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Our weekly picks: Aug. 3-11, 2011

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WEDNESDAY 3

FILM

“John Musker on the Art of Animation”

For the latest in its “Behind the Scenes: The Art and Craft of Cinema” series, the Pacific Film Archive turns to Disney animator John Musker, part of the writing-directing team for several of the studio’s new-revival hits, including 1989’s The Little Mermaid, 1992’s Aladdin, and 2009’s The Princess and the Frog. Musker’s three-day event kicks off with a clip show and discussion, sure to be jam-packed with insidery info (like, how much was Robin Williams’ Aladdin genie scripted, anyway? And how do animators deal with actors who like to improvise?). Next, he’ll introduce the most recent entry into Disney’s fairy tale arsenal, The Princess and the Frog, and Sunday brings a screening of 1940 classic Pinocchio — still magical, even without the benefit of newfangled 3D or CGI. (Cheryl Eddy)

Wed/3-Thurs/4, 6:30 p.m.; Sun/7, 3 p.m., $5.50–$9.50 Pacific Film Archive, 757 Bancroft, Berk. www.bampfa.berkeley.edu

 

THURSDAY 4

MUSIC

Exhumed

Exhumed could most assuredly provide the soundtrack if we were ever faced with a zombie apocalypse. As the still living population struggled in vain to escape dismemberment and ran screaming through the blood-soaked streets, blast beats and frenzied shredding would seal their doom. The goregrind pioneer from San Jose, Calif. has more than enough lyrical content to describe the ensuing mayhem and its ferocious riffs speak volumes on their own. Long dormant, Exhumed has returned with a new album and new line-up but retained its dependable brutality. Supporting Exhumed is the equally dependable Cephalic Carnage to unleash a further grind beat-down and aurally describe a world in which intestines pave the roads. (Cooper Berkmoyer)

With Macabre, Cephalic Carnage, and Withered

8 p.m., $16 Slim’s 333 11th St., SF. www.slims-sf.com

 

MUSIC

Shit Robot

When I last saw Shit Robot, the DJ was in a tin foil rocket ship in the 200s section of Madison Square Garden, performing during LCD Soundsystem’s “final” show. While thousands of people can say they were there for the end, Shit Robot a.k.a. Irish musician Marcus Lambkin is one of two who were there at the beginning, having reportedly swapped records with and introduced James Murphy to good dance music. Murphy would later return the favor, lending production and vocals to Shit Robot’s 2010 LP From the Cradle to the Rave. Featuring vocals from LCD’s Nancy Whang and Hot Chip’s Alexis Taylor, it was a long-awaited debut and distillation of electro, house, and (another result of that trade) rock. (Ryan Prendiville)

With Hands, and Popscene DJs 9 p.m., $10–$13 Rickshaw Stop 155 Fell, SF. www.rickshawstop.com

 

FRIDAY 5

MUSIC

Bastard Noise

Earlier this summer in East LA, Bastard Noise celebrated the 84th birthday of Grandpa, a longtime presence in the punk underground. Now they’re helping Amy Lawless, a DJ at Radio Valencia and ceaseless DIY supporter of local hardcore and metal, pummel into her 45th (her thrash heavy band, Voetsek, is playing too). Twenty years ago, Bastard Noise spawned from the legendary Man is the Bastard, which pioneered the aesthetics of powerviolence: fast, political, hectically tempo changing, dual basses yet no guitar, custom-crafted electronics. Perhaps their newest vocalist, Aimee Artz, and Landmine Marathon’s Grace Perry will team up for a growling version of “Happy Birthday.” “And many [deep breath]: Mmmooooorrrrre!” (Kat Renz)

With Landmine Marathon, Voetsek, Hosebeast 8 p.m., $10 Sub/Mission 2183 Mission, SF.  www.sf-submission.com

 

MUSIC

KMFDM

If ever there were a band synonymous with industrial music, KMFDM would be it. Buzzing guitars and a mechanical assault of synthesizers and drum machines have for over 20 years laid the groundwork for KMFDM’s unique sound. Add to that political overtones, German accents, and the ever-evolving vision of Sascha Konietzko, KMFMD’s founding member and front man, and you’d be hard pressed to find better music to lace up combat boots to. The live show is part Head Bangers Ball and part rave: a confluence of industrial beats, driving riffs, and performance art; the latter of which has diminished in recent years but continues to influence KMFDM’s endlessly mimicked aesthetic. (Berkmoyer)

With Army of the Universe, 16volt, and Human Factors Lab. 9 p.m., $14 Regency Ballroom 1300 Van Ness, SF (415) 673-5716 www.theregencyballroom.com

 

MUSIC

Low End Theory

Top billing for this stellar monthly has gone to Syd, one of OFWGKTA’s ancillary producers and (apparently) only female member. While that acronym brings out a contingent of hyped up little bros shouting “Swag!” until raw, tha Kyd has shown potential for a less posturing, honestly sexy sound on solo tracks. Next on this stacked deck are locals Secret Sidewalk, crafting beats live in a way reminiscent of the Glitch Mob. Also, Virtual Boy should be making a triumphant return (having killed at Public Works in the fall) and if you haven’t caught a set by regular the Gaslamp Killer (who DJs like a psychedelic Muppet come alive) you really should. (Ryan Prendiville)

With Mux Mool, Daddy Kev, DJ Nobody, D-Styles, and MC Nocando 10 p.m., $15 103 Harriet St., SF. www.1015.com

 

MUSIC

Think and Die Thinking Festival

Is San Jose finally . . . cool? The Bay Area’s largest city is held by many to also be its most boring: a suburban sprawl without the thriving radical-youth culture of it’s metropolitan neighbors. A close-knit community of D.I.Y. enthusiasts, however, is waging a battle to save their city’s soul and the Think and Die Thinking festival is as promising an opening sortie as any. The three-day festival will feature Grass Widow, Broken Water, Sourpatch, Brilliant Colors, and more as well as local arts, crafts, literature, and resources like the Billy DeFrank Center (which will receive some of the proceeds from the festival). Maybe one day soon, you’ll even want to live in San Jose. With an average daily temperature of 73 degrees and festivals like this one, who wouldn’t? (Berkmoyer)

