Theater Archives — Page 63 of 107 — San Francisco Bay Guardian Archive 1966

Page street

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks

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December 21, 2010

Rebecca Solnit’s Infinite City: A San Francisco Atlas (University of California Press, 158 pages, $24.95) is one of the best ideas a writer has come up with in a long time. By combining private and public support, Solnit was able to give away portions of the atlas in full-color, full-spread map handouts. (My favorite tracked both famous/infamous queer public spaces and the migration of butterflies throughout the city.). In the process, she also gave lectures in public spaces, providing a public service in the name of history and inclusion before dropping this tome on the book-buying masses. Gent Sturgeon’s version of a city-fied Rorschach alone is worth the price of the ticket. From insect habitats to serial killers, Zen Buddhist centers to the culture wars of the Fillmore and South of Market that some call redevelopment; Solnit and her cadre of artists, writers, cartographers, and researchers — Chris Carlsson, Guillermo Gómez-Peña, and Mona Caron among them — give us the infinite depths and limitless potential that can be found in 49 square miles. (D. Scot Miller)

A lot of good and even great books came from the Bay Area this year, but one stands out: a book of poetry, Cedar Sigo’s Stranger in Town (City Lights, 100 pages, $13.95). He is a young writer who improves dramatically each time I hear him read, and his poetry and critical writing are among the wonders of our age. And of the age before, since through him speak the dead poets David Rattray, John Wieners, Robert Creeley, Denton Welch, Philip Whalen, Salvador Dali, Jean Cocteau, Eartha Kitt, Raymond Roussel, Lorine Niedecker, and Cole Porter. When new writers come to San Francisco, they ask me if I’ve met Cedar Sigo. If they don’t know Sigo’s work, then I hand them a copy of the new collection. Don’t have to say much, I just step back a little to avoid the stars and diamonds and apples popping out of their eyes like toast from a toaster, because this crazy work is that crazy good. (Kevin Killian)

Compared with the prosaic grind of the inner city, the Sunset can seem like a — albeit foggy — vacation. Wide streets, surf breaks, dunes fit to get lost in: the neighborhood is just right for an offbeat bohemian getaway. But maybe those are just the reverberations of the past, which western neighborhood historian Woody LaBounty has dug up in Carville-by-the-Sea (Outside Lands Media, 144 pages, $35). This coffee table book illustrates the lives of the Sunset’s first modern-day inhabitants, who constructed a seaside village of retired street cars to inhabit back in the days before the N-Judah. Colorized at times for an Oz-like effect, the photos LaBounty digs up to illustrate “Cartown” reveal a community of artists, families, and enthusiasts — even a women’s cycling club — amid an untamed, oscillating sandscape. Those converted SoMa warehouse apartments suddenly don’t seem quite so rugged, do they now? (Caitlin Donohue)

In a city that boasts literally hundreds of theatrical world premieres per year, it’s astounding how few make it to the printed page. Bravo, then, to EXIT Press, new publishing arm of the venerable EXIT Theatre, for helping to ensure that at least some of our local play-writing talents will be preserved for posterity. And who better to inaugurate the series than Mark Jackson, whose professional development has been closely tied to the EXIT, and to the San Francisco Fringe Festival, which it produces? Far from being merely a collection of “Fringe-y” experimentation, Ten Plays (EXIT Press, 492 pages, $19.95) is a testament to the tenacity of vision. From reimagined Shakespearean classics (R&J, I Am Hamlet) to Jackson’s breakout hit The Death of Meyerhold, the bleakly comedic American $uicide, and the stirring Kurosawa-esque epic The Forest War, what these plays have in common is an audacious commitment to the illimitable possibilities of live theater. Of which, giving these works an opportunity to reach a wider audience is but one. (Nicole Gluckstern)

By any good political standard, John Lescroart’s Damage (Dutton, 416 pages, $26.95) is awful. It’s all about how a criminal uses the technicalities of law to get released (damn liberal judges) and how his family — newspaper publishers with ties to the (damn liberal) political establishment — protects him even as he continues to rape young women. Reminds me of that atrocious movie Pacific Heights, which is supposed to convince you that eviction protection and tenants rights are unfair to the poor landlords. But Lescroart writes about San Francisco, and does a pretty good job describing the city, and his characters are so real and well-crafted that I’m able to set aside the politics. In this case, Ro Curtlee, the rapist, is such an evil, evil bad guy — but a plausible, privileged evil bad guy — that he comes to life in a way that makes you want to kill him yourself. And makes you understand why a cop might feel the same way. And in the world of crime fiction, making you feel pain is half the game. It’ll be out in paper this spring. (Tim Redmond)

What Carl Rakosi was to Objectivism — a significant poet who dropped out of sight only to reemerge an old master — Richard O. Moore is to the SF Renaissance. The 90-year-old Moore was active in Kenneth Rexroth’s libertarian-anarchist circle in the 1940s, but abandoned poetry publishing for the more efficacious mass media of radio and TV, cofounding both KPFA and KQED in the process (and shooting the only footage of Frank O’Hara to boot). But Moore never stopped writing, and his debut volume Writing the Silences (University of California Press, $19.95) offers a brief but tantalizing introduction to more than 60 years of poetic activity. Moore’s diction is spare but memorable; a hawk’s wings, for example, “balance on the blind/ push of air.” Yet his low-key tones are wedded to an experimental sensibility; witness 1960’s “Ten Philosophical Asides,” which might be the first poem in English riffing on Wittgenstein, more than a decade before language poetry. Writing the Silences is thus belated yet ahead of its time. (Garrett Caples)

I commissioned three of the works in Veronica De Jesus’s Here Now From Everywhere (Allone Co. Editions, 130 pages, $26). Her portraits of Michael Jackson and Jay Reatard ran in the Guardian, while I paid out of pocket for her to render a tribute to the poet John Wieners for my boyfriend. Along with just-announced SECA Award winner Colter Jacobsen, who published this book, De Jesus is my favorite creator of drawings in the Bay Area. Like Jacobsen, she delves into memory — her memorial portraits can be seen for free on the windows of Dog Eared Books, where this book is for sale. The charm and value of Here Now From Everywhere is immediate, but the book reveals more of its multfaceted personality with each return visit. De Jesus’ illustrated dictionary of inspirational icons ranges from superstars to half-forgotten pop heroes, from cultural figures to obscure female athletes. It’s a gift. (Johnny Ray Huston)

“I told Micah last night that my new book would be a haunted house.” Berkeley-based poet Julian Poirier’s El Golpe Chileño (Ugly Duckling Presse, 128 pages, $15) is filled with the ghosts of past and present. Essentially a bildungsroman, it tracks Poirier’s protagonist’s growth from youthful journeyman into adulthood though a kind of mixed-genre Theatre of the Absurd. Vaudeville, comics, memoir, film pitch, epistolary, failed novel, poetry, the carnival, and travelogue are all wielded brilliantly in the hands of Poirier, making for a phantasmagoric reading experience where the whole emerges defiantly greater than the sum of its parts. Poirier writes, “I turned my whole brain into a city and wrote down everything I saw happening there.” And indeed it certainly feels that way — the book is ripe with the names of places, of friends living and dead; with lists of dates and years; and with drawings and photographs, making up what Poirier somewhat obliquely labels “The Stolen Universe.” El Golpe Chileño is truly a success of form and content, of the high and low, of pop and elegy. (John Sakkis)

Fight club

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks

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December 21, 2010

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arts@sfbg.com

FILM Late in Boxing Gym, a pungent documentary even for Frederick Wiseman, an old-timer says something wise to his friend while lacing up. The friend doesn’t see the point of analogies. Our man admits that some only work on an intellectual level, but insists that others make intuitive sense of abstraction — the right metaphor can make all the difference in getting a particular movement. It’s hard to imagine that Wiseman would still be making his films if he didn’t think the same held true for a motion picture sequence.

Good thing, since boxing has been made to shoulder an awful lot of Hollywood hooey. Not much has changed since Manny Farber, writing in 1949, decried fight pictures for being “tightly humorless and supersaturated with worn-out morality … pure fantasy in so far as capturing the pulse of the beak-busting trade.” Wiseman isn’t interested in the trade so much as the discipline — though the big time’s spectacular images are plastered around the old-school Texas club. And yet even if Boxing Gym shrugs at the competitive elements of the sport, Wiseman’s squat compositions tune in the unglamorous business of keeping your dukes up when tired — the kind of matter-of-fact physical truth professional actors howl for.

By releasing Boxing Gym immediately after La Danse (2009), Wiseman ensures his own comparisons. The choreographer-dancer and trainer-boxer tandems are aligned not only in fancy footwork (Wiseman’s too), but also in their mirror-stretched studios. There are differences, of course — one can’t help but think of the Paris Ballet’s fundraising efforts when Richard Lord, the dexterous trainer-manager of the gym, explains membership dues. Perhaps because Wiseman is not beholden to an institutional cycle of rehearsals and performances in Boxing Gym, it’s the purer distillation of a kinetic education.

Watch Wiseman’s films together, and you’ll realize that different spaces register silence differently. The filmmaker’s musical ear is richly apparent in Boxing Gym‘s gloved rhythms and concrete echoes, to say nothing of the entrancing pendulum swings of side-by-side workouts. As in La Danse, Wiseman emulates the concentration of his subjects, but here he also picks up on their loose camaraderie in conversations about joblessness, the joy of getting hit and, closest to the bone, the Virginia Tech killings. The gym is still a masculine space, but one in which women (and children) are a significant presence. For more on the evolution of gender and “training,” one might well consult the filmmaker’s own catalog: Basic Training (1971), Manoeuvre (1979), and Missile (1987). Wiseman’s gym is finally a gathering place, one with atmosphere and history (and hardly any headphones) — all the more reason to see it in a movie theater.

BOXING GYM opens Wed/22 at the Roxie.

The Performant: Child’s play

Andrew Lam

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December 16, 2010

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The Mission gets a lot of ink these days for being a nexus of youthful, responsibility-free hipsterdom — but despite the skinny jeans and thick mustaches, the neighborhood still retains a surprisingly family-friendly vibe. For one, it’s still rife with community arts spaces, so it’s a good place for kids to get involved creatively: from Loco Bloco percussion classes, to brass band and capoeira courses at the Mission Cultural Center and Precita Eyes‘ lessons in mural installation.

Thanks in large part to the winter holidays, December is a great time to explore the youth arts scene as next wave performers strengthen their stage chops and strut their stuff and this last weekend played host to some of the best and brightest of these stage openings.

First up: the Community Music Center held their annual La Posarela at the Victoria Theatre. The production was a combination of Mexico’s traditional December plays, the posadas and pastorelas, which are both Catholic theatrical rites meant to re-enact the story of the birth of the baby Jesus. CMC’s starred members of its various classes and groups, including its children’s chorus, Latin vocal workshop, Coro del Pueblo, and Mission District young musicians programs.

In the flower of their youthitude: Revolutionary Nutcracker Sweetie plays Brava

Other youth openings included the Marsh Youth Theatre‘s relaunch of its now-perennial Siddhartha: The Bright Path and Krissy Keefer’s revamped Revolutionary Nutcracker Sweetie, which took the stage at the Brava Theater Center and was adapted for Dance Brigade’s various youth dance programs: beginning ballet was represented, as was hip-hop, belly dance, and taiko drumming.

A note on this last show: there’s something strangely inspiring about watching a group of determined girls wallop the heck out of a sturdy row of giant drums, fight off the annoying machinations of a pack of devious rats, overcome racial innuendo and classism, and dress up as jellyfish all in one production — and though pop culture references abounded throughout the production (party guests included Lady Gaga and the Jersey Shore kids), the delicate snowflake core of The Nutcracker did not melt under their onslaught.

Like Waters for (hot) chocolate: the infamous film knave plays a holiday show at the Roxie. Photo by David Magnusson

But of course the Mission would not be the Mission if there weren’t holiday treats for big kids too, and John Waters’ appearance at the Roxie Theatre‘s 101st anniversary fundraiser was definitely one of those. After waxing rhapsodic about the possibility of receiving sticks and stones curated by artists such as Richard Serra, pulp fiction bookstore KAYO Books, and Alvin and the Chipmunks, he moved on to sharing his holiday wishlist of big ideas. This included opening a movie theater with gay and straight water fountains just to watch the fur fly, hosting an abortion film festival, going on a “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” USO Tour with Beth Ditto, Pee Wee Herman, and Iggy Pop, and having a nervous breakdown onstage.

As it was, no-one had a nervous breakdown at all — but here’s hoping at the very least Waters’ less comedic desire to see the Roxie thrive for another 101 years will be fulfilled.

Film Listings

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks

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December 14, 2010

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Film listings are edited by Cheryl Eddy. Reviewers are Kimberly Chun, Michelle Devereaux, Peter Galvin, Max Goldberg, Dennis Harvey, Johnny Ray Huston, Louis Peitzman, Lynn Rapoport, Ben Richardson, and Matt Sussman. The film intern is Ryan Prendiville. For rep house showtimes, see Rep Clock.

OPENING

All Good Things This first narrative feature by Andrew Jarecki of the 2003 documentary Capturing the Friedmans fictionalizes another actual case of suspected nefarious deeds and high moral ambiguity. David Marks (Ryan Gosling) is the eldest son of a clan that’s among the greatest property-owning forces in NYC. But he rebels against following in the approved (and considerably corrupt) familial footsteps, in part by marrying Katie (Kirsten Dunst), a working-class Brooklynite whom his father (Frank Langella) helpfully notes “will never be one of us.” She’s no gold digger, however, and supports his every decision — even when he caves to pressure and joins the family biz after all, which is guaranteed to make him miserable. But does it make him crazy as well? The real-life model of this names-changed story was eventually accused or linked to three possible murders, though convinced only of one much lesser offense. All Good Things doesn’t feel the need to risk libel suits by pretending to know whether he was truly guilty or not — the record of known events alone over three-decades-plus offers quite enough provocative, sometimes downright bizarre fodder for drama. Very well-acted (particularly by Dunst, who’s been offscreen too long), the results have definite true-crime fascination. It’s too bad, however, that Jarecki evinces no talent for building suspense or momentum. What could have been a great movie just lays there after a certain point, absorbing on a moment-to moment basis yet ending up less than the sum of its parts. (1:41) (Harvey)

The Fighter Once enough of a contenda to have fought Sugar Ray Leonard — and won, though there are lingering questions about that verdict’s justice — Dicky (Christian Bale) is now a washed-up, crack-addicted mess whose hopes for a comeback seem just another expression of empty braggadocio. Ergo it has fallen to the younger brother he’s supposedly “training,” Micky (Mark Wahlberg), to endure the “managerial” expertise of their smothering-bullying ma (Melissa Leo) and float their large girl gang family of trigger-tempered sisters. That’s made even worse by the fact that they’ve gotten him nothing but chump fights in which he’s matched someone above his weight and skill class in order to boost the other boxer’s ranking. When Micky meets Charlene (Amy Adams), an ambitious type despite her current job as a bartender, this hardboiled new girlfriend insists the only way he can really get ahead is by ditching bad influences — meaning mom and Dicky, who take this shutout as a declaration of war. The fact-based script and David O. Russell’s direction do a good job lending grit and humor to what’s essentially a 1930s Warner Brothers melodrama — the kind that might have had Pat O’Brien as the “good” brother and James Cagney as the ne’er-do-well one who redeems himself by fadeout. Even if things do get increasingly formulaic (less 1980’s Raging Bull and more 1976’s Rocky), the memorable performances by Bale (going skeletal once again), Wahlberg (a limited actor ideally cast) and Leo (excellent as usual in an atypically brassy role) make this more than worthwhile. As for Adams, she’s just fine — but by now it’s hard to forget the too many cutesy parts she’s been typecast in since 2005’s Junebug. (1:54) (Harvey)

How Do You Know James L. Brooks directs Reese Witherspoon, Paul Rudd, and Owen Wilson in this romantic comedy. (1:53)

Rare Exports: A Christmas Tale High in the Finnish Arctic a scientific excavation unearths something exceedingly peculiar, with results that include several violent adult deaths and the mysterious disappearance of all local children in a depressed community whose flagging major industry is a reindeer slaughterhouse. When the area’s arms-bearing, beer-swilling menfolk prove clueless, it falls to hardboiled eight-year-old Pietari (Onni Tommila) to turn Kick-Ass and precociously marshal a full-on strategic offensive against intruders who reveal a disturbing ancient truth about Santa Claus and his elves. Writer-director Jalmari Helender’s first feature (which expands upon a couple prior shorts’ premise) gets points for being something definitely offbeat in the Yuletide fantasy sweepstakes. That said, its mix of black comedy, near-horror and action adventure doesn’t quite gel, or add up to more than an absurdist joke that feels overtaxed even at a fairly trim 84 minutes. (1:42) (Harvey)

Tron: Legacy Kevin Flynn (Jeff Bridges, playing old and young versions of himself) returns in this sequel to the 1982 sci-fi classic. (2:05) Castro.

Vincent: A Life in Color Vincent P. Falk, better known as “Riverace,” is a bit of an urban legend in Chicago. He’s spent the last several years’ lunch hours and weekends (when weather permits) wearing fluorescent-hued suits, doing runway twirls on bridges to attract the attention of passing tourist boats. He also performs variations on this “fashion show” for any available TV cameras, in the path of marathon runners, indeed anywhere else crowds can see and acknowledge him. Many locals would be surprised to learn he is not homeless or mentally ill, and that he is not just gainfully employed but a longterm white-collar governmental worker. He is also legally blind, was raised by nuns and foster parents, and once was a popular gay disco DJ. But Jennifer Burns’ documentary doesn’t penetrate beneath these biographical facts and Falk’s G-rated exhibitionism — perhaps there isn’t anything there to reveal. Even his closest friends (relatively speaking) confess they barely know this 60-year old studied eccentric whose identity as sartorial weirdo and “master of the corny pun” (that part is painful) might simply be a damaged individual’s way of controlling interpersonal communication he might otherwise find uncomfortable. Is he a performance artist, a living work of art, or (as someone puts it) one more face in the ranks of “deluded fools who think their personality should fill the space around them”? A Life in Color doesn’t have the answer, and frankly it could have asked that question in much less than full-length-feature time. (1:36) Red Vic. (Harvey)

Yogi Bear Dan Aykroyd and Justin Timberlake voice the picnic-crazed critters in this adaptation of the Hanna-Barbera cartoon. (1:19)

ONGOING

*Black Swan “Lose yourself,” ballet company head Thomas (Vincent Cassel) whispers to his leading lady, Nina (Natalie Portman), moments before she takes the stage. But Nina is already consumed with trying to find herself, and rarely has a journey of self-discovery been so unsettling. Set in New York City’s catty, competitive ballet world, Black Swan samples from earlier dance films (notably 1948’s The Red Shoes, but also 1977’s Suspiria, with a smidgen of 1995’s Showgirls), though director Darren Aronofsky is nothing if not his own visionary. Black Swan resembles his 2008 The Wrestler somewhat thematically, with its focus on the anguish of an athlete under ten tons of pressure, but it’s a stylistic 180. Gone is the gritty, stripped-down aesthetic used to depict a sad-sack strongman. Like Dario Argento’s 1977 horror fantasy, the gory, elegantly choreographed Black Swan is set in a hyper-constructed world, with stabbingly obvious color palettes (literally, white = good; black = evil) and dozens of mirrors emphasizing (over and over again) the film’s doppelgänger obsession. As Nina, Portman gives her most dynamic performance to date. In addition to the thespian fireworks required while playing a goin’-batshit character, she also nails the role’s considerable athletic demands. (1:50) Sundance Kabuki. (Eddy)

Burlesque Burlesque really wants your love. Much like its heroine Ali, the small-town girl with showbiz dreams (and the not-so-secret pipes to make those dreams a reality), Burlesque knows all the moves by heart and is determined to land a spot in the chorus-line next to Cabaret (1972), Pretty Woman (1990), The Devil Wears Prada (2006), and Gypsy (1962). “Come on,” it implores, firing off Bob Fosse finger-snaps and leg-bearing kicks, “I’ve got Christina Aguilera as the plucky newcomer and Cher as the seasoned stage-vet and owner of the Burlesque Lounge, a kind of music video purgatory in which the Pussycat Dolls never broke up.” [snap snap snap] “I’ve got Stanley Tucci trapped in the makeover montage closet, again, as the sassy gay-in-waiting to both female leads.” [snap snap snap] “I’ve got girls gyrating in a Victoria’s Secret catalog worth of risqué underthings.” [snap snap pant] “I’ve got melisma!” [pant pant pant] “Did I mention Cher’s eleventh-hour power ballad?” Yes, it’s true. Burlesque has all of the above (and can’t you just hear the hunger in its voice?) And yet, it is afflicted by a particularly unfortunate kind of mediocrity. Not terrible enough to be redeemable as camp, Burlesque also lacks what Kay Thompson would call “bazazz” — none of the leads have any chemistry with each other, or the camera for that matter — to make this musical truly sing. In the words of many a casting agent: “Maybe next time, kid.” (1:48) Empire, 1000 Van Ness, SF Center, Sundance Kabuki. (Sussman)

The Chronicles of Narnia: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader It’s no secret that C.S. Lewis’ Narnia saga is a big ol’ Christian allegory. And hey, that doesn’t mean it’s not entertaining. The film adaptations of his novels have been decent, in that they’ve worked to please both mainstream audiences and religious zealots who want to see the Jesus lion die for our sins. But while The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe (2005) and Prince Caspian (2008) were essentially passable, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader is an overwhelming failure. It’s lazy, the plotting is uneven, the CGI is cringe-worthy, and the 3D is the kind of sloppy post-production mess that makes the actors’ faces look concave. Add to that the moral message, which is more hamfisted than ever. In his lengthy climactic sermon, Aslan — he’s known by a different name in our world — tells Lucy (Georgie Henley) and Edmund (Skandar Keynes) that all their adventures have been about bringing them closer to him. Suck it, atheists. (1:52) 1000 Van Ness, SF Center. (Peitzman)

Due Date One delayed appearance for a baby’s birth does not a Hangover (2009) make. After all, even the most commited baby daddy isn’t totally required to be at the blessed event, unlike a wedding ceremony. So even two films into what seems like a trilogy of bromancey men’s coming-of-age terror, director Todd Phillips already seems to working a tired old bone. Slick LA architect Peter (Robert Downey Jr.) has a self-satisfied mean streak that doesn’t seem to be abating with the birth of his first child halfway across the country, or his run-ins with budding thespian Ethan (Zach Galifianakis) — the two collide cute in the airport on their way to the so-called Best Coast. One no-fly list leads to another, and Peter is reluctantly hightailing it by rental car with the uncoolest dude in school. Oh dear: Roadtrip for Schmucks, anyone? Due Date proves that, yes, contrary to what I once believed, there is such a thing as too much Galifianakis, in perpetual shtick mode here. And even though the weathered, well-textured Downey can build character with a single well-placed, black-hearted glare, he’s saddled with such a sorry misanthropic creep here that the audience is hard-pressed to care. (1:35) 1000 Van Ness. (Chun)

*Fair Game Doug Liman’s film effectively dramatizes yet another disgraceful chapter from the last Presidential administration: how CIA agent Valerie Plame (Naomi Watts), who’d headed the Joint Task Force on Iraq investigating whether Saddam Hussein had WMDs, was identified by name in the Washington Post as a covert agent — thus ending her intelligence career and placing many of her subordinates and sources around the world in danger. This info was leaked to the press, it turned out, by highest-level White House officials as “punishment” for the New York Times editorial former ambassador Joe Wilson (Sean Penn) — Plame’s husband — wrote condemning their insistence on those WMDs to justify the Iraq invasion by then already well in progress. (The CIA task force had also found zero evidence of mass-destruction weapons, but Bush and co. chose to come up with their own bogus “facts” to sway US public opinion.) Purportedly, Karl Rove clucked to CNN’s Chris Matthews that Wilson’s awkwardly-timed dose of sobering truth rendered his spouse “fair game” for exposure. Unfortunately opening here several days after it might theoretically have done some election-day good — not that many Republican voters would likely be queuing up — Fair Game may be a familiar story to many. But its gist and details remain quite enough to make the blood boil. While the political aspects are expertly handled in thriller terms, the personal ones are a tad less successful. That’s partly because we never quite glimpse what brought these two very busy, business-first people together; but largely, alas, because so many of Wilson’s diatribes come off all too much as things that might be said by Sean Penn, Rabble-Rouser and Humanitarian. This is perhaps a case of casting so perfect it becomes a distracting fault. (1:46) Sundance Kabuki. (Harvey)

*The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest If you enjoyed the first two films in the Millennium trilogy — 2009’sThe Girl With the Dragon Tattoo and The Girl Who Played With Fire — there’s a good chance you’ll also like The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest. Based on the final book in Stieg Larsson’s series, the film begins shortly after the violent events at the conclusion of the second movie. There are brief flashes of what happened — the cinematic equivalent of TV’s “previously on&ldots;” — but it’s likely an indecipherable jumble to Girl first-timers. Hornet’s Nest presents the trial of Lisbeth Salander (Noomi Rapace), the much-abused, much-misunderstood, entirely kick-ass protagonist of the series. With the help of journalist Mikael Blomkvist (Michael Nyqvist) and his sister Annika (Annika Hallin) as her lawyer, Lisbeth finally gets her day in court. The conspiracy that drives the story is somewhat convoluted, and while it all comes together in the end, Hornet’s Nest isn’t an easy film to digest. Still, it’s a well-made and satisfying conclusion to the trilogy — as long as you caught the beginning and middle, too. (2:28) Smith Rafael. (Peitzman)

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows — Part 1 As enjoyable as the Harry Potter films are for fans, they never really hold their own. And that’s OK. They’re not Oscar bait the way the Lord of the Rings movies were, but they’re competent adaptations of a much beloved book series. While Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows — Part 1 may not be a perfect film, it’s a solid translation of the source material, sure to appease the loyal readers who still can’t quite cope with the fact that the saga is nearly over. I count myself among them, and I’ll admit that it’s difficult to look at any Harry Potter movie with a critical eye. But even for an outsider, part one of Harry’s final chapter is likely to entertain, with plenty of action and a streamlined pace that helps the film move faster than past entries in the series. For devotees, the effect is greater, and the emotional wallop Deathly Hallows packs should not be underestimated. (2:26) Empire, 1000 Van Ness, Sundance Kabuki. (Peitzman)

Inside Job Inside Job is director Charles Ferguson’s second investigative documentary after his 2007 analysis of the Iraq War, No End in Sight, but it feels more like the follow-up to Alex Gibney’s Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room (2005). Keeping with the law of sequels, more shit blows up the second time around. As with No End in Sight, Ferguson adeptly packages a broad overview of complex events in two hours, respecting the audience’s intelligence while making sure to explain securities exchanges, derivatives, and leveraging laws in clear English (doubly important when so many Wall Street executives hide behind the intricacy of markets). The revolving door between banks, government, and academia is the key to Inside Job‘s account of financial deregulation. At times borrowing heist-film conventions (it is called Inside Job, after all), Ferguson keeps the primary players in view throughout his history so that the eventual meltdown seems anything but an accident. The filmmaker’s relentless focus on the insiders isn’t foolproof; tarring Ben Bernanke, Henry Paulson, and Timothy Geithner as “made” guys, for example, isn’t a substitute for evaluating their varied performances over the last two years. Inside Job makes it seem that the entire crisis was caused by the financial sector’s bad behavior, and this too is reductive. Furthermore, Ferguson does not come to terms with the politicized nature of the economic fallout. In Inside Job, there are only two kinds of people: those who get it and those who refuse to. The political reality is considerably more contentious. (2:00) Smith Rafael. (Goldberg)

