Video Archives — Page 70 of 118 — San Francisco Bay Guardian Archive 1966

Violence please!

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks

-

December 9, 2010

Christmas is here early, horror geeks: not only is a brand-new print of 1980’s Maniac playing the Castro Theatre, but director William Lustig will be in attendance. After the big-screen experience, make sure Santa knows you want the extras-packed 30th anniversary DVD, released by Lustig’s own Blue Underground label, wrapped in bloody butcher paper under the tree.

For the uninitiated, Maniac — the tale of a mommy-haunted New York City creep who stalks and kills women, using their body parts to accessorize his mannequin collection — features a tour de force performance by the late Joe Spinell, who co-wrote the screenplay. Spinell was a grindhouse favorite who also appeared in the first two Rocky movies, the first two Godfather movies, and Taxi Driver (1976). Lustig directed Spinell in 1983’s Vigilante; he also helmed the Maniac Cop series. He hasn’t directed a feature since 1997’s horror comedy Uncle Sam (“I want you … DEAD!”), but he’s still very much involved in the world of genre films. Since I’m a Maniac maniac, I gave him a call at his New York City office to talk about exploding heads and other topics.

SFBG How long have you been planning Maniac‘s 30th anniversary celebration?

William Lustig About 18 months ago, the idea popped into my head that it was time to freshen up the movie. Six months ago, somebody came up with the idea of testing it as a theatrical release. We started playing it in Seattle, New York, and Los Angeles, and it’s done quite well, so we’re going to be rolling it out over the next three or four months in about 50 cities throughout North America.

SFBG Are most audiences already familiar with the movie, or are you getting some first-timers?

WL People who have seen it on video make up a good portion of the audience, but the other portion are seeing it for the first time. It’s amazing — you know, when you make a movie like this, I guess it’s like somebody who makes a comedy. After a while, you don’t find it funny anymore. As a person who made a horrific movie, I can’t imagine anybody finding it scary, and yet people do. They still respond as strongly as people did 30 years ago. It feels great!

SFBG Are you surprised that Maniac became such a cult favorite?

WL Somebody recently asked me, when did I realize it was a classic? I guess it must have been about 18 months ago when I realized that this movie continues to sell, continues to intrigue people. I think a portion of it is the mystique of its star, Joe Spinell, who’s become kind of a cult figure for people who are rediscovering movies from the ’70s. But Maniac is not a film that was lost and now it’s been found — it’s been around and it continues to attract audiences and to please them.

SFBG What was Joe Spinell like in real life?

WL Like any great actor, there was a part of Joe in every role he played. Joe was a loner, and he was an insomiac. He would roam the streets of New York and be at bars until all hours. He was a troubled soul, but at the same time, he was one of the most brilliant people I ever met. He had a charisma that would attract beautiful women even though he wasn’t a classically handsome guy. He had a magic about him. So when you see Maniac, there are aspects of his personality in there.

SFBG Maniac was quite controversial when it was released. Did that surprise you?

WL You know, when you’re making a movie and you’re throwing ketchup around, it’s almost kind of comical. It’s not intended to be serious — you intend it to be a kind of roller-coaster ride for an audience. And when people take a movie like that so seriously, and look at it as being a political statement, and look at it as being some kind an outcry for violence against women and things like that, it kind of takes you aback. When I made the film, I was 24 years old and I was just trying to survive the experience. I wasn’t thinking about the wider implications of what we were doing. And I think we’ve gone beyond that in the world today. I think we kind of look at it as being make-believe.

SFBG I have to ask you about the famous exploding head, courtesy of effects wizard Tom Savini. Did you realize that would be Maniac‘s defining moment?

WL I think after we made the movie, we realized it had a tremendous impact. But when we were doing it, we were like burglars in the night. First off, there is no permit in existence, in any part of New York City, or I would imagine in any part of the country, that allows to you fire a live gun on a movie set and on public streets. Which is what we did — we actually filmed that in that parking lot, under the Verrazano Bridge, with a live shotgun, double-loaded. That was our major concern: would we get busted? It wasn’t until later, when we saw the dailies, that we realized, “Holy shit! It actually turned out to be something!” We rigged up three cameras and we just went for it.

SFBG You’re the owner of Blue Underground, which has released top-notch DVDs and Blu-rays of Maniac and other grindhouse movies. Why did you become such a champion of these films?

WL It was kind of satisfying my own need. I always loved having people over to my house, showing them these obscure grindhouse movies that I had seen on 42nd Street in the late ’60s and early ’70s, and I would see their [enthusiastic] reactions. One of the things that bothered me back in the ’80s and the ’90s was that these movies were never really treated with any respect. So it was my intention to treat grindhouse movies the same way Criterion treats its Fellini movies.

MIDNITES FOR MANIACS: PUSH IT TO THE LIMIT TRIPLE FEATURE

Just One of the Guys (1985), Fri., 7:30 p.m.; Point Break (1991), Fri., 9:30 p.m.;

Maniac: The Restored Director’s Cut (1980), Fri., midnight, $12

Castro Theatre

429 Castro, SF

(415) 621-6120 www.castrotheatre.com

Film Listings

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks

-

December 7, 2010

0

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)

Rep Clock

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks

-

December 7, 2010

0

Schedules are for Wed/8–Tues/14 except where noted. Director and year are given when available. Double and triple features are marked with a •. All times are p.m. unless otherwise specified.

ARTISTS’ TELEVISION ACCESS 992 Valencia, SF; www.atasite.org. $7. “Other Cinema: Dead Media,” innovative works using repurposed material, Sat, 8:30.

BALBOA 3630 Balboa, SF; www.brownpapertickets.com. $10. Pink Smoke Over the Vatican (Hart), Thurs, 7.

BRIDGE 3010 Geary, SF; www.peacheschrist.com. $15. “Midnight Mass:” Christmas Evil (Jackson, 1980), Sat, midnight. With director Lewis Jackson in person.

CASTRO 429 Castro, SF; (415) 621-6120, www.castrotheatre.com. $7.50-12. La Strada (Fellini, 1954), Wed, 2:30, 7. “Holiday Horrors:” Gremlins (Dante, 1984), Thurs, 7; Black Christmas (Clark, 1974), Thurs, 9:05. “Midnites for Maniacs: Push It to the Limit Triple Feature:” •Just One of the Guys (Gottlieb, 1985), Fri, 7:30; Point Break (Bigelow, 1991), Fri, 9:30; Maniac: The Restored Director’s Cut (Lustig, 1980), Fri, midnight. With director William Lustig in person. •Cabaret (Fosse, 1972), Sat, 2:35, 7, and Xanadu (Greenwald, 1980), Sat, 5, 9:30. The Nightmare Before Christmas (Selick, 1993), Sun, 2, 3:45, 5:30, 7:15, 9. “San Francisco Film Society Presents:” Sir Arne’s Treasure (Stiller, 1919), Tues, 8. With live score by the Mountain Goats; tickets for this event ($22.50) at www.sffs.org.

CERRITO 10070 San Pablo, El Cerrito; www.rialtocinemas.com. $7. “Cerrito Classics:” White Christmas (Curtiz, 1954), Thurs, check website for showtime.

CHRISTOPHER B. SMITH RAFAEL FILM CENTER 1118 Fourth St, San Rafael; (415) 454-1222, www.cafilm.org. $6.50-10.25. The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest (Alfredson, 2009), call for dates and times. Inside Job (Ferguson, 2010), call for dates and times. Today’s Special (Kaplan, 2009), call for dates and times. “San Francisco Grand Opera Cinema Series:” The Elixir of Love, Thurs, 7 and Sat, 10am. “Buddhist Film Festival Showcase 2010,” Wed-Thurs. These shows, $12. Remembering Playland (Wyrsch, 2010), Sun, 4:15. Director Tom Wyrsch in person.

FORBIDDEN ISLAND TIKI LOUNGE 1304 Lincoln, Alameda; www.forbiddenislandalameda.com. Free. “Forbidden Thrills: Creepy Crazy Christmas Classics!:” •Santa Claus Conquers the Martians (Webster, 1964), and Santa Claus (Cardona, 1959), Mon, 7:30.

HUMANIST HALL 390 27th St, Oakl; www.humanisthall.org. $5. “More Bay Area Culture and Performance Art,” presented by video activist Steve Jacobson, Wed, 7:30.

ITALIAN CULTURAL INSTITUTE 814 Montgomery, SF; (415) 788-7142. $3. “Giallo:” Deadly Sweet (Brass, 1967), Tues, 6:30.

LUMIERE 1572 California, SF; www.landmarkafterdark.com. Free. Thurs, 7. “Anime Club:” “Space and Wolf,” Thurs, 7.

PACIFIC FILM ARCHIVE 2575 Bancroft, Berk; (510) 642-5249, www.bampfa.berkeley.edu. $5.50-9.50. “Days of Glory: Revisiting Italian Neorealism:” Il grido (Antonioni, 1957), Wed, 7; Accattone (Pasolini, 1961), Fri, 8:45; Bandits of Orgosolo (De Seta, 1961), Sun, 3. “Grin, Smile, Smirk: The Films of Burt Lancaster:” Birdman of Alcatraz (Frankenheimer, 1962), Thurs, 7; A Child is Waiting (Cassavetes, 1963), Sat, 6:30; The Swimmer (Perry, 1968), Sat, 8:40. “Carl Theodor Dreyer:” Two People (1944-45), Fri, 7; Gertrud (Dreyer, 1964), Sun, 5.

RED VIC 1727 Haight, SF; (415) 668-3994. $6-10. Saint Misbehavin’: The Wavy Gravy Movie (Esrick, 2009), Wed-Thurs, 7:15, 9:15 (also Wed, 2). Machete (Maniquis and Rodriguez, 2010), Fri-Sat, 7:15, 9:30 (also Sat, 2, 4:15). Breathless (Godard, 1959), Sun-Mon, 7:15, 9:15 (also Sun, 2, 4). The Triplets of Belleville (Chomet, 2003), Dec 14-15, 7:15, 9:15 (also Dec 15, 2).

ROXIE 3117 and 3125 16th St, SF; (415) 863-1087, www.roxie.com. $5-9.75. Howl (Epstein and Friedman, 2010), Wed, 7:15. The Temptation of St. Tony (Ounpuu, 2010), Wed-Thurs, 7, 9. “NorCal FreeFly Film Festival,” Thurs, call for times. Bad Santa (Zwigoff, 2003), Fri, 7:15, 9:15. “An Evening with John Waters,” Sat, 7:30. Fundraiser for the Roxie; tickets $250. Home Alone (Columbus, 1990), Sun, 4. Permanent Vacation (Jarmusch, 1980), Mon, call for times. Stranger Than Paradise (Jarmusch, 1984), Tues, call for times.

