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Synopsis A bizarro updating of the myth of Theseus and the Minotaur, set entirely in an Internet chat room.
Review Since rocketing to dizzying, imaginative heights after the Soviet grip on the arts loosened, Victor Pelevin has spent his
bright literary career orbiting the realms of the surreal and the irrational. His latest contribution to the post-Soviet Russian
literary canon proves that he has yet to come down from his heroic head-trips.
A radically weird updating of the myth of Theseus and the Minotaur, The Helmet of Horror occurs as a chat-room discussion, wherein a handful of aliases begin to appear, not knowing how they came to be there, and
enter into dialogue about their surroundings. Their thread is titled "Ariadne."
Rather than the interconnected, free realm of the Internet, the cyberspace of the novel is a closed network of computer terminals installed in identical, single-occupancy cells, which
may (or may not) be physically near one another. Inside each is a locked door covered by strange inscriptions, and any details
the occupants try to offer about their identities are censored by omnipresent "moderators." Able to manifest themselves only
as disembodied linguistic constructs, the characters band together to understand their universe and to find a way out. The
key to all this is a mysterious virtual-reality mask known as the "helmet of horror."
Fueled by Pelevin's trademark dark humor and his impeccable skill as a satirist, the novel leads us through a strange reality
built on half-knowledge, dreams, and mutated literary and pop-cultural references (Romeo and Juliet, Star Wars, Japanese manga, Batman, Christianity, and even Merrill Lynch all make appearances) on the way to a denouement that doesn't disappoint, for all its strangeness. Even if we are condemned
to remain imprisoned in our own faintly glowing cubicles, at least we have a writer like Pelevin to pound at the bars. - Stephen Dougherty
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| Art |
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Home by Olaf Breuning
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| Published: |
2004 |
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| Pages: |
158 |
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| Publisher: |
JRP/Ringier |
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Links: Official site
Artist's bio
NY Times Review of Breuning's Art
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Synopsis Olaf Breuning presents a behind-the-scenes-look at his wacky, satirical world of costumed extremists and nomadic protagonists.
Review "Do Not Come to Easter Island!" is what the prudish travel agent wrote to Olaf Breuning when he inquired about getting permission for his pending photo project. Naturally, Breuning embarked the next day to shoot
the famous, monumental Moai heads, complete with bunny-ears and rabbit-teeth, in an image that mixes one part blasphemy with two parts prankster-playboy. Similarly adolescent exploits from Breuning, a 21st-century
Martin Kippenberger, are given full exposure in this single-volume monograph in French and English.
Home documents the artist's photos, films, and installations from 2001 to 2004 in brilliant color spreads, filling entire pages
with Breuning's lunatic characters and over-the-top stage sets. It follows a double show at two venues in France, the Musee d'Art moderne et contemporain in Strasbourg and the Magasin Centre National d'Art Contemporain in Grenoble. Taking its title from the artist's first medium-length film, Home also features a terrifically engaging behind-the-scenes narrative of the film's production from its star, Brian Kerstetter. Writing with a breezy, blog-ready style, Kerstetter recounts how the duo hired (and overpaid) a Vegas prostitute not to
have sex with them, why Breuning orchestrated a helicopter ride over the Grand Canyon, and the funny details of other gonzo-style
episodes in Tokyo, Machu Picchu, and the outskirts of Queens, New York.
These masterfully reproduced images showcase the temporary-Halloween-store madness that pervades Breuning's work. No costume is too tacky to include in his photographic tableaux; his subjects sport
army fatigues, vampire teeth, cheap wigs, and hideous makeup, all the while posing with the seriousness of Shakespearean troupe
actors. Mexican day-of-the-dead skeletons and ghosts haunt his installations, lending the scenes an air of kitschy, ethnographic mysticism. The final section
of stills and production shots from Home halts the film's careening tempo, allowing a lingering look at a masterpiece that Breuning calls "particularly stupid." - Jessica Kraft
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