With Grass Widow, Broken Water, Brilliant Colors, Sourpatch, and more Fri/5 — Sun/7, $7 — $10 Various locations, San Jose thinkanddiethinking.tumblr.com

 

SATURDAY 6

MUSIC

San Frandelic Summer Fest

Whatever you may find lacking in San Francisco, garage rock definitely isn’t going to be on that list. It makes sense that the city that gave the world the Mummies would be responsible for more lo-fi stripped down rocking than almost any other, although Oakland is fast overtaking SF in terms of the sheer volume of leather jackets and frayed jeans. San Frandelic Summer Fest is an opportunity for long hairs from both sides of the bay to join forces in bestowing fuzz, with acts such as Bare Wires and Nectarine Pie representing the East Bay, and Poor Sons and Outlaw, the west. The Groggs are coming all the way from Santa Cruz, and over ten bands is total will take part in the all day event. (Berkmoyer)

With Bare Wires, the Groggs, Nectarine Pie, Poor Sons, and more. 8 p.m., $10 Thee Parkside 1600 17th St., SF. www.theparkside.com

 

MUSIC

Kill Moi

San Francisco’s Kill Moi sets itself apart from other indie rock bands in the local and national scene with a mature mix of beautiful melodies, hypnotic rhythms, and a healthy sprinkling of trombone and trumpet accents. Led by Ryan Lambert, whose long musical journey not only includes a stint with local favorites Elephone, but reaches back all the way to his childhood, when he was a cast member on the ’80s TV show Kids Incorporated, Kill Moi celebrates the release of its brand new, debut full length album Hold Me, Motherfucker at tonight’s show. (Sean McCourt)

With Sioux City Kid and Tiny Television 10 p.m., $10 Bottom of the Hill 1833 17th St., SF. www.bottomofthehill.com

 

MUSIC

Big Business

There’s no mistaking the distinctive tones of Big Business. Drummer Coady Willis’ kit sounds like a shopping cart full of kitchenware careening down a stairwell. Singer-bassist Jared Warren sports an outraged yowl, like an otherwise mild-mannered man getting a mustard stain on his favorite t-shirt. Though Big Business added a guitarist, Toshi Kasai, in 2008, and then another, Scott Martin, in 2010, the six-string effect on the band is minimal. New EP Quadruple Single is still powered by bass, drums and vocals, although it may well be named in honor of the band’s new four-person line-up, which is referred to, hilariously, as a “power quartet.” No quibbling there — this band is powerful. (Ben Richardson)

With Torche, Thrones 9 p.m., $15 Slim’s 333 11th St., SF. www.slims-sf.com

 

MONDAY 8

COMEDY

Comedy Returns to El Rio!”

You can’t beat a night out at El Rio: cheap drinks, a huge patio, douchebag-free crowds, and a huge range of affordable entertainment, from metal bands to queer DJ nights to burlesque performers. Tonight, hit up the Mission District venue for five comedians, including local favorites Joe Klocek, Nick Leonard, and host Lisa “Kung Pao Kosher” Geduldig, a prolific event producer who got her start telling jokes on El Rio’s stage over 20 years ago. Also in the mix are SF native Carla Clayy and new local Karinda Dobbins, whose bio explains she’s “fluent in three languages: English, Lesbian Lingo, and Corporate-Speak.” (Eddy)

8 p.m., $7–$20 El Rio 3158 Mission, SF. www.koshercomedy.com

 

TUESDAY 9

MUSIC

Imelda May

Although many of her American fans may have gotten their first live stateside glimpse at Irish chanteuse Imelda May on The Tonight Show last month, the dervish from Dublin has been rocking stages for well over a decade in the UK. Taking the sounds of traditional rockabilly and giving them an injection of her own infectious energy and style, May’s sultry and sumptuous voice can make listeners swoon at a ballad or jump to attention on the searing rockers that pepper her set. May comes to the city tonight in support of her latest album Mayhem — catch the rising star in an intimate setting while you still can. (McCourt)

With Dustin Chance and the Allnighters 8 p.m., $10 Independent 628 Divisadero, SF. www.independentsf.com

 

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Those crazy San Franciscans

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Joe Eskenazi has an SF Weekly piece that pretty much repeats what he’s been saying for years: That San Francisco has too much government. This time he goes after all the boards, task forces and commissions — and yeah, there are a lot of them, and yeah, some of them might not be necessary. I could also argue, though, that San Francisco is one of the most politically active cities in the world, and that having a whole lot of ways for residents to plug in to what’s going on in their city isn’t a bad thing at all.


Whatever. Here’s the stuff that drives me nuts:


Last month, the volunteer body appointed by the Board of Supervisors advocated curtailing all pet sales in the city — including guppies, goldfish, and live rodents meant as snake food. Coming on the heels of a proposed criminalization of circumcision, San Francisco was, once again, reduced to an international punchline — many were left to wonder whether a ban on circumcising goldfish is our logical next step. Disbelieving articles poured in from around the globe. Perhaps none was as caustic as a piece in London‘s Telegraph titled “San Francisco goldfish ban exposes the pathology of America’s bourgeois liberal nutjobs.”


Ah, yes, Joe: Those crazy San Francisco liberals and their madcap ideas.


I’m not for banning pet sales (although I think banning puppy mills — also a wacky idea that came out of the Animal Control and Welfare Commission — is a fine thing). And I’m not for the circumcision ban (although, geez, it has lead to some interesting commentary that gives new meaning to the term “dick face.”)


But every time I hear somebody talk about how San Franciscans should stop it with the nutty ideas, I think about a few I’ve followed over the years — and how they’ve changed the way the entire nation thinks. Let me suggest a few for Eskanazi to look at:


“Those crazy San Franciscans don’t want to build freeways.” Yep — in the late 1950s and early 1960s, while the rest of the country (and in particular, California) was rushing to build freeways as fast as possible, people in this city decided to say No. The freeway revolt and the movement that grew out of it changed the way Americans view cities. Wacky shit.


