It’s true. (And just in time for my birthday, hint.) Could it finally eliminate the risk of this?
- No categories
Pixel Vision
Remembering Remy Charlip
Remy Charlip was born on January 10, 1929 in Brooklyn, NY. He died on August 14, 2012 in San Francisco. The following windy Sunday afternoon, he was lowered into the bone-dry ground on one of the ridges of Marin’s Mount Tamalpais. His woven wicker casket had been blanketed with earth, flowers, and farewells. A solitary hawk circled overhead as soft chanting wafted across the valley. He would have loved it.
Remy took with him over 60 years of making poetry in dance, writing, drawing, painting, and theater. When he moved to San Francisco in 1989, he had a major part of his life behind him with untold accolades and honors. He had helped shape the Merce Cunningham Dance Company, the Living Theater, the Paper Bag Players, and the National Theater of the Deaf. For decades he had choreographed, designed, performed, and directed for theater and dance, and he had become a much beloved author of some extraordinarily inventive books for children that respected their individuality and enlarged their imaginations.
He also had created over 100 of what he has become best known for in dance: Air Mail Dances, in which a performer follows a sequence of images but individually realizes the transitions between them. When choreographers die, often their works die with them. Remy’s Air Mail Dances won’t. Perfectionist in everything that he was, he set them up strongly and then he set them free. He gave them a life of their own.
In the Bay Area — though he would have smiled at this label — he quickly became an older statesman for a generation of dancers, much younger, very different from him and each other, such as Krissy Keefer, Anne Bluethenthal, Jules Beckman, and Keith Hennessy. For Oakland Ballet he choreographed a charmer, Ludwig and Lou, an homage to composer and former partner Lou Harrison. He watched over and delighted in the performance of some of his Air Mail Dances by, among others, Joanna Haigood, June Watanabe, and AXIS Dance Company.
As a performer he thrilled us in Meditation — a simple dance of walks, turns, and stretches — to what must be the gooiest of concert pieces from Massenet’s opera, Thais. But perhaps he reached the pinnacle of his performance career in 2001 when in A Moveable Feast, on a commission from the Lesbian and Gay Dance Festival, he was carried, swooped, and sailed across Z Space in the arms of a bevy of nude male dancers. It was his idea of heaven. And to boot, as music he had chosen the “Liebestod” from Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde.
Perhaps most remarkable about Remy was his gentle spirit and sense of wonder. He was deeply living in this world and yet he wasn’t. How was it, we kept wondering, that an artist and a man, of yes, extraordinary accomplishments, but also much pain, rejection and losses, could keep his spirit so buoyant, generous, and uncontaminated? When he received the Guardian’s Lifetime Achievement Goldie in 2001, he said (as he often did), “I feel that my work includes all the elements I practice.” At the core of his being Remy knew exactly who he was. It kept him in the world and out of it.
Rita Felciano is th Bay Guardian’s dance critic.
Benefit screening of ‘The Master’ (in 70mm!) tomorrow at the Castro!
This is not a drill, film fans: Paul Thomas Anderson’s highly anticipated new film, The Master, will be screening at the Castro tomorrow night. In 70mm. Not gonna lie: as soon as word of similar “surprise” screenings in other cities (Chicago, Los Angeles), I was crossing my fingers and toes that we’d get one here. Especially since not everyone can make it to the various film festivals where it’s been programmed (Venice, Toronto) … and The Master‘s theatrical release isn’t until Sept. 21 in the Bay Area.
Get thee to TicketWeb now and spend $10 (plus the expected fees and whatnot) to benefit the Film Foundation. The Castro is a huge theater, but film nerds are gonna be all over this one. Like me, for instance. There will be popcorn!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fJ1O1vb9AUU
Tony Scott: a tribute in trailers
Director Tony Scott — the man who brought us fast cars and fighter planes piloted by Tom Cruise, runaway trains, vengeance (Denzel-style and Anthony Quinn-style), and magical spirit-guide Elvis in the bathroom mirror — died yesterday in an apparent suicide.
Though he never achieved the critical-darling status of his Oscar-nominated brother Ridley, Tony Scott’s contributions to that most entertaining of movie genres, the popcorn blockbuster, cannot be overstated (unsuprisingly, many of his films were produced by the like-minded Jerry Bruckheimer). Herewith, a tribute in trailers. Explosions ahoy!
The Hunger (1983): vampires David Bowie and Catherine Deneuve sink their fangs into ingenue Susan Sarandon. “A modern classic of perverse fear” (and sunglasses. So many sunglasses … so awesomely ’80s).
Top Gun (1986): Speaking of awesomely ’80s, do you feel the need … the need for speed?
Days of Thunder (1990): This is the movie where Tom Cruise (as a NASCAR driver named … Cole Trickle) met Nicole Kidman (playing … a brain surgeon). Plus, Robert Duvall as The Gruff Trainer/Coach Dude Who Makes All The Inspirational Speeches.
True Romance (1993): Scott directs hot new thang Quentin Tarantino’s gritty script about lovers on the run (Christian Slater and Patricia Arquette, never better), now a classic. A highly enjoyable, highly imitated example of edgy 1990s style, with a killer supporting cast. (Brad Pitt playing a couch-dwelling stoner at the height of his early hunk-dom = brilliant.)
Crimson Tide (1995): Speaking of QT, Scott’s hugely successful submarine thriller (starring Denzel Washington, who would go on to star in many more Scott films) featured uncredited script-doctoring by the then-hottest talent in Hollywood. Gene Hackman is the other lead. Also, nukes! Missile keys! Mutiny!
Enemy of the State (1998): Hackman returns in this Will Smith vehicle. Smith was post-Men in Black (yeah!) but pre-Wild Wild West (noooo!). Contains the ultimate action-movie line: “You’re either incredibly smart, or incredibly stupid.”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9dvvLzNC3hE
Man on Fire (2004): Washington again, as bodyguard to precocious kidnap risk Dakota Fanning.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6s_-O4HglGI
Deja Vu (2006): Washington yet again, in maybe Scott’s most mind-bendy movie. The government totally has time-travel technology, y’all.
The Taking of Pelham 1 2 3 (2009): Denzel returns, this time in a remake of the 1974 subway thriller, with John Travolta as the baddie.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SIYGrhXg0aI
Unstoppable (2010): Scott’s last completed film stars, yes, Denzel, and Chris Pine as hero conductors tasked with stopping a runaway train (which is actually A MISSILE THE SIZE OF THE CHRYSLER BUILDING!)
Ok, and just for fun: 1991’s The Last Boy Scout (early-period Bruce Willis FTW) and 1987’s Beverly Hills Cop II. RIP Tony Scott.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5LatLghA9Ig
Late-summer new movies: whole lotta eh (but T minus one month ’till ‘The Master’ opens!)
A pair of new Asian films about demons, real and figural, open today: Hara-Kiri: Death of a Samurai and Painted Skin: The Resurrection. Dual review here. The San Francisco Film Society screens 1953 Italian omnibus Love in the City; review here.
Hollywood urges you to spend your dollah dollah bills on creaky action heroes (The Expendables 2); mystical, twee garden-children (The Odd Life of Timothy Green); stop-motion kids who see dead people (ParaNorman); and girl-group melodrama (Sparkle; review and trailer below). A few more options, too, after the jump.