SUNDANCE KABUKI 1881 Post, SF; www.eggsploitation.com. $20. Eggsploitation (Lahl), Thurs, 7.

VICTORIA 2961 16th St, SF; www.sfcinema.org. $15-25. “Cinematheque Benefit:” Face (Warhol, 1965) and The Velvet Underground In Boston (Warhol, 1967), Wed, 6:30.

VIZ CINEMA New People, 1746 Post, SF; www.vizcinema.com. $10-12. Cast Me If You Can (Ogata, 2010), Dec 10-19, check website for times. YERBA BUENA CENTER FOR THE ARTS 701 Mission, SF; (415) 978-2787, www.ybca.org. $6-8. “International Buddhist Film Festival Showcase 2010:” Shugendo Now (Abela and McGuire, 2009), Thurs, 7:30; •Dream Window: Reflections on the Japanese Garden (Junkerman, 1991), and Inland Sea (Carra, 1992), Sun, 2. “Luminous Darkness,” transgressive videos focusing on erotic ritual and performance, curated by Daniel McKernan, Fri, 9pm-2am (screening continuously during YBCA’s “Noel Noir” fundraiser; tickets $25). “Go to Hell for the Holidays:” Meat Grinder (Moeithaisong, 2009), Sat, 7:30.<\!s>

Our Weekly Picks: December 8-14, 2010

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks

-

December 7, 2010

0

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.

Tinsellitis

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks

-

December 7, 2010

0

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

Shroomin’ at the Fungus Fair

Andrew Lam

-

December 6, 2010

2

All photos by Erik Anderson

“See, it’s starting to smell.” It’s day two of the Mycological Society of San Francisco‘s winter Fungus Fair at Berkeley’s Lawrence Hall of Science this weekend and the ‘shrooms are getting a little funky. MSSF member Peter Wegner is showing us around the caps and stems and he sounds a little apologetic for the earthy musk that has descended on us as we enter the fair’s specimen room.

But he needn’t be – the sight of the room’s fungi, collected by society volunteers in the Bay Area over the past few days from 25 forage sites, more than makes up for any scent it emits. Not to mention the fair’s culinary offerings, educational bonanza, and the ‘shroom gnome hats so delicately worn by gung-ho clan members – this is the cardinal event of the country’s largest amateur mushroom society.

Fungus Fair, I think I love you.

Wegner himself has been a MSSF member for eight years. His mushroom mania began on a trip to Italy, incensed by the delectable array of edible fungi that lined dinner tables in the area. He is now happy to tell Fungus Fair newbies that his favorite mushroom is the black chanterelle (“they’re mysterious,” he says).

Delicious meals are but one type of draw to the study of mycology – other members we spoke with yesterday expressed interest in the taxonomy of the fungi kingdom, in dyeing clothes from the mushroom’s natural pigment, and in the sheer camaraderie that’s inherent in finding roughly 800 others with an atypical attraction to fine fungal growth.

“There’s a lot of mentoring that goes on,” says Norm Andresen, MSSF member and conductor of the society’s beginner’s forays into the wilds of McLaren Park and other damp corners of the Bay. A Brobdingnagian, white-haired man, Andresen towers above the tables of the specimen room, keeping his distance from a particularly pungent stand of growths as he answers questions on their providence, properties, and shelf life (“you probably wouldn’t want to eat any of these display ones, they’ve been getting touched by little kids all weekend.”)

In a lecture room a few halls down from Andresen’s post, a man introduced as “the best mushroom photographer in the world” by fair chair person J.R. Blair is playing the music video to his self-penned ode to the fungus among us, “Mushroom Fever.” On repeat. “Hopefully we don’t scare anybody away!” he announces blithely into his microphone as he readies his presentation on his recent mushroom-finding jaunt around the Americas.

Such is the intro to the glory that is Taylor Lockwood, who has achieved a near-godlike status in my eyes by having cobbled together a living off of traveling, digging around in the dirt, and hoisting himself up tree-supported ladders to get the best shot of aerially-inclined mysterious mushrooms. The man flips through a Power Point presentation of some of his best clips, which include squishy mushrooms (“good for the kids!”), fungi resembling tropical purple coral (“probably just convergent evolution”), and Brazilian ‘shrooms he captured on illicit night-time jaunts through a nature preserve.

Lockwood’s pitch for his calendars and assorted publications concluded, we wander past the sold-out mushroom soup kitchen and into the realm of Pat George, the society’s culinary chair. George, set up at at a table kitty-corner from an impressive display of psilocybin, is distributing recipes and information on the group’s regular potluck dinners. She explains that the events feature a carefully planned barrage of the mushroom’s power to sate — mushroom ragus, mushroom desserts flavored by candy cap mushrooms (“cheesecake, biscotti, there’s all kinds of stuff you can make with a candy cap,” she ventures), even the rare bottle of mushroom beer.

It’s all very tasty, as is the prospect of the MSSF’s other fare for the nascent mycological enthusiast. Beginners are welcome also to the group’s regular forays into the not-quite-wild for ‘shrooms, many of which are located here in the city for extreme accessibility. For the lazy, Far West Fungi has set up a stand in the vendor hall that stocks the farm’s “mini-farms” in oyster and shiitake — simply uncover the germinated logs and let the fungal growth loose in a shady corner of your bedroom.

Why so much mushroom mania here in the Bay? The answer, says SF State mycology lecturer Thomas Jenkinson, who is stationed at the fair’s “Introduction to Mushrooms” booth, lies in the ubiquity of fungi throughout the year in our fair glens and dales. “The Bay Area’s a real center of mycology,” he tells me. San Francisco State is the site of the West Coast’s longest study of mycology, as well as what he calls “the most prolific mycology professors.”

And mushrooms lend themselves to a real community notion of life in our natural world. “Fungus is a whole other kingdom – we don’t think about it that much because it’s underground, but microscopic threads of it are just everywhere,” says Jenkinson. The ‘shrooms are getting real neighborly down there, due to these interconnected systems. “The concept of individuality that we have – they just don’t have that underground.” Lack of individuality: a trait hardly shared by the mycological aficionados of Fungus Fair.

The prop. 8 hearing

Zelda Bronstein

-

December 6, 2010

2

Watching the hearing was a couple of hours well spent; it’s not often that you get to see an actual live oral argument before a federal appeals court. And it’s not often that you get to see three judges, not all of them liberals by any stretch, take apart the fundamental claims of the anti-gay-marriage folks.

There’s a nice live-blog and analysis here.

One of the most interesting elements in this case is the possibility that the legality of same-sex marriage in California may hinge on whether a deputy clerk in Imperial County has the right to represent the people of California in a legal appeal. See, the governor and the attorney general usually defend state laws when they’re challenged in court, but in this case, both Arnold Schwarzenegger and Jerry Brown declined. In essence, they both said they thought Judge Vaugh Walker’s decision overturning Prop. 8 was just fine.

So the supporters of Prop. 8 have to make the case they have legal “standing” to appeal — and the judges seemed more than a little dubious about that. The political group that backed Prop. 8 was in trouble from the start, and couldn’t really demonstrate what legal authority it had to handle the appeal. The deputy clerk from Imperial County, which has a population of 166,000, argued through her lawyer that she would have to sign marriage certificates, and that Prop. 8 directly affects her job. That didn’t get very far, either. And if the appeals court tosses the case on the standing issue, nothing else matters. Walker’s ruling is affirmed and same-sex marriage is legal in California.

Then to the meat of the case. Judge Hawkins instantly asked Charles Cooper, attorney for the Prop. 8 proponents, if the voters of the state of California could legally amend the state Constitution to re-segregate the public schools. Cooper: No. The point was pretty clear: The voters have the right to amend the Constitution, but not in a way that violates fundamental rights.

Cooper went on with what rapidly devolved into lunacy, eg: “When a relationship between a man and a woman becomes sexual, society has a profound interest.” In other words, a man and a woman have sex; they might conceive a child, who might be born “out of wedlock” and raised by a single parent, which would be a bad thing. Judge Reinhardt: That’s a good argument for prohibiting divorce — but isn’t really on point here.

Theodore Olson, representing the plaintiffs, pretty much knocked it out of the park in his first few minutes, noting that California has effectively engineered discrimination into the Constitution by eliminating a right that the U.S. Supreme Court has said repeatedly (14 times, according to Olson) is fundamental. He pointed out that in Lawrence v. Texas, which overturned the sodomy laws, the U.S. Supremes determined that sexual conduct between consenting adults of any gender is protected. So how, he asked, can you take away marriage rights because of a Constitutionally protected activity?

Since the Prop. 8-ers have argued that same-sex marriage would force children to have “a premature interest in sexual activity,” Olson suggested that the court would have to “ban comic books, video games and conversations with other children.”

The judges, as is typical, interrupted all the lawyers to ask questions — until Theresa Stewart stood up, representing the San Francisco City Attorney’s Office. She was sharp, quick on her feet, perfectly prepared — and for most of her short presentation, the judges simply listened. Her point: When it comes to children, family law in California treats same-sex couples and opposite-sex couples precisely and exactly the same; why should marriage be any different?

In the end, what I saw was three judges struggling not with the outcome of the case — Walker’s decision seems likely to be upheld — but with how broad they want the final decision to be. Based on the questioning at the end, it seemed as if they’d rather uphold Walker’s ruling without making a sweeping statement that gay marriage is Constitutionally protected and must be the law of the land everywhere in the United States.

But unless they try to duck the real issues and rule only on standing, that’s going to be a stretch. Any honest, logical ruling can only come to one conclusion — that treating lesbians and gay men differently than straight people violates the Equal Protection provisions of the U.S. Constitution. And if the Supreme Court agrees, it will be the end of gay marriage bans, the end of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell and the beginning of a new era in America.

UPDATE (thanks to Nichole Dial for research);

Lots of news media coverage on the some good, some lame. The Prop. 8 Trial Tracker website had some of the best breaking stuff. The Mercury News did a live blog by Howard Mintz that was full of details. SF Weekly covered the more amusing accounts such as the crowd outside the court room. The Bay Citizen also had a live blog and analysis.

Brian at Calitics had one of the best quick analyses and the Chron’s Bob Egelko came out with a really fast story that touches on the major themes of the case.

The AP postings on the Huffington Post covered the highlights as well as an overview of the background of prop 8. The New York Times used the same article, then later added a short, fairly superficial piece by Jesse McKinley (what, the Times had no live blogger on this?)

Killing Casiotone: Owen Ashworth says goodbye — and looks ahead

John Elberling

-

December 4, 2010

1

Killing Casiotone: Owen Ashworth says goodbye — and looks ahead

Owen Ashworth is on the phone with me, explaining his decision to retire Casiotone for the Painfully Alone:

“Definitely something has changed in me the last six or seven months where I haven’t enjoyed a lot of the things about making music the way I had. I feel like I haven’t been as nice of a person as I’m used to being. For the sake of my sanity I need to stop for a while. It’s been an insane couple of months doing these last tours, emotionally draining in ways that I didn’t anticipate. So I’m just really looking forward to being done for a while and coming back to it when I’m excited to come back to it.”

