Energy Archives — Page 30 of 103 — San Francisco Bay Guardian Archive 1966

Movement Detroit day one: Sweetest Kiss-Over (or, I Feel French)

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks

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May 27, 2012

Movement Detroit day one: Sweetest Kiss-Over (or, I Feel French)

Not much gets better than dancing with 33,000 people in downtown Detroit at the fantastic 12th annual Detroit Electronic Music Festival, aka Movement, to the techno music that was invented here.

The first day of three, a bit stormy weatherwise but warm and squiggly on the musical front, saw the five stages brimming with choice DJ segues like Greg Wilson into Todd Terje, David Squillace into Seth Troxler with Guy Gerber, SBTRKT into Roni Size, Derrick Carter into Lil Louis — and the triumph (for me, and native Detroiters) of last night, young techno keepers of the flame Kyle Hall and Jay Daniel, playing a smooth classics timewarp set, into quintessential DJ’s DJ Mike Huckaby, who took us all the way into wiggy jazziness.

The lovely vibes, zillion afterparties, surprising diversty, and distinctly non-pop energy are already helping compensate for some of the fest’s dogged disappointments — only five women out of about 100 DJs this year, all bunched up into opening sets, and only two San Franciscans by my count. (In a wee slap on both ends, one of this year’s most exciting techno up-and-comers, SF’s Christina Chatfield, is relegated to afterparty status. Next year please!)

But how can I complain when shirtless, buffed up, pecil-mustachioed house sage Lil Louis closes the main stage with his iconic “French Kiss” that breaks expertly into Diana Ross’s “Love Hangover” during the slow part, and then Donna Summer’s “I Feel Love” (sounding absolutely aces on a huge system) when everything gets fast?

Louis didn’t let some horrifying technical glitches get in his way — when his complex set-up melted down, he mixed headphoneless and rode a thick bass beat like a trooper while festival technicians actually built a whole new one practically from scratch next to him. No one can say Detroit industriousness is dead.

The big overarching narrative of techno right now — and one that has huge reverberations at the festival — is how the many established strains of techno, and its more adventurous community of listeners and connoisseurs, are reacting to the current spectacular pop success of EDM (electronic dance music represented by commercial juggernauts like Dead Maus and Tiesto, and heard at Movement’s evil twin fest, Electric Daisy Carnival) and the droves of American youth pumping watered-down dubstep of the Skrillex variety into their earholes.

No, the all-ages Movement was not a snob-fest, and already it seems to be channeling its old underground, alternative energy again, now that all of its subgenre variations have something to unite about and rebel against. Teens flocked to the Red Bull stage for its more global bass lineup — but I only heard two wub-wub dubstep drops while I was there, and the neon-drenched kids did just fine with an onslaught of good ol’ polyrythmic UK two-step (the progenitor of dubstep) and old school live Brit-accented MCing, with hectically beautiful snippets of vocal garage house (dubstep’s other progenitor) floated over top. It was a fine education from the likes of Brenmar, Photek, and Bok Bok, indeed.

And then Derrick Carter started slaying the main stage with passing train-horn sounds that rattled 10,000 bones — his joke on the dubstep drop? — and everybody laughed and screamed.

Post-everything

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks

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May 22, 2012

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emilysavage@sfbg.com

MUSIC Long black hair and ripped jean vests in the crowd, billowy hooded capes on the stage, DJs in jersey tanks and caps, and sea of flickering blue lit cell phones; there’s something spooky happening out there in Club Land, San Francisco. It’s almost as though the dark arts kids have discovered dance music.

Roll your eyes. Of course, that’s reductive. Goths and punks have long been venturing into dance clubs. Acts like Gang of Four, Liquid Liquid, and Siouxsie and the Banshees harnessed the power of beats, shooting rhythm directly into the noise decades ago. And then there was the dance-punk revival of the early 2000s, with LCD Soundsystem and its emblematic label DFA out front, and Black Eyes and Liars leading the weirder charge.

But lately in the city, there seems to be a handful of party curators gaining more recognition for throwing darkly experimental events, lining up unexpected live acts and multifaceted DJs, haunting visuals and thought-provoking participatory art. It’s a mix of live experiments, spooky glitches, punk-rap energy, and a particularly homegrown brand of San Francisco messiness. It’s been referred to as Tumblr culture, a grand, winking, sparkling, blood-soaked mix of references and cultures.

What’s more, these parties provide a space for those previously unassociated with fundamental club culture (i.e. have spent their lives hunkered down in venues and warehouses) with an entry point. Like all scenes, it can be difficult to break out of routine, but it seems almost rudimentary: bringing unconventional live bands to club nights draws in broader crowds.

Kevin Meenan, otherwise known as epicsauce, has witnessed this introduction in the first few months of his budding new party Push the Feeling. While he’s long covered nightlife and hosted live “one foot in the punk world, one foot in the dance world” events, he described this new endeavor as a handholding experience, convincing indie-garage-shoegaze centric friends to come out to a night in the electronic realm.

Maybe the rise of such experimental parties is thanks to the endless digital back catalogue of influences now available at the fingertips; it’s hard to say. But it’s fun and challenging, regardless. So is this the critical blog culture come alive?

SLEEP ONE NIGHT, RAVE THE NEXT

Marco De La Vega, another local figure in this experimental party-thrower culture, thinks so. He uses the same language to describe a recent party he threw, Public Access.

“To a large extent it was almost like a tongue-in-cheek mix-up of that old rave culture and like, the Tumblr culture that kind of exists now,” he explains. “This idea that every single person is, in their own right, constantly exposed and famous, and also in this really creepy, amazing, 10-second flashes of animated GIFs kind of way.”

While De La Vega works on other current monthly and twice-monthly events such as 120 Minutes and Future Perfect, April marked the very first installment of Public Access, which took place at Public Works in the Mission.

It’s a concept De La Vega says he’s been mulling over for years, an eclectic, visually minded show based around people generating their own content. He counted on a crew of some 10 to 20 friends and creative types to help reel in his fantasies, and help turn concepts in realities. In conversation, he repeatedly credits the same loose circle with co-organizing all the events on which he works.

At that first Public Access night, there were video screenings, and performance art, along with “forward-thinking drag queens” Dia Dear and Boy Child. Hype Williams, Gatekeeper, Teengirl Fantasy, and Total Accomplishment performed, as did DJs including frequent collaborator Dial Up, and De La Vega himself— who goes by the name S4NtA_MU3rTE. While very well attended (sold out, in fact) the Public Access night will only happen sporadically — when the exact right lineup can be formed.

120 Minutes (First Fridays, 9pm, $10–$15. Elbo Room, 647 Valencia, SF. www.elbo.com), De La Vega’s longest-running current party has seen darkwave, chopped and screwed hip-hop, and grave rave acts such as Pictureplane, oOoOO, Light Asylum, Cold Cave, White Ring, Salem, and Tragik come through over the past year and a half. Next up, a likely-to-sell out show with field recording wunderkind producer Balam Acab.

Future Perfect (Second and Fourth Thursdays, 10pm, $10–$15, Public Works, 161 Erie, SF. www.publicsf.com), is another consistent party of his; it’s a collaborative effort with veteran rap promoter Gary Rivera (though again, all of De La Vega’s efforts take a village), which began at Monarch but now also takes place at Public Works.

“The idea on [Future Perfect] is similar to everything I work on,” De La Vega says, sucking down a bacon Bloody Mary at Pop’s on a sunny afternoon. “It’s basically the embodiment of this idea that there is such a huge cross-section between various musical genres, and particular production styles of music, so rap, electronic, anything ‘future based,’ he air quotes, “post-dubstep, post-anything. There’s this huge intersection between all these scenes that doesn’t actually have, strangely, its own outlet.”

It’s interesting that De Le Vega even got into throwing parties in the first place, given his back-story. He grew up a self-described record nerd who never went to clubs. He says he’s still not really a fan of clubs, which is hard to believe. “My issue with a lot of club nights is this idea that everything has to be something, or have a label, or be a scene,” he says.

He was raised in both Stockton and upstate New York, went to his first show at age 6 — Beastie Boys and Run-DMC with his two older sisters — and soon fell in love with radio pop (Prince) and gangster rap (Ghetto Boys).

After high school spent mulling around shows with the punk kids, he eventually moved back out west, this time to a loft in SOMA. While he stayed in most nights, his roommate went out and brought the parties back to the loft. This is when, as the drunken masses entered his shared space, a stoned De La Vega would spin his own music.

This lead to friends asking him to DJ their events, and eventually, his first foray into throwing parties: Suicide Club, at the Cat Club in 2003. It had dark vibes, beat-driven music, and a kiddie pool full of fake blood. The point was to pull in aspects of everything De La Vega loved.

“So for me, at the time, and I guess still, it was performance: performance art, music, the hardcore shows, experimental music shows. And the thing I loved but didn’t know what was happening with it, was dance music. I fucking adore dance music.”

The night did well, but De La Vega pulled the plug after eighth months, because of a turn of context. Suddenly, half the club would be filled with “jocks standing around just to watch chicks get naked and roll around in blood.”

While De La Vega stresses that he has no specific messages with his parties, he does believe in context, and he was no longer comfortable with the context in which these parties were playing out. He went back to DJing bars, mixing post-punk and gangster rap, and spending a lot of time freaking people out in pot clubs with five-hour long sets.

120 Minutes at Milk Bar in September of 2010 was his first return to throwing his own parties. The lights-lasers-sounds party quickly outgrew Milk, moved to its more permanent home at the Elbo Room and has remained a wildly popular event there ever since, playing, as oft-noted, mixes of Salem, Waka Flocka Flame, Dragged Out, Skinny Puppy, and Nicki Minaj.

“It’s an insanely amazing time for music. The breadth of widely available, quality work is wider than it has ever been, and this has changed the market drastically in the last decade… hell, in the last few years,” he says.

Adding, “Accessibility has lead to a larger common vernacular for artists to pull from, and in turn to a blurring of genre lines and a more relaxed take on the previously stringent rules that would guide the way a lot of musicians produced music and also how fans would consume it.”

De La Vega still DJs most of his own parties as S4NtA_MU3rTE, and has a mad scientist freedom to explore. He makes video files using the Serato program and uses turntables and vinyl as MIDI controllers, but also uses a program that combines live production program Ableton with Serato. He usually spins his own remixes, including a popular Waka Flocka Flame mix — he says every time he plays someone screams “Play Waka!” That, or Gucci Mane: “Any crowd, doesn’t matter the scene, they always freak out about Gucci Mane.”

Though he also taps into the bleaker stuff. He does all graphic design for the show posters he wheatpastes around the city, most frequently slick black affairs with crystallized white skulls. He agrees he has an overall darker vibe but not necessarily gothic.

“Goth doesn’t mean anything anymore and I feel like it gives the wrong vibe. But to some extent I come from that vibe. To me it implies the wrong things — Frankenstein boots, and multi-colored extensions — and that can be pulled off, it’s just not me.”

He breaks it down in the most understandable of terms toward the end of the warm afternoon at Pop’s: “I want to be able to go and watch [stoner metal act] Sleep one night and then go to a rave the next, and definitely still get backstage for the A$AP Rocky show.”

RIPPING OFF OPTIMO

It was a combination of influences that first got Kevin Meenan, a.k.a. epicsauce, interested in having his own e-list of local shows.

First, he was learning to use open source system Drupal, but more to the point, he found New York web list Oh My Rockness, on which he discovered SF-based act Tussle playing a show when he happened to be visiting a friend in New York.

The biggest inspiration however was long-standing punk and thrash e-list The List. “I have probably looked at it once a week, every week, since eighth grade,” he says. Spare and simple, The List is pretty much exactly what it sounds like, ongoing lists of Bay Area shows. Meenan, who now lives off Divisadero in SF, grew up in the Walnut Creek area, so he’s been going to local shows for quite some time.

He began epicsauce.com in 2007, a few years after he returned to the Bay. He’d gone to college in Boston and spent a year abroad in London, where he discovered club nights he actually wanted to go to. “epicsauce.com was supposed to be like The List,” he later adds, “but a little bit more inclusive of dance music and stuff I was just starting to get into it at that point.”

Now, five years and many remixes later, Meenan throws a free dance music-oriented party, Push the Feeling (Monthly, dates vary, 9pm, free with Facebook RSVP. Underground SF, 424 Haight, SF.), with high school BFF/roommate Andrew Marcogliese, a.k.a. YR SKULL. The Lower Haight event has thus far featured Magic Touch, Shock, Chucha Santamaria y Usted, and shortcircles, among other acts.

“I can safely say that there’s this [legendary ’90s-born party] in Scotland, that I’ve never been to called Optimo, and this is 100 percent me trying to rip off Optimo,” he says with an easy laugh. “In my mind they have the coolest shit, cross genres.”

Meenan also leans heavy on newish label 100% Silk, which describes itself as making “singles of diamond-life dance & bliss-disco & basement luxury grooves by friends and lovers from all over the world.”

He says the label has been pretty central to him exploring older house music.

Push the Feeling is shiny and new, and still figuring out its place, but it’s an interesting evolution for Meenan. “This is my first attempt at trying to do more traditional nights,” he says. With that said, the shows do have still have exuberant punk-energy of live music along with exciting DJs.

A DJ now himself, using Ableton Live, he’s been enjoying playing ’70s disco songs, then ’90s house covers and watching the crowd, or spinning Peech Boys’s ’81 track “Don’t Make Me Wait” followed by the ’87 remix “Don’t Make Me Jack” by Paris Grey. With those mentioned, he sings a few strains of each. “That’s one of the things that has really attracted me to dance music, you can cover 30 years of music history within a 20 minute period.”

While Push the Feeling may be one step in a particular, bass-heavy direction, it’s not like this is entirely foreign to Meenan. While he was doing the epicsauce.com list, which led to writing band profiles on SFist and other freelance writing work, he also was throwing his own near-weekly epicsauce.com presents parties at Milk.

The first show he ever did, February of 2009, included French Miami and Silian Rail. From there he booked a Neon Indian DJ set, Boys IV Men, Baths, Yacht — nearly all acts with some sort of electronic element, synth, or just straight up DJs.

After years spent tiptoeing the line between rock and electro, Meenan is very aware of the backlash against so-called “hipster house” — this calling out of relatively new bands and producers coming out of rock scenes, hinting at not fully appreciating the decades of dance music references that came before them.

He says he hopes he’s turned the page on that, as an obsessive music collector who spends weeks at a time studying one producer then said producer’s influences, but he also calls out the backlash as the prototypical hipper-than-thou refrain.

“I think there’s some validity to it, yeah there’s a lot of cool stuff that came before this, but I think it’s no different than the old man indie argument. This has been going on forever. I think this is true with any genre, and any form of music ever.”

SYNTH AS THE COMMON THREAD

Let’s get this out of the way, C.L.A.W.S. stands for “Can’t Live Anywhere Without Sandwiches.” Brian Hock says this with a small, proud smile from a tiny table in the Dogpatch Saloon.

It’s Hock’s minimalist, synth-driven solo project he’s been making music for since 2007. He’s also currently helping produce tracks for Group Rhoda, drumming for Bronze, and booking monthly experimental dance club-meets-live music night O.K. Hole (Third Saturdays, 9pm, $5. Amnesia, 853 Valencia, SF. www.amnesiathebar.com) at Amnesia.

The roster of acts that have played O.K. Hole in the past three years — the night began in 2009 — is impressive, if not wholly representative of this modern post-everything genre blurring. Of course Bronze and C.L.A.W.S have stopped in, but also Eats Tapes, Jonas Reinhardt, Magic Touch, Coconut, Royal Baths, Late Young, Soft Metals, Silk Flowers, Water Borders, and dozens more. They book live electronics, coldwave, techno, and synth-y house, Hock says. Synths are the common thread between most of the acts, he adds.

Hock has been a part of the Bay Area music scene for some 20 years, in various forms, and agrees that O.K. Hole is something of an amalgamation of his past two decades, all funneled into one party. Well, maybe not his first band.

He played in a crappy punk band at age 14 in San Mateo, hung out at the Gillman and listened to a lot of grindcore — Man is the Bastard, Spazz. He then moved on to playing in a synth-based heavy psychedelic act, followed by a dark new wave band called the Knives.

From the ashes of the Knives, rose the goth-y metal band the Vanishing, likely his best-known band from that mid-Aughts era. He and fellow member Jessie Evans moved to Berlin and toured Europe. This is when he also began focusing on DJing. “It made me a total techno asshole,” Hock laughs.

After the Vanishing broke up after a show in Vienna, Hock moved back to the states, to a warehouse on Third Street in the Dogpatch. It was there where he threw all-night, underground jams called Gentlemen’s Techno, which he describes as similar to O.K. Hole but more dancefloor-oriented. “It was the crappiest, jankiest sound system ever, like 14 different speakers thrown together on top of these like six-foot tall motor-driven subs that used to be Def Leppard’s.”

After Gentleman’s Techno was kaput, Hock started O.K. Hole, only it was a DJ night at Argus Lounge with a friend who soon left the Bay Area. Once she moved, O.K. Hole moved to Amnesia and began as a regular monthly with the help of Rob Spector also of Bronze, and Nathan Burazer from Tussle. The night typically hosts two to three live acts, and then DJs. “We just wanted to have a place to book friends, and stuff we like,” says Hock. “It’s not a money thing.”

Hock himself DJs the nights on two turntables, usually playing mixes of house and techno. The now-Oakland based musician-promoter has also been recently discovering newer parties in the East Bay — a techno party called Direct to Earth, and the abundance of underground punk and hardcore shows. He’s been around the block and back around again.

“[The Bay Area musical landscape] is always changing,” he notes. “There have been a lot of really fun eras here that are all completely different. A movement will come together, and there will be something around it for two to four year cycles, and then that’ll dissipate.”

Perhaps it really is all just fleeting. It’s better to dance tonight, and worry tomorrow about all that heady place-in-history stuff. Or maybe it’s worth taking a second look.

“Sometimes I feel like it’s just all seems so confusing — what is this? All this stuff I’m so obsessed with?” Hock asks with a sigh when his music history is noted. “But then it coalesces and it’s like yeah, I really love this.”

Julian Davis announces for supervisor in the key battleground district for progressives (5)

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May 22, 2012

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Julian Davis, a widely known progressive activist and organizer in San Francisco since 2002, declared Tuesday his intention to run for supervisor in District 5, the city’s most liberal district and a battleground district for progressives seeking to regain control of the Board of Supervisors.

He joins eight other challengers to Sup. Christina Olague, appointed by Mayor Ed Lee to replace former Sup. Ross Mirkarimi. He was considered by many to be the board’s most reliable progressive. He succeeded Matt Gonzales, a strong progressive. The battle will center on which candidate will be the most reliable progressive vote–Olague, whose votes are being carefully watched by progressives, or by one of her challengers.

Davis, a Bay Area native, is a graduate of Brown University and UC Hastings College of the Law, where he graduated magna cum laude. He has worked in government and non-profit and legal sectors on community development, civil rights, social justice, public power, and environmental causes. He has worked on several candidate and ballot measure campaigns including John Avalos for mayor (20ll), Jane Kim for supervisor (2010), Prop H (2008), Clean Energy Act.) He also led a succeesful campaign in 2007 to free journalist Josh Wolf from federal prison for refusing to reveal sources in a demonstration he was covering.

“I was drawn to San Francisco by the creative energy and culture of the city–by what makes this place so special,” Davis said. “Over the past l0 years, I’ve devoted myself to developing healthy communities. I’m running for supervisor to keep the city a vibrant home for the every day people that make San Francisco real.” b3

Fresh Cuts: Kimbra makes good, Girls get limited, and the return of an indie-pop institution

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May 22, 2012

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Fresh Cuts: Kimbra makes good, Girls get limited, and the return of an indie-pop institution

This week in new music explores the depths of an ingenue with a siren attitude, the quiet ranges of Mount Eerie, mom as muse, and more.

Kimbra: Vows (Warner Bros.)

I have three words to say regarding Kimbra’s debut album Vows: I like it. The poppier tracks are infectious (backsides and feet are among the first to fall victim) and the slow jams are worthy of a swoon or two.

Thrust into the spotlight thanks to a strong performance on Gotye’s currently ubiquitous hit “Somebody That I Used to Know,” the New Zealander holds her own on her first studio effort. Kimbra’s brand of pop spans the genres, from high-energy dance single “Cameo Lover” to the slow-burning ballad “Old Flame.” “Wandering Limbs” featuring Sam Lawrence is a favorite and a spine tingler with its mix of future soul and simple harmonies.

Vows is a well-crafted stage for the 21-year-old’s burgeoning talent. It shines a bright light on her voice’s ability to nimbly ebb and wane from the soaring highs and whispering lows. And with pipes like that, Kimbra has managed to escape one-hit-wonder obscurity.

Mount Eerie: Clear Moon (P.W. Elverum and Sun)

http://vimeo.com/29463284

Mount Eerie’s Phil Elverum is low-key. And 2012’s Clear Moon is a record about a quiet life led in Anacortes, Wash., a small northwest town 64 miles outside of Seattle.

Following the release of previous album Wind’s Poem in 2009, Elverum spent two years building a recording studio, known as “the Unknown,” in an old church and the last 15 months forging music. He has recorded two new albums in this giant space: one is Clear Moon out today and Ocean Roar will be available in September. Epic echoes captured within this vast space mingle with deep and melodic chimes while Elverum’s voice cuts through clear and resonant.

Girls: “My Ma” b/w “Love Life” seven-inch (True Panther)

San Francisco’s very own Girls have pressed only 1,000 copies of their latest record. The fourth single from the band’s sophomore LP Father, Son, Holy Ghost, “My Ma” will appear on a seven-inch accompanied by B-side “Love Life.” The title song is a heartsick, melancholy ode to frontman Christopher Owens’ mother.

The record is being released as a thank you to the shops that participated in Girls Across America — the band’s nationwide tour of independent record shops in the fall of last year. The rare seven-inch — cover art designed by Owens — will only be available at participating stores.

Saint Etienne: Words and Music by Saint Etienne (Universal)

Words and Music by Saint Etienne is the seminal indie dance-pop band’s first new studio album in seven years and its eighth full-length overall. Still believing in the magic of pop after all these years, Saint Etienne has put together a deluxe two-disc catalogue of new tunes and remixes.

The latest LP is a warm and dizzy trek through ’90s-sounding dance music, complete with the lighter and darker sides of pop. Although its signature sound hasn’t changed much, the group’s music has evolved on this album with hints of house and balearic beats, and lyrical prowess. “I’m growing older,” sings Sarah Cracknell. “Heaven only knows what’s on its way.”

Julia B. Chan is a writer and hosts “Play for Today,” a program on Radio Valencia — www.radiovalencia.fm — every Friday from 6 to 8pm. Follow her on Twitter @onTheBeat.

Lindsey Buckingham’s live show comes down to one

Tony Robles

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May 16, 2012

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With an arsenal of a dozen guitars and several amplifiers lined up behind him, Lindsey Buckingham wasted no time delving into his extensive catalog of songs Monday night at the Fillmore.

Striding up to a lone microphone stand wearing his signature blue jeans, v-neck t-shirt, and black leather jacket, the singer and guitarist launched into an hour and 15 minute set that spanned a broad spectrum of his career, covering a wide swath of solo material in addition to some of the mega hits he created as a member of Fleetwood Mac.

After running through the first couple of tunes and warming up his formidable finger picking skills, the 62-year old Buckingham took a short break to talk about his current tour across the country, contrasting the differences between performing with what he called the “big machine” — Fleetwood Mac — and “the small machine” — his solo outings.

Remarking that when he started out on his own, he would often take a sizable backing band with him, but over the years he has decreased the number of players, with his last major tour featuring a trio, and that this trek finds him venturing out by himself.

Aside from a few songs that he played along with to a pre-recorded backing track, such as “Go Your Own Way,” it was just Buckingham, his stellar guitar playing, and his still-powerful voice providing the sonic soundscape that filled the historic auditorium, proving beyond a doubt that he was capable of carrying the show all on his own, with a highly vocal and appreciative audience to encourage him.

At times, it felt strange to look at the stage and see only one person performing with the amount of energy and excitement being generated. During songs such as “Big Love” and “Go Insane,” Buckingham made a variety of impassioned facial expressions while playing, and yelled and clapped at the crowd when he finished.

When the Palo Alto native came back out for an encore, he walked along the front of the stage, high-fiving and shaking hands with his fans, before telling the audience that it “you guys really do make it feel like home here.”

Then adding, “There’s so much history in this place, and with all the music that has come out of this city, I’m just proud to be a small part of it.”

With Monday’s show in the books, Buckingham can be assured that he is still very much a vivacious and viable contributor to that ongoing legacy.

Film Listings May 16-22, 2012

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks

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May 15, 2012

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Film listings are edited by Cheryl Eddy. Reviewers are Kimberly Chun, Max Goldberg, Dennis Harvey, and Lynn Rapoport. For rep house showtimes, see Rep Clock at www.sfbg.com. Complete film listings also posted at www.sfbg.com.

OPENING

Battleship During idle moments before the action revs up, the aliens start menacing, and the deadly razor balls-cum-air mines start rampaging, wrap your noggin around these random brainwaves: can Taylor Kitsch be any better named? Is it possible for Alexander Skarsgård’s glassy eyes to get any deader? Where are all the Hawaiians, Asians, and people of color in this white-bread vision of Hawaii? All matters to puzzle over in this toy franchise hopeful directed by ex-Chicago Hope regular Peter Berg. The 2007 Transformers is the best this gung-ho hybrid of up-with-the-military “Army of One” commercial and alien invasion flick — with plenty of blow-’em-up-real-good explosions and a dab of J-monster movies, but the writing never quite rises to the occasion. Here, an international group of navy folk and their ships are convening in Hawaii for playful wargames, though the exercises turn somewhat more serious when alien vessels splash down in the middle of the fun —and some mild, no-investment family drama: Alex (Kitsch) is the screw-up younger brother of stony-faced naval man Stone (Skarsgård) and courting the daughter (Brooklyn Decker) of the fleet commander (Liam Neesom), who seems to hate his guts. The ultimate battle with space invaders, however, promises to turn that all around, as Alex is forced to sailor up and lead crew mates like Rihanna and work with former opponents like Captain Nagata (Tadanobu Asano). Here, at least, in the shadow of Pearl Harbor, U.S. and Japanese naval dudes can heal the wounds of World War II and bond in battle against the last unimpeachable interstellar villains who couldn’t give a rat’s ass if you say “I sunk your battleship.” But Berg’s muddled direction doesn’t help when it comes to piecing out the chronology and balancing assorted perspectives in this latest effort to equate militarism with the games big and little kids play. (2:11) (Chun)

Bernie See “Small-Town Confidential.” (1:39) Embarcadero, Shattuck, Smith Rafael.

The Dictator As expected, The Dictator is, yet again, Sacha Baron Cohen doing his bumbling-foreigner shtick. Said character (here, a ruthless, spoiled North African dictator) travels to America and learns a heaping teaspoon of valuable lessons, which are then flung upon the audience — an audience which, by film’s end, has spent 80 minutes squealing at a no-holds-barred mix of disgusting gags, tasteless jokes, and schadenfreude. If you can’t forgive Cohen for carbon-copying his Borat (2006) formula, at least you can muster admiration for his ability to be an equal-opportunity offender (dinged: Arabs, Jews, African Americans, white Americans, women of all ethnicities, and green activists) — and for that last-act zinger of a speech. If The Dictator doesn’t quite reach Borat‘s hilarious heights, it’s still proudly repulsive, smart in spite of itself, and guaranteed to get a rise out of anyone who watches it. (1:23) Balboa, Presidio. (Eddy)

Elles Graphic sex scenes distinguish this otherwise fairly unremarkable tale of Anne (Juliette Binoche), a magazine writer whose blah life (sure, she has a luxurious apartment, but it’s populated by a distant husband, a sullen teenager, and a younger son who’d rather interface with technology than humans) becomes even more unbearable when she begins a new assignment: an article on college students who moonlight as call girls. The always-reliable Binoche brings depth to her role as a bored woman who finds herself unexpectedly titillated by her close brush with dirty thrills, but her eventual rebellion is anti-climactic after all that naughty build-up. Elles does plenty to earn its NC-17 rating, but filmmaker Malgoska Szumowska could’ve titled it Ennui instead. (1:36) Bridge, Shattuck. (Eddy)

Indie Game: The Movie Much like the film business, the video-game biz is mostly controlled by a few huge companies with thousands of employees, hell-bent on ensnaring as many of the billions of dollars spent on games annually as possible. And then, as James Swirsky and Lisanne Pajot’s documentary explores,

there are the little guys, who are “not trying to be professional” or produce glossy content for the masses. Instead, these individuals (or pairs) take advantage of the miracle of digital distribution to follow their own visions and create their own games. The best-case scenarios — illustrated by San Francisco indie developer Jonathan Blow and his hugely successful Braid — can reap enormous creative and financial rewards, but getting there — as the struggles facing the creators of Super Meat Boy and Fez plainly attest — can be a mentally and physically draining process, filled with frustration and self-doubt, exacerbated by the taunts of haters online. A thoughtful, artfully-shot peek at one tiny corner of a behemoth industry, Indie Game also offers a surprisingly tense, raw look at some very bright minds struggling to triumph on their own terms. (1:36) Roxie. (Eddy)

Mansome This study of contemporary male grooming — from ironic mustaches to competitive “beardbuilding” to the fine art of the hairpiece — is yet another lighthearted entry from prolific doc-factory Morgan Spurlock (the subject matter being particularly appropriate, given his own trademark ‘stache). With interstitials by co-producers Will Arnett and Jason Bateman — getting pedicures and facials while exchanging barbs, like the TV brothers they are — and input from an array of famous faces (Zach Galifianakis, Paul Rudd, the Old Spice Guy, Judd Apatow, ZZ Top), Mansome is actually most interesting when it focuses on less boldfaced names — like the deadly-serious “beardsman” whose flowing red locks have won him international titles, and the old-school toupee expert who matter-of-factly erases baldness for grateful clients. One quibble: though John Waters appears to discuss his own trademark facial hair, and there’s a Freddy Mercury clip, Mansome remains stubbornly focused on straight dudes — though it does dig up the only man in the galaxy still using the term “metrosexual.” (1:24) Lumiere, Shattuck. (Eddy)

Payback Jumping off Margaret Atwood’s Payback: Debt and the Shadow Side of Wealth, her 2008 meditation on borrowing and lending and the way those acts reverberate through culture, documentarian Jennifer Baichwal finds a thought-provoking, graceful, seemingly free-form way into the writer’s ideas. The film dips into the dynamics between a handful of unlikely debtors and creditors scattered around the globe: two families in Northern Albania tied by a blood feud over disputed land and dishonor; organizing migrant workers and their employers in Florida; and the BP oil spill and an unsuspecting environment. Baichwal, like Atwood, uncovers few easy answers — especially when it comes to handling disasters on the scale of the BP spill — all the while treating her material with elegantly considered imagery and handling her subjects with a cool intelligence. That approach might leave some yearning for an uptick in emotional connection, or simply some connect-the-dots storytelling and, dare we say, drama. Meanwhile fans of the director’s Manufactured Landscapes (2006) will see Payback as its writerly relation, a tone poem about the crimes we’ve manufactured and muddled. (1:26) Lumiere, Shattuck. (Chun)

What to Expect When You’re Expecting The mommy guidebook hits the big screen, with an all-star cast including Jennifer Lopez and Cameron Diaz. (1:50) Presidio, Shattuck.

