Near the entrance to Mike Kelley's recent show hung what looked like a Brezhnevera poster in red, black, and yellow on which was printed a manifesto concerning the need to address the national problem of sexual frustration. Insisting our collective repression stems from a “mass culture industry” that relies on titillation without gratification to keep us coming back for more, Kelley proposes that celebrities—who profit off inflaming the national itch without scratching it—finally be called on to put out. He suggests that members of this “pantheon of fantasy figures of desire” should do

For better or worse, much of the critical debate about video-making as an artistic practice has centered around the fact that the medium is intrinsically time-based. This by-now somewhat tiresome line has generated the interdiction that we take video—and the question of its temporality—seriously, even philosophically. In the hands of Kevin Hanley, however, video treads lightly, and ideas and concepts seem almost spontaneously generated—in the case of the artist’s new exhibition, literally out of the blue. In one of the two video projections on view, Fred Astaire dances against a dazzling blue