The King’s Speech Films like The King’s Speech have filled a certain notion of “prestige” cinema since the 1910s: historical themes, fully-clothed romance, high dramatics, star turns, a little political intrigue, sumptuous dress, and a vicarious taste of how the fabulously rich, famous, and powerful once lived. At its best, this so-called Masterpiece Theatre moviemaking can transcend formula — at its less-than-best, however, these movies sell complacency, in both style and content. In The King’s Speech, Colin Firth plays King George VI, forced onto the throne his favored older brother Edward abandoned. This was especially traumatic because George’s severe stammer made public address tortuous. Enter matey Australian émigré Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush, mercifully controlled), a speech therapist whose unconventional methods include insisting his royal client treat him as an equal. This ultimately frees not only the king’s tongue, but his heart — you see, he’s never had anyone before to confide in that daddy (Michael Gambon as George V) didn’t love him enough. Aww. David Seidler’s conventionally inspirational script and BBC miniseries veteran Tom Hooper’s direction deliver the expected goods — dignity on wry, wee orgasms of aesthetic tastefulness, much stiff-upper-lippage — at a stately promenade pace. Firth, so good in the uneven A Single Man last year, is perfect in this rock-steadier vehicle. Yet he never surprises us; role, actor, and movie are on a leash tight enough to limit airflow. (1:58) (Harvey)

Love and Other Drugs Whatever kind of movie you think Love and Other Drugs is, you’re wrong. To be fair, it’s hard to pin down. This is a romantic comedy about two people who can’t commit, a serious drama about a young women living with Parkinson’s, a dark satirical look at the pharmaceutical industry, and — well, you get the idea. Love and Other Drugs shouldn’t work, really: the story is overstuffed and the script isn’t always cohesive. But leads Jake Gyllenhaal and Anne Hathaway sell the material well. In the end, it almost doesn’t matter that the film isn’t sure what it wants to be. “Almost” is key: there are moments in which Love and Other Drugs slips into Judd Apatow comedy territory, and others when it completely devolves into a sexual farce. It works on several different levels, but all together, it’s admittedly a bit of a mess. No bother. Just focus on the attractive naked people making out and you’ll likely enjoy the movie regardless. (1:53) 1000 Van Ness, SF Center, Sundance Kabuki. (Peitzman)

*Megamind Be careful what you wish for, especially if you’re a blue meanie with a Conehead noggin and a knack for mispronunciation and mayhem. Holding up hilariously against such animated efforts as The Incredibles (2004) and Monsters, Inc. (2001), Megamind uses that nugget of wisdom as its narrative springboard and takes off where most superhero-vs.-supervillain yarns end: the feud between baddie Megamind (voiced by Will Farrell) and goody-two-shoes Metro Man (Brad Pitt) goes waaay back, to the ankle-biter years. They’ve battled so often over intrepid girl reporter Roxanne Ritchi (Tina Fay) that she’s beyond bored by every nefarious torture device and disco crocodile the Blue Man throws at her. When Mega finally, unexpectedly vanquishes his foe, he finds himself with a bad case of the blues. With the help of his loyal Minion (David Cross), he decides to change the game and create his own worthy opponent, who just happens to be Roxanne’s schlubby cameraman (Jonah Hill). Chortles ensue, thanks to the sarcastic sass emanating from the Will and Tina show, although the 3-D effects seem beside the point. The resemblance to this year’s Despicable Me is more than a little passing, from the bad guy on the moral turnaround to the adorable underlings, but Megamind‘s smart satire of comic hero conventions, its voice actor’s right-on riffs, and the rock and pop licks on the soundtrack make it the nice and nasty winner. (1:36) 1000 Van Ness. (Chun)

Night Catches Us Director Tanya Hamilton’s exploration of manhood is largely an attempt to recreate a time and a place: 1976 Philadelphia. Race tensions are high, as Marcus Washington (Anthony Mackie) returns home for his father’s funeral. The threat of violence looms large as the town’s Black Panthers believe him to be a snitch, having turned over his best friend to be assassinated by the police. (Hamilton routinely sets the context by including interludes of documentary footage, including clips from 1971’s The Murder of Fred Hampton.) Kerry Washington plays Patricia, the widow, and Marcus’s only remaining friend in town. Scenes between the two have an intense quality, as we wait for them to talk about the ghost in the room. Otherwise characters are largely left underdeveloped, particularly a pushy cop (David Gordon) and a thuggish Panther (Jamie Hector), a waste of two alums of The Wire. Tariq Trotter of the Roots, who contribute to the film’s referential score, is woefully unexplored as Marcus’s brother. At best the film recalls the early work of Charles Burnett, although the degree of understatement is questionable. (1:28) (Prendiville)

127 Hours After the large-scale, Oscar-draped triumph of 2008’s Slumdog Millionaire, 127 Hours might seem starkly minimalist — if director Danny Boyle weren’t allergic to such terms. Based on Aron Ralston’s memoir Between a Rock and a Hard Place, it’s a tale defined by tight quarters, minimal “action,” and maximum peril: man gets pinned by rock in the middle of nowhere, must somehow free himself or die. More precisely, in 2003 experienced trekker Ralston biked and hiked into Utah’s Blue John Canyon, falling into a crevasse when a boulder gave way under his feet. He landed unharmed … save a right arm pinioned by a rock too securely wedged, solid, and heavy to budge. He’d told no one where he’d gone for the weekend; dehydration death was far more likely than being found. For those few who haven’t heard how he escaped this predicament, suffice it to say the solution was uniquely unpleasant enough to make the national news (and launch a motivational-speaking career). Opinions vary about the book. It’s well written, an undeniably amazing story, but some folks just don’t like him. Still, subject and interpreter match up better than one might expect, mostly because there are lengthy periods when the film simply has to let James Franco, as Ralston, command our full attention. This actor, who has reached the verge of major stardom as a chameleon rather than a personality, has no trouble making Ralston’s plight sympathetic, alarming, poignant, and funny by turns. His protagonist is good-natured, self-deprecating, not tangibly deep but incredibly resourceful. Probably just like the real-life Ralston, only a tad more appealing, less legend-in-his-own-mind — a typical movie cheat to be grateful for here. (1:30) Sundance Kabuki. (Harvey)

*The Social Network David Fincher’s The Social Network is a gripping and entertaining account of how Facebook came to take over the known social-networking universe. In this version of events — scripted by Aaron Sorkin and based on Ben Mezrich’s book The Accidental Billionaires, in turn based substantially on interviews with FB cofounder Eduardo Saverin, with input from Mark Zuckerberg icily absent — a girlfriend’s dumping of Zuckerberg (Jesse Eisenberg) on a crisp evening in 2003 is the impetus in his headlong quest for a “big idea.” The film is structured around the conference-room depositions for two separate lawsuits, brought against Zuckerberg by Saverin (Andrew Garfield) and by fellow Harvard entrepreneurs Tyler and Cameron Winklevoss (Armie Hammer) and Divya Narendra (Max Minghella) for crimes involving intellectual property and vast scads of retributive money. Unless Zuckerberg decides to post it on Facebook (which he probably shouldn’t, given the nondisclosure vows that capped off the first round of lawsuits), we’ll never know what truly motivated him and how badly he screwed over his friends and fellow students. But Fincher and Sorkin have crafted a compelling, absorbing, and occasionally poignant tale of how it could have happened. (2:00) Empire, 1000 Van Ness, Sundance Kabuki. (Rapoport)

Tangled In its original form, Rapunzel‘s a pretty brutal fairy tale: barely pubescent girl gets knocked up by a prince — who’s then blinded by her evil witch guardian — leaving Rapunzel to fend for herself as she’s exiled into the desert and bears twins. Relax, that isn’t the story Tangled tells. The new Disney film is a complete revamping of the tale: Rapunzel (Mandy Moore) escapes the clutches of Mother Gothel (Donna Murphy) with the help of ne’er-do-well Flynn Ryder (Zachary Levi). Along the way, there are songs and slapstick moments and, yes, anthropomorphic animals. But unlike the classic feel of last year’s The Princess and the Frog, Tangled comes across as recycled. It’s just not as fresh and sharp as it should be, especially given recent Disney accomplishments like Toy Story 3. Kids will enjoy it and adults won’t be bored, but it’s a step backward for the House of Mouse. And don’t expect to be humming any of the songs after you exit the theater. (1:32) 1000 Van Ness, Presidio, SF Center. (Peitzman)

The Tempest First things first: Julie Taymor’s misguided film adaptation of The Tempest isn’t entirely her fault. Even at his worst, Shakespeare is still — you know — Shakespeare, but The Tempest, his last completed play, has its fair share of flaws. Add to that Taymor, a director often criticized for choosing style over substance, and you have a messy, disorienting film. Helen Mirren is predictably great as Prospera: the gender switch from the original is Taymor’s invention. But despite a solid performance, Mirren can’t overcome the material, a condensed version of the play that jumps all over the place before reaching an unsatisfying conclusion. There are interesting moments, to be sure, particularly the trippy delights of Taymor’s trademark visuals. In the end, however, The Tempest drags. Even the sight of naked Ben Whishaw flittering about as Ariel doesn’t make the enterprise worthwhile. O brave new world that has such crappy movies in it! (1:50) SF Center. (Peitzman)

*Tiny Furniture Aura (Lena Dunham) has returned home to Manhattan after four undergraduate years cocooning in a Midwestern liberal arts education; either big-city life has gotten harder, or she has gotten very soft. She’s rather reluctantly welcomed back into their blindingly white TriBeCa loft by a successful artist mother (Laurie Simmons) and caustic, ambitious younger sister (Grace Dunham). Neither seemed to miss her much, and both are played by the writer-director-star’s actual family members. “I don’t know what to do with my life” is a very typical state post-graduation, but Aura’s stasis is positively Oblomov-ian — and since she is our protagonist, this movie, too, is all about the comedy of rudderlessness. Recently abandoned by a feminist college boyfriend who needed to “find himself,” she tries glomming on to such dubious romantic prospects as visiting filmmaker Jed (Alex Karpovsky), who gladly accepts free room and board but barely seems to register her as female. “Best friend” Charlotte (Jemima Kirke) is a spectacular wellspring of ideas meant to improve Aura’s lot, though since Aura basically walks around with a “Kick Me” sign on her posterior and Charlotte is sexy, moneyed, endlessly entitled trainwreck, her advice (e.g. “Just take him somewhere and grab his cock”) are bound make things worse. Tiny Furniture is indeed small, as first-feature achievements go. It’s anyone’s guess whether Dunham has it in her to make good movies less baldly autobiographical, as she’ll need to if she wants to have a career. That said, few films — certainly nothing Woody Allen’s done for ages — have been so dryly hilarious about the kind of NYC art-social milieux in which being a nobody really, truly sucks. Because everyone else is already somebody, if only in their own minds. It also has, hands down, the greatest three-minute, single-shot whiny meltdown speech of 2010 or nearly any other year. (1:38) (Harvey)

*Today’s Special This food comedy, written by and starring the Daily Show‘s Aasif Mandvi, is not an original recipe. It opens with an appetite-igniting cooking montage à la Eat Drink Man Woman (1994) and follows The Big Night (1996) structure. Samir (Mandvi) is a sous chef in a modern NYC restaurant, laboring under the dickish Dean Winters and next to the patently unnattractive Kevin Corrigan. He’s never made Indian food, despite his parents’ owning a struggling restaurant called Tandoori Palace. What is Samir to do when he gets turned down for a promotion, because his cooking is soulless? Things pick up in the film with the arrival of Mary Poppins in the form of worldly taxi driver and master chef, Akbar (Naseeruddin Shah). The course of this voyage of personal and cultural discovery is obvious, but the humor is as genuine as the performances, with the ingredients just needing a bit of time to come together. (1:39) Smith Rafael. (Prendiville)

The Tourist Ah, all the champagne wishes and caviar dreams and daydreams of bouncing truffles off Angelina Jolie’s pillowy pout couldn’t quite stop The Tourist from going very much astray. How many ways can a movie go wrong? There’s the by-the-numbers yet somehow directionless direction from filmmaker Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck, who made one of the most absorbing film about surveillance to date with The Lives of Others (2006), only to completely miss the mark with this tone-deaf attempt at a Charade-like romantic escapade. The musty, fussy bodice-swelling score by James Newton Howard. A glassy-eyed Jolie somehow mistaking stony inexpressiveness for Garbo-esque mystique? The list goes on — at core, the casting is perhaps the sole compelling reason to see this waxy, museum-piece remake of the French film Anthony Zimmer (2005) — though the chemistry is negligible between the film’ attractive stars, with Jolie in particular waltzing through like a beautiful Euro-zombie, seemingly intent on sleepwalking through Venice and saving her better efforts for a more socially conscious film. Her disdain for the material sucks the air from this entire enterprise. The only bit of un-snuffable charm here lies in Johnny Depp’s naifish delivery and the murky, ironic humor he unobtrusively layers into his bemused performance. But then he’s just a tourist, passing through and providing the only scrap of pleasure in an otherwise dull outing. (1:44) 1000 Van Ness, Shattuck. (Chun)

Unstoppable After a dunderheaded train-yard worker essentially flicks the “hellbent” switch on an unmanned train loaded with hazardous materials, it’s up to odd-couple operators Denzel Washington (old; cranky; in endearing subplot, his daughters work at Hooters) and Chris Pine (young; cocky; in weirdly off-putting subplot, his wife has a restraining order against him) to chase down that loco-motive and prove the movie’s title wrong. The film mostly darts between the interior of a train car, for Washington-Pine bickering; railroad mission control, where a miscast Rosario Dawson literally phones in her performance; TV news reports, lazily illustrating the train’s flight through rural Pennsylvania; and various low angles relative to the speeding train, so sinister it’s bright red and numbered 777 (which is, like, almost 666!) Veteran action director Tony Scott does what he can with the based-on-true-events storyline, but Unstoppable is so deadly serious and predictable it just gets boring after awhile. At least the runaway vehicle in 1994’s similar Speed had a villain to enjoy; here, there’s just an angry choo-choo. Miss you, Dennis Hopper. (1:38) 1000 Van Ness. (Eddy)

The Warrior’s Way (1:40) 1000 Van Ness.

*White Material Claire Denis was raised in colonial Africa, and White Material is her third feature set in its wake (the first two were 1988’s Chocolat and 1999’s breathtaking Beau Travail). This new film is very much about Africa, compositing elements of several different “troubles” (child soldiers, a strong man’s militia, radio broadcasts fomenting violence) into an abstract of conflict. Between the dead-eyed rebels in the bush and the brutally efficient forces in town stands Maria Vial (Isabelle Huppert), a colonial holdout. As the troubles mount, Maria buries the signs of encroaching threats; her refusal to be terrorized is a trait we typically ascribe to male action heroes, though Maria’s resolute blindness is its own kind of privilege in the African context. Unusually for Denis, the film is both a literary adaptation (cowritten with author Marie NDiaye and based on Doris Lessing’s The Grass is Singing) and a star vehicle for Huppert, whose stringy musculature is a nice match for Yves Cape’s lithe camerawork. The idea of Maria’s character already tends toward the parabolic, though, and all these different inputs can result in too much dramatic underlining. But for all White Material‘s novelistic concessions, Denis’ subtle command of composition and rhythm as elements of narration is beyond doubt. Her use of the handheld camera remains preternaturally attuned to her characters’ pleasures and anxieties. (1:42) (Goldberg)

Our weekly Picks: December 15-21, 2010

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks

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December 14, 2010

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WEDNESDAY 15

MUSIC

Buzzov*en

Legendary sludge metal band Buzzov?en has been wandering the wilderness since the early ’90s, its members ping-ponging between different down-tuned, drugged-out projects. Sludge, an ugly-sounding offshoot of stoner metal, can be traced back to the Melvins, and it was relatively big business in 1994 when Buzzov?en’s second album, Sore, was picked up by Roadrunner Records. That honeymoon was over quickly, and the band’s career has been peripatetic since. Famous for the violence of its live shows and squalling, pummeling riffs, the band is likely to incite a frenzy wherever its brand-new tour may take them. (Ben Richardson)

With Brainoil, Neurotoxicity, No Statik, K. Lloyd

8:30 p.m., $16

DNA Lounge

375 11th St., SF

(415) 626-1409

www.dnalounge.com

MUSIC

John Grant

After the decade he spent fronting dreamy indie-pop group the Czars, John Grant has since gone on record saying he never really felt all that satisfied with the band’s albums. As crazy as that might sound to Czars fans, Queen of Denmark, his new solo album backed by Texas folk-rockers Midlake, is indeed a markedly personal album — and perhaps the type he wanted to make all along. Grant’s 1970s soft rock-inspired arrangements and rich baritone vocals are excellent; but it’s the emotional vulnerability and snarky humor of his lyrics that really define him as a songwriter who is very much deserving of some more attention. (Landon Moblad)

With Jessica Pratt

8 p.m., $15

Swedish American Hall

2170 Market, SF

(415) 861-5016

www.cafedunord.com

MUSIC

Del the Funky Homosapien

The Bay Area’s ambassador of hip-hop, not to the planet but the galaxy and beyond, Del the Funky Homosapien came out of Oakland’s Hieroglyphics crew before lending his unmistakable voice to projects of a stranger variety. A fetish for ginormous words and out-of-this-world concepts culminated in the future blap of 2000’s space jamming album Deltron 3030. A follow-up is supposedly in the can, reportedly ready for release in 2010. At this intimate event, fans will have the opportunity to remind Del that it is mid-December. (Ryan Prendiville)

With Simple Citizens

Wed/15–Thurs/16, 8 p.m., $30

Yoshi’s San Francisco

1330 Fillmore, SF

(415) 655-5600

www.yoshis.com

THURSDAY 16

DANCE

“DANCEfirst! Modernity/Humanity: The Nzoto Installation“

Often the very act of preserving an artifact distances it from its daily meanings. The “Art/Object: Recontextualizing African Art” exhibit now gracing the halls of the Museum of the African Diaspora seeks to right this wrong, inserting ancient costumes, tools, and accessories back into the flourishes of life they once accentuated. The integration of ritual and modernity is also the theme of an upcoming MoAD dance performance, The Nzoto Installation, presented by dance-community bridge-building organization see.think.dance, and featuring international performance artist Byb Chanel Bibene using the nzoto (“the body” in Bantu) of dancer groups to meld abstract thought and tradition with motion and emotion you can feel, now. (Caitlin Donohue)

6–9 p.m., free with admission ($5–>$15)

Museum of the African Diaspora

685 Mission, SF

(415) 358-7200

www.moadsf.org MUSIC

MUSIC

Om

The demise of Sleep marked a sad day for metal fans, but from the resin-soaked ashes of that vaunted South Bay trio emerged two bands that have done much to cheer them up. The success of Matt Pike and High on Fire is a topic to be considered elsewhere; Om is the order of the day. Founded by Sleep’s bassist and drummer, Al Cisneros and Chris Haikus, the meditative metal outfit has taken advantage of the former’s mellifluous playing to craft songs that are at once crushingly heavy and fuzzily embracing. Cisneros is now paired with new drummer Emil Amos, and they’re prepared to rock you into reverie. (Richardson)

With Lichens, Barn Owl, DJ Britt Govea

8 p.m., $16

Independent

628 Divisadero, SF

(415) 771-1422

www.independentsf.com.

FRIDAY 17

THEATER

Mr. Yoowho’s Holiday

In conjunction with Noh Space, Moshe Cohen presents Mr. Yoowho’s Holiday, a story fusing the spirit of adventure with the warmth of the season. Mr. Yoowho embarks on an international journey across geographical borders as well as the borders of the imagination. He meets Taro-kaja, the prototypical spirited trickster hero of Japanese Kyogen Theater, as well as encountering elements of the European circus and Yiddish absurdism. Drawing on aspects of traditional Japanese Noh Theater and Kyogen Theater, Cohen returns to SF after touring extensively through Europe to meld humor, poetry, and absurdity in this heartwarming tale. (Emmaly Wiederholt)

Through Jan. 2, 2011

Preview tonight, 8 p.m., $10

Fri.–Sat., 8 p.m., Sun., 3 p.m., $10–$18

Theatre of Yugen

2840 Mariposa, SF

1-800-838-3006

www.theatreofyugen.org

EVENT

“Hubba Hubba Revue’s Christmas Hanukkah Spectacular”

Who will be the next mayor? What will the new year bring? Which corporate Death Star will the WikiLeaks cabal take down next? The Guardian doesn’t have all the answers to these quandaries of the abyss yet — but we sure as sugar have the inside skinny on who will be taking off their clothes at Hubba Hubba Revue’s holiday burlesque spectacular (you’re welcome). To wit: the winner of “best variety act” at Las Vegas’ Burlesque Hall of Fame, Chicago’s Amazing Bendable Poseable Dolls of Doom, and boylesque troupe the Stage-Door Johnnies. Also, don’t miss (yes!) Hubba’s annual visit from the hang-10 Hasids themselves, Jewish surf band Meshugga Beach Party. (Donohue)

9 p.m., $10–$15

DNA Lounge

375 11th St., SF

(415) 626-1409

www.dnalounge.com

THEATER

Sweet Can Productions

Combining aerial silks, acrobatics, juggling, contortion, hula hoops, traditional circus, physical theater, dance, and live music, Sweet Can Production’s newest show Candid takes its audience into a charming topsy-turvy world where anything can happen. The limits of human imagination are stretched as mundane objects and everyday life transform into a breathtaking circus. Directed by Joanna Haigood and Wendy Parkman with new music by Eric Oberthaler, lighting designed by Tad Shannon, and performances by Beth Clarke, Natasha Kaluza, Kerri Kresinski, and Matt White, Candid aims to reveal the magic inherent in the ordinary. (Wiederholt)

Through Jan. 9, 2011

Schedule varies (opens tonight, 7 and 9 p.m.)

$15–$60

Dance Mission Theater

3316 24th St., SF

www.sweetcanproductions.com

MUSIC

Sub Swara

Bay Area dubstep freaks sometimes forget that the gateway to their bass addiction was a curious mutation of global funk — one that came to prominence in the mid-late ’00’s and mixed Jamaican dread, glitchy electronics, and bhangra flourishes into a heady, invigorating stew. Ground zero for this sound was the excellent Surya Dub party, much missed since its players went off to conquer the world. With a happy rumble, the Surya Dub crew is reuniting at Public Works, teaming up with Bay woofer-killers Slayers Club to bring in New York City duo Sub Swara, keepers of the international bass flame (with a cosmic-funky twist on their latest CD, Triggers). It’ll be a global-eared rumble that reunites seminal Bay influences while leaving you quaking in your Timberlands. (Marke B.)

10 p.m., $10

Public Works

161 Erie, SF

(415) 932-0955

www.publicsf.com

MUSIC

“Monsters of Accordion 2010”

The accordion: for many, it’s the runner-up for most annoying musical instrument (after bagpipes). When used outside of polka, zydeco, cumbia, and other “traditional genres” (read: mainstream pop), it has an attention-drawing, anachronistic quality. To rock it, a player must possess a superhuman degree of cool, like They Might Be Giants and, of course, Weird Al Yankovic. To that list add Jason Webley, the howling one-man band and mind behind Monsters of Accordion, known above all for his ability to convert nonbelievers to the squeezebox. (Prendiville)

With Corn Mo, Renee de la Prade, Petrojvic Blasting Co., and Duckmandu

9 p.m., $14

Slim’s

333 11th St., SF

(415) 255-0333

www.slims-sf.com

SATURDAY 18

MUSIC

Cyndi Lauper

With her string of recent successes, one could say that new wave chanteuse Cyndi Lauper is back. But that really wouldn’t be accurate — the independent firebrand never really went away. Starting with her smash breakthrough 1983 album She’s So Unusual and the string of hit singles that followed, including “Girls Just Want To Have Fun,” “She Bop,” and “Time After Time,” Lauper has continued to release a variety of music, along with appearing in films and being involved with human rights causes. She comes to the city tonight for an intimate club gig — here’s to hoping she can be persuaded to play “The Goonies ‘R’ Good Enough”! (Sean McCourt)

9 p.m., $65

Independent

628 Divisadero, SF

(415) 771-1422

www.independentsf.com

DANCE

Labayen Dance

It’s fun to watch artists who consistently surprise. Enrico Labayen is one of them. For a while, he dropped off the radar — turns out he went home to the Philippines to study native mythologies. When he returned, his first major endeavor became an ambitious Carmina Burana. Now he is taking on the Greeks. Icarus at the Edge of Recession promises to offer a fresh perspective on Daedalus as a CEO and Icarus as a young trader. He is showing this parable of a father sacrificing his son for his own ambition as a work in progress during what he calls a “holiday fun(d)raising event.” (Rita Felciano)

8 p.m., $20 (with pre-show party, 7 p.m., $25)

Garage

975 Howard, SF

(415) 509-3129

www.brownpapertickets.com

TUESDAY 21

MUSIC

Danny B. Harvey

Guitar slinger extraordinaire Danny B. Harvey has played with everyone from the Rockats, Nancy Sinatra, and Wanda Jackson to Bow Wow Wow and the Head Cat. This current tour stop finds him teaming up with his friend and “Rockabilly Filly” Rosie Flores. Harvey’s frantic finger-picking and tasty solos are truly a sight to behold live — especially when you look up from watching his fingers dancing on the fret board and see his expression — he often looks as if he’s enjoying a Jack and Coke at the bar, a big grin on his face and giving almost no indication of the difficulty of making the incredible sounds coming out of his guitar. (McCourt)

With Rosie Flores

9 p.m., $12–$15

Hotel Utah

500 Fourth St., SF

(415) 546-6300

www.thehotelutahsaloon.com

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Forget “Deborah” — Debbie Gibson is back!

Sue Vaughan

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December 13, 2010

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Despite having had a nearly 25-year (and counting) career in show business, singer Debbie Gibson is still full of youthful energy and excitement when talking about recent projects and what she has planned for the future — perhaps that is due in part to the fact that she had her first hit single and taste of fame when she was only 16 years old. The ever-vivacious Gibson is particularly excited about taking part in a benefit concert and cabaret show tonight here in San Francisco, “One Night Only: A Shrektacular Holiday Celebration,” which will also feature the cast of Shrek currently at the Orpheum Theatre, and raises funds for the Richmond/Ermet AIDS Foundation.

“Pretty much if I’m available, I can’t say no to this organization,” says Gibson, who has always been heavily involved with helping charitable groups throughout her career. “I really enjoy these intimate shows with solo theater performers, and it’s kind of a perfect fit for me — obviously I bring my pop persona to the table, but at the same time I’m part of the theater community, so it makes perfect sense really.”