Where Do We Go Now? With very real, deadly sectarian conflict on their doorstep, a group of Lebanese village women are making it up as they go along in this absurdist, ultimately inspiring dramedy with a dash of musical. Once sheltered by its isolation and the cheek-to-jowl intimacy of its denizens, the uneasy peace between Muslims and Christians in this small town threatens to shatter when the outside world begins to filter in, first through town-square TV broadcasts then tit-for-tat jabs that appear ready to escalate into violence. So the village’s women conspire to preserve harmony any way they can, even if that means importing a motley cadre of Ukrainian “exotic” dancers. What results is a post debauchery climax that almost one-ups 2009’s The Hangover — and a film that injects ground-level merriment and humanity into the headlines, thanks to director, co-writer, and star Nadine Labaki (2007’s Caramel), who has a gimlet eye and a generous spirit. (1:40) Embarcadero. (Chun)

ONGOING

The Artist With the charisma-oozing agility of Douglas Fairbanks swashbuckling his way past opponents and the supreme confidence of Rudolph Valentino leaning, mid-swoon, into a maiden, French director-writer Michel Hazanavicius hits a sweet spot, or beauty mark of sorts, with his radiant new film The Artist. In a feat worthy of Fairbanks or Errol Flynn, Hazanavicius juggles a marvelously layered love story between a man and a woman, tensions between the silents and the talkies, and a movie buff’s appreciation of the power of film — embodied in particular by early Hollywood’s union of European artistry and American commerce. Dashing silent film star George Valentin (Jean Dujardin, who channels Fairbanks, Flynn, and William Powell — and won this year’s Cannes best actor prize) is at the height of his career, adorable Jack Russell by his side, until the talkies threaten to relegate him to yesterday’s news. The talent nurtured in the thick of the studio system yearns for real power, telling the newspapers, “I’m not a puppet anymore — I’m an artist,” and finances and directs his own melodrama, while his youthful protégé Peppy Miller (Bérénice Béjo) becomes a yakky flapper age’s new It Girl. Both a crowd-pleasing entertainment and a loving précis on early film history, The Artist never checks its brains at the door, remaining self-aware of its own conceit and its forebears, yet unashamed to touch the audience, without an ounce of cynicism. (1:40) Metreon. (Chun)

The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel (1:42) Albany, SF Center, Sundance Kabuki.

Bully Anyone who’s ever been a kid on the wrong side of a bully — or was sensitive and observant enough not to avert his or her eyes — will be puzzling over the MPAA’s R rating of this doc, for profanity. It’s absurd when the gory violence on network and basic cable TV stops just short of cutting characters’ faces off, as one blurred-out bus bully threatens to do to the sweet, hapless Alex, dubbed “Fish Face” by the kids who ostracize him and make his life hell on the bus. It’s a jungle out there, as we all know — but it’s that real, visceral footage of the verbal (and physical) abuse bullied children deal with daily that brings it all home. Filmmaker Lee Hirsch goes above and beyond in trying to capture all dimensions of his subject: the terrorized bullied, the ineffectual school administrators, the desperate parents. There’s Kelby, the gay girl who was forced off her beloved basketball team after she came out, and Ja’Maya, who took drastic measures to fend off her tormenters — as well as the specters of those who turned to suicide as a way out. Hirsch is clearly more of an activist than a fly on the wall: he steps in at one point to help and obviously makes an uplifting effort to focus on what we can do to battle bullying. Nevertheless, at the risk of coming off like the Iowa assistant principal who’s catching criticism for telling one victim that he was just as bad as the bully that he refused to shake hands with, one feels compelled to note one prominent component that’s missing here: the bullies themselves, their stories, and the reasons why they’re so cruel — admittedly a daunting, possibly libelous task. (1:35) Smith Rafael. (Chun)

The Cabin in the Woods If the name “Joss Whedon” doesn’t provide all the reason you need to bum-rush The Cabin in the Woods (Whedon produced and co-wrote, with director and frequent collaborator Drew Goddard), well, there’s not much more that can be revealed without ruining the entire movie. In a very, very small nutshell, it’s about a group of college kids (including Chris “Thor” Hemsworth) whose weekend jaunt to a rural cabin goes horribly awry, as such weekend jaunts tend to do in horror movies (the Texas Chainsaw and Evil Dead movies are heavily referenced). But this is no ordinary nightmare — its peculiarities are cleverly, carefully revealed, and the movie’s inside-out takedown of scary movies produces some very unexpected (and delightfully blood-gushing) twists and turns. Plus: the always-awesome Richard Jenkins, and in-jokes galore for genre fans. (1:35) Metreon, 1000 Van Ness, Shattuck. (Eddy)

Chimpanzee (2:00) Metreon, 1000 Van Ness.

Dark Shadows Conceptually, there’s nothing wrong with attempting to turn a now semi-obscure supernaturally themed soap opera with a five-year run in the late 1960s and early ’70s into a feature film. Particularly if the film brings together the sweetly creepy triumvirate of Tim Burton, Johnny Depp, and Helena Bonham Carter and emerges during an ongoing moment for vampires, werewolves, and other things that go hump in the night. Depp plays long-enduring vampire Barnabas Collins, the undead scion of a once-powerful 18th-century New England family that by the 1970s — the groovy decade in which the bulk of the story is set — has suffered a shabby deterioration. Barnabas forms a pact with present-day Collins matriarch Elizabeth (Michelle Pfeiffer) to raise the household — currently comprising her disaffected daughter, Carolyn (Chloë Grace Moretz), her derelict brother, Roger (Jonny Lee Miller), his mournful young son, David (Gulliver McGrath), David’s live-in lush of a psychiatrist, Dr. Hoffman (Carter), and the family’s overtaxed manservant, Willie (Jackie Earle Haley) — to its former stature, while taking down a lunatic, love-struck, and rather vindictive witch named Angelique (Eva Green). The latter, a victim of unrequited love, is the cause of all Barnabas’s woes and, by extension, the entire clan’s, but Angelique can only be blamed for so much. Beyond her hocus-pocus jurisdiction is the film’s manic pileup of plot twists, tonal shifts, and campy scenery-chewing by Depp, a startling onslaught that no lava lamp joke, no pallid reaction shot, no room-demolishing act of paranormal carnality set to Barry White, and no cameo by Alice Cooper can temper. (2:00) California, Marina, Metreon, 1000 Van Ness, Sundance Kabuki. (Rapoport)

Darling Companion When the carelessness of self-absorbed surgeon Joseph (Kevin Kline) results in the stray dog adopted by Beth (Diane Keaton) going missing during a forest walk, that event somehow brings all the fissures in their long marriage to a crisis point. Big Chill (1983) director Lawrence Kasdan’s first feature in a decade hews back to the more intimate, character-based focus of his best films. But this dramedy is too often shrilly pitched and overly glossy (it seems to take place in a Utah vacation-themed L.L. Bean catalog), with numerous talented actors — including Richard Jenkins, Dianne Wiest, Mark Duplass, Elisabeth Moss, and Sam Shepard — playing superficially etched characters that merely add to the clutter. Most cringe-inducing among them is Ayelet Zurer’s Carmen, a woman of Roma extraction who apparently has a crystal ball in her psychic head and actually speaks lines like “My people have a saying….” (1:43) Opera Plaza, Shattuck. (Harvey)

First Position Bess Kargman’s documentary follows a handful of exceptional young ballet dancers, ranging in age from 10 to 17, over the course of a year as they prepare for the Youth America Grand Prix, the world’s largest ballet scholarship competition. Those who make it from the semifinals (in which some 5,000 dancers aged 9 to 19 perform in 15 cities around the world) to the finals (which bring some 300 contestants to New York City) compete for scholarships to prestigious ballet schools, dance-company contracts, and general notice by both the judges and the company directors in the audience. The film’s subjects come from varied backgrounds — 16-year-old Joan Sebastian lives and studies in NYC, far from his family in Colombia; 14-year-old Michaela was born in civil war-torn Sierra Leone and adopted from an orphanage by an American couple in Philadelphia; 11-year-old Aran, an American, lives in Italy with his mother while his father serves in Kuwait. The common threads in their stories are the daily sacrifices made by them as well as their families, whose energies and other resources are largely poured into these children’s single-minded pursuit. We get a vague sense of the difficult world they are driving themselves, in nearly every waking hour, to enter. But the film largely keeps its focus on the challenges of preparing for the competition, offering us many magnificent shots of the dancers pushing their bodies to mesmerizing physical extremes both on- and offstage. (1:34) Embarcadero, Piedmont, Shattuck, Smith Rafael. (Rapoport)

The Five-Year Engagement In 2008’s Forgetting Sarah Marshall, viewers were treated to the startling, tragicomic sight of Jason Segel’s naked front side as his character got brutally dumped by the titular perky, put-together heartbreaker. In The Five-Year Engagement, which he reunited with director Nicholas Stoller to co-write, Segel once again sacrifices dignity and the right to privacy, this time in exchange for fake orgasms (his own), ghastly hand-knit sweaters, egregious facial-hair arrangements, and various other exhaustively humiliating psychological lows — all part of an earnest, undying quest to make people giggle uncomfortably. Segel plays Tom, a talented chef with a promising career ahead of him in San Francisco’s culinary scene (naturally, food carts get a cameo in the film). On the one-year anniversary of meeting his girlfriend, Violet (Emily Blunt), a psychology postgrad, he asks her to marry him in a meticulously planned, gloriously botched proposal scene coengineered by Tom’s oafish friend Alex (Chris Pratt), little realizing that this romantic gesture will soon lead to successive frozen winters in the Midwest (Violet gets offered a job at the University of Michigan), loss of professional stature, cabin fever, mead making, bow-hunting accidents, the titular nuptial postponement, and other, more gruesome events. The humor at times descends to some banally low depths as Segel and Stoller explore the terrain of the awkward, the poorly socialized, and the playfully grotesque. But Segel and Blunt present a believable, likable relationship between two warm, funny, flawed people, and, however disgusted, no one should walk out before a scene in which Violet and her sister (Alison Brie) channel Elmo and Cookie Monster to elaborate on the themes of romantic idealism and marital discontent. (2:04) 1000 Van Ness, Presidio, SF Center, Vogue. (Rapoport)

Footnote (1:45) Opera Plaza, Shattuck.

Girl in Progress (1:30) SF Center.

God Bless America Middle-aged office drone Frank (Joel Murray) is not having a good day-week-month-year-life. His ex-wife is about to happily remarry; his only child is a world-class brat who finds father-daughter time “boring;” his neighbors are a young couple who only get more loudly obnoxious when politely asked to keep the noise down. When that and insistent migraines keep Frank awake night after night, the parade of pundit and reality stupidities on TV only turn his insomnia into wide awake fury. Then he’s fired from his job for unjust reasons — on the same day he gets a diagnosis of brain cancer. Mad as hell, not-gonna-take-it-anymore, he impulsively decides to make a “statement” by assassinating a viral-video poster child for “entitlement.” This attracts admiring attention from extremely pushy, snarky teen Roxy (Tara Lynne Barr), who appoints herself Bonnie to his reluctant Clyde. They drive around the country bestowing “big dirt naps” on other exemplars of what’s wrong with America today, including religious hate mongers, rude moviegoers, and the purveyors of American Idol-type idiotainment. Comedian Bobcat Goldthwait’s latest feature as writer-director has its head in the right place, and so many good ideas, that it’s a pity this gonzo satire-rant runs out of steam so quickly. Aiming splattering paintball gun at the broadest possible targets, it covers them with disdainful goo but not as much wit as one would like. Plus, Barr’s hyper precocious smart mouth is yet another annoying Juno (2007) knockoff — never mind that she counts Diablo Cody among her (many) pet peeves. If God Bless winds up closer to Uwe Boll’s Postal (2007) than, say, Network (1976) in scattershot impact, it nonetheless almost makes it on sheer outré audacity and will alone. A movie that hates everything you hate should not be sneezed at; if only it hated them with more parodic snap, thematic depth and narrative structure. (1:44) Lumiere, Shattuck. (Harvey)

Headhunters Despite being the most sought-after corporate headhunter in Oslo, Roger (Aksel Hennie) still doesn’t make enough money to placate his gorgeous wife; his raging Napoleon complex certainly doesn’t help matters. Crime is, as always, the only solution, so Roger’s been supplementing his income by stealthily relieving his rich, status-conscious clients of their most expensive artworks (with help from his slightly unhinged partner, who works for a home-security company). When Roger meets the dashing Clas Greve (Nikolaj Coster-Waldau of Game of Thrones) — a Danish exec with a sinister, mysterious military past, now looking to take over a top job in Norway — he’s more interested in a near-priceless painting rumored to be stashed in Greve’s apartment. The heist is on, but faster than you can say “MacGuffin,” all hell breaks loose (in startlingly gory fashion), and the very charming Roger is using his considerable wits to stay alive. Based on a best-selling “Scandi-noir” novel, Headhunters is just as clever as it is suspenseful. See this version before Hollywood swoops in for the inevitable (rumored) remake. (1:40) Clay, Piedmont, Shattuck. (Eddy)

Here (2:00) SF Film Society Cinema.

The Hunger Games Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence) is a teenager living in a totalitarian state whose 12 impoverished districts, as retribution for an earlier uprising, must pay tribute to the so-called Capitol every year, sacrificing one boy and one girl each to the Hunger Games. A battle royal set in a perilous arena and broadcast live to the Capitol as gripping diversion and to the districts as sadistic propaganda, the Hunger Games are, depending on your viewpoint, a “pageant of honor, courage, and sacrifice” or a brutal, pointless bloodbath involving children as young as 12. When her little sister’s name comes up in the annual lottery, Katniss volunteers to take her place and is joined by a boy named Peeta Mellark (Josh Hutcherson), with whom she shares an old, unspoken bond. Tasked with translating to the screen the first installment of Suzanne Collins’s rabidly admired trilogy, writer-director Gary Ross (2003’s Seabiscuit, 1998’s Pleasantville) telescopes the book’s drawn-out, dread-filled tale into a manageable two-plus-hour entertainment, making great (and horrifying) use of the original work’s action, but losing a good deal of the narrative detail and emotional force. Elizabeth Banks is comic and unrecognizable as Effie Trinket, the two tributes’ chaperone; Lenny Kravitz gives a blank, flattened reading as their stylist, Cinna; and Donald Sutherland is sufficiently creepy and bloodless as the country’s leader, President Snow. More exceptionally cast are Woody Harrelson as Katniss and Peeta’s surly, alcoholic mentor, Haymitch Abernathy, and Stanley Tucci as games emcee Caesar Flickerman, flashing a bank of gleaming teeth at each contestant as he probes their dire circumstances with the oily superficiality of a talk show host. (2:22) 1000 Van Ness, SF Center, Sundance Kabuki. (Rapoport)

Jiro Dreams of Sushi Celebrity-chef culture has surely reached some kind of zeitgeist, what with the omnipresence of Top Chef and other cooking-themed shows, and the headlines-making power of people like Paula Deen (diabetes) and Mario Batali (sued for ripping off his wait staff). Unconcerned with the trappings of fame — you’ll never see him driving a Guy Fieri-style garish sports car — is Jiro Ono, 85-year-old proprietor of Sukiyabashi Jiro, a tiny, world-renowned sushi restaurant tucked into Tokyo’s Ginza station. Jiro, a highly-disciplined perfectionist who believes in simple, yet flavorful food, has devoted his entire life to the pursuit of “deliciousness” — to the point of sushi invading his dreams, as the title of David Gelb’s reverential documentary suggests. But Jiro Dreams of Sushi goes deeper than food-prep porn (though, indeed, there’s plenty of that); it also examines the existential conflicts faced by Jiro’s two middle-aged sons. Both were strongly encouraged to enter the family business — and in the intervening years, have had to accept the soul-crushing fact that no matter how good their sushi is, it’ll never be seen as exceeding the creations of their legendary father. (1:21) Embarcadero, Shattuck. (Eddy)

Last Call at the Oasis If you like drinking water, or eating food, or using mass-produced physical objects, and you also enjoy not being poisoned by virulent chemicals such as hexavalent chromium and atrazine, you probably want to see — but most likely won’t much enjoy — Jessica Yu’s latest documentary, about the impending global water crisis. Or rather, the crisis, the film makes clear, that has already arrived in many parts of the world and — in the sense that it’s about a shortage of safe drinking water — in many parts of the United States. The Academy Award–winning Yu, whose previous films include the 2004 Henry Darger documentary In the Realms of the Unreal, invites various experts to lay out the alarming facts for us, as we sit in the theater clutching our bottles of Dasani. Last Call‘s talking heads include UC Irvine professor Jay Famiglietti, the Pacific Institute’s Peter Gleick (who, regardless of February’s firestorm over an ethical lapse, speaks eloquently here), journalist Alex Prud’homme, whose book The Ripple Effect the documentary is based on, and Erin Brockovich. An unexpected appearance by Jack Black in the role of potential future spokesperson for potable recycled water (one name under consideration: Porcelain Springs) adds levity to a film that is short on silver linings, as well as solutions. The title conveys the sort of gallows humor occasionally displayed by Yu’s subjects — one of whom ponders for a moment the situation he’s just described and then offers this succinct summary: “We’re screwed.” (1:45) Opera Plaza. (Rapoport)

The Lucky One Iraq War veteran Logan (Zac Efron) beats PTSD by walking with his German shepherd from Colorado to the Louisiana bayou, in search of a golden-haired angel in cutoff blue jean short shorts (Taylor Schilling). His stated (in soporific voice-over) aim is to meet and thank the angel, who he believes repeatedly saved his life in the combat zone after he plucked her photograph from the rubble of a bombed-out building. The snapshot offers little in the way of biographical information, but luckily, there are only 300 million people in the United States, and he manages to find her after walking around for a bit. The angel, or Beth, as her friends call her, runs a dog kennel with her grandmother (Blythe Danner) while raising her noxiously Hollywood-precocious eight-year-old son (Riley Thomas Stewart) and fending off the regressive advances of her semi-villainous ex-husband (Jay R. Ferguson). Logan’s task seems simple enough, and he’s certainly walked a fair distance to complete it, but rather than expressing his gratitude, he becomes tongue-tied in the face of Beth’s backlit blondness and instead fills out a job application and proceeds to soulfully but manfully burrow his way into her affections and short shorts. Being an adaptation of a Nicholas Sparks novel, The Lucky One requires some forceful yanking on the heartstrings, but director Scott Hicks (1999’s Snow Falling on Cedars, 1996’s Shine) is hobbled in this task by, among other things, Efron’s wooden, uninvolved delivery of queasy speeches about traveling through darkness to find the light and how many times a day a given woman should be kissed. (1:41) SF Center. (Rapoport)

Marley Oscar-winning documentarian Kevin Macdonald (1999’s One Day in September; he also directed Best Actor Forest Whitaker in 2006’s The Last King of Scotland) takes on the iconic Bob Marley, using extensive interviews — both contemporary (with Marley friends and family) and archival (with the musician himself) — and performance and off-the-cuff footage. The end result is a compelling (even if you’re not a fan) portrait of a man who became a global sensation despite being born into extreme poverty, and making music in a style that most people had never heard outside of Jamaica. The film dips into Marley’s Rastafari beliefs (no shocker this movie is being released on 4/20), his personal life (11 children from seven different mothers), his impact on Jamaica’s volatile politics, his struggles with racism, and, most importantly, his remarkable career — achieved via a combination of talent and boldness, and cut short by his untimely death at age 36. (2:25) California, Opera Plaza, Smith Rafael. (Eddy)

Marvel’s The Avengers The conflict — a mystical blue cube containing earth-shattering (literally) powers is stolen, with evil intent — isn’t the reason to see this long-hyped culmination of numerous prequels spotlighting its heroic characters. Nay, the joy here is the whole “getting’ the band back together!” vibe; director and co-writer Joss Whedon knows you’re just dying to see Captain America (Chris Evans) bicker with Iron Man (a scene-stealing Robert Downey Jr.); Thor (Chris Hemsworth) clash with bad-boy brother Loki (Tom Hiddleston); and the Hulk (Mark Ruffalo) get angry as often as possible. (Also part of the crew, but kinda mostly just there to look good in their tight outfits: Jeremy Renner’s Hawkeye and Scarlett Johansson’s Black Widow.) Then, of course, there’s Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson) running the whole Marvel-ous show, with one good eye and almost as many wry quips as Downey’s Tony Stark. Basically, The Avengers gives you everything you want (characters delivering trademark lines and traits), everything you expect (shit blowing up, humanity being saved, etc.), and even makes room for a few surprises. It doesn’t transcend the comic-book genre (like 2008’s The Dark Knight did), but honestly, it ain’t trying to. The Avengers wants only to entertain, and entertain it does. (2:23) Balboa, Marina, Metreon, 1000 Van Ness, Presidio, Sundance Kabuki. (Eddy)

Michael Michael follows a few months in the lives of a pedophile (Michael Fulth) and his captive (David Rauchenberger). It is no surprise that Austrian director Markus Schleinzer previously worked for Michael Haneke: the film’s cold, inanimate aesthetic is the means for psychological torture, on the part of both Michael’s prisoner, and the audience. Michael, a sociopath who works in an office by day, keeps the boy, a pensive 10-year-old named Wolfgang, in a basement behind a bolted door. He visits him nightly, and allows the boy to dine with him. As master and slave go about their mundane routine their level of comfort with one another is just as unsettling as the off-screen sex. Equally disturbing is how Michael manages to maintain such a normal life on the surface. After he tries to bring a new victim home and fails, Wolfgang starts to find ways to push his captor’s buttons. In spite of the loud subject, rarely has such formal reticence registered as this horrifying. (1:36) SF Film Society Cinema. (Ryan Lattanzio)

Monsieur Lazhar When their beloved but troubled teacher hangs herself in the classroom — not a thoughtful choice of location, but then we never really discover her motives — traumatized Montreal sixth-graders get Bachir Lazhar (Fellag), a middle-aged Algerian émigré whose contrastingly rather strict, old-fashioned methods prove surprisingly useful at helping them past their trauma. He quickly becomes the crush object of studious Alice (Sophie Nelisse), whose single mother is a pilot too often away, while troublemaker Simon (Emilien Neron) acts out his own domestic and other issues at school. Lazhar has his own secrets as well — for one thing, we see that he’s still petitioning for permanent asylum in Canada, contradicting what he told the principal upon being hired — and while his emotions are more tightly wrapped, circumstances will eventually force all truths out. This very likable drama about adults and children from Quebec writer-director Philippe Falardeau doesn’t quite have the heft and resonance to rate among the truly great narrative films about education (like Laurent Cantet’s recent French The Class). But it comes close enough, gracefully touching on numerous other issues while effectively keeping focus on how a good teacher can shape young lives in ways as incalculable as they are important. (1:34) Opera Plaza, Piedmont, Shattuck, Smith Rafael. (Harvey)

The Perfect Family Having survived years of hardship by dint of her faith, devout Catholic Eileen Cleary (Kathleen Turner) now lets nothing stand between her and the heavy-handed pursuit of grace — including her own family’s perceived imperfections. The past, in which long-sober husband Frank (Michael McGrady) was an abusive alcoholic, is not discussed. The present — in which ne’er-do-well son Frank Jr. (Jason Ritter) is not yet divorced yet already involved with a Protestant manicurist (Kristen Dalton), while otherwise exemplary daughter Shannon (Emily Deschanel) insists on marrying and child-raising with another woman (Angelique Cabral) — is ignored when it can’t be nagged into submission. These modern aberrations from the Pope-embraced allowable lifestyles must be addressed, however, when Eileen’s endless charitable toil gets her nominated as Catholic Woman of the Year. This would be her crowning achievement, but naturally something’s gotta give: either her family’s going to at least pretend it’s “normal,” or she’s got to grow more accepting at the potential loss of her big moment in the spotlight. Directed by Anne Renton, written by Paula Goldberg and Claire V. Riley, The Perfect Family is an ensemble dramedy (also encompassing Richard Chamberlain and Elizabeth Peña) that trundles as effortfully as its stressed-out protagonist from sitcomish humor to tearjerking, leaving no melodramatic contrivance unmilked along the way. Its intentions (primarily gay-positive ones, in line with the scenarists’ prior features) are good. But the execution is like a sermon whose every calculated chuckle and insight you anticipate five minutes before you hear it. To see Turner really excel as a controlling mother, rent 1994’s Serial Mom again. (1:24) Sundance Kabuki. (Harvey)

The Pirates! Band of Misfits Aardman Animations, home studio of the Wallace and Gromit series as well as 2000’s Chicken Run, are masters of tiny details and background jokes. In nearly every scene of this swashbuckling comedy, there’s a sight gag, double entendre, or tossed-off reference (the Elephant Man!?) that suggests The Pirates! creators are far more clever than the movie as a whole would suggest. Oh, it’s a cute, enjoyable story about a kind-hearted Pirate Captain (Hugh Grant) who dreams of winning the coveted Pirate of the Year award (despite the fact that he gets more excited about ham than gold) — and the misadventures he gets into with his amiable crew, a young Charles Darwin, and a comically evil Queen Victoria. But despite its toy-like, 3D-and-CG-enhanced claymation, The Pirates! never matches the depth (or laugh-out-loud hilarity) of other Aardman productions. Yo ho-hum. (1:27) 1000 Van Ness, SF Center. (Eddy)

The Raven How did Edgar Allan Poe, dipsomaniac, lover of 13-year-old child brides, and teller of tales designed to make the flesh creep and crawl, wind up, at age 40, nearly dying in the gutter and spending his last days in a Baltimore hospital, muttering incoherent imprecations about a mysterious fellow named Reynolds? In The Raven, director James McTeigue (2006’s V for Vendetta) makes the case for a crafty, sociopathic serial killer having played a role in the famous yet impoverished writer’s sad, derelict demise. Recently returned to the dark, thickly fog-machined streets of Baltimore, Poe, vehemently embodied by John Cusack, is chagrined to learn from one Detective Fields (Luke Evans) that someone has begun using his macabre stories (“The Pit and the Pendulum” to particularly gory effect) to enact a series of murders. When the killer successfully gains Poe’s full attention by seizing his ladylove, Emily Hamilton (Alice Eve), the pileup of bodies inspires a few last outbursts of genius. The trail of literary clues feels a bit forced, and Cusack’s Poe possesses an admirable quantity of energy, passion, and general zest for life for one so roundly indicted — by everyone from his editor to his barkeep to his sweetheart’s roundly repellent father (Brendan Gleeson) — as a useless, used-up slave to opiates and alcohol. But the script is smart enough and the action absorbing enough to keep us engaged as Poe attempts to rescue Emily and the film attempts to rescue Poe’s reputation through imagined heroics of both the pen and the sword. (1:50) 1000 Van Ness, SF Center. (Rapoport)

Safe The poster would be slightly more on-point if its suave thug of a star, Jason Statham, were hiding behind the scrunched-faced Catherine Chan rather than the other way around — because at times it’s tough to see this alternately enjoyable and credibility-taxing action flick as more than some kind of naked play for the Chinese filmgoer. Jamming the screen with a frantic kineticism, director-writer Boaz Yakin seems to be smoothing over the problems in his vaguely stereotype-flaunting, patchy puzzle of a narrative with a high body count: the cadavers pile like those in an old martial arts flick — made in Asia, it’s implied, where life is cheap and spectacle is paramount. Picking up in the middle, with flashbacks stacked like firewood, Safe opens on young math prodigy Mei (Chan) on the run from the Russian mafia. A pawn and virtual slave of the Chinese mob, she holds a number in her head that all sorts of ruthless crime factions want. To her rescue is mystery man Luke Wright (Statham), who has had his own deadly tussle with the same Russian baddies and is now on the street and on the verge of suicide, believe it or not. It’s tough to wrap your head around the fact that any of Statham’s rock-hard tough guys could possibly crumble — or even have a sense of humor. You’ll need one to accept the ludicrous storyline as well as the notion that a jillion bullets could be fired and never hit his superhuman street-fighting man. (1:35) Metreon, 1000 Van Ness. (Chun)

Salmon Fishing in the Yemen In Lasse Hallström’s latest film, a sheikh named Muhammed (Amr Waked) with a large castle in Scotland, an ardent love of fly-fishing, and unlimited funds envisions turning a dry riverbed in the Yemeni desert into an aquifer-fed salmon-run site and the surrounding lands into an agricultural cornucopia. Tasked with realizing this dream are London marketing consultant Harriet Chetwode-Talbot (Emily Blunt) and government fisheries scientist Alfred Jones (Ewan McGregor), a reluctant participant who refers to the project as “doolally” and signs on under professional duress. Despite numerous feasibility issues (habitat discrepancies, the necessity for a mass exodus of British salmon, two million irate British anglers), Muhammed’s vision is borne forward on a rising swell of cynicism generated within the office of the British prime minister’s press secretary (Kristin Scott Thomas), whose lackeys have been scouring the wires for a shred of U.K.-related good news out of the Middle East. Ecology-minded killjoys may question whether this qualifies. But putting aside, if one can, the possible inadvisability of relocating 10,000 nonnative salmon to a wadi in Yemen — which is to say, putting aside the basic premise — it’s easy and pleasant enough to go with the flow of the film, infected by Jones’s growing enthusiasm for both the project and Ms. Chetwode-Talbot. Adapted from Paul Torday’s novel by Simon Beaufoy (2009’s Slumdog Millionaire), Salmon Fishing is a sweet and funny movie, and while it suffers from the familiar flurried third-act knotting together of loose ends, its storytelling stratagems are entertaining and its characters compellingly textured, and the cast makes the most of the well-polished material. (1:52) Piedmont. (Rapoport)

Think Like a Man (2:02) Metreon, 1000 Van Ness.

Titanic 3D (3:14) Metreon.

21 Jump Street One of the more pleasant surprises on the mainstream comedy landscape has to be this, ugh, “reboot” of the late-’80s TV franchise. I wasn’t a fan of the show — or its dark-eyed, bad-boy star, Johnny Depp — back in the day, but I am of this unexpectedly funny rework overseen by apparent enthusiast, star, co-writer, and co-executive producer Jonah Hill, with a screenplay by Scott Pilgrim vs. the World (2010) co-writer Michael Bacall. There’s more than a smidge of Bacall’s other high school fantasy, Project X, in the buddy comedy premise of nerd (Hill’s Schmidt) meets blowhard (Channing Tatum’s Jenko), but 21 Jump Street thankfully leapfrogs the former with its meta-savvy, irreverent script and har-dee-har cameo turns by actors like Ice Cube as Captain Dickson (as well as a few key uncredited players who shall remain under deep cover). High school continues to haunt former classmates Schmidt and Jenko, who have just graduated from the lowly police bike corps to a high school undercover operation — don’t get it twisted, though, Dickson hollers at them; they got this gig solely because they look young. Still, the whole drug-bust enchilada is put in jeopardy when the once-socially toxic Schmidt finds his brand of geekiness in favor with the cool kids and so-called dumb-jock Jenko discovers the pleasures of the mind with the chem lab set. Fortunately for everyone, this crew doesn’t take themselves, or the source material, too seriously. (1:49) Metreon. (Chun)

Wrath of the Titans Playing fast and loose with Greek myths but not agile enough to kick out a black metal jam during a flaming underworld power-grab, Wrath of Titans is, as expected, a bit of a CGI-crammed mess. Still, the sword-and-sandals franchise has attracted scads of international actorly talent — the cast is enriched this time by Édgar Ramírez (2010’s Carlos), Bill Nighy, and Rosamund Pike — and you do get at least one cool monster and paltry explication (Cerberus, which bolts from earth for no discernible reason except that maybe all hell is breaking loose). Just because action flicks like Cloverfield (2008) have long dispensed with narrative handlebars doesn’t mean that age-old stories like the Greek myths should get completely random with their titanic tale-spinning. Wrath opens on the twilight of the gods: Zeus (Liam Neeson) is practically groveling before Perseus (Sam Worthington) — now determined to go small, raise his son, and work on his fishing skills — and trying to persuade him to step up and help the Olympians hold onto power. Fellow Zeus spawn Ares (Ramírez) is along for the ride, so demigod up, Perseus. In some weird, last-ditch attempt to ream his bro Zeus, the oily, mulleted Hades (Ralph Fiennes) has struck a deal with their entrapped, chaotic, castrating fireball of a dad Cronus to let them keep their immortality, on the condition that Zeus is sapped of his power. Picking up Queen Andromeda (Pike) along the way, Perseus gets the scoop on how to get to Hell from Hephaestus (Nighy playing the demented Vulcan like a ’60s acid casualty, given to chatting with mechanical owl Bubo, a wink to 1981 precursor Clash of the Titans, which set the bar low for the remake). Though there are some distracting action scenes (full of speedy, choppy edits that confuse disorientation for excitement) and a few intriguing monsters (just how did the Minotaur make it to this labyrinth?), there’s no money line like “Release the Kraken!” this time around, and there’s way too much nattering on about fatherly responsibility and forgiveness —making these feel-good divinities sound oddly, mawkishly Christian and softheaded rather than mythically pagan and brattily otherworldly. Wasn’t the appeal of the gods linked to the fact that they always acted more like outta-hand adolescents than holier-than-thou deities? I guess that’s why no one’s praying to them anymore. (1:39) Metreon. (Chun)

Psychic Dream Astrology: May 16-22, 2012

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks

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May 15, 2012

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May 16-22

ARIES

March 21-April 19

As the first fire sign in the Zodiac, you like to pioneer. Unfortunately, this week you’d do better holding back and letting someone else rush forward to get the party started. Enjoy the stage you’re at without hurrying off to the next one. Display patience in all you do, even if you’re not feeling it.

