The enterprising Tiler Peck has been a leading dancer at New York City Ballet for more than fifteen years, played a neurotic ballerina on Amy Sherman-Palladino’s “Étoile,” and created a number of ballets of her own. Now she curates “Ballet Festival: Jerome Robbins,” an array of miniatures, distributed over three programs. These include the charming pas de deux “Four Bagatelles,” to Beethoven; the seldom performed duo for two women “Rondo,” to Mozart; and “Suite of Dances,” a solo meditation on Bach that Robbins whipped up for Baryshnikov in 1994. The last will be performed on alternate nights by Roman Mejía (Peck’s husband) and Peck herself—the first time this solo has been taken on by a woman.—Marina Harss (Joyce; Aug. 12-17.)

Art

One of the great takeaways from the small, elegant, and wonder-filled show “Arresting Beauty: Julia Margaret Cameron” is how much fun Cameron must have been. Born in Calcutta to a trader father, she married Charles Hay Cameron, an investor in plantations in modern-day Sri Lanka, and raised eleven children; after moving to England in 1848, they became part of an art scene that included Alfred Tennyson. (Cameron was Virginia Woolf’s great-aunt.) One of her kids gave her a camera, and with it Cameron revolutionized photography by manipulating her exposures to soften and blur, for dramatic results. Among the best pictures here are of the botanical painter Marianne North, and of a pensive young boy named Freddy Gould, who looks at the lens with the calm certainty of knowing who he is.—Hilton Als (Morgan Library & Museum; through Sept. 14.)

Movies

Fear not: “The Naked Gun” hits the target, but barely. This reboot of the beloved franchise, centered on the Los Angeles Police Squad, is funny enough to sustain patience without rivalling the original’s wild charm. Liam Neeson plays Lt. Frank Drebin, Jr., whose overly violent response to a bank robbery gets him demoted; his investigation of a car accident connects to the robbery, and both lead him to an evil billionaire (Danny Huston) with a diabolical scheme. To thwart it, Frank teams up with a fellow-officer (Paul Walter Hauser) and a victim’s sister (Pamela Anderson), and some of the boisterous humor is playfully ribald. But, in Akiva Schaffer’s direction, the gleefully exaggerated slapstick doesn’t astonish, it only amuses; the film hardly achieves liftoff from its script.—Richard Brody (In wide release.)

1. Filling the void left by “Titanique,” the Off Broadway comedy “Ginger Twinsies” (at the Orpheum) lampoons another cultural artifact of the late nineties: the Lindsay Lohan remake of “The Parent Trap.” The show, written and directed by Kevin Zak, stars the pointedly un-twinlike Russell Daniels and Aneesa Folds as the redheaded tweens separated at birth, with a scene-stealing Phillip Taratula as their gold-digging would-be stepmom. The wigs and the sex jokes are plentiful.

2. What’s campier than the above? Not much, but consider this: Zero Waste Daniel, the Brooklyn-based fashion brand founded by Daniel Silverstein, is marking the fortieth anniversary of the TV show “The Golden Girls” with a capsule collection, including cheesecake-print sweatshirts, banana-leaf-patterned bomber jackets, and bags illustrated with the four ladies’ faces. Through Aug. 17, the brand’s flagship store, in Bushwick, is outfitted as a “Golden Girls” dreamscape, with retro lounge furniture and Miami pastels.

3. The character actor Jeff Hiller is Emmy-nominated for his daffy yet heartfelt performance as a gay Kansan on HBO’s “Somebody Somewhere.” He also has a new memoir out, “Actress of a Certain Age.” Hiller, an avid reader of celebrity memoirs, titles each chapter after one of them, while recounting the indignities of being gay in Hollywood, his evolving relationship with the church, and studying abroad in Namibia. It’s funny on the page, but I recommend the audiobook, so you can hear Hiller’s Carol Burnett-like goofy deadpan and trademark giggle.

Sunscreen, as a consumer good, tends to fall into the gloppy gray area between need and want. We are all aware that the sun, as dazzling and mood-bolstering as it may be, is an unmerciful adversary. Sustained exposure to UV radiation, the science tells us, comes with a roster of terrible potentialities, from skin cancer to cataracts to leathery wrinkles. So the need is clear; but what about the want? I have rarely stood in the sunblock aisle of a drugstore and found myself overwhelmed with desire. My concerns are practical: I am pale and quick to crisp. Give me high SPF, at a reasonably low price, and I’m sold.