Surely many of you have taken a crack at reading David Foster Wallace’s behemoth of a novel Infinite Jest; perhaps some have even gotten through the entire thing. Or maybe the idea of parsing through a book so large it could double as a weapon seems daunting, and you’d rather sit in a basement watching a comedy show that vaguely riffs on the novel but is set in a vaguely dystopian future where the NFL is in cahoots with the government. In that case, Brian Pisano and Sam Taffe’s sketch comedy play Infinite Jets may be the thing for you. Our current future prospects aren’t looking too hot, so might as well laugh at a made-up future before ours becomes all too real. The show comes as a double feature with Deep Space Live, a late night talk show set in space hosted by a man whose only friend is a robot.
We’re a lucky, lucky bunch to live in a city where we’re at the wellspring of new film and the source of cinematic reconsideration, where grind-house becomes art-house and a dum-dum boy can be made into a bandana-wearing teddy bear genius. See all that and more this week and beyond.
Next week thousands of theater patrons will once again descend on Lower Manhattan for the 19th annual NYC Fringe Festival. “Fringe theater” usually denotes plays located on the edge of something (the mainstream, the city, a performer’s sanity). With 200 shows on offer, several seem to occupy the fringe between high culture and low, floating somewhere between stage, screen and page. These nine offer you the chance to Kill Dunham, Channel Spock and “Van Gogh Fuck Yourself.”
The celebrity cemetery on Broome Street has no headstones, graves or flowers. Through Sunday, the Whitebox Art Center will display 51 portraits from British painter Robert Priseman’s “FAME” series, depicting stars who “died prematurely from suicide or as a result of a self-destructive lifestyle.” More →