TAURUS

April 20-May 20

There is a chasm between your ego and your insecurities, and you need to make sure you don’t slip and drown in it. Don’t overcompensate for your lack of self-confidence by being defensive, and don’t water down your needs because of poor self-esteem. Be kind to yourself and others; it’s your week’s cure-all.

GEMINI

May 21-June 21

Family, friends, and animal companions should be your focus this week. Bring your consideration and energy to those you love the most in spite of your fears. Whether you’re worried about the direction of your relationships or trying to heal wounds of the past, resist the urge to act out of your apprehensions, pal.

CANCER

June 22-July 22

You may find yourself flying off the handle this week, so strive to gain control over your moods instead of being at the mercy of them, Cancer. Go into action to create the change you want to see in your life. Stay clear headed and intentional; too much reactiveness will get you in trouble.

LEO

July 23-Aug. 22

You can’t force change this week, but you can behave in the way you feel is right and hope that things grow in the direction you want from there. Your relationships may not be in your control, but if you put your most authentic self out there, you’ll get the insights you need to move ahead. Stay flexible until then, Leo.

VIRGO

Aug. 23-Sept. 22

There’s so much work to be done that you’ve got to use your energy wisely before you strike out. This week you are meant to deal with the things that feel like they’re falling apart. Don’t resist the inevitability of change, Virgo; there is much to be gained by letting go and letting things happen.

LIBRA

Sept. 23-Oct. 22

Stand up on your own two feet to declare what you feel, what you need and what you are willing to give, Libra. Motivate yourself to be true to your deepest internal needs before your circumstances force you to. Be honest and the consequences will prove worth it in the long run.

SCORPIO

Oct. 23-Nov. 21

Acting on what you know to be right is the healthiest thing you can do, but it doesn’t promise that things will go how you want them to. Confronting your frustrations head-on is the wisest path to go this week, pal. Reach out for help when you need it and conserve your energy so you can hang in there if the going gets rough.

SAGITTARIUS

Nov. 22-Dec. 21

You need to transform your emotional life in meaningful ways. This week bring the optimism your sign is know for to the fore as you strive to bring more happiness into your life. Your innermost personal life needs to be your top priority, Sagittarius, so don’t let distractions pull you away.

CAPRICORN

Dec. 22-Jan. 19

If you don’t know what’s right, then do what you’ve gotta to get to the answers, Cap. This week will find you needing to look at what sets you off-balance so that you can work towards internal harmony; it’s feeling right with yourself that allows you to make choices that keep you in accord with your best interests.

AQUARIUS

Jan. 20-Feb. 18

You’re finally ready to see things as they really are and finally cope with them from that place. Prepare for some pretty major adjustments this week, Aquarius, and you should plan on being an active player in them, too. Now is your time to take on the winds of change, even if they mess up your hair.

PISCES

Feb. 19-March 20

Every single thing in your life is trying to teach you something, Pisces, but sometimes it’s hard to see what it is that you’re supposed to learn. This week you should take a big picture view of your situation and remember that sometimes you’ve got to burn a sacrifice a few trees to protect the forest.

Jessica Lanyadoo has been a Psychic Dreamer for 17 years. Check out her website at www.lovelanyadoo.com or contact her for an astrology or intuitive reading at (415) 336-8354 or dreamyastrology@gmail.com

2012 Summer Fairs and Festivals

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks

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May 15, 2012

0

Through May 20

San Francisco International Arts Festival Various venues. (415) 399-9554,www.sfiaf.org. Check website for prices and times. Celebrate the arts, both local and international, at this multimedia extravaganza.

May 19

Asian Heritage Street Celebration Larkin and McAllister, SF. www.asianfairsf.com. 11am-6pm, free. Featuring a Muay Thai kickboxing ring, DJs, and the latest in Asian pop culture, as well as great festival food.

Uncorked! San Francisco Wine Festival Ghirardelli Square, 900 North Point, SF. (415) 775-5500,www.ghirardellisq.com. 1-6pm, $50 for tastings; proceeds benefit Save the Bay. A bit of Napa in the city, with tastings, cooking demonstrations, and a wine 101 class for the philistines among us.

May 19-20

Maker Faire San Mateo Event Center, San Mateo, www.makerfaire.com. $8–$40. Make Magazine’s annual showcase of all things DIY is a tribute to human craftiness. This is where the making minds meet.

Castroville Artichoke Festival Castroville. (831) 633-2465 www.artichoke-festival.com. 10am-5pm, $10. Pay homage to the only vegetable with a heart. This fest does just that, with music, parades, and camping.

May 20

Bay to Breakers Begins at the Embarcadero, ends at Ocean Beach, SF, www.zazzlebaytobreakers.com 7am-noon, free to watch, $57 to participate. This wacky San Francisco tradition is officially the largest footrace in the world, with a costume contest that awards $1,000 for first place. Just remember, Port-A-Potties are your friends.

May 21

Freestone Fermentation Festival Salmon Creek School, 1935 Bohemian Hwy, Sonoma. (707) 479-3557, www.freestonefermentationfestival.com. Noon-5pm, $12. Answer all the questions you were afraid to ask about kombucha, kefir, sauerkraut, yogurt, and beer. This funky fest is awash in hands-on demonstrations, tastings, and exhibits.

May 26-27

San Francisco Carnaval Harrison and 23rd St., SF. www.sfcarnaval.org. 10am-6pm, free. Parade on May 27, 9:30am, starting from 24th St. and Bryant. The theme of this year’s showcase of Latin and Caribbean culture is “Spanning Borders: Bridging Cultures.” Fans of sequins, rejoice.

June 2-3

Union Street Eco-Urban Festival Union Street between Gough and Steiner, SF. (800) 310-6563, www.unionstreetfestival.com. 10am-6pm, free. See arts and crafts created with recycled and sustainable materials and eco-friendly exhibits, along with two stages of live entertainment and bistro-style cafes.

June 9-17

San Mateo County Fair San Mateo County Fairgrounds, 2495 S. Delaware, San Mateo, www.sanmateocountyfair.com. 11am-10pm, $6–$30. Competitive exhibits from farmers, foodies, and even technological developers, deep-fried snacks, games — but most important, there will be pig races.

June 8-10

Queer Women of Color Film Festival Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, 701 Mission, SF. (415) 752-0868,www.qwocmap.org. Times vary, free. Three days of screenings from up-and-coming filmmakers with unique stories to tell.

June 10

Haight Ashbury Street Fair Haight between Stanyan and Ashbury, SF, www.haightashburystreetfair.org. 11am-5:30pm, free. Celebrating the cultural history and diversity of one of San Francisco’s most internationally celebrated neighborhoods, the annual street fair features arts and crafts, food booths, three musical stages, and a children’s zone.

June 10-12

Harmony Festival, Sonoma County Fairgrounds, 1350 Bennett Valley, Santa Rosa, www.harmonyfestival.com. One of the Bay Area’s best camping music festivals and a celebration of progressive lifestyle, with its usual strong and eclectic lineup of talent.

June 16-17

North Beach Festival, Washington Square Park, SF. (415) 989-2220, www.northbeachchamber.com. free. This year will feature more than 150 art, crafts, and gourmet food booths, three stages, Italian street painting, beverage gardens and the blessing of the animals.

Marin Art Festival, Marin Civic Center, 3501 Civic Center Drive, San Rafael. (415) 388-0151, www.marinartfestival.com. 10am-6pm, $10, kids under 14 free. Over 250 fine artists in the spectacular Marin Civic Center, designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. Enjoy the Great Marin Oyster Feast while you’re there.

June 22-24

Sierra Nevada World Music Festival, Mendocino County Fairgrounds Booneville. (916) 777-5550, www.snwmf.com. $160. A reggae music Mecca, with Jimmy Cliff, Luciano, and Israel Vibration (among others) spreading a message of peace, love, and understanding.

June 23-24

Gay Pride Weekend Civic Center Plaza, SF; Parade starts at Market and Beale. (415) 864-FREE, www.sfpride.org. Parade starts at 10:30am, free. Everyone in San Francisco waits all year for this fierce celebration of diversity, love, and being fabulous.

Summer SAILstice, Encinal Yacht Club, 1251 Pacific Marina, Alameda. 415-412-6961, www.summersailstice.com. 8am-8pm, free. A global holiday celebrating sailing on the weekend closest to the summer solstice, these are the longest sailing days of the year. Celebrate it in the Bay Area with boat building, sailboat rides, sailing seminars and music.

June 24-August 26

Stern Grove Festival, Stern Grove, 19th Ave. and Sloat, SF. (415) 252-6252,www.sterngrove.org, free. This will be the 75th season of this admission-free music, dance, and theater performance series.

July 4

4th of July on the Waterfront, Pier 39, Beach and Embarcadero, SF.www.pier39.com 12pm-9pm, free. Fireworks and festivities, live music — in other words fun for the whole, red-white-and-blue family.

July 5-8

High Sierra Music Festival, Plumas-Sierra Fairgrounds, Lee and Mill Creek, Quincy. www.highsierramusic.com. Gates open 8am on the 5th, $185 for a four-day pass. Set in the pristine mountain town of Quincy, this year’s fest features Ben Harper, Built To Spill, Papodosio, and more.

July 7

Oakland A’s Beer Festival and BBQ Championship, (510) 563-2336, oakland.athletics.mlb.com. 7pm, game tickets $12–$200. A baseball-themed celebration of all that makes a good tailgate party: grilled meat and fermented hops.

July 7-8

Fillmore Street Jazz Festival, Fillmore between Jackson and Eddy, SF. (800) 310-6563, www.fillmorejazzfestival.com.10am-6pm, free. The largest free jazz festival on the Left Coast, this celebration tends to draw enormous crowds to listen to innovative Latin and fusion performers on multiple stages.

July 19-29

Midsummer Mozart Festival, Herbst Theater, 401 Van Ness, SF (also other venues in the Bay Area). (415) 627-9141,www.midsummermozart.org. $50. A Bay Area institution since 1974, this remains the only music festival in North America dedicated exclusively to Mozart.

July 21-22

Renegade Craft Fair, Fort Mason Center, Buchanan and Marina, SF. (415) 561-4323, www.renegadecraft.com. Free. Twee handmade dandies of all kinds will be for sale at this DIY and indie-crafting hullabaloo. Like Etsy in the flesh!

July 21-22

Connoisseur’s Marketplace, Santa Cruz and El Camino Real, Menlo Park. Free. This huge outdoor event expects to see 65,000 people, who will come for the art, live food demos, an antique car show, and booths of every kind.

July 23-August 28

The San Francisco Shakespeare Festival, Various locations, SF. (415) 558-0888, www.sfshakes.org. Free. Shakespeare takes over San Francisco’s public parks in this annual highbrow event. Grab your gang and pack a picnic for fine, cultured fun.

July 27-29

Gilroy Garlic Festival, Christmas Hill Park, Miller and Uvas, Gilroy. (408) 842-1625,www.gilroygarlicfestival.com. $17 per day, children under six free. Known as the “Ultimate Summer Food Fair,” this tasty celebration of the potent bulb lasts all weekend.

July 28-29

27th Annual Berkeley Kite Festival & West Coast Kite Championship, Cesar E. Chavez Park at the Berkeley Marina, Berk. (510) 235-5483, www.highlinekites.com. 10am-5pm, free. Fancy, elaborate kite-flying for grown-ups takes center stage at this celebration of aerial grace. Free kite-making and a candy drop for the kiddies, too.

July 29

Up Your Alley Fair, Dore between Howard and Folsom, SF. (415) 777-3247,www.folsomstreetfair.org., 11am-6pm, free with suggested donation of $7. A leather and fetish fair with vendors, dancing, and thousands of people decked out in their kinkiest regalia, this is the local’s version of the fall’s Folsom Street Fair mega-event.

July 30-August 5

SF Chefs Food and Wine Festival, Union Square, SF. (415) 781-5348, www.sfchefsfoodwine.com. Various times and prices. Taste buds have ADD too. Let them spiral deliciously out of control during this culinary fair representing over 200 restaurants, bars, distilleries, and breweries.

August 4-5

Aloha Festival, San Mateo Event Center, 1346 Saratoga, San Mateo. (415) 281-0221, www.pica-org.org. 10am-5pm, free. You may not be going to Hawaii this summer, but this two-day festival of crafts, island cuisine, Polynesian dance workshops, and music performances might just do the trick.

Art and Soul Oakland, Frank Ogawa Plaza, 14th and Broadway, Oakl. www.artandsouloakland.com. $10 adv.; $15 at door. Sample delectable treats, joyfully scream through a carnival ride, get a purple unicorn painted on your forehead — all while rocking out to live jazz, R&B, acoustic, and gospel performances.

Nihonmachi Street Fair, Post between Laguna and Fillmore, SF. www.nihonmachistreetfair.org. 10am-6pm, free. Community outreach infuses every aspect of this Japantown tradition — meaning those perfect garlic fries, handmade earrings, and live performances you enjoy will also be benefitting a number of great nonprofit organizations.

August 5

Jerry Day 2012, Jerry Garcia Amphitheater, 40 John F. Shelley, SF. (415) 272-2012, www.jerryday.org. 11am, free; donate to reserve seats. Founded in 2002 when a dilapidated playground in the Excelsior was being transformed to what is now Jerry Garcia Amphitheater, Jerry Day continues as an art and music event brimming with local San Franciscan roots.

August 10-12

Outside Lands Music Festival Golden Gate Park, SF. www.sfoutsidelands.com. $225 regular 3-day ticket. Musical demi-gods like Stevie Wonder and Neil Young are headlining this year, and the rest of the jaw-dropping lineup makes us wish it were 2035 already so we can clone ourselves and be at opposite sides of the park at once.

August 11

Festa Coloniale Italiana, Stockton between Union and Filbert, SF. (415) 440-0800, www.sfiacfesta.com. 11am-6pm, free. When the moon hits your eye, like a big pizza pie, that’s amore. When you dance down North Beach, visiting every food truck you encounter, you’re in love.

August 18

Russian River Beer Revival and BBQ Cookoff, Stumptown Brewery, 15045 River, Guerneville. (707) 869-0705, www.stumptown.com. Noon-6pm, $55. You can’t really go wrong attending a festival with a name like this one. Entry fee includes live music, beer, cider, BBQ tastings, and your resurrection.

San Francisco Street Food Festival, Folsom from 20th to 26th St.; 25th St. from Treat to Shotwell, SF. (415) 824-2729, www.sfstreetfoodfest.com. 11am-7pm, free. You may think there is nothing quite as good your own mother’s cooking, but the vendors at La Cocina’s food fair are up for the challenge.

August 25

The Farm Series: Late Summer Harvest, Oak Hill Farm, 15101 California 12, Glen Ellen. (415) 568-2710, www.18reasons.org. 9am-5pm, $50. Head to Sonoma with Bi-Rite’s head farmer and produce buyer to check out Family Farm and Oak Hill Farm. Lunch is included in the ticket price and carpool drivers will be reimbursed for gas.

August 25-26

Bodega Seafood Art and Wine Festival, 16855 Bodega, Bodega. (707) 824-8717, www.winecountryfestivals.com. $12 advance, $15 at gate. The seaweed is usually greener on somebody else’s lake — but not this weekend. Have your crab cake and eat it too during this crustaceous celebration of food, wine, beer, and art.

September 8-9

Ghirardelli Chocolate Festival, Ghiradelli Square, 900 North Point, SF. (800) 877-9338, www.ghiradelli.com. Noon-5pm, $20. It’s finally time to put your at-home ice cream noshing skills to the test. For two-days only, chocolate lovers unite to celebrate all that is good in life — and by that we mean eating contests, chef demonstrations, and local dessert samplings.

September 9

EcoFair Marin 2012, Marin County Fairgrounds and Lagoon Park, Civic Center, San Rafael. (415) 499-6800, www.ecofairmarin.org. 10am-6pm, $5. This sustainability event brings together speaker presentations, exhibitions by energy reducing and conserving business leaders, and tasty raw and vegan food vendors, as a community effort to help bring about a healthier planet.

September 14-16

Ceramics Annual of America: Exhibition and Art Fair, Festival Hall, Fort Mason, Buchanan at Marina, SF. (877) 459-9222, www.ceramicsannual.org. $10. Contemporary ceramics from Korea, China, Mexico, Australia, and Italy, as well as top American artists’ works, will be showcased in this one-of-a-kind art show. Tours and discussions regarding the clay medium will be provided as a way to foster knowledge regarding the clay medium.

September 16

Comedy Day, Sharon Meadow, Golden Gate Park, SF. (415) 820-1570, www.comedyday.com. Noon-5pm, free. There are two secret cures for depression: sunlight and laughter. Comedy Day brings the two antidotes together for a cheery day of priceless (literally, it’s free) entertainment.

September 21-23

Eat Real Festival, Jack London Square, Oakl. (510) 250-7811, www.eatrealfest.com. Free. Processed foods really do have a bunch of weird named ingredients that trigger horrific thoughts in one’s imagination. At Eat Real, suspicion is taken out of the eating experience, as everything is handmade, fresh, and local — so you can just eat.

September 22

Superhero Street Fair, Islais Creek Promenade, Caesar Chavez at Indiana, SF. www.superherosf.com. 2pm-midnight, $10-20 suggested donation. Fantasy and reality merge through live music performances, a climbing wall, sideshows, interactive games, and a cobblestone walkway of art. The festival hopes to set the World Record for the largest number of superheroes in one location — or at least put Nick Fury to shame.

September 23

Folsom Street Fair, Folsom between Seventh and 12th Streets, SF. (415) 777-3247, www.folsomstreetfair.com. 11am-6pm, free. Time to get out that spiked collar and latex gloves once again. Don’t forget your nipple clamps or the vibrating magic wand, either! Might as well bring out the leather whip and chains too — not that you’ve been anticipating this huge fetish extravaganza all year or anything.

September 29-30

Polk Street Blues Festival, Polk between Jackson and California, SF. (800) 310-6563, www.polkstreetbluesfestival.com. 10am-6pm, free. The blues festival will feature two stages, a marketplace of crafts and food booths, and enough saxophones and harmonicas to get you rollin’ and tumblin’.

September 30

Petaluma’s Fall Antique Faire, Fourth Street and Kentucky from B Street to Washington, Petaluma. (707) 762-9348, www.petalumadowntown.com. 8am-4pm, free. Watch as downtown Petaluma transforms in to an antique marketplace of estate jewelry, furniture, art, and collectables from over 180 dealers.

October 4-14

Mill Valley Film Festival, California Film Institute, 1001 Lootens, San Rafael. (415) 383-5256, www.mvff.com. $13.50 per screening. The 11-day festival presents international features, documentaries, shorts, and children’s films, as well as workshops and seminars dedicated to the art of film-making.

October 5-7

Hardly Strictly Bluegrass, Golden Gate Park, John F. Kennedy at Marx Meadow, SF. www.strictlybluegrass.com. Free. Warren Hellman has left us in February, but the bluegrass music festival he gifted to San Francisco goes on in memory of its esteemed founder.

October 6

Steampunk Oktoberfest Ball, Masonic Lodge of San Mateo, 100 North Ellsworth, San Mateo. (650) 348-9725, www.peers.org/steampunk.html. 8pm, $15 adv.; $20 at door. Steampunk is a combination of modern technology and Victorian fashion tastes. Think steam-powered airships and breathable corsets. Nineteenth century waltzes, mazurkas, and polkas set the soundtrack to this year’s revelry of costumes, dancing, and anachronistic inventions.

October 7

Castro Street Fair, Castro at Market, SF. (415) 841-1824, www.castrostreetfair.org. 11am-6pm, donations collected at entry. Founded by Harvey Milk in 1974, this community street festival joins hundreds of craft vendors, various stages of live entertainment, and an impressive array of outfits and wigs as a celebration of the Castro’s ever-growing diversity.

October 13-14

Treasure Island Music Festival, Treasure Island, SF. www.treasureislandfestival.com. $69.50 for single day tickets; $125 for regular 2-day tickets. For those who are normally discouraged by large music festivals because of the usual mobs of people, this is the event for you. The festival always sports a great bill of performers, all of which you can enjoy while having a relaxing a picnic on the grass, watching the sunset fall over the Golden Gate Bridge. The lineup will be revealed later this summer.

October 15

Noe Valley Harvest Festival, 24th St. between Church and Sanchez, SF. (415) 519-0093, www.noevalleyharvestfestival.com. 10am-5pm, free. Fall into autumn’s welcoming leaves — there will be circus performers, dog costume contests, jack-o-lantern decorating booths, and a pumpkin patch to make you forget all about your fleeting summer crush.

October 26-28

International Vintage Poster Fair, Fort Mason Center, SF. (800) 856-8069, www.posterfair.com. $15. This is the only show in the world that offers over 15,000 original vintage posters. Throw out your duplicate copy, and run here now.

Tour de F*ck You: Sons of Science speak!

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks

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May 15, 2012

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Tour de F*ck You: Sons of Science speak!

In our recent Bike Issue, we profiled several of our favorite Bike People — freewheelin’ movers on the 2012 bike scene we particularly admired. Among them, for how could it be otherwise, were the Sons of Science, an augmented trio of musical bike-tivists whose side-splitting viral “Motherf*cking Bike” video hit lampooned and celebrated SF’s precious, in-your-face bike culture.

John Benson and Ward Evans of Sausage Films teamed up with amazing bike horn soloist Hector Pérez for the one-off (perhaps?) project — and there are plenty of juicy local cameos in the video. Benson and Evans took some time from sippin’ lattes on their fixies (kind of!) to answer some questions.

SFBG So…. I heard Russell Crowe just tweeted about you ….

SONS OF SCIENCE Yes apparently he’s an avid cyclist, and we think he approved of the language. The video got several thousand more hits as a result of his tweet, and to show our appreciation we’re going to rent every one of his movies — even Breaking Up.

SFBG Who’s all in the band and when did you get together? Is it an outgrowth of other media projects?

SOS Sons of Science are Hector (Pérez, who appears as Horn Solo in the MFB video), John (Benson, who appears as Fixie Hipster) and Ward (Evans, who plays Stoner Messenger). We’ve known each other for years and just recently decided to collaborate for fun, and it clicked. John and Ward also direct as a team, so it was a great excuse to do a video. For this track we were also very lucky to feature Tim Brooks (formerly of the Young Offenders, who plays the Angry Commuter), he brought a pantload of energy and genuine cyclist cred to the project. He also knows the MASH guys, which was how we got that great cameo.

SFBG Are you all on a motherfucking bike right now?

SOS Hells yeah, we are live-tweeting this interview from the center lane of Market at rush hour while sipping nonfat lattes.

SFBG Who are some of your bike heroes (besides Russell Crowe)?

SOS A guy named Joff Summerfield rode a penny farthing around the globe, he’d be right up there. Then there’s Elliot from ET, Dave from Breaking Away, Juliette Lewis (who also tweeted our video and has probably been on a bike), and pretty much everyone on two wheels who risks their lives in traffic every day — while employing common sense and basic courtesy, of course.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VAJBXtVg8nQ

SFBG Will we see you performing live soon?

SOS You can see us anytime on YouTube, but a live show will require more songs and the perfect ratio of smoke to lasers. Right now we’re focused on MFB, but it’s definitely on the to-do list.

SFBG What’s your next big project? Because I want to see you rolling down Valencia on a motherfucking Ferris Wheel, living the dream of the 1890s.

SOS We’re considering some kind of performance art piece involving giant illuminated human hamster balls out on the Bay, but the wind and tides would have to be just right. It’s a work in progress.

SFBG If you could rename the Wiggle, what would you call it?

SOS We shot a good deal of Tim’s bits in and around the Wiggle, so in his honor we’d probably go with the “Tour de F*ck You.”

In bed with the cuddle expert

Andrew Lam

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May 15, 2012

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“I’ve been enveloped and swimming in love the last few years”

It’s early Saturday morning, and I’m quickly putting fresh sheets on my bed. The door bell rings before I can finish, and I run down the stairs to a incredibly punctual, smiling, and shirtless Travis Sigley, the cuddle therapy practitioner.

Sigley is a San Francisco-based, specializing in private appointments, group sessions, and workshops on non-sexual intimacy. I invited Sigley over to have a conversation about his line of work — and to find out why this beautiful man is always shirtless. He greets me at my door with a big hug. His handsome face and sun-kissed body make it easy to imagine spending an hour in my bed wrapped in his loving arms.

San Francisco Bay Guardian: Before we get started about life as a cuddle therapy practitioner, can you tell us why you don’t wear a shirt? Don’t you get cold?

Travis Sigley: I haven’t worn a shirt in five years. There are some social situations where I have to wear a shirt, like going on a plane. I would say, I live about 98 percent of my time without a shirt.

It started on a beautiful sunny day in Santa Cruz. I was headed to the beach to hang out with some friends, and I really didn’t see why I was putting on a shirt to travel there. So I didn’t put one on. The next day I asked myself, “Why are you putting on a shirt on yet another beautiful sunny day?” And since then, I really can’t seem to have an answer to putting on a shirt anymore. I’ve been enveloped and swimming in love the last few years.

In regards to getting cold, I’ve changed my relationship to weather. My body really embraces the change of season. I find myself eating more in the winter because my body knows it’s going to have to produce more heat. All in all, I have a pleasant experience feeling the change in weather.

Shots from Sigley’s snuggle scene

SFBG: How did you begin your journey as a cuddle therapy practitioner?

TS: My first professional cuddle client was in the back room of a strip club when I first moved to San Francisco. As a stripper, I found myself spending a lot of my time cuddling with my clients in that back room. It really dawned on me that people are really seeking love and touch more than a sexual experience. And I realized there was no place to really seek this form of non-sexual intimacy. So this inspired me to start an educational and practical forum. A space for people to have intimate experiences and touch.

SFBG: Where does sex intersect with cuddle therapy — if it does at all?

TS: I started cuddle therapy because I saw a discord between how people understood non-sexual affection and sex. This is a service to help people understand that difference and articulate what their needs are. I facilitate a space for my clients to explore and differentiate between their sexual desires and intimate non-sexual desires. I believe understanding the difference really allows you to live your life more fully..

SFBG: Do you cuddle both men and women?

TS: Yes, I absolutely cuddle both men and women. Every single human deserves love and affection. As long as you are willing to accept my boundaries of hygiene and sexuality I will happily cuddle you.

SFBG: Can you articulate further what your boundaries are around hygiene and sexuality?

TS: I’m referring to general hygiene maintenance. I cuddle lots of people. And in regards to sexuality, I think it’s really important that my clients understand the space we are cultivating is a non-sexually expressed space. I also want my clients to be open to moving whatever sexual energy may arise through conversation, and other ways of expression.

>>MUST-READ: KELLY LOVEMONSTER’S INTERVIEW WITH TRANSMAN PORN PIONEER JAMES DARLING

SFBG: How do you respond to clients who get aroused during one of your cuddle sessions?

TS: I understand that the body communicates things. It’s about acknowledging the sexual energy in the space, and realizing that you are in control of your sexual energy. Communication is always the best method to move sexual energy during my sessions. It is a great way to help my clients articulate how they can channel their sexual energy in a non-sexual context.

Some of my clients love doing a meditation. And we meditate on moving the sexual energy up the body, and enlivening their entire body. So the sexual energy is not concentrated in one particular place. I find doing breath work with people also works. Feeling the sexual energy fill their bodies and moving the sexual energy through breath. Singing, humming, and toning are all other methods I’ve used to help move sexual energy.

I’ve even done dream work with one client. She requested we both doze off and move our work to the dream world and the world of the subconscious. That was actually one of the most powerful session of cuddle therapy I’ve ever done. It requires a lot of trust to leave your body and do work from the subconscious. It’s really powerful knowing that you are going on a healing path through the subconscious to change and facilitate positive growth in a person.

SFBG: How do you identify your gender today?

TS: I believe gender is really fluid, and I have a felt sense of both feminine and masculine energies. I am particularly feeling more in line with embodying a masculine energy. And let’s not forget gender is constructed. Being a male to me today means being respectful, mindful, conscious, attentive, and explorative within the spectrum of masculinity.

SFBG: What does being sex-positive mean for you?

TS: Well for me being sex-positive has more to do with one’s perspective on sexuality. One who is sex-positive has the expression of health and is open to the spectrum of sex and sexuality. A sex-positive being is mindful to their physical body interactions with others, and they are sensitive to the traumatic experiences of others. Being sex-positive means being educated about sex, being a good listener, and being comfortable with all facets of what sex can look like.

Catch Travis hosting group cuddle workshops at the OmShanTea tea temple, which will be setting up poles at these feel-good festivals across the region

Symbiosis

May 17-21, $280-$320 three day camping pass; $40-$60 car pass; $35-$60 early entry

Pyramid Lake, Nevada

www.pyramideclipse.com

Lightning in a Bottle

May 24-28, one-day pass $85-$100; four-day pass $215-$240

Oak Canyon Ranch

Silverado, CA

www.lightninginabottle.org

Movement Play

June 22-25, $260

Willits, CA

www.movementplay.com

Wanderlust

July 26-29, $99 one-day; $155 two-day; $395 three-day; $475 four-day yoga-music passes; $20-$34.50 music-only day passes

Squaw Valley, CA

squaw.wanderlustfestival.com

Why the May 15 vote on 8 Washington matters

Zelda Bronstein

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May 14, 2012

128

Why the May 15 vote on 8 Washington matters

Brad Benson, the special projects director at the Port of San Francisco, took me on a tour of the 8 Washington project and gave me his pitch for why the city ought to allow a developer to put the most expensive condos in city history, housing for the top half of the top half of the top 1 percent, on a prime piece of waterfront land. He showed me the fence around the existing Golden Gateway Tennis and Swim Club (it’s not terribly attractive) and I watched a powerpoint presentation on the glories of the project.

His argument: The Port has no money, and no easy way to get any money, to do the roughly $2 billion worth of maintenance needed on the its piers and property. Residential development on a few seawall lots is part of the Port’s master plan and part of a waterfront plan that won approval of the Port Commission and the (mostly corrupt) Board of Supervisors in the 1990s.

The Port will eventually realize roughly $100 million from the deal. The city will get about $11 million for affordable housing. There will be new parks and open space, and a new, way fancier swimming pool and aquatic center. The tennis courts will be gone (Benson told me that tennis isn’t the best use for that valuable land) but the club will shuttle tennis players to another facility South of Market.

Just an aside: This is often deried as a private club, and it is — in the sense that you have to join and pay membership dues. It’s open to anyone who wants to pay, much as the YMCA is. It’s a bit more expensive than the Y, way more expensive than my gym (which has no tennis courts and a tiny two-lane lap pool) and a good bit less expensive than the high-end places lilke the Bay Club. It’s not a recreation facility for poor people, by any means. It has relatively middle-class users, particularly the folks who live in rent-controlled apartments at Golden Gateway, who get a discount. It’s not clear at this point if the club fees will go up when the fancy new version is unveiled, but I’d be shocked if the swim club attached to the priciest new housing in the city was affordable to the rest of us.