“Those crazy San Franciscans think homosexuals should have the same rights as married people.” Yep, back in the 1970s San Franciscans started talking not only about nondiscrimination — they actually said that gay people who live together should have health insurance benefits. Imagine that.


“Those crazy San Franciscans think that women should make the same amount of money as men.” When then- Sup Nancy Walker introduced legislation in 1985 making “comparable worth” (the notion that men and women who do jobs that require comparable skills should be paid the same) it made headlines all over the country — and was universally derided by the same set that now complain about “liberal nutjobs.” It cost the city a lot of extra money (money that the Eskinazi crew of the day said was too much for a broke city) and led to all sorts of comments about social engineering. San Francisco was the first to push the issue, and it’s now considered mainstream employment policy.


“Those crazy San Franciscans think we ought to give bicycles the same rights as cars.” All the way back in the mid-1980s, bicycle advocates were talking about bike lanes, bike maps, bike racks and alternatives to the automobile. What were they drinking?


“Those crazy San Franciscans think that transgender people ought to get health benefits.” This was as recent as 1993 — and if you think circumcision and pets put SF in the right-wing-talk-show and late-night-comedy targets, imagine when the city decided “to use taxpayer dollars to fund sex-change operations,” as the detractors insisted. Guess what? It turned out to be a major step forward for transgender rights.


“Those crazy San Franciscans think gay people should be allowed to get married.” We did. We do. We were first. The rest of the country is following.


“Those crazy San Franciscans want to ban plastic bags.” We did. For good reason. So did L.A. In another few years, it will be national policy.


“Those crazy San Franciscans want to ban happy meals.” Guess what — McDonald’s got the message. 


I could list plenty more.


Yeah, we’re ahead of the curve. Yeah, sometimes our shit seems crazy. But it’s the crazy shit that makes the world change — and over time, the world catches up to San Francisco. And if we weren’t doing it, the world would get better just a little more slowly.


 


 


 

Best of the Bay 2011: BEST PANCAKE WITH A SIDE OF CHOW MEIN

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Punjab Chinese American Restaurant (the name’s not a reference to the Indian state, here it means “fire dragon”) offers free mimosas with its weekend brunch, a standard Americana menu of eggs, pancakes, french toast, and the like. Standard that is, until one considers that the weekday menu is also fair game, from traditional Chinese fare to trash food staples like hot dogs and cheeseburgers — and some say the joint’s Polynesian fried chicken is among the best cluck in town. Whatever’s making your tummy rumbly, the secret to Punjab is to call in your order in advance — this homemade fare takes time to prepare.

2838 24th St, SF. (415) 282-4011

Best of the Bay 2011: BEST SLICE OF POSTAPOCALYPTIC PARADISE

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Maybe it’s the late summer evenings we’ve spent here drinking cheap wine on a slab of concrete while looking out over the San Francisco Bay. Maybe it’s the graffiti-adorned rocks or the handmade concrete hut, evocative of Dr. Seuss creation. Maybe it’s the bizarre formations of twisted rebar and spinning bike parts that can be found dotting the landscape amid tall, scraggly weeds. Maybe because it’s the prettiest former landfill we’ve ever explored. Whatever the source of its charm, there will always be a special place in our hearts for the Albany Bulb, which makes a great dog park but is also great for anyone who needs to get off their leash and run around. To get to the park, head bay-ward from Golden Gate Fields in Albany.

Best of the Bay 2011: BEST BROMANCE ON BREAD

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We like our sandwiches the way Comcast and peep shows like their customers: pay-per-view. We don’t want no pre-made, plastic-wrapped, sittin’ around sandwiches. We want to watch. And we especially want to watch if hunky Italian uomini are making the sandwiches, and hunky construction worker uomini are waiting for them, and hunky delivery uomini are picking them up. Which brings us to Calabria Bros. in Potrero Hill, where what appear to be three generations of Vinnies manhandle (in a good way) the various cheeses, peppers, and salted pig parts to meet your specifications. The bros also put out a drool-worthy daily special (meat balls on Thursdays, chicken parm Fridays). Whatever sandwich you choose, the brothers will ask if you want it with their homemade garlic spread. Say yes.

2249 17th St., SF. (415) 863-1213, www.calabriabrosdeli.com

Best of the bay 2011: BEST CRAFT CHEERS

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When the Bourbon and Branch crew took over the former Tenderloin bar Club 441, it dubbed the bar Mr. Lew’s Win Win Bar & Grand Sazerac Emporium for a birthday party for B and B creative director. The renaming was meant as a one-night joke, but the name stuck (regulars shorten it to “441”. Whatever you call it, the dive — naturally — serves quality Sazeracs and other classic cocktails. Everyone gets into cheesy movie Wednesdays: Top Gun led to a group rendition of “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling,” complete with a craft-cocktailed gentleman belting atop the bar. Though there’s talk of remodeling, we hope 441 stays as is: a dingy, sticky place where industry insiders can grab a well-made post-shift drink.

441 Jones, SF. (415) 474-2284, www.mrlews.com

Mayor Lee meets with Bayview community leaders about officer-involved shooting

Mayor Ed Lee and officials from the San Francisco Police Department met with Bayview community leaders in City Hall July 19 to discuss the police investigation surrounding a July 16 officer-involved shooting that has prompted intense community anger and protests. While city officials indicated that the meeting was called to provide information and updates for the community, frustrated community members emerging from the City Hall conference room dismissed it as “more of a lecture,” saying city officials weren’t open to hearing broader community concerns that have intensified in the wake of this tragic event.

Reporters were not allowed in the room while the meeting was held because “it’s more of a community meeting,” according to mayoral communications staff member Francis Tsang. Attendees included Bayview community leaders Chris Jackson, Geoffrea Morris, Mike Brown, Charlie Walker, Ed Donaldson, and the Rev. Amos Brown. District 10 Sup. Malia Cohen also issued invitations to the meeting, which was scheduled at the same time as the full Board of Supervisors meeting, and sent a representative.


