In one of the major avant-garde performances of the late nineteen-sixties, the actors of the Living Theatre used to run almost naked through startled Off Broadway audiences, bleating about not being able to travel without a passport. Forget passports: in the bloodcurdling, apocalyptic landscape of Adam Rapp’ . . . (Subscription required.)
SOURCE: The New Yorker at 12:00AM on October 8, 2012