Now then: Back to the project. If you look at all the pretty architectural drawings and see all the amenities, like the new park and the wider sidewalks and the street-level retail and restaurants (ya think those will be a bit out of the normal person’s price range? Ya think?), it all looks lovely.

Money for the port. Money for the city’s general fund. Affordable housing money. What’s not to like?

Well, I told Benson, who used to work for Tom Ammiano is someone I’ve been friendly with for years, the same thing that I’ve told other city officials, including a few supervisors:

If this is the kind of housing we’re building, if this is the population our housing policy caters to, if this is what San Francisco is going to become, then nothing else really matters.There will be no progressive movement in this city. There will be no crazy, wild culture. To quote Calvin Welch: “Who lives here, votes here.” And the richer the city gets, the more conservative it gets.

And, frankly, the more boring it gets.

We’re seeing that already. The 20,000 new (rich) residents of District 6 voted for Jane Kim, and they may continue to vote for her as long as she supports things like the Twitter tax break, but they wouldn’t have voted for Chris Daly. And when Kim is termed out, the next D6 supervisor is likely to be a lot more conservative. The wild SOMA culture is going to vanish. How many of these condo-dwellers will go to, or even tolerate, the How Weird Street Fair? How many will want to put an end to the Folsom Street Fair?

Yeah, the rich who move into this city support same-sex marriage and like bicycle lanes on the streets. But they aren’t going to push higher taxes. They aren’t going to support politicians who have at their core a belief that narrowing the gap between the rich and the poor is the most important issue facing this city and this country today. They’d probably vote for Scott Wiener over David Campos for state Assembly. They’ll blent the city’s edge, make it just like so many other places in the world.

The city’s own policy makes clear that 60 percent of all new housing should be below market-rate. Every new project for the rich that we approve skews the balance a little further away from housing for the majority of people who work in the city. Teachers, firefighters, hotel workers — they can’t afford this stuff. So they move further out of town, taking longer commutes, using more energy … it’s all wrong.

That’s why the May 15 vote on this project matters. Not because most of us will ever swim or play tennis at the Golden Gateway club one way or the other. Not just because the new buildings are too tall. Not because 134 units of uber-rich condos at 8 Washington will gentrify the Mission. It matters because, day by day, wek by week, condo approval by condo approval, we’re losing San Francisco.

Hard to be a filmmaker

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May 9, 2012

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arts@sfbg.com

FILM In 1987, Soviet critics were polled to create a list of the nation’s greatest films. Landing on top was a movie still little-known abroad, whose maker has completed just five features in 45 years — one of which he doesn’t even consider truly his own work.

My Friend Ivan Lapshin (1984) likely wouldn’t have gotten near that exalted status if original, party-line-towing critics had had their way. After its well-received first screening, Aleksei Guerman’s own studio Lenfilm launched a broadside of attacks and demanded half his film be re-shot, though ultimately (more to spare additional costs than anything else) it remained unchanged.

Three years following a belated release, Ivan Lapshin was officially the “best Russian movie ever.” It was a remarkable turnabout for a director whose efforts had been — and in different ways would continue to be — perpetually thwarted, sometimes banned outright. In personal demeanor Guerman has been called “almost comically grim,” doubtless the result of so much uphill struggle. Yet that dour affect runs counter to the tenor of his most striking films, which are anarchic and borderline surreal, couching tragedy in absurdist humor and messy high spirits.

Yerba Buena Center for the Arts’ two-week series “War and Remembrance: The Films of Aleksei Guerman” brings to SF all of this slim oeuvre, little of which has been seen outside Russia save in festival appearances, cut form, or poor transfers that diminish the director’s mastery of complicated traveling shots in moody black and white.

Guerman (sometimes translated as “German”) was raised in Leningrad as the son of Yuri Guerman, a celebrated author who managed never to fall out of Stalin’s favor. Aiming to be a doctor, he hit cinema instead — first as a student and assistant, then co-directing 1967’s The Seventh Companion with the more established Grigori Aronov. The two fought throughout production of this sober drama about a Tsarist military officer converting to Socialist ideals, and Guerman has disavowed the end product.

He had sole credit on 1971’s Trial on the Road, another redemption tale — former Nazi collaborator surrenders to the Red Army, then re-infiltrates Axis forces to destroy an ammunitions train — but one judged insufficiently “heroic” by the government. It went unseen until 1986, when Gorbachev’s perestroika era liberated numerous long-banned films. A second World War II tale, Twenty Days Without War (1976), managed to escape censure with its melancholy portrait of a soldier on hometown furlough. It hinted at the looser, anecdotal, community-as-protagonist approach to come.

Still, Ivan Lapshin was a surprise leap toward humor, incident over conventional narrative, childhood memory as warm, boisterous yet melancholy blur á la Amarcord (1973) or Mon oncle Antoine (1971). (Though no sensibility could be more purely Russian than Guerman’s.) Based on stories by the director’s father, its main event is one that hasn’t happened yet when the film begins — Stalin’s first “Great Purge,” which would sweep away many of the moderately criminal or just eccentric figures portrayed in this fictive 1935 provincial town. Everyone here is a little mad, driven to distraction by the chaos of a grand collectivist experiment, spinning wild as if anticipating the cold smack down they were about to suffer. The amorphous structure some initially found off-putting now seems Ivan Lapshin‘s boldest, defining trait, the thing that keeps it floating in midair.

Despite that precedent, beleaguered Khrustalyov, My Car! — production dogged this time not by Soviet watchdogs, but by unreliable international funders — was greeted with walkouts and “disaster” judgments at its 1998 Cannes bow. Yet many of the same critics, overwhelmed at first by its wholesale abandonment of realism and coherence for phantasmagoria, pronounced it a masterpiece after second or third viewings. Framed like Ivan Lapshin as a child’s memory of (later) Stalinist life, its 150 minutes lunge still further toward a Fellini-like grotesque-carnival clutter of excesses, from the hospital where “unauthorized death [is] prohibited!” to the delivery truck in which our macho surgeon protagonist is shockingly assaulted in a spontaneous gay orgy. He’s ordered resuscitate the already dead Stalin, an impossible task capping an insane rule; the film’s last words (the director’s own?) are a voiced-over “Fuck it all!” Khrustalyov is a monumental clutter of energy and invention, so jerry-built that the fear it might collapse at any moment is part of its indelible rush.

Guerman is, logically enough, headed next to outer space — his adaptation of Soviet sci-fi classic Hard To Be a God took five years (starting in 2000!) to shoot, and is still being edited, thwarting hopes for Cannes premiere this month. Adversity may not have invaded his career by invitation, but one gets the sense that by now, at age 75, it is his most trusted collaborator.

WAR AND REMEMBRANCE: THE FILMS OF ALEKSEI GUERMAN

May 17-31, $6-$8

Yerba Buena Center for the Arts

701 Mission, SF

www.ybca.org

Film Listings May 9-15, 2012

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May 8, 2012

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Film listings are edited by Cheryl Eddy. Reviewers are Kimberly Chun, Max Goldberg, Dennis Harvey, and Lynn Rapoport. For rep house showtimes, see Rep Clock at www.sfbg.com. Complete film listings also posted at www.sfbg.com.

OPENING

Dark Shadows Conceptually, there’s nothing wrong with attempting to turn a now semi-obscure supernaturally themed soap opera with a five-year run in the late 1960s and early ’70s into a feature film. Particularly if the film brings together the sweetly creepy triumvirate of Tim Burton, Johnny Depp, and Helena Bonham Carter and emerges during an ongoing moment for vampires, werewolves, and other things that go hump in the night. Depp plays long-enduring vampire Barnabas Collins, the undead scion of a once-powerful 18th-century New England family that by the 1970s — the groovy decade in which the bulk of the story is set — has suffered a shabby deterioration. Barnabas forms a pact with present-day Collins matriarch Elizabeth (Michelle Pfeiffer) to raise the household — currently comprising her disaffected daughter, Carolyn (Chloë Grace Moretz), her derelict brother, Roger (Jonny Lee Miller), his mournful young son, David (Gulliver McGrath), David’s live-in lush of a psychiatrist, Dr. Hoffman (Carter), and the family’s overtaxed manservant, Willie (Jackie Earle Haley) — to its former stature, while taking down a lunatic, love-struck, and rather vindictive witch named Angelique (Eva Green). The latter, a victim of unrequited love, is the cause of all Barnabas’s woes and, by extension, the entire clan’s, but Angelique can only be blamed for so much. Beyond her hocus-pocus jurisdiction is the film’s manic pileup of plot twists, tonal shifts, and campy scenery-chewing by Depp, a startling onslaught that no lava lamp joke, no pallid reaction shot, no room-demolishing act of paranormal carnality set to Barry White, and no cameo by Alice Cooper can temper. (2:00) California, Four Star, Presidio.

Darling Companion When the carelessness of self-absorbed surgeon Joseph (Kevin Kline) results in the stray dog adopted by Beth (Diane Keaton) going missing during a forest walk, that event somehow brings all the fissures in their long marriage to a crisis point. Big Chill (1983) director Lawrence Kasdan’s first feature in a decade hews back to the more intimate, character-based focus of his best films. But this dramedy is too often shrilly pitched and overly glossy (it seems to take place in a Utah vacation-themed L.L. Bean catalog), with numerous talented actors — including Richard Jenkins, Dianne Wiest, Mark Duplass, Elisabeth Moss, and Sam Shepard — playing superficially etched characters that merely add to the clutter. Most cringe-inducing among them is Ayelet Zurer’s Carmen, a woman of Roma extraction who apparently has a crystal ball in her psychic head and actually speaks lines like “My people have a saying….” (1:43) Embarcadero. (Harvey)

First Position Bess Kargman’s documentary follows a handful of exceptional young ballet dancers, ranging in age from 10 to 17, over the course of a year as they prepare for the Youth America Grand Prix, the world’s largest ballet scholarship competition. Those who make it from the semifinals (in which some 5,000 dancers aged 9 to 19 perform in 15 cities around the world) to the finals (which bring some 300 contestants to New York City) compete for scholarships to prestigious ballet schools, dance-company contracts, and general notice by both the judges and the company directors in the audience. The film’s subjects come from varied backgrounds — 16-year-old Joan Sebastian lives and studies in NYC, far from his family in Colombia; 14-year-old Michaela was born in civil war-torn Sierra Leone and adopted from an orphanage by an American couple in Philadelphia; 11-year-old Aran, an American, lives in Italy with his mother while his father serves in Kuwait. The common threads in their stories are the daily sacrifices made by them as well as their families, whose energies and other resources are largely poured into these children’s single-minded pursuit. We get a vague sense of the difficult world they are driving themselves, in nearly every waking hour, to enter. But the film largely keeps its focus on the challenges of preparing for the competition, offering us many magnificent shots of the dancers pushing their bodies to mesmerizing physical extremes both on- and offstage. (1:34) Embarcadero, Piedmont, Shattuck, Smith Rafael. (Rapoport)

God Bless America Middle-aged office drone Frank (Joel Murray) is not having a good day-week-month-year-life. His ex-wife is about to happily remarry; his only child is a world-class brat who finds father-daughter time “boring;” his neighbors are a young couple who only get more loudly obnoxious when politely asked to keep the noise down. When that and insistent migraines keep Frank awake night after night, the parade of pundit and reality stupidities on TV only turn his insomnia into wide awake fury. Then he’s fired from his job for unjust reasons — on the same day he gets a diagnosis of brain cancer. Mad as hell, not-gonna-take-it-anymore, he impulsively decides to make a “statement” by assassinating a viral-video poster child for “entitlement.” This attracts admiring attention from extremely pushy, snarky teen Roxy (Tara Lynne Barr), who appoints herself Bonnie to his reluctant Clyde. They drive around the country bestowing “big dirt naps” on other exemplars of what’s wrong with America today, including religious hate mongers, rude moviegoers, and the purveyors of American Idol-type idiotainment. Comedian Bobcat Goldthwait’s latest feature as writer-director has its head in the right place, and so many good ideas, that it’s a pity this gonzo satire-rant runs out of steam so quickly. Aiming splattering paintball gun at the broadest possible targets, it covers them with disdainful goo but not as much wit as one would like. Plus, Barr’s hyper precocious smart mouth is yet another annoying Juno (2007) knockoff — never mind that she counts Diablo Cody among her (many) pet peeves. If God Bless winds up closer to Uwe Boll’s Postal (2007) than, say, Network (1976) in scattershot impact, it nonetheless almost makes it on sheer outré audacity and will alone. A movie that hates everything you hate should not be sneezed at; if only it hated them with more parodic snap, thematic depth and narrative structure. (1:44) Bridge, Shattuck. Harvey)

Here Sparks fly when a satellite-mapping expert (Ben Foster) meets a photographer (Lubna Azabal) while traveling in Armenia. (2:00) SF Film Society Cinema.

Last Call at the Oasis If you like drinking water, or eating food, or using mass-produced physical objects, and you also enjoy not being poisoned by virulent chemicals such as hexavalent chromium and atrazine, you probably want to see — but most likely won’t much enjoy — Jessica Yu’s latest documentary, about the impending global water crisis. Or rather, the crisis, the film makes clear, that has already arrived in many parts of the world and — in the sense that it’s about a shortage of safe drinking water — in many parts of the United States. The Academy Award–winning Yu, whose previous films include the 2004 Henry Darger documentary In the Realms of the Unreal, invites various experts to lay out the alarming facts for us, as we sit in the theater clutching our bottles of Dasani. Last Call’s talking heads include UC Irvine professor Jay Famiglietti, the Pacific Institute’s Peter Gleick (who, regardless of February’s firestorm over an ethical lapse, speaks eloquently here), journalist Alex Prud’homme, whose book The Ripple Effect the documentary is based on, and Erin Brockovich. An unexpected appearance by Jack Black in the role of potential future spokesperson for potable recycled water (one name under consideration: Porcelain Springs) adds levity to a film that is short on silver linings, as well as solutions. The title conveys the sort of gallows humor occasionally displayed by Yu’s subjects — one of whom ponders for a moment the situation he’s just described and then offers this succinct summary: “We’re screwed.” (1:45) Embarcadero, Shattuck. (Rapoport)

Michael Michael follows a few months in the lives of a pedophile (Michael Fulth) and his captive (David Rauchenberger). It is no surprise that Austrian director Markus Schleinzer previously worked for Michael Haneke: the film’s cold, inanimate aesthetic is the means for psychological torture, on the part of both Michael’s prisoner, and the audience. Michael, a sociopath who works in an office by day, keeps the boy, a pensive 10-year-old named Wolfgang, in a basement behind a bolted door. He visits him nightly, and allows the boy to dine with him. As master and slave go about their mundane routine their level of comfort with one another is just as unsettling as the off-screen sex. Equally disturbing is how Michael manages to maintain such a normal life on the surface. After he tries to bring a new victim home and fails, Wolfgang starts to find ways to push his captor’s buttons. In spite of the loud subject, rarely has such formal reticence registered as this horrifying. (1:36) SF Film Society Cinema. (Ryan Lattanzio)

Otter 501 A young woman comes to the aid of an orphaned otter pup in this narrative-doc hybrid shot in the Bay Area. (1:24) Presidio.

The Perfect Family Having survived years of hardship by dint of her faith, devout Catholic Eileen Cleary (Kathleen Turner) now lets nothing stand between her and the heavy-handed pursuit of grace — including her own family’s perceived imperfections. The past, in which long-sober husband Frank (Michael McGrady) was an abusive alcoholic, is not discussed. The present — in which ne’er-do-well son Frank Jr. (Jason Ritter) is not yet divorced yet already involved with a Protestant manicurist (Kristen Dalton), while otherwise exemplary daughter Shannon (Emily Deschanel) insists on marrying and child-raising with another woman (Angelique Cabral) — is ignored when it can’t be nagged into submission. These modern aberrations from the Pope-embraced allowable lifestyles must be addressed, however, when Eileen’s endless charitable toil gets her nominated as Catholic Woman of the Year. This would be her crowning achievement, but naturally something’s gotta give: either her family’s going to at least pretend it’s “normal,” or she’s got to grow more accepting at the potential loss of her big moment in the spotlight. Directed by Anne Renton, written by Paula Goldberg and Claire V. Riley, The Perfect Family is an ensemble dramedy (also encompassing Richard Chamberlain and Elizabeth Peña) that trundles as effortfully as its stressed-out protagonist from sitcomish humor to tearjerking, leaving no melodramatic contrivance unmilked along the way. Its intentions (primarily gay-positive ones, in line with the scenarists’ prior features) are good. But the execution is like a sermon whose every calculated chuckle and insight you anticipate five minutes before you hear it. To see Turner really excel as a controlling mother, rent 1994’s Serial Mom again. (1:24) Sundance Kabuki. (Harvey)

The Road It’s rare that a film from the Philippines gets a commercial release in the US, and The Road is the first horror movie to be widely distributed here. The story is inspired by the tragic tale of the Chiong sisters, allegedly raped and murdered in 1997. The case inspired a sensational, controversial trial, explored in detail in the excellent recent doc Give Up Tomorrow (which screened at the 2012 San Francisco International Asian American Film Festival). Unfortunately, the true story is better than the fictional one; though Yam Laranas’ backwoods creep show has plenty of atmosphere, its flashback-within-a-flashback structure can feel a bit incoherent. Also bummers: the identity of the villain — who comes packaged with a tidy, here’s-my-motivation back story — is patently obvious well before the final reel, and once you get used to The Road‘s silent corpse-ghosts popping up amid the foliage, they cease to wield much shock value. (1:50) Presidio. (Eddy)

ONGOING

The Artist With the charisma-oozing agility of Douglas Fairbanks swashbuckling his way past opponents and the supreme confidence of Rudolph Valentino leaning, mid-swoon, into a maiden, French director-writer Michel Hazanavicius hits a sweet spot, or beauty mark of sorts, with his radiant new film The Artist. In a feat worthy of Fairbanks or Errol Flynn, Hazanavicius juggles a marvelously layered love story between a man and a woman, tensions between the silents and the talkies, and a movie buff’s appreciation of the power of film — embodied in particular by early Hollywood’s union of European artistry and American commerce. Dashing silent film star George Valentin (Jean Dujardin, who channels Fairbanks, Flynn, and William Powell — and won this year’s Cannes best actor prize) is at the height of his career, adorable Jack Russell by his side, until the talkies threaten to relegate him to yesterday’s news. The talent nurtured in the thick of the studio system yearns for real power, telling the newspapers, “I’m not a puppet anymore — I’m an artist,” and finances and directs his own melodrama, while his youthful protégé Peppy Miller (Bérénice Béjo) becomes a yakky flapper age’s new It Girl. Both a crowd-pleasing entertainment and a loving précis on early film history, The Artist never checks its brains at the door, remaining self-aware of its own conceit and its forebears, yet unashamed to touch the audience, without an ounce of cynicism. (1:40) Opera Plaza, Shattuck. (Chun)

The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel (1:42) Albany, SF Center, Sundance Kabuki.

Bully Anyone who’s ever been a kid on the wrong side of a bully — or was sensitive and observant enough not to avert his or her eyes — will be puzzling over the MPAA’s R rating of this doc, for profanity. It’s absurd when the gory violence on network and basic cable TV stops just short of cutting characters’ faces off, as one blurred-out bus bully threatens to do to the sweet, hapless Alex, dubbed “Fish Face” by the kids who ostracize him and make his life hell on the bus. It’s a jungle out there, as we all know — but it’s that real, visceral footage of the verbal (and physical) abuse bullied children deal with daily that brings it all home. Filmmaker Lee Hirsch goes above and beyond in trying to capture all dimensions of his subject: the terrorized bullied, the ineffectual school administrators, the desperate parents. There’s Kelby, the gay girl who was forced off her beloved basketball team after she came out, and Ja’Maya, who took drastic measures to fend off her tormenters — as well as the specters of those who turned to suicide as a way out. Hirsch is clearly more of an activist than a fly on the wall: he steps in at one point to help and obviously makes an uplifting effort to focus on what we can do to battle bullying. Nevertheless, at the risk of coming off like the Iowa assistant principal who’s catching criticism for telling one victim that he was just as bad as the bully that he refused to shake hands with, one feels compelled to note one prominent component that’s missing here: the bullies themselves, their stories, and the reasons why they’re so cruel — admittedly a daunting, possibly libelous task. (1:35) Metreon, Smith Rafael. (Chun)

The Cabin in the Woods If the name “Joss Whedon” doesn’t provide all the reason you need to bum-rush The Cabin in the Woods (Whedon produced and co-wrote, with director and frequent collaborator Drew Goddard), well, there’s not much more that can be revealed without ruining the entire movie. In a very, very small nutshell, it’s about a group of college kids (including Chris “Thor” Hemsworth) whose weekend jaunt to a rural cabin goes horribly awry, as such weekend jaunts tend to do in horror movies (the Texas Chainsaw and Evil Dead movies are heavily referenced). But this is no ordinary nightmare — its peculiarities are cleverly, carefully revealed, and the movie’s inside-out takedown of scary movies produces some very unexpected (and delightfully blood-gushing) twists and turns. Plus: the always-awesome Richard Jenkins, and in-jokes galore for genre fans. (1:35) Four Star, Metreon, 1000 Van Ness, Shattuck. (Eddy)

Chimpanzee (2:00) Metreon, 1000 Van Ness, Shattuck.

The Day He Arrives Korean auteur (Woman Is the Future of Man, 2004) Hong Sang-soo’s latest exercise in self-consciousness, this black-and-white, fable-like study of a frustrated filmmaker (Yu Jun-sang), returning home to Seoul to visit an old friend after spending time in the countryside teaching, adds up to a kind of formal palimpsest. Surrounded by sycophants, vindictive former leading men, and women who seem to serve a purely semiotic purpose, he participates in an endless loop of drink, smoke, and conversation in a series of dreamlike scenes that play on the theme of coincidence and endless variation. Hong’s layering of alternate scenarios at times feels like a bit of a gimmick, but the way he infuses specific urban spaces with forlorn significance in mostly static shots is affecting — even if the film’s ultimate narrative slightness has the cut-and-paste haphazardness of fridge poetry magnets. (1:19) SF Film Society Cinema. (Michelle Devereaux)

The Deep Blue Sea Caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, filmmaker Terence Davies, much like his heroine, chooses a mutable, fluid sensuality, turning his source material, Terence Rattigan’s acclaimed mid-century play, into a melodrama that catches you in its tide and refuses to let go. At the opening of this sumptuous portrait of a privileged English woman who gives up everything for love, Hester (Rachel Weisz) goes through the methodical motions of ending it all: she writes a suicide note, carefully stuffs towels beneath the door, takes a dozen pills, turns on the gas, and lies down to wait for death to overtake her. Via memories drifting through her fading consciousness, Davies lets us in on scattered, salient details in her back story: her severely damped-down, staid marriage to a high court judge, Sir William (Simon Russel Beale), her attraction and erotic awakening in the hands of charming former RF pilot Freddie Page (Tom Hiddleston), her separation, and her ultimate discovery that her love can never be matched, as she hazards class inequities and ironclad gender roles. “This is a tragedy,” Sir William says, at one point. But, as Hester, a model of integrity, corrects him, “Tragedy is too big a word. Sad, perhaps.” Similarly, Sea is a beautiful downer, but Davies never loses sight of a larger post-war picture, even while he pauses for his archetypal interludes of song, near-still images, and luxuriously slow tracking shots. With cinematographer Florian Hoffmeister, he does a remarkable job of washing post-war London with spots of golden light and creating claustrophobic interiors — creating an emotionally resonant space reminiscent of the work of Wong Kar-wai and Christopher Doyle. At the center, providing the necessary gravitas (much like Julianne Moore in 2002’s Far From Heaven), is Weisz, giving the viewer a reason to believe in this small but reverberant story, and offering yet another reason for attention during the next awards season. (1:38) Opera Plaza, Smith Rafael. (Chun)

The Five-Year Engagement In 2008’s Forgetting Sarah Marshall, viewers were treated to the startling, tragicomic sight of Jason Segel’s naked front side as his character got brutally dumped by the titular perky, put-together heartbreaker. In The Five-Year Engagement, which he reunited with director Nicholas Stoller to co-write, Segel once again sacrifices dignity and the right to privacy, this time in exchange for fake orgasms (his own), ghastly hand-knit sweaters, egregious facial-hair arrangements, and various other exhaustively humiliating psychological lows — all part of an earnest, undying quest to make people giggle uncomfortably. Segel plays Tom, a talented chef with a promising career ahead of him in San Francisco’s culinary scene (naturally, food carts get a cameo in the film). On the one-year anniversary of meeting his girlfriend, Violet (Emily Blunt), a psychology postgrad, he asks her to marry him in a meticulously planned, gloriously botched proposal scene coengineered by Tom’s oafish friend Alex (Chris Pratt), little realizing that this romantic gesture will soon lead to successive frozen winters in the Midwest (Violet gets offered a job at the University of Michigan), loss of professional stature, cabin fever, mead making, bow-hunting accidents, the titular nuptial postponement, and other, more gruesome events. The humor at times descends to some banally low depths as Segel and Stoller explore the terrain of the awkward, the poorly socialized, and the playfully grotesque. But Segel and Blunt present a believable, likable relationship between two warm, funny, flawed people, and, however disgusted, no one should walk out before a scene in which Violet and her sister (Alison Brie) channel Elmo and Cookie Monster to elaborate on the themes of romantic idealism and marital discontent. (2:04) Marina, 1000 Van Ness, SF Center, Vogue. (Rapoport)

Footnote (1:45) Opera Plaza, Shattuck.

Friends With Kids Jennifer Westfeldt scans Hollywood’s romantic comedy landscape for signs of intelligent life and, finding it to be a barren place possibly recovering from a nuclear holocaust, writes, directs, and stars in this follow-up to 2001’s Kissing Jessica Stein, which she co-wrote and starred in. Julie (Westfeldt) and Jason (Adam Scott) are upper-thirtysomething New Yorkers with two decades of friendship behind them. He calls her “doll.” They have whispered phone conversations at four in the morning while their insignificant others lie slumbering beside them on the verge of getting dumped. And after a night spent witnessing the tragic toll that procreation has taken on the marriages of their four closest friends — Bridesmaids (2011) reunion party Leslie (Maya Rudolph), Alex (Chris O’Dowd), Missy (Kristen Wiig), and Ben (Jon Hamm), the latter two, surprisingly and less surprisingly, providing some of the film’s darkest moments — Jason proposes that they raise a child together platonically, thereby giving any external romantic relationships a fighting chance of survival. In no time, they’ve worked out the kinks to their satisfaction, insulted and horrified their friends, and awkwardly made a bouncing baby boy. The arrival of significant others (Edward Burns and Megan Fox) signals the second phase of the experiment. Some viewers will be invested in latent sparks of romance between the central pair, others in the success of an alternative family arrangement; one of these demographics is destined for disappointment. Until then, however, both groups and any viewers unwilling to submit to this reductive binary will be treated to a funny, witty, well crafted depiction of two people’s attempts to preserve life as they know it while redrawing the parameters of parenthood. (1:40) Sundance Kabuki. (Rapoport)

Gerhard Richter Painting O to be a eye in the studio, simply taking in a master’s process. Anyone who’s wondered how artist Gerhard Richter makes his monumental paintings — or even just idly pondered art making in general — gets that rare chance with this fascinating, elegant portrait of a man and his method. After capturing Richter for the first time in 15 years in her 2007 short on his stained glass window at the Cologne Cathedral, filmmaker Corinna Belz was entrusted with pointing a camera at the artist as he worked a new series of abstractions and prepared for a major retrospective. Through unusual archival footage, brief discussions of his past, and glimpses of everyone from Richter’s wife to his US dealer Marian Goodman, we end up with a privileged window in the German maker’s world and utterly riveting footage of Richter in the studio — applying color to canvas; taking a squeegee to the blobs and splotches; scraping, manipulating, and morphing the hues with a mesmerizing combination of improvisation and consideration; and then stepping back to study the results, occasionally out loud. Even more than a glance into a workspace, it’s a light into the mind of the man who has recharged painting and its myriad approaches, techniques, and ideas with new relevance. (1:37) Roxie. (Chun)

Headhunters Despite being the most sought-after corporate headhunter in Oslo, Roger (Aksel Hennie) still doesn’t make enough money to placate his gorgeous wife; his raging Napoleon complex certainly doesn’t help matters. Crime is, as always, the only solution, so Roger’s been supplementing his income by stealthily relieving his rich, status-conscious clients of their most expensive artworks (with help from his slightly unhinged partner, who works for a home-security company). When Roger meets the dashing Clas Greve (Nikolaj Coster-Waldau of Game of Thrones) — a Danish exec with a sinister, mysterious military past, now looking to take over a top job in Norway — he’s more interested in a near-priceless painting rumored to be stashed in Greve’s apartment. The heist is on, but faster than you can say “MacGuffin,” all hell breaks loose (in startlingly gory fashion), and the very charming Roger is using his considerable wits to stay alive. Based on a best-selling “Scandi-noir” novel, Headhunters is just as clever as it is suspenseful. See this version before Hollywood swoops in for the inevitable (rumored) remake. (1:40) Clay, Piedmont, Shattuck. (Eddy)

Hit So Hard Along with Last Days Here, which screened earlier this year as part of the San Francisco Independent Film Festival, Hit So Hard is one of the most inspiring rock docs in recent memory. Patty Schemel was the drummer for Hole circa Live Through This, coolly keeping the beat amid Courtney Love’s frequent Lollapalooza-stage meltdowns after Kurt Cobain’s 1994 death. Offstage, however, she was neck-deep in substance abuse, weathering several rounds of rehab even after the fatal overdose of Hole bandmate Kristen Pfaff just months after Cobain (who appears here in Schemel’s own remarkable home video footage). P. David Ebersole’s film gathers insight from many key figures in Schemel’s life — including her mother, who has the exact voice of George Costanza’s mother on Seinfeld, and a garishly made-up, straight-talking Love — but most importantly, from Schemel herself, who is open and funny even when talking about the perils of drug addiction, of the heartbreak of being a gay teen in a small town, and the ultimate triumph of being a rock ‘n’ roll survivor. (1:43) Roxie. (Eddy)

The Hunger Games Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence) is a teenager living in a totalitarian state whose 12 impoverished districts, as retribution for an earlier uprising, must pay tribute to the so-called Capitol every year, sacrificing one boy and one girl each to the Hunger Games. A battle royal set in a perilous arena and broadcast live to the Capitol as gripping diversion and to the districts as sadistic propaganda, the Hunger Games are, depending on your viewpoint, a “pageant of honor, courage, and sacrifice” or a brutal, pointless bloodbath involving children as young as 12. When her little sister’s name comes up in the annual lottery, Katniss volunteers to take her place and is joined by a boy named Peeta Mellark (Josh Hutcherson), with whom she shares an old, unspoken bond. Tasked with translating to the screen the first installment of Suzanne Collins’s rabidly admired trilogy, writer-director Gary Ross (2003’s Seabiscuit, 1998’s Pleasantville) telescopes the book’s drawn-out, dread-filled tale into a manageable two-plus-hour entertainment, making great (and horrifying) use of the original work’s action, but losing a good deal of the narrative detail and emotional force. Elizabeth Banks is comic and unrecognizable as Effie Trinket, the two tributes’ chaperone; Lenny Kravitz gives a blank, flattened reading as their stylist, Cinna; and Donald Sutherland is sufficiently creepy and bloodless as the country’s leader, President Snow. More exceptionally cast are Woody Harrelson as Katniss and Peeta’s surly, alcoholic mentor, Haymitch Abernathy, and Stanley Tucci as games emcee Caesar Flickerman, flashing a bank of gleaming teeth at each contestant as he probes their dire circumstances with the oily superficiality of a talk show host. (2:22) 1000 Van Ness, SF Center, Sundance Kabuki. (Rapoport)

