy metal instrument in Verdi's "Il Trovatore" (ANVIL) — cute pun on "heavy metal" (briefly tried to imagine someone playing Verdi on an electric guitar). That SW corner seems potentially treacherous, with not only this slightly odd clue on ANVIL, but an ANI / NIETO crossing that might catch non-Spanish-speaking non-jewelry fans flat-footed (111D: Alex and ___ (jewelry company) / 119A: Grandchild of un abuelo)
• 3D: "Mamma mia!" ("HOLY CANNOLI!") — speaking of Mamma Mia! ([cracks knuckles], watch this segue...), I had guest writers for the Friday and Saturday blog posts this week (thanks, Eli and Rafa!) because earlier this weekend I was in NYC seeing the new Broadway production of Death of a Salesman at the Winter Garden Theatre. I read in the playbill that the Winter Garden was where Cats ran for a mind-boggling 18 years (1982-2000), and that Cats was then immediately followed by ... Mamma Mia!, which also ran for an absurdly long time (2001-2013). So basically, for over three decades at the end of the 20th century, the Winter Garden was home to just two shows: Cats and Mamma Mia! The Winter Garden is a lovely theater, and this production of Death of a Salesman (starring Nathan Lane, Laurie Metcalf, Christopher Abbott and Ben Ahlers) was truly moving. Turns out crossword constructor Rebecca Goldstein was there on the same night! (I ran into her in line). I got to go backstage after the show—Laurie Metcalf is a crossword enthusiast and was gracious enough to invite me. Penelope and I got to see the stage up close and talk to Laurie for a bit. Needless to say, the whole evening was a genuine thrill. 

[Making claw-like gestures in the air, totally normal]

• 75D: Crown and ___ (alliterative bar order) (COKE) — Crown (Royal) is a Canadian whisky. COKE is ... well, presumably you know. I've never heard of Crown & COKE, only Jack & COKE, but the COKE part was easy to get. Apparently COKE & Fernet BRANCA is a really popular cocktail in Argentina (93D: Fernet- ___ (Italian digestif brand)). 
• 33D: Evil counterpart in an 1886 novella (HYDE) — counterpart to whom, you might ask? Well I'm not telling. OK, it's Siegfried (just kidding—Siegfried's evil counterpart was ROY) 

That's all for today. I'll see you next time. And thanks to Eli and Rafa for doing such a bang-up job with the Friday and Saturday write-ups, respectively!

Signed, Rex Parker, King of CrossWorld

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