He pauses briefly, and adds, “There are a handful of songs I’ve already written for the next album, and a lot of half-finished ideas, which is usually how I work, with a lot of small skeletons for songs floating around until I figure out what to do with them.”

If this seems like a glaring contradiction, remind yourself of one simple fact: musicians never retire. Even an attempt to do so is usually greeted by confusion and misunderstanding. Earlier this year Ted Leo had to address misquotes that made it seem like he was hanging up his guitar. When musicians make the claim outright, it usually turns out to be hot air, as is the case with Jay-Z, who in 2003 made leaving the rap game a frequent subject of interviews and lyrics, and was never heard from again.

Ashworth isn’t oblivious. In September, he broke the relative silence of cftpaforever.livejournal.com/, usually reserved for tour info, to say, “I’d just like to clarify that this doesn’t mean that I’m quitting music. I love writing & recording songs, & I hope to make lots more records in my lifetime. But, after nearly thirteen years of being the dude from Casiotone for the Painfully Alone, I’m ready for a fresh start & a new challenge. So, after December 5, 2010 (the thirteen year anniversary of my first show), I’m throwing out the old songs & I’m trying something new. I’ll have more news about new projects & plans in the coming months.”

So far, Ashworth’s committed to the plan. On Sunday, Dec. 5, he’ll be back in the city where he started making music, for a final show as Casiotone for the Painfully Alone at Bottom of the Hill.

In a way it’s been a long time coming. Truth is, Owen Ashworth never intended to be Casiotone for the Painfully Alone at all. It was a much of a fluke as his first show in 1997, at a warehouse space at 17th and Capp. “I played that show at the request of a friend of mine who booked it. I had just made tapes and she liked the sound of the tape so she kind of tricked me — she made fliers without asking me to play the show. She thought I wouldn’t say no that way. So I played the show with the idea that this is probably never gonna happen again, I’m gonna get this over with. I remember that I was very nervous, very shaky. I had one keyboard through a really tiny amp.” The next week he had another show booked, under the name of the mixtape he had given his friend: Casiotone for the Painfully Alone.

“It was just the name of a tape I had given her. I didn’t realize it was going to refer to me, you know. Seriously, from the first show to when I decided to quit Casiotone, I considered changing the name the entire time, but having it already done, it seemed like so much work to try and call it someone else. I decided it didn’t really matter, it was just the name and it was kind of catchy and stupid enough for people to remember it. At least in the beginning it described the music pretty well.”

Arguably, the name has mattered. As descriptive as the name was, particularly in the early days, for Ashworth’s distinctive style of indie pop, with consumately pathetic lyrics layered on top of cheap keyboards and electronic samples, it prefigured an audience’s response. The press around each album has been centered around two poles.

First, how closely the music sticks to the sound of a suburban child’s first piano. With each Casiotone for the Painfully Alone album, there has been an incremental departure from the titular keyboard, adding in instruments and collaborators, particularly since 2006’s Etiquette (Tomlab). Ashworth, who in a typically self-effacing fashion describes Casiotone as “an insane, slow learning process, learning how to tour and write and record, doing all of these things and kind of just falling on my face in front of people for the last thirteen years,” sees the development of his instrumental side driving him in separate directions.

“The way I make music is kind of getting fragmented between recording and performance. I’ve been producing for a Chicago rapper, Serengeti, and that’s been my project over the summer. He has a new album coming out on anticon and it’s half stuff he did with me and half with Yoni from WHY? That’s sort of the more electronic side of the music. I enjoy recording that, but it’s not what I’m interested in doing live, so I think it works really well that I’ve been moving into production more. I can fuck with samplers and drum machines in my house and then just sort of give that music to other vocalists. Then for the music that I’ll be taking on the road and being accountable for and presenting over and over again in live settings, I’m more interested in playing with other people and real instruments.”

The Casiotone as an instrument may be easier to move past than the loneliness that Ashworth’s band name invokes and the lyrics bring to life. Simple, sad words that screw in as you listen, about regular people with typical lives. They’ve brought the musician a following, they’ve been his brand. But the association that the audience has for Ashworth and his emotional resonance has also been a nagging burden. “There’s generally a lot of assumption that I’m writing about myself, which is something that when I’m actually writing songs doesn’t occur to me much. I mean it’s fiction. Like any writer I’m inspired by real things that happen to me and my friends but it never occurs to me that it comes off as autobiographical.”

“With the name Casiotone for the Painfully Alone, the original idea was that the Painfully Alone was meant to refer to the listener and the idea of music as comfort music. It didn’t occur to me at the time that people would think that I was referring to myself as the painfully alone person.”

Casiotone records are galleries of character. A pedestrian world populated with eerily familiar people: high school teachers, Scrabble players, cellists, petty thieves, bedroom killers, landlords, and neighbors. Half of them you know by name. Half of them you’ve met before in real life. Sitting down to listen to a Casiotone record, you can relate to the situations. You’ve been in them, or know someone who has. The music engenders an emotional intimacy, it draws you in. “The way I make music is totally a tribute to the music I love and that claustrophobic, really intimate sense, I’m trying to create that because that’s a quality that I have an emotional reaction to in other music,” Owen says.

But the imagined intimacy that the fans has with the music, a sense of something real isn’t what drives Ashworth. “Genuineness isn’t even a factor to me. When I listen to Willie Nelson’s song “Crazy,” it doesn’t occur to me as, ‘Holy shit, Willie Nelson is going through the most intense stuff, I cant believe he’s singing about this.’ I think ‘That’s such a well-written song and he creates such a great atmosphere.’ I want to know how to write songs like that. I admire Willie Nelson as a songwriter, not as this survivor of all kinds of emotional problems.”

Ashworth has the remove of fiction writer for whom characters have there own will. When he talks about his characters, it’s not as a doting mother in whose eyes they can do no wrong, but as a friend who’s seen them make one too many mistakes. “I got really self conscious about what kind of people I was writing about, and I wanted them to start owning up to some of their own problems and take responsibility for the stupid things they did.” This culminated with 2009’s Vs. Children (Tomlab), an album he envisioned even before Etiquette as the end of Casiotone, with “a lot of more family-type relationships where people are having to consider their older relatives, having children and the young people they’re responsible for in their lives. I guess just showing more consequences of irresponsible living.”

It’s not uncommon for fiction writers to look back on old stories, and feel estranged, as if they were written by someone else. Ashworth has felt a similar distancing from his early work. “There are songs I wrote when I was twenty that don’t really mean the same thing to me as at the time that I wrote them. I feel like I’m covering those songs when people request them and it doesn’t feel relevant to me and I think that it would serve the material much better to be sort of left alone in the context of itself than for a man well into his thirties to continue performing these songs written by someone much younger.”

As Ashworth feels more alienated from his work over time, fans feel closer to it, and if they don’t, there’s always the potential for people to discover his early material for the first time, making it brand new all over again. (For better and worse.)

Of course, Ashworth’s not alone in the situation. All artists fight against their early successes, in an attempt to stay relevant, and practically, to stay financially above water. (Ashworth admits at one point, “Casiotone has been my source of income for a good while now and to cut off that source of income is a bit scary, but I can’t be proud of just doing this as a job, there’s gotta be more to it than that.”) For bands, this trend can result in fans demanding to hear “Free Bird” while they’re starting to intro “All I Can Do Is Write About It.” Eventually, almost everyone becomes a cover band of themselves, jamming at the County Fair or playing full albums for a new generation.

There’s always a break between artists and fans. The fans can romanticize the life, not seeing the physical and mental fatigue that can set in after playing the same material over and over, particularly when you damaged your hearing after too many nights being responsible for the full sound mix (as Ashworth has). They might not realize that the nostalgia for an old song never sets in when you play it every night. Or that, like an old marriage, the excitement is gone.

“It was really scary when I started Casiotone, and it felt so great to write a new song and be like ‘I have a new song I can play, my shows can be three minutes longer now.’ Whereas at this point, I feel like at my shows the priority for me is playing new material — [that’s] the stuff that I feel [is] most representative of me now, and that I’m most excited to share and excited to get better playing. But after thirteen years, there are so many songs that people want to hear I feel like I can’t get out of a show without playing — this list of songs that are expected as people;s favorites. I mean it’s super flattering and great,
but it’s really hard to move forward with new work when there’s this expectation for what you’ve done before.”

Ashworth already has an album in mind for the future, called Advance Base, the name of his studio, after the Antarctic meteorological station where Richard E. Byrd spent five months alone, even though it was built for three. Clearly, there are common themes and and interests that will persist in Ashworth’s music. But he’ll take his time and it won’t be under the exhausted banner of Casiotone.

“I’m killing Casiotone. I’m glad you enjoyed it, the records will be forever available, this is the new thing I’m gonna do now. I’m fully aware that there will probably be a smaller audience for the next thing I do. At the very least a different audience, and I’m sure there will be people who are super not on board with the idea that I’m not making what sounds like video game music anymore. That’s fine, and I’m glad Casiotone is still there for those people, but I’m gonna make myself crazy if I keep playing those songs for the rest of my life. I really love writing and recording songs and I just want to concentrate on continuing to do that. Just trotting out a greatest hits set for as long as I make music does not feel like a challenge.”

This may sound a little harsh for the tender-hearted lovers of Casiotone. But Sunday’s show, with accompaniment by the Donkeys and other SF musicians, is likely to be “a longer set, with some older songs I haven’t been playing that much lately. And just some stuff I don’t play usually.” So there you have it. Last chance. For now.

“I’m welcoming the chance to miss those songs.”

Paging zombie Jesse Helms: AIDS art scapegoating, political showboating returns

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks

-

December 1, 2010

2

Well, the ’80s are back (again and again and forever). Here’s an echo of the tedious, right-bred “Culture Wars” of that decade. Republicans John Boehner and Eric Cantor have successfully pressured the National Portrait Gallery to remove this beautifully rage-filled, pretty-innocuous-for-nowadays (and NSFW) 1987 video work by late AIDS acivist and artist David Wojnarowicz, with singer Diamanda Galas, from LGBT-centered “Hide/Seek” exhibition. On World AIDS Day. Because there are ants on a crucifix. As one astute Gawker commentor noted: “Why not just wash them off with some piss?”

Obviously, this situation is sickening and ridiculous. But the silver lining is it puts Wojnarowicz (and Galas, and early video art, and the fading gay-AIDS communal memory) back in the spotlight. The work may not seem like much in our video-drenched, commodified-rebellion now, but back then, this was a spectacular instance of protest art during an actual civil war, a period when the religious right and the government laughed as gay people and people of color died horrible deaths, and blamed them publicly for bringing it upon themselves. People did these things! And blood itself was terrifying.