The Awakening In 1921 England Florence Cathcart (Rebecca Hall) is a best-selling author who specializes in exposing the legions of phony spiritualists exploiting a nation still grieving for its World War I dead. She’s rather rudely summoned to a country boys’ boarding school by gruff instructor Robert (Dominic West), who would be delighted if she could disprove the presence of a ghost there — preferably before it frightens more of his young charges to death. Borrowing tropes from the playbooks of recent Spanish and Japanese horror flicks, Nick Murphy’s period thriller is handsome and atmospheric, but disappointing in a familiar way — the buildup is effective enough, but it all unravels in pat logic and rote “Boo!” scares when the anticlimactic payoff finally arrives. The one interesting fillip is Florence’s elaborate, antiquated, meticulously detailed arsenal of equipment and ruses designed to measure (or debunk) possibly supernatural phenomena. (1:47) (Dennis Harvey)
Beloved There is a touch of Busby Berkeley to the first five or so minutes of Christophe Honoré’s Beloved — a fetishy, mid-’60s-set montage in which a series of enviably dressed Parisian women stride purposefully in and out of a shoe shop, trying on an endless array of covetable pumps. As for the rest, it’s a less delightful tale of two women, a mother and a daughter, and the unfathomable yet oft-repeated choices they make in their affairs of the heart. It helps very little that the mother is played by Ludivine Sagnier and then Catherine Deneuve — whose handsome Czech lover (Rasha Bukvic) is somewhat unkindly but perhaps deservedly transformed by the years into Milos Forman — or that the daughter, as an adult, is played by Deneuve’s real-life daughter, Chiara Mastroianni. And it helps even less that the film is a musical, wherein one character or another occasionally takes the opportunity, during a moment of inexplicable emotional duress, to burst into song and let poorly written pop lyrics muddy the waters even further. The men are sexist cads, or children, or both, and if they’re none of those, they’re gay. The women find these attributes to be charming and irresistible. None of it feels like a romance for the ages, but nonetheless the movie arcs through four interminable decades. When tragedy strikes, it’s almost a relief, until we realize that life goes on and so will the film. (2:15) (Lynn Rapoport)
Sparkle What started as a vehicle for American Idol‘s Jordin Sparks will now forever be known as Whitney Houston’s Last Movie, with the fallen superstar playing a mother of three embittered by her experiences in the music biz. Her voice is hoarse, her face is puffy, and her big singing moment (“His Eye Is on the Sparrow” in a church scene) is poorly lip-synced — but dammit, she’s Whitney Houston, and she has more soul than everything else in Sparkle combined and squared. The tale of an aspiring girl group in late-60s Detroit, Sparkle’s other notable points include flawless period outfits, hair, and make-up (especially the eyeliner), but the rest of the film is a pretty blah mix of melodrama and clichés: the sexpot older sister (Carmen Ejogo) marries the abusive guy and immediately starts snorting coke; the squeaky-clean youngest (Sparks, sweet but boring) is one of those only-in-the-movie songwriters who crafts intricate pop masterpieces from her diary scribblings. As far as Idol success stories go, Dreamgirls (2006) this ain’t; Houston fans would do better to revisit The Bodyguard (1992) and remember the diva in her prime. (1:56) (Cheryl Eddy)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3kx1UK7ACmw
2 Days in New York Messy, attention-hungry, random, sweet, pathetic, and even adorable — such is the latest dispatch from Julie Delpy, here with her follow-up to 2007’s 2 Days in Paris. It’s also further proof that the rom-com as a genre can yet be saved by women who start with the autobiographical and spin off from there. Now separated from 2 Days in Paris’s Jake and raising their son, artist Marion is happily cohabiting with boyfriend Mingus (Chris Rock), a radio host and sometime colleague at the Village Voice, and his daughter, while juggling her big, bouncing bundle of neuroses. Exacerbating her issues: a visit by her father Jeannot (Delpy’s real father Albert Delpy), who eschews baths and tries to smuggle an unseemly selection of sausages and cheeses into the country; her provocative sister Rose (Alexia Landeau), who’s given to nipple slips in yoga class and Marion and Mingus’ apartment; and Rose’s boyfriend Manu (Alexandre Nahon), who’s trouble all around. The gang’s in NYC for Marion’s one-woman show, in which she hopes to auction off her soul to the highest, and hopefully most benevolent, bidder. Rock, of course, brings the wisecracks to this charming, shambolic urban chamber comedy, as well as, surprisingly, a dose of gravitas, as Marion’s aggrieved squeeze — he’s uncertain whether these home invaders are intentionally racist, cultural clueless, or simply bonkers but he’s far too polite to blurt out those familiar Rock truths. The key, however, is Delpy — part Woody Allen, if the Woodman were a maturing, ever-metamorphosing French beauty — and part unique creature of her own making, given to questioning her identity, ideas of life and death, and the existence of the soul. 2 Days in New York is just a sliver of life, but buoyed by Delpy’s thoughtful, lightly madcap spirit. You’re drawn in, wanting to see what happens next after the days are done. (1:31) (Kimberly Chun)
The Performant: Left Coasters
Right Brain Performancelab stakes a claim Out West. (Ed Note: While the Performant is off hugging trees in Oregon, please enjoy a series of interviews with the curators of three innovative performance spaces.)
Since 1998, Jennifer Gwirtz and John Baumann of Right Brain Performancelab (performing August 24 and 25) have been haunting black box theatres and dance studios with their quirkily cerebral brand of performance art. After staging a variety show in their Richmond District living room as part of Philip Huang’s International Home Theater Festival, they decided to keep running with the concept—and the Due West Salon was born.
SFBG: What is the main purpose of the Due West Salon?
RBP (Jen): The Due West Salon is our way to produce performances in a realistic and resilient way. Performing in a home, specifically our home, is especially wonderful to me because at its core, performance creates sacred space, especially community space. In the world of DIY theater, home theater is something that makes a lot of sense right now. It feels like part of that movement to come back to the local, to create more resilient communities…it’s all of a piece.
SFBG: Talk a little about the house performances you did in New Zealand. What turned you onto the format in the first place?
RBP (John): In the late 90s, shortly after RBP was formed, we were introduced to New Zealand theater artist Warwick Broadhead. Warwick was in the Bay Area with his traveling solo production of Lewis Carroll’s “The Hunting of the Snark”, which he performed entirely out of a suitcase complete with portable, remote controllable lights and music. (He’d) arranged to have a show in someone’s living room in the Oakland hills, for a flat fee, a place to stay, and a light supper. We were in the audience and were both charmed and blown away by the poetry and economics of his production. We talked with Warwick after the show and began planning our trip to New Zealand, eventually deciding to perform our very first show “Not A Step” in his house in Auckland. The aesthetic of low-fi, DIY traveling theater is a terrific thing for art and for the company’s bottom line, focusing on performance rather than production value, encouraging the audience to engage their
imaginations, and saving much money and effort.
SFBG: Right Brain Performancelab has a uniquely playful approach in a lot of its work. What inspires that, what does it inspire?
RBP (Jen): John and I have always had a playful relationship, which is where this all started. We love to make each other laugh. Then when we started to draw other performers into what we do, we realized that if it wasn’t going to be fun, or at least enjoyable and satisfying in process, then it wasn’t really worth doing. I’ve also had a deep attraction to these old archetypes of the tragic clown and the bumbling clown sorts of characters, as well as to the practice and imagery of Butoh, which can be a deep and skillful clowning practice on a certain level. At the same time, making work with lots of layers, some of them very dark where all the difficult ideas and impulses live is important to both of us.
(John): Jen and I have a deep connection with playfulness in our relationship, which grew out of our common love for The Muppets, Buster Keaton, Carol Burnett, Lily Tomlin and other performers who are playful. We have found it easier to explore weighty subject matter while deploying rubber chickens and funny hats, and it’s surprising how play can generate truly rewarding discoveries, even when working with and honoring a difficult theory or method.
SFBG: When is the next Due West Salon?
RBP: The Due West Salon will take place on August 24 and 25 at 8pm. The link for tickets is here: duewestsalon-aug24-25-2012.eventbrite.com
SFBG: Anything you’d like to add?
RPL (Jen): I’d love to see home-theater become a real force for great performance in the next ten years. Small is good. Bigger is not necessarily better.
Appetite: Delicious new cuisine and cocktail reads
Fermentation and distillation, hot plats and sugar cones, sweet creams and brokeasses … These eight books were released this spring, and are among the best of what has landed on my desk this year:
TRADITIONAL DISTILLATION: ART AND PASSION by Huber Germain-Robin
Anyone who knows US craft distilling knows Hubert Germain-Robin, one of the pioneers in the American craft distilling movement. He was making world class, French-style brandies (he is French, after all) since the early ’80s right here in Northern California at Germain-Robin, which he co-founded, an example to generations after him of what true, elegant brandies should be. As he states in the introduction, “When I came to California in 1981, I realized the unbelievable potential of the New World, with such diversity in grape varietals, microclimates, and less demanding restrictions than there are in France.”
He just released his first book, Traditional Distillation, and, as the inside cover states, it’s an ode to the “passion, art and poetry” behind distillation. I’ve seen a few (there’s really not many) technical distillation books that get into still types or cutting the “heads and tails” of a distillation batch. Germain-Robin’s book (the first in a series of books on brandy production) is a thoughtful essay, covering the technical but doing so in an artistic, poetic way. The book boasts an Old World, classic look, delving into the philosophy behind distillation as much as process. A romantic sensibility pervades this book and passion speaks from the pages – there is even poetry and classic art included, doing justice to the reason people like myself (one who rarely had a drink in younger years), fell in love with the artisan craft and history behind distillation. It’s a short, succinct book, but a unique one. Hubert captures the beauty of the craft, giving concrete advice for would-be distillers everywhere, ensuring that his incredible knowledge and legacy is shared with many more.
THE ART OF FERMENTATION by Sandor Ellix Katz
Just released June 12, The Art of Fermentation (with forward by none other than Michael Pollan) is sure to be the gold standard on fermentation. Katz published Wild Fermentation in 2003, at the time dubbed the “fermenting bible” by Newsweek. As the press release states for his new, elegantly understated book, he now has an additional decade of experimentation behind this one. The first book of its kind, it contains recipes, yes, but ultimately is a 400+ page textbook on all things fermentation, its history and processes, and DIY steps in a range of categories from meads, wines and ciders to meat, fish and eggs. There’s plenty of study material for food and drink folk alike, whether an extensive section on sour tonic beverages (from kombucha to kvass) or details on fermenting beans, seeds and nuts. Katz’ book makes me want to start fermenting my own potato beer immediately.
TAKE AWAY by Jean-Francois Mallet
Take Away is a lovely photo book. Released in the US in April (first released in France in 2009), this beauty of a book is a virtual escape around the world, immersing the reader in street foodscapes and dishes from Shanghai to the Ukraine. Be warned: perusing this book is difficult on an empty stomach. And for those of us who thrive on travel and exploring every nook and cranny of a city or region, Mallet’s approachable, street savvy photography also induces travel lust.
CINDY’S SUPPER CLUB: Meals from Around the World to Share with Family and Friends by Cindy Pawlcyn
Cindy Pawlcyn is one of California’s trailblazing chefs, aiding Napa in becoming a dining destination when opening Mustard’s Grill nearly 30 years ago along with subsequent restaurants, like Cindy’s Backstreet Kitchen. She’s written a few cookbooks, but I particularly enjoy her newest, out this May: Cindy’s Supper Club. A book based on favorite international recipes prepared in her supper clubs with friends, the recipes span the globe from Russia and Hungary to Lebanon, Peru, Korea. Cindy’s intros to each selected country and recipe feel comfortable, like a chef chatting about their travels and technique as you sit with them in their kitchen. Though recipes tend toward the heartwarming, soulful kind, many list more than ten ingredients and aren’t exactly simple. But for cooks ready to try something new yet not fussy, adventure lies within these pages, whether Flemish meatloaf in spicy tomato gravy or white gazpacho (made of white bread, milk, almonds, garlic, olive oil, sherry vinegar) with peeled white grapes.