The shooting victim was Kenneth Harding Jr., 19, from Washington. Police say he fired one round at officers before police fired nine rounds, killing him. However, some witnesses initially reported that they did not see Harding fire a gun, and a firearm wasn’t immediately recovered from the scene. Police initially tried to detain Harding on the station platform of the Oakdale / Palou stop on the T-Third line on suspected fare evasion. After Harding was killed, it came to light that he had a criminal history and had been named as a person of interest in the fatal shooting of a 19-year-old pregnant woman from Washington. The incident, which occurred in broad daylight and was captured on film and witnessed by people who were out on the street, proved to be a traumatizing event for a low-income, predominantly African American community where tensions already run high between police and residents.

Lee indicated to the Guardian that the July 19 meeting had been called primarily to clear up misinformation. “There have been a lot of stories spreading about what did and didn’t occur, and we felt it was necessary to get the community updated as quickly as possible,” Lee said. “Any time there is a death in any community we’re very concerned … this one in particular has been represented in many different ways, and a lot of it has been very inflammatory in terms of what people have said occurred. We’ve heard points like there was no gun, when in fact now we’ve found a gun through police investigation. That there was no shot made at officers when … the officers have at least some evidence through the ShotSpotter program that there was an initial shot made by the suspect.”

Lee added that MUNI staff had reported people relaying “all kinds of stories” while riding the buses. “These are very hard, hard feelings,” he said. “So I felt it necessary that we confront this head on with community leaders. We met with some yesterday, we’re meeting with some today, [Police Chief Greg Suhr] is hosting a town-hall meeting in the Bayview tomorrow to yet again find every opportunity to fully explain what they have uncovered as the evidence, and to make sure people base their views on the facts.” A larger community meeting is scheduled for July 20 at 6 p.m. at the Bayview Opera House.

Meanwhile, Bayview community leaders Chris Jackson and Geoffrea Morris were not pleased when they emerged from the conference room. “The mayor left without hearing one public comment,” Morris said. “It was just a lecture. It wasn’t addressing the police, and how they deal with fare evasion, and harass people along the T train. It was not that. It was just, the mayor said his little thing, did not say goodbye, and ran out.”

Morris went on, “We don’t have grief counselors out there. We don’t have the police saying that they’ll stay off the T-Train platform until the investigation is done. We thought this meeting was going to be for them to go, ‘where do we go from here?’ And the thing that people are missing … whatever demon that boy had, that was a human life.” Concerns are still swirling about how long it took for an ambulance to arrive after the shooting, Morris said, and about how police arrived at the scene with high-powered weapons which they kept drawn even as Harding writhed in a pool of blood on the sidewalk.

Morris and Jackson said that during the meeting, officials showed a Channel 7 TV news broadcast clip and played an audio of gunshots being fired to demonstrate that the suspect had fired an initial shot before police opened fire. “We all have Internet, smart phones, and all the footage as well,” Morris said. “I was there on the site.”

Shortly after the meeting, the San Francisco Police Department issued a statement to announce that gunshot residue had been detected on Harding’s right hand during an investigation. “The presence of gunshot residue on Harding’s right hand supports statements from witnesses that Harding held the gun in his right hand as he fired at the police officers,” the press release stated. It went on to note that the presence of gunshot residue on an individual’s hand could indicate that the individual fired a gun, or was in close proximity to a gun when it was fired, or touched something that was coated with gunshot residue.

Morris and Jackson also voiced concerns that went beyond the details of this particular case. “The response really needs to be a policy shift,” Jackson said. “We need a better approach in terms of violence prevention. We cannot address this with more cops on the T line.”

Jackson, who ran for District 10 supervisor in 2010, also questioned why police officers had been tasked with fare evasion enforcement on the T-Third line in the first place. MUNI also employs fare inspectors, he pointed out, and the city has a specialized program, called the ambassadors program, which was created last year in the wake of violence along the T-Third line directed at members of the Asian community. “Where was the public conversation about putting cops on MUNI trains?” Jackson wanted to know. “Who came up with that idea?”

Asked about this, Lee told the Guardian that he had specifically requested a higher police presence in areas where higher levels of crime were anticipated – and the July 16 shooting occurred in just such an area.

“I actually asked the chief to pay more attention to areas that had a history of gun violence and shootings and other kinds of violence … and it just so happens that this particular area, Third and Palou, is a place where there’s a lot of violence,” Lee said. “So we had more uniformed officers on that specifically at not only my request, but with the understanding of the police chief, too. He’s trying to do his best to keep everybody safe. And that in the summer, with all of the evidence that we have about where the shootings are and where they’re occurring, we naturally focus on areas where we think there’s going to be more violence to have more presence. So circumstances occurred where an individual was stopped because of a fare evasion, and I believe police were there to begin to detain him, and ask him to provide some evidence of who he is and why he did what he did, and that turned out to be a chase. A chase is one thing, but a chase with an opening of a firearm is a completely different thing.”

Meanwhile, Bayview community residents who ride the T-Third line experienced delays in recent days because MUNI operations staff decided to stop running light rail trains into the Bayview, instead dropping people off partway through the route and then directing them to wait for shuttle buses.

On July 18, a little before dark, a T-Third driver stopped at the Marin Street stop and announced that all passengers would have to wait for a shuttle bus. When passengers demanded to know why, she responded, “They’re acting up on Third Street, and our bosses don’t want us in the middle of it.”

According to SFMTA spokesperson Kristen Holland, operations staff began receiving reports around 6:30 or 7 p.m. July 18 that “there were upwards of 50 people walking on the right-of-way for the trains. As a safety precaution, our operations folks deployed buses for that portion of the line. We were told that they started at the southern terminus, and were walking north.”

This Guardian reporter hopped onto a shuttle bus with a notebook in hand after hearing that people were “acting up,” but by the time the bus made its way into the heart of the Bayview, the streets were calm. A MUNI employee who asked not to be named said he’d heard that someone had kicked in a window on one of the T-Third cars, and that was why the trains weren’t going through.

Meanwhile, the unexpected transfer left passengers weary, since for many waiting for the shuttle marked a second or third transfer on public transportation to get home. “People’s kind of frustrated. You go a few blocks, and they say it’s the end of the line. You go a couple blocks and they tell you the same thing,” said Darwin Green.