Also, it wasn’t like Wojnarowicz could just pop open iMovie and cruise the net for Youtube clips he wanted to stitch together. All of this archival crate-digging and self-filming had to be produced, edited, duplicated, distributed, and promoted by hand and word-of-mouth, by someone who was often penniless, infected with AIDS, and who never knew how much time he had. It was as much a work of craft, underground networking, and temporal investment as an act of pure expression. (Plus, the team-up of downtown heroes Diamanda and David at the time was orgasmically exciting.)

Protest this douche move! This is a valuable document of American art and deserves to be shown, especially on today of all days. No censorship, right? The “Support Hide/Seek” Facebook page is here. And here are the addresses to voice your complaints and disgust:

Martin Sullivan, National Portrait Gallery Director:

sullivanm@si.edu.

Richard Kurin, Undersecretary for the Arts and Humanities:

KurinR@si.edu.

Wayne Clough, Secretary of the Smithsonian Institute:

Cloughw@si.edu

Rep Clock

Andrew Lam

-

November 30, 2010

0

Schedules are for Wed/1–Tues/7 except where noted. Director and year are given when available. Double and triple features are marked with a •. All times are p.m. unless otherwise specified.

ARTISTS’ TELEVISION ACCESS 992 Valencia, SF; www.atasite.org. $6-10. “Radical Lights: San Francisco Lines of Sight,” Wed, 7:30. Co-presented by San Francisco Cinematheque, Pacific Film Archive, and Prelinger Archives. “Other Cinema:” •D Tour (Granato, 2008) and Sleeping Nights Awake (Albright, 2010), Sat, 8. Calvin and Sweetpea (Fletcher, 2007), Sun, 8.

BRIDGE 3010 Geary, SF; (415) 668-6384. Free ($4 suggested donation). “Cowboy Bebop Appreciation Society and Landmark’s Bridge Theatre present Bebop Nights: Everybody Dies Edition” Fri, midnight.

CASTRO 429 Castro, SF; (415) 621-6120, www.castrotheatre.com. $10-15. The Sound of Music (Wise, 1965), Wed-Sun, 7 (also Sat-Sun, 1). Presented sing-a-long style.

CHRISTOPHER B. SMITH RAFAEL FILM CENTER 1118 Fourth St, San Rafael; (415) 454-1222, www.cafilm.org. $6.50-10.25. The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest (Alfredson, 2009), call for dates and times. Inside Job (Ferguson, 2010), call for dates and times. Leaving (Corsini, 2009), call for dates and times. Today’s Special (Kaplan, 2009), call for dates and times. Vision: From the Life of Hildegard Von Bingen (von Trotta, 2009), call for dates and times. “San Francisco Grand Opera Cinema Series:” Lucia de Lammermoor, Thurs, 7; Sat, 10am. “Buddhist Film Festival Showcase 2010,” Dec 2-9. These shows, $12.

HUMANIST HALL 390 27th St, Oakl; www.humanisthall.org. $5. “Bay Area Culture and Performance Art,” presented by video activist Steve Jacobson, Wed, 7:30.

MECHANICS’ INSTITUTE 57 Post, SF; (415) 393-0100 (reservations required). $10. “CinemaLit:” Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story (Winterbottom, 2005), Fri, 6.

PACIFIC FILM ARCHIVE 2575 Bancroft, Berk; (510) 642-5249, www.bampfa.berkeley.edu. $5.50-9.50. “Radical Light: Alternative Film and Video in the San Francisco Bay Area:” Tribulation 99 (Baldwin, 1999) with ‘Disaster” (Millner, 1975-76), Wed, 7:30. “Carl Theodor Dreyer:” The President (1918), Fri, 7; Vampyr (1931), Fri, 8:40. “Grin, Smile, Smirk: The Films of Burt Lancaster:” The Crimson Pirate (Siodmak, 1952), Sat, 6:30; Sweet Smell of Success (Mackendrick, 1957), Sat, 8:40; Elmer Gantry (Brooks, 1960), Sun, 4:45. “Days of Glory: Revisiting Italian Neorealism:” Voyage in Italy (Rossellini, 1953), Sun, 3.

PARAMOUNT 2025 Broadway, Oakl; (510) 642-5249, www.bampfa.berkeley.edu. $25. The Passion of Joan of Arc (Dreyer, 1928), Thurs, 7:30. An oratorio with silent film featuring Mark Sumner’s Voices of Light libretto, performed by UC Berkeley’s Perfect Fifth and conducted by Mark Sumner.

RED VIC 1727 Haight, SF; (415) 668-3994. $6-10. Animal Kingdom (Michod, 2010), Wed, 2, 7, 9:25. Polack (Kenney, 2010), Thurs, 8. Saint Misbehavin’: The Wavy Gravy Movie (Esrick, 2009), Dec 3-9, 7:15, 9:15 (also Sat-Sun, 2, 4; Wed, 2).

ROXIE 3117 and 3125 16th St, SF; (415) 863-1087, www.roxie.com. $5-9.75. Prince of Broadway (Baker, 2010), Wed-Thurs, call for times. California Tango (Togliatti, 2010), Fri, 8. The Temptation of St. Tony (Ounpuu, 2010), Dec 3-9, call for times.

SAN FRANCISCO MUSEUM OF MODERN ART 151 Third St, SF; www.sfcinema.org. Free with museum admission ($9-18). Rara (film) (Bussotti), Thurs, 7. Presented with live piano accompaniment by Sylvano Bussotti. “Bussotti: Concert-Restrospective,” post-screening concert with Bussotti and sfSoundGroup, Thurs, 9.

SHATTUCK 2230 Shattuck, Berk; (510) 843-3699. Free. “Mathematics, Love, and Death:” “Rite of Love and Death” (Mishima, 1965) and “Rites of Love and Math” (Graves and Frenkel, 2010), Wed, 7.

VIZ CINEMA New People, 1746 Post, SF; www.vizcinema.com. $10-12. Kamu Gaidan (Sai, 2009), Wed, 4:45. “8x8x8 Film Fest,” eight short films presented by the San Francisco Jewish Film Festival, Thurs, 8. For info on this event, visit www.jccsf.org. “China Underground,” seven new films from China, Fri-Sun. YERBA BUENA CENTER FOR THE ARTS 701 Mission, SF; (415) 978-2787, www.ybca.org. $6-8. “Go to Hell for the Holidays:” Red White & Blue (Rumley, 2010), Thurs, 7:30; Feast of the Assumption: BTK and the Otero Family Murders (Levitz, 2008), Sat, 7:30; Wolf Creek (Maclean, 2005), Sun, 2.

Welcome to the Asylum

Andrew Lam

-

November 30, 2010

0

arts@sfbg.com

MUSIC Just one glance at the title of Sic Alps’ forthcoming full-length, Napa Asylum (Drag City), triggers memories of what might have been one of the most infamous (a.k.a. perfect) moments in punk history: the sight of the Cramps’ Lux Interior lurching among the patients at Napa State Hospital in 1978, as captured in The Cramps: Live at Napa State Mental Hospital, by SF’s Target Video. How does a humble assemblage of SF noisemakers live up to those memories and dare to go there?

“I know, right?” says the affable Mike Donovan by phone, on the brink of this year’s turkey gorge. “We didn’t even think of it, though people-in-the-know think of that.” A sketch of the old institution, ages before the Cramps roared through it, actually gave Donovan, Matt Hartman, and newest member Noel Von Harmonson the idea of attempting a concept album about the lost spirits roaming the ultimate wine country getaway. But once the band got into recording, the notion ultimately died and only the title and a song or two about the institution’s spaces and characters survived, among a whopping 22 tracks.

Before the January release of its fifth long-player, and first since U.S. EZ (Siltbreeze, 2008), Sic Alps are revving into action, playing a Dec. 4 benefit to pay the hospital bills of artist Akassia Mann, who is battling ovarian cancer. Mann is also the mother of Big Eagle’s Robyn Miller — Hartman and Harmonson’s housemate. Count on the downbeat new songs to wash up that night, riddled with pop references yet mangled and unique in a way that, say, Ariel Pink would appreciate.

The darkness on the edges of this batch of numbers was something Donovan considered. “I guess that’s one of the first things one of my friends said, ‘There’s a bunch of bummer tunes on this,'” recalls Donovan, whose good-naturedness seems to run counter to the album’s tone. “It peeked through. We didn’t say, ‘Let’s make things that are really down. Let’s temper these snappy numbers and noise tracks with bummers.’ But with 22 songs, there’s more room for it to do its thing.”

Likewise, when it came down to editing and sequencing the recording, and deciding if it would be a single or double album, Sic Alps went with the flow — namely, Hartman’s sequence. “It was a ‘killer and no filler thing’ and then Matt put together that sequence and sent it out with an e-mail header — ‘A fuck-yes double album,'” offers Donovan. Gone were the fights of old over sequencing: “It was done.”

In went the songs roughly concerning reincarnation (“Nathan Livingston Maddox,” based on Donovan’s dream about the late Gang Gang Dance member) and magic ( which is “meant to brush by you — it’s nothing you can describe or talk about”). Simmering in the free-floating, far-flung Exile on Main Street-meets-crushed-metal-Royal Trux stew, witchy connects are made between the so-called discovery of the Golden State and the mortgage crisis (“The First White Man to Touch California”), as well as mythic rock ‘n’ roll departures and Midwestern innocents leaving home (“Zeppo Epp”).

It all sounds like nothing other than Sic Alps. The group had been taking it easy, with Ty Segall in its ranks, until Harmonson joined late last year. Now the group’s pillar-like P.A.-slash-power station — a product of the need to control its dramatically, drastically dense brand of echo and reverb — has been doubled in the form of a second tower.

Further, the band is currently honing that bristling, dense thicket of echo with simpatico sound maestro Eric Bauer, once Donovan’s bandmate in Big Techno Werewolves. Just in time for a new growth spurt, Sic Alps recently bunked down in Bauer’s basement-based Chinatown analog studio, where Segall recorded his last album, the Oh Sees tracked its next full-length, and the Mantles jotted down a 7-inch. “When the iron was hot, we were like, ‘Fuck it,’ ” says Donovan. After doing the 9-to-5, the band is ready for something more, though Donovan amiably confesses, “I want the rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle without getting paid for doing rock ‘n’ roll. I only work two days a week, but I have a rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle — without the money.”

SIC ALPS

With the Mumlers, Big Eagle, Bart Davenport, and the Moore Brothers

Sat/4, 8 p.m., $10–$15 sliding scale

Rickshaw Stop

155 Fell, SF

www.rickshawstop.com

Music Listings

Andrew Lam

-

November 30, 2010

0

Music listings are compiled by Cheryl Eddy. Since club life is unpredictable, it’s a good idea to call ahead to confirm bookings and hours. Prices are listed when provided to us. Submit items for the listings at listings@sfbg.com. For further information on how to submit items for the listings, see Picks.