The ‘80s pop chanteuse, famous for her initial hits such as “Only In My Dreams,” “Out of the Blue,” and “Electric Youth,” was one of the few stars of that time and genre who wrote and arranged much of her own material, which led to her successful forays into Broadway productions, and eventually into acting for film.

Her recent appearance in the cult B-movie Mega Shark vs. Giant Octopus has also sparked a new run of interest for celluloid gigs, with Gibson happily looking forward to the release of a new SyFy Channel movie, Mega Python vs. Gatoroid, which finds her teamed with another singer and actress who once vied for the same airwaves and video times as she did back in the 1980s — none other than Tiffany.

“[Mega Shark] was so bad it was good; this one is smart, kitschy, and campy, it’s sexy sci-fi horror, and it was so much fun to do,” enthuses Gibson. “The first one was done a lot on blue screen, and all that; for this one I was hanging from rope ladders, crawling in the swamp, and climbing buildings. It was actually quite an action movie in addition to being a sci fi movie. Throw in a little food fight between me and Tiffany and there you go!”

Gibson says that both actresses had fun playing on their supposed rivalry from their youth, and that they didn’t mind that some of the people behind the film may have had, er, some ulterior motives. “We were like, ‘what dirty old men at SyFy sat around [asking] how they could get Tiffany and Debbie Gibson to get whipped cream on each other?'”

Gibson is referencing a scene from the movie — which comes out next month — that was released early, showing a drawn-out, extended cat fight between the two involving smashed cake, wrestling in a river, and a hilarious reference to the title of one of their hit songs. At tonight’s special show, Gibson is planning on performing a new song, one she hopes will provide a new take on holiday tunes, and also on her supposedly squeaky clean image from her past.

“I wrote it about a year ago, and it’s a kind of a modern ‘Santa Baby,’ a sexy, jazzy, original Christmas song. It’s tongue in cheek, mocking myself, it’s called ‘The Naughty List’ — I’ve always been the good girl and I’d very much like to be on ‘The Naughty List’ for once!”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qf8BoWKeHow&feature=related

Debbie Gibson
Mon/13, 8 p.m., $35-$65
Theatre 39, Pier 39, SF
(415) 273-1620
www.helpisontheway.org

TRON: Legacy

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December 10, 2010

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TRON: Legacy is a 3D high-tech adventure set in a digital world that’s unlike anything ever captured on the big screen. Sam Flynn, the tech-savvy 27-year-old son of Kevin Flynn, looks into his father’s disappearance and finds himself pulled into the same world of fierce programs and gladiatorial games where his father has been living for 25 years. Along with Kevin’s loyal confidant, father and son embark on a life-and-death journey across a visually-stunning cyber universe that has become far more advanced and exceedingly dangerous.

Win tickets to a special midnight screening of TRON: Legacy at the Sundance Kabuki theater in San Francisco on Thursday, December 16. Be among the first to see Disney’s long-awaited cinematic event in the Sundance Kabuki’s main theater, which has just been upgraded to Dolby 3D and Dolby Surround 7.1. The winner will receive 2 tickets to the midnight screening and a $20 food voucher.

To enter, visit http://www.surveymonkey.com/s/TRON and answer the four Dolby and TRON trivia questions correctly. The winner will be selected at random.

Jackie Beat: “Hung Puerto Rican elves only”

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks

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December 9, 2010

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Jackie Beat: “Hung Puerto Rican elves only”

Generously talented and fantastically energetic (we’re talking 8-bit chipmunk here) LA drag entertainer Jackie Beat is in town with her new show “Jackie Beat’s All-You-Can-Eat Christmas,” Fri/10 and Sat/11 and Brava Theater. It sounds like a real festive hoot. The long-time cabaret circuit favorite, underground club hostess, and member of scandalous electro-revival band Dirty Sanchez pulled out her giant fork and dug into a little interview with us about ambrosia salad, abortion, AM schlock .. and that’s just the beginning. Go pay some money to see her!

SFBG: OK I’m dying over the concept for All-You-Can-Eat Christmas — it’s so refreshing to hear a drag queen talk about eating! What are some of your favorite foods? And do you do a lot of cooking?

Jackie Beat: Well, I was referring more to huge portions of talent, but I do love to eat! The ironic thing is that I have actually lost 100 pounds since my last holiday show, so people may think the title is actually “All-You-Can-Eat (And Then Throw Up!) Christmas,” but I promise it’s not! I still love to eat, I just eat less. My favorite holiday food has to be good old-fashioned Ambrosia Salad. It’s a big mess of pineapple chunks, pecans, shredded coconut, mandarin orange segments in heavy syrup, mini marshmallow, sour cream and Cool Whip. You can eat a huge bowl of it and then honestly tell people, “All I had was salad!”

SFBG: I love that you sing live — what kind of music is part of the new show?

JB: Most of the new material is in my amazing new outfit — yards and yards of it! Seriously, it gets harder every year to come up with new stuff. I have done thousands of song parodies, including every holiday song ever written! This year, I am doing a Country Christmas Medley, a great medley of horrible old AM radio classics — the type of crap you hear at wedding receptions — but sung with the original lyrics that were too shocking at the time. You know, so all these sweet nostalgic old songs are now about fisting and abortion. Good times! I am also doing a new song about getting a full-cavity search at the TSA and there are plenty of classics like “Santa’s Baby” and “Do Some Blow!”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZThrYCy9Zzo

SFBG: Who’s your favorite Santa’s reindeer?

JB: Grumpy? Oh wait, that was one of the Seven Dwarves, right? Um, Jan? No, she was in The Brady Bunch, sorry. Um, Rudolph of course! Because he’s the fucking star — like me!

SFBG: If you had an elf of your own, what would you make him or her do for you?

JB: First he would be Puerto Rican and hung like a horse. And I think you can figure out the rest! Oh, and after THAT — he would clean the fucking house!

SFBG: Can you tell me a bit about how the show came about?

JB: Um, I had bills to pay and I don’t know how to do anything else, so…

SFBG: I bet you’ve been pretty busy in general — what have you been doing lately? Any Dirty Sanchez news? You guys just performed here, yes?

JB: We did Folsom Street Fair last year, but we are all so busy with our own lives that we seldom perform together these days. Hopefully we will be working on some new music soon!

SFBG: You’re in San Francisco pretty regularly — what are some of your favorite things about the city?

JB: The PAYING customers, of course! Times are tough and like I said, I don’t know how to do anything else.

SFBG: Unfortunately Christmas can’t last forever — what’s next for Jackie Beat?

JB: Quite possibly dropping dead right after this grueling, brutal holiday tour — so come see me now while I am still alive, bitches!

JACKIE BEAT’S ALL YOU CAN EAT CHRISTMAS

Fri/10 and Sat/11, 10:30 p.m., $20–$40. Brava Theater, 2781 24th St., SF. www.brownpapertickets.com

‘Nutcracker’ and beyond

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks

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December 9, 2010

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You don’t have to be into winter solstice, Christmas, Hanukkah, or Kwanzaa celebrations to realize that there’s something about December — the end of another decade this time around, the darkest part of the year — that calls out for treats either for yourself or a friend or two. Here are a few dance-related suggestions between now and the end of the year that won’t bust your budget.

Born in Imperial Russia, The Nutcracker has become a peculiarly American institution. Almost against my will, it pulls me in every time. Though bifurcated, the masterful music — no matter its commercialization — pulls together the story of a brave little girl and her adventures. Reasonably priced options exist. San Francisco Ballet’s (through Dec. 27; War Memorial Opera House, SF) starts at $32. Take binoculars, you’ll be fine. The Oakland Ballet Company’s highly acclaimed version by new Artistic Director Graham Lustig (Dec. 23-26; Paramount Theater, Oakl.) starts at $15. Berkeley Ballet Theater’s (Dec. 10-12 and 17-19; Julia Morgan Theater, Berk.) has a one-price ticket for $26. After 20 years, this will be former ODC dancer Brian Fisher’s last Fritz.

If you like your Nutcracker to have sharp edges, the Dance Brigade’s mashup of politics and fun, The Revolutionary Nutcracker Sweetie (Dec. 11-12; Brava Theater, SF; $15–$17), has been reimagined by another generation of grrrl dancers and friends. The Dance Along Nutcracker (Dec. 11-12; Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, SF; $16–$50) was a hoot the first time around and continues to be a splendid mix of circus, dress-up, and community celebration. This year the revelers have invited the Twilight Vixen Revue. The SF Lesbian/Gay Freedom Band does the musical honors — fabulously.

Stepping outside of Nutcracker territory into original holiday fare, Kirstin E. Williams’ all-female Strong Pulse company hooks up with CCSF students for Be Cool, (Dec. 10-11; CCSF Performance Theater, SF; $10–$15) a jazz/ modern dance/hip-hop concert that is guaranteed to resonate all over the Phelan Avenue campus.

If you have never seen ShaSha Higby work her magic with phantasmagoric concoctions of human-made and natural materials, be prepared to being pulled into a world as dreamlike as it is tangible. In Folds of Gold (through Dec. 10-11; Noh Space, SF; $12-20) examines deep winter issues surrounding life, death, and rebirth.

The circus-based Sweet Can Productions newest show, Candid (Dec. 17-Jan. 9; Dance Mission Theater, SF; $15–$60), is sweet but not saccharine-sweet. These performers juggle and subvert cherished concepts as well as objects — brooms, dinner plates, hula hoops — to stretch credulity and the imagination. It’s what happens when life meets art.

With Lo Clásico, (Dec. 17-19; Cowell Theater, SF; $15–$35), Caminos Flamencos — 22 dancers and musicians — are performing Spain’s two major historical dance forms. There is, of course, flamenco, including Yaelisa’s breathtaking Soleares, but also examples of lesser-known Spanish classical dance choreographed to Ravel and de Falla.

WestWave Dance (Dec. 13; Cowell Theater, SF; $22–$68) closes its season with another quintet of new choreography by Pam Gonzales (from L.A.), Alyce Finwall, Christy Funsch, Carolé Acuna, and Ingrid Graham. The festival curates promising work by artists who can’t on their own afford the professional production values WestWave offers.

How about insight into dancers’ thought processes? For free? Chime Live (Dec. 11; Margaret Jenkins Dance Lab, SF; free) offers conversations and showings of work from Margaret Jenkins Dance Lab’s mentoring program. In the monthly program “2nd Sundays” (Dec. 12; CounterPULSE, SF; free), artists show pieces-in-progress and invite feedback. “Dancemaker’s Forum” (Dec. 19; SF Conservatory of Dance, SF; free) workshops new choreography by Manuelito Biag.

Contact improvisation has become a valued tool for choreographers, but it’s also a glorious performance art that redefines the concept of being “in the moment.” One of its originators, the masterful Nancy Stark Smith (Dec. 18; Eighth Street Studios, Berk.; $10–$20) is in town to connect with local and guest practitioners.

The connection between the Odette and Odile characters has puzzled Swan Lake lovers forever; the roles used to be danced by two different performers. SF Ballet’s recent production hinted at one interpretation. For another take, you might want to go to the movies and see Natalie Portman in Darren Aronofsky’s Black Swan (now playing; Bay Area theaters; prices vary).

Stage Listings

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks

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December 7, 2010

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Stage listings are compiled by Guardian staff. Performance times may change; call venues to confirm. Reviewers are Robert Avila, Rita Felciano, and Nicole Gluckstern. Submit items for the listings at listings@sfbg.com. For further information on how to submit items for the listings, see Picks. For complete listings, see www.sfbg.com.

THEATER

OPENING

Joyful Noise: A Gospel Celebration of Christmas Southside Theater, Fort Mason Center; 345-7575, www.LHTSF.org. $25-50. Previews Fri/10, 8pm. Opens Sat/11, 8pm. Call for dates and times. Through Dec 31. Lorraine Hansberry Theatre presents a rechristened version of their Black Nativity production.

Siddhartha, the Bright Path The Marsh Studio Theater, 1074 Valencia; (800) 838-3006, www.themarsh.org. $15-35. Previews Sat/11-Sun/12, 3pm; Thurs/16, 7:30pm. Opens Dec 17, 7:30pm. Call for dates and times. Through Jan 9. Marsh Youth Theater presents a holiday celebration, directed by Lisa Quoresimo.

BAY AREA

Arabian Nights Berkeley Repertory Theatre, Thrust Stage, 2025 Addison, Berk; (510) 647-2549, www.berkeleyrep.org. $34-73. Opens Sat/11, 8pm. Call for dates and times. Through Dec 30. Tony-winning Mary Zimmerman’s production makes a return to Berkeley Rep.

A Christmas Carol Center REPertory Company, 1601 Civic Drive, Walnut Creek; (925) 943-7469, www.centerREP.org. Previews Thurs/9, 8pm; Fri/10, 11am and 7:30pm. Opens Sat/11, 2pm and 7:30pm. Call for dates and times. Through Dec 19.Center REP presents the holiday classic.

ONGOING

Absolutely San Francisco Phoenix Theater Annex, 414 Mason, 4th floor; 433-1235, www.absolutelysanfrancisco.com. $28. Fri-Sat, 8pm. Through Dec 18. Karen Hirst’s one-person musical about lost love.

Babes in Arms Eureka Theatre, 215 Jackson; 255-8207, www.42ndstmoon.org. $24-44. Wed, 7pm; Thurs-Fri, 8pm; Sat, 6pm; Sun, 3pm. Through Dec 19. 42nd Street Moon presents John Guare’s adaptation of the musical by Rodgers and Hart.

Christmas in Hell: The Real and True Story About the Guys Who Saved Christmas Dark Room Theater, 2263 Mission; (800) 838-3006, www.brownpapertickets.com. $20. Fri-Sat, 8pm. Through Dec 18. An original holiday play, written and directed by Jim Fourniadis.

Caligari Studio 385, 385A Eighth St; www.brownpapertickets.com. $10-30. Fri, 8pm. Through Fri/10. Promising new company HurlyBurly stages its adaptation of the 1920 German expressionist film The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari in a Soma bondage club with productive and not-so-productive results. Production values are enjoyably thoughtful (including lighting designer Amanda Ortmayer’s moody use of small portable lights, laser pointers, and snatches of pure, delicious darkness) as the audience mills around a cement room in which actors stand or lie frozen, and in some cases encased, like some macabre wax museum. Daniel Korth’s script makes up in clever, fluid dialogue what it can lack in narrative coherence. But the doom-clouded storyline, featuring a fated romance between an ardent young man (a likeable Eddie Barol) and his somewhat aloof object of desire (a nicely detached yet powerful Shay Wisniewski), is familiar enough in sporadic outline that this isn’t a big deal. The play demands a certain over-the-top performance style, however, which few of co-directors Korth and Mikka Bonel’s otherwise capable actors really carry off (Gerri Lawlor is one of the more notable exceptions). The freedom to walk around the space as action unfolds on surrounding stages (or inaction in cages) is a visual and atmospheric plus. The production’s real limit is that its neo-expressionist dark-carnival invention comes across at times as too borrowed, as when a late-era Tom Waits song is heard. At least it wasn’t one from The Black Rider. (Avila)

Cavalia: A Magical Encounter Between Horse and Man White Big Top, adjacent to AT&T Park; www.cavalia.net. $39.50-239.50. Check website for shows and times. Through Sun/12. Over 100 performers, including 50 horses, take the stage in this circus-like show from Montreal.

Christian Cagigal’s Obscura: A Magic Show EXIT Cafe, 156 Eddy; 1-800-838-3006, www.brownpapertickets.com. $15-25. Thurs-Sat, 8pm. Through Dec 18. Magician Christian Cagigal presents a mix of magic, fairy tales, and dark fables.

Cinderella African American Art & Culture Complex, 762 Fulton; (800) 838-3006, www.brownpapertickets.com. $10-30. Fri/8pm; Sat, 3 and 8pm; Sun, 3pm. Through Dec 19. African-American Shakespeare Company presents the classic fairytale, starring Velina Brown.

Cora Values’ Christmas Corral Exit Cafe, 156 Eddy; 673-3847, www.brownpapertickets.com. $15-25. Fri-Sat, 8:30pm. Through Sat/11. There are Christmas Carol’s and then there are Christmas Carol’s. There are the no-expenses spared varieties with clever rigging and fabulous costumes and larger-than-life characterizations of those classic Christmastide archetypes—the lonely bastard, the beatific poor man, the lovable child. There are the more modest productions, community theatre affairs, with A-for-effort, fun-for-the-whole-family, casual appeal. And then there’s the Cora Values treatment, which throws the whole silly notion of family togetherness out the window and instead throws a party for the orphans of the holiday season—the bah-humbuggers and true unbelievers. In this rock-bottom budget “illiterary

adaptation” of Dickens’ classic in “the most authentic form we know how” a ragtag crew from the Gas ‘N’ Gulp in Rectal, Texas, bumble through a singular interpretation of the tale, punctuated by original comic songs penned by Cora (Sean Owens) and Emmett Cornpike (Don Seaver). Sticklers for textual authenticity or political correctness may cringe at the chorus of the solo song by Tiny Tim (Amanda Ortmayer), “This Won’t Be Another Lame Holiday,” but Dickens wrote a few head-scratching lines himself. Take this description of Marley’s face appearing in Scrooge’s doorknocker: “It&ldots;had a dismal light about it, like a bad lobster in a dark cellar.” “Charles Dickens’ immortal text” Cora remarks dryly. You said it sister. (Gluckstern)

Dirty Little Showtunes! A Parody Musical Revue New Conservatory Theatre Center, 25 Van Ness; 861-8972, www.nctcsf.org. $24-40. Wed-Sat, 8pm; Sun, 2pm. Through Jan 16. Tom Orr’s adults-only holiday show returns, with direction by F. Allen Sawyer and musical direction by Scrumbly Koldewyn.

Golden Girls: The Christmas Episodes CounterPULSE, 1310 Mission; www.ticketfly.com. $25. Thurs-Sat, 7 and 9pm. Through Dec 23. Heklina, Cookie Dough, Matthew Martin, and Pollo Del Mar return with their stage tribute to the sitcom.

The Lion in Winter Actors Theatre, 855 Bush; 345-1287, www.ticketweb.com. $26-38. Wed-Sat, 8pm. Through Dec 18. Actors Theatre of SF presents James Goldman’s play of palace intrigue.

Match Royce Gallery, 2901 Mariposa; 1-866-811-4111, www.matchonstage.com. $12-28. Thurs-Sun, 8pm. Through Dec 18. Expression Productions presents Stephen Belber’s new suspense drama.

The Oddman Family Christwanzaakuh Spectactular! Exit Stage Left, 156 Eddy; (800) 838-3006, www.brownpapertickets.com. $20. Thurs-Sat, 8pm. Through Dec 18. Guerrilla Rep and Beards Beards Beards present a new twisted musical farce.

Party of 2 – The New Mating Musical Shelton Theater, 533 Sutter; (800) 838-3006, www.partyof2themusical.com. $27-29. Sun, 3pm. Open-ended. A musical about relationships by Shopping! The Musical author Morris Bobrow.

*Pearls Over Shanghai Thrillpeddlers’ Hypnodrome, 575 Tenth St; 1-800-838-3006, www.brownpapertickets.com. $30-69. Sat, 8pm. Through April 9. Thrillpeddlers’ acclaimed production of the Cockettes musical continues its successful run.

A Perfect Ganesh New Conservatory Theatre Center, 25 Van Ness; 861-8972, www.nctcsf.org. $22-40. Wed-Sat, 8pm; Sun, 2pm. Through Dec 19. New Conservatory Theatre Center presents the Terrence McNally play, directed by Arturo Catricala.

Ruth and the Sea Stage Werx Theatre, 533 Sutter; www.ruthandthesea.com. $18-24. Thurs-Sat, 8pm. Through Dec 18. Wily West Productions presents Gwyneth Richards in a kooky holiday show, directed by Stuart Bousel.

Shrek The Musical Orpheum Theatre, 1192 Market; (888) SHN-1799, www.shnsf.com. $30-99. Tues, 8pm, Wed, 2 and 8pm; Thurs-Fri, 8pm; Sat, 2 and 8pm; Sun, 2pm (no performances Dec 24, Dec 25, and Dec 31). Through Jan 2. Eric Petersen stars in the stage version of the animated blockbuster.

A Tale of Two Genres SF Playhouse, Stage Two, 533 Sutter; www.un-scripted.com. $10-20. Thurs-Sat, 8pm (also Sat, 3pm; additional shows Dec 20-23). Through Dec 23. Un-Scripted Theater Company performs an improvised musical in the style of Charles Dickens.

The Tempest Exit on Taylor, 277 Taylor; 1-800-838-3006, www.cuttingball.com. $15-20. Thurs-Sat, 8pm; Sun, 5pm. Through Dec 19. In Cutting Ball’s latest foray into Shakespearean realms, three entangled subplots and eleven characters are enacted by just three actors, in order to explore the relationships between the principle characters by representing their internal characteristics through the actions of the more minor roles. Set on an enchanted island (or, in Cutting Ball’s interpretation, at the bottom of a swimming pool) The Tempest begins with stormy weather, but quickly grows into a full-blown hurricane of shipwrecked nobles, nymphs, and drunks, plus the turbulent awakenings of a teenage daughter’s libido, and the rumblings of her over-protective papa. The most effective dual-character is Caitlyn Louchard’s Miranda-Ariel, as both characters are quite under the stern control of Prospero (David Sinaiko) and equally deserving of release. Less affecting yet somehow equally congruous is Sinaiko’s comic turn as the buffoonish Stephano, who stumbles through the forest in his boxer shorts, yet somehow maintains an air of mock dignity that does parallel Prospero’s. Donell Hill’s Caliban-Ferdinand endures his lust-love for Miranda and servitude to Prospero alternating between raw physicality and social ineptness. But since “The Tempest” is littered with characters even more minor, the game cast is stretched too thinly to fully inhabit each, and the entire subplot involving King Alonzo, Gonzalo, and Antonio in particular suffers from this ambitious over-extension. (Gluckstern)

The Tender King Phoenix Theatre, 414 Mason, Sixth Flr; www.secondwindtheatre.com. $20-25. Fri-Sat, 8pm; Sun, 2pm. Through Sat/11. The current firestorm over leaked diplomatic cables and exposed government lies and imperial machinations are nothing new in The Tender King. Second Wind’s debut of Bay Area playwright Ian Walker’s new drama takes audiences back to 1945, a critical period in the structuring of the postwar world as dominated ever since by the American Empire. Walker explores the tensions and contradictions attendant on the countdown to American global hegemony in three characters, two rooms, and one fateful decision. President Harry Truman (Brian O’Connor), newly ensconced in office after FDR’s death, sits drinking in a darkened room (mood-inducing lighting by Rob Siemens) as an ambitious young functionary named Will (Stephen Muterspaugh) arrives to get his John Hancock on the order to drop the new A Bomb on two Japanese cities. In shades of Schiller’s Mary Stuart, Truman delays and evades cunningly, filled with the exuberant knowledge and burden of power. Meanwhile, a semi-romantic, semi-sadistic relationship between Will and a French-German prostitute (Natalie Palan) unfolds in a parallel scene—a complex echo of the shock-doctrine advantage Will advocates to Truman in the face of a stunned and helpless European population. Directed by Walker, the production relies not ineffectively on heightened vernacular language and performances, although the latter while sturdy can feel more rote than in-the-moment, and the neat narrative framework and effervescent dialogue strays into formulaic conceits. Nevertheless, the play’s well-researched and articulated detail as well as forceful conviction make it both worthwhile and generally engaging—not to mention as politically au courant as anything on stage just now. (Avila)

The Velveteen Rabbit Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, Novellus Theater, 700 Howard; 978-2787, www.ybca.org. Call for dates and times. Through Sun/12. ODC/Dance presents Margery Williams’ holiday favorite.

BAY AREA

Becoming Julia Morgan Berkeley City Club, 2315 Durant, Berk; (510) 984-3864, www.brownpapertickets.com. $24-30. Fri-Sat, 8pm; Sun, 5pm. Through Jan 9. Janis Stevens stars in Belinda Taylor’s play about the trailblazing architect.

A Christmas Carol: The Musical Novato Theater Company Playhouse, 484 Ignacio, Novato; 863-4498, www.novatotheatercompany.org. $10-18. Fri-Sat, 8pm; Sun, 3pm. Through Dec 17. Novato Theater Company presents a new adaptation of the holiday classic.

A Christmas Memory TheatreWorks at Lucie Stern Theatre, 1305 Middlefield, Palo Alto; (650) 463-1960, www.theatreworks.org. $19-67. Tues-Wed, 7:30pm; Thurs-Fri, 8pm; Sat, 2 and 8pm; Sun, 2 and 7pm (alos Thurs/23, 2pm and Fri/24, 7pm). Through Dec 26. TheatreWorks presents the seasonal tale by Truman Capote.

East 14th – True Tales of a Reluctant Player The Marsh Berkeley, 2120 Allston Way, Berk; (800) 838-3006, www.themarsh.org. $20-50. Call for times. Through Dec 19. Don Reed’s one-man show continues its extended run.

Lemony Snicket’s The Composer is Dead Berkeley Repertory Theatre, Roda Theatre, 2015 Addison, Berk; (510) 647-2949, www.berkeleyrep.org. Call for dates and times. Through Jan 15. Berkeley Rep premieres the new musical, written by Lemony Snicket, with music by Nathaniel Stookey.

Loveland The Marsh Berkeley, 2120 Allston Way, Berk; (800) 838-3006, www.themarsh.org. $20-50. Fri, 7pm; Sat, 8pm. Through Sat/11. Ann Randolph’s hit one-woman comic show continues its extended run.

Of the Earth – The Salt Plays: Part 2 Ashby Stage, 1901 Ashby; (510) 841-6500, www.shotgunplayers.org. $17-30. Thurs-Sat, 8pm; Sun, 5pm (beginning Dec 19). Through Jan 30. Shotgun Players present the second half of writer and director Jon Tracy’s Odyssey-inspired tale, with music by Brendan West.

*The Play About the Naked Guy La Val’s Subterranean, 1834 Euclid, Berk; (800) 838-3006, www.brownpapertickets.com. $10-20. Thurs-Sat, 8pm. Through Dec 18. Impact Theatre presents an off-Broadway hit, written by David Bell and directed by Evren Odcikin.

The World’s Funniest Bubble Show The Marsh Berkeley, 2120 Allston, Berk; (800) 838-3006, www.themarsh.org. $8-50. Sun, 11am (also Dec 20-23, 11am and Dec 26-30, 11am). The Amazing Bubble Man’s show presents flying saucer bubbles and other wonders.

PERFORMANCE/DANCE

Club Chuckles Hemlock Tavern, 1131 Polk; 923-0925. Wed/8, 9pm. $7. Club Chuckles turns seven with standup by David Liebe Hart and others.

Comedy Returns to El Rio! El Rio, 3158 Mission; (800) 838-3006, www.brownpapertickets.com. Mon/13, 8pm. $7-20. Lisa Gedulgig hosts a monthly comedy night.