PLATS DU JOUR: the girl and the fig’s Journey Through the Seasons in Wine Country by Sondra Bernstein
Just see if you don’t long to move to Sonoma after spending time with Plats du Jour, a large, photographic book capturing Sonoma’s vibrancy. With a range of recipes from Sondra Bernstein’s beloved girl and the fig duo and Italian restaurant, Estate, the book journeys well beyond recipes. Sectioned by seasons, there’s highlights on wine, cheese, and produce, pairing possibilities, origins of foods, cocktail hour menus, and seasonal menus to recreate at home. Interspersed throughout are drink recipes, such as the perennially popular lavender mojito from girl and the fig http://www.platsdujour.net/#!home/mainPage. Photos and stories of trailblazing Sonoma farmers keep the reader rooted to a sense of place. Though the variety of info might initially seem disparate, it weaves into an inspiring whole urging one to seek out ingredients from their own farmers markets and entertain or cook inspired by the invigorating spirit behind Bernstein’s book and the artisans of Sonoma.
SWEET CREAM AND SUGAR CONES by Kris Hoogerhyde, Anne Walker, and Dabney Gough
Bi-Rite’s ice cream essentially needs no introduction. For those in San Francisco, it’s already an institution. For foodies nationally, the beloved market’s ice cream has been written up in most national food magazines, among the best ice creameries in the country. Thankfully this spring, founders Anne Walker and Kris Hoogerhyde, along with writer Dabney Gough, have released a book, Sweet Cream and Sugar Cones, sharing many of Bi-Rite’s lauded recipes (yes, their legendary salted caramel ice cream, which spawned dozens of imitations around the nation, is included), and many more besides, including sweets far beyond ice cream, from cookies to pie. The book is grouped in ingredient-themed sections like chocolate, coffee, vanilla, citrus or nuts. I take to the herbs and spices section with recipes like basil or peach leaf ice cream, picante galia melon pops, and my favorite Bi-Rite flavor of recent years, Ricanelas (cinnamon and Snickerdoodles). Having already tried a couple of the recipes, they are easy to follow, and, of course, delicious.
SUNSET EDIBLE GARDEN COOKBOOK
Sunset has cornered DIY gardening and cooking for decades in their magazine and cookbooks, with recipes and step-by-step gardening instructions. Their latest book, Edible Garden Cookbook, just out this spring, is another winner with accessible recipes, growing-harvesting-storage-cooking tips and varietal lists on a wealth of vegetables (from peas to cucumbers), herbs (mint to thyme), and fruits (melons to stone fruit). Creative recipe twists enliven everyday dishes like an icebox salad layered in a casserole dish or kabocha squash filled with Arabic lamb stew.
THE BROKEASS GOURMET COOKBOOK by Gabi Moskowitz
(Review by Andi Berlin)
Chasing the elusive paycheck is a tiresome routine, but at least it’ll taste good with the new BrokeAss Gourmet cookbook from San Franciscan Gabi Moskowitz (not to be confused with Broke-Ass Stuart.) The former kindergarten teacher-turned-caterer-turned-Internet-celebrity founded the website BrokeAss Gourmet after seeing friends laid off from tech jobs and eating junk. Taking a conversational, gal-pal tone, Gabi guides us through the essentials of running an eclectic kitchen – from stocking a full pantry to boosting cheap proteins with flavorful sauces. Recipes like vegetable lasagna with wonton wrappers demonstrate her craftiness. The book is high on kitsch: rather than photographs, illustrations of animals stand beside cheeky anecdotes (“Because bacon really does make everything better.”) Moskowitz paints a vivid Bay Area landscape, adapting several recipes from ethnic joints and buzzy spots like Bakesale Betty. And if she relies too heavily on sriracha sauce, forgive her. When you’ve got to shove off to work early morning after morning, it’s often the call of the rooster that gets you going.
Subscribe to Virgina’s twice-monthly newsletter, The Perfect Spot, www.theperfectspotsf.com
Finally: All-female street art takes over ATL
As colorful and diverse as the global street art scene is these days, it’s still overwhelmingly a boy’s game. That’s why we’re so stoked to hear about the first days of Living Walls Atlanta, a street art conference in its third year that decides to step out and feature all-female artists in 2012 Wed/15-Sun/19. Its lead organizer Monica Campana and her team have attracted an ace crew for what by all accounts will be the first all-women global street art festival.
New York-New Jersey wheatpaste artist LNY is on the ATL scene now and will have a Guardian exclusive for us next week. Read on for a preview of some of the baddie artists featured at this year’s Living Walls.
Go here for a video a day from the Living Walls crew
Molly Rose Freeman – Memphis
Cake — New York
Tika – Zurich
Plus!
Hyuro – Spain/Buenos Aires
Sten and Lex – Rome
Olive47 – Atlanta
The Performant: Howard’s End
While the Performant is off hugging trees in Oregon, please enjoy this series of interviews with the curators of three innovative performance spaces.
After five years of making the address 975 Howard synonymous with emergent dance, queer, and fringe artists, Joe Landini has packed up The Garage and relocated it further down SOMA way. Now tucked in an industrial zone next to an automotive repair shop, The Garage’s new location at 715 Bryant might lack the allure of being a hidden gem on ramshackle Howard Street, but has the distinct advantage of having fewer neighbors to annoy, a consideration no low-budget performance space can afford to completely ignore. Particularly one as active and prolific as The Garage—which has hosted over 1000 performances for some 50,000 people during its five-year tenure.
“We are awful neighbors!” Landini admits when I swing by to check out the new digs.
“We are loud. We host 120 choreographers a year, 230 shows a year, that’s a lot of music to listen to.” After looking around the Central Market area for three years without finding a space that was both affordable and allowed for public assembly, Landini set his sights on the section of SOMA he knew to have some of the lowest rental rates in the area yet was still mostly accessible via public transportation—a consideration for many of his performers and audiences.
After a cacophonous May Day parade from Howard Street to Bryant, led by a merry conglomerate of performers — familiar faces from The Offcenter and Garage performance series such as RAW and AIRspace — The Garage opened back up for business just 24 hours later. The space is still a work-in-progress a few weeks later (aren’t all moving projects?), but its current bare bones state will not seem unfamiliar to its fans (makeshift risers, a table over to the side for the board operator, minimal but effective lighting). What’s most important, from Landini’s POV is that they are finally ADA compliant, and they have repainted the front door red: “theatre’s love tradition.”
In addition to moving into a new physical space, The Garage is occupying a new psychic space, expanding its definition of incubation, by helping its emerging artists connect to spaces where they can create work for larger audiences. Recently, six Garage artists dubbed The WERK Collective, participated in a joint mentorship program between The Garage and ODC <www.odcdance.org>, culminating in a weekend of performance at ODC, the next step up the narrow ladder of professional possibility that defines the San Francisco Bay Area dance community.
“We’re the only free space in the city now and that does attract a very specific group of broke artists,” Joe muses. “We’ve been so lucky to have some of those artists stay with us for the whole five years, and that’s where the partnership with ODC came up, because I had to come up with a way to keep them involved, and they had clearly outgrown the space…so hopefully that’s going to be a model for the future, an artist could start here and then work their way into ODC (which is) pretty well-organized in terms of where they want their artists to go….(ODC Director) Christy Bolingbroke is very sharp, and she has a real clear understanding of the national profile, and what’s happening nationally.”
What has also changed for Landini is a deeper understanding of The Garage’s overall mission and impact on its core community.
“The old space was such a lark…we threw a lot of mud at a lot of walls and some stuff stuck, but that’s not going to work here…..we’re going to have to become a really shrewd organization. I didn’t really have a sense of the importance of the work we were doing. I mean I kind of knew in the back of my mind, because so many people were coming through…and that community rallied to move into this space…they really really got behind it.”
Tastes of Cindy: Drag artists re-enact Cindy Sherman portraits from SFMOMA show
To celebrate the incredibly engaging Cindy Sherman retrospective at the SF MOMA (through October 8), we asked four of San Francisco’s premier drag performance artists to re-enact four of Sherman’s iconic portraits. It’s all about looking twice — or in Sherman’s case, four or five times — and we wanted to see how many layers of gaze her work could hold.
Read Matt Fisher’s review of the retrospective here and Rob Avila’s review of accompanying show, “Stage Presence” here. All re-enactment photos by Keeney + Law.
>> FAUXNIQUE: UNTITLED #351
The truly artistic Fauxnique, aka Monique Jenkinson, currently holds a fellowship through the de Young Museum: she’ll be Artist in Residence for the month of September in the de Young’s Kimball Education Gallery, working in an open studio setting, co-hosting “Dance Discourse Project #13: Working in Museums” with Dancers’ Group and CounterPULSE on Saturday, September 15 at 2pm), and making new work, including “Instrument,” a solo created in an experimental collaboration with choreographers Chris Black, Amy Seiwert, and Miguel Gutierrez premiering at CounterPULSE in November.
>> BOY CHILD: UNTITLED #355
A relative newcomer to the scene, Boy Child stretches drag performance into phantasmagorical new directions, mashing neon hip-hop swagger into goth-electro darkness. Lately, she’s been representing SF in New York and the Pacific Northwest and gaining attention for her photography.