Another passenger, a youth who was with a friend and seemed concerned about the unfamiliar route the shuttle bus was taking, said, “I think it’s bullshit that they’re issuing citations. And there’s no need to shoot somebody because they didn’t have change for the bus fare.”
 
Another passenger was also disgruntled about the delays. Asked what he thought about everything that had been going on in recent days, he said, “It seems like they spend an awful lot of money in wages chasing down $2 fares.”

Psychic Dream Astrology

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July 20-26

ARIES

March 21-April 19

Take control of yourself without getting controlling, Aries! Clear out ambiguity and focus your formidable will on achieving your goals. Once you’ve come up with a plan, be open to input from others, collaborations with fate, and other unpredictable details as they arise.

TAURUS

April 20-May 20

Your ego will not fix your problems or yield insights that help and inspire you. Stop trying to predict the future or even to figure things out. When your mind is caught up in brambles and on a negative tirade, you are unlikely to get clear. Bring calm to your inner storm before you act like a bully.

GEMINI

May 21-June 21

Don’t put the cart before the horse, Twin Star. Before you can successfully add something of value to your life, you have to let go of whatever has been cock-blocking you. Letting go is scary, but not as scary as finding yourself with the same problem year after year and still not getting it.

CANCER

June 22-July 22

Don’t shake in your booties this week, Cancer, now is the time for action. Make direct eye contact with your fears and move boldly in the direction of clearing them away. Action and enterprise will help you go where you want to go and attract what you need directly to you. Think positive, pal.

LEO

July 23-Aug. 22

It may feel like your glass is half-empty, but really it’s half-full, Leo. Look for the freedom inherent in your situation, even if it’s easier to see the hardship. You are on the verge of re-visioning your life, so focus on what you want to create instead of what you wish was already there.

VIRGO

Aug. 23-Sept. 22

Sadness has a funny way of slowing things down and draining your energy. Instead of distracting yourself from your sorrows, nurture yourself by connecting with the people, activities, and places that bring you joy. Heal your heart before you overwhelm yourself with anything new this week.

LIBRA

Sept. 23-Oct. 22

Do not try to control things, Libra. Mobilize on your ambitions without being attached to the outcome of your actions — not a simple task, but a rewarding one, for sure. You can’t see what the best-case scenario is yet because it hasn’t yet presented itself. Stay open to what life has to offer you.

SCORPIO

Oct. 23-Nov. 21

You can make yourself happy, Scorpio, and now is the right time to put in the effort to that end. Pursue the activities and relationships that bring out the best in you, not just what’s immediately in front of you. Keep it clean and make it last, pal.

SAGITTARIUS

Nov. 22-Dec. 21

Be very clear about what you’re sinking your energy into, Sag. Being unintentional would be such a waste of the energy available to you. This week you are able to create a life that is rich with love, so make sure you are sharing your best vibes with the people you care about.

CAPRICORN

Dec. 22-Jan. 19

If you want to grow, you’ve got to show fearlessness about outgrowing some things. Don’t get blocked by your fears, Cappy. Let go of whatever is passing away and be nice to yourself and those around you as you process those heavy emotions. You’re on your way up, buddy.

AQUARIUS

Jan. 20-Feb. 18

You are meant to strive toward internal peace and balance this week, Aquarius. Take all unsettling circumstances and anxious feelings as an invitation to get right with yourself. You may have to make small but meaningful changes to get things just balanced. Be open to it.

PISCES

Feb. 19-March 20

Make yourself available to love. Living on your couch, avoiding eye contact with cuties, and not opening up to the people in your life won’t do it, kid. You’ve got to use a balanced approach between actively putting yourself out there and being available to go with the flow of your world.

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

Winning big

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le.chicken.farmer@gmail.com

CHEAP EATS In Lovelock at the Saddest Little Carnival Ever I threw ping-pong balls into little glass cups of water and in this manner won two goldfish. Live ones, looping insanely in a small plastic water cup with a lid on it.

“What do you have to do to win a stuffed one?” I said, indicating with a tilt of my head one of the strings of orange-and-white-striped Nemo fish adorning all four posts of the booth. These would have made much better travel companions. Then I could have given it to one of the chunks when I got home.

The carny flashed a piano keyboard smile and drawled, “Those are just for show.”

“I see,” I said, wishing I could have those five-for-a-dollar ping-pong balls back and miss this time. What was I going to do with a plastic cup of goldfish on a 10-day road trip?

There were about 14 other people at the Saddest Little Carnival Ever, and about 13 of them were not on the Zipper, the Orbit, the Spaceship 2000, or the merry-go-round. I found a 10-year-old mark who had gotten away from his parents for the moment and looked like he might know what to do with some goldfish on a 10-day road trip. Or maybe he lived in Lovelock.

“Do you want them?” I said.

“Yes,” he said.

So I handed him the little plastic cup and got the hell out of there before his parents came around.

I should have gambled, because lately I’ve been hitting my marks. In San Francisco, weirdly, I scored goals each of the past two Sundays. One was in a 14-4 win, so everyone was doing it, and the other — in a 6-5 win — was lucky cause it grazed off a defender’s head or their keeper surely would have gotten it.

But that’s what I’m saying. Lucky. I should have gambled in Lovelock. On money, not ping-pong balls and goldfish.

Alice Shaw the Person, my teammate and old friend, wanted to go to a barbecue with all the Brazilian boys on our team, and — having grilled the meats with Brazilian boys myself, once or twice — I wanted to go too.

Alas, I had me some childerns to tend to that afternoon, so Alice Shaw the Person went to the feast with someone else and lent me her car to get home.

In life, no one has lent me more cars than Alice Shaw the Person. The last thing I want to do is get onions all over her upholstery. But I was not only hungry as a fullback, I was running late for work and needed of course a bath.

So I did. I ate in the car. First I had to find a parking spot between Ghirardelli Square and the Mission, and that happened at Gough and Hayes. So Kebabs of Hayes Valley seemed like a pretty good idea.

Kebabs in cars, right? It’s like a giant toothpick only it’s putting in instead of taking out, and in the end everyone is happy, give or take the onions.