Double-Wide White Trash Christmas Show Martuni’s, 4 Valencia; 241-0205, www.dragatmartunis.com. Sun/12, 7pm. $5. A holiday edition of the “Bijou” cabaret showcase.

FoolsFURY 12th Anniversary Gala Theater Artaud, 450 Florida; www.foolsfurygala.eventbrite.org. Sat/11, 7:30pm. $30-60. The local theater ensemble celebrates a birthday.

Forking II: A Merry Forking! Christmas Off-Market Theaters, 965 Mission; (800) 838-3006, www.pianofight.com. Call for dates and times (through Dec 30). PianoFight presents a holiday-themed choose-your-own-adventure play.

A Funny Night for Comedy Actors Theatre, 855 Bush; 345-1287, www.NatashaMuse.com. Sun/12, 7pm. Natasha Muse and Ryan Cronin host an evening of comedy.

Ironic/NOT Ironic! Viracocha, 998 Valencia; 374-7048, www.viracochasf.com. Thurs/9, 9pm. Harmon Leon performs.

Literary Death Match – Holiday Bloodbath Special Elbo Room, 647 Valencia; www.literarydeathmatch.com. Fri/10, 7pm. $7-10. An evening of yuletide literary mayhem.

Mischievous Maidens Christmas Skylark Bar, 3089 16th St; 621-9294. Fri/10, 8pm. Free. A Christmas-themed burlesque night.

Project. B. The Garage, 975 Howard; 518-1517, www.brownpapertickets.com. Fri/10-Sat/11, 8pm. $10-20. Tanya Bello’s company presents Triquetra, a work from this year.

Doug Stanhope Rickshaw Stop, 155 Fell; 861-2011, www.rickshawstop.com. Wed/10, 8pm. $20. The vulgar comedian hits the Bay.

Touring Cast of Shrek Theater 19, Pier 39; 273-1620, www.HelpIsOnTheWay.org. Mon/13, 7:30pm.$35-65. A one-night-only cabaret to raise funds for the Richmond/Ermet AIDS Foundation.

Trashina Cann The Garage, 975 Howard; 518-1517, www.brownpapertickets.com. Wed/8-Thurs/9, 8pm. $10-20. The company presents a new queer dance theater wok titled Legacy.

Film Listings

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks

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December 7, 2010

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Film listings are edited by Cheryl Eddy. Reviewers are Kimberly Chun, Michelle Devereaux, Peter Galvin, Max Goldberg, Dennis Harvey, Johnny Ray Huston, Louis Peitzman, Lynn Rapoport, Ben Richardson, and Matt Sussman. The film intern is Ryan Prendiville. For rep house showtimes, see Rep Clock. For first-run showtimes, see Movie Guide.

OPENING

The Chronicles of Narnia: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader It’s no secret that C.S. Lewis’ Narnia saga is a big ol’ Christian allegory. And hey, that doesn’t mean it’s not entertaining. The film adaptations of his novels have been decent, in that they’ve worked to please both mainstream audiences and religious zealots who want to see the Jesus lion die for our sins. But while The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe (2005) and Prince Caspian (2008) were essentially passable, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader is an overwhelming failure. It’s lazy, the plotting is uneven, the CGI is cringe-worthy, and the 3D is the kind of sloppy post-production mess that makes the actors’ faces look concave. Add to that the moral message, which is more hamfisted than ever. In his lengthy climactic sermon, Aslan — he’s known by a different name in our world — tells Lucy (Georgie Henley) and Edmund (Skandar Keynes) that all their adventures have been about bringing them closer to him. Suck it, atheists. (1:52) (Peitzman)

The King’s Speech See “Highbrow-Beaten.” (1:58) Embarcadero.

The Legend of Pale Male In Frederic Lilien’s second documentary honoring the life of one Pale Male, a red-tailed hawk sets up residence near Central Park on Manhattan’s Upper East Side, finds amour on the terrace of Woody Allen’s penthouse, gains the patronage of Mary Tyler Moore, builds an international fan base, and sparks a battle between his outraged legions of admirers and the dark lords of the co-op board of 927 Fifth Avenue. He proves a transfixing subject: by the time Lilien has completed The Legend of Pale Male, he’s spent some 20 years as the hawk’s cinematic biographer. He’s matched in his admiration and investment by a core group of aficionados, including a Wall Street Journal columnist and a guy who begins by calling the bird-watchers “freaks” and ends up acquiring a high-powered telescope and spending a night in jail for the sake of Pale Male. Lilien’s voice-over is an over-forceful if heartfelt presence, but it becomes hard not to catch the fever of Pale Male’s swelling collection of devotees. We see his toddler fans turn into tweens; more painfully, we see him outlive steadfast admirers. And while a more zoomed-out mental camera provokes discomforting thoughts regarding the themes of housing and eviction, there is something sweet and encouraging about seeing a wild hawk become famous and heroic to groups of schoolchildren, pilgrimaging tourists, cops and cabbies, and the readers of the Wall Street Journal, who swoon over Pale Male’s hunting prowess, his sex life, and his offspring’s first panicked ventures from the nest, and who see in his parental actions examples to be followed. (1:25) Opera Plaza, Shattuck. (Rapoport)

Night Catches Us Director Tanya Hamilton’s exploration of manhood is largely an attempt to recreate a time and a place: 1976 Philadelphia. Race tensions are high, as Marcus Washington (Anthony Mackie) returns home for his father’s funeral. The threat of violence looms large as the town’s Black Panthers believe him to be a snitch, having turned over his best friend to be assassinated by the police. (Hamilton routinely sets the context by including interludes of documentary footage, including clips from 1971’s The Murder of Fred Hampton.) Kerry Washington plays Patricia, the widow, and Marcus’s only remaining friend in town. Scenes between the two have an intense quality, as we wait for them to talk about the ghost in the room. Otherwise characters are largely left underdeveloped, particularly a pushy cop (David Gordon) and a thuggish Panther (Jamie Hector), a waste of two alums of The Wire. Tariq Trotter of the Roots, who contribute to the film’s referential score, is woefully unexplored as Marcus’s brother. At best the film recalls the early work of Charles Burnett, although the degree of understatement is questionable. (1:28) Lumiere. (Prendiville)

Queen of the Lot See “Hollywood Ho-Hum.” (1:54) Opera Plaza.

The Tempest First things first: Julie Taymor’s misguided film adaptation of The Tempest isn’t entirely her fault. Even at his worst, Shakespeare is still — you know — Shakespeare, but The Tempest, his last completed play, has its fair share of flaws. Add to that Taymor, a director often criticized for choosing style over substance, and you have a messy, disorienting film. Helen Mirren is predictably great as Prospera: the gender switch from the original is Taymor’s invention. But despite a solid performance, Mirren can’t overcome the material, a condensed version of the play that jumps all over the place before reaching an unsatisfying conclusion. There are interesting moments, to be sure, particularly the trippy delights of Taymor’s trademark visuals. In the end, however, The Tempest drags. Even the sight of naked Ben Whishaw flittering about as Ariel doesn’t make the enterprise worthwhile. O brave new world that has such crappy movies in it! (1:50) (Peitzman)

*Tiny Furniture Aura (Lena Dunham) has returned home to Manhattan after four undergraduate years cocooning in a Midwestern liberal arts education; either big-city life has gotten harder, or she has gotten very soft. She’s rather reluctantly welcomed back into their blindingly white TriBeCa loft by a successful artist mother (Laurie Simmons) and caustic, ambitious younger sister (Grace Dunham). Neither seemed to miss her much, and both are played by the writer-director-star’s actual family members. “I don’t know what to do with my life” is a very typical state post-graduation, but Aura’s stasis is positively Oblomov-ian — and since she is our protagonist, this movie, too, is all about the comedy of rudderlessness. Recently abandoned by a feminist college boyfriend who needed to “find himself,” she tries glomming on to such dubious romantic prospects as visiting filmmaker Jed (Alex Karpovsky), who gladly accepts free room and board but barely seems to register her as female. “Best friend” Charlotte (Jemima Kirke) is a spectacular wellspring of ideas meant to improve Aura’s lot, though since Aura basically walks around with a “Kick Me” sign on her posterior and Charlotte is sexy, moneyed, endlessly entitled trainwreck, her advice (e.g. “Just take him somewhere and grab his cock”) are bound make things worse. Tiny Furniture is indeed small, as first-feature achievements go. It’s anyone’s guess whether Dunham has it in her to make good movies less baldly autobiographical, as she’ll need to if she wants to have a career. That said, few films — certainly nothing Woody Allen’s done for ages — have been so dryly hilarious about the kind of NYC art-social milieux in which being a nobody really, truly sucks. Because everyone else is already somebody, if only in their own minds. It also has, hands down, the greatest three-minute, single-shot whiny meltdown speech of 2010 or nearly any other year. (1:38) Bridge, Shattuck. (Harvey)

The Tourist Johnny Depp and Angelina Jolie sharing the screen? How will our pitiful, ordinary-people eyeballs be able to absorb such a high level of gorge? (1:44) Four Star, Shattuck.

ONGOING

*Black Swan “Lose yourself,” ballet company head Thomas (Vincent Cassel) whispers to his leading lady, Nina (Natalie Portman), moments before she takes the stage. But Nina is already consumed with trying to find herself, and rarely has a journey of self-discovery been so unsettling. Set in New York City’s catty, competitive ballet world, Black Swan samples from earlier dance films (notably 1948’s The Red Shoes, but also 1977’s Suspiria, with a smidgen of 1995’s Showgirls), though director Darren Aronofsky is nothing if not his own visionary. Black Swan resembles his 2008 The Wrestler somewhat thematically, with its focus on the anguish of an athlete under ten tons of pressure, but it’s a stylistic 180. Gone is the gritty, stripped-down aesthetic used to depict a sad-sack strongman. Like Dario Argento’s 1977 horror fantasy, the gory, elegantly choreographed Black Swan is set in a hyper-constructed world, with stabbingly obvious color palettes (literally, white = good; black = evil) and dozens of mirrors emphasizing (over and over again) the film’s doppelgänger obsession. As Nina, Portman gives her most dynamic performance to date. In addition to the thespian fireworks required while playing a goin’-batshit character, she also nails the role’s considerable athletic demands. (1:50) California, Sundance Kabuki. (Eddy)

Burlesque Burlesque really wants your love. Much like its heroine Ali, the small-town girl with showbiz dreams (and the not-so-secret pipes to make those dreams a reality), Burlesque knows all the moves by heart and is determined to land a spot in the chorus-line next to Cabaret (1972), Pretty Woman (1990), The Devil Wears Prada (2006), and Gypsy (1962). “Come on,” it implores, firing off Bob Fosse finger-snaps and leg-bearing kicks, “I’ve got Christina Aguilera as the plucky newcomer and Cher as the seasoned stage-vet and owner of the Burlesque Lounge, a kind of music video purgatory in which the Pussycat Dolls never broke up.” [snap snap snap] “I’ve got Stanley Tucci trapped in the makeover montage closet, again, as the sassy gay-in-waiting to both female leads.” [snap snap snap] “I’ve got girls gyrating in a Victoria’s Secret catalog worth of risqué underthings.” [snap snap pant] “I’ve got melisma!” [pant pant pant] “Did I mention Cher’s eleventh-hour power ballad?” Yes, it’s true. Burlesque has all of the above (and can’t you just hear the hunger in its voice?) And yet, it is afflicted by a particularly unfortunate kind of mediocrity. Not terrible enough to be redeemable as camp, Burlesque also lacks what Kay Thompson would call “bazazz” — none of the leads have any chemistry with each other, or the camera for that matter — to make this musical truly sing. In the words of many a casting agent: “Maybe next time, kid.” (1:48) Empire, 1000 Van Ness, Presidio, SF Center, Shattuck, Sundance Kabuki. (Sussman)

Client 9: The Rise and Fall of Eliot Spitzer Was Eliot Spitzer’s very public disgrace the result of his own hubris or a loose conspiracy of business interests and conservative politicians aligned against him? Documentary filmmaker Alex Gibney (2007’s Taxi to the Dark Side) gives credence to both explanations in Client 9, though his sane interest in revisiting the case stems from knowing what happened next: Spitzer left office in March 2008, months before the economy shattered. As New York’s hard-charging Attorney General, Spitzer made his reputation prosecuting white-collar crime in lieu of meaningful regulatory action at the federal level. This earned him several powerful enemies (among them former AIG CEO Hank Greenberg and billionaire Ken Langone) as well as the general scorn of Wall Street (we see footage of the market floor breaking out into cheers when Spitzer announces his resignation). Gibney scores exclusive sit-downs with the former governor as well as his regular “escort” (not pseudo-celebrity Ashley Dupré), and the multiple cameras on Spitzer (as well as the attendant “rise and fall” structure of a born fighter) makes me think the prolific filmmaker thought Client 9 might be his Tyson (2008). But alas, Spitzer merely appears diplomatic, expressing contrition and leaving the raised eyebrows to an indistinguishable slew of talking heads. And while Gibney seems to be saying that most of the tabloid sensationalism was a distraction from more serious problems, Client 9 is constantly distracted by the same material. The many titillated screen shots of the “Emperor’s Club” website are indicative of the film’s unfortunate ratio of chaff to wheat. (1:57) Opera Plaza. (Goldberg)

Due Date One delayed appearance for a baby’s birth does not a Hangover (2009) make. After all, even the most commited baby daddy isn’t totally required to be at the blessed event, unlike a wedding ceremony. So even two films into what seems like a trilogy of bromancey men’s coming-of-age terror, director Todd Phillips already seems to working a tired old bone. Slick LA architect Peter (Robert Downey Jr.) has a self-satisfied mean streak that doesn’t seem to be abating with the birth of his first child halfway across the country, or his run-ins with budding thespian Ethan (Zach Galifianakis) — the two collide cute in the airport on their way to the so-called Best Coast. One no-fly list leads to another, and Peter is reluctantly hightailing it by rental car with the uncoolest dude in school. Oh dear: Roadtrip for Schmucks, anyone? Due Date proves that, yes, contrary to what I once believed, there is such a thing as too much Galifianakis, in perpetual shtick mode here. And even though the weathered, well-textured Downey can build character with a single well-placed, black-hearted glare, he’s saddled with such a sorry misanthropic creep here that the audience is hard-pressed to care. (1:35) 1000 Van Ness, SF Center. (Chun)

*Fair Game Doug Liman’s film effectively dramatizes yet another disgraceful chapter from the last Presidential administration: how CIA agent Valerie Plame (Naomi Watts), who’d headed the Joint Task Force on Iraq investigating whether Saddam Hussein had WMDs, was identified by name in the Washington Post as a covert agent — thus ending her intelligence career and placing many of her subordinates and sources around the world in danger. This info was leaked to the press, it turned out, by highest-level White House officials as “punishment” for the New York Times editorial former ambassador Joe Wilson (Sean Penn) — Plame’s husband — wrote condemning their insistence on those WMDs to justify the Iraq invasion by then already well in progress. (The CIA task force had also found zero evidence of mass-destruction weapons, but Bush and co. chose to come up with their own bogus “facts” to sway US public opinion.) Purportedly, Karl Rove clucked to CNN’s Chris Matthews that Wilson’s awkwardly-timed dose of sobering truth rendered his spouse “fair game” for exposure. Unfortunately opening here several days after it might theoretically have done some election-day good — not that many Republican voters would likely be queuing up — Fair Game may be a familiar story to many. But its gist and details remain quite enough to make the blood boil. While the political aspects are expertly handled in thriller terms, the personal ones are a tad less successful. That’s partly because we never quite glimpse what brought these two very busy, business-first people together; but largely, alas, because so many of Wilson’s diatribes come off all too much as things that might be said by Sean Penn, Rabble-Rouser and Humanitarian. This is perhaps a case of casting so perfect it becomes a distracting fault. (1:46) California, Embarcadero, Piedmont. (Harvey)

Faster Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson has been living down his WWE celebrity roots for some time, demonstrating real movie star presence and deft comic chops. So why would he sign on for this knucklehead thriller fit for Ah-nold, Diesel, or Seagal at their most robotically badass? He plays “Driver” — the characters here being too cool to have boring regular names — who gets out of prison after ten years and immediately peels off in his hell-yeah kustom sportscar to shoot a guy point-blank in a crowded office. This attracts the attention of junkie Cop (Billy Bob Thornton) and hired Killer (Oliver Jackson-Cohen), though being pursued by them and having his face plastered all over the news can’t slow this tower of glowering machismo’s quest to wreak vengeance those who killed his brother. Why, you surely ask? Because Driver is like the wind! He’s there, then … WTF! He’s gone! Even with the Rock’s chest thrust out here like Jayne Mansfield in a bullet bra, he’s about as inconspicuous as the Eiffel Tower on wheels. Anyway, vigilante justice takes its inevitable cliché-riddled course in this sub-Michael Baysian exercise in squealing tire, gratuitous slo-mo, spasti-cam, often laughable big-swingin’-dick heroics. Sample dialogue, warden inexplicably complimenting Driver’s prison survival upon his release: “It was as if you were born to the darkness in this place.” Multimillionaire thrill-junkie assassin guy being asked by girlfriend what he’ll do next: “Something more ultra!” If you’ve ever flexed biceps in the mirror and said “Yeah baby!” to yourself without irony, this may be the movie for you. (1:35) 1000 Van Ness. (Harvey)

*The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest If you enjoyed the first two films in the Millennium trilogy — 2009’sThe Girl With the Dragon Tattoo and The Girl Who Played With Fire — there’s a good chance you’ll also like The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest. Based on the final book in Stieg Larsson’s series, the film begins shortly after the violent events at the conclusion of the second movie. There are brief flashes of what happened — the cinematic equivalent of TV’s “previously on&ldots;” — but it’s likely an indecipherable jumble to Girl first-timers. Hornet’s Nest presents the trial of Lisbeth Salander (Noomi Rapace), the much-abused, much-misunderstood, entirely kick-ass protagonist of the series. With the help of journalist Mikael Blomkvist (Michael Nyqvist) and his sister Annika (Annika Hallin) as her lawyer, Lisbeth finally gets her day in court. The conspiracy that drives the story is somewhat convoluted, and while it all comes together in the end, Hornet’s Nest isn’t an easy film to digest. Still, it’s a well-made and satisfying conclusion to the trilogy — as long as you caught the beginning and middle, too. (2:28) Albany, Lumiere, Piedmont, Smith Rafael. (Peitzman)

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows — Part 1 As enjoyable as the Harry Potter films are for fans, they never really hold their own. And that’s OK. They’re not Oscar bait the way the Lord of the Rings movies were, but they’re competent adaptations of a much beloved book series. While Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows — Part 1 may not be a perfect film, it’s a solid translation of the source material, sure to appease the loyal readers who still can’t quite cope with the fact that the saga is nearly over. I count myself among them, and I’ll admit that it’s difficult to look at any Harry Potter movie with a critical eye. But even for an outsider, part one of Harry’s final chapter is likely to entertain, with plenty of action and a streamlined pace that helps the film move faster than past entries in the series. For devotees, the effect is greater, and the emotional wallop Deathly Hallows packs should not be underestimated. (2:26) Empire, Four Star, 1000 Van Ness, Sundance Kabuki. (Peitzman)

*I Love You Phillip Morris Given typically imitation-crazed Hollywood’s failure to built on the success of 2005’s Brokeback Mountain success — or see it as anything more than a fluke — the case of I Love You Phillip Morris is interesting for what it is and isn’t. It is, somewhat by default, the biggest onscreen gay romance (not including foreign and indie productions, which are always ahead of the curve) since that earlier film. What Phillip Morris is not, however, is a Hollywood or even American film, all appearances to the contrary. Its financing was primarily French — presumably because there wasn’t enough willing coin on this side of the Atlantic. We meet Steven Jay Russell as an uber-perky all-American lad — a nascent Jim Carrey. A near-fatal accident, however, induces him to merrily chuck it all and live life to the fullest by moving from Georgia to South Beach and becoming a “big fag.” He soon discovers that “being gay is really expensive,” or at least his chosen A-lister lifestyle is, so he turns to crime as a means of support. During one hoosegow stay, he meets the non-tobacco-related Phillip Morris (McGregor), a sweet Southern sissy. Directors Glenn Ficarra and John Requa approach their fascinating material with brashness and some skill, but without the control to balance its steep tonal shifts. Surprisingly, it’s in the “love” part that they often succeed best. While their comic aspects sometimes tip into shrill, destabilizing caricature — the excess that brilliant but barely-manageable Carrey will always drift toward unless tightly leashed — this movie’s link to Brokeback is that it never makes the love between two men look inherently ridiculous, as nearly all mainstream comedies now do to get a cheap throwaway laugh or three. (1:38) Shattuck. (Harvey)

Inside Job Inside Job is director Charles Ferguson’s second investigative documentary after his 2007 analysis of the Iraq War, No End in Sight, but it feels more like the follow-up to Alex Gibney’s Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room (2005). Keeping with the law of sequels, more shit blows up the second time around. As with No End in Sight, Ferguson adeptly packages a broad overview of complex events in two hours, respecting the audience’s intelligence while making sure to explain securities exchanges, derivatives, and leveraging laws in clear English (doubly important when so many Wall Street executives hide behind the intricacy of markets). The revolving door between banks, government, and academia is the key to Inside Job‘s account of financial deregulation. At times borrowing heist-film conventions (it is called Inside Job, after all), Ferguson keeps the primary players in view throughout his history so that the eventual meltdown seems anything but an accident. The filmmaker’s relentless focus on the insiders isn’t foolproof; tarring Ben Bernanke, Henry Paulson, and Timothy Geithner as “made” guys, for example, isn’t a substitute for evaluating their varied performances over the last two years. Inside Job makes it seem that the entire crisis was caused by the financial sector’s bad behavior, and this too is reductive. Furthermore, Ferguson does not come to terms with the politicized nature of the economic fallout. In Inside Job, there are only two kinds of people: those who get it and those who refuse to. The political reality is considerably more contentious. (2:00) Clay, Shattuck, Smith Rafael. (Goldberg)

Love and Other Drugs Whatever kind of movie you think Love and Other Drugs is, you’re wrong. To be fair, it’s hard to pin down. This is a romantic comedy about two people who can’t commit, a serious drama about a young women living with Parkinson’s, a dark satirical look at the pharmaceutical industry, and — well, you get the idea. Love and Other Drugs shouldn’t work, really: the story is overstuffed and the script isn’t always cohesive. But leads Jake Gyllenhaal and Anne Hathaway sell the material well. In the end, it almost doesn’t matter that the film isn’t sure what it wants to be. “Almost” is key: there are moments in which Love and Other Drugs slips into Judd Apatow comedy territory, and others when it completely devolves into a sexual farce. It works on several different levels, but all together, it’s admittedly a bit of a mess. No bother. Just focus on the attractive naked people making out and you’ll likely enjoy the movie regardless. (1:53) 1000 Van Ness, Presidio, SF Center, Sundance Kabuki. (Peitzman)

*Made in Dagenham I hesitate to use the word “spunky,” lest I sound condescending, but indeed that’s what we have here: the spunky tale, drawn from real life, of women who worked sewing seats at a British Ford factory in the late 60s — and fought for equal pay, despite the tide of sexism that desperately tried to hold them down. Heading the charge is Rita (Sally Hawkins from 2008’s Happy-Go-Lucky), a married mom who becomes a feminist icon (and a labor hero) without really meaning to; she’s the most developed character in a script that mostly calls forth types (Bob Hoskins as the encouraging union man; Rosamund Pike as the frustrated intellectual-turned-housewife; Rita’s slutty factory co-worker with the enormous beehive; steely-eyed Ford execs). Adding spark is Miranda Richardson as Britain’s no-nonsense Secretary of State Barbara Castle, a legendary Labour party politician. Though it’s packaged a bit too neatly — from frame one, the film’s peppy tone all but guarantees a happy ending — Made in Dagenham‘s message is uplifting and worthy, and a reminder that it wasn’t so long ago that women were fighting for the seemingly most obvious of rights. (1:53) Opera Plaza. (Eddy)

*Megamind Be careful what you wish for, especially if you’re a blue meanie with a Conehead noggin and a knack for mispronunciation and mayhem. Holding up hilariously against such animated efforts as The Incredibles (2004) and Monsters, Inc. (2001), Megamind uses that nugget of wisdom as its narrative springboard and takes off where most superhero-vs.-supervillain yarns end: the feud between baddie Megamind (voiced by Will Farrell) and goody-two-shoes Metro Man (Brad Pitt) goes waaay back, to the ankle-biter years. They’ve battled so often over intrepid girl reporter Roxanne Ritchi (Tina Fay) that she’s beyond bored by every nefarious torture device and disco crocodile the Blue Man throws at her. When Mega finally, unexpectedly vanquishes his foe, he finds himself with a bad case of the blues. With the help of his loyal Minion (David Cross), he decides to change the game and create his own worthy opponent, who just happens to be Roxanne’s schlubby cameraman (Jonah Hill). Chortles ensue, thanks to the sarcastic sass emanating from the Will and Tina show, although the 3-D effects seem beside the point. The resemblance to this year’s Despicable Me is more than a little passing, from the bad guy on the moral turnaround to the adorable underlings, but Megamind‘s smart satire of comic hero conventions, its voice actor’s right-on riffs, and the rock and pop licks on the soundtrack make it the nice and nasty winner. (1:36) 1000 Van Ness, Sundance Kabuki. (Chun)

Morning Glory Unless you’ve never seen a romantic comedy before, there’s not much in Morning Glory that will surprise you. It’s about exactly what you’d expect —but that doesn’t actually make it any less charming. Morning Glory rests on the appeal of its leads: Rachel McAdams as our heroine Becky, Diane Keaton as the self-obsessed Colleen Peck, and Harrison Ford as crotchety newscaster Mike Pomeroy. All three of these actors, despite their talents, have made bad movies. But Morning Glory succeeds despite itself — the formulaic script, the shoehorned romance, and the predictable twists are all secondary to the undeniable chemistry between the actors. Will Becky be able to rejuvenate the morning show she’s executive producing? Will Colleen learn to be a team player? Will Mike drop the ego and show America his tender, frittata-loving heart? You know the answers already, but that doesn’t mean you won’t smile broadly when all the pieces fall into place. (1:47) 1000 Van Ness. (Peitzman)

The Next Three Days The new Paul Haggis human dramedy is so overripe and ludicrous it already seems set for satire: “Hey, honey, I’m home – and guess what, I’m getting put away for life for supposedly murdering my boss.” “Oh, awesome, hon, I’ll just break you out of prison — right after I pick up the kids. No problemo.” But no, all involved in this far-fetched, morally ambiguous exercise take it dead seriously. The Next Three Days starts with the absurd premise that the likable, chatty every mom Laura (Elizabeth Banks) could have possibly offed her coworker in a fit of office-politics pique. Desperate to save his suicidal spouse, Laura’s college instructor hubby John (Russell Crowe) must turn into a ferociously quick study in DIY jail breaking. The things we do for love, darling. This remake of 2008 French film Anything for Her certainly plays to a kind of noirish romantic willing to suspend disbelief at all costs — and Crowe throws all his sweaty, beady-eyed passion into his performance (though Banks seems somewhat overstretched in what’s kind of a Gloria Grahame role) — but bets are that most viewers with even a slight grasp of reality will simply roll their eyes in disbelief at the denouement, even while their most outlandish fantasy is fulfilled. (2:02) 1000 Van Ness, SF Center. (Chun)

127 Hours After the large-scale, Oscar-draped triumph of 2008’s Slumdog Millionaire, 127 Hours might seem starkly minimalist — if director Danny Boyle weren’t allergic to such terms. Based on Aron Ralston’s memoir Between a Rock and a Hard Place, it’s a tale defined by tight quarters, minimal “action,” and maximum peril: man gets pinned by rock in the middle of nowhere, must somehow free himself or die. More precisely, in 2003 experienced trekker Ralston biked and hiked into Utah’s Blue John Canyon, falling into a crevasse when a boulder gave way under his feet. He landed unharmed … save a right arm pinioned by a rock too securely wedged, solid, and heavy to budge. He’d told no one where he’d gone for the weekend; dehydration death was far more likely than being found. For those few who haven’t heard how he escaped this predicament, suffice it to say the solution was uniquely unpleasant enough to make the national news (and launch a motivational-speaking career). Opinions vary about the book. It’s well written, an undeniably amazing story, but some folks just don’t like him. Still, subject and interpreter match up better than one might expect, mostly because there are lengthy periods when the film simply has to let James Franco, as Ralston, command our full attention. This actor, who has reached the verge of major stardom as a chameleon rather than a personality, has no trouble making Ralston’s plight sympathetic, alarming, poignant, and funny by turns. His protagonist is good-natured, self-deprecating, not tangibly deep but incredibly resourceful. Probably just like the real-life Ralston, only a tad more appealing, less legend-in-his-own-mind — a typical movie cheat to be grateful for here. (1:30) Embarcadero, Piedmont, Shattuck, Sundance Kabuki. (Harvey)

*Saint Misbehavin’: The Wavy Gravy Movie As an 80s baby, Woodstock conjures images of MTV’s disastrous attempt to recreate the festival in 1999, so please forgive me for thinking Wavy Gravy was just a guy with an ice cream named after him. In Michelle Esrick’s well produced Gravy bio doc, it turns out there’s more to the man than brown acid and a hazelnut fudge swirl. A man of the world who prays to all gods, including Lenny Bruce and Albert Einstein (two of his former mentors), Wavy Gravy’s life story is one of cultural transformation: a beatnik poet and roommate with Bob Dylan, dropping acid with the Merry Pranksters, a smarter-than- he-looks icon of counterculture at Woodstock, and beyond. For his contemporaries who probably weren’t able to hold onto the dream quite as long, Saint Misbehavin’ is a nostalgic return to idealism. For those of us that came after, it’s a reminder that experimentation, culture jamming, and Burning Man aren’t revolutionary ideas. (1:27) Red Vic. (Prendiville)

Skyline (1:40) SF Center.