Jeff, Who Lives at Home The failure-to-launch concept will always thrive whenever and wherever economies flail, kids crumble beneath family trauma, and the seduction of moving back home to live for free with the parental units overcomes the draw of adulthood and individuation. Nevertheless brotherly writing and directing team Jay and Mark Duplass infuse a fresh, generous-minded sweetness in this familiar narrative arc, mainly by empathetically following those surrounding, and maybe enabling, the stay-at-home. Spurred by a deep appreciation of Signs (2002) and plentiful bong hits, Jeff (Jason Segel) decides to go with the signals that the universe throws at him: a mysterious phone call for a Kevin leads him to stalk a kid wearing a jersey with that name and jump a candy delivery truck. This despite the frantic urging of his mother (Susan Sarandon), who has set the bar low and simply wants Jeff to repair a shutter for her birthday, and the bad influence of brother Pat (Ed Helms), a striving jerk who compensates for his insecurities by buying a Porsche and taking business meetings at Hooters. We never quite find out what triggered Jeff’s dormancy and Pat’s prickishness — two opposing responses to some unspecified psychic wound — yet by Jeff, Who Lives at Home‘s close, it doesn’t really matter. The Duplass brothers convince you to go along for the ride, much like Jeff’s blessed fool, and accept the ultimately feel-good, humanist message of this kind-hearted take on human failings. (1:22) Sundance Kabuki. (Chun)

Jiro Dreams of Sushi Celebrity-chef culture has surely reached some kind of zeitgeist, what with the omnipresence of Top Chef and other cooking-themed shows, and the headlines-making power of people like Paula Deen (diabetes) and Mario Batali (sued for ripping off his wait staff). Unconcerned with the trappings of fame — you’ll never see him driving a Guy Fieri-style garish sports car — is Jiro Ono, 85-year-old proprietor of Sukiyabashi Jiro, a tiny, world-renowned sushi restaurant tucked into Tokyo’s Ginza station. Jiro, a highly-disciplined perfectionist who believes in simple, yet flavorful food, has devoted his entire life to the pursuit of “deliciousness” — to the point of sushi invading his dreams, as the title of David Gelb’s reverential documentary suggests. But Jiro Dreams of Sushi goes deeper than food-prep porn (though, indeed, there’s plenty of that); it also examines the existential conflicts faced by Jiro’s two middle-aged sons. Both were strongly encouraged to enter the family business — and in the intervening years, have had to accept the soul-crushing fact that no matter how good their sushi is, it’ll never be seen as exceeding the creations of their legendary father. (1:21) Embarcadero, Shattuck. (Eddy)

The Lady Luc Besson directs Michelle Yeoh — but The Lady is about as far from flashy action heroics as humanly possible. Instead, it’s a reverent, emotion-packed biopic of Nobel Peace Prize winner Aung San Suu Kyi, a national hero in Burma (Myanmar) for her work against the country’s oppressive military regime. But don’t expect a year-by-year exploration of Suu’s every accomplishment; instead, the film focuses on the relationship between Suu and her British husband, Michael Aris (David Thewlis). When Michael discovers he’s dying of cancer, he’s repeatedly denied visas to visit his wife — a cruel knife-twist by a government that assures Suu that if she leaves Burma to visit him, they’ll never allow her to return. Heartbreaking stuff, elegantly channeled by Thewlis and especially Yeoh, who conveys Suu’s incredible strength despite her alarmingly frail appearance. The real Iron Lady, right here. (2:07) Lumiere. (Eddy)

Letters From the Big Man Don’t fear the yeti. Filmmaker Christopher Munch (1991’s The Hours and Times) gets back to nature — and a more benevolent look at the sasquatch — with the engrossing Letters From the Big Man. Sarah (Lily Rabe, Jill Clayburgh’s daughter, perhaps best known for her ghostly American Horror Story flapper) is a naturalist and artist determined to get off trail, immerse herself in her postfire wilderness studies in southwestern Oregon, and leave the hassles and heartbreak of the human world behind. She’s far from alone, however, as she senses she’s being tailed — even after she confronts another solo hiker, Sean (Jason Butler Harner), who seems to share her deep love and knowledge of the wild. What emerges — as Sarah lives off the grid, sketches soulful-eyed Bigfoots, and powers her laptop with her bike — is a love story that might bear a remote resemblance to Beauty and the Beast if Munch weren’t so completely straight-faced in his belief in the big guys. The question, the mystery, isn’t whether or not sasquatch exist, according to the filmmaker, who paces his tale as if it were as big and encompassing as an ancient forest — rather, whether we can hold onto a belief in nature and its unknowables and coexist. (1:44) Smith Rafael. (Chun)

A Little Bit of Heaven Kate Hudson goes without make-up (but keeps her flowing curls) to play Marley, a New Orleans advertising exec whose social life of drunken good times and booty calls is rudely interrupted by a colon cancer diagnosis. Her movie-perfect friends (Lucy Punch as the artsy one; Rosemarie DeWitt as the pregnant one; Romany Malco as the gay one) and worried parents (Kathy Bates, Treat Williams) gather ’round as Marley undergoes various treatments and works on her personality flaws. Once Gael García Bernal shows up to play her doctor (and yes, that’s some icky boundary-crossing, but come on — it’s GGB!), a romance conveniently enters the mix as well. This is the kind of Hollywood-disease flick where God appears in the wisecracking, champagne-sipping guise of Whoopi Goldberg — and the talented Peter Dinklage (also of Game of Thrones) appears in one scene as an escort whose sole purpose is reveal his nickname, thereby giving the movie its title. (1:46) Metreon. (Eddy)

The Lucky One Iraq War veteran Logan (Zac Efron) beats PTSD by walking with his German shepherd from Colorado to the Louisiana bayou, in search of a golden-haired angel in cutoff blue jean short shorts (Taylor Schilling). His stated (in soporific voice-over) aim is to meet and thank the angel, who he believes repeatedly saved his life in the combat zone after he plucked her photograph from the rubble of a bombed-out building. The snapshot offers little in the way of biographical information, but luckily, there are only 300 million people in the United States, and he manages to find her after walking around for a bit. The angel, or Beth, as her friends call her, runs a dog kennel with her grandmother (Blythe Danner) while raising her noxiously Hollywood-precocious eight-year-old son (Riley Thomas Stewart) and fending off the regressive advances of her semi-villainous ex-husband (Jay R. Ferguson). Logan’s task seems simple enough, and he’s certainly walked a fair distance to complete it, but rather than expressing his gratitude, he becomes tongue-tied in the face of Beth’s backlit blondness and instead fills out a job application and proceeds to soulfully but manfully burrow his way into her affections and short shorts. Being an adaptation of a Nicholas Sparks novel, The Lucky One requires some forceful yanking on the heartstrings, but director Scott Hicks (1999’s Snow Falling on Cedars, 1996’s Shine) is hobbled in this task by, among other things, Efron’s wooden, uninvolved delivery of queasy speeches about traveling through darkness to find the light and how many times a day a given woman should be kissed. (1:41) SF Center. (Rapoport)

Marley Oscar-winning documentarian Kevin Macdonald (1999’s One Day in September; he also directed Best Actor Forest Whitaker in 2006’s The Last King of Scotland) takes on the iconic Bob Marley, using extensive interviews — both contemporary (with Marley friends and family) and archival (with the musician himself) — and performance and off-the-cuff footage. The end result is a compelling (even if you’re not a fan) portrait of a man who became a global sensation despite being born into extreme poverty, and making music in a style that most people had never heard outside of Jamaica. The film dips into Marley’s Rastafari beliefs (no shocker this movie is being released on 4/20), his personal life (11 children from seven different mothers), his impact on Jamaica’s volatile politics, his struggles with racism, and, most importantly, his remarkable career — achieved via a combination of talent and boldness, and cut short by his untimely death at age 36. (2:25) California, Embarcadero, Smith Rafael. (Eddy)

Marvel’s The Avengers The conflict — a mystical blue cube containing earth-shattering (literally) powers is stolen, with evil intent — isn’t the reason to see this long-hyped culmination of numerous prequels spotlighting its heroic characters. Nay, the joy here is the whole “getting’ the band back together!” vibe; director and co-writer Joss Whedon knows you’re just dying to see Captain America (Chris Evans) bicker with Iron Man (a scene-stealing Robert Downey Jr.); Thor (Chris Hemsworth) clash with bad-boy brother Loki (Tom Hiddleston); and the Hulk (Mark Ruffalo) get angry as often as possible. (Also part of the crew, but kinda mostly just there to look good in their tight outfits: Jeremy Renner’s Hawkeye and Scarlett Johansson’s Black Widow.) Then, of course, there’s Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson) running the whole Marvel-ous show, with one good eye and almost as many wry quips as Downey’s Tony Stark. Basically, The Avengers gives you everything you want (characters delivering trademark lines and traits), everything you expect (shit blowing up, humanity being saved, etc.), and even makes room for a few surprises. It doesn’t transcend the comic-book genre (like 2008’s The Dark Knight did), but honestly, it ain’t trying to. The Avengers wants only to entertain, and entertain it does. (2:23) Balboa, Marina, Metreon, 1000 Van Ness, Presidio, Sundance Kabuki. (Eddy)

Mirror Mirror In this glittery, moderately girl-powery adaptation of the Snow White tale (a comic foil of sorts to this summer’s gloomier-looking Snow White and the Huntsman), Julia Roberts takes her turn as stepmom, to an earnest little ingenue (Lily Collins) whose kingly father (Sean Bean) is presumed dead and whose rather-teeny-looking kingdom is collapsing under the weight of fiscal ruin and a thick stratum of snow. Into this sorry realm rides a chiseled beefcake named Prince Alcott (Arnie Hammer), who hails from prosperous Valencia, falls for Snow White, and draws the attentions of the Queen (Roberts) from both a strategic and a libidinal standpoint. Soon enough, Snow White (Snow to her friends) is narrowly avoiding execution at the hands of the Queen’s sycophantic courtier-henchman (Nathan Lane), rustling up breakfast for a thieving band of stilt-walking dwarves, and engaging in sylvan hijinks preparatory to deposing her stepmother and bringing light and warmth and birdsong and perennials back into fashion. Director Tarsem Singh (2000’s The Cell, 2011’s Immortals) stages the film’s royal pageantry with a bright artistry, and Roberts holds court with vicious, amoral relish as she senses her powers of persuasion slipping relentlessly from her grasp. Carefully catering to tween-and-under tastes as well as those of their chaperones, the comedy comes in various breadths, and there’s meta-humor in the sight of Roberts passing the pretty woman torch, though Collins seems blandly unprepared to wield her power wisely or interestingly. Consider vacating your seats before the extraneous Bollywood-style song-and-dance number that accompanies the closing credits. (1:46) Metreon. (Rapoport)

Monsieur Lazhar When their beloved but troubled teacher hangs herself in the classroom — not a thoughtful choice of location, but then we never really discover her motives — traumatized Montreal sixth-graders get Bachir Lazhar (Fellag), a middle-aged Algerian émigré whose contrastingly rather strict, old-fashioned methods prove surprisingly useful at helping them past their trauma. He quickly becomes the crush object of studious Alice (Sophie Nelisse), whose single mother is a pilot too often away, while troublemaker Simon (Emilien Neron) acts out his own domestic and other issues at school. Lazhar has his own secrets as well — for one thing, we see that he’s still petitioning for permanent asylum in Canada, contradicting what he told the principal upon being hired — and while his emotions are more tightly wrapped, circumstances will eventually force all truths out. This very likable drama about adults and children from Quebec writer-director Philippe Falardeau doesn’t quite have the heft and resonance to rate among the truly great narrative films about education (like Laurent Cantet’s recent French The Class). But it comes close enough, gracefully touching on numerous other issues while effectively keeping focus on how a good teacher can shape young lives in ways as incalculable as they are important. (1:34) Lumiere, Piedmont, Shattuck, Smith Rafael. (Harvey)

The Pirates! Band of Misfits Aardman Animations, home studio of the Wallace and Gromit series as well as 2000’s Chicken Run, are masters of tiny details and background jokes. In nearly every scene of this swashbuckling comedy, there’s a sight gag, double entendre, or tossed-off reference (the Elephant Man!?) that suggests The Pirates! creators are far more clever than the movie as a whole would suggest. Oh, it’s a cute, enjoyable story about a kind-hearted Pirate Captain (Hugh Grant) who dreams of winning the coveted Pirate of the Year award (despite the fact that he gets more excited about ham than gold) — and the misadventures he gets into with his amiable crew, a young Charles Darwin, and a comically evil Queen Victoria. But despite its toy-like, 3D-and-CG-enhanced claymation, The Pirates! never matches the depth (or laugh-out-loud hilarity) of other Aardman productions. Yo ho-hum. (1:27) 1000 Van Ness, SF Center. (Eddy)

The Raven How did Edgar Allan Poe, dipsomaniac, lover of 13-year-old child brides, and teller of tales designed to make the flesh creep and crawl, wind up, at age 40, nearly dying in the gutter and spending his last days in a Baltimore hospital, muttering incoherent imprecations about a mysterious fellow named Reynolds? In The Raven, director James McTeigue (2006’s V for Vendetta) makes the case for a crafty, sociopathic serial killer having played a role in the famous yet impoverished writer’s sad, derelict demise. Recently returned to the dark, thickly fog-machined streets of Baltimore, Poe, vehemently embodied by John Cusack, is chagrined to learn from one Detective Fields (Luke Evans) that someone has begun using his macabre stories (“The Pit and the Pendulum” to particularly gory effect) to enact a series of murders. When the killer successfully gains Poe’s full attention by seizing his ladylove, Emily Hamilton (Alice Eve), the pileup of bodies inspires a few last outbursts of genius. The trail of literary clues feels a bit forced, and Cusack’s Poe possesses an admirable quantity of energy, passion, and general zest for life for one so roundly indicted — by everyone from his editor to his barkeep to his sweetheart’s roundly repellent father (Brendan Gleeson) — as a useless, used-up slave to opiates and alcohol. But the script is smart enough and the action absorbing enough to keep us engaged as Poe attempts to rescue Emily and the film attempts to rescue Poe’s reputation through imagined heroics of both the pen and the sword. (1:50) 1000 Van Ness, SF Center. (Rapoport)

Safe The poster would be slightly more on-point if its suave thug of a star, Jason Statham, were hiding behind the scrunched-faced Catherine Chan rather than the other way around — because at times it’s tough to see this alternately enjoyable and credibility-taxing action flick as more than some kind of naked play for the Chinese filmgoer. Jamming the screen with a frantic kineticism, director-writer Boaz Yakin seems to be smoothing over the problems in his vaguely stereotype-flaunting, patchy puzzle of a narrative with a high body count: the cadavers pile like those in an old martial arts flick — made in Asia, it’s implied, where life is cheap and spectacle is paramount. Picking up in the middle, with flashbacks stacked like firewood, Safe opens on young math prodigy Mei (Chan) on the run from the Russian mafia. A pawn and virtual slave of the Chinese mob, she holds a number in her head that all sorts of ruthless crime factions want. To her rescue is mystery man Luke Wright (Statham), who has had his own deadly tussle with the same Russian baddies and is now on the street and on the verge of suicide, believe it or not. It’s tough to wrap your head around the fact that any of Statham’s rock-hard tough guys could possibly crumble — or even have a sense of humor. You’ll need one to accept the ludicrous storyline as well as the notion that a jillion bullets could be fired and never hit his superhuman street-fighting man. (1:35) Metreon, 1000 Van Ness. (Chun)

Salmon Fishing in the Yemen In Lasse Hallström’s latest film, a sheikh named Muhammed (Amr Waked) with a large castle in Scotland, an ardent love of fly-fishing, and unlimited funds envisions turning a dry riverbed in the Yemeni desert into an aquifer-fed salmon-run site and the surrounding lands into an agricultural cornucopia. Tasked with realizing this dream are London marketing consultant Harriet Chetwode-Talbot (Emily Blunt) and government fisheries scientist Alfred Jones (Ewan McGregor), a reluctant participant who refers to the project as “doolally” and signs on under professional duress. Despite numerous feasibility issues (habitat discrepancies, the necessity for a mass exodus of British salmon, two million irate British anglers), Muhammed’s vision is borne forward on a rising swell of cynicism generated within the office of the British prime minister’s press secretary (Kristin Scott Thomas), whose lackeys have been scouring the wires for a shred of U.K.-related good news out of the Middle East. Ecology-minded killjoys may question whether this qualifies. But putting aside, if one can, the possible inadvisability of relocating 10,000 nonnative salmon to a wadi in Yemen — which is to say, putting aside the basic premise — it’s easy and pleasant enough to go with the flow of the film, infected by Jones’s growing enthusiasm for both the project and Ms. Chetwode-Talbot. Adapted from Paul Torday’s novel by Simon Beaufoy (2009’s Slumdog Millionaire), Salmon Fishing is a sweet and funny movie, and while it suffers from the familiar flurried third-act knotting together of loose ends, its storytelling stratagems are entertaining and its characters compellingly textured, and the cast makes the most of the well-polished material. (1:52) Opera Plaza, Piedmont, Shattuck. (Rapoport)

A Separation Iran’s first movie to win Berlin’s Golden Bear (as well as all its acting awards), this domestic drama reflecting a larger socio-political backdrop is subtly well-crafted on all levels, but most of all demonstrates the unbeatable virtue of having an intricately balanced, reality-grounded screenplay — director Asghar Farhadi’s own — as bedrock. A sort of confrontational impartiality is introduced immediately, as our protagonists Nader (Peyman Moadi) and Simin (Leila Hatami) face the camera — or rather the court magistrate — to plead their separate cases in her filing for divorce, which he opposes. We gradually learn that their 14-year wedlock isn’t really irreparable, the feelings between them not entirely hostile. The roadblock is that Simin has finally gotten permission to move abroad, a chance she thinks she must seize for the sake of their daughter, Termeh (Sarina Farhadi). But Nader doesn’t want to leave the country, and is not about to let his only child go without him. Farhadi worked in theater before moving into films a decade ago. His close attention to character and performance (developed over several weeks’ pre-production rehearsal) has the acuity sported by contemporary playwrights like Kenneth Lonergan and Theresa Rebeck, fitted to a distinctly cinematic urgency of pace and image. There are moments that risk pushing plot mechanizations too far, by A Separation pulls off something very intricate with deceptive simplicity, offering a sort of integrated Rashomon (1950) in which every participant’s viewpoint as the wronged party is right — yet in conflict with every other. (2:03) Four Star, Opera Plaza. (Harvey)

Sound of My Voice Gripped with the need to do something important before they shrivel up and turn 30, Peter (Christopher Denham) and Lorna (Nicole Vicius) pretend to join a mysterious cult with the aim of making a documentary exposé. Their target: an alluring woman named Maggie (co-writer Brit Marling) — all golden hair and new-age wisdom — who lives in a basement and claims to be from the future. What Maggie is preparing her followers for is never quite explained, with their secret handshakes and all-white attire, but director and co-writer Zal Batmanglij builds up plenty of subtle dread: there’s a visit to a shooting range (shades of last year’s Martha Marcy May Marlene), Maggie’s whispery references to an impending civil war, and Peter’s diminishing ability to resist his faux-guru’s prove-your-faith demands. Just when you think you have Maggie figured out (as when she’s put on the spot to sing a song “from the future”), Batmanglij and Marling add another layer of ambiguity. An intriguing presence, Marling also wrote herself a juicy role in 2011’s Another Earth; it’ll be interesting to see if she can hold her own in a movie that doesn’t paint her character as the center of the universe. (1:25) Lumiere. (Eddy)

Think Like a Man (2:02) Metreon, 1000 Van Ness, Shattuck, Sundance Kabuki.

The Three Stooges: The Movie (1:32) Metreon.

Titanic 3D (3:14) Metreon, 1000 Van Ness.

21 Jump Street One of the more pleasant surprises on the mainstream comedy landscape has to be this, ugh, “reboot” of the late-’80s TV franchise. I wasn’t a fan of the show — or its dark-eyed, bad-boy star, Johnny Depp — back in the day, but I am of this unexpectedly funny rework overseen by apparent enthusiast, star, co-writer, and co-executive producer Jonah Hill, with a screenplay by Scott Pilgrim vs. the World (2010) co-writer Michael Bacall. There’s more than a smidge of Bacall’s other high school fantasy, Project X, in the buddy comedy premise of nerd (Hill’s Schmidt) meets blowhard (Channing Tatum’s Jenko), but 21 Jump Street thankfully leapfrogs the former with its meta-savvy, irreverent script and har-dee-har cameo turns by actors like Ice Cube as Captain Dickson (as well as a few key uncredited players who shall remain under deep cover). High school continues to haunt former classmates Schmidt and Jenko, who have just graduated from the lowly police bike corps to a high school undercover operation — don’t get it twisted, though, Dickson hollers at them; they got this gig solely because they look young. Still, the whole drug-bust enchilada is put in jeopardy when the once-socially toxic Schmidt finds his brand of geekiness in favor with the cool kids and so-called dumb-jock Jenko discovers the pleasures of the mind with the chem lab set. Fortunately for everyone, this crew doesn’t take themselves, or the source material, too seriously. (1:49) Metreon, 1000 Van Ness, Sundance Kabuki. (Chun)

Warriors of the Rainbow: Seediq Bale The head count — as in decapitated noggins — of this epic thrashathon almost rivals that of 2010’s 13 Assassins (hell, maybe even 1976’s Master of the Flying Guillotine), so, er, does that make this high-minded endeavor by Wei Te-Sheng (2008’s Cape No. 7) any more or less worth squirming through? The feeling is mixed — part disgust, part fascination — when it comes to this little-known part of Taiwan’s indigenous history. Moura Rudo (first-time aborigine actor Lin Ching-tai, he of the superheroically muscular calves) is the leader of the once-fierce, now-barely contained Seediq tribe — here depicted as the almost supernaturally gifted hunters of Taiwan’s mountainous jungles. As a young man he waged a valiant guerrilla war of resistance, armed with only shotguns and machetes and the like, against the Japanese colonizers, who took over the island from 1895 to 1945. But the indignities and humiliations his tribesmen suffer at the hands of the police finally spur them to action. Embarking on what would become known as the Wushe Incident Rebellion, the men form a coalition with other aboriginal tribes to undertake a clearly suicidal mission, standing up for their identity and becoming “Seediq Bale,” or true men, capable of crossing a rainbow bridge to meet their ancestors in the next world. All of which sounds noble — and the filmmaker interjects moments of grace, as when Mouna intones a folk ballad alongside his dead father, and foregrounds the intriguing cultural similarities between the Seediq and Japanese warrior codes of honor. Yet as compelling Warrior‘s concept is — and as heartfelt as it seems — it fails to rise above its treatment of violence, at the unnerving center of everything: the cheesily bug-eyed gore, overwrought sentimentality, and sheer bloody body count come off as closer to classic drive-in exploitation than that of a lost, vital history that needs to be remembered. (2:30) Metreon. (Chun)

Wrath of the Titans Playing fast and loose with Greek myths but not agile enough to kick out a black metal jam during a flaming underworld power-grab, Wrath of Titans is, as expected, a bit of a CGI-crammed mess. Still, the sword-and-sandals franchise has attracted scads of international actorly talent — the cast is enriched this time by Édgar Ramírez (2010’s Carlos), Bill Nighy, and Rosamund Pike — and you do get at least one cool monster and paltry explication (Cerberus, which bolts from earth for no discernible reason except that maybe all hell is breaking loose). Just because action flicks like Cloverfield (2008) have long dispensed with narrative handlebars doesn’t mean that age-old stories like the Greek myths should get completely random with their titanic tale-spinning. Wrath opens on the twilight of the gods: Zeus (Liam Neeson) is practically groveling before Perseus (Sam Worthington) — now determined to go small, raise his son, and work on his fishing skills — and trying to persuade him to step up and help the Olympians hold onto power. Fellow Zeus spawn Ares (Ramírez) is along for the ride, so demigod up, Perseus. In some weird, last-ditch attempt to ream his bro Zeus, the oily, mulleted Hades (Ralph Fiennes) has struck a deal with their entrapped, chaotic, castrating fireball of a dad Cronus to let them keep their immortality, on the condition that Zeus is sapped of his power. Picking up Queen Andromeda (Pike) along the way, Perseus gets the scoop on how to get to Hell from Hephaestus (Nighy playing the demented Vulcan like a ’60s acid casualty, given to chatting with mechanical owl Bubo, a wink to 1981 precursor Clash of the Titans, which set the bar low for the remake). Though there are some distracting action scenes (full of speedy, choppy edits that confuse disorientation for excitement) and a few intriguing monsters (just how did the Minotaur make it to this labyrinth?), there’s no money line like “Release the Kraken!” this time around, and there’s way too much nattering on about fatherly responsibility and forgiveness —making these feel-good divinities sound oddly, mawkishly Christian and softheaded rather than mythically pagan and brattily otherworldly. Wasn’t the appeal of the gods linked to the fact that they always acted more like outta-hand adolescents than holier-than-thou deities? I guess that’s why no one’s praying to them anymore. (1:39) Metreon. (Chun) *

Our Weekly Picks: May 9-15, 2012

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May 8, 2012

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WEDNESDAY 9

Lotus Plaza

Lotus Plaza soaks innocent, introspective lyrics in bright, ambient noise. Its sound is somewhat of an Animal Collective meets Real Estate phenomenon, as repetition, staccato, washed out haze, and subtle, ’60s-inspired surfy guitar riffs predominate. Lotus Plaza — the solo project of Deerhunter’s guitarist Lockett Pundt — released its sophomore LP, Spooky Action at a Distance, early last month. You’ll get lost in this album’s consuming drone and echoing vocals, which focus on escape, living with yourself, and the future. Pundt has cited influences ranging from Stereolab to My Bloody Valentine to Gary Numan, so listen up! (Mia Sullivan)

With Wymond Miles, Mirror Mode

7:30pm, $12

Rickshaw Stop

155 Fell, SF

(415) 861-2011

www.rickshawstop.com

THURSDAY 10

“Plantosaurus Rex: Prehistoric Plants at the Conservatory of Flowers”

If you thought exotic nature sightings in Golden Gate Park were limited to bison, swans, and the occasional coyote, it’s time to put on your Jeff Goldblum sunglasses and stroll over to the Conservatory of Flowers. Not only does “Plantosaurus Rex,” which opens today, host life-sized model dinosaurs — including a baby Stegosaurus chillin’ in the foliage, and a toothy Tyrannosaurus poking its head through the Conservatory roof — it also features an evolutionary journey through prehistoric plant life, some of which might look familiar (if oddly-proportioned): huge ferns, giant seed pods, etc. Good fun for pint-sized budding paleontologists and full-grown botany nerds alike. (Cheryl Eddy)

Through Oct. 21

Tue-Sun, 10am-4pm, free–$7

Conservatory of Flowers

100 John F. Kennedy, Golden Gate Park, SF

www.conservatoryofflowers.org

“Barbary Coast and Beyond”

You hear “Gold Rush” and a stream of shimmering images pan across your mind’s eye; you hear “Barbary Coast” and the raucous calls of drunken sailors and ladies of the night fill your mental ear. But what of the actual music of this period, when Caruso was carousing the City by the Bay and tinny saloon pianos were banging out civic-pride singalongs like “California, Here I Come” and “Hello, Frisco, Hello”? The SF Symphony is hopping into the sepia-toned wayback machine to bring to life the astonishingly fertile local musical milieu of the period from the Gold Rush to the Panama-Pacific Exhibition, full of tunes brought to SF by famous old-time performers like Ole Bull and Luisa Tetrazzini. The journey is narrated by beloved Beach Blanket Babylon emeritus Val Diamond. (Marke B.)

Also Fri/11 and Sat/12. 8pm, $35–$140

Davies Symphony Hall

201 Van Ness, SF

(415) 864-6000

www.sfsymphony.org

Dead Milkmen

With its humorous and unorthodox take on punk rock back when hardcore was the norm, The Dead Milkmen set itself apart in the scene when it first formed in Philadelphia in 1983, gradually earning a following with fan-favorite tunes such as “Bitchin’ Camaro,” “The Thing That Only Eats Hippies,” and what would become its biggest mainstream success, “Punk Rock Girl.” After a 13-year break up and the passing of original bassist Dave Schulthise, the band reunited in 2008, and released The King In Yellow last year, bringing back its joyously clever songs and sound for fans to dance around and sing-along with like the old days. (Sean McCourt)

With Terry Malts

9pm, $23

Slim’s

333 11th St., SF

(415) 255-0333

www.slimspresents.com

FRIDAY 11

“The Last Drive-In Presents: 16mm Movie Night”

Benefiting Lost Weekend’s Cinecave, this event was set up by a couple of former rep house projectionists, screening so-bad-they’re-good (to mock) 16mm movies complete with classic trailers and snack bar reels to recreate the drive-in experience. (Without, I guess, the car and the crappy metal speakers to hang on the window.) The UK sci-fi double for the night includes The Crawling Eye (1958), which has been described as a surprisingly good picture…until the appearance of the remarkably bad feature creature, and the illogically titled, They Came from Beyond Space (1967). (Ryan Prendiville)

7pm, $5–$10 suggested donation Alley Cat Books 3036 24th St., SF (415) 824-1761

Facebook: AlleyCatBooks

Black Moth Super Rainbow

The mysterious TOBACCO flings heavy, analog-laden funk tracks that spark parties and haunt listeners in their dreams. But the progenitor of modern psychedelic-pop brings sunniness (slightly) as the lead of Black Moth Super Rainbow. Compared to TOBACCO’s dark and stormy skies, BMSR is a tehnicolor-saturated spring day. Listeners float in fuzzy synths, retro distortions, and vocoded TOBACCO vocals, while a current of punchy beats carries them along. TOBACCO scrapped a BMSR album slated for release in 2011, but fans should be excited that a new album is in the works. (Kevin Lee)

With Lumerians, Gramatik, Flako, Zackey Force Funk, Mophone, Annalove, DJ Dials, DJ Sodapop

10pm, $20

103 Harriet, SF

(415) 932-0955

www.1015.com

Savoy

This Boulder, Colo.-based “electro dubstep rock” trio remixes hits from the likes of Chromeo, Dire Straights, and the Beastie Boys with synthesizers and a drum kit. The result is a palpable wall of bass-heavy, dance-your-ass-off-worthy electronic sound. DJs Ben Eberdt and Gray Smith and drummer Mike Kelly have been going at it since their undergrad days at the University of Colorado. Savoy’s influences range from French house music to Phish, and the group has made inroads in the festival scene this year. (It played SXSW and is on the bill for Wakarusa.) Expect a dizzying light show, a high-energy dance party, and ecstasy in all of its forms. (Sullivan)

With Redeye, Robot.Mafia, Cutterz

9pm $16

Great American Music Hall

859 O’Farrell, SF

(415) 885-0750

www.slimspresents.com

SATURDAY 12

Cyro Baptista

Cyro Baptista’s collaboration list reads like a very compelling who’s who in the music industry — Herbie Hancock, Yo-Yo Ma, Serge Gainsbourg, Paul Simon, and John Zorn are among the greats who have worked with the Brazilian composer and percussionist. Born and raised in São Paulo, Baptista floats between jazz and world music. His eye-catching Beat the Donkey project was a multicultural percussion and dance show, featuring Baptista banging on some PVC pipe and buckets. New project Banquet of the Spirits, featuring bassist Shani Blumenkrantz and fingerstyle guitarist Tim Sparks, explores some of Zorn’s previous work dedicated to the Jewish Diaspora, with twists of Brazilian and Middle Eastern styles. (Lee)

With Tim Sparks and Shanir Blumenkrantz

8pm, $25

Swedish American Hall

2174 Market, SF

(415) 861-5016

www.sfjazz.org

Eskmo

Local producer Brendan Angelides creates electronica that somehow manages to sound both tightly produced and expansive at the same time. The easy but fair comparison is to Ninja Tune labelmate Amon Tobin, and the two have collaborated under the guise Eskamon on Angelides’ own Ancestor record label. Many electronic listeners will know Angelides through his alias Eskmo and his multi-layered post-hip hop on 2010’s Eskmo EP, but new work under the moniker Welder is just as provocative. On last fall’s Florescence, classical strings and pianos intertwined with Angelides’ intricate beat production, like a symphony embarking on a mellow jazz jam session. (Lee)

With Love & Light, DJ Dials, U9Lift

9pm, $15

Mezzanine

444 Jessie, SF

(415) 625-8880

www.mezzaninesf.com

SUNDAY 13

How Weird Street Faire

How do you know the summer festival season has truly sprung? Follow the breakdancing purple fuzzy dude through the rabbithole of deepest SoMa, choose the third key (probably) and enter a musical and artistic wonderland where the spirit number is 13 — not the unlucky 13, the brilliantly Bizarro 13 signifying 13 writhing blocks of neon freakiness and 13 stages pumping ravey local sounds. This is also the thirteenth How Weird Faire (on May 13!), celebrating 13 moons with the costume theme “Time,” which may or may not have something to do with galactic tones or Mayan glyphs, but definitely with “good times” in general. Jam out to the likes of the Sunset, Forward, Pink Mammoth, and tons of other DJ crews, peruse many Vendors from Beyond the Cosmic Edge, and revel in our delightful homegrown insanity. (Marke B.)