Yeah, but I didn’t get kebabs. They had Mediterranean wraps, and that seemed even better. Lamb and beef gyro on lavash, with lettuce, tomato, pepper, cukes, and tahini. Sounds to me like shawarma.

Whatever, it was so good, and I was so hungry, that I’m pretty sure none of it — not even a crumb — made it to the floor or even the seat of that car.

One thing, though: there wasn’t any lamb, or beef, in my lamb and beef gyro wrap. It was chicken. All chicken. And it was so juicy and delicious that instead of being mad I was like, yeah, that’s what I meant.

So: New favorite restaurant, for reading my mind. And for being there. It seemed like an okay place to eat in, too. Some people were. They looked happy and clean.

But what do I know?

I know there’s a little boy in Nevada whose parents are yelling at him, right now, and while this isn’t ideal, I’ll take it. 

KEBABS OF HAYES VALLEY

Sun.–Thu. 11 a.m.–10 p.m.;

Fri.–Sat. 11 a.m.–11 p.m.

406 Hayes, SF

(415) 252-5100

kebabsofhayesvalley.com

Beer and wine

MC/V

 

Short takes on the 2011 San Francisco Jewish Film Festival

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Eichmann’s End: Love, Betrayal, Death (Raymond Lay, Germany/Israel, 2010) Many documentaries rely heavily on historical reenactments to flesh out real-life events not caught on camera. Sometimes this effect can be corny, but in Eichmann’s End, the powerful reenactments make the film. Interviews with actual eyewitnesses guide the acted-out tale of Nazi Adolph Eichmann’s post-World War II life; despite his grim contributions to the Holocaust, he managed to escape to Buenos Aires, eventually settling down to a normal-seeming life with his wife and sons. Though he lived under an assumed name, his true identity was known by many, including a Dutch journalist who conducted a series of interviews with Eichmann in the late 1950s.

Transcripts from these chats are performed nearly verbatim, tellingly revealing Eichmann’s lack of guilt, remorse, or any feelings whatsoever (except regret that he wasn’t able to exterminate all the Jews before the war ended). When by chance his teenage son became smitten with the pretty daughter of a Jewish Nazi hunter who’d survived a concentration camp in the 1930s, events were set in motion that lead to his dramatic capture and highly public trial in Israel. (For what happened next, see The Hangman, below). Eichmann’s End occasionally betrays its made-for-TV roots (as with its intrusive, unnecessarily “tense” score), but it’s chilling nonetheless. Mon/25, 5 p.m., Castro; Mon/1, 4:25 p.m., Roda; Aug. 7, 2:10 p.m., Oshman. (Cheryl Eddy)

The Hangman (Netalie Braun, Israel, 2010) Sephardic Jew Shalom Nagar would already be a pretty compelling subject for a short documentary — for starters, he’s a ritual butcher by trade — but the film’s title reveals his most prominent contribution to history: he was the jailer turned executioner of Adolph Eichmann. Though he calls the man evil (and, chuckling, recalls that the captured Nazi literally thought his shit didn’t stink) he admits he “grew attached” after six months of close contact; his task was not so much preventing Eichmann’s escape, but preventing his death before his trial, to the point of taste-testing all his food to make sure it wasn’t poisoned. When lots were drawn and a hesitant Nagar was selected to “press the button,” the experience affected him so deeply that he became devoutly religious. The rest of his life story, including a stint working at a jail in Hebron after the Six-Day War (where he advocated for prisoners’ rights), is no less remarkable, and reveals a remarkable man who views his fellow humans without any shred of prejudice. July 31, 4:45 p.m., JCCSF; Aug. 2, 4:40 p.m., Roda; Aug. 6, 4:30 p.m., Oshman. (Eddy)

In Heaven Underground: The Weissensee Jewish Cemetery (Britta Wauer, Germany, 2011) In Heaven Underground charts the history of the Weissensee Jewish Cemetery in Berlin, the second-largest Jewish cemetery in Europe, and an important piece of Jewish-German culture that somehow managed to escape desecration at the hands of the Nazis. Surprisingly perhaps, In Heaven Underground is a joyous film, showcasing Weissensee not as a place of death, but as a site for the enduring vibrancy of life. From the Pobbig-Shulz family who live on its premises to the goshawk enthusiasts who conduct research in its lush deciduous environs, Jews and gentiles alike reveal Weissensee cemetery’s resilient personality and its contributions to the people of Berlin both in the past and present. As Harry Kindermann, who worked there as a teenager, notes: “Jewish children could laugh in 1942. But only in the cemetery, because nobody there forbade it.” Sun/24, Castro, 11 a.m.; Aug. 6, 4:40 p.m., Roda. (Cooper Berkmoyer)

Polish Bar (Ben Berkowitz, U.S., 2010) The “good Jewish boy:” does he really exist? In Polish Bar, director-writer Ben Berkowitz tells the story of Rueben (Vincent Piazza) as he grapples with his roots and does whatever it takes to realize his dream of DJ stardom. Although employed by his uncle Sol (Judd Hirsch), Reuben moonlights at a strip club, honing his turntable skills and scoring cash on the side with more illicit trade. Along with stripper Ebony (Golden Brooks) and bouncer Tommy (James Badge Dale), he walks a razor’s edge between his aspirations and utter obliteration. Piazza does a great job of toeing the line; Reuben never comes off as malicious, just lost and caught in a vicious game. As Reuben sinks ever deeper into a sordid world of drugs and sex (and a weird plot tangent or two) he is forced to confront his tenuous relationship with his Jewish upbringing and face the repercussions of his actions. Sat/23, 9:15 p.m., Castro; July 30, 9:30 p.m., Roda; Aug. 2, 8:45 p.m., Oshman; Aug. 6, 8:55 p.m., Rafael. (Berkmoyer)