*The Social Network David Fincher’s The Social Network is a gripping and entertaining account of how Facebook came to take over the known social-networking universe. In this version of events — scripted by Aaron Sorkin and based on Ben Mezrich’s book The Accidental Billionaires, in turn based substantially on interviews with FB cofounder Eduardo Saverin, with input from Mark Zuckerberg icily absent — a girlfriend’s dumping of Zuckerberg (Jesse Eisenberg) on a crisp evening in 2003 is the impetus in his headlong quest for a “big idea.” The film is structured around the conference-room depositions for two separate lawsuits, brought against Zuckerberg by Saverin (Andrew Garfield) and by fellow Harvard entrepreneurs Tyler and Cameron Winklevoss (Armie Hammer) and Divya Narendra (Max Minghella) for crimes involving intellectual property and vast scads of retributive money. Unless Zuckerberg decides to post it on Facebook (which he probably shouldn’t, given the nondisclosure vows that capped off the first round of lawsuits), we’ll never know what truly motivated him and how badly he screwed over his friends and fellow students. But Fincher and Sorkin have crafted a compelling, absorbing, and occasionally poignant tale of how it could have happened. (2:00) 1000 Van Ness, Presidio, Shattuck, Sundance Kabuki. (Rapoport)

Tangled In its original form, Rapunzel‘s a pretty brutal fairy tale: barely pubescent girl gets knocked up by a prince — who’s then blinded by her evil witch guardian — leaving Rapunzel to fend for herself as she’s exiled into the desert and bears twins. Relax, that isn’t the story Tangled tells. The new Disney film is a complete revamping of the tale: Rapunzel (Mandy Moore) escapes the clutches of Mother Gothel (Donna Murphy) with the help of ne’er-do-well Flynn Ryder (Zachary Levi). Along the way, there are songs and slapstick moments and, yes, anthropomorphic animals. But unlike the classic feel of last year’s The Princess and the Frog, Tangled comes across as recycled. It’s just not as fresh and sharp as it should be, especially given recent Disney accomplishments like Toy Story 3. Kids will enjoy it and adults won’t be bored, but it’s a step backward for the House of Mouse. And don’t expect to be humming any of the songs after you exit the theater. (1:32) 1000 Van Ness, Presidio, SF Center. (Peitzman)

*The Temptation of St. Tony This beguiling slice of exquisite-corpse surrealism from Estonian writer-director Veiko Ounpuu didn’t get much notice at Sundance, and certainly seemed one of that festival’s less likely candidates for non-festival exposure in the U.S. So credit the Roxie for gambling that its utterly unpredictable charms will draw (if not pack) ’em in for a week’s run. Middle manager Tony (Taavi Eelmaa) is first glimpsed marching in his father’s funeral procession, and the first indication that nothing here will go as expected comes when said parade is briefly surprised by a passing motorist’s 180 flip nearby. From there on hapless Tony is subjected to a series of increasingly bizarre trials that advance from family and work weirdnesses to a climactic, David Lynchian orgy-cabaret-human sacrifice-costume party. If you see one Estonian-Swedish-Finnish coproduction this year, let it be this cipherous black comedy. (1:50) Roxie. (Harvey)

*Today’s Special This food comedy, written by and starring the Daily Show‘s Aasif Mandvi, is not an original recipe. It opens with an appetite-igniting cooking montage à la Eat Drink Man Woman (1994) and follows The Big Night (1996) structure. Samir (Mandvi) is a sous chef in a modern NYC restaurant, laboring under the dickish Dean Winters and next to the patently unnattractive Kevin Corrigan. He’s never made Indian food, despite his parents’ owning a struggling restaurant called Tandoori Palace. What is Samir to do when he gets turned down for a promotion, because his cooking is soulless? Things pick up in the film with the arrival of Mary Poppins in the form of worldly taxi driver and master chef, Akbar (Naseeruddin Shah). The course of this voyage of personal and cultural discovery is obvious, but the humor is as genuine as the performances, with the ingredients just needing a bit of time to come together. (1:39) Albany, Smith Rafael. (Prendiville)

Unstoppable After a dunderheaded train-yard worker essentially flicks the “hellbent” switch on an unmanned train loaded with hazardous materials, it’s up to odd-couple operators Denzel Washington (old; cranky; in endearing subplot, his daughters work at Hooters) and Chris Pine (young; cocky; in weirdly off-putting subplot, his wife has a restraining order against him) to chase down that loco-motive and prove the movie’s title wrong. The film mostly darts between the interior of a train car, for Washington-Pine bickering; railroad mission control, where a miscast Rosario Dawson literally phones in her performance; TV news reports, lazily illustrating the train’s flight through rural Pennsylvania; and various low angles relative to the speeding train, so sinister it’s bright red and numbered 777 (which is, like, almost 666!) Veteran action director Tony Scott does what he can with the based-on-true-events storyline, but Unstoppable is so deadly serious and predictable it just gets boring after awhile. At least the runaway vehicle in 1994’s similar Speed had a villain to enjoy; here, there’s just an angry choo-choo. Miss you, Dennis Hopper. (1:38) Empire, 1000 Van Ness. (Eddy)

The Warrior’s Way (1:40) 1000 Van Ness.

*White Material Claire Denis was raised in colonial Africa, and White Material is her third feature set in its wake (the first two were 1988’s Chocolat and 1999’s breathtaking Beau Travail). This new film is very much about Africa, compositing elements of several different “troubles” (child soldiers, a strong man’s militia, radio broadcasts fomenting violence) into an abstract of conflict. Between the dead-eyed rebels in the bush and the brutally efficient forces in town stands Maria Vial (Isabelle Huppert), a colonial holdout. As the troubles mount, Maria buries the signs of encroaching threats; her refusal to be terrorized is a trait we typically ascribe to male action heroes, though Maria’s resolute blindness is its own kind of privilege in the African context. Unusually for Denis, the film is both a literary adaptation (cowritten with author Marie NDiaye and based on Doris Lessing’s The Grass is Singing) and a star vehicle for Huppert, whose stringy musculature is a nice match for Yves Cape’s lithe camerawork. The idea of Maria’s character already tends toward the parabolic, though, and all these different inputs can result in too much dramatic underlining. But for all White Material‘s novelistic concessions, Denis’ subtle command of composition and rhythm as elements of narration is beyond doubt. Her use of the handheld camera remains preternaturally attuned to her characters’ pleasures and anxieties. (1:42) Lumiere, Shattuck. (Goldberg)

Our Weekly Picks: December 8-14, 2010

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks

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December 7, 2010

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WEDNESDAY 8

MUSIC

Holy Grail

Though you practically need a PhD in metal to keep track of Holy Grail’s ever-shifting lineup, one thing is obvious to anyone — even a layperson — when he or she first hears the band: singer James Paul Luna has one of the best young voices in rock ‘n’ roll, period. Ascending to falsetto heights with polished ease, the siren-lunged Pasadena, Calif., native fronts a band dedicated to the exuberant excess of early eighties speed metal, and his Halfordesque attack on the mic is complimented by the frenetic shredding and double-bass gallop of the band that backs him up. Touring in support of long-awaited debut LP Crisis in Utopia, Holy Grail is not to be missed. (Ben Richardson)

With Blind Guardian and Seven Kingdoms

8 p.m., $32

Regency Ballroom

1300 Van Ness, SF

1-800-745-3000

www.theregencyballroom.com

PERFORMANCE

David Liebe Hart

Along with James Quall and Richard Dunn (R.I.P.), David Liebe Hart is the cream of the crop of lovingly bizarre actors populating Adult Swim’s Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job! The show takes pride in exposing the world to forgotten Hollywood street performers, bit actors, outsider musicians, and left-field comedians, all of which can be used to sum up Liebe Hart’s career. Armed with his trusty puppet and musical tales of being abducted by Corrinian aliens, he’ll be headlining Club Chuckles’ Seventh Anniversary Show lineup. Be sure to greet him with a friendly “Salame!” (Landon Moblad)

With Hot Panda, Chris Thayer, and Donny Divanian

9 p.m., $7

Hemlock Tavern

1131 Polk, SF

(415) 923-0923

www.hemlocktavern.com

FILM

“Andy Warhol: Face and The Velvet Underground in Boston Cinematheque Benefit”

An early look at recent restorations of two of Andy Warhol’s most obscure movies (both long out of circulation) is the hidden jewel of San Francisco Cinematheque’s fall season. Face (1965) is an hour-long expression of Edie Sedgwick’s superstar photogenie. The Velvet Underground in Boston (1967) collects rare footage of the Exploding Plastic Inevitable house-band in its prime. Taken together, the films should present an unusual view of Factory life. The screening benefits Cinematheque’s upcoming programming, so you’ll leave knowing you’ve done your part for underground movies. (Max Goldberg)

8 p.m., $15

Victoria Theatre

2961 16th St., SF

(415) 863-7576

www.sfcinematheque.org

PERFORMANCE

Legacy, A One Ho Show

Presented by the AIRspace residency program, Trashina Cann (real name: Randen Kane) stars in Legacy, A One Ho Show, a queer-friendly, autobiographical dance theater piece exploring the misfortunes and vices passed down through Kane’s family and their effects on her life today. Journeying through three generations of women and their struggles with abandonment, sexual abuse, unwanted motherhood, prostitution, and incarceration, Kane comes to understand that her troubling past can also save her. Using burlesque, song, dance, and video, Kane manifests her incredible life story and her will to overcome, all the while staying extraordinarily entertaining. (Emmaly Wiederholt)

Wed/8–Thurs/9, 8 p.m., $10–$20

Garage

975 Howard, SF

(415) 518-1517

www.975howard.com

THURSDAY 9

PERFORMANCE

Adam Carolla

What hasn’t funny guy Adam Carolla done in his show business career? He got his start in radio (Loveline), branched out into television (The Man Show), written and starred in a feature film (2007’s The Hammer), and expanded onto the Internet with his podcast talk show. Carolla’s latest foray finds him as the author of a new book, In Fifty Years We’ll All Be Chicks … And Other Complaints From An Angry Middle-Aged White Guy, which he’ll be promoting and signing during his “Christmas Carolla” tour of the West Coast, bringing his caustic yet sidesplitting and hilarious, stand-up to the raw and uncensored — as it should be — live stage. (Sean McCourt)

Thurs/9, 7:30 and 9:30 p.m.;

Fri/10–Sat/11, 8 p.m. and 10:15 p.m., $32.50–$35.50

Cobb’s Comedy Club

915 Columbus, SF

(415) 928-4320

www.cobbscomedyclub.com

FRIDAY 10

VISUAL ART

“Boom”

Art is made in all manners of cracks and crevices and four-bedroom apartments. How are we to know that what we have the pleasure of viewing gallery-side is the best of the best, the most succulent bit of Dungeness in San Francisco’s cioppino? Well, we don’t, and now I’m hungry. But events like “Boom” tend to help matters. The event is an entry fee-free juried art show, which means that a) artists don’t gotta have sold a $700,000 piece to kick it (congrats to Chor Boogie, by the way); and b) Southern Exposure has supplied an expert mind to deem said art worthy of your collection or not. (Caitlin Donohue)

Through Dec. 18

Opening reception tonight, 6–9 p.m., free

Southern Exposure

3030 20th St., SF

(415) 863-2141

www.soex.org

EVENT

“The Lusty Lady’s Kinky Kiss-Mass Party”

Ohhhhh! Uhhhhuh! Fuhkuhhhhhhh … there, no, therrrreee! Ahhhhhhh! Yesssssss! Can’t get enough? Don’t worry, babe, there’ll be plenty to get you off at the Lusty Lady’s ho-ho-holiday fundraiser. Love peppermint? Enter the Candy Cane Suck-Off Contest! Love cheeky 1960s garage rock and ’70s hard glam? See the Minks and Destroyer, covering two great bands named after two great things: the Kinks and Kiss, respectively. Love hot naked women who are unionized, lionized, organized, and revolutionized? Then raise your glass of cheap booze while you help raise funds to keep the shades raised, one hot dollar at a time. (Kat Renz)

With Trixxie Carr, Horror X, and DJ Omar

8 p.m.-3 a.m., $12–$15

DNA Lounge

375 11th St., SF

(415) 626-1409

www.dnalounge.com

SATURDAY 11

MUSIC

“The I Am Donald Tour” with Donald Glover + Childish Gambino

As the man-child Troy on NBC’s Community (and a former writer for 30 Rock), 26-year-old Donald Glover currently stands on the precipice of a breakout comedic acting career. So what’s he doing releasing a non-novelty rap album (under the name Childish Gambino)? Although his current celebrity makes it initially hard to take his music seriously, once you move past the indie-kid stroking (“H.O.V.A. with glasses/Weezy but nerdy”) and TV-star titillation (“NBC is not the only thing I’m coming on tonight”), Glover’s casual willingness to be introspective and examine uncomfortable personal struggles signals that he plans on doing more than vacationing in the genre. (Peter Galvin)

9 p.m., $15

Slim’s

333 11th St., SF

(415) 255-0333

www.slims-sf.com

THEATER

Siddhartha, The Bright Path

Performed entirely by kids and young adults, Siddhartha, The Bright Path chronicles Siddhartha’s epic journey to becoming the Buddha alongside the story of modern-day Chandra from San Francisco. Chandra finds herself amid a bounty of birthday presents posing questions about the real value of material goods in the face of human suffering. The two meet on the banks of the Ganges River under a bodhi tree where the Buddha helps Chandra find enlightenment relevant to her life. Fused with Indian music, art, and kathak dance, this play combines traditional Indian culture with the warmth of the holiday season. (Wiederholt)

Through Jan. 9

Previews Sat/11–Sun/12, 3 p.m.; Dec 16, 7:30 p.m.

Opens Dec 17, 7:30 p.m. (schedule varies), $10–$50

Marsh Youth Theater

1062 Valencia, SF

www.themarsh.org

MUSIC

Gama Bomb

The burgeoning retro-thrash movement has become so overcrowded that it’s hard to separate the wheat from the chaff, but hold onto your gigantic white Reebok hi-tops — Gama Bomb is coming. The Dublin, Ireland, quintet is among the best of an uneven bunch, cranking out gleeful, inventive ditties full of machine-gun picking and nerdy, caterwauled vocals. Tales from the Grave in Space (2009) picked up where its previous effort left off, drawing on the band’s love of booze, bawdiness, and pulpy pop culture to weave an adrenalized tapestry shot through with divebombing solos and single-stroke rolls. Hearing the blitzkrieg live will be another matter entirely, and the Bomb is making its first visit to the U.S., so expect an all-out assault. (Richardson)

With Forbidden, Evile, Bonded by Blood, and Fog of War

2:30 p.m., $20

DNA Lounge

375 11th St., SF

(415) 626-2532

www.dnalounge.com

SUNDAY 12

EVENT

Jeff Hoke

Alchemy, dreams, psychology, the stars — wrapped up in an enigmatic Myst-like museum and served to you in a picture book that aims to explain all four. Jeff Hoke is a unique mind. He’d have to be to hold his position as senior exhibits designer at Monterey Bay Aquarium, and we’re given an inside track to the inner workings of the man’s cerebellum with his new book, Museum of Lost Wonder (whose basic premise is explained above). On this day, he takes to the Exploratorium, where he plans to “merge the myths of science and nature,” according to the museum’s website. Screw on your thinking cap. (Donohue)

3–5 p.m., free with museum admission ($10–$15)

Exploratorium

3601 Lyon, SF

(415) 561-0360

www.exploratorium.edu

MONDAY 13

MUSIC

Tame Impala

Tame Impala describes itself as “the movement in Orion’s nebula and the slime from a snail journeying across a footpath.” Clearly, Tame Impala is a psychedelic rock band, complete with outrageous metaphor and hyperbole. But unlike a number of other noted bands in the resurging genre, its heavy sound derives more from a traditional hard groove than wild, in-studio manipulation. If at times the sound is evocative of the Flaming Lips, there’s good reason: Lips producer Dave Fridmann had his hand in Tame Impala’s debut, Innerspeaker. Adding to the vibe, this bill features Stardeath and White Dwarfs, contributors to the Lips’ 2009 Dark Side of the Moon remake and musical progeny of Wayne Coyne. (Ryan Prendiville)

With Stardeath and White Dwarfs

8 p.m., $15

Independent

628 Divisadero, SF

(415) 771-1421

www.theindependentsf.com

TUESDAY 14

FILM

The Triplets of Belleville

With luck, January 2011 will bring the release of the much-delayed animated picture The Illusionist. Originally intended for rollout in 2007, director Sylvain Chomet’s second film should be of particular interest to Francocinephiles, based on an unproduced script written by Jacques Tati. Until then, revisit The Triplets of Belleville, a showcase of Chomet’s unique gift for caricature and Tati’s influence, free of excessive dialogue. Nominated for Best Animated Film at the 2003 Academy Awards, it lost to Finding Nemo, but it should have at least won Best Animated Dog of All Time. (Prendiville)

Dec. 14–15, 7:15 and 9:15 p.m.;

Also Dec. 15, 2 p.m., $6–$9

Red Vic Movie House

1727 Haight, SF

(415) 668-3994

www.redvicmoviehouse.com

* The Guardian listings deadline is two weeks prior to our Wednesday publication date. To submit an item for consideration, please include the title of the event, a brief description of the event, date and time, venue name, street address (listing cross streets only isn’t sufficient), city, telephone number readers can call for more information, telephone number for media, and admission costs. Send information to Listings, the Guardian Building, 135 Mississippi St., SF, CA 94107; fax to (415) 487-2506; or e-mail (paste press release into e-mail body — no text attachments, please) to listings@sfbg.com. Digital photos may be submitted in jpeg format; the image must be at least 240 dpi and four inches by six inches in size. We regret we cannot accept listings over the phone.

Get her if you can

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks

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December 7, 2010

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arts@sfbg.com

MUSIC “Where’s the costumes, bitch?”

The voice behind the inimitable Carletta Sue Kay, Randy Walker, has joined me at Deco Lounge in the Tenderloin for costume karaoke. The atmosphere is conjuring memories. “I worked at a self-storage place two blocks from here called Fort Knox,” Walker says. “I worked with every fucking junkie in San Francisco — recovering, mind you.

“This lady, let’s call her Christine, was 59, with long gray lion’s-mane hair. She was very sweet. She’d come in popping Xanax like candy. One day, right before I got fired, Gonzalo who I worked with came up to me and said, ‘Lady upstairs, sleeping — money.’ We jumped on the private elevator and there was Christine, laid out in the middle of her unit, covered in $100 bills. I asked her about it the next day and she said, ‘I had a date!’.”

Though Carletta Sue Kay is familiar with the most delicate strains of Parisian heartbreak, a real-life character such as Christine would not be out of place in a Carletta song. If Antony Hegarty occupies darker rooms, and Baby Dee finds secret places of unsettling whimsy, Carletta more than matches the best of both in a very San Franciscan way, combining a formidable voice with a restless and freely honest — as rock ‘n’ roll as it is chamber-bound — approach to being a singer. One listen to “Sleeping with the TV On” is all it’ll take for her to convince you.

Tonight I’m getting convinced in-person. “Pardon my obligato,” Walker says on his way to the Deco Lounge’s stage, where he’s soon comfortably issuing commands for more reverb to KJ Paul De Jong, who it turns out has booked lucrative hooker-hotel music gigs for Carletta in Port Costa. “It’s not standup,” a boozy wise-ass yells, and then Walker proceeds to sing the hell out of the Patsy Cline classic “Three Cigarettes in an Ashtray,” expertly using silence to magnify the sound of sorrow. Afterward, the wise-ass walks over to our table to praise him.

Thanks to Walker, Carletta Sue Kay is the kind of dame who knows Nashville as well as she knows Paris. “My favorite drag queen in the world is in Nashville,” Walker says, when I ask about one of country music’s homes. “Remember the figure skater Oksana Baiul? This queen’s name was Oxona Barstool. She wore this big green M&M outfit and she sounded like Tom Waits.”

Walker has also sung in Memphis’ Sun Studios: “I asked where Roy Orbison stood, and they said, ‘Honey, Roy was all over the place.'” Still, the next Carletta Sue Kay recordings are a homespun Bay Area affair, painstakingly produced by band member Doug Hilsinger. “We’re doing two collections,” Walker explains. “One is an album of ballads titled Incongruent. There’s an also an EP called Incongruous, and all of the songs on it will be up tempo. ” The wordplay in those titles comes naturally to Walker, who shares his boyfriend Lee Reymore’s deep love of literature — particularly Southern Gothic fiction — and lucrative love of book collecting.

At Reymore’s urging, Walker uses the moments before his next turn at the mic to tell the story of his encounter with the late Michael Jackson. “You know [the 1988 movie] Moonwalker? I was in that,” he says. “I come from a theater background and grew up 50 miles outside of L.A. in Fontana, hometown of Sammy Hagar.”

How was Michael? “He was a sweetheart. One day Bubbles got loose on the stage, and another day Yoko was there. I made $18,000 for a 12-day shoot, and I was only an extra.”

Carletta and the man behind her have a lot of stories to tell, whether they’re shared over a cocktail or through the stereo on songs such as the glam-anthemic “Joy Division.” Carletta can knowingly name check Beethoven, Crass, and Echo and the Bunnymen while reminiscing about a doom-laden boy with an Ian Curtis fixation. Walker has no hesitation about visiting the treasure troves of soul.

“My fangs are dripping looking at these costumes,” Walker jokes, after likening Deco’s wardrobe rack to the bars maneuvered by gymnasts. Finally, after someone sings “Killing Me Softly” and someone else sings “A Whole New World,” it’s time for his final costume-karaoke number. The song is “Get Here,” and though it was made famous by Oleta Adams, he makes a point of explaining on stage that it was written by Brenda Russell. This is in keeping with his musical , which is rooted in an appreciation of ’70s singer-songwriters like Tim Hardin, Townes Van Zandt, and Karen Dalton, as well as contemporaries like Kath Bloom.

Important names, one and all — but what did Walker’s real-life cousin Carletta Sue Kay think of her musical namesake? “She didn’t know anything about it until two years into it,” Walker says. “She found out about it through the Carletta Sue Kay MySpace, and wrote verbatim, ‘What the fuck is this!'”

What the fuck is this? Something well worth a listen, bitch.

CARLETTA SUE KAY

With M. Lamar

Sun/19, 8 p.m.; $10–$15

Community Music Center

Capp Street Concert Hall

544 Capp, SF

(415) 647-6015

www.myspace.com/carlettasuekay

Tinsellitis

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks

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December 7, 2010

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For John Waters fans (and who isn’t one?) this of course makes perfect sense: The Pink Flamingos director and hot-filth raconteur winters in chilly Baltimore, and summers in fog-shrouded San Francisco. “I just love watching the shocked tourists on the cable cars, gripping their cans of Ensure and freezing their asses off,” he jokes over the phone with that infamous little cackle. He’ll be jetting back here, however, on Sat/11 for “A Sleigh Full of Smut” his one-man Christmas show to benefit the awesome Roxie Cinema, which turned 100 last year. (It’s pricey, but you get a lot of goodies.)

“I adore San Francisco, I now live there almost half the year” — that would explain the sudden preponderance of Facebook party pics featuring his trademark look — “but it’s so strange how I’m treated like a celebrity. You’d think San Franciscans would be tired of famous people, but I get stopped all the time.” The only downside? “As a celebrity, you lose the right to have public sex.” (I smell viral video.) For the Roxie benefit, he’ll be dishing about his holiday obsessions: “extreme fashion crimes, Santa’s sexual identity, and my eternal hatred of the Easter Bunny.” What, no cha cha heels? “Oh, there’ll be a number of special surprises under the tree,” Waters promised.

“San Francisco is such a great place to see obscure movies, but there are so few big screens left anywhere, you know?” he continued. “And the Roxie’s got an incredible group of young people running things now. Go see a movie there already!”

JOHN WATERS: A SLEIGH FULL OF SMUT Sat/11, 7 p.m., $250. Roxie Cinema, 3117 16th St., SF. www.roxie.com

HOT NATURED

Two of the smartest house DJs of the past few years — Jamie Jones from London and Lee Foss from L.A. — team up for this funky side project, heating up the lovely Base weekly.

