It's a typical day, more or less, in the world of fabulously wealthy Svetlana and Antonio Peters. The Catholic Church has merged with the Baptists ("They had to do something after that scandal in Boston"). Lenaeria, the amnesiac pilot's half-sister, is physically consuming objets d'art (having eaten three Schnabels, she complains that they're "tasteless"). And everybody's hunting for that 500-year-old relic, the head of Count Wilfred Pocahanta-Garbanzca, with which sinister Mrs. Treadwell just escaped in a stolen Subaru, trailing a U-Haul full of gasoline.
In other words, new episodes of John Jesurun's Chang in a Void Moon, the world's most demurely zany serial drama, are here to scramble your brains again. The new episodes go further back in time as well as forward; the longer they've been dead, the more persistently characters assert themselves. The allusions run the gamut from Satie to the Four Tops; the cast is lustrous with downtown celebs; and the writing, as always, suggests André Breton, Jim Thompson, and P.G. Wodehouse collaborating on a sample script for All My Children. Such insanity, such delight.
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