This week in the Voice, out today: Tony Ortega tells gender outlaw Kate Bornstein‘s story, and her attempt to rekindle a relationship with her daughter: “I told her that it did seem like an odd strategy — that in order to reach out to a daughter who has shunned her for more than 30 years, she would do so with graphic descriptions not only of her gender transformation, but also of her s&m adventures. She nodded, knowingly, and smiled. ‘It’s not the transgender issue she would have a problem with — it’s that I left Scientology.'”
Robert Sietsema reviews Genting Palace, at Aqueduct Racetrack: “The decor might be described as very Vegas, with strange intergalactic light fixtures, sumptuous furniture, satellite private rooms, and ugly carpets that — like all casino floor coverings — begin to look like vomit if you stare at them for too long. Odd for a Chinese restaurant, there’s an outdoor terrace with tables that will presumably at some future point allow you to enjoy some of the city’s best dim sum while watching the galloping ponies.”
In music, Maura Johnston writes about Jack White’s Blunderbuss, which seems subdued yet excellent: “This isn’t to say it’s inferior to his other work, though; if anything, the grounding makes the blues underpinnings come to the fore even more strongly. There’s a crying-sky grayness permeating the whole affair, one that even his singular yawp can’t completely ward off… It’s full of lyrics that, even when seemingly recounting moments of happiness, are tinged with the opposite emotion.”
Karina Longworth examines long-awaited Marvel superhero supergroup flick The Avengers, and finds that the film lacks suspense: “We never get the sense that any of the heroes might not survive to snark again.”
Michael Feingold looks at Leap of Faith, and finds that the St. James Theatre production largely amounts to this: “Moral, one gathers: Pretend intensely enough to have faith, and feel guilty enough about it when exposed, and God will cut you plenty of slack, even if you’ve racked up a rap sheet longer than your arm.”
And in art, Christian Viveros-Faune opines on the May auctions and the inaugural Frieze fair, noting: “They are a lame if increasingly necessary vehicle for just about every art activity, from curator networking to actual gallery sales. Artists hate them, and they should. Attending an art fair, according to one major figure, is like seeing your parents fuck.”
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