Thu/9, 9 p.m., $10. Vessel, 85 Campton Pl., SF. www.vesselsf.com

JACKIE BEAT’S ALL YOU CAN EAT CHRISTMAS

Hey, almost-criminally entertaining L.A. drag comedy legend and singer Jackie Beat — what’s in your new holiday show? “All those sweet nostalgic old songs you remember, now about fisting and abortion,” she told me. “Good times. Along with horrible AM radio medleys, there are plenty of classics like ‘Santa’s Baby’ and ‘Do Some Blow!’ Get ready to eat, bitch!”

Fri/10 and Sat/11, 10:30 p.m., $20–$40. Brava Theater, 2781 24th St., SF. www.brownpapertickets.com

NOEL NOIR

The ever-edgy YBCA is hosting this fantastically devilish (and charitable!) “un-holiday” party, with HOTTUB, Ejector, Honey Soundsystem, H.U.N.X., Sonny and the Sunsets, Jill Tracy, and, from those Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, “Project Nunway.”

Fri/10, 9 p.m., $20–$25. Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, 701 Mission, SF. www.noelnoir2010.com

BIG TOP HO HO HO

The monthly circus-themed queer extravaganza that prides itself on pushing the boundaries of taste stuffs your fluffy cock-sock with this special benefit for LYRIC queer youth. Tattoo-headed porn stud Francois Sagat hosts, with a special Homo for the Holidays drag show, and a whole lotta roasted nuts.

Sat/11, 9 p.m.-late, $5. Club Eight, 1151 Folsomm, SF. www.joshuajpresents.com

TORMENTA TROPICAL 3-YEAR ANNIVERSARY

This genius monthly global-funk party has expanded Bay Area ears almost to the point of bursting — help DJ hosts Disco Shawn and Oro11 ring in their third with Jamaican dancehall MC Natalie Storm, and Max Glazer and Sabo.

Sat/11, 10 p.m., $10. Elbo Room, 647 Valencia, SF. www.elbo.com

WONDER-FULL

It sounds too corny to be worth it — an annual tribute night, now in its seventh year, featuring all Stevie Wonder originals and mixes. But it’s actually heavenly. With deep-digging NYC master Spinna at the helm (with local Hakobo, King Most, and Proof backing up), Stevie’s catalogue expands into magic.

Sat/11, 9 p.m., $10–$15. Mezzanine, 444 Jessie, SF. www.mezzaninesf.com

Live Shots: ‘Pilot Light’ at ODC Theater, 12/05/10

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks

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December 6, 2010

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The hardest part for me about watching dance is that if it’s really good, I want to start dancing too — and it bothers me that I have to stay cemented to my seat or risk embarrassment. This happened this weekend when I went to see Pilot Light at ODC Theater, a program 20 years in the making, that gives blossoming choreographers the chance to showcase their work in a professional theater. The evening’s program consisted of eight dance performances by six talented choreographers. I was awed by the variety of movement, costumes, and emotion, from utterly comical to positively serious.

Two choreographer’s work especially stuck with me. First, a piece choreographed by Amy Foley titled “Nearly/Known” really made me want to dance. The four dancers in their flowing dresses were stunning, their movements graceful and fluid. The piece consisted of three parts, each perfectly paired with beautiful music, including a piece by Yann Teirsen, whose music appeared in the film Amelie. The second piece I really loved was Charles Slender’s “Pretonically Oriented v.1.” This is the second time I’ve seen Slender’s work, and each time I’m struck by how unique and different his style of dance is. His dancers truly embrace his vision, releasing themselves physically, without any qualms in order to create both something that is beautiful and also slightly grotesque through their odd facial expressions. Each movement is precise and extended to that farthest possible point, and I find myself leaning forward in my seat, unblinking, wondering what in the world will happen next.

The whole evening was extremely interesting and enjoyable and I highly recommend you check out future Pilot Light performances if they return. Now, I’ve gotta go. I have to get my dancing shoes on!

SIR ARNE’S TREASURE AND THEMOUNTAIN GOATS

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December 6, 2010

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SIR ARNE’S TREASURE AND THEMOUNTAIN GOATS

The San Francisco Film Society presents Mauritz Stiller’s 1919 silent film classic Sir Arne’s Treasure, with live musical accompaniment by indie rock icon John Darnielle of The Mountain Goats. The film is Swedish master Stiller’s haunting tale of murder, betrayal and divine redemption, and Darnielle, known for his poignant lyrics and low-fi aesthetic, will perform the world premiere of his score for Sir Arne’s Treasure as part of the Film Society’s ongoing project to present classic silent films with live scores performed by extraordinary contemporary musicians.

For tickets and full program information, visit sffs.org.

Tuesday, December 14^th at 8PM @ Castro Theater, 429 Castro Street, San Francisco

Party Radar: Tiara Sensation Pageant will be Some Thing special

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks

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December 2, 2010

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Party Radar: Tiara Sensation Pageant will be Some Thing special

Right out of the glitter-strewn gate, when it launched a year ago, I knew that Some Thing was “special.” The weekly Friday drag night (with crafts table!) at the Stud not only filled the city’s missing weekly alternative drag hole left behind by Trannyshack, but it managed to bring something unique, channeling a new sensibility rising in the children that respected traditional performance as well as punk-rock theatrics, and loved to play with the expectations that had arisen around both. The club, headed by VivvyAnne ForeverMore, Glamamore, and DJ Downey, grew out of their ambitiously arty Monday weekly Tiara Sensation, also at the Stud. The threesome — who emanate a intellectual grace as well as a healthy appreciation of improvisatory surrealism and wry humor — have made Some Thing not just the Friday night home base for altqueers, but also a showcase of the diversity of queer dance music styles, with ear-opening DJs guesting every week.

It’s time for the annual, incredibly creative Miss Tiara Sensation Pageant, Sun/5, and the popular Some Thing crew is moving it from the Stud to Temple to accomodate their larger dreams for the contest. (You can read the particulars in my Super Ego column this week). This year, the pageant will be a star-studded fundraiser for awesome local fringe theater The Offcenter. I spoke with philosophy-clad cyber-showgirl Vivvy about Some Thing’s anniversary, the big Tiara to-do, and some of her favorite glamour looks.

TIARA SENSATION PAGEANT Sun/5, 8 p.m.–midnight, $35. Temple, 540 Howard, SF. www.templesf.com, Facebook: Some Thing

SFBG How does it feel for Some Thing to be one year old? How has the club evolved and changed over the past 12 months? Surely it’s grueling to put on a weekly party. But to put one on with two big drag shows every night, eek. Aren’t you exhausted?

VivvyAnne ForeverMore While the club known as SOME THING is one year old we have been working together for 3 years on Tiara Sensation and other projects. The club has gotten bigger over the past 12 months, and we’ve expanded our family of performers. Also our audience, while it’s changing and growing constantly, has gotten to a really lovely point, there is comraderie. We are all there for each other. The craft table has gotten even more ambitious than in the past. Folks go nuts for it, [crafts leader] Hot Gloo often runs out of supplies before the show even begins. We’ve also gotten to pull in great DJs from SF and abroad, and increased our DJs so now we have two residents Stanley Frank and Juanita MORE!

Also, we’ve made connections with other parties around town, and promoters. Which strengthens the nightlife, and the fringe culture of San Francisco generally. Which is very important to us. We love San Francisco and the creative weird people that land here. We want the nightlife to be vibrant, whether you are at our party or somewhere else. Throwing this party is like having a big fat happy baby, it takes alot of work (fun work) but we love it and it loves us back.

SFBG One of the things I admire most about Some Thing is your willingness to embrace the abstract in terms of theme. You always utilize the phrase Some Thing — like on 9/11 your theme was “If You See Some Thing Say Some Thing” and the themes can always be interpreted a number of ways (although sometimes, hilariously, you make it extremely narrow, like Some Roisin Thing — all Roisin Murphy songs — or other divas I can’t remember at the moment). But I love how you treat the whole theme notion ironically. How do you come up with the ideas?

VVFM Our themes come from anywhere and everywhere often they arise when the three of us are joking around and playing. We know a theme is a good idea if we laugh a lot about it. It’s a collaboration of our weird senses of humor and quirks. People constantly suggest themes to us. We find that if there is a way to misunderstand the assignment a theme can work on many levels, and the show will be suprising. For instance Some Thing Like it Hot could be a lot of different things. For VivvyAnne it was a Marilyn Monroe night, for others it was about spiciness or sexiness, or the beach.

SFBG Why are you going rather upscale with the pageant and having it at Temple? It seems like a big change in a way — are there other changes or ambitious projects coming?

VVFM While Temple is upscale-r than the Stud it is a matter of logistics. We want to produce a large scale event and provide a platform for our performers to really shine for a big audience. There’s a thing that happens when a performer hears 700 folks cheering for them, it’s trans-formative. The Stud is our home, but it couldn’t fit the crowd that we want to draw.

We aren’t leaving our weekly show behind, just augmenting it. For us its not about upscale or downscale, we just wanna have fun and take our family on a big ride. Temple made sense to us because we’ve known [events manager] David Peterson for years, so we are keeping it in the family.

As you know we do SOME ARE CAMP, our summertime weekend in Guerneville, and we will continue with that. We have some designs on international travel and other trips as well. SOME THING can and should be everywhere. Most immediately coming up at the Stud, we have SOME THING NEW, New Year’s Eve with Juanita MORE! and our anniversary on January 14th.

SFBG Run down one of your favorite looks of the year for me.

VVFM Our favorite looks on ourselves are:

Vivvyanne — Long see through gown worn over a flesh toned boy corset made by Mr. David, with bangs and a clip on pony tail.
Glamamore — Rectangual hoop skirt with huge hair floating 8 feet above the ground lipsynching to Nina Hagen
Downey — Teddy bear onesy.

On others:

Monistat — a unicorn for Halloween
Beff Amphetamine — as a Turkey stage diving
Martha T. Lipton — dressed as popcorn by taping white balloons to herself.
Suppositori Spelling — as a rich woman with plastic surgery by gluing her upper lip open to look like surgery gone awry.
Alotta Boutte — Spinning a huge skirt around, so big in fact that it kept hitting the walls.

But our whole family is so beautiful!

One latte, art therapy on the side

Andrew Lam

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December 2, 2010

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What will your art look like when you have trouble remembering your last painting — or offspring? On the week of next, you’ll be able to sip your Cafe International espresso and ponder the answer. In the cafe’s new art installation, one-third of the pieces on the walls will be by Alzheimer patients (Tues/7).

What you can look forward to: “The pointillist and – let’s call it aboriginal flavor of some of the work can be seen as a common trait,” says Patricia Ris, co-curator of the exhibit. “Some artists will bend their vertical lines, and there seems to be a tendency toward some aspects of surrealism and superimposition. But I’m being very unscientific here.”

Ris (a creative activities coordinator at an SF adult day care center) and gerontologist-theater artist Caitlin Morgan of the Alzheimer’s Association decided to bring attention to their innovative work with seniors by integrating their art into the Care International’s regular wall fare of professional etchers and sketchers.

The pieces are created as part of a therapeutic program that allows patients to take their mind off of memory loss for a moment. With the help of an instructor, Alzheimer’s sufferers create vivid canvas evocations that can bring up elemental reactions in the viewer. In one, a red-headed woman holds a hand over her shocked face — a key indication at discomfort over what is coming out of her mouth.

Morgan also runs weekend camps for these older folk that not only give caretakers a chance to have a 24-hour period to focus on their own lives, but also give the Alzheimer’s patients a chance to try some new things. A recent NPR piece on her work highlighted Morgan’s focus on letting patients do what they feel needs to be done – telling a grandmother who insists she’s late for school that there’s no classes that day, or letting an elderly ex-carpenter work at a chair leg for the better part of an hour with invisible tools. It’s all a part of “reading between the lines,” fostering that interior mind that can seem to be in jeopardy for many people, but that is often just struggling to adjust to a new world.

“Having worked with many Alzheimer’s patients who have lost their word-finding ability, I have seen firsthand, over and over, that art is a way for them to express what words no longer can,” says Morgan, who first came into contact with senior citizen patients while she was performing with a traveling theater troupe. She says that art can be a method of alleviating frustration for those that can’t deal with early symptoms of the disease – as well as a way of describe the weird, wacky world that they are coming into contact with through their memory loss. “The connection between Alzheimer’s and art is one of necessity,” concludes Ris.

Morgan says that the work of Alzheimer’s patients probably shouldn’t be judged by the same yardsticks as other coffee shop work, that it’s primary use is that of therapy for the artist themselves. But I can imagine sitting next to Maurice’s eerie bird-woman, or Patricia’s bouquet of impressionist flowers and reflecting on an entirely different breed of cleansing: that life — even in the midst of degenerative disease — will go on and on, and in color no less.

(From top to bottom, paintings by Tamara, Maurice, and Patricia)

“Painting from the Heart: Alzheimer’s Art”

Opening reception Tues/7 6-9:30 p.m., free

Cafe International

508 Haight, SF

(415) 867-4617

More than child’s play

Andrew Lam

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November 30, 2010

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arts@sfbg.com

THEATER Enticing adults with a children’s story shouldn’t be too hard these days, with trails long since blazed by comic-book blockbusters, primetime cartoons, and the like. Still more to the point, the theater has a long tradition of adapting folk and fairy tales to sophisticated, not to say macabre purposes. Witness ACT’s hit run of The Black Rider or — in New York City — the current blood-splattered take on Hans Christian Andersen’s The Red Shoes by Cornwall’s Kneehigh Theater, which last year offered its Brief Encounter to Bay Area audiences.

So what’s the matter with Coraline?

The stage adaptation of creepster fantasy novelist Neil Gaiman’s 2002 children’s story (also a 3-D animated film in 2009) proves a generally drab musical in SF Playhouse and director Bill English’s West Coast premiere, despite sporting an impressive ensemble of collaborators that includes playwright David Greenspan (book) and the Magnetic Fields’ Stephin Merritt (music and lyrics). It’s all the more surprising given the inherent attraction of the material, which comes shot through with quirky staging possibilities and rich, dark veins of psychology and existentialism.

The title character is a sharp, gutsy little girl and only child (played by the confident and tuneful if somewhat too flinty Maya Donato, alternating nights with Julia Belanoff) born to a pair of middle class English parents (Jackson Davis and Stacy Ross). Their eccentric neighbors include a pair of aging actresses (Susi Damilano and Maureen McVerry) and a Russian showman (Brian Degan Scott) who carries around a mouse-circus tent.

Coraline and her parents live in one half of a converted old house (a spectral pop-out figure looming in the back of English and Matt Vuolo’s slightly Seuss-ian scenic design). The other half remains empty, supposedly, separated from the inquisitive Coraline by an intriguing door leading immediately onto a brick wall. Naturally, this proves no impasse, soon offering the little girl entrance into a parallel universe where the neighborhood cat (Brian Yates Sharber) suddenly commands the power of speech and her “other” parents (Davis and Ross again) — with black buttons sewn into their eye sockets — eagerly await her arrival.

Coraline at first appreciates this Other World where, for one thing, people seem to get her name right, instead of insisting on calling her Caroline all the time. But the place, which she herself notes is more like “an idea” than a physical reality, also comes to threaten her profoundly. Meeting a group of lost children who’ve become forgetful ghosts, she comes to understand that her Other Mother is in fact a wicked pursuer bent on snatching her soul, and who has meanwhile abducted her real parents. With the help of the independent-minded but sympathetic cat, Coraline will summon the wherewithal to beat back this threat, but the experience — corresponding to a child’s first confrontation with the fact of her own mortality — leaves her changed, more knowing, in touch with her “authentic” self.

Musing on the latent, vaguely Heideggerian content of this “children’s story,” however, turns out to be just one way of passing the time over the course of 90 otherwise-uneventful minutes. Musically, the play begins with a tinkly little overture on toy pianos by the ensemble, before transitioning to off-stage (and somewhat muted) piano accompaniment by music director Robert Moreno. Merritt’s lightly humorous songs seesaw between naïve surface gestures and intimations of roiling depths. But the shrewd charm of the songs themselves can’t carry a show preoccupied with balancing the story’s cuteness and its potential shock value, and leaning too heavily toward the former. (It may have been a shrewd move of the original New York production to have cast an adult, namely actress Jayne Houdyshell, in the title role, thereby holding out the potential for greater subtlety and irony at the center of the story.)

The material and music notwithstanding, the production’s too timid approach to the violence and dread in the story tends to fracture the action into a series of adorable bits and self-consciously “playful” wickedness. The Brothers Grimm or even Hans Christian Andersen it ain’t, though you can’t help feeling it should have been.

CORALINE

Through Jan. 15; $30-50

SF Playhouse

533 Sutter, SF

(415) 677-9596

www.sfplayhouse.org

Stage Listings

Andrew Lam

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November 30, 2010

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Stage listings are compiled by Guardian staff. Performance times may change; call venues to confirm. Reviewers are Robert Avila, Rita Felciano, and Nicole Gluckstern. Submit items for the listings at listings@sfbg.com. For further information on how to submit items for the listings, see Picks. For complete listings, see www.sfbg.com.

THEATER

OPENING

Babes in Arms Eureka Theatre, 215 Jackson; 255-8207, www.42ndstmoon.org. $24-44. Previews Wed/1, 7pm; Thurs/2-Fri/3, 8pm. Opens Sat/4, 6pm. Runs Wed, 7pm; Thurs-Fri, 8pm; Sat, 6pm; Sun, 3pm. Through Dec 19. 42nd Street Moon presents John Guare’s adaptation of the musical by Rodgers and Hart.

Christmas in Hell: The Real and True Story About the Guys Who Saved Christmas Dark Room Theater, 2263 Mission; (800) 838-3006, www.brownpapertickets.com. $20. An original holiday play, written and directed by Jim Fourniadis.

Cinderella African American Art & Culture Complex, 762 Fulton; (800) 838-3006, www.brownpapertickets.com. $10-30. Opens Fri/3, 8pm.Runs Fri/8pm; Sat, 3 and 8pm; Sun, 3pm. Through Dec 19. African-American Shakespeare Company presents the classic fairytale, starring Velina Brown.

Cora Values’ Christmas Corral Exit Cafe, 156 Eddy; 673-3847, www.brownpapertickets.com. $15-25. Opens Fri/3, 8:30pm. Runs Fri-Sat, 8:30pm. Through Dec 11. The holiday hostess leaves the I-19 Gas ‘N’ Gulp to share her take on Dickens.

Dirty Little Showtunes! A Parody Musical Revue New Conservatory Theatre Center, 25 Van Ness; 861-8972, www.nctcsf.org. $24-40. Previews Fri/3-Sat, 4, 8pm; Sun/5, 2pm; Fi/10, 8pm. Opens Sat/11, 8pm. Runs Wed-Sat, 8pm; Sun, 2pm. Tom Orr’s adults-only holiday show returns, with direction by F. Allen Sawyer and musical direction by Scrumbly Koldewyn.

Golden Girls: The Christmas Episodes CounterPULSE, 1310 Mission; www.ticketfly.com. $25. Opens Thurs/2, 7pm. Runs Thurs-Sat, 7 and 9pm. Through Dec 23. Heklina, Cookie Dough, Matthew Martin, and Pollo Del Mar return with their stage tribute to the sitcom.

The Oddman Family Christwanzaakuh Spectactular! Exit Stage Left, 156 Eddy; (800) 838-3006, www.brownpapertickets.com. $20. Opens Thurs/2, 8pm. Runs Thurs-Sat, 8pm. Guerrilla Rep and Beards Beards Beards present a new twisted musical farce.

Ruth and the Sea Stage Werx Theatre, 533 Sutter; www.ruthandthesea.com. $18-24. Opens Thurs/2, 8pm. Runs Thurs-Sat, 8pm. Through Dec 18.Wily West Productions presents Gwyneth Richards in a kooky holiday show, directed by Stuart Bousel.

Shrek The Musical Orpheum Theatre, 1192 Market; (888) SHN-1799, wwwshnsf.com. $30-99. Opens Wed/1, 2pm. Runs Tues, 8pm, Wed, 2 and 8pm; Thurs-Fri, 8pm; Sat, 2 and 8pm; Sun, 2pm (no performances Dec 24, Dec 25, and Dec 31). Through Jan 2.Eric Peterswn stars in the stage version of the animated blockbuster.

BAY AREA

Becoming Julia Morgan Berkeley City Club, 2315 Durant, Berk; (510) 984-3864, www.brownpapertickets.com. $24-30. Opens Fri/3, 8pm. Runs Fri-Sat, 8pm; Sun, 5pm. Through Jan 9. Janis Stevens stars in Belinda Taylor’s play about the trailblazing architect.

A Christmas Memory TheatreWorks at Lucie Stern Theatre, 1305 Middlefield, Palo Alto; (650) 463-1960, www.theatreworks.org. $19-67. Previews Wed/1-Fri/3, 8pm. Opens Sat/4, 8pm. Runs Tues-Wed, 7:30pm; Thurs-Fri, 8pm; Sat, 2 and 8pm; Sun, 2 and 7pm. Through Dec 26. TheatreWorks presents the holiday tale by Truman Capote.

Of the Earth – The Salt Plays: Part 2 Ashby Stage, 1901 Ashby; (510) 841-6500, www.shotgunplayers.org. $17-30. Previews Thurs/2-Fri/3, 8pm. Opens Sat/4, 8pm. Runs Thurs-Sat, 8pm; Sun, 5pm (also Wed/7pm beginning Dec 15). Through Jan 30. Shotgun Players present the second half of writer and director Jon Tracy’s Odyssey-inspired tale, with music by Brendan West.

ONGOING

Absolutely San Francisco Phoenix Theater Annex, 414 Mason, 4th floor; 433-1235, www.absolutelysanfrancisco.com. $28. Fri-Sat, 8pm. Through Dec 18. Karen Hirst’s one-person musical about lost love.

Caligari Studio 385, 385A Eighth St; www.brownpapertickets.com. $10-30. Fri-Sat, 8pm. Through Dec 10. HurLyBurLy performs an original adaptation of the 1920 silent film, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari.

Cavalia: A Magical Encounter Between Horse and Man White Big Top, adjacent to AT&T Park; www.cavalia.net. $39.50-239.50. Check website for shows and times. Through Dec 12. Over 100 performers, including 50 horses, take the stage in this circus-like show from Montreal.

Christian Cagigal’s Obscura: A Magic Show EXIT Cafe, 156 Eddy; 1-800-838-3006, www.brownpapertickets.com. $15-25. Thurs-Sat, 8pm. Through Dec 18. Magician Christian Cagigal presents a mix of magic, fairy tales, and dark fables.

It’s All the Rage The Marsh, 1062 Valencia; (800) 838-3006, www.brownpapertickets.com. $20-50. Sat, 8:30pm; Sun, 7pm. Through Sun/5. Longtime comedian and radio host Marilyn Pittman’s solo play wrestles with the legacy of her parents’ violent deaths in a 1997 murder-suicide initiated by her father. It’s disturbing material that Pittman, a stout middle-aged woman with a gregarious and bounding personality, approaches indirectly via a good deal of humor—including recounting the first time she did her growing-up-lesbian bit before her mother in a DC comedy club. But the pain and confusion trailing her for 13 years is never far behind, whether in accounts of her own battle with anger (and the broken relationships its left in its wake) or in ominous memories of her too complaisant mother or her charming but domineering father, whose controlling behavior extended to casually announcing murderous dreams while policing the boundaries of his marriage against family interference. A fine mimic, Pittman deploys a Southern lilt in playing each parent, on a stage decorated with a hint of their Southwestern furnishings and a framed set of parental photographs. In not exactly knowing where to lay blame for, or find meaning in, such a horrifying act, the play itself mimics in subtler form the emotional tumult left behind. There’s a too brief but eerie scene in which her veteran father makes reference to a murder among fellow soldiers en route to war, but while PTSD is mentioned (including as an unwanted patrimony), the 60-minute narrative crafted by Pittman and director David Ford wisely eschews any pat explanation. If transitions are occasionally awkward and the pace a bit loose, the play leaves one with an uncomfortable sense of the darker aspects of love, mingled with vague concentric histories of trauma and dislocation in a weird, sad tale of destruction and staying power. (Avila)

The Lion in Winter Actors Theatre, 855 Bush; 345-1287, www.ticketweb.com. $26-38. Wed-Sat, 8pm. Through Dec 18. Actors Theatre of SF presents James Goldman’s play of palace intrigue.

Match Royce Gallery, 2901 Mariposa; 1-866-811-4111, www.matchonstage.com. $12-28. Thurs-Sun, 8pm. Through Dec 18. Expression Productions presents Stephen Belber’s new suspense drama.

Or, Magic Theatre, Fort Mason Center, Marina at Laguna; 441-8822, www.magictheatre.org. $20-60. Wed-Sat, 8pm (also Sat, 2:30pm); Sun, 2:30pm; Tues, 7pm. Through Sun/5. The latest from New York playwright Liz Duffy Adams (Dog Act, One Big Lie) is a neo-Restoration romp with contemporary political overtones, sexual and otherwise, and a lot of winking, verse-bound, hit-and-miss humor. The play imagines Aphra Behn (Natacha Roi) in her modest mid-17th-century London living quarters (a spare, elegantly worn arrangement beautifully conceived by set designer Michael Locher) as she negotiates a notable professional transition from spy for the Crown to the country’s first female playwright (best known today for The Rover). But visits by secret and amorous patron King Charles II (Ben Huber), equally smitten leading lady Nell Gwynne (Maggie Mason), on-the-lam fellow spy William Scott (Huber), and several other major and minor people and personages (all played in quick-change style by Huber and Mason), presents Aphra with severe challenges as well as, of course, creative opportunities as a writer. Despite, however, generally sharp and energetic performances under Magic Theater artistic director Loretta Greco’s fluid staging, the farce itself feels too forced and thinly layered to really continue mounting as giddily as it should. The play’s self-conscious nod to contemporary American politics, meanwhile, unintentionally mimics an all-too-familiar course from enthusiasm for change to stagnant anti-climax.

Party of 2 – The New Mating Musical Shelton Theater, 533 Sutter; (800) 838-3006, www.partyof2themusical.com. $27-29. Sun, 3pm. Open-ended. A musical about relationships by Shopping! The Musical author Morris Bobrow.

*Pearls Over Shanghai Thrillpeddlers’ Hypnodrome, 575 Tenth St; 1-800-838-3006, www.brownpapertickets.com. $30-69. Sat, 8pm. Through Dec 19. Thrillpeddlers’ acclaimed production of the Cockettes musical continues its successful run.

A Perfect Ganesh New Conservatory Theatre Center, 25 Van Ness; 861-8972, www.nctcsf.org. $22-40. Wed-Sat, 8pm; Sun, 2pm. Through Dec 19. New Conservatory Theatre Center presents the Terrence McNally play, directed by Arturo Catricala.

The Real Americans The Marsh, 1062 Valencia; (800) 838-3006, www.themarsh.org. $20-50. Thurs-Fri, 8pm; Sat, 5pm; Sun, 3pm. Through Sat/4 (resuming in Jan 2011). Dan Hoyle’s acclaimed one-man show, directed by Charlie Varon, continues its extended run.

