Culture City: The Art of Fishing for Attention

Everybody wants attention. That's showbiz. So does that explain why Tilda Swinton was sleeping in a glass box at MoMA last week?

Of course not. An Oscar-winning actress taking an eight-hour nap in the middle of one of the city's most important museums? Obviously, that's art.

Or is it? To be clear, I'll fully admit that I didn't see "The Maybe," as the work is titled. Part of the project is based on Ms. Swinton appearing without notice.

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Actress Tilda Swinton napped in a glass box last week at MoMA for a piece called 'The Maybe.'

Judging from the pictures and reports, I'm not sure I'd spend the time stalking the museum for her next appearance. Art doesn't always have to make a point, but "The Maybe" seems like it has one. What is it? To broaden our concept of portraiture? To make us think about celebrity differently? Maybe it elucidates "The Scream"?

Ms. Swinton previously enacted this work in London's Serpentine Gallery in 1995, and then in Rome's Museo Barracco in 1996. At the Serpentine, Londoners were no mere onlookers. According to a report in the Times in September 1995, visitors repeatedly tried to wake her by tapping on the glass. One man showed up each day to read aloud his poetry. As the reporter noted, "She was unnerved by a man who tried waking her by screaming: 'Get up, you stupid cow.'"

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The art collective Faile erected a tower of drawings at the New York City Ballet.

Perhaps if Ms. Swinton were presented at MoMA in a show about the 1990s, the piece would register within the historical context of that decadent time. Wasn't that an era of contemporary art that ran parallel with the early Internet boom, back when foie gras was today's kale? Damien Hirst and the Young British Artists were going great guns. We had sharks in formaldehyde. We had fake pills on mirrored shelves. We had money.

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The Gotham Chamber Orchestra's production of the baroque opera 'Eliogabalo

Plus, it looks like New York got only half "The Maybe" enchilada. In London, it was presented along with an assortment of objects purportedly related to famous individuals, such as Winston Churchill's cigar and a cushion from Sigmund Freud's office. A spokesperson for MoMA said these additional relics were not presented here.

Maybe an actress sleeping in a box brings you closer to theater? There's no denying that her project calls on the craft of acting: sleeping in public can't be natural. But if you want to see a celebrity act, check out Tom Hanks's star turn in "Lucky Guy" at the Broadhurst Theatre.

If "The Maybe" is truly meant to spark deep thoughts about celebrity and voyeurism within the museum context, it may do that. But so does reading People magazine in the MoMA cafe. If you want to connect with art, ditch the mag and walk around.

MoMA is by no means alone in its quest for quick attention. Earlier this year, New York City Ballet invited the Brooklyn-based art collective Faile to erect a tower of comic book-style drawings in the theater's elegant promenade. The project was part of the NYCB Art Series, for which the ballet commissions contemporary artists and gives limited-edition art work to audience members.

Here's my question: How does a giant tower of comics and a free sketch bring anyone closer to ballet? If you want to develop new ballet fans, why give them graphic art?

Well, apparently it got people in seats. Or, at least the price did: Tickets to the Art Series performances (Feb. 1 and May 29) were just $29. According to City Ballet, both nights sold out in less than 24 hours, and 70% of the ticket buyers were new to the company.

That is certainly encouraging news. But when I read the programming, I lurched for an oxygen mask faster than a Yankee fan reading the injury report. Of the eight pieces on these two programs, only one is by Balanchine: "Variations pour une Porte et un Soupir," an experimental duet that is possibly the most un-Balanchine work in the entire repertory. None of the eight is by Jerome Robbins. Two are by Peter Martins. The rest, with the exception of Christopher Wheeldon's "Polyphonia," are rarely performed.

What happens when these social-media savants go back to the ballet (which I hope they do) and wind up at a program of "only" Balanchine and Robbins? Let's hope "Symphony in C"�one of Balanchine's masterpieces�works its magic.

All this being said, there's one place where attention-trolling is working: the opera. Which is turning to sex. It could be gratuitous, but in recent cases it has been consistent with storytelling.

In February, New York City Opera presented Thomas Ades's "Powder Her Face," which tells the scandalous story of Margaret Campbell, the Duchess of Argyll, who was accused by her husband of 88 extramarital affairs during their 1963 divorce. Maybe the production didn't technically need 25 naked men on the stage, but their presence did emphasize the mood.

Next season, City Opera is presenting "Anna Nicole," an opera by Mark-Anthony Turnage in which the soprano singing the role of Anna-Nicole Smith wears a pair of fake, ridiculously oversized breasts. Necessary? Well, yes. As were, arguably, the heavily decorated codpieces in Gotham Chamber Orchestra's production of "Eliogabalo," a Baroque opera about a hedonistic Roman ruler. Presented at the Box last month, the production also included burlesque dancers with pasties.

Meanwhile, in the Metropolitan Opera's new production of "Rigoletto," running through May 1, the second act takes place in and around a strip club. The pole dancer wears pasties only when the show is broadcast in HD. But hey, it's set in Las Vegas. So why not? It gets attention�for more right than wrong reasons.

—email Pia at pia.catton@wsj.com