Noon-8pm, $10 donation requested

Howard and Second Street, SF

www.howweird.org

MONDAY 14

Herman Dune

Fans of Jonathan Richman, David Berman, Stephin Merritt, or anyone else who expertly blurs the line between twee earnestness and winking sarcasm will find plenty to love about Herman Dune. Recently boiled down to its core as a two-piece, the Parisian group is touring in support of 2011’s Strange Moosic, its latest batch of quirky anti-folk and bouncy indie-pop. Nearly every song in the band’s now impressively deep catalogue contains at least one endearing or sly lyrical gem courtesy of lead singer David-Ivar Herman Dune’s charming vocal delivery. Check out single “Tell Me Something I Don’t Know” and its Jon Hamm-starring music video to get a sense of the feel-good world the duo creates. (Landon Moblad)

With the Sam Chase, DJ Britt Govea

8pm, $14

Independent

628 Divisadero, SF

(415) 771-1421

www.theindependentsf.com

TUESDAY 15

“Celebrating 35 Years of Star Wars Comic Books: An Evening with Howard Chaykin and Steve Leialoha”

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away… more specifically 1977 New York, representatives from LucasFilm contacted Marvel Comics about creating an adaptation of their upcoming sci-fi flick Star Wars, which of course, went on to be one of the most successful film franchises of all time, but also a beloved and long-running comic title. Artists Howard Chaykin and Steve Leialoha, who worked on those early issues, will be on hand tonight for a 35th anniversary celebration of all things Sith and Jedi in the comic realm, along with a discussion and presentation about their work hosted by comedians Michael Capozzola and Joe Klocek. (McCourt)

7-9pm, $7

Cartoon Art Museum

655 Mission, SF

(415) CAR-TOON

www.cartoonart.org

Ana Tijoux

When the title track from Chilean rapper Ana Tijoux’s 1977 played over a montage of perpetual fuckup Jesse Pinkman riding shotgun with Mike the Cleaner on the latest season of AMC’s Breaking Bad, it was the type of moment that TiVo was made for, or maybe just sent viewers to their phones, trying to figure out who was responsible for that particularly cinematic song. Tijoux — who was born in France during Pinochet’s reign — has an infectiously cool flow and a conscious, no bullshit attitude that comes across in any language. Both political and personal Tijoux now returns with the album La Bala featuring “Shock,” a response to the recent student movements in Chile. (Prendiville)

With Los Rakas, Raw G

8pm, $15

Independent

628 Divisadero, SF

(415) 771-1421

www.theindependentsf.com

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Psychic Dream Astrology: May 9-15, 2012

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May 8, 2012

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May 9-15, 2012

ARIES

March 21-April 19

It’s time to confront your fears head-on. Investigate the things you’ve been putting off instead of brooding over them. You can improve things if you dare to act in new ways. Only an open and direct approach will work this week, so stop lamenting over all the reasons why things suck and make them different, pal.

TAURUS

April 20-May 20

Take care of the things most important to you, Taurus. This may sound too simple, but the truth is that you’ve gotten distracted by the squeakiest wheel instead of your truest needs. Make sure that you are doing what you want instead of proving that you can make your current situation work.

GEMINI

May 21-June 21

You are capable of doing so much, Twin Star, but you risk taking on too much this week. Just because you feel good doesn’t mean you always will. Be patient enough to pace yourself through the glowing promise in your life! Don’t waste all your vibrancy on the start of the game or you’ll be weak in the last stretch.

CANCER

June 22-July 22

Vengefulness will screw with your head this week, even if it’s only in your thoughts. Channel your energy towards productive ends and try not to compare yourself to others. Know the difference between your fears and that which threatens you. There’s enough room for everyone to be successful, Cancer.

LEO

July 23-Aug. 22

When so much threatens to obstruct the flow in your life, don’t fight the current, Leo- build a bridge. Candor and a willingness to look at the big picture should guide you before all else this week. Forcing your will may work, but you won’t like where it ultimately gets you. Put honesty above winning, pal.

VIRGO

Aug. 23-Sept. 22

Do you know how to relax into your day off? Can you enjoy the things that are good for you, not just the things that help you tune out? This week, dear Virgo, work on not working so hard. Get your basics covered but after that is done, spend quality time reclining in the company of your own sweet self.

LIBRA

Sept. 23-Oct. 22

Explore new ways of thinking about things, but do not look for answers, Libra. Your anxieties are in rare form, but very little of value will come from freaking out. Use your stressed out frame of mind as an opportunity to better understand how you exacerbate troubles when you over think them.

SCORPIO

Oct. 23-Nov. 21

It is far better to stay perfectly still then to go backwards, Scorpio. Make room for the new to enter your life by preparing a proper burial for the old. Don’t try to recreate the past no matter what you do, because your future needs your innovation in order to kick your pasts’ ass. Let go of what’s gone already.

SAGITTARIUS

Nov. 22-Dec. 21

You are burning the candle at both ends of the wick, and are likely to get burned. Don’t dig in your heels and resist change, or you may find yourself overwhelmed and terribly confused. Expand your goals to include dealing with the complicated feelings that you are experiencing, or they will deal with you.

CAPRICORN

Dec. 22-Jan. 19

You need to start believing that things can go right for you and acting from that place, ’cause your fears and frustrations will only bring you down. Think of your life as one of those ‘choose your own adventure’ stories. It’s not your situations that define you, Capricorn; it’s all about the choices you make in the face of them.

AQUARIUS

Jan. 20-Feb. 18

Take responsibility for what you want, Aquarius, so you can go about the business of making it happen. This week you are well starred to turn your car around and embark on a new path, or to tighten up the way you are approaching your goals in general. Handle your life with clear intention for best results.

PISCES

Feb. 19-March 20

You need to accept the pain of losing what isn’t working for you, even if you’re hecka used to it. Your habits are being challenged to retract and expand at the same time. Don’t let the comfort of what you know keep you cramped in an unmoving position. Let the upsets of change be the signposts of your success, pal. *

Jessica Lanyadoo has been a Psychic Dreamer for 17 years. Check out her website at www.lovelanyadoo.com or contact her for an astrology or intuitive reading at (415) 336-8354 or dreamyastrology@gmail.com

Love on wheels

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May 8, 2012

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In honor of our annual bike issue, we wanted to highlight a few of the free-wheeling people that polished our spokes this year. Keep on pumpin’!

KAREN WEINER AND BRETT THURBER, NEW WHEEL

On a family-oriented strip of Cortland Avenue perched halfway up the precipitous heights of Bernal Hill, husband-wife team Karen Weiner and Brett Thurber have invested their all in an enterprise some would deem experimental: the first electric bike shop in San Francisco.

Photo by Mirissa Neff

“San Francisco is really the perfect place for these bikes,” said Thurber when we went on a test ride with him and Weiner around the city. Iron-thighed fixie fans notwithstanding, he’s right — there are some neighborhoods in this city where the average bear will only be able to bring a bike if he or she pushes it up the final blocks of incline. For older bikers, the e-bikes (as they are lovingly dubbed by their adherents) make it possible to zip around town, car and fancy-free. Plus, they are disturbingly fun — when else can you cruise up Twin Peaks and still be breathing easy when you reach that panoramic view?

Other stores around town do sell certain models of e-bikes, but Thurber and Weiner’s new New Wheel is the first place to specialize in them. It stocks European and Canadian-made models in addition to retrofitting kits so that normie bikes can be tricked out with motors capable of doubling one’s pedaling power.

Thurber says business has been steadily growing, and that he’s noticed that the electric bike is not a purchase taken lightly by consumers — often times a customer will come by the store six or seven times before taking that heady ride into pedal power (perhaps indicative of the bikes’ spendy pricetags.)

“People are really making this mindful shift instead of listening to us be like ‘just do it,'” says the man who hopes to be SF’s e-bike proselytizer. (Caitlin Donohue)

New Wheel, 420 Cortland, SF. (415) 524-7362, www.newwheel.net

PAUL JORDAN’S BIKE CAVALRY

Twenty years ago, Critical Mass began demonstrating the power and potential of mass bike rides to make a political statement by seizing space from cars and confounding the authorities. Almost 10 years ago, anti-war cyclists in San Francisco borrowed Critical Mass tactics to interfere with business as usual on daily Bikes Not Bombs rides that also proved effective and hard to police. Today, as the tides of protest again rise with the Occupy Wall Street and related movements, Paul Jordan and other founders of the new collective SF Bike Cavalry ( sfbikecavalry.org) are reviving and expanding the concept.

Photo by Tim Daw

“It’s all kinda new, definitely more of a buzzword at this point,” Jordan, a 38-year-old painting contractor, said when we caught up with him and his cycling comrades during last week’s May Day marches. “But the idea is to use bicycles for activism.”

As they demonstrated on May Day, even a dozen or so cyclists can send loud messages to passersby or nimbly create opportunities for marchers to safely seize the streets, all while riding more-or-less legally. And they can use whimsy — silly costumes, funny signs, big smiles, blowing bubbles — to defuse any tensions.

“It’s hard to be mad when you’re stuck in traffic if you see bubbles,” Jordan said as he reloaded the bubble machine on the back of his bike. “I see bubbles as a very good activist tool.”

The Cavalry is a fairly new venture, which Jordan first displayed for big Jan. 20 protests, but he sees it as something with enormous potential: “We want to figure out how to grow this bigger.” (Steven T. Jones)

SAM KROYER AND RENITA TAYLOR, ROLL SF

Sometimes it seems like the Mission has as many bike shops as taquerias, but the neighborhoods east of Potrero lacks the same double-wheelin’ bounty. Sam Kroyer and Renita Taylor met in their Bernal Heights neighborhood, where Kroyer used to run a repair shop out of his garage. Taylor is an avid biker, and the two decided to meld their respective strengths — Kroyer’s mechanical prowess and Taylor’s business know-how — and create a service-oriented shop near Potrero Hill for every type of rider.

Photo by Mirissa Neff

“We’re really trying to make it for everybody, from entry-level commuter bikers to bikers with really crazy exotic $20,000+ bikes,” Kroyer says. Kroyer has 25 year of experience as a bike mechanic, and Taylor is a sharp businesswoman who spent several years working in the entertainment industry.

Roll SF seems like an outpost in an area not known, for now, as a cycling nexus, but its atmosphere is friendly and accessible. A long wooden table runs through the center of the shop, welcoming guests to sit down and stay awhile — to use the shop’s free wi-fi while they wait, watch and ask questions, or eat dinner. Kroyer provides you with his utmost attention and quickly diagnoses your bike. If it’s a fast fix, he’ll handle it promptly with the grace cultivated by years spent engaging with a multifaceted machine. “We’re trying to make sure you come away with a great experience — that you feel like you’ve really gotten something taken care of properly,” Kroyer says. (Mia Sullivan)

275 Rhode Island, SF. (415) 701-ROLL, www.rollsanfrancisco.com

SONS OF SCIENCE

Are you on a motherfucking bike? Tell me you’re reading this on a motherfucking bike, doing the Tour de Fuck You. Sing with me, “No greenhouse gas! A tiny carbon footprint up your ass!” Then launch into the wickedest bike horn solo ever.

You know what I’m talking about. “Motherfucking Bike” by Sons of Science (sonsofscience.bandcamp.com), the profane viral hymn to SF peddlin’ that’s closing in on a million YouTube views and has been Tweeted liberally by the likes of Russell Crowe and Juliette Lewis. Sure it plays on every fixie hipster stereotype you can image — it’s the “Shit San Franciscans Say” for mutton-chopped, skinny-pantsed, non-fat latte-quaffing riders — but it’s pretty damn funny. (And catchy. It is maniacally catchy. So be warned.)

Sons of Science are a freewheeling trio: Ward Evans and John Benson, who direct for Sausage Films (www.sausagefilms.com), and Hector Perez, a.k.a. Horn Solo. “We’ve known each other for years and just recently decided to collaborate for fun, and it clicked. It was a great excuse to do a video. For this track we were also very lucky to feature Tim Brooks, formerly of the Young Offenders, who plays the ‘Angry Commuter’. He brought a pantsload of energy and genuine cyclist cred,” Evan told me. Also featured: the guys from that delicious new MASH shop (www.mashsf.com) near Duboce Park.

When asked about his own motherfucking bike heroes, Evans replied, “A guy named Joff Summerfield rode a penny farthing around the globe. He’d be right up there.” (Marke B.)

20 percent by 2020

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May 8, 2012

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steve@sfbg.com

There’s no doubt that San Francisco is one of the best cities in the United States for bicyclists, a place where near universal support in City Hall has translated into regular cycling infrastructure improvements and pro-cyclist legislation, as a slew of activists and politicians will attest to on May 10 after dismounting from their Bike to Work Day morning rides.

But even the most bike-friendly U.S. cities — including Portland, Ore., Davis, Chicago, and New York City — are still on training wheels compared to our European counterparts, such as Amsterdam and Copenhagen, where around 30 percent of all vehicle trips are by bike. By comparison, even the best U.S. cities are still in the low single digits. [Correction: Davis, which stands alone among U.S. cities, is actually at about 15 percent bike mode share]

Board President David Chiu and other city officials proposed to aggressively address that gap two years ago after returning from a fact-finding trip to Europe that also included Ed Reiskin, executive director of the San Francisco Municipal Transportation Agency (SFMTA), the agency charged with implementing city policies that favor transit riders, cyclists, and pedestrians over motorists.

Chiu sponsored legislation setting the goal of having 20 percent of all vehicle trips in San Francisco be by bike by the year 2020 and calling for the SFMTA to do a study on how to meet that goal. It was overwhelmingly approved by the Board of Supervisors and signed by Mayor Ed Lee, who has regularly cited it and proclaimed his support for what it now official city policy.

But the city will fail to meet that goal, probably by a significant amount, unless there is a radical change on our roadways.

The latest SFMTA traffic survey, released in February, showed that bikes represent about 3.5 percent of vehicle trips, a 71 percent increase in five years. While the San Francisco Bicycle Coalition (SFBC) lauded that gain as “impressive,” it would mean a 571 percent increase in the next seven years to meet the 2020 goal.

The SFMTA study on how to meet the goal is long overdue, with sources telling us its potentially controversial conclusions have it mired by internal concerns and divisions. SFMTA spokesperson Paul Rose told us in March that it was coming out in April, and now he won’t say when to expect it and he won’t even make its authors available to answer our questions.

“We want to make sure everything is addressed before the plan is finalized,” he told us, acknowledging that it’s been a difficult process. “The challenge of reaching the goal is ambitious.”

Chiu acknowledges that the goal he set probably won’t be met and expressed frustration with the SFMTA. “I’m disappointed that two years after we set that goal, there is still no plan,” he told us, adding that to make major gains “will take leadership at the top” and a greater funding commitment to this cost-effective transportation option: “We’re spending budget dust on something that we say is a priority for the city.”

Reiskin also seemed to acknowledge the difficulty in meeting the goal when we asked him about it and he told us, “To get to 20 percent would be a quantum leap, no question, but the good news is there’s strong momentum in the right direction.”

Yet on Bike to Work Day, it’s worth exploring why we’re failing to meet our goal and how we might achieve it. What would have to happen, and what would it look like, to have 20 percent of traffic be people on bikes?

CLOSING THE GAP

SFBC Executive Director Leah Shahum said that all the group’s studies show safety concerns are by far the biggest barrier to getting more people on bikes. Most people are simply scared to share space with automobiles, so SFBC’s top priority has been creating more bikes lanes, particularly lanes that are physically separated from traffic, known as cycletracks, like those on a portion of Market Street.

“We’ve seen it time and again, when you build, they will come,” Shahum said. “People want to feel safe. They want dedicated space on the roadways.”

SFBC’s Connecting the City proposal calls for the creation of four crosstown colored cycletracks totaling 100 miles. Other bike activists emphasize the importance of projects that close key gaps in the current bike network, such as the dangerous section along Oak and Fell streets that separates the Panhandle from the Wiggle, scary spots that deter people from cycling.

That safety concern — and the possibilities for making cycling a more attractive option to more people — extends to neighborhood streets that don’t have bike lanes, where Shahum said measures to slow down automobile traffic and increase motorist awareness of cyclists would help. “What we’re talking about is a calmer, safer, greener, neighborhood-focused street,” she said.

Bike advocates say the goal is to make cycling a safe and attractive option for those 8 to 80 years old, a goal that will require extensive new bike infrastructure — not just new bike lanes, but also more dedicated bike parking — as well as education programs for all road users.

“What I hope is on the drawing board is infrastructure that will make more people feel safe riding, particularly women,” SFMTA board member Cheryl Brinkman, a regular cyclist, told us.

Shahum also praised the Bay Area Rapid Transit District’s new Bike Plan, which seeks to double the percentage of passengers who bike to stations (from 4 percent now up to 8 percent in 10 years), saying Muni should also take steps to better accommodate cyclists. And she praised the city’s bike-sharing program that will debut in August, making 1,000 bikes available to visitors.

But to realize the really big gains San Francisco would need to hit 20 percent by 2020 would take more than just steadily increasing the mileage of bike lanes, says Jason Henderson, a San Francisco State University geography professor who is writing a book on transportation politics. It would take a systemic, fundamental shift, one either deliberately chosen or forced on the city by dire circumstances.

“If gasoline goes to $10 per gallon, sure, we’ll get to 20 percent just because of austerity,” Henderson said. But unless energy prices experience that kind of sudden shock, which would idle cars and overwhelm public transit, thus forcing people onto bikes, getting to 20 percent would take smart planning and political will. In fact, it will require the city to stop catering to drivers and accommodating cars.

Henderson noted that bicycle mode share is as high as 10 percent in some eastern neighborhoods, such as the Mission District, Lower Haight, and in some neighborhoods near Civic Center. “In this part of the city, Muni is crowded and young people get tired of Muni being such a slow option,” Henderson said. “If you live within a certain radius of downtown, it’s easier to bike.”

To build on that, he said the city needs to limit the number of parking spaces built in residential projects in the city core even more than it does now, as well as adding substantially more affordable units. “The most bikeable parts of the city have massive rent increases,” he said. “We have to make sure affordable housing is wrapped around downtown.”

Henderson said city leaders need to show more courage in converting car lanes and street parking spaces into bike lanes, creating bike corridors that parallel those focused on cars or transit, and exempting most bike projects from the detailed environment review that slow their implementation. At the same time, he said the city needs to drastically expand Muni’s capacity to give people more options and compensate for bike improvements that may make driving slower.

“If you want 20 percent bike mode share, you need 30 percent on transit,” he said, noting that public transit ridership in San Francisco is now about 17 percent, far less than in the great bike cities of Amsterdam and Copenhagen, which made a commitment to reducing reliance on the automobile starting in the 1970s. “It’s like a puzzle.”

BARRIERS AND BACKLASH

The kind of active urban planning that Henderson advocates would be anathema to many San Franciscans, particularly people like Rob Anderson, the blogger and activist who sued San Francisco over the lack of studies supporting its Bike Plan and created a four-year court injunction against bike projects that just ended two years ago.

“The only way you could get to 20 percent is creating gridlock in San Francisco. I don’t think it’s going to happen. City Hall is adopting a slogan as transportation policy,” he told us. “It’s a statement of pro-bike, anti-car principle, but it’s not a realistic transportation policy.”

Anderson considers bicycles to be dangerous toys that will never be used by more than a small minority of city residents, believing the majority will always rely on automobiles and there will be a huge political backlash if the city continues to take space from cars for bikes or open space.

Many city officials and cycling advocates say making big gains means convincing people like Anderson that bicycles are not just a viable transportation option, but an important one to facilitate given global warming, oil wars, public health issues, and traffic congestion that will only worsen as the population increases.

“We need to help all San Franciscans see cycling as a legitimate transportation option,” Chiu said. Or as Shahum put it, “It’s prioritizing space for biking, walking, and transit over driving.”

Shahum said the city’s political leaders seem to get it, but she doesn’t feel the same sense of urgency from the city’s planners.

“I feel like the bureaucracy needs to get on board. We have strong political support and the public support is growing,” Shahum said. “We’ve set ambitious, worthwhile, and I think achievable goals, yet nobody is holding the city accountable….It can’t just be a political platitude, it needs to be an actual plan with measureables and people held accountable.”

She cited studies showing that the most bike-friendly cities in the U.S. are spending between $8 million and $40 million a year on bike infrastructure and education programs, “but San Francisco is spending more like $2-3 million, which is peanuts…San Francisco has got to start putting its money where its mouth is to improve biking numbers.”

It’s cheap and easy to stripe new bike lanes. “It’s one of the best investments we can make in terms of mode share,” Reiskin said. That makes cycling advocates question the city’s true commitment to goals like the 2020 policy. “We will need more investment,” Chiu said, “but compared to other modes of transportation, it is far cheaper per mile.”

POLITICAL WILL

So why then has San Francisco slipped back into a slow pace for doing bike projects following a year of rapid improvements after the bike injunction was lifted? And why does the city set arbitrary goals that it doesn’t know how to meet? The answer seems to lie at the intersection of the political and the practical.

“We need a more detailed and comprehensive strategy that says this is where we need to be in five years and this is how we get there,” Sup. David Campos, who chairs the San Francisco Transportation Authority, told us. “I feel like the commitment is there, but it’s a question of what resources you have to devote to that goal.”

But it’s also a question of how those resources are being used, and whether political leaders are grabbing at low-hanging fruit rather than making the tough choices to complete the city’s bike network and weather criticisms like those offered by Anderson.

It often seems as if SFMTA is still prioritizing political projects or experimenting in ways that waste time and money. For example, the most visible improvement to the bike network in the last year, and the one most often cited by Mayor Lee, is the new cycletracks on JFK Drive in Golden Gate Park. But they do little to make cycling more attractive and they may even exacerbate tensions between cyclists and drivers.

It was one of two major bike projects that Mayor Lee announced on Bike to Work Day last year, and it seemed to have more to do with politicians announcing more bike lane mileage that with actually improving the bike network.

The other project Lee announced, just a few blocks of bike lanes on Fell and Oak streets, really was a significant bike safety advance that SFBC has been seeking for several years. But Lee failed to live up to his pledge to install them by the end of 2011 after neighbors complained about the lost parking spots, and the project was pushed back to next year at the earliest.

“We’re talking about three blocks. It’s relatively small in scope but huge in impacts,” Shahum said of the project. “If the pace of change on these three blocks is replicated through the city, it’ll take hundreds of years to meet the [20 percent] goal.” But Lee Press Secretary Christine Falvey said: “The mayor is very much committed to the aggressive goals set to get to 20 percent by 2020 and the city is moving in the right direction. He has also always supported the Oak Fell project and we’re seeing progress.” Yes, but not the kind of progress the city would need to make to meet its own goal. “Chicago is really the leader right now,” Shahum said, noting Chicago Mayor Rahm Emanuel’s commitment to building 25 miles a year of new cycletracks and the city’s advocacy for getting more federal transportation money devoted to urban cycling improvements. “Where does San Francisco fit in this? Do we want to be at that level or not?”

A seat in Congress for the 99 percent

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May 2, 2012

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For the first time in two decades, voters north of the Golden Gate will choose a new member of Congress. Given the overwhelming party registration, a Democrat will fill the open seat. But what kind of Democrat?

We need a truly independent, progressive Democrat — determined to support the party leadership when it upholds our principles, and just as willing to challenge when it doesn’t.

We can’t defeat a heartless Republican agenda by being spineless. Rather than letting the reactionary GOP define “national security” or “fiscal responsibility,” we’ve got to stand tall for our core beliefs.

That’s why I’m running for Congress.

The retirement of Lynn Woolsey, a stalwart champion for peace and social justice, means that an open seat is up for grabs — and corporate interests are eager to grab it.

I’m convinced that the only way to beat corporate AstroTurf is genuine grassroots. And that’s the ongoing commitment of the Solomon for Congress campaign in this new North Coast district, which stretches from Marin County to the Oregon border.

Our campaign has become the grassroots leader in the race. While refusing to accept a penny from corporate PACs or lobbyists, we’ve relied on thousands of individuals to build our campaign from the ground up.

That’s why more than 1,000 volunteers are engaged in our campaign, why more than 5,100 individuals have contributed — and why the latest poll shows me on track to advance to the general election under California’s new top-two primary system.

This is a deep-blue, very progressive district. We can — and must — do much better than just sending a check-the-box Democrat to Washington.

Like so many in our district, I’m outraged at perpetual war and misplaced federal priorities that bail out Wall Street banks while pushing millions of homeowners into foreclosure.

I insist that we must fully uphold habeas corpus and other precious civil liberties, not throw them under the bus.

Nuclear power plants, including Diablo Canyon and San Onofre, must be closed. We can’t afford a wait-and-see approach. Nuclear energy isn’t safe or green; it’s not sustainable, and its radioactive waste is not an acceptable legacy for future generations.

We need a serious commitment to conservation and renewable energy sources like wind and solar.

And we must reject the austerity program that has wrecked budgets and ripped vast holes in safety nets from Sacramento to Washington.

We need a Green New Deal that combines job-creating public investment with a deep commitment to sustainability — while defending the ecosystem instead of big corporations.

North of San Francisco, with an open congressional seat at stake, wealthy interests have put big money on my main opponents.

While I’m outpolling her, multimillionaire Stacey Lawson is dumping huge quantities of money into TV and radio commercials touting her “middle class” values — while declining to mention her enormous wealth, much less the fact that she couldn’t be bothered to vote in two-thirds of a dozen elections.

The elections when Lawson failed to vote included the historic November 2008 contest that decided on the presidency and the anti-gay-marriage Prop 8 as well as a state measure seeking to undermine young women’s right to choose — requiring parental consent, waiting periods and penalties for doctors.

Genuine social change requires fighting for our ideals. Please help me occupy a seat in Congress for the 99 percent. Let’s work together to make it happen. *

Norman Solomon is a candidate for Congress in the new North Coast district that stretches from the Golden Gate Bridge to the Oregon border. A longtime activist, educator and policy advocate, he’s the author of a dozen books including “War Made Easy: How Presidents and Pundits Keep Spinning Us to Death.” For more information: www.SolomonForCongress.com.

Psychic Dream Astrology May 2-8, 2012

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May 2, 2012

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May 2-8, 2012

ARIES

March 21-April 19

Before you get going, please check the map and make sure you have enough food, water, and supplies for your journey. If you take the time to plot your course you will be quicker and more impactful, Aries. You run the risk of reacting to your life instead of creating it! Don’t move too fast this week.

TAURUS

April 20-May 20

It’s up to you to enact the changes you need to see in your life, Taurus. If you’re willing to put out the effort you can pave the road to success. The key is to be able to see the big picture clearly enough that you can understand what compromises will further your goals and which ones will hinder them.

GEMINI

May 21-June 21

Your life is still in a state of flux, Gemini. There is no certain path that you’ll stay on without continued effort. Look to the future and make sure your actions in the present are likely to get you there. Enlist the support of your loved ones you so that if the going gets rough you don’t have to go it alone.

CANCER

June 22-July 22

Kindness will help you in all matters this week, Moonchild. You need to watch out for prideful or vengeful impulses, because following them will create more anxiety and drama than you want to deal with. If you can’t act in integrity, don’t do anything at all; buy time until you’re calm and clearheaded.

LEO

July 23-Aug. 22

You have so much energy, and when it gets thwarted or blocked that awesomeness can get backlogged and work against you, instead of for you. Stay present in the face of your frustrations this week. Connect with the unpleasant feelings that come up before you check out, Leo.

VIRGO

Aug. 23-Sept. 22

Sometimes you’ve got to take on some crap for the greater good, Virgo. You may need to let someone or something go in order to have the kind of balance in your relationships that keeps things happy and healthy. Be willing to undergo the discomforts of change as you invest in what matters most.

LIBRA

Sept. 23-Oct. 22

Things are not as you’d prefer them to be, but don’t wallow in the dumps. Turn the tide! Let your troubles motivate you to improve your situation. Feel your feelings, even if they suck, so that you can move beyond them in a way that works. Ease on down the road, ’cause avoidance will keep you stuck.

SCORPIO

Oct. 23-Nov. 21

You are meant to be moving through some steep emotional terrain and the best thing you can do is to participate. Don’t hole up and hide from people, Scorpio. Reach out to the folks you trust for not only support, but much needed perspective. If you look from a different vantage point, you’ll have a new view.

SAGITTARIUS

Nov. 22-Dec. 21

If you’re not a team player then the team will feel like you’re rallying against them and that will bite you in the ass later. Stand out on your own and be as powerful and fierce as you truly are without stepping on others toes. Don’t alienate people, even if you want to go it alone; find a way to share, Sagittarius.

CAPRICORN

Dec. 22-Jan. 19

You are being tested by the Universe to embody strength with heart or to be vulnerable and responsible at the same time, friend. Move through your relationships with great care, as your old habits are kicking around, wanting to you to revert back to some old crap. Be intentional with those you care about.

AQUARIUS

Jan. 20-Feb. 18

When all else fails, gravitate towards the people and things that make you happy, Aquarius. The key is to not get momentary pleasure confused with lasting happiness. You may not be able to tell them apart if you go off on impulse, so take some time to yourself to make well considered choices this week.

PISCES

Feb. 19-March 20

You need to foster your self-esteem, because it’s getting so you don’t know what impulses to trust. You need a timeout to collect yourself or you may end up acting in ways that feed your anxieties instead of help them. Deal only with the things you can cope with and that you understand this week. *

Jessica Lanyadoo has been a Psychic Dreamer for 17 years. Check out her website at www.lovelanyadoo.com or contact her for an astrology or intuitive reading at (415) 336-8354 or dreamyastrology@gmail.com

Film Listings

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May 2, 2012

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Film listings are edited by Cheryl Eddy. Reviewers are Kimberly Chun, Max Goldberg, Dennis Harvey, Lynn Rapoport, and Matt Sussman. For rep house showtimes, see Rep Clock. For complete film listings, see www.sfbg.com.

SAN FRANCISCO INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL

The 55th San Francisco International Film Festival runs through Thu/3; most shows $13. Venues: Castro Theatre, 429 Castro, SF; Pacific Film Archive, 2575 Bancroft, Berk.; SF Film Society Cinema, 1746 Post, SF; and Sundance Kabuki Cinema, 1881 Post, SF. For additional info, visit www.sffs.org.