A Tale of Two Genres SF Playhouse, Stage Two, 533 Sutter; www.un-scripted.com. $10-20. Thurs-Sat, 8pm (also Sat, 3pm; additional shows Dec 20-23). Through Dec 23. Un-Scripted Theater Company performs an improvised musical in the style of Charles Dickens.

The Tempest Exit on Taylor, 277 Taylor; 1-800-838-3006, www.cuttingball.com. $15-20. Thurs-Sat, 8pm; Sun, 5pm. Through Dec 19. In Cutting Ball’s latest foray into Shakespearean realms, three entangled subplots and eleven characters are enacted by just three actors, in order to explore the relationships between the principle characters by representing their internal characteristics through the actions of the more minor roles. Set on an enchanted island (or, in Cutting Ball’s interpretation, at the bottom of a swimming pool) The Tempest begins with stormy weather, but quickly grows into a full-blown hurricane of shipwrecked nobles, nymphs, and drunks, plus the turbulent awakenings of a teenage daughter’s libido, and the rumblings of her over-protective papa. The most effective dual-character is Caitlyn Louchard’s Miranda-Ariel, as both characters are quite under the stern control of Prospero (David Sinaiko) and equally deserving of release. Less affecting yet somehow equally congruous is Sinaiko’s comic turn as the buffoonish Stephano, who stumbles through the forest in his boxer shorts, yet somehow maintains an air of mock dignity that does parallel Prospero’s. Donell Hill’s Caliban-Ferdinand endures his lust-love for Miranda and servitude to Prospero alternating between raw physicality and social ineptness. But since “The Tempest” is littered with characters even more minor, the game cast is stretched too thinly to fully inhabit each, and the entire subplot involving King Alonzo, Gonzalo, and Antonio in particular suffers from this ambitious over-extension. (Gluckstern)

The Tender King Phoenix Theatre, 414 Mason, Sixth Flr; www.secondwindtheatre.com. $20-25. Fri-Sat, 8pm; Sun, 2pm. Through Dec 11. Second Wind Productions presents Ian Walker’s noir-tinged World War II drama.

The Velveteen Rabbit Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, Novellus Theater, 700 Howard; 978-2787, www.ybca.org. Call for dates and times. Through Dec 12. ODC/Dance presents Margery Williams’ holiday favorite.

BAY AREA

A Christmas Carol: The Musical Novato Theater Company Playhouse, 484 Ignacio, Novato; 863-4498, www.novatotheatercompany.org. $10-18. Fri-Sat, 8pm; Sun, 3pm. Through Dec 17. Novato Theater Company presents a new adaptation of the holiday classic.

Cinderella, Enchanted Julia Morgan Center for the Arts, 2640 College, Berk; (510) 665-5565, www.berkeleyplayhouse.org. $15-33. Call for run times. Through Sun/5. Frenchie Davis plays the Fairy Godmother in this production of the Rogers and Hammerstein musical.

East 14th – True Tales of a Reluctant Player The Marsh Berkeley, 2120 Allston Way, Berk; (800) 838-3006, www.themarsh.org. $20-50. Call for times. Through Dec 19. Don Reed’s one-man show continues its extended run.

Happy Now? Marin Theatre Company, 397 Miller, Mill Valley; (415) 388-5208, www.marintheatre.org. $32-53. Tues and Thurs-Sat, 8pm; Wed, 7:30pm; Sun, 7pm. Through Sun/5. Marin Theatre Company performs Lucinda Coxon’s stinging comedy about contemporary marriage.

Lemony Snicket’s The Composer is Dead Berkeley Repertory Theatre, Roda Theatre, 2015 Addison, Berk; (510) 647-2949, www.berkeleyrep.org. Call for dates and times. Through Jan 15, 2011. Berkeley Rep premieres the new musical, written by Lemony Snicket, with music by Nathaniel Stookey.

Loveland The Marsh Berkeley, 2120 Allston Way, Berk; (800) 838-3006, www.themarsh.org. $20-50. Fri, 7pm; Sat, 8pm. Through Dec 11. Ann Randolph’s hit one-woman comic show continues its extended run.

Palomino Aurora Theatre, 2081 Addison, Berk; (510) 843-4822, www.auroratheatre.org. $10-55. Wed-Sat, 8pm; Sun, 2 and 7pm; Tues, 7pm. Through Sun/5. David Cale brings his new solo play about a gigolo to Aurora Theatre for its Bay Area premiere.

*The Play About the Naked Guy La Val’s Subterranean, 1834 Euclid, Berk; (800) 838-3006, www.brownpapertickets.com. $10-20. Thurs-Sat, 8pm. Through Dec 11. Impact Theatre presents an off-Broadway hit, written by David Bell and directed by Evren Odcikin.

PERFORMANCE/DANCE

“Balls to Balzac: A Journey From Testicles to Women in the Bourbon Restoration” cellSPACE, 2050 Bryant; 323-0246, www.cellspace.org. Sun/5, 8pm. $10. Choreogrpaher Amy Lewis presents a performance art dance lecture.

“Booze, Boys, and Brownies: A Musical Journey” Exit Theatre, 156 Eddy; (800) 838-3006. $9-12. Fri/3-Sat/4, 8pm (through Dec 11). A one-woman show about an actress who traveled from SF to Tinseltown.

The False and True Are One Z Space, Theater Artaud, 450 Florida; www.lissfaindance.org. $12.50-25. Fri/3-Sat/4, 8pm. Liss Fain Dance presents a performance installation featuring Jeri Lynn Cohen.

“Holiday Humbug Clown Cabaret” TJT – The Jewish Theatre, 470 Florida; 522-0786, www.tjt-sf.org. $15. Mon/6, 7 and 9pm. The Clown Cabaret of the Climate Theatre presents a holiday show.

Human Creature and Jessica Damon The Garage, 975 Howard; 518-1517, www.975howard.com. $10-20, Fri/3-Sat/4, 8pm. Human Creature and Jessica Damon and Dancers present works as part of RAW.

“Kinetic Reality” Studio Theater, USF Lone Mountain Campus, 2800 Turk; 422-3888, PASJtickets@esfca.edu. $5-10. Thurs/2-Sat/4, 8pm. USF’s fall dance show, with work by Laura Arrington, Jo Kreiter, and others.

“Left Coast Leaning Festival” YBCA Forum, 701 Mission; 978-2787, www.ybca.org. $10-20. Thurs/2-Sat/4, 8pm. YBCA and Youth Speaks presents the second fest, with performances by Jogja Hip-Hop Foundation, the 605 Collective, and others.

“Lipstick and Kisses 2010: A Flaming Lotus Girls Extravaganza” SOMArts, 934 Brannan; www.flaminglotus.com. Free. Fri/3, 7pm-2am. The fire art mavens present an evening of art, music, and fun.

The Other Woman The Marsh, 1062 Valencia; (800) 838-3006, www.themarsh.org. Tues/7, 8pm. $10-15. Marsh Rising presents a performance by Victoria Zackheim.

“Pilot Light” ODC Theater, 3153 17th; www.odcdance.org. $12. Sat/4-Sun/5, 8pm. An evening of new work by six emerging choreographers.

Film Listings

Andrew Lam

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November 30, 2010

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Film listings are edited by Cheryl Eddy. Reviewers are Kimberly Chun, Michelle Devereaux, Peter Galvin, Max Goldberg, Dennis Harvey, Johnny Ray Huston, Louis Peitzman, Lynn Rapoport, Ben Richardson, and Matt Sussman. The film intern is Ryan Prendiville. For rep house showtimes, see Rep Clock. For first-run showtimes, see Movie Guide.

OPENING

*Black Swan See “Dance Fever.” (1:50)

*I Love You Phillip Morris See “Cash and Carrey.” (1:38)

*Marwencol It’s possible you’ve already seen the work of artist Mark Hogancamp: photographs of a World War II-era town built in his backyard, filled with epic stories enacted by meticulously clothed and accessorized Barbies and Army-guy dolls. As one art expert interviewed in Marwencol points out, the images are remarkable not just because of the attention to detail in each scene, but also because they are completely without irony. Unlike everything else in the entire 21st century, there’s no affect whatsoever. As Jeff Malmberg’s film shows, that’s because Hogancamp comes from a place that is completely genuine: after a bar-beating so severe he suffered brain injuries, the former alcoholic cobbled his life back together with the help of the town he named Marwencol, a fantasy world that provided both physical and emotional therapy. Hogancamp’s tale is the sort of truth-is-stranger-than-fiction stuff that makes ideal documentary material, and in addition to teasing out Hogancamp’s life story, Malmberg’s film also examines what happens when an outsider artist (in the truest sense of the term) is tapped to mingle with hipsters at a New York City gallery. Still — though Marwencol the movie is well worth seeing, it’s the work created by Hogancamp that truly amazes. (1:23) Lumiere, Shattuck. (Eddy)

*Saint Misbehavin’: The Wavy Gravy Movie As an 80s baby, Woodstock conjures images of MTV’s disastrous attempt to recreate the festival in 1999, so please forgive me for thinking Wavy Gravy was just a guy with an ice cream named after him. In Michelle Esrick’s well produced Gravy bio doc, it turns out there’s more to the man than brown acid and a hazelnut fudge swirl. A man of the world who prays to all gods, including Lenny Bruce and Albert Einstein (two of his former mentors), Wavy Gravy’s life story is one of cultural transformation: a beatnik poet and roommate with Bob Dylan, dropping acid with the Merry Pranksters, a smarter-than- he-looks icon of counterculture at Woodstock, and beyond. For his contemporaries who probably weren’t able to hold onto the dream quite as long, Saint Misbehavin’ is a nostalgic return to idealism. For those of us that came after, it’s a reminder that experimentation, culture jamming, and Burning Man aren’t revolutionary ideas. (1:27) Red Vic, Shattuck. (Prendiville)

*The Temptation of St. Tony This beguiling slice of exquisite-corpse surrealism from Estonian writer-director Veiko Ounpuu didn’t get much notice at Sundance, and certainly seemed one of that festival’s less likely candidates for non-festival exposure in the U.S. So credit the Roxie for gambling that its utterly unpredictable charms will draw (if not pack) ’em in for a week’s run. Middle manager Tony (Taavi Eelmaa) is first glimpsed marching in his father’s funeral procession, and the first indication that nothing here will go as expected comes when said parade is briefly surprised by a passing motorist’s 180 flip nearby. From there on hapless Tony is subjected to a series of increasingly bizarre trials that advance from family and work weirdnesses to a climactic, David Lynchian orgy-cabaret-human sacrifice-costume party. If you see one Estonian-Swedish-Finnish coproduction this year, let it be this cipherous black comedy. (1:50) Roxie. (Harvey)

The Warrior’s Way The star of this movie, Jang Dong-gun, is so badass his name has the word gun in it. Suck on that, Vin Diesel! (1:40)

ONGOING

*Ahead of Time The tagline for Bob Richman’s documentary is “Ruth Gruber didn’t just report the news … she made it!”, which is a pretty succinct way of summing up a rather incredible life. Just over an hour long, Ahead of Time mixes contemporary interviews with the pioneering writer (sharp as a tack, even in her late 90s) with footage (often shot by Gruber herself) of the historic events she witnessed, including, as an American Jew studying in Germany, a pre-World War II speech by Adolph Hitler. The native Brooklynite was a child prodigy of sorts, earning a PhD at age 20; throughout her career, she went where no journalist (and certainly no female journalist) had gone before, including the Soviet Arctic, and was an eyewitness to the Nuremberg Trials and the formation of Israel. Gruber’s life story has already been made into a feature film (2001’s Haven), but to hear these fascinating tales from the woman who lived them is a recommended experience. (1:13) Opera Plaza. (Eddy)

Burlesque Burlesque really wants your love. Much like its heroine Ali, the small-town girl with showbiz dreams (and the not-so-secret pipes to make those dreams a reality), Burlesque knows all the moves by heart and is determined to land a spot in the chorus-line next to Cabaret (1972), Pretty Woman (1990), The Devil Wears Prada (2006), and Gypsy (1962). “Come on,” it implores, firing off Bob Fosse finger-snaps and leg-bearing kicks, “I’ve got Christina Aguilera as the plucky newcomer and Cher as the seasoned stage-vet and owner of the Burlesque Lounge, a kind of music video purgatory in which the Pussycat Dolls never broke up.” [snap snap snap] “I’ve got Stanley Tucci trapped in the makeover montage closet, again, as the sassy gay-in-waiting to both female leads.” [snap snap snap] “I’ve got girls gyrating in a Victoria’s Secret catalog worth of risqué underthings.” [snap snap pant] “I’ve got melisma!” [pant pant pant] “Did I mention Cher’s eleventh-hour power ballad?” Yes, it’s true. Burlesque has all of the above (and can’t you just hear the hunger in its voice?) And yet, it is afflicted by a particularly unfortunate kind of mediocrity. Not terrible enough to be redeemable as camp, Burlesque also lacks what Kay Thompson would call “bazazz” — none of the leads have any chemistry with each other, or the camera for that matter — to make this musical truly sing. In the words of many a casting agent: “Maybe next time, kid.” (1:48) Empire, 1000 Van Ness, Presidio, SF Center, Shattuck, Sundance Kabuki. (Sussman)

Client 9: The Rise and Fall of Eliot Spitzer Was Eliot Spitzer’s very public disgrace the result of his own hubris or a loose conspiracy of business interests and conservative politicians aligned against him? Documentary filmmaker Alex Gibney (2007’s Taxi to the Dark Side) gives credence to both explanations in Client 9, though his sane interest in revisiting the case stems from knowing what happened next: Spitzer left office in March 2008, months before the economy shattered. As New York’s hard-charging Attorney General, Spitzer made his reputation prosecuting white-collar crime in lieu of meaningful regulatory action at the federal level. This earned him several powerful enemies (among them former AIG CEO Hank Greenberg and billionaire Ken Langone) as well as the general scorn of Wall Street (we see footage of the market floor breaking out into cheers when Spitzer announces his resignation). Gibney scores exclusive sit-downs with the former governor as well as his regular “escort” (not pseudo-celebrity Ashley Dupré), and the multiple cameras on Spitzer (as well as the attendant “rise and fall” structure of a born fighter) makes me think the prolific filmmaker thought Client 9 might be his Tyson (2008). But alas, Spitzer merely appears diplomatic, expressing contrition and leaving the raised eyebrows to an indistinguishable slew of talking heads. And while Gibney seems to be saying that most of the tabloid sensationalism was a distraction from more serious problems, Client 9 is constantly distracted by the same material. The many titillated screen shots of the “Emperor’s Club” website are indicative of the film’s unfortunate ratio of chaff to wheat. (1:57) Opera Plaza. (Goldberg)

Due Date One delayed appearance for a baby’s birth does not a Hangover (2009) make. After all, even the most commited baby daddy isn’t totally required to be at the blessed event, unlike a wedding ceremony. So even two films into what seems like a trilogy of bromancey men’s coming-of-age terror, director Todd Phillips already seems to working a tired old bone. Slick LA architect Peter (Robert Downey Jr.) has a self-satisfied mean streak that doesn’t seem to be abating with the birth of his first child halfway across the country, or his run-ins with budding thespian Ethan (Zach Galifianakis) — the two collide cute in the airport on their way to the so-called Best Coast. One no-fly list leads to another, and Peter is reluctantly hightailing it by rental car with the uncoolest dude in school. Oh dear: Roadtrip for Schmucks, anyone? Due Date proves that, yes, contrary to what I once believed, there is such a thing as too much Galifianakis, in perpetual shtick mode here. And even though the weathered, well-textured Downey can build character with a single well-placed, black-hearted glare, he’s saddled with such a sorry misanthropic creep here that the audience is hard-pressed to care. (1:35) 1000 Van Ness, SF Center, Shattuck, Sundance Kabuki. (Chun)

*Fair Game Doug Liman’s film effectively dramatizes yet another disgraceful chapter from the last Presidential administration: how CIA agent Valerie Plame (Naomi Watts), who’d headed the Joint Task Force on Iraq investigating whether Saddam Hussein had WMDs, was identified by name in the Washington Post as a covert agent — thus ending her intelligence career and placing many of her subordinates and sources around the world in danger. This info was leaked to the press, it turned out, by highest-level White House officials as “punishment” for the New York Times editorial former ambassador Joe Wilson (Sean Penn) — Plame’s husband — wrote condemning their insistence on those WMDs to justify the Iraq invasion by then already well in progress. (The CIA task force had also found zero evidence of mass-destruction weapons, but Bush and co. chose to come up with their own bogus “facts” to sway US public opinion.) Purportedly, Karl Rove clucked to CNN’s Chris Matthews that Wilson’s awkwardly-timed dose of sobering truth rendered his spouse “fair game” for exposure. Unfortunately opening here several days after it might theoretically have done some election-day good — not that many Republican voters would likely be queuing up — Fair Game may be a familiar story to many. But its gist and details remain quite enough to make the blood boil. While the political aspects are expertly handled in thriller terms, the personal ones are a tad less successful. That’s partly because we never quite glimpse what brought these two very busy, business-first people together; but largely, alas, because so many of Wilson’s diatribes come off all too much as things that might be said by Sean Penn, Rabble-Rouser and Humanitarian. This is perhaps a case of casting so perfect it becomes a distracting fault. (1:46) California, Embarcadero, Piedmont. (Harvey)

Faster Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson has been living down his WWE celebrity roots for some time, demonstrating real movie star presence and deft comic chops. So why would he sign on for this knucklehead thriller fit for Ah-nold, Diesel, or Seagal at their most robotically badass? He plays “Driver” — the characters here being too cool to have boring regular names — who gets out of prison after ten years and immediately peels off in his hell-yeah kustom sportscar to shoot a guy point-blank in a crowded office. This attracts the attention of junkie Cop (Billy Bob Thornton) and hired Killer (Oliver Jackson-Cohen), though being pursued by them and having his face plastered all over the news can’t slow this tower of glowering machismo’s quest to wreak vengeance those who killed his brother. Why, you surely ask? Because Driver is like the wind! He’s there, then … WTF! He’s gone! Even with the Rock’s chest thrust out here like Jayne Mansfield in a bullet bra, he’s about as inconspicuous as the Eiffel Tower on wheels. Anyway, vigilante justice takes its inevitable cliché-riddled course in this sub-Michael Baysian exercise in squealing tire, gratuitous slo-mo, spasti-cam, often laughable big-swingin’-dick heroics. Sample dialogue, warden inexplicably complimenting Driver’s prison survival upon his release: “It was as if you were born to the darkness in this place.” Multimillionaire thrill-junkie assassin guy being asked by girlfriend what he’ll do next: “Something more ultra!” If you’ve ever flexed biceps in the mirror and said “Yeah baby!” to yourself without irony, this may be the movie for you. (1:35) 1000 Van Ness, Shattuck. (Harvey)

*Four Lions If you think terrorism is no laughing matter you might resist English director-cowriter Chris Morris’ first film, which does make it pretty damn funny — it being the fanaticism, doggerel, and dim-bulbdom that can create suicide bombers, not the suicide bombing (or other murderous acts) themselves. Yes, people get hurt here, but within the Three Stooges tradition of folks who can’t stop boinking themselves or one another with mallets, or in this case (somewhat) more sophisticated weaponry. The protagonists here are working-class Sheffield Muslims, two of whom (Kayvan Novak, Riz Ahmed) just spectacularly flunked out of terrorist training camp in Pakistan. The others include a recent convert to Islam (Nigel Lindsay) who seems to be in it solely to lend his all-purpose rage an excusing “cause,” and a guy (Adeel Akhtar) training crows to deliver bombs — well, he’s trying. Their goal: getting blown to smithereens (hopefully taking as many infidels with them as possible) during the London Marathon. So … what’s their jihad? Let’s just say zeal outstrips cogency of moral mission, let alone competency at becoming a public threat, amongst these arbitrarily Koran-misquoting bozos. Four Lions manages to mix the credible and farcical, satirizing holy-terrorism without insulting religion (or culture, or ethnicity) itself. Despite very deft performances, script and direction remain hit ‘n’ miss to a point — but at that point, encompassing the long marathon-centered climax, it all turns freakin’ hilarious. (1:42) Lumiere. (Harvey)

*Genius Within: The Inner Life of Glenn Gould The Canadian piano virtuoso acquired a cult of personality granted very few 20th century classical musicians. His onstage manner was as strikingly idiosyncratic as his technique: the former marked by his sitting very low to the keyboard, often absentmindedly humming or singing along with the composition played; the latter by an exceptional clarity and control much influenced by a teacher’s formative training in “finger tapping” discipline, though also vulnerable to criticism in the realm of interpretive validity. (That debate commenced with his very first recording, the astonishingly popular 1955 Bach Goldberg Variations.) Offstage, his perceived eccentricities ranged from curious clothing to hypochondria, from the unreliable (frequently canceling gigs or whole tours) to the inaccessible (he retired from concert performance at age 32 in 1964, turning to the recording studio as better suited to his control-freakdom). He was a loner so demanding of his few trusted friends, lovers, and collaborators that one of the latter sighs in retrospect, “It was a whole career, being Glenn’s friend.” His ideas about health maintenance being bizarre to say the least, he died just after turning 50, the premature demise only enhancing his allure as artist and enigma. This documentary by fellow Canucks Michele Hozer and Peter Raymont is fascinating whether or not you’re already acquainted with Gould, or even a classical music enthusiast. A lot of the subject’s contemporaries are still around to reminisce about him, but most compelling here is the copious footage of him in performance, or as a surprisingly witty and relaxed interviewee. It doesn’t hurt that, while not quite so conventionally handsome, he holds the camera as magnetically as Chet Baker in 1988’s Let’s Get Lost. (1:46) Opera Plaza. (Harvey)

*The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest If you enjoyed the first two films in the Millennium trilogy — 2009’sThe Girl With the Dragon Tattoo and The Girl Who Played With Fire — there’s a good chance you’ll also like The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest. Based on the final book in Stieg Larsson’s series, the film begins shortly after the violent events at the conclusion of the second movie. There are brief flashes of what happened — the cinematic equivalent of TV’s “previously on&ldots;” — but it’s likely an indecipherable jumble to Girl first-timers. Hornet’s Nest presents the trial of Lisbeth Salander (Noomi Rapace), the much-abused, much-misunderstood, entirely kick-ass protagonist of the series. With the help of journalist Mikael Blomkvist (Michael Nyqvist) and his sister Annika (Annika Hallin) as her lawyer, Lisbeth finally gets her day in court. The conspiracy that drives the story is somewhat convoluted, and while it all comes together in the end, Hornet’s Nest isn’t an easy film to digest. Still, it’s a well-made and satisfying conclusion to the trilogy — as long as you caught the beginning and middle, too. (2:28) Albany, Clay, Piedmont, Smith Rafael. (Peitzman)

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows — Part 1 As enjoyable as the Harry Potter films are for fans, they never really hold their own. And that’s OK. They’re not Oscar bait the way the Lord of the Rings movies were, but they’re competent adaptations of a much beloved book series. While Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows — Part 1 may not be a perfect film, it’s a solid translation of the source material, sure to appease the loyal readers who still can’t quite cope with the fact that the saga is nearly over. I count myself among them, and I’ll admit that it’s difficult to look at any Harry Potter movie with a critical eye. But even for an outsider, part one of Harry’s final chapter is likely to entertain, with plenty of action and a streamlined pace that helps the film move faster than past entries in the series. For devotees, the effect is greater, and the emotional wallop Deathly Hallows packs should not be underestimated. (2:26) Empire, Marina, 1000 Van Ness, Sundance Kabuki. (Peitzman)

Hereafter Clint Eastwood’s latest directorial effort starts out with an unusually flashy (for him) but effective setpiece: Parisian TV journalist Marie (Cécile De France) is at the end of a beach resort vacation with producer/lover Didier (Thierry Neuvic) when a tsunami hits, turning the market street on which she’s shopping into a rapids of rushing water and crushing debris. Meanwhile, two inseparable young London twins (Frankie and George McLaren), already coping with social service workers who want to take them from their junkie mother (Lyndsey Marshal), get duly separated in a less anticipated, cruel-hand-of-fate manner. And in San Francisco, loner George (Matt Damon) struggles to forget his “curse” — since a childhood near-death incident he’s been able to communicate with the dead — while an insensitive brother (Jay Mohr) insists this “gift” is a surefire moneymaker. What our main protagonists have in common is an unwanted ability, or desperate need, to glimpse the “hereafter.” It takes a very long time for Peter Morgan’s script to orchestrate their inevitable, accidental (or is it…??) paths-crossing. You might conjecture that at age 80, Eastwood felt ready to deal with the subject of mortality in a gentler, more mystical fashion than before. Perhaps Morgan wanted a break from his excellent usual docudrama terrain (2009’s The Damned United, 2008’s Frost/Nixon, 2006’s The Queen) by doing something purely, even fancifully fictive. But nothing in the film’s execution (after that startling beginning) indicates the very literal-minded Eastwood feels comfortable with or even interested in this story’s supernatural gist — was he mostly attracted by the opportunity to shoot in three swell cities? While just possibly the screenplay might have worked in other hands (Peter Weir? Werner Herzog?), here it marches listlessly toward increasing implausibility and boredom. The performers do what they can, although in the case of the child actors that’s very little indeed, while Bryce Dallas Howard overacts horribly in a support role. As composer, Eastwood does what he does — which means blanketing this DOA dud, which so badly needs tension and atmosphere, in the kind of cocktail-lounge noodling best suited for waiting rooms and pre-operative sedation. (2:09) Shattuck. (Harvey)

Inside Job Inside Job is director Charles Ferguson’s second investigative documentary after his 2007 analysis of the Iraq War, No End in Sight, but it feels more like the follow-up to Alex Gibney’s Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room (2005). Keeping with the law of sequels, more shit blows up the second time around. As with No End in Sight, Ferguson adeptly packages a broad overview of complex events in two hours, respecting the audience’s intelligence while making sure to explain securities exchanges, derivatives, and leveraging laws in clear English (doubly important when so many Wall Street executives hide behind the intricacy of markets). The revolving door between banks, government, and academia is the key to Inside Job‘s account of financial deregulation. At times borrowing heist-film conventions (it is called Inside Job, after all), Ferguson keeps the primary players in view throughout his history so that the eventual meltdown seems anything but an accident. The filmmaker’s relentless focus on the insiders isn’t foolproof; tarring Ben Bernanke, Henry Paulson, and Timothy Geithner as “made” guys, for example, isn’t a substitute for evaluating their varied performances over the last two years. Inside Job makes it seem that the entire crisis was caused by the financial sector’s bad behavior, and this too is reductive. Furthermore, Ferguson does not come to terms with the politicized nature of the economic fallout. In Inside Job, there are only two kinds of people: those who get it and those who refuse to. The political reality is considerably more contentious. (2:00) Embarcadero, Shattuck, Smith Rafael. (Goldberg)