>> LIL MISS HOT MESS: UNTITLED #360
One of the only queens who could have most of SF’s colorful nightlifers dancing the hora to “Hava Nagila” at her Bar Mitzvah x2 party — or falling on their bums at her annual rollerskating birthday jam — Lil Miss Hot Mess will be stepping down as Miss Tiara Sensation during next month’s pageant (Saturday, September 29, 9pm, $10-$20. Rickshaw Stop, SF. www.rickshawstop.com) and enrolling in grad school, to begin her new life as a career girl.
>> LADY BEAR: UNTITLED #354
Always elegantly but firmly large and in charge, Lady Bear hosts monthly parties Hot Rod at the Powerhouse and Dark Room at the Hot Spot here in SF and Cub Scout at the Eagle in LA. As Dragoon the actress, she’s currently starring in the uproarious “Designing Women Live!” (Tuesdays through August 28, 8pm, $20. Rebel, 1760 Market, SF.) and the upcoming “Roseanne: The Play” in September. She also recently starred in a short film, Love and Anger, with Cousin Wonderlette.
Photography: Keeney + Law
Art direction: Brooke Robertson
Assistant: Caitlin Donohue
Concept: Marke B.
Is it Saturday yet? 5 (vegetarian-abled) Street Food Festival snacks we can’t wait for
The Bay’s press has been salivating ever since July 26, when La Cocina‘s Street Food Festival hosted a passel of media types at Fort Mason Center with tables upon tables of the snacks that we’ll all get to freak out over at the festival on Sat/18. Read on for some of our favorite snacks that we’re having a hard time holding off on until Saturday.
Bonus! If mornings aren’t your deal, you’ve got options this year. On Fri/17, you can jet down to the Alemany Farmer’s Market for the fest’s Night Market. 25 vendors will be selling sub-$10 treats, including American Masala Farm’s Suvir Saran serving up Indian food, Ryar Farr from 4505 Meats, and Tijuana’s Javier Plasencia of Mision 19. Plus, craft beer and cocktails.
>>CLICK HERE FOR THE COMPLETE STREET FOOD FESTIVAL MAP
Go early on Saturday. Lines for vendors, which range from La Cocina participants who have hardly sold commercially before to some of SF’s hautest eateries, tend to be pretty long by lunch time, and this is one fest that does not award the fashionably late. You’ll also be able to pick up a paper copy in the Guardian on newsstands today. Here’s some treats you’ll wanna queue up for as soon as you fall out of bed, veggie-friendly all. We dare you to do all five — tweet their photos to @sfbg if you do and we’ll figure out some kind of reward for gluttonous you.
1. El Buen Comer esquites
Something about corn, cheese, and mayo soup sounds vaguely unsettling, but take it from an avowed mayonaise h8r, these are cups of pleasure and you want at least one. La Cocina graduate Isabel Caudillo makes them, bringing this Mexico City recipe straight to SF bellies. Perfect if Saturday gets chilly (please no.)
2. Chiefo’s Kitchen moi-moi
Chiefo Chukwudebe makes these West African firm cakes made of pureed black eyed peas, topped with tomatoes, onions, peppers, and carmelized onions. The deliciously chewy version that was being sampled at Fort Mason was topped with flakes of corned beef, but vegetarian versions were available.
3. Hella Vegan Eats pad thai egg rolls
The plucky Tiffany and Sylvee Esquivel of this rad catering outfit didn’t give their Street Food Fest offering quite as catchy a moniker as some of their repetoire (“vegans are better lovers” lasagna comes to mind), but no matter — this Asian-inspired nuggets are the kind of stoner snack you normally only dream of. Noodles inside egg rolls? *Eyes roll back into head, Homer Simpson-scruff sprouts instantly* Much props to these ladies for the hundreds of free vegan cookies they baked for the Dyke March this year, by the way.
4. Clairesquares‘ deep-fried caramel pop
One quibble about these devilish, gooey, troublesome-in-a-good-way dessert snacks — is that spear in the center really necessary? After all, the first time you crunch into one the thing is going to require two hands so that it doesn’t fall off the wooden skewer onto the — NOOOOOOOOO! — ground. That’s not what you want, so this is your official reminder to pay attention to sugar bomb of satiation. Clairesquares is the brainchild of Ireland’s Claire Keene, who re-interprets traditional recipes into decadent desserts that have popped up all over town in the last few years.
5. Sweets Collection artisan Jello shots
I went on the record last year over how much I love these things. Nothing combines a love of pastels and a love of getting drunk more than Rosa Rodriguez’s mouthfuls of booze and condensed milk flower. They are magic, and you can find them at the Street Food Festival bars, waiting for you cheefully when you’re done eating the fest’s more nutritious options.
Street Food Festival Night Market
Fri/17 6-9pm, $25 entry
Alemany Farmer’s Market (free shuttle leaves from 25th St. and Mission, SF)
100 Alemany, SF
Street Food Festival
Sat/18 11am-7pm, free entry
Mission District (Folsom from 20th to 26th St., 21st and 25th Sts. from Treat to Shotwell, Cesar Chavez Elementary School parking lot, Parque de los Ninos Unidos and Jose Coronada Playgrounds), SF
Faux-war TV is hell: ‘Stars Earn Stripes’
Savaged by anti-war activists, tut-tutted by nine Nobel Peace Laureates, and mocked by television critics, NBC’s new competition show Stars Earn Stripes, which had its two-hour premiere last night, can add another pissed-off demographic to its rolls: fans of reality TV.
“Star” is a vaguely-defined taxonomy when it comes to reality TV, and Stars Earn Stripes‘ crew is really no sadder than Dancing With the Stars‘ recent celebrity casts. There’s even a Palin — not America’s Sweetheart Bristol this time around (she’s all over the place as it is), but “four-time Iron Dog champion Todd Palin.”
Stars Earn Stripes — a study in breathtaking jingoism that pairs vaguely famous types (competing for charity) with actual military operatives (competing for … recruitment? Dignity?) in “missions” that appear inspired by Call of Duty sequels — debuted to mildly crap ratings, so it may not go the distance anyway. But here are ten highlights, lowlights, and/or otherwise notable takeaways from Monday’s episode.
1. Retired general Wesley Clark, who introduces himself as “Wes Clark,” though he doesn’t seem like the type who cottons to nicknames, explains in his intro that he’s doing this show for “one reason: to introduce you, the American people, to the individuals who have sacrificed so much for all of us.” This is military doublespeak for “Join the Navy” and also “I am getting paid more to read off a teleprompter for an hour than you are making in six months.”
2. The faux-peril tone of the show is ridiculous. It is implied that the celebrity participants are in actual danger while performing war-esque stunts as camera crews follow steps behind. “They barely survived!” lies the announcer, who might as well have said “They just rode unicorns!”
To be clear, Stars Earn Stripes in no way resembles realistic combat, a scenario in which whoever you’re fighting is actively trying to end your life or at the very least remove a limb from your body. Also, I can’t be certain, but I’m pretty sure there’s no Twitter on the battlefield.
(Is Nick Lachey wearing lipstick with his turtleneck?)
3. Speaking of the celebrity contestants, they include a few people you’ve actually heard of, like Nick Lachey (whose opening-credits one liner is “Nothing prepares you for battle like a boy band!”), Laila Ali (whose father famously went to jail in opposition of the Vietnam War), and Sarah Palin’s hubby, whose participation here can only have given rise to some kind of elaborate in-joke among the cast. How else to explain the line “He’s just straight-up Rambo!” (delivered with absolute seriousness) in reference to Todd’s goatee’d heroics?
4. Terry Crews actually looks like he could win a war all by himself. “WWE Diva Eve Torres” does not, though it’s pretty obvious why she was cast.
5. Real, loaded, live weapons are used in the competition’s “amphibious assault.” A machine gun, a grenade launcher, and “the deadliest sniper in U.S. history.” America, fuck yeah!
6. The line “Treat this gun like a woman. Baby her.”
7. Crawling through the mud under barbed wire, the ultimate war-movie cliché, obviously gets trotted out here. Other stuff you might recognize because it’s totally not original: bombastic music that stands in for actual excitement or emotion. Low-flying helicopters. Yo NBC, where’s the sadistic drill sergeant?
8. The line “I know there’s a chance I could die!”
9. Beefy size-zero badass Samantha Harris, decorated veteran of Dancing With the Stars, Seasons 2-9, hosts. She has been in the shit, people. IN THE SHIT.
10. The line “I’m looking forward to taking on a real mission.” ORLY?
Stars Earn Stripes airs Mondays at 9pm on NBC, so you might want to make sure you’re not watching NBC Mondays at 9pm. Instead, may I suggest TLC’s Here Comes Honey Boo Boo as a far better representation of what makes America such a special snowflake among world powers? You’re welcome.
Sweet: Berkeley Playhouse’s ‘Wonka’
Sometimes when the going gets rough, it’s time for a pinch of sweet nostalgia. Or, in this case, a metric ton of sweet nostalgia: through Aug. 19, the Berkeley Playhouse presents Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, a hilarious, heartwarming, and lively take on Roald Dahl’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
As the title suggests, Willy Wonka (music and lyrics by Anthony Newley and Leslie Bricusse; adapted for stage by Leslie Bricusse and Tim McDonald) stays true to the 1971 movie starring Gene Wilder (begone, Burton), with its familiar warnings about spoiled children and themes emphasizing the importance of family over materialistic obsessions. Plus, plenty of dark humor — some of which may go above younger viewers’ heads, but is not wasted on older fans of this twisted tale.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vMzzwzKKSY8&feature=bf_next&list=UU7jmsPkv0HHeZtax3i4v3WA
That said, the children in the audience seemed delighted by the production — Nina Ball’s set is quite impressive and not compromised due to limitations of stage compared to film, and the ensemble of teenage performers, fantastic dancers all, kept each scene engaging. The professional actors — particularly Vernon Bush as Willy Wonka — have great comic timing, with just enough sentiment to keep the story balanced between funny and touching.
