presents a solo concert in the South Indian form Kuchipudi. What’s Kuchipudi? Govardhanan explains via interspersed commentary, and in a post-show conversation with the New Yorker contributor Marina Harss.—Brian SeibertMoviesA crucial oral history merges with a joyful party in “Once Upon a Time in Harlem,” a project of epochal scope, from 1972, which is nonetheless a new movie. That year, the Harlem-born filmmaker William Greaves gathered, in a town house belonging to Duke Ellington, a wide array of luminaries who’d been part of the Harlem Renaissance half a century earlier, including Eubie Blake, James Van Der Zee, Regina Andrews, and Arna Bontemps. Greaves assembled a team of cinematographers (including his son, David) to film the reunion, and the resulting torrent of reminiscences, tussle between varying perspectives, and wealth of spontaneous musical interludes revitalize the era’s artistic and political passions with a startling, thrilling immediacy. The film was left incomplete when William Greaves died, in 2014; David directed the completion, which is among the greatest of documentaries.—Richard Brody (Opening Oct. 16 at Film Forum.)Bar TabTaran Dugal cheers on the New York Liberty in Williamsburg.Illustration by Patricia BolañosNew York hoops fans, rejoice: your year of playoffs hysteria isn’t over yet. Sure, it was a Knicks summer, but orange leaves are falling now, and with autumn comes a new home-town underdog to rally for: the W.N.B.A.’s New York Liberty. On a recent Sunday, two friends inaugurated the team’s postseason playoffs run at Blazers, a bar in Williamsburg dedicated to women’s sports. They made their way to the back room, where the floor had been painted with orange court markings, and settled at a table in two-point territory. The décor surpassed that of a typical sports bar, dingy novelty signs replaced by a mural of Katie Ledecky, Simone Biles, Serena Williams, and Allyson Felix. Above a gargantuan television hung on the rear wall, a disco ball levitated inside a regulation-size hoop. Boos sounded as the opposition, the Minnesota Lynx, took the court. At tipoff, the guests’ beers arrived: frosty Guinness, refreshing Talea Al Dente; Lynx’s ball. The duo finger-licked their way through a bucket of Buffalo wings as the Liberty had an early hot streak; they devoured a burger during the second quarter, its gooey pepper jack a small consolation amid a brutal Minnesota run. At halftime, they wandered into the Trailblazer Room, a closetlike space painted with dozens of portraits of female athletes, and snapped a selfie in the mirror as Gabby Douglas smiled behind them. Perhaps it was the clipped pace of the game, or maybe the Ellie’s Purse Handler—a scrumptious cocktail of gin, elderflower, lemon, and cava—that made the second half fly by. As the clock wound down on a Liberty blowout, “Let’s Groove,” by Earth, Wind & Fire, started up. “That’s the secret,” one man said to his girlfriend, who was dancing a celebratory twist by the foul line. “It’s all in the knees!”P.S. Good stuff on the internet:“Spy” is back (for a bit)Mike Faist turns the mike on Jonathan AndersonIs a SweeTango really the best apple?