*Leaving Few beauties — French, English, French-English, or otherwise — have managed the transformation Kristin Scott Thomas has, in using her considerable beauty to convey unfathomable hunger. In this romantic thriller with a touch of Madame Bovary and more than a dab of noir, Scott Thomas is Suzanne, the efficient if somewhat taken-for-granted wife of a doctor (Yvan Attal, director of 2001’s My Wife Is an Actress and Charlotte Gainsbourg’s partner), whose marriage resembles a business arrangement more than a love match. The couple enlist Catalan ex-con Ivan (Sergi Lopez) to build an office for her budding physical therapy practice, and after a minor car accident, Ivan falls into Suzanne’s care, and as she grows to care more deeply about him, an affair begins. Director Catherine Corsini’s tough-eyed look at what follows — concerning the economics of marriage and the price of one woman’s individuation and passionate choices — calls to mind women’s melodramas of the ’40s and ’50s, though Corsini renders her oft-told tale of awakening with considerably less heavy-handedness and minimal condescension. That approach and Scott Thomas’ performance — the movie almost turns on the motionless, slowly evolving look in Suzanne’s eyes when she realizes what she must do — makes Leaving a departure from your average coming-of-liberation romance. (1:30) Smith Rafael. (Chun)

Love and Other Drugs Whatever kind of movie you think Love and Other Drugs is, you’re wrong. To be fair, it’s hard to pin down. This is a romantic comedy about two people who can’t commit, a serious drama about a young women living with Parkinson’s, a dark satirical look at the pharmaceutical industry, and — well, you get the idea. Love and Other Drugs shouldn’t work, really: the story is overstuffed and the script isn’t always cohesive. But leads Jake Gyllenhaal and Anne Hathaway sell the material well. In the end, it almost doesn’t matter that the film isn’t sure what it wants to be. “Almost” is key: there are moments in which Love and Other Drugs slips into Judd Apatow comedy territory, and others when it completely devolves into a sexual farce. It works on several different levels, but all together, it’s admittedly a bit of a mess. No bother. Just focus on the attractive naked people making out and you’ll likely enjoy the movie regardless. (1:53) Four Star, Presidio, SF Center, Sundance Kabuki. (Peitzman)

*Made in Dagenham I hesitate to use the word “spunky,” lest I sound condescending, but indeed that’s what we have here: the spunky tale, drawn from real life, of women who worked sewing seats at a British Ford factory in the late 60s — and fought for equal pay, despite the tide of sexism that desperately tried to hold them down. Heading the charge is Rita (Sally Hawkins from 2008’s Happy-Go-Lucky), a married mom who becomes a feminist icon (and a labor hero) without really meaning to; she’s the most developed character in a script that mostly calls forth types (Bob Hoskins as the encouraging union man; Rosamund Pike as the frustrated intellectual-turned-housewife; Rita’s slutty factory co-worker with the enormous beehive; steely-eyed Ford execs). Adding spark is Miranda Richardson as Britain’s no-nonsense Secretary of State Barbara Castle, a legendary Labour party politician. Though it’s packaged a bit too neatly — from frame one, the film’s peppy tone all but guarantees a happy ending — Made in Dagenham‘s message is uplifting and worthy, and a reminder that it wasn’t so long ago that women were fighting for the seemingly most obvious of rights. (1:53) Embarcadero. (Eddy)

*Megamind Be careful what you wish for, especially if you’re a blue meanie with a Conehead noggin and a knack for mispronunciation and mayhem. Holding up hilariously against such animated efforts as The Incredibles (2004) and Monsters, Inc. (2001), Megamind uses that nugget of wisdom as its narrative springboard and takes off where most superhero-vs.-supervillain yarns end: the feud between baddie Megamind (voiced by Will Farrell) and goody-two-shoes Metro Man (Brad Pitt) goes waaay back, to the ankle-biter years. They’ve battled so often over intrepid girl reporter Roxanne Ritchi (Tina Fay) that she’s beyond bored by every nefarious torture device and disco crocodile the Blue Man throws at her. When Mega finally, unexpectedly vanquishes his foe, he finds himself with a bad case of the blues. With the help of his loyal Minion (David Cross), he decides to change the game and create his own worthy opponent, who just happens to be Roxanne’s schlubby cameraman (Jonah Hill). Chortles ensue, thanks to the sarcastic sass emanating from the Will and Tina show, although the 3-D effects seem beside the point. The resemblance to this year’s Despicable Me is more than a little passing, from the bad guy on the moral turnaround to the adorable underlings, but Megamind‘s smart satire of comic hero conventions, its voice actor’s right-on riffs, and the rock and pop licks on the soundtrack make it the nice and nasty winner. (1:36) 1000 Van Ness, Sundance Kabuki. (Chun)

Morning Glory Unless you’ve never seen a romantic comedy before, there’s not much in Morning Glory that will surprise you. It’s about exactly what you’d expect —but that doesn’t actually make it any less charming. Morning Glory rests on the appeal of its leads: Rachel McAdams as our heroine Becky, Diane Keaton as the self-obsessed Colleen Peck, and Harrison Ford as crotchety newscaster Mike Pomeroy. All three of these actors, despite their talents, have made bad movies. But Morning Glory succeeds despite itself — the formulaic script, the shoehorned romance, and the predictable twists are all secondary to the undeniable chemistry between the actors. Will Becky be able to rejuvenate the morning show she’s executive producing? Will Colleen learn to be a team player? Will Mike drop the ego and show America his tender, frittata-loving heart? You know the answers already, but that doesn’t mean you won’t smile broadly when all the pieces fall into place. (1:47) Marina, 1000 Van Ness, Shattuck. (Peitzman)

The Next Three Days The new Paul Haggis human dramedy is so overripe and ludicrous it already seems set for satire: “Hey, honey, I’m home – and guess what, I’m getting put away for life for supposedly murdering my boss.” “Oh, awesome, hon, I’ll just break you out of prison — right after I pick up the kids. No problemo.” But no, all involved in this far-fetched, morally ambiguous exercise take it dead seriously. The Next Three Days starts with the absurd premise that the likable, chatty every mom Laura (Elizabeth Banks) could have possibly offed her coworker in a fit of office-politics pique. Desperate to save his suicidal spouse, Laura’s college instructor hubby John (Russell Crowe) must turn into a ferociously quick study in DIY jail breaking. The things we do for love, darling. This remake of 2008 French film Anything for Her certainly plays to a kind of noirish romantic willing to suspend disbelief at all costs — and Crowe throws all his sweaty, beady-eyed passion into his performance (though Banks seems somewhat overstretched in what’s kind of a Gloria Grahame role) — but bets are that most viewers with even a slight grasp of reality will simply roll their eyes in disbelief at the denouement, even while their most outlandish fantasy is fulfilled. (2:02) 1000 Van Ness, SF Center, Shattuck. (Chun)

127 Hours After the large-scale, Oscar-draped triumph of 2008’s Slumdog Millionaire, 127 Hours might seem starkly minimalist — if director Danny Boyle weren’t allergic to such terms. Based on Aron Ralston’s memoir Between a Rock and a Hard Place, it’s a tale defined by tight quarters, minimal “action,” and maximum peril: man gets pinned by rock in the middle of nowhere, must somehow free himself or die. More precisely, in 2003 experienced trekker Ralston biked and hiked into Utah’s Blue John Canyon, falling into a crevasse when a boulder gave way under his feet. He landed unharmed … save a right arm pinioned by a rock too securely wedged, solid, and heavy to budge. He’d told no one where he’d gone for the weekend; dehydration death was far more likely than being found. For those few who haven’t heard how he escaped this predicament, suffice it to say the solution was uniquely unpleasant enough to make the national news (and launch a motivational-speaking career). Opinions vary about the book. It’s well written, an undeniably amazing story, but some folks just don’t like him. Still, subject and interpreter match up better than one might expect, mostly because there are lengthy periods when the film simply has to let James Franco, as Ralston, command our full attention. This actor, who has reached the verge of major stardom as a chameleon rather than a personality, has no trouble making Ralston’s plight sympathetic, alarming, poignant, and funny by turns. His protagonist is good-natured, self-deprecating, not tangibly deep but incredibly resourceful. Probably just like the real-life Ralston, only a tad more appealing, less legend-in-his-own-mind — a typical movie cheat to be grateful for here. (1:30) California, Embarcadero, Piedmont, Sundance Kabuki. (Harvey)

Red Boomers — and rapidly aging Gen-Xers — rejoice: you’re still a force to be reckoned with, even as the hairline recedes and the paunch descends. The sleeker Hollywood companion to Michael Caine’s recent turn as a killer pensioner “Dirty Harry” in 2009’s Harry Brown, Red (based on a graphic novel by Warren Ellis and Cully Hamner) turns the world of black ops, convert assassinations, and the government-approved killers that make it all happen — and happen to survive long enough to retire into humdrum civilian life — into the stuff of action comedy. Frank Moses (Bruce Willis) isn’t quite ready to go quietly into the good night: he’s restless, bored, and lonely enough to strike up a telephone flirtation with Sarah, the woman charged with issuing his pension checks. Luckily she’s Mary-Louise Parker, applying the wide-eyed and game yet sarcastic and knowing qualities she brings to Weeds to the current “situation”: an assassination plot against Frank via the archetypal “Company” man (Karl Urban). The thrown-together couple is swiftly tracked from city to city while Frank rounds up the old gang, namely the very charismatic and watchable Morgan Freeman, John Malkovich, and Helen Mirren. Half the fun here, evident in the TV teasers, is watching Mirren quickly switch from Martha Stewart-like flower arranging to the steely application of machine gun fire, in a full-tilt formalwear. Consider Red the action-dappled, lightly entertaining wish fulfillment of so many oldsters, who have found themselves still toiling for a paycheck at time when they hoped to retire, frustrated and feeling betrayed by the so-called system and wishing they could also take it out on the proper baddies with seriously effective firepower. (1:51) 1000 Van Ness. (Chun)

Skyline (1:40) SF Center.

*The Social Network David Fincher’s The Social Network is a gripping and entertaining account of how Facebook came to take over the known social-networking universe. In this version of events — scripted by Aaron Sorkin and based on Ben Mezrich’s book The Accidental Billionaires, in turn based substantially on interviews with FB cofounder Eduardo Saverin, with input from Mark Zuckerberg icily absent — a girlfriend’s dumping of Zuckerberg (Jesse Eisenberg) on a crisp evening in 2003 is the impetus in his headlong quest for a “big idea.” The film is structured around the conference-room depositions for two separate lawsuits, brought against Zuckerberg by Saverin (Andrew Garfield) and by fellow Harvard entrepreneurs Tyler and Cameron Winklevoss (Armie Hammer) and Divya Narendra (Max Minghella) for crimes involving intellectual property and vast scads of retributive money. Unless Zuckerberg decides to post it on Facebook (which he probably shouldn’t, given the nondisclosure vows that capped off the first round of lawsuits), we’ll never know what truly motivated him and how badly he screwed over his friends and fellow students. But Fincher and Sorkin have crafted a compelling, absorbing, and occasionally poignant tale of how it could have happened. (2:00) 1000 Van Ness, Presidio, Shattuck, Sundance Kabuki. (Rapoport)

Prince of Broadway Attention struggling actors in NYC: quit. Just give it up, go into publishing or investment banking. Directors in your town are borrowing a trick from Italian Neorealism and pulling nonprofessional actors off the street. Ramin Bahrani did it a few times with Man Push Cart (2005) and Chop Shop (2007), and now Sean Baker repeats the successful formula in Prince of Broadway. Lucky (Prince Adu, in his film debut) is an illegal immigrant from Ghana earning a meager living hustling knock-off Gucci bags and Air Force Ones. When some girl he hooked up with a year before reappears out of nowhere and drops a toddler in his lap, every day becomes take your son to work day. The film avoids broad humor and plays out with the subtle tension of an extended Maury episode. Not to rub it in for Julliard-trained thespians, but even the kid gives a naturalistic, convincing performance. (1:42) Roxie. (Prendiville)

Tangled In its original form, Rapunzel‘s a pretty brutal fairy tale: barely pubescent girl gets knocked up by a prince — who’s then blinded by her evil witch guardian — leaving Rapunzel to fend for herself as she’s exiled into the desert and bears twins. Relax, that isn’t the story Tangled tells. The new Disney film is a complete revamping of the tale: Rapunzel (Mandy Moore) escapes the clutches of Mother Gothel (Donna Murphy) with the help of ne’er-do-well Flynn Ryder (Zachary Levi). Along the way, there are songs and slapstick moments and, yes, anthropomorphic animals. But unlike the classic feel of last year’s The Princess and the Frog, Tangled comes across as recycled. It’s just not as fresh and sharp as it should be, especially given recent Disney accomplishments like Toy Story 3. Kids will enjoy it and adults won’t be bored, but it’s a step backward for the House of Mouse. And don’t expect to be humming any of the songs after you exit the theater. (1:32) Four Star, 1000 Van Ness, Presidio, SF Center. (Peitzman)

*Today’s Special This food comedy, written by and starring the Daily Show‘s Aasif Mandvi, is not an original recipe. It opens with an appetite-igniting cooking montage à la Eat Drink Man Woman (1994) and follows The Big Night (1996) structure. Samir (Mandvi) is a sous chef in a modern NYC restaurant, laboring under the dickish Dean Winters and next to the patently unnattractive Kevin Corrigan. He’s never made Indian food, despite his parents’ owning a struggling restaurant called Tandoori Palace. What is Samir to do when he gets turned down for a promotion, because his cooking is soulless? Things pick up in the film with the arrival of Mary Poppins in the form of worldly taxi driver and master chef, Akbar (Naseeruddin Shah). The course of this voyage of personal and cultural discovery is obvious, but the humor is as genuine as the performances, with the ingredients just needing a bit of time to come together. (1:39) Albany, Opera Plaza, Smith Rafael. (Prendiville)

Unstoppable After a dunderheaded train-yard worker essentially flicks the “hellbent” switch on an unmanned train loaded with hazardous materials, it’s up to odd-couple operators Denzel Washington (old; cranky; in endearing subplot, his daughters work at Hooters) and Chris Pine (young; cocky; in weirdly off-putting subplot, his wife has a restraining order against him) to chase down that loco-motive and prove the movie’s title wrong. The film mostly darts between the interior of a train car, for Washington-Pine bickering; railroad mission control, where a miscast Rosario Dawson literally phones in her performance; TV news reports, lazily illustrating the train’s flight through rural Pennsylvania; and various low angles relative to the speeding train, so sinister it’s bright red and numbered 777 (which is, like, almost 666!) Veteran action director Tony Scott does what he can with the based-on-true-events storyline, but Unstoppable is so deadly serious and predictable it just gets boring after awhile. At least the runaway vehicle in 1994’s similar Speed had a villain to enjoy; here, there’s just an angry choo-choo. Miss you, Dennis Hopper. (1:38) Empire, 1000 Van Ness. (Eddy)

*Vision: From the Life of Hildegard von Bingen Born almost a 1,000 years ago and long regarded a feminist groundbreaker, Hildegard von Bingen was a composer, scientist, healer, writer, visionary, and game-changer in her humanist view of faith. A Benedictine nun who became the noted female spiritual leader when there were none, she built her own convent, and attracted the attention of the Pope with her waking visions, images she would interpret as dispatches from God. The feminist director of such classics of German new wave moviemaking as The Lost Honor of Katharina Blum (1975), Marianne and Juliane (1981), and Rosa Luxemburg (1986), Margarethe von Trotta is still focused on revolutionary women, albeit, with Vision, one who finds a way to work nonviolently, within the system. The challenge here is to bring the potentially stolid and static life of a medieval mystic to the screen — there are few concrete historical details about everyday life within a convent. But aided by Barbara Sukowa — the fiery radical center of both Marianne and Juliane and Rosa Luxemburg — von Trotta manages to give Hildegard human dimensions: the abbess is far from modest and retiring when, for instance, she needs to navigate the byzantine politics of the church or when her most devoted acolyte Richardis (Hannah Herzsprung) is wrenched away. Ornamented by Hildregarde’s compelling compositions and careful never to stray into kitsch, Vision only occasionally lapses into the flatness of a standard biopic — Hildegard (and Sukowa) are too fascinating, and von Trotta has been too long absent from moviemaking. (1:51) Smith Rafael. (Chun)

*White Material Claire Denis was raised in colonial Africa, and White Material is her third feature set in its wake (the first two were 1988’s Chocolat and 1999’s breathtaking Beau Travail). This new film is very much about Africa, compositing elements of several different “troubles” (child soldiers, a strong man’s militia, radio broadcasts fomenting violence) into an abstract of conflict. Between the dead-eyed rebels in the bush and the brutally efficient forces in town stands Maria Vial (Isabelle Huppert), a colonial holdout. As the troubles mount, Maria buries the signs of encroaching threats; her refusal to be terrorized is a trait we typically ascribe to male action heroes, though Maria’s resolute blindness is its own kind of privilege in the African context. Unusually for Denis, the film is both a literary adaptation (cowritten with author Marie NDiaye and based on Doris Lessing’s The Grass is Singing) and a star vehicle for Huppert, whose stringy musculature is a nice match for Yves Cape’s lithe camerawork. The idea of Maria’s character already tends toward the parabolic, though, and all these different inputs can result in too much dramatic underlining. But for all White Material‘s novelistic concessions, Denis’ subtle command of composition and rhythm as elements of narration is beyond doubt. Her use of the handheld camera remains preternaturally attuned to her characters’ pleasures and anxieties. (1:42) Bridge, Shattuck. (Goldberg)

Cho tunes

Andrew Lam

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November 30, 2010

0

superego@sfbg.com

SUPER EGO “You know me, I’m always doing something,” Margaret Cho practically purred over the phone en route to another smash show on the East Coast. Um, understatement of the year much? While the Cho-stess with the Mostest is lately giving off the chill vibes of an edgy comedian and right-on scenester in her prime (she’s not shy about being on the golden side of 40), she’s been more active than ever. “I totally have symbolic flames on the side of my tour bus,” she quipped. “It’s so retro ’90s.”

The San Francisco-born, Korean American, queer-lovin’ smart-mouth may have a fulltime TV job on Lifetime’s Drop Dead Diva, but she’s also just released an actually damn good album of “comedy music,” Cho Dependent, with guest helpers like Tegan and Sara, Fiona Apple, Ben Lee, and Ani DiFranco. (Her DIY dancing turd outfit for the “Eat Shit and Die” video is pretty priceless.) Her current “Cho Dependent” tour, however, focuses less on the tunes and more on the stand-up topics she’s polished to raucous perfection. “I talk about immigration, my mother, maybe my new bellydance workout. Also gay rights — I hear they’re really in right now,” she deadpans. High on her agenda when she hits the city? Some more ink at Everlasting Tattoo on Divisadero, “the best tattoo shop in the world.”

“It’s just so awesome to be coming back to SF on this tour,” she continues. “It’s always like coming home to family. A family with a lot of little dogs.”

MARGARET CHO: CHO DEPENDENT Sat/4, 8 p.m., $29.50–$49.50. Nob Hill Masonic Auditorium, 1111 California, SF. www.livenation.com, www.margaretcho.com

PHONIC

Thursday night workout time. The weekly Phonic party at Endup is one of my favorite scene treats, and the lineup this time around is too SF techno-tasty to pass up. Dabecy of Electronic Music Bears joins Honey Soundsystem’s Jason Kendig and Pee Play for some distinguished beats in a deeper vein.

Thu/2, 10 p.m.–4 a.m., free before midnight, $10 after. EndUp, 401 Sixth St., SF. www.theendup.com

BETTER

This party on Maiden Lane promises to be a fun crush of styles, with wide-ranging dancefloor selections from DJ Deevice (Pirate Cat Radio), Jason Kendig (again!), Sleazemore (Lights Down Low), and Solar (Sunset). “We’re really hoping to save downtown from douchebags and the women who love them,” Deevice told me. “The place is nice, but not chi-chi. I mean, it can’t obviously double as a strip joint like other downtown clubs. Just come and have some fun.”

Check out DJ Deevice’s absolutely lovely “Better” mix:

“Dec 2010 Mix” by DJ Deevice

Fri/3, 9:30 p.m.–3 a.m., $5 before 11 p.m./ $10 after. 45 Maiden Lane, SF

LAZER SWORD

Finally! Bay natives Lazer Sword, the fab duo who basically broke the future bass scene wide open, are releasing their debut album and it’ll be bonkers. Lazer’s Low Limit and Lando Kal beam in for brain melt, with support from spooktastic up-and-comer OoOoOO, OG atmospheric electro-hopper Machinedrum, and DJ Dials, who always has great hats. It’s all part of Hacksaw Entertainment’s second anniversary blowout.

Sat/4, 9 p.m.–3 a.m., $14.50 advance. Mighty, 119 Utah, SF. www.hacksawent.com

SMALLTOWN DJS

One of the highlights of my recent trip up north — this rad-cute duo from Alberta, Canada, pops four turntables and manages to do in Girl Talk types when it comes to mixing electro banger flair with underground house beats, hip-hop and Bmore swagger, and sly pop winks. Somehow it doesn’t come off as Vegas-y mashup as one might supect — maybe it’s vinyl Canadian party magic.

Sat/4, 9 p.m.–3 a.m., $5 before 11 p.m., $10 after. Public Works, 161 Erie, SF. www.publicsf.com

TIARA SENSATION PAGEANT

Get ready for glamour and outrage — of a fantastic, ethereal bent, of course. The kids from the Friday weekly Some Thing party blow up with this must-see drag runway fundraiser for the Off Center theater. Contestants: Alotta Boutte, Elijah Minelli, Honey Mahogany, Lil Miss Hot Mess, Mercedez Munro, Monistat, and Turleen. DJs: Stanley Frank and Hoku Mama Swamp. Plus: Juanita More and Miss Rahni. Names!

Sun/5, 8 p.m.–midnight, $35. Temple, 540 Howard, SF. www.templesf.com

What the Dickens

Andrew Lam

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November 30, 2010

5

caitlin@sfbg.com

DAYS OF YORE For some, the holidays mean a frenzied stagger through the mall or a return to the cocoon of familial love. Others simply curl into a fetal position and try to block out consumerism’s bland canned tinkle of bells.

But for many in the Bay Area, the holidays mean donning some crinoline, a corset, or a snappy cravat and traipsing about a maze of freshly built village streets — engaging perfect strangers with a faux Victorian British accent. Such is life at the Great Dickens Christmas Fair, a nine-day event celebrating its 32nd year of “‘Appy Christmas, guv’nuh!”

In a foul, holiday-incurred blackness of a hangover, I was learning about the intricacies of epochal mass delusion in the Dickens family parlor — a party of cucumber sandwiches and polite conversation in a cozy corner of the Cow Palace, where the fair is set. Kevin Patterson, a beaming dandy of a man, greeted me with a blast of British cheer, although we quickly settled back into Californian when my somewhat reduced energy level and clumsy manhandling of a porcelain teacup became apparent.

Patterson’s parents started the fair, inspired by the sartorial glee of the Renaissance Pleasure Faire. “It was a natural shift from Queen Elizabeth and Shakespeare to Queen Victoria and Charles Dickens,” he tells me. Three generations of his family are now involved in its production, including his children and wife, Leslie. He says a fair of this kind exists nowhere else, not even in merry olde England.

I’m trying to figure out what makes a person want to be a part of such an involved pantomime. The three acres of Dickensian playground are host to more than 800 performers. There are the can-can girls flashing their bloomers at Mad Sal’s dockside alehouse, Father Christmas, homeless drunks, even the queen herself, who promenades past us to the loud delight of the waitstaff inside the family parlor.

The cast also includes a shriveled Scrooge (who is flown over from England specifically to play the role), dogs, and small children. Here and there dart 10-year-old boys delivering telegrams. Everyone is speaking in some approximation of Victorian dialect, and most seem reluctant to break through their shamming — we run into a belligerent William Sykes, apparently prior to being deported to Australia on charges of manslaughter, in one of the fair’s five (!) bars at one point and are nearly put off our spiced mead by his growlings.

It’s all about the season, Patterson explains. He tells me that the Victorian era, the birthplace of the Industrial Revolution, was when many of the traditions we celebrate today came about. “It was a simpler time.”

Perhaps, but not if you base your impressions of, say, the costume guidelines for the hundreds of cheery participants (easily seen on the fair’s website), or the dialect instructions, or the weekly e-mail missives that gently remind players that cell phones were not a feature of 1800s England and are not to be brandished, even if it is to take a photo of the live corset models or — gasp! — Dickens himself. “Authenticity is important. Most people in our cast care so much about doing it right,” says Patterson.

The rules of conduct are so expansive that classes are offered at a nearby high school in the weeks leading up to the fair for those hoping to brush up on their speech, improvisation skills (all the better to create the “environmental theater” effect Patterson IS looking for) as well as how to make your own clothing. Most people in those days had to, you know.

But the casual visitor to the Great Dickens Christmas Fair need not adhere to all these strictures, though I did feel très gauche in my jeans and hooded sweatshirt. We spent most of our time in the “unsavory” parts of town where custom dictates glottal stops for words with double t’s, and “anyfink” instead of “anything.” You find the filthiest drunks thereabouts, not to mention the boozy pub songs of Mad Sal’s, and a boudoir photography booth to show off your new spendy corsetry from Hayes Valley’s Dark Garden.

Not to mention an absinthe bar (pouring some local brews), hair-braiding salons, an explorer’s club, steampunk wonder shows, tarot readers, meat pies, crafts galore — and the happenstance magic of coming across a bunch of Dickensians spontaneously acting out some scene of yore-ness, not because they’re being watched by a gawking family but because they really, really like playing out life in Victorian England.

In one such scene, two women were strumming mandolins on the floor, their tiny ankle boots peeking out from voluminous skirts. Around them a perfectly period audience looked on from chairs set against the walls. Even in my slightly dehydrated, deflated state, I could enjoy their dedication to this homey weirdness.

“It’s our family holiday. We look forward to celebrating it every year,” twinkles Patterson, as I bid adieu to the posh environs of the family parlor. Charles Dickens himself sees me out onto the fake street outside, thanking me for attending his fair.

GREAT DICKENS CHRISTMAS FAIR

Sat/4–Sun/5, Dec.11–12, Dec.18–19;

11 a.m.–7 p.m., $12–$25

Cow Palace

2600 Geneva, SF

1-800-510-1558

www.dickensfair.com

Live Shots: Robyn, The Warfield, 11/23/2010

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks

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November 24, 2010

2

It’s not until I really started thinking about it that I realized how much I love Sweden. My best friend Karin is part Swedish. The American Girl Doll I had when I was little was the Swedish immigrant girl Kristen, decked out in her Saint Lucia holiday outfit. I used to work at a cafe in Seattle that served the best Swedish pancakes, ever, topped with lingonberry sauce. And the gorgeous singer Robyn is from Sweden, too.

She took the stage at the Warfield Theater last night as part of her US tour for her new three part album entitled Body Talk. Everyone and their hot boyfriends were at the show, some waving Swedish flags of robin egg blue and lemon yellow. Robyn has incredible energy on stage and authentic dance moves that make it obvious that she’s really having too much fun.

Her music appeals to everyone and on that note I’d like to mention the adorable 12 year old and her mom who I was standing next to during the show. 12-year-old-cutie was so excited to be there, along with the hordes of 20 to 30 somethings, who were serious about throwing back those cocktails. I dig all of Robyn’s new tracks, including the super hot “Dancing on My Own,” but then I remembered being thirteen again and listening to “Show Me Love” just really brings it all back.