Although some songs such as “Think Positive” are a bit cheesy, this production, directed by Elizabeth McKoy, also included downright funky numbers. The classic “The Candy Man Can” got everyone rocking in their seats. Bush’s performance retains the mysterious aura of the original character, while adding a more hip element to the fatherly yet obviously mad version Wilder portrayed in the film.
Bush — a featured vocalist at Glide Memorial Church; he also starred in Whitney Houston’s first-ever music video! — is a veteran performer, but he hasn’t done musical theater for over a decade. Though he did seem a bit rusty on line delivery, he more than made up for it in his superb songs and how light he was on his feet.
His Wonka tops off an enthusiastic cast, all of whom did an outstanding job bringing this uplifting story of underdogs (and candy … flowing chocolate rivers ahoy!) to life. Totally worth the price of a “golden ticket” ($17-$35 in this case) for you and a favorite young ‘un.
Roald Dahl’s Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
Thu/16 and Sat/18, 7pm (also Sat/18, 2pm); Sun/19, noon and 5pm, $17-$35
Julia Morgan Theatre
2640 College, Berk
www.berkeleyplayhouse.org
Oh no they didn’t! Hilarious horror stories at Mortified
Why is it that I like myself most when looking back on my years as a college freshman, drunkenly spooning peanut butter into my mouth amid the squalor of my dirty kitchen? Why is it that I appreciate a boyfriend most when I see his elementary school photos and realize he used to look like a well-fed lizard in glasses?
I’m going to wager that it isn’t my own affinity for the less-than-socially acceptable and is actually a testament to the fact that humans often love that which is most, well, human. And humanity has the tendency to do some painfully embarrassing stuff.
This is the concept that drives Mortified, a collection of short readings and performances of the sometimes brilliant, sometimes artistic, sometimes sad, and always humiliating personal musings its performers created as children and teens. The brainchild of creators and producers Dave Nadelberg and Neil Katcher, Mortified has a constantly changing cast, mainly consisting of adults who have, fortunately, left most of their adolescent angst behind — but still have plenty of stories to tell about it.
The DNA Lounge is surprisingly conducive to theater, with its upper balcony offering unobscured views of the performers. On Aug. 10, the night’s first performance was by Orlando, Fla. native Jessica Wassil, reading from her teenage diaries. There isn’t much to do in Orlando, the edgy-looking brunette explained in her introduction, and thus her 14-year-old self saw no other alternative to the cultural void than to eat Butterfingers by the truckload and obsess over football players who didn’t know she existed.
Wassil’s excerpts treaded not-so-lightly on the line between funny and cringe-inducing, with her bellowing laments of insecurity and unrequited love making the audience members guffaw, but also tempting them to crawl under their seats. Her powerhouse opening excerpt, describing what indeed seemed to be the “worst Valentine’s day ever” (eating Snickers for breakfast and then soiling herself at school) had tears of ambiguous varieties streaming from the audience’s eyes.
But it’s okay, because now she’s totally cute. And kind of a hipster. And probably pretty awesome, given her confidence to stand alone on a stage and read almost grotesque confessions from her youth.
However, Heather Aronson’s accounts of a being an underage metalhead were anything but sad. Her diary entries read more like an epistolary novel addressed to the guitarist of Def Leppard, to whom a young Aronson’s commitment resembled a nun’s devotion to God. Kinda freaky. And such was the collective opinion of Aronson’s classmates in her first year at a new high school.
And yet, the admittedly girly but nonetheless badass actions of the head-banging teen were wholly awesome. She backed boys into corners, scored concert tickets, got drunk, made at least one friend, and — as the piece’s climax and finale went — cussed out the haughty girls at her school, kicked in her science classroom’s door, and ends her high school year of hell in appropriately metal fashion.
The “Worst Teen Poetry Slam,” for which Mortified creator Dave Nadelberg traveled from Los Angeles to San Francisco, offered some variety in the evening. The first contestant was businesswoman Lisa Ratner, who read adolescent love poetry directed toward one particular (and, it seemed, totally undeserving) young man.
Imagine any lovesick and slightly pathetic tween’s poetry, then add in a strong penchant for metaphors about kings, queens, stardust, and chariots, and you’ve got the general aesthetic of Ratner’s collection. Nadelberg was the night’s second contestant, and eventual winner, thanks to some awkwardly erotic poetry about “world music” just bizarre enough to offer a refreshing reminder that teens aren’t only pitiful … they’re also weird as hell.
“What’s in the bag, Mr. Pips?” began Nadelberg’s ode to bagpipes. He had me at that.
Lily Sloane’s confessions of a boy-crazy, coffee-shop working, rock’n’roll loving, and prematurely cynical teen girl were perhaps an unspoken dedication to all those 15-year-old girls who know they’re cool but, goddamn it, why doesn’t anyone else realize it? Covering her insecurities with swearwords yet always admitting to her own faults and adorably neurotic self-awareness, Sloane shared oodles of unwittingly fantastic one liners. (“That little fucker better call me” ended one entry about the boyfriend for whom she incessantly pined.)
Her piece, however, was best punctuated by the live performance of her fifth and sixth grade musical stylings, with which she angrily serenaded her parents: “I have to be cute when we have guests/I don’t want to wear my little pink dress.”
San Francisco show producers Scott Lifton and Heather Van Atta programmed wisely by choosing to end the night’s series of confessionals with Ezra Horne. His diary of an overweight, closeted Mormon boy read like a Daniel Pinkwater coming-of-age novel, with daily accounts of the number of times he looked at porn (which he coded as “P”) or masturbated (creatively delineated by the letter “M”).
He thought he was a fat, lazy, slob. He was jealous of his friends. He made secretly-self hating speeches at church. He knew he would never get into the celestial kingdom. And yet, by the end, there was some hope in Horne’s brash yet somehow whimsical musings. He ended his piece with an epilogue: his eventual coming-out was a well-supported, smooth transition by his family and community. Currently happy and in love, Horne said: “I was always hoping God would fix me. But God can’t fix me because I’m not broken.”
And that could be the moral for all the of night’s performers: despite horror-story, silly-stupid childhoods, they’d all moved on nicely.
Mortified officially began in 2002, and this is by no means the first Mortified SF installation. Speaking with audience members, it’s evident that every show is different. According to the unnamed gentleman on my right, this show “wasn’t even as funny” as the last.
And that may prove my thesis: the concept behind Mortified is brilliant to the point where I’m not quite sure where any Mortified show could go wrong, with its ability to lovingly yet bluntly look at personal and painful topics.
The series returns to the DNA Lounge Sept. 14; the group will also make a special performance at the SF Improv Festival Sat/18.
“Bourne” again and other new movies!
Big news this week out of the San Francisco Film Society: the Executive Director post, empty since the January passing of Bingham Ray (himself a replacement for the late Graham Leggat), has been filled. According to the organization’s official press release:
“Ted Hope, one of the film industry’s most respected and prolific figures, has been named executive director of the San Francisco Film Society (SFFS), effective September 1, 2012. In a surprise move, the veteran film producer and one of the most influential individuals in independent film will embark upon a new chapter in his professional life, leaving New York City, where he produced independent films through his companies Good Machine, This is that corporation and Double Hope Films, to lead the Film Society into the future.”
This happy announcement comes on the heels of two pretty depressing ones: longtime SFFS publicity head Hilary Hart, one of the most beloved film PR figures in San Francisco (or any film community, I’d wager), was let go; and the organization opted not to renew its SF Film Society Cinema lease at Japantown’s New People. However, “We’ll still have plenty of one-off screenings and events at various locations, and our Fall Season festival programming is completely unaffected,” says publicity manager Bill Proctor. (Speaking of, hot tip: killer-kid classic Battle Royale is up at SF Film Society Cinema through August 16.)
New movies? We got ’em. One more oldie-but-oh-so-goodie recommendation, plus, yeah, The Bourne Legacy and the rest, after the jump.
The Vortex Room: we love what they do ’cause they do it so well. A new series of Pop-art pictures is underway; check out Dennis Harvey’s take on the series (and some old-school porn posters, for good measure, here.) The unstoppable Mr. Harvey also reviews The Moth Diaries (another SF Film Society Cinema selection) and new French drama Unforgiveable.
Also new: The Campaign, about a smug incumbent (Will Ferrell) and a naïve newcomer (Zach Galifianakis) who battle over a North Carolina congressional seat; Celeste and Jesse Forever, an indie dramedy about a couple (Andy Samberg and co-writer Rashida Jones) who try to stay friends despite their impending divorce; and Nitro Circus the Movie 3D, starring the daredevil antics of the “action sports collective.”