OPENING

The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel John Madden (1998’s Shakespeare in Love) directs this comedy about British retirees (the all-star cast includes Maggie Smith, Bill Nighy, Judi Dench, and Tom Wilkinson) who journey to a dilapidated yet charming hotel in India. (1:42)

The Day He Arrives Korean auteur (Woman Is the Future of Man, 2004) Hong Sang-soo’s latest exercise in self-consciousness, this black-and-white, fable-like study of a frustrated filmmaker (Yu Jun-sang), returning home to Seoul to visit an old friend after spending time in the countryside teaching, adds up to a kind of formal palimpsest. Surrounded by sycophants, vindictive former leading men, and women who seem to serve a purely semiotic purpose, he participates in an endless loop of drink, smoke, and conversation in a series of dreamlike scenes that play on the theme of coincidence and endless variation. Hong’s layering of alternate scenarios at times feels like a bit of a gimmick, but the way he infuses specific urban spaces with forlorn significance in mostly static shots is affecting — even if the film’s ultimate narrative slightness has the cut-and-paste haphazardness of fridge poetry magnets. (1:19) SF Film Society Cinema. (Michelle Devereaux)

The Fairy Custom-made for those who want more in the vein of 2011’s The Artist — without actually reaching back to the silent era to find it — this feature is the third starring, written and, directed by the Belgian trio of Dominique Abel, Fiona Gordon, and Bruno Romy (2008’s Rumba, 2005’s The Iceberg). It’s a “talkie,” but dialogue here is little more than an occasional inconvenient necessity. Rom (Abel) is a hotel clerk whose routine is interrupted by barefoot Fiona (Gordon). She books a room, but only as an afterthought, having already announced that she is a you-know-what and will grant him three wishes. Expecting nothing, he makes a couple requests, but leaves the third for later. Their evolving romance soon involves police chases, an American tourist (Philippe Martz), his dog, more chases, three African illegals en route to England (Vladimir Zongo, Destine M’Bikula Mayemba, Willson Goma), a women’s soccer team, pregnancy, interpretive dance, prison, and still more chasing. The creators are most clearly influenced by Buster Keaton and Jacques Tati; before you go mad with anticipatory joy, however, know that The Fairy‘s nostalgic slapstick pantomime alternates between the inspired and the too-precious. For every moment that honors their predecessors — the long, clever opening (in which the eating of a sandwich is perpetually delayed) and a rooftop jazz-dance duet — there are times when the film is just cute, or the cuteness feels a little forced. Still, those in the mood for whimsy may find themselves enchanted, and only serious cynics will find this less than an amusing novelty. (1:34) Lumiere, Shattuck. (Harvey)

*Gerhard Richter Painting O to be a eye in the studio, simply taking in a master’s process. Anyone who’s wondered how artist Gerhard Richter makes his monumental paintings — or even just idly pondered art making in general — gets that rare chance with this fascinating, elegant portrait of a man and his method. After capturing Richter for the first time in 15 years in her 2007 short on his stained glass window at the Cologne Cathedral, filmmaker Corinna Belz was entrusted with pointing a camera at the artist as he worked a new series of abstractions and prepared for a major retrospective. Through unusual archival footage, brief discussions of his past, and glimpses of everyone from Richter’s wife to his US dealer Marian Goodman, we end up with a privileged window in the German maker’s world and utterly riveting footage of Richter in the studio — applying color to canvas; taking a squeegee to the blobs and splotches; scraping, manipulating, and morphing the hues with a mesmerizing combination of improvisation and consideration; and then stepping back to study the results, occasionally out loud. Even more than a glance into a workspace, it’s a light into the mind of the man who has recharged painting and its myriad approaches, techniques, and ideas with new relevance. (1:37) Roxie. (Chun)

*Headhunters Despite being the most sought-after corporate headhunter in Oslo, Roger (Aksel Hennie) still doesn’t make enough money to placate his gorgeous wife; his raging Napoleon complex certainly doesn’t help matters. Crime is, as always, the only solution, so Roger’s been supplementing his income by stealthily relieving his rich, status-conscious clients of their most expensive artworks (with help from his slightly unhinged partner, who works for a home-security company). When Roger meets the dashing Clas Greve (Nikolaj Coster-Waldau of Game of Thrones) — a Danish exec with a sinister, mysterious military past, now looking to take over a top job in Norway — he’s more interested in a near-priceless painting rumored to be stashed in Greve’s apartment. The heist is on, but faster than you can say “MacGuffin,” all hell breaks loose (in startlingly gory fashion), and the very charming Roger is using his considerable wits to stay alive. Based on a best-selling “Scandi-noir” novel, Headhunters is just as clever as it is suspenseful. See this version before Hollywood swoops in for the inevitable (rumored) remake. (1:40) Clay, Piedmont, Shattuck. (Eddy)

A Little Bit of Heaven Kate Hudson goes without make-up (but keeps her flowing curls) to play Marley, a New Orleans advertising exec whose social life of drunken good times and booty calls is rudely interrupted by a colon cancer diagnosis. Her movie-perfect friends (Lucy Punch as the artsy one; Rosemarie DeWitt as the pregnant one; Romany Malco as the gay one) and worried parents (Kathy Bates, Treat Williams) gather ’round as Marley undergoes various treatments and works on her personality flaws. Once Gael García Bernal shows up to play her doctor (and yes, that’s some icky boundary-crossing, but come on — it’s GGB!), a romance conveniently enters the mix as well. This is the kind of Hollywood-disease flick where God appears in the wisecracking, champagne-sipping guise of Whoopi Goldberg — and the talented Peter Dinklage (also of Game of Thrones) appears in one scene as an escort whose sole purpose is reveal his nickname, thereby giving the movie its title. (1:46) (Eddy)

*Marvel’s The Avengers The conflict — a mystical blue cube containing earth-shattering (literally) powers is stolen, with evil intent — isn’t the reason to see this long-hyped culmination of numerous prequels spotlighting its heroic characters. Nay, the joy here is the whole “getting’ the band back together!” vibe; director and co-writer Joss Whedon knows you’re just dying to see Captain America (Chris Evans) bicker with Iron Man (a scene-stealing Robert Downey Jr.); Thor (Chris Hemsworth) clash with bad-boy brother Loki (Tom Hiddleston); and the Hulk (Mark Ruffalo) get angry as often as possible. (Also part of the crew, but kinda mostly just there to look good in their tight outfits: Jeremy Renner’s Hawkeye and Scarlett Johansson’s Black Widow.) Then, of course, there’s Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson) running the whole Marvel-ous show, with one good eye and almost as many wry quips as Downey’s Tony Stark. Basically, The Avengers gives you everything you want (characters delivering trademark lines and traits), everything you expect (shit blowing up, humanity being saved, etc.), and even makes room for a few surprises. It doesn’t transcend the comic-book genre (like 2008’s The Dark Knight did), but honestly, it ain’t trying to. The Avengers wants only to entertain, and entertain it does. (2:23) Balboa, Marina, Presidio. (Eddy)

*Sound of My Voice Gripped with the need to do something important before they shrivel up and turn 30, Peter (Christopher Denham) and Lorna (Nicole Vicius) pretend to join a mysterious cult with the aim of making a documentary exposé. Their target: an alluring woman named Maggie (co-writer Brit Marling) — all golden hair and new-age wisdom — who lives in a basement and claims to be from the future. What Maggie is preparing her followers for is never quite explained, with their secret handshakes and all-white attire, but director and co-writer Zal Batmanglij builds up plenty of subtle dread: there’s a visit to a shooting range (shades of last year’s Martha Marcy May Marlene), Maggie’s whispery references to an impending civil war, and Peter’s diminishing ability to resist his faux-guru’s prove-your-faith demands. Just when you think you have Maggie figured out (as when she’s put on the spot to sing a song “from the future”), Batmanglij and Marling add another layer of ambiguity. An intriguing presence, Marling also wrote herself a juicy role in 2011’s Another Earth; it’ll be interesting to see if she can hold her own in a movie that doesn’t paint her character as the center of the universe. (1:25) Embarcadero. (Eddy)

ONGOING

The Five-Year Engagement In 2008’s Forgetting Sarah Marshall, viewers were treated to the startling, tragicomic sight of Jason Segel’s naked front side as his character got brutally dumped by the titular perky, put-together heartbreaker. In The Five-Year Engagement, which he reunited with director Nicholas Stoller to co-write, Segel once again sacrifices dignity and the right to privacy, this time in exchange for fake orgasms (his own), ghastly hand-knit sweaters, egregious facial-hair arrangements, and various other exhaustively humiliating psychological lows — all part of an earnest, undying quest to make people giggle uncomfortably. Segel plays Tom, a talented chef with a promising career ahead of him in San Francisco’s culinary scene (naturally, food carts get a cameo in the film). On the one-year anniversary of meeting his girlfriend, Violet (Emily Blunt), a psychology postgrad, he asks her to marry him in a meticulously planned, gloriously botched proposal scene coengineered by Tom’s oafish friend Alex (Chris Pratt), little realizing that this romantic gesture will soon lead to successive frozen winters in the Midwest (Violet gets offered a job at the University of Michigan), loss of professional stature, cabin fever, mead making, bow-hunting accidents, the titular nuptial postponement, and other, more gruesome events. The humor at times descends to some banally low depths as Segel and Stoller explore the terrain of the awkward, the poorly socialized, and the playfully grotesque. But Segel and Blunt present a believable, likable relationship between two warm, funny, flawed people, and, however disgusted, no one should walk out before a scene in which Violet and her sister (Alison Brie) channel Elmo and Cookie Monster to elaborate on the themes of romantic idealism and marital discontent. (2:04) Marina, 1000 Van Ness, SF Center. (Rapoport)

The Raven How did Edgar Allan Poe, dipsomaniac, lover of 13-year-old child brides, and teller of tales designed to make the flesh creep and crawl, wind up, at age 40, nearly dying in the gutter and spending his last days in a Baltimore hospital, muttering incoherent imprecations about a mysterious fellow named Reynolds? In The Raven, director James McTeigue (2006’s V for Vendetta) makes the case for a crafty, sociopathic serial killer having played a role in the famous yet impoverished writer’s sad, derelict demise. Recently returned to the dark, thickly fog-machined streets of Baltimore, Poe, vehemently embodied by John Cusack, is chagrined to learn from one Detective Fields (Luke Evans) that someone has begun using his macabre stories (“The Pit and the Pendulum” to particularly gory effect) to enact a series of murders. When the killer successfully gains Poe’s full attention by seizing his ladylove, Emily Hamilton (Alice Eve), the pileup of bodies inspires a few last outbursts of genius. The trail of literary clues feels a bit forced, and Cusack’s Poe possesses an admirable quantity of energy, passion, and general zest for life for one so roundly indicted — by everyone from his editor to his barkeep to his sweetheart’s roundly repellent father (Brendan Gleeson) — as a useless, used-up slave to opiates and alcohol. But the script is smart enough and the action absorbing enough to keep us engaged as Poe attempts to rescue Emily and the film attempts to rescue Poe’s reputation through imagined heroics of both the pen and the sword. (1:50) California, 1000 Van Ness, Presidio, SF Center. (Rapoport)

Soul to solo

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks

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April 27, 2012

1

DANCE David Zambrano: never heard of him? That just means you’re not a member of the international dance community, where he is a superstar. Accolades, particularly about his teaching, flood the internet; phrases like “genius,” “not to be missed,” and “has changed my life” abound. The only complaint I could find was from a disgruntled student who said “the class was so full that I could barely see the teacher.”

So who is this Venezuelan-born, Amsterdam-based, globe-trotting dancer-choreographer-teacher who engenders such enthusiasm and yet is so little-known in this country? Starting this weekend, Zambrano (re)introduces himself with the West Coast premiere of Soul Project, a series of solos, each one based on an American blues song. They will be performed — in a sequence to be determined just before each show — to an audience seeking out the dancers.

Zambrano is best known for re-thinking improvisation as a tool to freshly connect dancers to the physics of their bodies — and its relationship to the environment. In the process, he developed a technique he calls “flying low,” which examines dance’s unavoidable partner, the floor, in order to find efficient ways for giving into and rebounding from the ground. Fundamental questions Zambrano asks revolve around essential concepts: how do two dancing bodies change the space on a stage? What is the relationship between intimacy and community? How can movement be best used as a means of transmitting information?

If these topics sound esoteric and theoretical to most of us, to dancers they embody the core of what they do. One admirer is San Francisco dancer-choreographer Keith Hennessy, himself no slouch in the thinking-about-the-fundamentals-of-performance department. He first took a workshop with Zambrano at Dancers’ Group in the mid-1990s and has watched his work ever since.

“I’m a huge fan of his teaching,” says Hennessy. “His classes are a kind of inspirational ritual. He teaches dancers to circulate energy with the earth and the other dancers, through their own bodies and then through space.”

He appreciates Zambrano as a performer “who loves dancing, moving, flying. He travels through space quickly, with the fastest of small precise steps — running and running, before diving or sliding into rolling on the floor, and always spiraling up and down and around.”

Hennessey, who has seen a fair amount of Zambrano’s work, including four improvised duets in 2010 which he describes as “truly joyful,” is looking forward to the upcoming performances because “I haven’t seen him do anything like this before.”

One who has already seen Soul Project is choreographer Ralph Lemon, who remembers Zambrano as a major force in New York’s Downtown improvisation scene until his move to Amsterdam in 2000.

“I hadn’t seen his work for years,” Lemon explains. “I saw Soul Project in 2008 at a summer dance festival outside Paris. I saw a lot of work at the time, yet this is the one that made me want to dance. I was so moved by the project because this is music I grew up with.”

He adds, “For me as a black American this was curious, particularly since there were no black Americans in the cast. There was only one American — and she was a white woman who had moved to Brussels.”

So when, in 2010, New York’s Dancespace asked Lemon to organize their first dance platform (i.e., artist-curated program), he immediately thought of Soul Project.

“It is such an American work,” he says, “and I knew that in terms of its cultural implications it was important that it come to the states. Audiences here will see it so differently from those in other places.”

So how was it? “It was fantastic, but also frustrating, because you want to dance. But David makes it clear that he knows that we want to dance, but we can’t because ‘the dancing is for us.’ It creates a very nice tension: you feel the dance internally but the dancing is happening with his performers.”

DAVID ZAMBRANO’S SOUL PROJECT

Fri/27-Sat/28, 8pm, $20

Yerba Buena Center for the Arts

701 Mission, SF

(415) 978-2787

www.ybca.org

May 3, noon, 6pm, 9pm (Stanford students only), free (advance reservations required)

Cantor Arts Center

328 Lomita, Stanford

(650) 725-2787

livelyarts.stanford.edu

Jasons Segal and Statham close out April as summer (movie season) looms

Sue Vaughan

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April 27, 2012

0

Jasons Segal and Statham close out April as summer (movie season) looms

Summer is here! Well, almost. And by “summer” I mean “summer movie season,” which kicks off May 4 with the arrival of Marvel’s The Avengers. No fools when it comes to making a buck (or hundreds of millions of bucks), Hollywood crams in a few last smaller-ish films before the floodgates open, and they’re certainly about to open — Dark Shadows, The Dictator, Battleship, Men in Black 3, and Prometheus all come out before summer actually begins in mid-June. (Side note: fuck yeah, Prometheus!)

All in good time. There’s something for almost everyone this weekend: a rom-com, a murder mystery featuring John Cusack as Edgar Allan Poe, and a Statham (Statham (n): a bare-bones action movie in which one grizzled-yet-handsome antihero distributes as many ass-beatings as possible.) Read on, popcornheads.

The Five-Year Engagement In 2008’s Forgetting Sarah Marshall, viewers were treated to the startling, tragicomic sight of Jason Segel’s naked front side as his character got brutally dumped by the titular perky, put-together heartbreaker. In The Five-Year Engagement, which he reunited with Sarah director Nicholas Stoller to co-write, Segel once again sacrifices dignity and the right to privacy, this time in exchange for fake orgasms (his own), ghastly hand-knit sweaters, egregious facial-hair arrangements, and various other exhaustively humiliating psychological lows — all part of an earnest, undying quest to make people giggle uncomfortably. Segel plays Tom, a talented chef with a promising career ahead of him in San Francisco’s culinary scene (naturally, food carts get a cameo in the film). On the one-year anniversary of meeting his girlfriend, Violet (Emily Blunt), a psychology postgrad, he asks her to marry him in a meticulously planned, gloriously botched proposal scene coengineered by Tom’s oafish friend Alex (Chris Pratt), little realizing that this romantic gesture will soon lead to successive frozen winters in the Midwest (Violet gets offered a job at the University of Michigan), loss of professional stature, cabin fever, mead making, bow-hunting accidents, the titular nuptial postponement, and other, more gruesome events. The humor at times descends to some banally low depths as Segel and Stoller explore the terrain of the awkward, the poorly socialized, and the playfully grotesque. But Segel and Blunt present a believable, likable relationship between two warm, funny, flawed people, and, however disgusted, no one should walk out before a scene in which Violet and her sister (Alison Brie) channel Elmo and Cookie Monster to elaborate on the themes of romantic idealism and marital discontent. (2:04) Marina. (Lynn Rapoport)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CIeLylWccNo

The Raven How did Edgar Allan Poe, dipsomaniac, lover of 13-year-old child brides, and teller of tales designed to make the flesh creep and crawl, wind up, at age 40, nearly dying in the gutter and spending his last days in a Baltimore hospital, muttering incoherent imprecations about a mysterious fellow named Reynolds? In The Raven, director James McTeigue (2006’s V for Vendetta) makes the case for a crafty, sociopathic serial killer having played a role in the famous yet impoverished writer’s sad, derelict demise. Recently returned to the dark, thickly fog-machined streets of Baltimore, Poe, vehemently embodied by John Cusack, is chagrined to learn from one Detective Fields (Luke Evans) that someone has begun using his macabre stories (“The Pit and the Pendulum” to particularly gory effect) to enact a series of murders. When the killer successfully gains Poe’s full attention by seizing his ladylove, Emily Hamilton (Alice Eve), the pileup of bodies inspires a few last outbursts of genius. The trail of literary clues feels a bit forced, and Cusack’s Poe possesses an admirable quantity of energy, passion, and general zest for life for one so roundly indicted — by everyone from his editor to his barkeep to his sweetheart’s roundly repellent father (Brendan Gleeson) — as a useless, used-up slave to opiates and alcohol. But the script is smart enough and the action absorbing enough to keep us engaged as Poe attempts to rescue Emily and the film attempts to rescue Poe’s reputation through imagined heroics of both the pen and the sword. (1:50) California, Presidio. (Rapoport)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QEa1zn3iXZg

Safe The poster would be slightly more on-point if its suave thug of a star, Jason Statham, were hiding behind the scrunched-faced Catherine Chan rather than the other way around — because at times it’s tough to see this alternately enjoyable and credibility-taxing action flick as more than some kind of naked play for the Chinese filmgoer. Jamming the screen with a kind of frantic kineticism, director-writer Boaz Yakin seems to be smoothing over the problems in his vaguely stereotype-flaunting, patchy puzzle of a narrative with a high body count: the cadavers pile like those in an old martial arts flick — made in Asia, it’s implied, where life is cheap and spectacle is paramount. Picking up in the middle, with flashbacks stacked like firewood, Safe opens on young math prodigy Mei (Chan) on the run from the Russian mafia. A pawn and virtual slave of the Chinese mob, she holds a number in her head that they want. To her rescue is mystery man Luke Wright (Statham), who has had his own deadly tussle with the same Russian baddies and is now on the street and on the verge of suicide, believe it or not. It’s tough to wrap your head around the fact that any of Statham’s rock-hard tough guys could possibly crumble — or even have a sense of humor. You’ll need one to accept the ludicrous storyline as well as the notion that a jillion bullets could be fired and never hit his superhuman street-fighting man. (1:35) Various theaters. (Kimberly Chun)

Also worth checking out: Willem Dafoe as a taciturn man tracking down the last Tasmanian tiger in Aussie import The Hunter (see Dennis Harvey’s review), and great new doc about a grunge-era survivor at the Roxie:

Hit So Hard Along with Last Days Here, which screened earlier this year as part of the San Francisco Independent Film Festival, Hit So Hard is one of the most inspiring rock docs in recent memory. Patty Schemel was the drummer for Hole circa Live Through This, coolly keeping the beat amid Courtney Love’s frequent Lollapalooza meltdowns after Kurt Cobain’s 1994 death. Offstage, however, she was neck-deep in substance abuse, weathering several rounds of rehab even after the fatal overdose of Hole bandmate Kristen Pfaff just months after Cobain (who appears here in Schemel’s own remarkable home video footage). P. David Ebersole’s film gathers insight from many key figures in Schemel’s life — including her mother, who has the exact voice of George Costanza’s mother, and a garishly made-up, straight-talking Love — but most importantly, from Schemel herself, who is open and funny even when talking about the perils of drug addiction, of the heartbreak of being a gay teen in a small town, and the ultimate triumph of being a rock ‘n’ roll survivor. (1:43) Roxie. (Cheryl Eddy)

Film Listings

Andrew Lam

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April 24, 2012

0

Film listings are edited by Cheryl Eddy. Reviewers are Kimberly Chun, Max Goldberg, Dennis Harvey, Lynn Rapoport, and Matt Sussman. For rep house showtimes, see Rep Clock.

SAN FRANCISCO INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL

The 55th San Francisco International Film Festival runs through May 3; most shows $13. Venues: Castro Theatre, 429 Castro, SF; Pacific Film Archive, 2575 Bancroft, Berk.; SF Film Society Cinema, 1746 Post, SF; and Sundance Kabuki Cinema, 1881 Post, SF. For additional info, visit www.sffs.org.

OPENING

The Five-Year Engagement Jason Segal and Emily Blunt star in this Judd Apatow-produced rom-com as a couple whose dilemma is pretty adequately summed up by the movie title. (2:04) Marina.

*Hit So Hard Along with Last Days Here, which screened earlier this year as part of the San Francisco Independent Film Festival, Hit So Hard is one of the most inspiring rock docs in recent memory. Patty Schemel was the drummer for Hole circa Live Through This, coolly keeping the beat amid Courtney Love’s frequent Lollapalooza-stage meltdowns after Kurt Cobain’s 1994 death. Offstage, however, she was neck-deep in substance abuse, weathering several rounds of rehab even after the fatal overdose of Hole bandmate Kristen Pfaff just months after Cobain (who appears here in Schemel’s own remarkable home video footage). P. David Ebersole’s film gathers insight from many key figures in Schemel’s life — including her mother, who has the exact voice of George Costanza’s mother on Seinfeld, and a garishly made-up, straight-talking Love — but most importantly, from Schemel herself, who is open and funny even when talking about the perils of drug addiction, of the heartbreak of being a gay teen in a small town, and the ultimate triumph of being a rock ‘n’ roll survivor. (1:43) Roxie. (Eddy)

*The Hunter See “Tiger Woods.” (1:41) Shattuck.

*Natural Selection The Lord taketh away — and the Lord giveth, with the damnedest good-bad sense of timing. That might be one takeaway from this likable, gently mirthful indie comedy — writer-director Robbie Pickering’s debut feature. Working in sweetly mysterious ways, devout, childless Christian haus-maus Linda (Rachael Harris, renowned as The Hangover‘s harpy and here resembling a beleaguered Laura Linney dragged over miles of bad road) discovers that hubby Abe (John Diehl) has been leading a secret life after he suffers a stroke: he’s been regularly spreading his seed hither and yon, via a local sperm bank, all while preaching abstinence at home. To fulfill his final wishes, his dutiful wifey sets out on a journey to find his eldest offspring, who turns out to be a grimy, habitually misbehaving hairball of an ex-con (Matt O’Leary) with a genuine distaste for holy rolling. His past is catching up with him, so he sets off with Linda on a road trip back to “that bilateral father of mine.” On the way home, both the wannabe mom and the prodigal spawn uncover a thing or two about themselves, and we learn that not only is it “time for the meek to inherit the girth,” as one sperm clinic Christian porno puts it, but it’s high time that Harris got a role like this, one that shows us the sweet, select stuff she’s made of. (1:30) Lumiere, Shattuck. (Chun)

The Pirates! Band of Misfits Aardman Animations, home studio of the Wallace and Gromit series as well as 2000’s Chicken Run, are masters of tiny details and background jokes. In nearly every scene of this swashbuckling comedy, there’s a sight gag, double entendre, or tossed-off reference (the Elephant Man!?) that suggests The Pirates! creators are far more clever than the movie as a whole would suggest. Oh, it’s a cute, enjoyable story about a kind-hearted Pirate Captain (Hugh Grant) who dreams of winning the coveted Pirate of the Year award (despite the fact that he gets more excited about ham than gold) — and the misadventures he gets into with his amiable crew, a young Charles Darwin, and a comically evil Queen Victoria. But despite its toy-like, 3D-and-CG-enhanced claymation, The Pirates! never matches the depth (or laugh-out-loud hilarity) of other Aardman productions. Yo ho-hum. (1:27) Presidio. (Eddy)

The Raven John Cusack stars as Edgar Allan Poe in this murder mystery from James McTeigue (2009’s Ninja Assassin). (1:50) California, Presidio.

Safe Jason Statham, man of action, doin’ what he does best. (1:35)

Warriors of the Rainbow: Seediq Bale The head count — as in decapitated noggins — of this epic thrashathon almost rivals that of 2010’s 13 Assassins (hell, maybe even 1976’s Master of the Flying Guillotine), so, er, does that make this high-minded endeavor by Wei Te-Sheng (2008’s Cape No. 7) any more or less worth squirming through? The feeling is mixed — part disgust, part fascination — when it comes to this little-known part of Taiwan’s indigenous history. Moura Rudo (first-time aborigine actor Lin Ching-tai, he of the superheroically muscular calves) is the leader of the once-fierce, now-barely contained Seediq tribe — here depicted as the almost supernaturally gifted hunters of Taiwan’s mountainous jungles. As a young man he waged a valiant guerrilla war of resistance, armed with only shotguns and machetes and the like, against the Japanese colonizers, who took over the island from 1895 to 1945. But the indignities and humiliations his tribesmen suffer at the hands of the police finally spur them to action. Embarking on what would become known as the Wushe Incident Rebellion, the men form a coalition with other aboriginal tribes to undertake a clearly suicidal mission, standing up for their identity and becoming “Seediq Bale,” or true men, capable of crossing a rainbow bridge to meet their ancestors in the next world. All of which sounds noble — and the filmmaker interjects moments of grace, as when Mouna intones a folk ballad alongside his dead father, and foregrounds the intriguing cultural similarities between the Seediq and Japanese warrior codes of honor. Yet as compelling Warrior‘s concept is — and as heartfelt as it seems — it fails to rise above its treatment of violence, at the unnerving center of everything: the cheesily bug-eyed gore, overwrought sentimentality, and sheer bloody body count come off as closer to classic drive-in exploitation than that of a lost, vital history that needs to be remembered. (2:30) Metreon. (Chun)

ONGOING

American Reunion Care for yet another helping of all-American horn dogs? The original American Pie (1999) was a sweet-tempered, albeit ante-upping tribute to ’80s teen sex comedies, so the latest in the franchise, the older, somewhat wiser American Reunion, is obliged to squeeze a dab more of the ole life force outta the class of ’99, in honor of their, em, 13th high school reunion. These days Jim (Jason Biggs) is attempting to fluff up a flagging postbaby sex life with wife Michelle (Alyson Hannigan). Kevin (Thomas Ian Nicholas) yearns to get in touch with his buried bad boy. Oz (Chris Klein) has become a sportscaster-reality competition star and is seemingly lost without old girlfriend Heather (Mena Suvari). Stifler (Seann William Scott) is as piggishly incorrigible as ever—even as a low-hanging investment flunky, while scarred, adventuring biker Finch (Eddie Kaye Thomas) seems to have become “the most interesting man in the world.” How much trouble can the gang get into? About as much of a mess as the Hangover guys, which one can’t stop thinking about when Jim wakes up on the kitchen floor with tile burns and zero pants. Half the cast—which includes Tara Reid, John “MILF!” Cho, Natasha Lyonne, and Shannon Elizabeth — seems to have stirred themselves from their own personal career hangovers, interludes of insanity, and plastic surgery disasters (with a few, like Cho and Thomas, firmly moving on), and others such as parental figures Eugene Levy and Jennifer Coolidge continuing to show the kids how it’s done. Still, the farcical American franchise’s essentially benign, healthy attitude toward good, dirty fun reads as slightly refreshing after chaste teen fare like the Twilight and High School Musical flicks. Even with the obligatory moment of full-frontal penis smooshing. (1:53) Metreon, 1000 Van Ness. (Chun)

*Bully Anyone who’s ever been a kid on the wrong side of a bully — or was sensitive and observant enough not to avert his or her eyes — will be puzzling over the MPAA’s R rating of this doc, for profanity. It’s absurd when the gory violence on network and basic cable TV stops just short of cutting characters’ faces off, as one blurred-out bus bully threatens to do to the sweet, hapless Alex, dubbed “Fish Face” by the kids who ostracize him and make his life hell on the bus. It’s a jungle out there, as we all know — but it’s that real, visceral footage of the verbal (and physical) abuse bullied children deal with daily that brings it all home. Filmmaker Lee Hirsch goes above and beyond in trying to capture all dimensions of his subject: the terrorized bullied, the ineffectual school administrators, the desperate parents. There’s Kelby, the gay girl who was forced off her beloved basketball team after she came out, and Ja’Maya, who took drastic measures to fend off her tormenters — as well as the specters of those who turned to suicide as a way out. Hirsch is clearly more of an activist than a fly on the wall: he steps in at one point to help and obviously makes an uplifting effort to focus on what we can do to battle bullying. Nevertheless, at the risk of coming off like the Iowa assistant principal who’s catching criticism for telling one victim that he was just as bad as the bully that he refused to shake hands with, one feels compelled to note one prominent component that’s missing here: the bullies themselves, their stories, and the reasons why they’re so cruel — admittedly a daunting, possibly libelous task. (1:35) Metreon, Shattuck, Smith Rafael. (Chun)

*The Cabin in the Woods If the name “Joss Whedon” doesn’t provide all the reason you need to bum-rush The Cabin in the Woods (Whedon produced and co-wrote, with director and frequent collaborator Drew Goddard), well, there’s not much more that can be revealed without ruining the entire movie. In a very, very small nutshell, it’s about a group of college kids (including Chris “Thor” Hemsworth) whose weekend jaunt to a rural cabin goes horribly awry, as such weekend jaunts tend to do in horror movies (the Texas Chainsaw and Evil Dead movies are heavily referenced). But this is no ordinary nightmare — its peculiarities are cleverly, carefully revealed, and the movie’s inside-out takedown of scary movies produces some very unexpected (and delightfully blood-gushing) twists and turns. Plus: the always-awesome Richard Jenkins, and in-jokes galore for genre fans. (1:35) California, Metreon, 1000 Van Ness, Presidio. (Eddy)

Chimpanzee (2:00) Metreon, 1000 Van Ness, Shattuck.

