Jessie Smith doesn't fuck around. About two-thirds of the way through Thrashoholic, her endurance piece/spelunking expedition into the psychology of binge drinking, she gives up on interpreting her subject through dance and just pours herself five big shots of Maker's Mark, which she takes in short, painful succession. And lest you think she might be faking, despite breaking the wax seal of the bottle onstage, the smell of what she pukes up (at least the night we saw it, though that outcome seems pretty inevitable) will prove you wrong. more ›