But wait … THERE’S MORE!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=paVLyvA5S1g
The Bourne Legacy Settle down, Matt Damon fans — the original Bourne appears in The Bourne Legacy only in dialogue (“Jason Bourne is in New York!”) and photograph form. Stepping in as lead badass is Jeremy Renner, whose twin powers of strength and intelligence come courtesy of an experimental-drug program overseen by sinister government types (including Edward Norton in an utterly generic role) and administered by lab workers doing it “for the science!,” according to Dr. Rachel Weisz. Legacy’s timeline roughly matches up with the last Damon film, The Bourne Ultimatum, which came out five years ago and is referenced here like we’re supposed to be on a first-name basis with its long-forgotten plot twists. Anyway, thanks to ol’ Jason and a few other factors involving Albert Finney and YouTube, the drug program is shut down, and all guinea-pig agents and high-security-clearance doctors are offed. Except guess which two, who manage to flee across the globe to get more WMDs for Renner’s DNA. Essentially one long chase scene, The Bourne Legacy spends way too much of its time either in Norton’s “crisis suite,” watching characters bark orders and stare at computer screens, or trying to explain the genetic tinkering that’s made Renner a super-duper-superspy. Remember when Damon killed that guy with a rolled-up magazine in 2004’s The Bourne Supremacy? Absolutely nothing so rad in this imagination-free enterprise. (2:15) (Cheryl Eddy)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4EYI2ro239s&list=PL96F1FB5F45240219&index=1&feature=plcp
Easy Money A title like that is bound to disprove itself, and it doesn’t take long to figure out that the only payday the lead characters are going to get in this hit 2010 Swedish thriller (from Jens Lapidus’ novel) is the kind measured in bloody catastrophe. Chilean Jorge (Matias Padin Varela), just escaped from prison, returns to Stockholm seeking one last big drug deal before he splits for good; JW (Joel Kinnaman from AMC series The Killing) is a economics student-slash-cabbie desperate for the serious cash needed to support his double life as a pseudo-swell running with the city’s rich young turks. At first reluctantly thrown together, they become friends working for JW’s taxi boss — or to be more specific, for that boss’ cocaine smuggling side business. Their competitors are a Serbian gang whose veteran enforcer Mrado (Dragomir Mrsic) is put in the awkward position of caring for his eight-year-old daughter (by a drug addicted ex-wife) just as “war” heats up between the two factions. But then everyone here has loved ones they want to protect from an escalating cycle of attacks and reprisals from which none are immune. Duly presented here by Martin Scorsese, Daniel Espinosa’s film has the hurtling pace, engrossing characters and complicated (sometimes confusing) plot mechanics of some good movies by that guy, like Casino (1995) or The Departed (2006). Wildly original it’s not, but this crackling good genre entertainment that make you cautiously look forward to its sequel — which is just about to open in Sweden. (1:59) (Dennis Harvey)
Hope Springs Heading into her 32nd year of matrimony with aggressively oblivious Arnold (Tommy Lee Jones), desperate housewife Kay (Meryl Streep) sets aside her entrenched passivity in a last-ditch effort to put flesh back on the skeleton of a marriage. Stumbling upon the guidance of one Dr. Bernard Feld (Steve Carell) in the self-help section of a bookstore, Kay (barely) convinces Arnold to accompany her to a weeklong session at Feld’s Center for Intensive Couples Counseling, in Hope Springs, Maine. The scenes from a marriage leading up to their departure, as well as the incremental advances and crippling setbacks of their therapeutic sojourn, are poignant and distressing and possibly familiar. Some slow drift, long ago set in motion, though we don’t know by what, has settled them in concrete in their separate routines — and bedrooms. It’s the kind of thing that, if it were happening in real life — say, to you — might make you weep. But somehow, through the magic of cinema and the uncomfortable power of witnessing frankly depicted failures of intimacy, we laugh. This is by no means a wackiness-ensues sort of sexual comedy, though. Director David Frankel (2006’s The Devil Wears Prada and, unfortunately, 2008’s Marley & Me) and Jones and Streep, through the finely detailed particularities of their performances, won’t let it be, while Carell resists playing the therapeutic scenes for more than the gentlest pulses of humor. More often, his empathetic silences and carefully timed queries provide a place for these two unhappy, inarticulate, isolated people to fall and fumble and eventually make contact. (1:40) (Lynn Rapoport)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uwPB1I4aB7o
Nuit #1 Montreal director-writer Anne Émond bares more than her actor’s beautiful bodies: she’s eager to uncover their tenderized souls: hurt, unsavory, vulnerable, terrified, nihilistic, compulsive, and desperate. Nikolai (Dimitri Stroroge) and Clara (Catherine de Lean) are just two kids on the crowded dance floor, jumping up and down in slow motion to the tune of a torch song; before long, they’re in Nikolai’s shabby apartment, tearing off their clothes and making love as if their lives depended on it. But when Nikolai, laid out on his mattress on the floor like a grunge Jesus with a bad haircut, catches Clara sneaking out without saying good-bye, he sits her down for an earful of his reality. She returns the favor, revealing an unexpected double life, and the two embark on a psycho-tango that takes all night. It can seem like a long one to those impatient with the young, beautiful, and possibly damned’s doubts and self-flagellation, though Émond’s artful, coolly empathetic eye takes the proceedings to a higher level. She’s attempting to craft a simultaneously romantic and raw-boned song of self for a generation. (1:31) (Kimberly Chun)
360 A massive ensemble sprinkled with big-name stars, a sprawling yet interconnected story, and locations as far-flung as Phoenix and Bratislava: 360 is not achieving anything new with its structure (see also: 2011’s Contagion, 2006’s Babel, and so on). And some pieces of its sectioned-off narrative are less successful than others, as with the exploits of a posh, unfaithful duo played by Rachel Weisz (re-teaming with her Constant Gardener director Fernando Meirelles) and Jude Law. Fortunately, screenwriter Peter Morgan (2006’s The Queen) finds some drama (and a lot of melancholy) in less-familiar relationship scenarios. An airport interlude that interweaves a grieving father (Anthony Hopkins), a newly single Brazilian (Maria Flor), and a maybe-rehabilitated sex offender (Ben Foster) is riveting, as are the unexpectedly sweet and sour endpoints of tales spiraling off a Russian couple (Dinara Drukarova, Vladimir Vdovichenkov) who’ve drifted apart. (1:51) (Cheryl Eddy)
Appetite: Under the stars in Guerneville
Amid towering redwoods, summer heat, and parties along the Russian River is the small town of Guerneville, one of Sonoma’s most unique towns, with its vibrant gay community, laid back river culture, and haunting redwood state park. On a recent idyllic summer weekend, barbecues and live, twanging bands added color to the bustling main street.
Foodies have a destination cafe-restaurant in Guerneville’s Big Bottom Market, which was opened last summer by co-owners Michael Volpatt and Crista Luedtke (the latter owns neighboring boon hotel + spa and boon eat + drink restaurant). Big Bottom draws crowds for breakfasts, lunch, and for anytime cups of my favorite Sonoma County coffee, Flying Goat‘s special blend for the cafe. The cafe’s breakfast biscuits ($3-9) are stuffed with a changing array of goodies like bananas, peanut butter, strawberries and white chocolate, or ham, Swiss, and dill pickle (loved the mustard in the latter but lamentably had to hunt for the ham.) Offerings change daily, but the day’s special is easily ascertained — each biscuit is adorned with a bit of its filling.
Big Bottom Cafe’s superlatively-stuffed biscuits. Guardian photo by Virginia Miller
My recent weekend in Guerneville coincided with the launch of Big Bottom’s dinner service (Thursdays-Saturdays only, 5-9pm). Executive chef Tricia Brown cooked at one of my all-time favorite restaurants, Gramercy Tavern in NYC, moving from Brooklyn to Sonoma for a lifestyle change. With that pedigree, it’s no surprise that she’s cooking an elevated style of cafe food. In the rustic, touch-of-farmhouse shop lined with wood floors and wine and gourmet food items for purchase, dinner means comfort food, like a Moroccan chicken tagine ($18), or apricot-studded couscous laden with Castelvetrano olives and toasted almonds, or green-chile-cheddar turkey meatloaf ($17) over chipotle mashed sweet potatoes.
Unexpectedly, sandwiches ruled: pinot pulled pork covered in spicy BBQ sauce ($16) and garlic aioli smeared on a toasted brioche, both with sides of bourbon-bacon baked beans and cilantro-lime coleslaw ($4 individually or 3 for $11.) There was also a sandwich special of wild salmon that was softly pink, almost medium-rare, topped with slaw on buttery brioche. Both were made with care, blessedly robust in flavors and texture. Chilled cucumber soup spiked with mint and yogurt ($6) was a refreshing summer starter. Only a large pile of dry crostini felt out of place on a mezze platter ($9) of roasted red pepper hummus, lentil walnut pate, cucumber red onion yogurt salad, and olives.
Small, local winemakers are featured on the wine menu, including a few of my go-tos like Thomas George Estates and Unti. It also features different winemakers like Sonoma’s Paul Mathew Vineyards, whose vintages are made by winemaker Mat Gustafson. I sampled all three of Gustafon’s featured wines, like a mineral 2010 Weeks Vineyard Chardonnay that held slight citrus notes from its stainless steel aging, rounded out by a hint of oak. I found the 2011 Knight’s Valley Valdigue most interesting (and the most affordable at $7 glass/$33 bottle.) It’s a chilled wine more akin to a Lambrusco or other chilled red with dry, strawberry notes, earthy yet bright.
Certainly when in Guerneville, one can enjoy the retreat-like (though dated) Applewood Inn, but Big Bottom Market hits at a lower price point, though its obviously more casual. For a sleepy small town in the redwoods, nestled between vineyards and ocean, the Market’s casual-gourmet approach feels appropriate.
End the night at Rio Nido Roadhouse dancing under the stars out back to live music (blues, classic rock, etc.) Were it not for the redwoods and that clean, crisp Sonoma air, the crusty older cowboys, families, and dive bar setting would be enough to convince you you’re in a small Texas town, embracing the warm summer night.