Skate of Mind (Karin Kainer, Israel, 2010) Ostensibly a documentary about skateboarding in Tel Aviv, Skate of Mind is more poignantly a story of youth in Israel. Mohammed Kahil (a.k.a. Juice) is an Arab-Israeli teenager with an unquenchable thirst for skating, dashing his father’s hopes that Mohammed help out with the family grocery store. Ever the rebellious son, he leaves home to move in with his Jewish girlfriend, Alina Fine. Although there are plenty of opportunities for Mohammed to showcase his considerable talent and talk endlessly about skateboarding, his relationship with Alina is the most intriguing part of Skate of Mind. Both their fathers disapprove, and having to get by on their own wears on their youthful, bordering-on-naïve love. In the end, despair and hope meet side by side as two young Israelis are forced to confront reality and look to the future. July 31, 8:50 p.m., JCCSF; Aug. 4, 2:30 p.m., Roda. (Berkmoyer)

San Francisco Jewish Film Festival
July 21-Aug 8, most shows $12
Castro Theater
429 Castro, SF
Christopher B. Smith Rafael Film Center
1119 Fourth St., San Rafael
Jewish Community Center of San Francisco
3200 California, SF
Oshman Jewish Community Center
3921 Fabian Way, Palo Alto
Roda Theatre at Berkeley Rep
2025 Addison, Berk.
(415) 621-0523
www.sfjff.org

Repulsed by Recology’s tactics, Kopp strikes name from Adachi initiative

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Who knew that a bunch of garbage could get a taxpayer watchdog like former supe/state senator/judge Quentin Kopp threatening not to endorse Public Defender Jeff Adachi’s pension reform initiative? But that’s what happened according to Kopp, who adds that he was “personally insulted’ by a signature gatherer outside the West Portal post office last week, after he struck his name from a petition he had signed in support of Public Defender Jeff Adachi’s pension reform measure.

Adachi, who has reportedly been paying up to $5 per signature, also came under fire this week from opponents of his measure, who are threatening legal action after an undercover video showed four signature gatherers for Adachi’s measure soliciting signatures while making misleading statements about the proposal.

But this misbehavior had not been made public when Kopp encountered a signature gatherer last Friday, who asked if he would sign the Adachi petition. “I wrote my name and has just started to print it, when he said, how do you feel about Recology?” recalled Kopp, who is backing a ballot initiative that would require competitive bidding and hundreds of millions of dollars in franchise fees from firms who seek to win San Francisco’s garbage collection and recycling contract.

As such, Kopp’s initiative threatens to up-end the terms of an 80-year old charter amendment that resulted in Recology (formerly Norcal Waste Systems) gaining a contractless monopoly on San Francisco’s $226 million-a-year garbage and recycling stream. 

When Kopp asked the signature gatherer, who identified himself as Tim McArdle, why he was asking about Recology, McArdle said he had another petition on hand, which referred to the allegedly satisfactory service that Recology is providing.

At which point, Kopp began to strike his name from Adachi’s $5-a pop petition. McArdle allegedly interrupted, saying, “No, that’s not the same petition as Recology’s.” And when Kopp kept scratching out his name, McArdle allegedly began swearing at him, even allegedly employing the time-honored F-word. “A woman walked by and was shocked,” Kopp said.(So far the Guardian has been unable to locate McArdle, but when we do, we’ll be sure to update this post.)


When McArdle grabbed back his clipboard, Kopp said he was able to see that on its backside was what Kopp describes as ‘Recology’s phony petition.”

So, why is Kopp so repulsed by Recology? According to Kopp. Recology recently signed up the city’s top signature-gathering firms to work on their petition thereby preventing Kopp and his associates from hiring these firms to collect signatures for his competitive bidding initiative. “And they are doing so from our rates, the money we pay, its legalized misappropriation of our money,” Kopp claimed

So far, it seems as if Recology’s strategy is paying off, at least in the short term. This week, sponsors of the competitive bidding initiative announced that they will turn in their signatures by December 11 to qualify their measure for the June 2012 ballot—and not their original target of November 2011.

Their decision followed less than three weeks of signature-gathering, a tight squeeze that occured, in part, because the City Attorney’s Office  took the full 15 days allowed by law to review the language of the Kopp initiative, which was first submitted June 3.

Even so, and despite an extensive Recology-financed media campaign that included push polls and network and cable TV ads against competitive bidding,  proponents and volunteers with Kopp’s campaign managed to gather the 7,168 signatures they needed to qualify his initiative by the city’s July 11 deadline for submitting petitions for the November election. But some signatures could prove invalid, hence the decision to delay the competitive bidding initiative until June.

And the Guardian learned today that the Board’s Budget and Finance Committee has scheduled a July 20 hearing on whether to award Recology the city’s $11 million-a-year landfill disposal contract, with the full Board set to vote on the issue on July 26 and August 2. In other words, the Board is rushing to make a decision on the landfill, which would further consolidate Recology’s monopoly on the city’s waste stream, before the Board’s summer recess.

The Guardian has also learned that the Budget and Finance Committee will hear a resolution July 20 concerning Recology’s existing agreement with the city over garbage. Rumors are swirling that this hearing will allow Sup. Ross Mirkarimi, who sits on the committee, is running for sheriff and has allegedly been meeting with Mayor Ed Lee and Recology president and CEO Mike Sangiacomo behind closed doors, to insert a clause to allow for the payment of a $4 million franchise fee. But insiders assure the Guardian that Mirkarimi has no such plans, although Mirkarimi himself could not be reached.


Either way, as Kopp points out, the alleged proposed $4 million fee would only amount to 2 percent of Recology’s annual revenue from San Francisco ratepayers. ‘That’s almost an insult,” Kopp said, noting that Oakland, whose population is 340,000, (42 percent of San Francisco’s daytime population) gets a franchise fee of $30 million.

Now, in a recent report to the Board’s LAFCO committee, Recology claimed it provides $18 million annually in “free services” to the city. But the report did not include an independent analysis of Recology’s estimates, and therefore these claims raised the hackles of Kopp, Kelly and other competitive bidding proponents.

Kopp predicts a $4 million franchise fee would allow city leaders who oppose his measure to claim that one of the two objectives of his proposed initiative have been addressed.

In an interview with the Guardian earlier this year, Mayor Ed Lee said he felt that Recology “has justified its privilege to be the permit holder in San Francisco because of the things that it has been willing to do with us.”