WEDNESDAY 1

ROCK/BLUES/HIP-HOP

Con Brio, Astral Force Elbo Room. 9pm, $8.

“Dweezil Zappa Plays Zappa” Warfield. 8pm, $44.50-89.50.

Fancy Dan Band, Erin Brazill and the Brazillionaires, Sioux City Kid Bottom of the Hill. 9pm, $8.

Keith Crossan Big Band Biscuits and Blues. 8 and 10pm, $15.

New Up, Bernadette, Crackerjack Highway, M80 Mailbox, DJ Jack Frost Independent. 8pm, $14. Benefit for Blue Bear School of Music.

Phantom Kicks, Actors, Sunbeam Rd Rickshaw Stop. 8pm, $10.

“Silicon Valley Rocks: A Benefit For Music in Schools Today” Great American Music Hall. 7pm, $45-75.

FOLK/WORLD/COUNTRY

Good for the Jews Café Du Nord. 8pm, $15.

DANCE CLUBS

Booty Call Q-Bar, 456 Castro, SF; www.bootycallwednesdays.com. 9pm. Juanita Moore hosts this dance party, featuring DJ Robot Hustle.

Cannonball Beauty Bar. 10pm, free. Rock, indie, and nu-disco with DJ White Mike.

Hands Down! Bar on Church. 9pm, free. With DJs Claksaarb, Mykill, and guests spinning indie, electro, house, and bangers.

Jam Fresh Wednesdays Vessel, 85 Campton, SF; (415) 433-8585. 9:30pm, free. With DJs Slick D, Chris Clouse, Rich Era, Don Lynch, and more spinning top40, mashups, hip hop, and remixes.

Mary-Go-Round Lookout, 3600 16th St, SF; (415) 431-0306. 10pm, $5. A weekly drag show with hosts Cookie Dough, Pollo Del Mar, and Suppositori Spelling.

Neighborhood 111 Minna. 9pm, free. With Hot Tub, Man/Miracle, Spirit Spout, King Most, Dnae Beats, Shlohmo, and more.

Red Wine Social Triple Crown. 5:30-9:30pm, free. DJ TophOne and guests spin outernational funk and get drunk.

Respect Wednesdays End Up. 10pm, $5. Rotating DJs Daddy Rolo, Young Fyah, Irie Dole, I-Vier, Sake One, Serg, and more spinning reggae, dancehall, roots, lovers rock, and mash ups.

Synchronize Il Pirata, 2007 16th St, SF; (415) 626-2626. 10pm, free. Psychedelic dance music with DJs Helios, Gatto Matto, Psy Lotus, Intergalactoid, and guests.

THURSDAY 2

ROCK/BLUES/HIP-HOP

Brothers Comatose, Jugtown Pirates, Human Condition Slim’s. 8pm, $13.

Burial, Vaccuum, No Statik, Torture Unit Kimo’s. 9pm, $7.

Big Bad Daddy Cade Biscuits and Blues. 8 and 10pm, $16. BB King tribute.

French Miami, Horns of Happiness, Teenage Sweater Hemlock Tavern. 9pm, $7.

Mister Heavenly Café Du Nord. 9pm, $12.

Moccretro, Havarti Party, Tarantula Tango, Rival Parties, Family Matters Stud. 7pm, free.

Elliot Randall and the Deadmen, Victoria George, Tiny Television Independent. 8pm, $14.

JAZZ/NEW MUSIC

“Hellkats Holiday Bash” DNA Lounge. 7pm, $13. With Jazz Mafia All-Stars and Hubba Hubba Revue. Benefit for Jennifer “Jersey” Mitti.

Mighty Diamonds Yoshi’s San Francisco. 10:30pm, $22.

Alex Pinto Revolution Café, 3248 22nd St, SF; (415) 642-0474. 8:45pm, free.

Al Stewart Yoshi’s San Francisco. 8pm, $25.

FOLK/WORLD/COUNTRY

Annie Bacon’s Folk Opera, Audiafauna, Seedy Naturalists Swedish American Hall (upstairs from Café Du Nord). 8pm, $15. Benefit for the Liberation Institute.

Bryan Byrnes Socha Café, 3235 Mission, SF; (415) 643-6848. 8pm, free.

Chelle and Friends Coda. 9pm, $10.

Knuckle Knockers Atlas Café. 8pm, free.

My Peoples, B Foundation, La Muñueca y Los Muertos Bottom of the Hill. 9pm, $12.

DANCE CLUBS

Afrolicious Elbo Room. 9:30pm, $10. DJs Pleasuremaker and Señor Oz, with guest Nickodemus, spin Afrobeat, tropicália, electro, samba, and funk.

Caribbean Connection Little Baobab, 3388 19th St, SF; (415) 643-3558. 10pm, $3. DJ Stevie B and guests spin reggae, soca, zouk, reggaetón, and more.

Club Jammies Edinburgh Castle. 10pm, free. DJs EBERrad and White Mice spinning reggae, punk, dub, and post punk.

Drop the Pressure Underground SF. 6-10pm, free. Electro, house, and datafunk highlight this weekly happy hour.

Electric Feel Lookout, 3600 16th St, SF; www.fringesf.com. 9pm, $2. Indie music video dance party with subOctave and Blondie K.

Good Foot Som., 2925 16th St, SF; (415) 558-8521. 10pm, free. With DJs spinning R&B, Hip hop, classics, and soul.

Guilty Pleasures Gestalt, 3159 16th St, SF; (415) 560-0137. 9:30pm, free. DJ TophZilla, Rob Metal, DJ Stef, and Disco-D spin punk, metal, electro-funk, and 80s.

Holy Thursday Underground SF. 10pm, $5. Bay Area electronic hip hop producers showcase their cutting edge styles monthly.

Jivin’ Dirty Disco Butter, 354 11th St., SF; (415) 863-5964. 8pm, free. With DJs spinning disco, funk, and classics.

Koko Puffs Koko Cocktails, 1060 Geary, SF; (415) 885-4788. 10pm, free. Dubby roots reggae and Jamaican funk from rotating DJs.

Lacquer Beauty Bar. 10pm-2am, free. DJs Mario Muse and Miss Margo bring the electro.

Mestiza Bollywood Café, 3376 19th St, SF; (415) 970-0362. 10pm, free. Showcasing progressive Latin and global beats with DJ Juan Data.

Peaches Skylark, 10pm, free. With an all female DJ line up featuring Deeandroid, Lady Fingaz, That Girl, and Umami spinning hip hop.

Popscene 330 Rich. 10pm, $10. Rotating DJs spinning indie, Britpop, electro, new wave, and post-punk.

Studio SF Triple Crown. 9pm, $5. Keeping the Disco vibe alive with authentic 70’s, 80’s, and current disco with DJs White Girl Lust, Ken Vulsion, and Sergio.

FRIDAY 3

ROCK/BLUES/HIP-HOP

Alabama Mike Biscuits and Blues. 8 and 10pm, $20.

Audio Dub, Last Ambassadors Elbo Room. 10pm, $13.

Black Witchery, Blasphemophager, Diocletian, Obeisance Thee Parkside. 9pm, $12-15.

Boney M. Nob Hill Masonic Auditorium, 1111 California, SF; www.discosf.com. 7pm, $45-135.

Congress Coda. 10pm, $10.

Diego’s Umbrella, Triple Cobra, Loyd Family Players Independent. 9pm, $12.

IRB Revolution Café, 3248 22nd St, SF; (415) 642-0474. 8:45pm, free.

K-Holes, Wax Idols, Stickers Hemlock Tavern. 9:30pm, $7.

Midnight Chaser, Bastard, Vanishing Breed Kimo’s. 10pm, $7.

Eddie Money Rrazz Room. 7 and 9:30pm, $45-50.

“Popscene Presents Chicago vs. San Francisco” Rickshaw Stop. 9pm, $10. With Hey Champ, Butterfly Bones, and Moneypenny, plus DJ sets by Team Bayside High and Aaron Axelsen.

“Secret House Party with People Under the Stairs” Slim’s. 9pm, $19. With DJ Day.

Sistas in the Pit, Cleve-Land, MILF, Ani DiFranco’s Dick 111 Minna. 9:30pm. Benefit for Todd “Spor Virus” Smith.

JAZZ/NEW MUSIC

Mike Stern Band Yoshi’s San Francisco. 8 and 10pm, $18-26.

FOLK/WORLD/COUNTRY

Cuban Cowboys, Dead Westerns, DJ Santero Bottom of the Hill. 8:30pm, $12.

Left Coast Special Socha Café, 3235 Mission, SF; (415) 643-6848. 8pm, free.

DANCE CLUBS

Braza! Som.10pm, $10. With DJs Vanka, Elan, and Caasi.

Deeper 222 Hyde, 222 Hyde, SF; (415) 345-8222. 9pm, $10. With rotating DJs spinning dubstep and techno.

Dirty Rotten Dance Party Madrone Art Bar. 9pm, $5. With DJs Morale, Kap10 Harris, and Shane King spinning electro, bootybass, crunk, swampy breaks, hyphy, rap, and party classics.

Exhale, Fridays Project One Gallery, 251 Rhode Island, SF; (415) 465-2129. 5pm, $5. Happy hour with art, fine food, and music with Vin Sol, King Most, DJ Centipede, and Shane King.

Fat Stack Fridays Koko Cocktails, 1060 Geary, SF; (415) 885-4788. 10pm, free. With rotating DJs B-Cause, Vinnie Esparza, Mr. Robinson, Toph One, and Slopoke.

Fubar Fridays Butter, 354 11th St., SF; (415) 863-5964. 6pm, $5. With DJs spinning retro mashup remixes.

Germany Calling Cat Club. 9:30pm, $6. German goth and industrial with DJs Tomas Diablo, Joe Radio, Xander, and Unit 77.

Good Life Fridays Apartment 24, 440 Broadway, SF; (415) 989-3434. 10pm, $10. With DJ Brian spinning hip hop, mashups, and top 40.

Hot Chocolate Milk. 9pm, $5. With DJs Big Fat Frog, Chardmo, DuseRock, and more spinning old and new school funk.

Mighty’s 7-Year Anniversary Mighty. 9pm, $7. With DJ Shortkut, Derek Hena, Motion Potion, Syd Gris, DJ Platurn, and more.

Rockabilly Fridays Jay N Bee Club, 2736 20th St, SF; (415) 824-4190. 9pm, free. With DJs Rockin’ Raul, Oakie Oran, Sergio Iglesias, and Tanoa “Samoa Boy” spinning 50s and 60s Doo Wop, Rockabilly, Bop, Jive, and more.