*Damsels in Distress Whit Stillman lives! The eternally preppy writer-director (1990’s Metropolitan; 1994’s Barcelona; 1998’s The Last Days of Disco), whose dialogue-laden scripts have earned him the not-inaccurate descriptor of “the WASP Woody Allen,” emerges with this popped-collar take on girl-clique movies like Mean Girls (2004), Clueless (1995), and even Heathers (1988). At East Coast liberal-arts college Seven Oaks (“the last of the Select Seven to go co-ed”), frat guys are so dumb they don’t know the names of all the colors; the school newspaper is called the Daily Complainer; and a group of girls, lead by know-it-all Violet (Greta Gerwig), are determined to lift student morale using unconventional methods (tap dancing is one of them). After she’s scooped into this strange orbit, transfer student (Analeigh Tipton) can’t quite believe Violet and her friends are for real. They’re not, of course — they’re carefully crafted Stillman creations, which renders this very funny take on college life a completely unique experience. Did I mention the musical numbers? (1:38) SF Center. (Eddy)

*The Deep Blue Sea Caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, filmmaker Terence Davies, much like his heroine, chooses a mutable, fluid sensuality, turning his source material, Terence Rattigan’s acclaimed mid-century play, into a melodrama that catches you in its tide and refuses to let go. At the opening of this sumptuous portrait of a privileged English woman who gives up everything for love, Hester (Rachel Weisz) goes through the methodical motions of ending it all: she writes a suicide note, carefully stuffs towels beneath the door, takes a dozen pills, turns on the gas, and lies down to wait for death to overtake her. Via memories drifting through her fading consciousness, Davies lets us in on scattered, salient details in her back story: her severely damped-down, staid marriage to a high court judge, Sir William (Simon Russel Beale), her attraction and erotic awakening in the hands of charming former RF pilot Freddie Page (Tom Hiddleston), her separation, and her ultimate discovery that her love can never be matched, as she hazards class inequities and ironclad gender roles. “This is a tragedy,” Sir William says, at one point. But, as Hester, a model of integrity, corrects him, “Tragedy is too big a word. Sad, perhaps.” Similarly, Sea is a beautiful downer, but Davies never loses sight of a larger post-war picture, even while he pauses for his archetypal interludes of song, near-still images, and luxuriously slow tracking shots. With cinematographer Florian Hoffmeister, he does a remarkable job of washing post-war London with spots of golden light and creating claustrophobic interiors — creating an emotionally resonant space reminiscent of the work of Wong Kar-wai and Christopher Doyle. At the center, providing the necessary gravitas (much like Julianne Moore in 2002’s Far From Heaven), is Weisz, giving the viewer a reason to believe in this small but reverberant story, and offering yet another reason for attention during the next awards season. (1:38) Embarcadero, Smith Rafael. (Chun)

Footnote (1:45) Albany, Opera Plaza.

4:44 Last Day on Earth Abel Ferrara’s latest imagines what the end of the world might be like for a volatile Lower East Side couple — he’s an ex-junkie (Ferrara favorite Willem Dafoe), she’s a young painter (Shanyn Leigh, Ferrara’s real-life companion). The film’s title refers to the predicted instant that an environmental catastrophe will completely dissolve the ozone layer, but 4:44 is mostly set indoors, specifically within the headspace of Dafoe’s character. It’s a gritty film that veers between self-indulgence and stuff that honestly seems pretty practical (sure, there’s a lot of Skyping, but if the world were ending, wouldn’t you?); as far as inward-looking disaster movies go, anyone planning an apocalypse film festival could double-bill 4:44 nicely with 2011’s Melancholia. (1:25) Balboa. (Eddy)

*Friends With Kids Jennifer Westfeldt scans Hollywood’s romantic comedy landscape for signs of intelligent life and, finding it to be a barren place possibly recovering from a nuclear holocaust, writes, directs, and stars in this follow-up to 2001’s Kissing Jessica Stein, which she co-wrote and starred in. Julie (Westfeldt) and Jason (Adam Scott) are upper-thirtysomething New Yorkers with two decades of friendship behind them. He calls her “doll.” They have whispered phone conversations at four in the morning while their insignificant others lie slumbering beside them on the verge of getting dumped. And after a night spent witnessing the tragic toll that procreation has taken on the marriages of their four closest friends — Bridesmaids (2011) reunion party Leslie (Maya Rudolph), Alex (Chris O’Dowd), Missy (Kristen Wiig), and Ben (Jon Hamm), the latter two, surprisingly and less surprisingly, providing some of the film’s darkest moments — Jason proposes that they raise a child together platonically, thereby giving any external romantic relationships a fighting chance of survival. In no time, they’ve worked out the kinks to their satisfaction, insulted and horrified their friends, and awkwardly made a bouncing baby boy. The arrival of significant others (Edward Burns and Megan Fox) signals the second phase of the experiment. Some viewers will be invested in latent sparks of romance between the central pair, others in the success of an alternative family arrangement; one of these demographics is destined for disappointment. Until then, however, both groups and any viewers unwilling to submit to this reductive binary will be treated to a funny, witty, well crafted depiction of two people’s attempts to preserve life as they know it while redrawing the parameters of parenthood. (1:40) SF Center. (Rapoport)

*House of Pleasures Set in a fin de siècle French brothel, Bertrand Bonello’s lushly rendered drama is challenging and frequently unpleasant. Bonello sees the beauty and allure of his subjects, the many miserable women of this maison close, but rarely sinks to sympathy for their selfish and sometimes sadistic clients. Bound as they are by their debts to their Madame, the prostitutes are essentially slaves, held to strict and humiliating standards. All they have is each other, and the movie’s few emotional bright spots come from this connection. The filmmaking is wily and nouvelle vague-ish, featuring anachronistic music and inventive split-screen sequences. Additionally, there is a spidery complexity to the film’s chronology, wherein certain scenes repeat to reveal new contexts. This unstuck sense of newness is perhaps didactic — this could and does happen now as well as then — but it also serves to make an already compelling ensemble piece even richer and more engaging. (2:02) SF Film Society Cinema. (Sam Stander)

The Hunger Games Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence) is a teenager living in a totalitarian state whose 12 impoverished districts, as retribution for an earlier uprising, must pay tribute to the so-called Capitol every year, sacrificing one boy and one girl each to the Hunger Games. A battle royal set in a perilous arena and broadcast live to the Capitol as gripping diversion and to the districts as sadistic propaganda, the Hunger Games are, depending on your viewpoint, a “pageant of honor, courage, and sacrifice” or a brutal, pointless bloodbath involving children as young as 12. When her little sister’s name comes up in the annual lottery, Katniss volunteers to take her place and is joined by a boy named Peeta Mellark (Josh Hutcherson), with whom she shares an old, unspoken bond. Tasked with translating to the screen the first installment of Suzanne Collins’s rabidly admired trilogy, writer-director Gary Ross (2003’s Seabiscuit, 1998’s Pleasantville) telescopes the book’s drawn-out, dread-filled tale into a manageable two-plus-hour entertainment, making great (and horrifying) use of the original work’s action, but losing a good deal of the narrative detail and emotional force. Elizabeth Banks is comic and unrecognizable as Effie Trinket, the two tributes’ chaperone; Lenny Kravitz gives a blank, flattened reading as their stylist, Cinna; and Donald Sutherland is sufficiently creepy and bloodless as the country’s leader, President Snow. More exceptionally cast are Woody Harrelson as Katniss and Peeta’s surly, alcoholic mentor, Haymitch Abernathy, and Stanley Tucci as games emcee Caesar Flickerman, flashing a bank of gleaming teeth at each contestant as he probes their dire circumstances with the oily superficiality of a talk show host. (2:22) 1000 Van Ness, Presidio, SF Center, Sundance Kabuki. (Rapoport)

*The Island President The titular figure is Mohamed Nasheed, recently ousted (by allies of the decades long dictator he’d replaced) chief executive of the Republic of Maldives — a nation of 26 small islands in the Indian Ocean. Jon Shenk’s engaging documentary chronicles his efforts up to and through the 2009 Copenhagen Climate Summit to gather greater international commitment to curbing greenhouse gas emissions. This is hardly do-gooderism, a bid for eco-tourism, or politics as usual: scarcely above sea level, with nary a hill, the Maldives will simply cease to exist soon if waters continue to rise at global warming’s current pace. (“It won’t be any good to have a democracy if we don’t have a country,” he half-jokes at one point.) Nasheed is tireless, unjaded, delightful, and willing to do anything, at one point hosting “the world’s first underwater cabinet meeting” (with oxygen tanks, natch) as a publicity stunt. A cash-strapped nation despite its surfeit of wealthy vacationers, it’s spending money that could go to education and health services on the pathetic stalling device of sandwalls instead. But do bigger powers — notably China, India and the U.S. — care enough about this bit-part player on the world stage to change their energy-use and economic habits accordingly? (A hint: If you’ve been mulling a Maldivian holiday, take it now.) Somewhat incongruous, but an additional sales point nonetheless: practically all the film’s incidental music consists of pre-existing tracks by Radiohead. (1:51) Smith Rafael. (Harvey)

*Jeff, Who Lives at Home The failure-to-launch concept will always thrive whenever and wherever economies flail, kids crumble beneath family trauma, and the seduction of moving back home to live for free with the parental units overcomes the draw of adulthood and individuation. Nevertheless brotherly writing and directing team Jay and Mark Duplass infuse a fresh, generous-minded sweetness in this familiar narrative arc, mainly by empathetically following those surrounding, and maybe enabling, the stay-at-home. Spurred by a deep appreciation of Signs (2002) and plentiful bong hits, Jeff (Jason Segel) decides to go with the signals that the universe throws at him: a mysterious phone call for a Kevin leads him to stalk a kid wearing a jersey with that name and jump a candy delivery truck. This despite the frantic urging of his mother (Susan Sarandon), who has set the bar low and simply wants Jeff to repair a shutter for her birthday, and the bad influence of brother Pat (Ed Helms), a striving jerk who compensates for his insecurities by buying a Porsche and taking business meetings at Hooters. We never quite find out what triggered Jeff’s dormancy and Pat’s prickishness — two opposing responses to some unspecified psychic wound — yet by Jeff, Who Lives at Home‘s close, it doesn’t really matter. The Duplass brothers convince you to go along for the ride, much like Jeff’s blessed fool, and accept the ultimately feel-good, humanist message of this kind-hearted take on human failings. (1:22) SF Center. (Chun)

Jiro Dreams of Sushi Celebrity-chef culture has surely reached some kind of zeitgeist, what with the omnipresence of Top Chef and other cooking-themed shows, and the headlines-making power of people like Paula Deen (diabetes) and Mario Batali (sued for ripping off his wait staff). Unconcerned with the trappings of fame — you’ll never see him driving a Guy Fieri-style garish sports car — is Jiro Ono, 85-year-old proprietor of Sukiyabashi Jiro, a tiny, world-renowned sushi restaurant tucked into Tokyo’s Ginza station. Jiro, a highly-disciplined perfectionist who believes in simple, yet flavorful food, has devoted his entire life to the pursuit of “deliciousness” — to the point of sushi invading his dreams, as the title of David Gelb’s reverential documentary suggests. But Jiro Dreams of Sushi goes deeper than food-prep porn (though, indeed, there’s plenty of that); it also examines the existential conflicts faced by Jiro’s two middle-aged sons. Both were strongly encouraged to enter the family business — and in the intervening years, have had to accept the soul-crushing fact that no matter how good their sushi is, it’ll never be seen as exceeding the creations of their legendary father. (1:21) Embarcadero, Piedmont, Shattuck, Smith Rafael. (Eddy)

*The Kid with a Bike Slippery as an eel, Cyril (Thomas Doret) is the bane of authorities as he tries to run away at any opportunity from school and a youth home — being convinced that the whole adult world is conspiring to keep his father away from him. During one such chase he literally runs into hair-salon proprietor Samantha (Cécile De France), who proves willing to host him on weekends away from his public facility, and is a patient, steadying influence despite his still somewhat exasperating behavior. It’s she who orchestrates a meeting with his dad (Jerémié Renier, who played the child in the Dardennes’ 1996 breakthrough La Promesse), so Cyril can confront the hard fact that his pa not only can’t take care of him, he doesn’t much want to. Still looking for some kind of older male approval, Cyril falls too easily under the sway of Wes (Egon Di Mateo), a teenage thug whom everyone in Samantha’s neighborhood knows is bad news. This latest neorealist-style drama from Belgium’s Dardenne Brothers treads on very familiar ground for them, both in themes and terse execution. It’s well-acted, potent stuff, if less resonant in sum impact than their best work. (1:27) Opera Plaza. (Harvey)

*The Lady Luc Besson directs Michelle Yeoh — but The Lady is about as far from flashy action heroics as humanly possible. Instead, it’s a reverent, emotion-packed biopic of Nobel Peace Prize winner Aung San Suu Kyi, a national hero in Burma (Myanmar) for her work against the country’s oppressive military regime. But don’t expect a year-by-year exploration of Suu’s every accomplishment; instead, the film focuses on the relationship between Suu and her British husband, Michael Aris (David Thewlis). When Michael discovers he’s dying of cancer, he’s repeatedly denied visas to visit his wife — a cruel knife-twist by a government that assures Suu that if she leaves Burma to visit him, they’ll never allow her to return. Heartbreaking stuff, elegantly channeled by Thewlis and especially Yeoh, who conveys Suu’s incredible strength despite her alarmingly frail appearance. The real Iron Lady, right here. (2:07) Lumiere, Shattuck. (Eddy)

Letters From the Big Man Don’t fear the yeti. Filmmaker Christopher Munch (1991’s The Hours and Times) gets back to nature — and a more benevolent look at the sasquatch — with the engrossing Letters From the Big Man. Sarah (Lily Rabe, Jill Clayburgh’s daughter, perhaps best known for her ghostly American Horror Story flapper) is a naturalist and artist determined to get off trail, immerse herself in her postfire wilderness studies in southwestern Oregon, and leave the hassles and heartbreak of the human world behind. She’s far from alone, however, as she senses she’s being tailed — even after she confronts another solo hiker, Sean (Jason Butler Harner), who seems to share her deep love and knowledge of the wild. What emerges — as Sarah lives off the grid, sketches soulful-eyed Bigfoots, and powers her laptop with her bike — is a love story that might bear a remote resemblance to Beauty and the Beast if Munch weren’t so completely straight-faced in his belief in the big guys. The question, the mystery, isn’t whether or not sasquatch exist, according to the filmmaker, who paces his tale as if it were as big and encompassing as an ancient forest — rather, whether we can hold onto a belief in nature and its unknowables and coexist. (1:44) Roxie, Smith Rafael. (Chun)

Lockout Just when you thought Luc Besson was turning over a new, serious-minded leaf with Aung San Suu Kyi biopic The Lady, Lockout arrives to remind you that this is the dude whose earliest efforts (1990’s La Femme Nikita, 1997’s The Fifth Element) have since been subsumed beneath piles of dispose-o-flicks that resemble outtakes from the Transporter movies (which he produced, natch). That’s not to say there aren’t certain pleasures to be found in tossed-off action flicks; Lockout, which inexplicably needed two directors (James Mather and Stephen St. Leger, who co-wrote with Besson), is enjoyable enough in the moment, in addition to being completely, consistently ludicrous throughout. Guy Pearce plays the wisecracking Snow, a wrongfully-convicted government agent who’s about to suffer the Punishment of the Future: being sedated and then blasted to space prison for 30 years. That is, until the First Daughter (Maggie Grace) finds herself trapped aboard the facility when a riot breaks out. Naturally, reluctant rescuer Snow is chosen for prison-break-in-reverse duties. The rest goes like this: Boom! Quip! Boom! Quip! Lockout purports to be from an “original idea” by exec producer Besson, a bold claim considering the movie is more or less Con Air (1997) pasted over the Die Hard series and John Carpenter’s Escape movies. (1:35) 1000 Van Ness, SF Center. (Eddy)

The Lucky One Iraq War veteran Logan (Zac Efron) beats PTSD by walking with his German shepherd from Colorado to the Louisiana bayou, in search of a golden-haired angel in cutoff blue jean short shorts (Taylor Schilling). His stated (in soporific voice-over) aim is to meet and thank the angel, who he believes repeatedly saved his life in the combat zone after he plucked her photograph from the rubble of a bombed-out building. The snapshot offers little in the way of biographical information, but luckily, there are only 300 million people in the United States, and he manages to find her after walking around for a bit. The angel, or Beth, as her friends call her, runs a dog kennel with her grandmother (Blythe Danner) while raising her noxiously Hollywood-precocious eight-year-old son (Riley Thomas Stewart) and fending off the regressive advances of her semi-villainous ex-husband (Jay R. Ferguson). Logan’s task seems simple enough, and he’s certainly walked a fair distance to complete it, but rather than expressing his gratitude, he becomes tongue-tied in the face of Beth’s backlit blondness and instead fills out a job application and proceeds to soulfully but manfully burrow his way into her affections and short shorts. Being an adaptation of a Nicholas Sparks novel, The Lucky One requires some forceful yanking on the heartstrings, but director Scott Hicks (1999’s Snow Falling on Cedars, 1996’s Shine) is hobbled in this task by, among other things, Efron’s wooden, uninvolved delivery of queasy speeches about traveling through darkness to find the light and how many times a day a given woman should be kissed. (1:41) Marina, 1000 Van Ness, SF Center, Shattuck. (Rapoport)

*Marley Oscar-winning documentarian Kevin Macdonald (1999’s One Day in September; he also directed Best Actor Forest Whitaker in 2006’s The Last King of Scotland) takes on the iconic Bob Marley, using extensive interviews — both contemporary (with Marley friends and family) and archival (with the musician himself) — and performance and off-the-cuff footage. The end result is a compelling (even if you’re not a fan) portrait of a man who became a global sensation despite being born into extreme poverty, and making music in a style that most people had never heard outside of Jamaica. The film dips into Marley’s Rastafari beliefs (no shocker this movie is being released on 4/20), his personal life (11 children from seven different mothers), his impact on Jamaica’s volatile politics, his struggles with racism, and, most importantly, his remarkable career — achieved via a combination of talent and boldness, and cut short by his untimely death at age 36. (2:25) California, Embarcadero, Smith Rafael. (Eddy)

Mirror Mirror In this glittery, moderately girl-powery adaptation of the Snow White tale (a comic foil of sorts to this summer’s gloomier-looking Snow White and the Huntsman), Julia Roberts takes her turn as stepmom, to an earnest little ingenue (Lily Collins) whose kingly father (Sean Bean) is presumed dead and whose rather-teeny-looking kingdom is collapsing under the weight of fiscal ruin and a thick stratum of snow. Into this sorry realm rides a chiseled beefcake named Prince Alcott (Arnie Hammer), who hails from prosperous Valencia, falls for Snow White, and draws the attentions of the Queen (Roberts) from both a strategic and a libidinal standpoint. Soon enough, Snow White (Snow to her friends) is narrowly avoiding execution at the hands of the Queen’s sycophantic courtier-henchman (Nathan Lane), rustling up breakfast for a thieving band of stilt-walking dwarves, and engaging in sylvan hijinks preparatory to deposing her stepmother and bringing light and warmth and birdsong and perennials back into fashion. Director Tarsem Singh (2000’s The Cell, 2011’s Immortals) stages the film’s royal pageantry with a bright artistry, and Roberts holds court with vicious, amoral relish as she senses her powers of persuasion slipping relentlessly from her grasp. Carefully catering to tween-and-under tastes as well as those of their chaperones, the comedy comes in various breadths, and there’s meta-humor in the sight of Roberts passing the pretty woman torch, though Collins seems blandly unprepared to wield her power wisely or interestingly. Consider vacating your seats before the extraneous Bollywood-style song-and-dance number that accompanies the closing credits. (1:46) Metreon, 1000 Van Ness. (Rapoport)

*Monsieur Lazhar When their beloved but troubled teacher hangs herself in the classroom — not a thoughtful choice of location, but then we never really discover her motives — traumatized Montreal sixth-graders get Bachir Lazhar (Fellag), a middle-aged Algerian émigré whose contrastingly rather strict, old-fashioned methods prove surprisingly useful at helping them past their trauma. He quickly becomes the crush object of studious Alice (Sophie Nelisse), whose single mother is a pilot too often away, while troublemaker Simon (Emilien Neron) acts out his own domestic and other issues at school. Lazhar has his own secrets as well — for one thing, we see that he’s still petitioning for permanent asylum in Canada, contradicting what he told the principal upon being hired — and while his emotions are more tightly wrapped, circumstances will eventually force all truths out. This very likable drama about adults and children from Quebec writer-director Philippe Falardeau doesn’t quite have the heft and resonance to rate among the truly great narrative films about education (like Laurent Cantet’s recent French The Class). But it comes close enough, gracefully touching on numerous other issues while effectively keeping focus on how a good teacher can shape young lives in ways as incalculable as they are important. (1:34) Albany, Embarcadero, Smith Rafael. (Harvey)

*My Way South Korean director Kang Je-gyu (2004 Korean War epic Taegukgi) returns to the battlefield for another bombastic action flick with a very complicated bro-down at its center. This time, it’s World War II, and the head-butting protagonists are not actually brothers, but lifelong frenemies: Japanese Tatsuo (mega-idol Joe Odagiri) and South Korean Joon-sik (Taegukgi star Jang Dong-gun). They meet in occupied South Korea, where class and country lines amp up their frequent confrontations as competitive long-distance runners. When WW2 breaks out, Joon-sik is forced to join the Japanese army, with guess who ordering him around; during My Way‘s meaty war-is-hell section, the men’s relationship endures a Soviet labor camp, knife (and fist) fights, blizzards, gunshot wounds, deafness, countless explosions (including lots of exploding bodies), sprints on the beach, bellowing arguments, runaway tanks, grenades, Nazis, D-Day, and moments of heroism, cowardice, insanity, weepy emotion, and dumb luck. Somehow, Kang keeps the pace between “frenetic” and “superfly TNT” for a solid two hours — the man may not care much for subtlety, but My Way is nothing if not insanely entertaining. (1:59) SF Center. (Eddy)

*The Raid: Redemption As rip-roaring as they come, Indonesian import The Raid: Redemption (from, oddly, a Welsh writer-director, Gareth Huw Evans) arrives to reassure genre fans that action films are still being made without CG-embellished stunts, choppy editing, and gratuitous 3D. Fists, feet, and gnarly weapons do the heavy lifting in this otherwise simple tale of a taciturn special-forces cop (Iko Uwais) who’s part of a raid on a run-down, high-rise apartment building where all the tenants are crooks and the landlord is a penthouse-dwelling crime boss (Ray Sahetapy). Naturally, things go awry almost immediately, and floor-to-floor brawls (choreographed by Uwais and co-star Yayan Ruhian, whose character is aptly named “Mad Dog”) comprise nearly the entirety of the film; of particular interest is The Raid‘s focus on pencak silat, an indigenous Indonesian fighting style — though there are also plenty of thrilling gun battles, machete-thwackings, and other dangerous delights. Even better: Redemption is the first in a planned trilogy of films starring Uwais’ badass (yet morally rock-solid) character. Bring it! (1:40) Metreon. (Eddy)

*Salmon Fishing in the Yemen In Lasse Hallström’s latest film, a sheikh named Muhammed (Amr Waked) with a large castle in Scotland, an ardent love of fly-fishing, and unlimited funds envisions turning a dry riverbed in the Yemeni desert into an aquifer-fed salmon-run site and the surrounding lands into an agricultural cornucopia. Tasked with realizing this dream are London marketing consultant Harriet Chetwode-Talbot (Emily Blunt) and government fisheries scientist Alfred Jones (Ewan McGregor), a reluctant participant who refers to the project as “doolally” and signs on under professional duress. Despite numerous feasibility issues (habitat discrepancies, the necessity for a mass exodus of British salmon, two million irate British anglers), Muhammed’s vision is borne forward on a rising swell of cynicism generated within the office of the British prime minister’s press secretary (Kristin Scott Thomas), whose lackeys have been scouring the wires for a shred of U.K.-related good news out of the Middle East. Ecology-minded killjoys may question whether this qualifies. But putting aside, if one can, the possible inadvisability of relocating 10,000 nonnative salmon to a wadi in Yemen — which is to say, putting aside the basic premise — it’s easy and pleasant enough to go with the flow of the film, infected by Jones’s growing enthusiasm for both the project and Ms. Chetwode-Talbot. Adapted from Paul Torday’s novel by Simon Beaufoy (2009’s Slumdog Millionaire), Salmon Fishing is a sweet and funny movie, and while it suffers from the familiar flurried third-act knotting together of loose ends, its storytelling stratagems are entertaining and its characters compellingly textured, and the cast makes the most of the well-polished material. (1:52) Four Star, Opera Plaza, Piedmont, Shattuck. (Rapoport)

*A Separation Iran’s first movie to win Berlin’s Golden Bear (as well as all its acting awards), this domestic drama reflecting a larger socio-political backdrop is subtly well-crafted on all levels, but most of all demonstrates the unbeatable virtue of having an intricately balanced, reality-grounded screenplay — director Asghar Farhadi’s own — as bedrock. A sort of confrontational impartiality is introduced immediately, as our protagonists Nader (Peyman Moadi) and Simin (Leila Hatami) face the camera — or rather the court magistrate — to plead their separate cases in her filing for divorce, which he opposes. We gradually learn that their 14-year wedlock isn’t really irreparable, the feelings between them not entirely hostile. The roadblock is that Simin has finally gotten permission to move abroad, a chance she thinks she must seize for the sake of their daughter, Termeh (Sarina Farhadi). But Nader doesn’t want to leave the country, and is not about to let his only child go without him. Farhadi worked in theater before moving into films a decade ago. His close attention to character and performance (developed over several weeks’ pre-production rehearsal) has the acuity sported by contemporary playwrights like Kenneth Lonergan and Theresa Rebeck, fitted to a distinctly cinematic urgency of pace and image. There are moments that risk pushing plot mechanizations too far, by A Separation pulls off something very intricate with deceptive simplicity, offering a sort of integrated Rashomon (1950) in which every participant’s viewpoint as the wronged party is right — yet in conflict with every other. (2:03) Four Star, Lumiere, Shattuck. (Harvey)

A Simple Life When elderly Ah Tao (Deanie Ip), the housekeeper who’s served his family for decades, has a stroke, producer Roger (Andy Lau) pays for her to enter a nursing home. No longer tasked with caring for Roger, Ah Tao faces life in the cramped, often depressing facility with resigned calm, making friends with other residents (some of whom are played by nonprofessional actors) and enjoying Roger’s frequent visits. Based on Roger Lee’s story (inspired by his own life), Ann Hui’s film is well-served by its performances; Ip picked up multiple Best Actress awards for her role, Lau is reliably solid, and Anthony Wong pops up as the nursing home’s eye patch-wearing owner. Wong’s over-the-top cameo doesn’t quite fit in with the movie’s otherwise low-key vibe, but he’s a welcome distraction in a film that can be too quiet at times — a situation not helped by its washed-out palette of gray, beige, and more gray. (1:58) Metreon. (Eddy)

Think Like a Man (2:02) Metreon, 1000 Van Ness, Shattuck.

The Three Stooges: The Movie (1:32) Metreon, 1000 Van Ness.

Titanic 3D (3:14) Metreon, 1000 Van Ness.

*21 Jump Street One of the more pleasant surprises on the mainstream comedy landscape has to be this, ugh, “reboot” of the late-’80s TV franchise. I wasn’t a fan of the show — or its dark-eyed, bad-boy star, Johnny Depp — back in the day, but I am of this unexpectedly funny rework overseen by apparent enthusiast, star, co-writer, and co-executive producer Jonah Hill, with a screenplay by Scott Pilgrim vs. the World (2010) co-writer Michael Bacall. There’s more than a smidge of Bacall’s other high school fantasy, Project X, in the buddy comedy premise of nerd (Hill’s Schmidt) meets blowhard (Channing Tatum’s Jenko), but 21 Jump Street thankfully leapfrogs the former with its meta-savvy, irreverent script and har-dee-har cameo turns by actors like Ice Cube as Captain Dickson (as well as a few key uncredited players who shall remain under deep cover). High school continues to haunt former classmates Schmidt and Jenko, who have just graduated from the lowly police bike corps to a high school undercover operation — don’t get it twisted, though, Dickson hollers at them; they got this gig solely because they look young. Still, the whole drug-bust enchilada is put in jeopardy when the once-socially toxic Schmidt finds his brand of geekiness in favor with the cool kids and so-called dumb-jock Jenko discovers the pleasures of the mind with the chem lab set. Fortunately for everyone, this crew doesn’t take themselves, or the source material, too seriously. (1:49) Balboa, Metreon, 1000 Van Ness, Shattuck, Sundance Kabuki. (Chun)

We Have a Pope What if a new pope was chosen … but he didn’t want to serve? In this gentle comedy-drama from Italian writer-director Nanni Moretti (2001’s The Son’s Room), Cardinal Melville (veteran French actor Michel Piccoli) is tapped to be the next Holy Father — and promptly flips out. The Vatican goes into crisis mode, first calling in a shrink, Professor Brezzi (Moretti), to talk to the troubled man, then orchestrating a ruse that the Pope-elect is merely hiding out in his apartments as the crowds of faithful rumble impatiently outside. Meanwhile, Melville sneaks off on an unauthorized, anonymous field trip that turns into a soul-searching, existential journey; along the way he hooks up with a group of actors that remind him of his youthful dreams of the stage — and help him realize that being the next Pope will require a performance he’s not sure he can deliver. Back at the Vatican, all assembled are essentially trapped until the new Pope is publicly revealed; the bored Cardinals kill time by playing cards and, most amusingly, participating in a volleyball tournament organized by Brezzi. Irreverent enough, though I’m not sure what kind of audience this will draw. Papal humorists? (1:44) Opera Plaza. (Eddy)

Wrath of the Titans Playing fast and loose with Greek myths but not agile enough to kick out a black metal jam during a flaming underworld power-grab, Wrath of Titans is, as expected, a bit of a CGI-crammed mess. Still, the sword-and-sandals franchise has attracted scads of international actorly talent — the cast is enriched this time by Édgar Ramírez (2010’s Carlos), Bill Nighy, and Rosamund Pike — and you do get at least one cool monster and paltry explication (Cerberus, which bolts from earth for no discernible reason except that maybe all hell is breaking loose). Just because action flicks like Cloverfield (2008) have long dispensed with narrative handlebars doesn’t mean that age-old stories like the Greek myths should get completely random with their titanic tale-spinning. Wrath opens on the twilight of the gods: Zeus (Liam Neeson) is practically groveling before Perseus (Sam Worthington) — now determined to go small, raise his son, and work on his fishing skills — and trying to persuade him to step up and help the Olympians hold onto power. Fellow Zeus spawn Ares (Ramírez) is along for the ride, so demigod up, Perseus. In some weird, last-ditch attempt to ream his bro Zeus, the oily, mulleted Hades (Ralph Fiennes) has struck a deal with their entrapped, chaotic, castrating fireball of a dad Cronus to let them keep their immortality, on the condition that Zeus is sapped of his power. Picking up Queen Andromeda (Pike) along the way, Perseus gets the scoop on how to get to Hell from Hephaestus (Nighy playing the demented Vulcan like a ’60s acid casualty, given to chatting with mechanical owl Bubo, a wink to 1981 precursor Clash of the Titans, which set the bar low for the remake). Though there are some distracting action scenes (full of speedy, choppy edits that confuse disorientation for excitement) and a few intriguing monsters (just how did the Minotaur make it to this labyrinth?), there’s no money line like “Release the Kraken!” this time around, and there’s way too much nattering on about fatherly responsibility and forgiveness —making these feel-good divinities sound oddly, mawkishly Christian and softheaded rather than mythically pagan and brattily otherworldly. Wasn’t the appeal of the gods linked to the fact that they always acted more like outta-hand adolescents than holier-than-thou deities? I guess that’s why no one’s praying to them anymore. (1:39) Metreon, 1000 Van Ness. (Chun)

Fixie freaks, this weekend’s for you

Andrew Lam

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April 24, 2012

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If riding fixed gear bikes on BMX-style ramps and structures sounds like something you’d think up after a half-case of energy drink, take heart oh palpitation pal — it was in fact dreamed up by Red Bull. Also, you’ll be able to check out the absolute chaos on Thu/26 and Sat/28 sans worries of smashing your own over-caffinated brain box all over the asphalt.

Oh yes, this is the Red Bull Ride + Style event, the second year of the taurine queen’s atypical sport biking event. I checked it out last year and was blown away not only by the fact that competitors were catching air on their fixed gears, but also by the art — the main event’s structures were tricked out by some of SF’s finest illustrators. This year, Apex, Jet Martinez, Chor Boogie, and Max Ehrman will try their hand at beautifying the madness.

One thing that’s different about this year’s festivities is that it would appear that a year has stoked the interest of more riders — 2012 will feature a qualifying event on Thu/26 at Mezzanine that will serve as gauntlet for those looking to flip about Justin Herman Plaza on Saturday.

Track qualifying heats

Thu/26 7pm-midnight, free

Mezzanine

444 Jessie, SF

www.redbull.com/ridenstyle

Red Bull Ride + Style

Sat/28 noon-6pm, free

Justin Herman Plaza

Market and Embarcadero, SF

www.redbull.com/ridenstyle