Big Bottom Market
16228 Main St., Guerneville
(707) 604-7295
Subscribe to Virgina’s twice-monthly newsletter, The Perfect Spot, www.theperfectspotsf.com
Worship long-haired handsome at cult-museum on first Thursdays
I am used to vegetarian restaurants and churches being cults, but this is something new. I’m loathe to spoil the surprise for you, nonetheless: the International Art Museum of America on Sixth Street and Market? 90 percent full of works by the stunning gentleman-living Buddha pictured. Also, it is free on first Thursdays!
Perhaps you have walked by the place before. Surely, you would have noticed the superlative tree-house-in-moat out front.
Upon entering the museum, one is escorted through a Rainforest Cafe-like entry room, only to double-back past two large wooden Chinese dragons flanking the entrance to a room that holds only a glass case with a large piece of coral. It is called “Sea Palace Monarch,” says the corresponding metal plaque. You will soon find that these plaques are a highlight of the International Art Museum.
Says plaque:
Presumably, your first feeling was that of surprise. Does such large coral exist in the world? If it is not a genuine coral, then why do its luster, texture, and appearance look so real and natural? From the bottom of your heart, you would happily accept it as genuine coral because it is so truly beautiful, so aesthetically pleasing. How beautiful your living room would be if it contained this sculpture.
It is not real coral. But this truly beautiful, aesthetically pleasing piece of ceramic was created by our man Dorje Chang Buddha the III, who it turns out made roughly 90 percent of all the art you are about to see. Dorje does coral ceramics, massive wax drippings, traditional-looking Japanese drawings of lion prides and pandas, Van Gogh-like sunflowers, psychedelic spacescapes, and even builds his own gingko bilboa-esque frames that often as not house large holograms of cave interiors. He also creates jade-inspired tiling, which is available for purchase in the gift shop.
Hell yeah that frame is holding a hologram.
Dorje’s yellow period.
It’s not all Dorje — there are occasional works by Flemish masters and oil paintings of sailboats. This is because Dorje is humble. Says the IAMA website, the museum’s board of directors initially only wanted the living Buddha’s works but:
His Holiness the Buddha adamantly disagreed, expressing His opinion that the International Art Museum of America is a site for masters of art worldwide to showcase their artistic accomplishments and should embrace diversity in orde to provide the public with broader aesthetic enjoyment. the Board of Directors yielded to this suggestion of His Holiness the Buddha.
That’s so Dorje, who has done a million amazing things and totally deserves his own museum if only he wasn’t so humble. He’s the recipient of the ambiguously awesome World Peace Prize and check out the guy’s resume (via this spectacular website):
Examples of such holy phenomena include the following. Both humans and non-humans have prostrated to H.H. Dorje Chang Buddha III and have listened to His Holiness’s discourses on the dharma. Sentient beings, non-sentient things, birds, aquatic animals, land animals, flowers, grass, trees, tiles, and stones have all expressed respect for His Holiness’s dharma discourses either verbally or through physical actions. His Holiness taught a disciple how to transmit dharma on His behalf. When the person who was transmitted dharma by that disciple passed away, that person’s body emitted light. Thunder rumbled in the sky in reaction to the voice of His Holiness.
Researching Dorje is likely to through you into a k-hole of reincarnation debate and superlative 1990s web design. Tell me this isn’t the best website ever. Wish-fulfilling jewel mirrors, a digital prayer wheel that “sends out this peaceful prayer of compassion to all directions and to all beings, purifying the area.” That’s worth a perma-tab on your Google Chrome. Now compare to the museum’s site. What happened there, Board of Directors?
Still, new favorite museum. It has a treehouse, holograms, and I wasn’t abducted despite the fact that there was maybe one other visitor there on the first Thursday I was waved in from the sidewalk. The other visitor was a guy who talked loudly on his cell phone about how he was “just checking out some museum man, they like said it was free so I was like cool.”
International Art Museum of America
Open Tuesdays-Sundays 10am-7pm, $10
Open until 7pm and free on first Thursdays
1025 Market, SF
You, too, can win a gold medal in popcorn eating: new movies!
This weekend, it’s all about the Women’s Marathon at the London Olympics! If my calculations are correct, I will have to basically stay up all night Saturday to catch the race (11am London time is uggghhhh our time), or descend into a spoiler-free cave where no NBC-borne spoilers can find me before the highlight reel.
Anyone needing a break from gorging on Olympic track and field coverage, however, has an array of options at the movie theater, including two standout docs about mystery men (The Imposter and Searching for Sugar Man) and William Friedkin’s rip-roaring (and NC-17) latest, Killer Joe. Plus, Lovecraft!
Hollywood’s big money is on the Total Recall remake, which stars an agreeable Colin Farrell and is directed with reasonable amounts of style by Len Wiseman (of Underworld series fame; naturally, wife Kate Beckinsale has a juicy part). But if you really want to see Total Recall, stick with the 1990 Verhoeven-Schwarzenegger version. The do-over adds nothing and contains zero quotable lines on par with “Get your AHH-SS to Mars!”
Short takes on other notable releases this week (including a Bresson revival, ooh la la) after the jump.
Bill W. Even longtime AA members are unlikely to know half the organizational history revealed in this straightforward, chronological, fast-moving portrait of its late founder. Bill Wilson was a bright, personable aspiring businessman whose career was nonetheless perpetually upset by addiction to the alcohol that eased his social awkwardness but brought its own worse troubles. During one mid-1930s sanitarium visit, attempting to dry out, he experienced a spiritual awakening. From that moment slowly grew the idea of Alcoholics Anonymous, which he shaped with the help of several other recovering drunks, and saw become a national movement after a 1941 Saturday Evening Post article introduced it to the general public. Wilson had always hoped the “leaderless” organization would soon find its own feet and leave him to build a separate, sober new career. But gaining that distance was difficult; attempts to find other “cures” for his recurrent depression (including LSD therapy) laid him open to internal AA criticism; and he was never comfortable on the pedestal that grateful members insisted he stay on as the organization’s founder. Admittedly, he appointed himself its primary public spokesman, which rendered his own hopes for privacy somewhat self-canceling — though fortunately it also provides this documentary with plenty of extant lecture and interview material. He was a complicated man whose complicated life often butted against the role of savior, despite his endless dedication and generosity toward others in need. That thread of conflict makes for a movie that’s compelling beyond the light it sheds on an institution as impactful on individual lives and society as any other to emerge from 20th-century America. (1:43) Elmwood, Roxie. (Dennis Harvey)
Crazy and Thief Former S.F. resident Cory McAbee of the Billy Nayer Show, as well as cult film faves The American Astronaut (2001) and Stingray Sam (2009), returns for one night only in this multimedia event under the umbrella of his new enterprise “Captain Ahab’s Motorcycle Club.” The Vogue Theatre event will offer music and conversation after a screening of McAbee’s latest. Crazy and Thief stars his children, two-year-old Johnny and slightly senior Willa, in a 52-minute adventure that has them following a “star map” all by themselves around Brooklyn, then journeying out to the country via train. En route they improvise nonsense songs, cross paths with strange adults suspicious and helpful, ride a Mickey Mouse hobby horse, and so forth. A color effort that’s sort of an elaborate home movie compared to the director’s fancifully comic, black and white prior films, it nonetheless gets pretty far on the cuteness of toddlers and a soundtrack of original songs that find McAbee rocking like a five-year-old might — something that’s also pretty cute. (:52) Vogue. (Dennis Harvey)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GPgA79KSpfU&feature=plcp
The Devil, Probably This seldom-revived 1977 feature from late French master Robert Bresson was his penultimate as well as most explicitly political work. Newspaper clips at the start betray where these 95 minutes will be heading: they introduce Parisian Charles (Antoine Monnier) as a casualty, a suicide at age 20. The reasons for that act are probed in the succeeding flashback, as we observe his last days drifting between friends and lovers, quitting student activist groups, and generally expressing his disillusionment with everything from politics to religion to human interaction. Then 70, Bresson expresses his own disenchantment in solidarity with the youthful characters by including documentary shots of pollution, clubbed baby seals, A-bomb explosions, and other dire signs of “an Earth that is ever more populated and ever less habitable.” That essential message makes The Devil, Probably more relevant than ever, but unfortunately it’s also one of the filmmaker’s driest, most didactic exercises. There are a few odd, almost farcical moments (as when the constant pondering of man’s fate extends to a spontaneous philosophical debate between passengers on a public bus), but the characters are too obviously mouthpieces with no inner lives of their own. In particular, Charles remains an unengaging blank in Monnier’s performance, which is all too faithful to the director’s usual call for “automatic,” uninflected line readings from his nonprofessional cast. Nothing Bresson did is without interest, but here his detached technique drains nearly all emotional impact from a film ostensibly about profound despair. (1:35) SF Film Society Cinema. (Dennis Harvey)
Girlfriend Boyfriend The onscreen title of this Taiwanese import is Gf*Bf, but don’t let the text-speak fool you: the bulk of the film is set in the 1980s and 90s, long before smart phones were around to complicate relationships. And the trio at the heart of Girlfriend Boyfriend is complicated enough as it is: sassy Mabel (Gwei Lun-Mei) openly pines for brooding Liam (Joseph Chang), who secretly pines for rebellious Aaron (Rhydian Vaughan), who chases Mabel until she gives in; as things often go in stories like this, nobody gets the happy ending they desire. Set against the backdrop of Taiwan’s student movement, this vibrant drama believably tracks its leads as they mature from impulsive youths to bitter adults who never let go of their deep bond — despite all the misery it causes, and a last-act turn into melodrama that’s hinted at by the film’s frame story featuring an older Liam and a pair of, um, sassy and rebellious twin girls he’s been raising as his own. (1:45) Metreon. (Cheryl Eddy)
Klown A spinoff from a long-running Danish TV show, with the same director (Mikkel Nørgaard) and co-writer/stars, this bad-taste comedy might duly prove hard to beat as “the funniest movie of the year” (a claim its advertising already boasts). Socially hapless Frank (Frank Hvam) discovers his live-in girlfriend Mia (Mia Lyhne) is pregnant, but she quite reasonably worries “you don’t have enough potential as a father.” To prove otherwise, he basically kidnaps 12-year-old nephew Bo (Marcuz Jess Petersen) and drags him along on a canoe trip with best friend Casper (Casper Christensen). Trouble is, Casper has already proclaimed this trip will be a “Tour de Pussy,” in which they — or at least he — will seize any and every opportunity to cheat on their unknowing spouses. Ergo, there’s an almost immediate clash between awkward attempts at quasi-parental bonding and activities most unsuited for juvenile eyes. Accusations of rape and pedophilia, some bad advice involving “pearl necklaces,” an upscale one-night-only bordello, reckless child endangerment, encouragement of teenage drinking, the consequences of tactical “man flirting,” and much more ensue. Make no mistake, Klown one-ups the Judd Apatow school of raunch (at least for the moment), but it’s good-natured enough to avoid any aura of crass Adam Sandler-type bottom-feeding. It’s also frequently, blissfully, very, very funny. (1:28) Roxie. (Dennis Harvey)
The Performant: Arctic mysteria
Cold trippin’, direct from Berlin
Thirty seconds after we walk into Bindlestiff Studio, S. is sold on kInDeRdEuTsCh pRoJeKtS’ production of “Arctic Hysteria.” He instantly recognizes their preshow music as being a Neue Deutsche Welle song he’s currently enamored with, “Eisbaer” by Grauzone, in which the author expresses a deep desire to be a polar bear. “Alles waer so klar!”