Some Thing Stud. 10pm, $7. VivvyAnne Forevermore, Glamamore, and DJ Down-E give you fierce drag shows and afterhours dancing.

Strangelove Cat Club, 1190 Folsom, SF; (415) 703-8965. 9:30pm, $6. With DJs Tomas Diablo, Melting Girl, Sage, and Daniel Skellington spinning goth and industrial.

Vintage Orson, 508 Fourth St, SF; (415) 777-1508. 5:30-11pm, free. DJ TophOne and guest spin jazzy beats for cocktalians.

SATURDAY 4

ROCK/BLUES/HIP-HOP

Chris Cain Biscuits and Blues. 8 and 10pm, $20.

John Enghauser, Fat Opie, Beautiful Losers Hotel Utah. 10pm, $10.

I-80s Revolution Café, 3248 22nd St, SF; (415) 642-0474. 8:45pm, free.

Marco Benevento Trio Independent. 9pm, $20.

Maus Haus, Fol Chen, Brent Amaker and the Rodeo, Exrays, Epicsauce DJs Bottom of the Hill. 9pm, $12.

Eddie Money Rrazz Room. 7 and 9:30pm, $45-50.

Mumlers, Sic Alps, Big Eagle, Bart Davenport Rickshaw Stop. 8pm, $10-15. Benefit for Akassia Mann, mother of Big Eagle’s Robyn Miller.

Tropical Sleep, Midnite Snaxxx, Bitter Honeys Hemlock Tavern. 9:30pm, $6.

Walken, Huntress, Dark Black Bender’s, 806 S. Van Ness, SF; www.bendersbar.com. 9:30pm, $5.

“We’re Number Fun! Bay Area Derby Girls Prom and Awards Ceremony” Thee Parkside. 9pm, $15.

Yung Mars, Elevaters Café Du Nord. 9:30pm, $12.

JAZZ/NEW MUSIC

Bad Plus Herbst Theatre, 401 Van Ness, SF; www.sfperformances.org. 8pm, $20-50.

Lori Carsillo Coda. 7pm, $5.

Nancy Coleman Socha Café, 3235 Mission, SF; (415) 643-6848. 8pm, free.

Mike Stern Band Yoshi’s San Francisco. 8 and 10pm, $26.

FOLK/WORLD/COUNTRY

“Abjeez: Live in San Francisco” Hemlock Tavern. 8pm, $40.

Jean Marie Paxton Gate, 824 Valencia, SF; (415) 824-1872. 7pm, free.

Rock Soup Ramblers Café Royale, 800 Post, SF; (415) 641-6033. 8pm, free.

Craig Ventresco and Meredith Axelrod Atlas Café. 4pm, free.

DANCE CLUBS

Bar on Church 9pm. Rotating DJs Foxxee, Joseph Lee, Zhaldee, Mark Andrus, and Nuxx.

Debaser Knockout. 11pm, $5. Wear your flannel and get in free before 11pm to this party, where DJ Jamie Jams and Emdee play alternative hits from the 1990s.

Everlasting Bass 330 Ritch. 10pm, $5-10. Bay Area Sistah Sound presents this party, with DJs Zita and Pam the Funkstress spinning hip-hop, soul, funk, reggae, dancehall, and club classics. Fire Corner Koko Cocktails, 1060 Geary, SF; (415) 885-4788. 9:30pm, free. Rare and outrageous ska, rocksteady, and reggae vinyl with Revival Sound System and guests. Foundation Som., 2925 16th St., SF; (415) 558-8521. 10pm.

Gemini Disco Underground SF. 10pm, $5. Disco with DJ Derrick Love and Nicky B. spinning deep disco.

HYP Club Eight, 1151 Folsom, SF; www.eightsf.com. 10pm, free. Gay and lesbian hip hop party, featuring DJs spinning the newest in the top 40s hip hop and hyphy.

Kontrol Endup. 10pm, $20. With resident DJs Alland Byallo, Craig Kuna, Sammy D, and Nikola Baytala spinning minimal techno and avant house.

New Wave City: Depeche Mode Tribute DNA Lounge. 9pm, $7-12. Eighties with DJs Skip, Shindog, and Melting Girl.

Rock City Butter, 354 11th St., SF; (415) 863-5964. 6pm, $5 after 10pm. With DJs spinning party rock.

Saturday Night Soul Party Elbo Room. 10pm, $10. With DJs Lucky, Phengren Oswald, and Paul Paul spinning 60s soul.

Souf Club Six. 9pm, $7. With DJs Jeanine Da Feen, Motive, and Bozak spinning southern crunk, bounce, hip hop, and reggaeton.

Soundscape Vortex Room, 1082 Howard, SF; www.myspace.com/thevortexroom. With DJs C3PLOS, Brighton Russ, and Nick Waterhouse spinning Soul jazz, boogaloo, hammond grooves, and more.

Spirit Fingers Sessions 330 Ritch. 9pm, free. With DJ Morse Code and live guest performances.

SUNDAY 5

ROCK/BLUES/HIP-HOP

Casiotone for the Painfully Alone, Donkeys, Ian Fayes Bottom of the Hill. 9pm, $12.

Tommy Castro Biscuits and Blues. 8 and 10pm, $20.

Epica, Scar Symmetry, Agonist, Blackguard DNA Lounge. 6:30pm, $23.

Courtney James Revolution Café, 3248 22nd St, SF; (415) 642-0474. 8:45pm, free.

Posies, Brendan Benson, Aqueduct Independent. 8pm, $20.

Radiators, Battlehooch Slim’s. 8pm, $25.

Desirea Rodgers Rrazz Room. 3pm, $25.

Jonathan Richman, Tommy Larkins, Gail Davies Great American Music Hall. 8pm, $15.

JAZZ/NEW MUSIC

Kay Kostopoulos Bliss Bar, 4026 24th St, SF; (415) 826-6200. 4:30pm, $10.

Mike Stern Band Yoshi’s San Francisco. 5pm, $5-26.

FOLK/WORLD/COUNTRY

Grooming the Crow, Everheart Thee Parkside. 4pm, free.

DANCE CLUBS

Afterglow Nickies, 466 Haight, SF; (415) 255-0300. An evening of mellow electronics with resident DJs Matt Wilder, Mike Perry, Greg Bird, and guests.

DJ Anthony Atlas Hemlock Tavern. 9pm, free.

Call In Sick Skylark. 9pm, free. DJs Animal and I Will spin danceable hip-hop.

DiscoFunk Mashups Cat Club. 10pm, free. House and 70’s music.

Dub Mission Elbo Room. 9pm, $6. Dub, dubstep, roots, and dancehall with DJ Sep, Vinnie Esparza, and guest B-Love.

Gloss Sundays Trigger, 2344 Market, SF; (415) 551-CLUB. 7pm. With DJ Hawthorne spinning house, funk, soul, retro, and disco.

Honey Soundsystem Paradise Lounge. 8pm-2am. “Dance floor for dancers – sound system for lovers.” Got that?

Kick It Bar on Church. 9pm. Hip-hop with DJ Zax.

Pachanga! Coda. 5pm, $10. Salsa with Jesus Diaz y su QBA.

Religion Bar on Church. 3pm. With DJ Nikita.

Swing Out Sundays Rock-It Room. 7pm, free (dance lessons $15). DJ BeBop Burnie spins 20s through 50s swing, jive, and more.

MONDAY 6

ROCK/BLUES/HIP-HOP

Abyssinians, Native Elements, Revival Sound System Independent. 9pm, $20.

Chris Duarte Biscuits and Blues. 8 and 10pm, $15.

Mrt. St. Helens Vietnam Band, Globes Rickshaw Stop. 8pm, $12.

Western States Motel, Maren Parusel, Ash Reiter Hemlock Tavern. 6pm, $6.

DANCE CLUBS

Black Gold Koko Cocktails, 1060 Geary, SF; (415) 885-4788. 10pm-2am, free. Senator Soul spins Detroit soul, Motown, New Orleans R&B, and more — all on 45!

Death Guild DNA Lounge. 9:30pm, $3-5. Gothic, industrial, and synthpop with Decay, Joe Radio, and Melting Girl.

Krazy Mondays Beauty Bar. 10pm, free. With DJs Ant-1, $ir-Tipp, Ruby Red I, Lo, and Gelo spinning hip hop.

M.O.M. Madrone Art Bar. 6pm, free. With DJ Gordo Cabeza and guests playing all Motown every Monday.

Manic Mondays Bar on Church. 9pm. Drink 80-cent cosmos with Djs Mark Andrus and Dangerous Dan.

Musik for Your Teeth Revolution Café, 3248 22nd St., SF; (415) 642-0474. 5pm, free. Soul cookin’ happy hour tunes with DJ Antonino Musco.

Network Mondays Azul Lounge, One Tillman Pl, SF; www.inhousetalent.com. 9pm, $5. Hip-hop, R&B, and spoken word open mic, plus featured performers.

Skylarking Skylark. 10pm, free. With resident DJs I & I Vibration, Beatnok, and Mr. Lucky and weekly guest DJs.

TUESDAY 7

ROCK/BLUES/HIP-HOP

Bedouin Soundclash, Moneybrother, Los Hot Boxers Slim’s. 8pm, $15.

Conspiracy of Beards, Ruby Howl, Gilded Hooks Café Du Nord. 8:30pm, $10.

Delta Spirit, Fling, Darker My Love Fillmore. 8pm, $18.50.

Chris Duarte Biscuits and Blues. 8 and 10pm, $15.

Gay Blades, Girls With Guns, Go-Going-Gone Girls Bottom of the Hill. 9pm, $10.

Gracious Few, Danielle Barbe, Reckless in Vegas Independent. 8pm, $10.

DANCE CLUBS

Brazilian Party Night Elbo Room. 9pm, $5. Brazilian dance hits, samba, funk, and more with DJ Dion and DJ Kwala.

Eclectic Company Skylark, 9pm, free. DJs Tones and Jaybee spin old school hip hop, bass, dub, glitch, and electro.

Share the Love Trigger, 2344 Market, SF; (415) 551-CLUB. 5pm, free. With DJ Pam Hubbuck spinning house.

Womanizer Bar on Church. 9pm. With DJ Nuxx.

Film Listings

Andrew Lam

-

November 30, 2010

0

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

-

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

Ho-ho-horror

Andrew Lam

-

November 30, 2010

0

arts@sfbg.com

FILM There is probably nowhere in the Christian-majority world where it’s as OK to wax hum-buggy about Christmas and all it entails as San Francisco. Allergies to carols (admit it, they’re horrible), frantically enabled shopaholicism, and forced contact with those people you moved here to get away from are all tolerated, even encouraged here.

