Often described as a work of hysterical realist genius, “Infinite Jest” by David Foster Wallace took readers by storm in early 1996. Now—almost 15 years after its publication—at Columbia’s LeRoy Neiman Gallery, “Infinite Jest” continues to challenge the idea of what a novel can do and what it can inspire.
In the novel, James O. Incandenza is a recently deceased filmmaker. For the exhibit, titled “A Failed Entertainment: Selections from the Filmography of James O. Incandenza,” artists and filmmakers created some of the shaping pieces of Incandenza’s body of work. His film ‘Infinite Jest’ is a work so thought-provoking that its viewers supposedly no longer care for anything that occurs outside the film.
The atmosphere of the Neiman exhibit is sterile. The viewers first enter a white room with only two small works of visual art on the wall. Two screens play films—one is a standard television and the other a projection onto the wall, an arrangement which distracts and mesmerizes the observers.
The audience is able to choose which film to watch, by turning a doorknob to the left or to the right. The ability to turn the knob freely provokes the visitors to question who decides what they are exposed to, and what it means to be able to choose what to see.
The screen shows one of 25 films from Incandenza’s career as described in the novel. Many of them document aspects of every day life—such as sex, drugs, war, loneliness, news, music, and discussion—but the content feels unfamiliar and surreal. Most of the films lack conversation between their subjects, and the only sounds are cacophonous sound effects. The subject’s face is frequently the main focus and emphasized by extreme close-ups. Thereby, the films stress the aspects which make an individual human, which is also a major theme of the novel that inspired the exhibit.
Apart from the films, the exhibit displays two paintings. An oil painting called “Referencing the Original” by Van Hanos hangs on the wall perpendicular to the projected screen. The painting depicts Sierpinski’s Triangle, in which a finite number of symbols is presented within an infinite pattern. Only once the viewer gazes at the painting long enough does he realize that there is an absolute number of triangles within the one capacious triangle. In comparison to the films, the painting provokes a heavy feeling of insignificance.
The most thought-provoking aspect of the exhibition lies below the projected screen, in the form of a rough, wooden door with a lone, golden doorknob spinning evenly on it. The only light in the room is focused on it, entrancing its viewers. The doorknob spins without influence from the audience, evoking the question central to the exhibit—do people really chose what entertains them?
Comments
We're looking for comments that are interesting and substantial. If your comments are excessively self-promotional or obnoxious you will be banned from commenting. Consult the comment FAQ and legal terms.