“This is the song I was just talking about,” he exclaims with satisfaction (it’s true) as we settle into our seats to gaze at the Community Thrift meets Matthew Barney set (designed by Sue Rees): corrugated white pressboard walls, an easy chair and matching ottoman covered in leopard print, an uncomfortable-looking brocade couch, a static-filled television set in the corner, a silver decanter and goblets on a roller tray. An innocuous enough setting for a play named for a contested form of madness particular to the arctic, supposedly characterized by uncontrolled outbursts, mimicry, echolalia, and coprophagia; keywords which might also be used to describe a typical Saturday night out in San Francisco.
A musical introduction performed by Stefanie Fiedler, aka Cuddles, sets the tone, “we disappear into madness,” she croons, outfitted in a fantstical snowflake-white majorette outfit with a matching knitted polar bear cap. “I feel nothing…and I haven’t for a long time.” After she exits, her siblings Goneregan (Thorsten Bihegue) whose amalgamated name is one of several vague King Lear markers scattered throughout the piece, and Fool (another Lear reference, played by Molly Shaiken), enter the room, discussing their coerced reunion. A cantankerous voiceover begins to querulously direct them and finally to inhabit their bodies, repeating a promise to each that “this will all be yours someday,” deftly setting up an atmosphere of suspicion and sibling rivalry.
Veering away from Shakespearean cliché, their rivalry takes on animalistic overtones as Fool and Cuddles spar with and attempt to devour each other while rolling around the floor, growling and gnawing. A sequence of denunciation sessions in which each comes up with intensely creative insults for the others (“you little shit, I saw you picking lice and eating it!”) morphs into a long-winded soliloquy from Goneregan on ruling the sea, during which a staggering number of stuffed toys make their first appearance, quizzically peeking over the back of the sofa, floating through the air, propelled by the silent hands of Cuddles and Fool.
Lost yet? Us too, honestly, and we’ve only reached the halfway point. Still to come is a riotous game of musical chairs, colorful costume changes, a tender interlude with a polar bear, an incestuous cuddle puddle leading to the “happiest death ever recorded—death inside the anus of a walrus,” intense flirtations with a televised image of an Arctic hunter, German-language interludes, penguin dances, prospective eye-gouging, and a revelation of filicide. For a play set in a sterile white world, it’s a murky and fantastical carnival for the senses, punctuated with bursts of childish enthusiasm, nonsensical verbiage, and giddy violence, pushing the audience into the disorienting depths of the apocryphal Inughuit malady for which it is named. Indeed, it might be the only play running that makes the comparative excesses of life on Sixth Street seem relatively tame.
Through August 4
Bindlestiff Studio
185 Sixth St., SF
$15-$25
www.bindlestiffstudio.org
www.kinderdeutsch.org
Live Shots: SF Street Food Festival 2012 preview
The SF Street Food Festival has become such a delight in the summertime. (This year’s takes place on Saturday, August 18.) A chance to sample wonderful treats from the around the world (many developed in the test kitchens of entrepeneurial incubator La Cocina), transporting your taste buds to the far reaches of yumminess. The festival can get crazy crowded, so to help you out, here’s a list of some fave vendors to make a beeline for:
Alicia’s Tamales Los Mayas – It’s partially that you’ll fall in love with Alicia, who will call you “mi cariño,” but it’s also that her delectable homemade tamales are out of this world, stuffed with pork, chicken or cheese and slathered in fresh salsa verde. You can’t go wrong with this corny bundles of love.
Minnie Bells’ Soul Movement – Think fried chicken and mac and cheese. Really good soul food, simple and delicious. Never tasted such flavorful gumbo!
Chiefo’s Kitchen – Chiefo cooks wonderful West African cuisine, that’s spicy and filled with exotic flavors. Try her mini moi-moi, a savory cake made with blended black eyed peas and topped with a crispy piece of meat.
Global Soul – Here’s the deal. I was handed a piece of meat on a toothpick, dripping in fat and it was the best thing ever. You know you want that too.
Azalina’s – “I love deep frying things!” declared Azalina. And she’s not joking! But what I love about her snacks is that yes, they are perfectly fried and golden, but then layered with roasted meats, fresh veggies and topped with a hot pink raspberry. So unique and beautiful!
Neo Cocoa – Save room for dessert! Christine from Neo Cocoa will be serving up chocolate truffle brownies, layered with such decadent fillings as almond butter.
The Performant: Viva la woman
Three playful performances by women offered vastly different perspectives.
Where’re the ladies at? Same place they’ve always been, really. Dancing backward in high heels. Getting on with the business of living while all around the world threatens to crash down around their feet. Politics. Murders. Institutionalized systems of oppression. Climate change. Is optimism overplayed? Or is hope all we have to keep us moving forward? This past weekend, three playful pieces gave stage time to the notion of moving forward in a world gone mad, each created and performed by a contingent of strong female figures, each bucking, in their own way, conventional wisdom on femininity and the future, with striking results.
Cara Rose DeFabio’s “she was a computer” at CounterPULSE a couple weekends ago wasted no time in plugging us into the modern. You won’t hear your house manager remind you to turn your cell phones back on at the top of a show too often, and scattered giggling ensued as we all reached into our pockets to turn our devices back on. In the blackout a telephone number flashed onto the back wall, and after some moments people begin catch on, dialed the number. The tinny sound of a pre-recorded message rose from all around. I received a mysterious text. After a time, the stage was taken by Sara Yasskey, who put on a record then spun slowly in time to a languid Lana Del Ray tune, an array of competing emotions passing across her face as she turned as if trapped in the outdated technology of the player. Nods to Facebook, Instagram, the rotary phone, and the dreaded “TTI” or “Technologically transmitted infection,” ensued, performed by Yasskey Niki Selken, Stacey Swan, and a luminous Pearl Marill, whose flirtatious foray into “hair dryer therapy” was easily one of the evening’s funniest.
The second performance on the CounterPULSE bill “Persian LOOKING,” by Maryam Farnaz Rostami took on a deliberately darker tone from the beginning, with a mannequin-like pose struck by the three performers to the driving pulse of a NIN track mashed up with what sounds like a mournful Middle Eastern lament. The tone of the performance, rife with ghosts and abuse, didn’t really lighten up until about a third of the way through, when we were introduced to Nazia (Maryam Farnaz Rostami) and Zeeba (Atosa Babaoff), two young women hidden behind the black lace of their veils, who spoke in exaggerated NorCal slang. Like OMG! I’m totes serious! The other most memorable character of the piece emerged soon after, an angrily intense Aylin Guvenc as Massoumah, an futuristic female warlord, incarcerated for her role in the Tulsa massacre of 2093.
“Wars used to be fought by men,” she sneered in disbelief, “can you imagine?” Arrogant, unsympathetic, Guvenc’s character embodied an unforgiving vision of a dystopian future, the only consolation of which was that it appeared to be slated for when we have all passed away.
Meanwhile, at Noh Space, Bolinas-based performance artist Sha Sha Higby’s latest work, “Folding into a Tempest,” eschewed defining either the past or the future, and instead embraced the present in real time, moment by moment. A poet of sculpture and movement, Higby’s distinct body of works emanate quite literally from her body, which she encases in high concept costuming of shaped wire, textiles, and a multitude of masks which conspire to hide her actual physical form from view: shield, armor, and obfuscation. Roaming the spare parameters of the stage, manipulating a variety of objects including puppets, more masks, and banners, Higby’s economy of motion displayed the sculptural elements of her elaborate attire to vivid effect, spurred on by a dreamy soundscape of night sounds, chirping birds, wind chimes, and occasional outbursts of oddience participation, until in the end she emerged from the fantasia of her own elaborate confinement, like a changeling exiled to the human dimension for reasons unexplained, perhaps unexplainable.