In the rakishly Grinch-like spirit such sentiments allow, Yerba Buena Center for the Arts is observing “the season” with “Go to Hell for the Holidays: Horror in December.” This series might just as easily have been titled “Grievous Bodily Harm” since it serves up a six-program lineup of film and video features whose common thread is excess of a highly splattery kind. Included are a few variably antiqued golden oldies, as well as newer titles unlikely to get local commercial runs anytime soon (if ever). Some are fun, some deliberately unpleasant, and a couple manage to be both. All provide a sort of palliative effect for those seeking refuge from the suffocation of wholesome holiday cheer.

Because Jesus probably would, let’s approach “Hell”‘s contents tactfully, in ascending order of assault on any delicate sensibilities. The sole double bill on offer is also hands-down winner in terms of camp value, providing unintentional laughs in bulk for every intended scare. In fact, these two underseen gems of bright and shining awfulness comprise one of the more genius programming matches of 2010.

First up is the barely describable, let alone explicable, 1985’s Night Train to Terror, which alongside They Saved Hitler’s Brain (1968), Al Adamson’s ouevre, and a handful of other oddities personifies that most secret, least natural of genres: the Frankensteinian film. By which we don’t mean anything directly related to Mary Shelley, but rather movies crudely, grotesquely composed of parts harvested from other movies abandoned as dead.

Few are as triumphantly, energetically, and entertainingly arbitrary as Night Train, which stitches together bits of three features variably orphaned by legal trouble, runaway funding, aborted shooting, or all the above. Linking them — or desperately trying to — are scenes in which “Mr. Satan” and a white-bearded God gamble in a private car for the souls of their fellow train passengers. The latter are an ensemble of ultra-perky “New Wave” youth in Flashdance (1983) garb singing and kinda dancing in a neverending MTV video for synthpop non-hit “Dance With Me.”

Familiar B-flick faces like John Phillip Law and Cameron Mitchell surface sporadically in the wildly condensed “case histories” our biblical antagonists debate, drawn from individual films otherwise known as Cataclysm, Carnival of Fools, and Scream Your Head Off. That this bastard 1985 anthology was assembled, let alone actually shown in theaters, restores your faith in predictable mankind’s ability to occasionally touch the truly, inspirationally senseless.

This feeling one could apply to virtually anything by the late Doris Wishman, whose decades of bottom-rung exploitation work left miraculously intact an approach to such basics as continuity, camera coverage, and synch sound so primitive it achieves a sort of abstract impressionism. Her 1983 A Night to Dismember was stab at the slasher genre after almost a quarter century selling softcore sex. She brought to it exactly the same WTF aesthetic and narrative perversity she had to Nude on the Moon (1961) and Bad Girls Go to Hell (1965). If you’re a Wishman newbie, Dismember is a great place to start since its saga of the compulsively homicidal suburban Kent family is awesomely clumsy without being too dull or claustrophobic.

The mayhem she contrives (no doubt most “gore” was thriftily broiled for stew after each day’s shoot) looks even more laughable alongside the too convincing graphic ugh-liness of Thai cinematographer Tiwa Moeithaisong’s directorial debut Meat Grinder (2009). Its protagonist is a Bangkok noodle shop proprietor whose extremely abused history triggers a Texas Chainsaw style attitude toward fresh victuals, and whose threadbare grip on reality provides our brain-scrambling POV. Starting out like just another exercise in “Asian Extreme” excess, this grows both more outre and controlled as it goes along, balancing jet-black comedy with a certain grotesque pathos.

Charting a reverse trajectory is Red White & Blue, the first U.S. feature by Brit writer-director Simon Rumley, whose 2006 The Living and the Dead is one of the most original films (horror or otherwise) in recent memory. For 80 minutes, it’s a chillingly fine portrait of some well-marginalized characters in Austin, Texas, culminating in possibly the most alarming home invasion since Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer (1986). But the rest degenerates into rote revenge-fantasy torture porn, further weakened by deliberate story mystifications more enervating than enigmatic.

There are excuses for horror fans who’ve missed Living and Dead — it was barely released in the U.S. — but none for those as yet unbathed in the blood of Wolf Creek. Allegedly based on actual events (a fib), Greg Mclean’s 2005 first feature takes exactly half its length to let nothing happen. Nothing, that is, save our getting to know three young people just ordinary and interesting enough to grow concerned about as they drive across Australia at summer holiday’s end, halted in the middle of nowhere by what at first seems routine bad luck. Several long dread-accruing minutes later, it turns out what’s happening to them is something far, far worse, unrelated to either luck or anything routine. Brilliantly atmospheric and visceral, Creek justifies YBCA’s hyperbolic claim as “possibly the best horror film of the decade.”

Also on “Hell”‘s menu are two films I could say more about, but won’t. Regarding Mladen Djordjevic’s Life and Death of a Porno Gang (2009), that’s because this all-outrages-inclusive tragicomedic mock-doc road flick was only available for preview in its original Serbian language. Still, it’s recommendable. Whereas Marc D. Levitz’s U.S. documentary Feast of the Assumption: BTK and The Otero Family Murders (2008), about a serial killer’s capture and impact on victims’ families 30 years later, would merit further discussion if it didn’t wobble between tabloid TV and home movie — all the while raising serious questions it doesn’t address, or perhaps even notice.

“GO TO HELL FOR THE HOLIDAYS”

Dec. 2–18, $6–$8

Yerba Buena Center for the Arts

701 Mission, SF

(415) 978-2787

www.ybca.org

The Dozen

Andrew Lam

-

November 24, 2010

0

DANCE The Hip-Hop Dance Fest has grown up. What started 12 years ago as a showcase for local crews and studios has become an excellently balanced showcase of national and international artists. Only four of this year’s 11 participants came from the Bay Area. Sad to say, the sorriest performance all night long came from a local one. Still, the future for hip-hop dance on stage looks brighter than ever.

One of the most moving and wildly applauded works on Nov. 19 was South African dancer/choreographer Jane Sekonya-John’s deftly and economically choreographed Spoti. She donned an old spoti — fisherman’s cap — and transformed herself from a limping, bent old woman into a victorious (though scar-bearing) freedom fighter. Another highlight was Raphael Xavier’s almost oppressively serious Black Canvas, in which breakdancing, much of it floor-bound, became the paint that portrayed three men in fractious, competing, and cooperating relationships. It’s one of the best examples I’ve seen of hip-hop’s theatrical expressiveness.

Los Angeles’ exuberant VersaStyle Dance Company’s Legacy paid tribute to hip-hop’s ancestry by weaving live dance with beautifully chosen video clips from past greats such as Bill Bailey (inventor of the moonwalk), Fred Astaire, Peg Leg Bates, and the Nicholas Brothers. DS Players from San Jose returned with Before Old School, a tribute to the ballroom style of the 1930s and ’40s. Anything this trio touches is blessed with understated wit and a sense of camaraderie.

Also from Southern California, One Step Ahead presented Tables and Chairs, which brought split-second timing and a sometimes humorous approach to the subject of an argumentative family. The kitchen table became the locus for blame-assigning, with flips, kicks, and leaps as synchronized as clockwork. Everyone took as much as they got. Bringing up the L.A. contingent was the b-boying duet between Rock Steady Crew’s YNOT and BailRok, a pint-size virtuoso with a mountains of attitude. Remember the name.

Pro-Phenomen, seven men from France, closed the program with a performance of Signum that justifiably brought down the house. Thematically, the piece had something to do with the preservation of freedom. Impeccably performed, the dancers’ silken combinations and fabulous sense of timing were mesmerizing. Gestures ran down a line or through a circle. Helicopter-like movement popped up like an afterthought from otherwise engaged groups, and tiny dramatic or tender duets exploded out of nowhere and evaporated as quickly. Huge stretches went into military-type push-ups; dancers “fainted,” were thrown, or ended up on the sidelines.

The 12th Hip-Hop Fest also embraced more traditional presentations. Future Shock Bay Area, a large studio company, opened the evening with Rappin Da Bay. The choreography broke what could have been tedious unisons into ever-shifting small ensembles, with a spot for a soloist or two. Perhaps not terribly original, Rappin stayed vital through its performers skill and commitment. SoulForce Dance Company enlivened its choreography by assigning it to characters such as Brandy Logue as “the Elder” and Meegan Hertensteiner as “Miss Meow Meow,” among others. The piece was an amusing, successful mashup of individuality.

Mind over Matter was this year’s serious misstep. Choreographer Allan Frias, who recently appeared on So You Think You Can Dance, has made it something of a specialty to go for sex and violence. Psyke was probably inspired by gangsta rap and underground aspects of gay culture. (The performance was announced as having “adult material.”) Raunch — in this case, simulated violence against women and simulated sex — can be funny, ironic, and pornographic. What it should never be is boring.

Music Listings

Andrew Lam

-

November 23, 2010

0

Music listings are compiled by Cheryl Eddy. Since club life is unpredictable, it’s a good idea to call ahead to confirm bookings and hours. Prices are listed when provided to us. Submit items for the listings at listings@sfbg.com. For further information on how to submit items for the listings, see Picks.

WEDNESDAY 24

ROCK/BLUES/HIP-HOP

Alvon Biscuits and Blues. 8pm, $15.

Zach Deputy Boom Boom Room. 9:30pm, $10.

“Jason Bonham’s Led Zeppelin Experience” Warfield. 8pm, $29.50-47.50.

Myonics, Carnivores, Lens Hemlock Tavern. 9pm, $6.

New Riders of the Purple Sage Great American Music Hall. 8pm, $25.

Out of Cell Range, Introverts, SF Jukebox Bottom of the Hill. 9pm, $8.

Souls of Mischief, Candlespit Collective, Broken Complex, Uephoric, DJ Pause Slim’s. 9pm, $21.

*Unsane, Kowloon Walled City, Hazzard’s Cure, DJ BadJew Thee Parkside. 8pm, $12-14.

DANCE CLUBS

Booty Call Q-Bar, 456 Castro, SF; www.bootycallwednesdays.com. 9pm. Juanita Moore hosts this dance party, featuring DJ Robot Hustle.

Cannonball Beauty Bar. 10pm, free. Rock, indie, and nu-disco with DJ White Mike.

Club Shutter Elbo Room. 10pm, $5. Goth with DJs Nako, Omar, and Justin.

Dark Sparkle’s 11th Annual Holiday Party Café Du Nord. 9:30pm, $5. New wave.

Hands Down! Bar on Church. 9pm, free. With DJs Claksaarb, Mykill, and guests spinning indie, electro, house, and bangers.

Jam Fresh Wednesdays Vessel, 85 Campton, SF; (415) 433-8585. 9:30pm, free. With DJs Slick D, Chris Clouse, Rich Era, Don Lynch, and more spinning top40, mashups, hip hop, and remixes.

Jesse Rose, Claude Vonstroke, Solar, J Phlip Public Works, 161 Erie, SF; www.publicsf.com. 9pm, $20.

Mary-Go-Round Lookout, 3600 16th St, SF; (415) 431-0306. 10pm, $5. A weekly drag show with hosts Cookie Dough, Pollo Del Mar, and Suppositori Spelling.

Red Wine Social Triple Crown. 5:30-9:30pm, free. DJ TophOne and guests spin outernational funk and get drunk.

Respect Wednesdays End Up. 10pm, $5. Rotating DJs Daddy Rolo, Young Fyah, Irie Dole, I-Vier, Sake One, Serg, and more spinning reggae, dancehall, roots, lovers rock, and mash ups.

Synchronize Il Pirata, 2007 16th St, SF; (415) 626-2626. 10pm, free. Psychedelic dance music with DJs Helios, Gatto Matto, Psy Lotus, Intergalactoid, and guests.

THURSDAY 25

DANCE CLUBS

Afrolicious Elbo Room. 9:30pm, $10. DJs Pleasuremaker and Señor Oz, with guest C-Funk, spin Afrobeat, tropicália, electro, samba, and funk.

DJ Eva Von Slut Hemlock Tavern. 9pm, free.

Drop the Pressure Underground SF. 6-10pm, free. Electro, house, and datafunk highlight this weekly happy hour.

Gigantic Beauty Bar. 9pm, free. With DJs Eli Glad, Greg J, and White Mike spinning indie, rock, disco, and soul.

Good Foot Som., 2925 16th St, SF; (415) 558-8521. 10pm, free. With DJs spinning R&B, Hip hop, classics, and soul.

Guilty Pleasures Gestalt, 3159 16th St, SF; (415) 560-0137. 9:30pm, free. DJ TophZilla, Rob Metal, DJ Stef, and Disco-D spin punk, metal, electro-funk, and 80s.

Jivin’ Dirty Disco Butter, 354 11th St., SF; (415) 863-5964. 8pm, free. With DJs spinning disco, funk, and classics.

Koko Puffs Koko Cocktails, 1060 Geary, SF; (415) 885-4788. 10pm, free. Dubby roots reggae and Jamaican funk from rotating DJs.

Peaches Skylark, 10pm, free. With an all female DJ line up featuring Deeandroid, Lady Fingaz, That Girl, and Umami spinning hip hop.

FRIDAY 26

ROCK/BLUES/HIP-HOP

Billy No Mates, Kegels, Get Dead, Started-Its Thee Parkside. 9pm, $8.

Black Mountain, Black Angels Fillmore. 9pm, $20.

Blind Willies Revolution Café, 3248 22nd St, SF; (415) 642-0474. 9pm, free.

Dark Star Orchestra Regency Ballroom. 9pm, $33.

*Hi-Nobles, Unko Atama, Diemond Hemlock Tavern. 9:15pm, $6.

Prima Donna, White Trash Debutantes, Mystic Knights of the Cobra Bottom of the Hill. 10pm, $10.

Lavay Smith Biscuits and Blues. 8pm, $20.

Yard Dogs Road Show Independent. 9pm, $20.

FOLK/WORLD/COUNTRY

Brian Belknap Socha Café, 3235 Mission, SF; (415) 643-6848. 8:30pm, free.

Rayband Coda. 10pm, $10.

Richard Bean and Sapo, Mestizo, Ruckatan Slim’s. 8pm, $16.

Tuck and Patti Yoshi’s San Francisco. 8pm, $25.

“Turkey Trot 2010” Café Du Nord. 8pm, $15. With Good Luck Thriftstore Outfit, Misisipi Rider, Hang Jones, Walking in Sunlight, Blue Ribbon Healers.

DANCE CLUBS

Biscuits and Gravy Elbo Room. 10pm, free. Hip-hop, funk, reggae, and salsa with DJs Vinnie Esparza, Asti Spumanti, and Jonny Deeper.

Duniya Dancehall Blue Macaw, 2565 Mission, SF; (415) 920-0577. 10pm, $10. With live performances by Duniya Drum and Dance Co. and DJs dub Snakr and Juan Data spinning bhangra, bollywood, dancehall, African, and more.

Exhale, Fridays Project One Gallery, 251 Rhode Island, SF; (415) 465-2129. 5pm, $5. Happy hour with art, fine food, and music with Vin Sol, King Most, DJ Centipede, and Shane King.

Fat Stack Fridays Koko Cocktails, 1060 Geary, SF; (415) 885-4788. 10pm, free. With rotating DJs B-Cause, Vinnie Esparza, Mr. Robinson, Toph One, and Slopoke.

Fubar Fridays Butter, 354 11th St., SF; (415) 863-5964. 6pm, $5. With DJs spinning retro mashup remixes.

Good Life Fridays Apartment 24, 440 Broadway, SF; (415) 989-3434. 10pm, $10. With DJ Brian spinning hip hop, mashups, and top 40.

Hot Chocolate Milk. 9pm, $5. With DJs Big Fat Frog, Chardmo, DuseRock, and more spinning old and new school funk.

Psychedelic Radio Club Six. 9pm, $7. With DJs Kial, Tom No Thing, Megalodon, and Zapruderpedro spinning dubstep, reggae, and electro.

Rockabilly Fridays Jay N Bee Club, 2736 20th St, SF; (415) 824-4190. 9pm, free. With DJs Rockin’ Raul, Oakie Oran, Sergio Iglesias, and Tanoa “Samoa Boy” spinning 50s and 60s Doo Wop, Rockabilly, Bop, Jive, and more.

Some Thing The Stud. 10pm, $7. VivvyAnne Forevermore, Glamamore, and DJ Down-E give you fierce drag shows and afterhours dancing.

Vintage Orson, 508 Fourth St, SF; (415) 777-1508. 5:30-11pm, free. DJ TophOne and guest spin jazzy beats for cocktalians.

SATURDAY 27

ROCK/BLUES/HIP-HOP

Dark Star Orchestra Regency Ballroom. 9pm, $33.

Fantasia, Eric Benet, Kandi Warfield. 8pm, $42-65.

4OneFunktion Elbo Room. 10pm, $5-10.

Jackie Greene Fillmore. 9pm, $30.

Hollywood Hate, Fracas, DJ What’s His Fuck Thee Parkside. 9pm, free.

Man in Space, Maniac, 21st Century Great American Music Hall. 9pm, $13.

Meris Thee Parkside. 3pm, free.

Queers, Riptides, Kepi Ghoulie, Custom Kicks Bottom of the Hill. 8:30pm, $12.

Sassy, Burnt House Hemlock Tavern. 9:30pm, $6.

(the secret secretaries), Tokyo Raid, Nectarine Pie, Fox and Woman Café Du Nord. 9pm, $10.

Earl Thomas Biscuits and Blues. 8pm, $22.

Yard Dogs Road Show Independent. 9pm, $20.

Zoo Station, Petty Theft Red Devil Lounge. 9pm, $15.

JAZZ/NEW MUSIC

Giovenco Project Coda. 7 and 10pm, $7-10.

Tom Shaw and Roberta Drake Martuni’s, Four Valencia, SF; www.dragatmartunis.com. 7pm. With guest Pattie Lockard.

Joe Warner Socha Café, 3235 Mission, SF; (415) 643-6848. 8:30pm, free.

FOLK/WORLD/COUNTRY

Tuck and Patti Yoshi’s San Francisco. 8pm, $25.

DANCE CLUBS

Bar on Church 9pm. Rotating DJs Foxxee, Joseph Lee, Zhaldee, Mark Andrus, and Nuxx.

Barracuda 111 Minna. 9pm, $10. Eclectic 80s music with DJs Damon and Phillie Ocean plus 80s cult video projections, a laser light show, prom balloons, and 80s inspired fashion.

Blowoff Slim’s. 10pm, $15. With DJs Bob Mould and Rich Morel.

Bootie DNA Lounge. 8pm, $6-12. The mash-up party celebrates the DNA’s 25th birthday; open bar until 9pm.

Bonobo, Andreya Triana, Tokimonsta Mezzanine. 9pm, $22.50.

Go Bang! Deco Lounge, 510 Larkin, SF; (415) 346 – 2025. 9pm, $5. Recreating the diversity and freedom of the 70’s/ 80’s disco nightlife with DJs Steve Fabus, Tres Lingerie, Sergio, and more.

HYP Club Eight, 1151 Folsom, SF; www.eightsf.com. 10pm, free. Gay and lesbian hip hop party, featuring DJs spinning the newest in the top 40s hip hop and hyphy.

Reggae Gold Club Six. 9pm, $15. With DJs Daddy Rolo, Polo Mo’qz, Tesfa, Serg, and Fuze spinning dancehall and reggae.

Spirit Fingers Sessions 330 Ritch. 9pm, free. With DJ Morse Code and live guest performances.

SUNDAY 28

ROCK/BLUES/HIP-HOP

*Darkest Hour, Veil of Maya, Periphery, Revocation, Sol Asunder DNA Lounge. 6:30pm, $18.

Dimmu Borgir, Enslaved, Blood Red Throne, Dawn of Ashes Regency Ballroom. 7:30pm, $25.

Frames Fillmore. 8pm, $26.

Lucero, Drag the River Great American Music Hall. 8pm, $20.

Soulfly, Straight Line Stitch, Incite, Desperate Union Slim’s. 8pm, $26.

JAZZ/NEW MUSIC

Michael Smith Revolution Café, 3248 22nd St, SF; (415) 642-0474. 9pm, free.

FOLK/WORLD/COUNTRY

Jason Lingo Band Thee Parkside. 4pm, free.

Tuck and Patti Yoshi’s San Francisco. 8pm, $25.

DANCE CLUBS

Dub Mission Elbo Room. 9pm, $6. Dub, dubstep, roots, and dancehall with DJ Sep, Maneesh the Twister, and guest I-Vier.

DiscoFunk Mashups Cat Club. 10pm, free. House and 70’s music.

Gloss Sundays Trigger, 2344 Market, SF; (415) 551-CLUB. 7pm. With DJ Hawthorne spinning house, funk, soul, retro, and disco.

Honey Soundsystem Paradise Lounge. 8pm-2am. “Dance floor for dancers – sound system for lovers.” Got that?

Pachanga Coda. 5pm, $10. Salsa with DJs Fab Fred and DJ Antonio with Montuno Swing.

Religion Bar on Church. 3pm. With DJ Nikita.

Swing Out Sundays Rock-It Room. 7pm, free (dance lessons $15). DJ BeBop Burnie spins 20s through 50s swing, jive, and more.

MONDAY 29

ROCK/BLUES/HIP-HOP

Cough, Flood, Prizehog Elbo Room. 9pm, $6.

*Grinderman, Armen Raw Warfield. 8pm, $29-35.

Weezer Nob Hill Masonic Center, 1111 California, SF; www.livenation.com. 8pm, $18.50-65.