Kopp said Lee repeated this position in June, and that Board President David Chiu recently said that he is opposed to monopolies in concept, but felt that any effort to allow competitive bidding on garbage services would tear the city apart.

“Chiu spoke in such draconian terms I thought I was in Iraq or Afghanistan,” Kopp said.

But these latest developments have strengthened Kopp and Kelly’s resolve to push ahead with their effort to give local residents a chance to decide whether competitive bidding would be better for San Francisco rate payers. As they point out, such a vote doesn’t mean Recology would be ousted from the city because they stand an excellent chance of winning any competitive bid. But it could mean that Recology is ousted from its current cost-plus arrangement with the city that allows them to make an estimated 10-20 percent profit.

And whatever happens, the upcoming battle threatens to shed light on Recology’s business model, which is based on vertical expansion into other counties and states, and the knowledge that, unlike the competitive bids it submits everywhere else in California, it has a guaranteed annual revenue of $225 million in San Francisco. In its 1996 filings with the Securities Exchange Commission, NorCal Waste and its 45 subsidiaries (now known as Recology) reported that San Francisco accounts for 50 percent of its annual revenue. And while those public filings are 15 years old, it’s clear Recology continues to rely on San Francisco for a large and guaranteed chunk of its income.

Or as one insider put it, “When you have a cost-plus contract, you can start buying things—like the Pier 96 development, and the recycling facility. And you can move profits to a different part of the company. You’re not competitively bidding the composting. And you can shift your profits out of San Francisco. And with a cost-plus contract, you put everything in the rates. For instance, the city says it wants composting. Ok, here’s the cost, here’s the bill. But you take the profit from the composting and invest it in San Jose, or San Bernardino, and use it to advance your other objectives, like buying two large landfills in Nevada and financing political campaigns.”

Meanwhile, Kopp says he plans to take Adachi to task for hiring the same signature gathering firm that is trying to undermine his petition.


“And I’m not planning to sign his petition now, and I might not endorse it,” Kopp said.
 




 

Black and white and red all over

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Mikhail Kalatozov’s career had a large hole in the middle, one that remains incompletely explained. Why were the two periods of his greatest work separated by roughly three decades? Why did he make almost nothing between? The answer definitely involved Stalin and his fickle cultural watchdogs, even if the full reason for such a long lull (or fall from favor) might never be known.

At least he was spared a permanent gulag vacation, which would have deprived us of a late 1950s reflowering that resulted in three world classics still being discovered in the West — particularly since 1964’s astonishing I Am Cuba got rereleased under Francis Ford Coppola and Martin Scorsese’s auspices 16 years ago. If you’ve seen that or another Kalatozov film, it’s distressing to think he spent any time unwillingly idle, since every feature still accessible today is some kind of masterpiece.

The San Francisco Silent Film Festival’s 16th annual edition offers the last feature he made before that mysterious long withdrawal from the director’s chair. Nail in the Boot (1931) lasts just 53 minutes, but packs in more photographic and editorial ideas than a dozen features twice its length. It’s a dazzling application of sheer stylistic invention to propagandic material. Yet rather than please the apparatchiks upstairs, it ticked them off enough to derail Kalatozov’s career for a good spell.

Born in Tbilisi, Georgia, he began working as an actor, editor, and cinematographer in that (reluctant) Soviet republic’s 1920s film industry, eventually graduating to directing documentaries celebrating the USSR’s industrial, agricultural, and cultural advancement. Little is known about a first narrative feature, 1930’s Little Blind Girl. But the same year’s semi-staged Salt for Svanetia won acclaim for its strikingly poetical imagery of life in a remote Caucasus Mountains village.

That success presumably greased the way for the larger endeavor of Nail in the Boot, which mixes up the epic and the intimate, beautiful shots of lovingly lit machinery and glowing worker faces intercut with striking battle vistas and the proverbial cast of thousands. The story can be reduced to the title’s troublesome metal inch: when enemy forces strand armored train “Guardian of the Revolution” between blown-up track sections, a lone comrade (Aleqsandre Jaliashevili) is dispatched on foot to notify HQ. Running over hill and dale, he’s severely hampered when the poorly made boot from his own factory falls apart, driving a binding nail into his foot. As a result, his trapped compatriots are gassed to death before reinforcements arrive.

At a huge subsequent Party trial, our fallen hero is excoriated as a traitor for stopping to soak his painful, bleeding foot. “You shot them! The undelivered dispatch was like a bullet!” “He spared his feet and destroyed the armored train!” angry comrades shout, calling for his head. But this nameless prole finally defends himself, indicting his footwear’s shoddy workmanship as at least equal in fault. Nail in the Boot was intended as a parable (based in turn on a Russian folk tale) urging Soviets to always perform superlatively for the good of all, whatever their job. A final intertitle accuses lazy bones present: “Among you spectators: are there many like the bootmakers?”

That message seems simple and unimpeachable enough, not to mention spectacularly presented. Yet Nail had the ill fortune to arrive just as USSR arts ideology was changing. The experimentation encouraged in the 1920s was now judged indulgent “formalism” unsuitable for the masses, while a new school of nail-on-the-head “Social Realism” took shape as the sole officially state-sanctioned artistic guideline. Kalatozov’s film was denounced as confusing and unrealistic on petty grounds, as well being guilty of “formalistic aestheticism.” The film was banned, for a long time considered lost, and beyond a couple features at the start of World War II, Kalatozov was kept offscreen — albeit kicked upstairs to various film administrative posts.

He did well enough in those capacities to become the Soviet film industry’s emissary to Hollywood for an extended late 1940s stay. Hobnobbing with stars, he greatly admired the major studios’ streamlined production methods and technical advances — but like a good comrade, returned home to condemn Tinsel Town as the apex of capitalist decadence. (Hell yeah!) Then, finally, he was considered rehabilitated enough to trust behind a camera once again.

The results, after a few more conventional features no longer in circulation, were stupendous: 1957’s The Cranes Are Flying introduced a new Kalatozov, energetic and inventive as ever, director of photography Sergei Urusevsky’s wildly mobile camera replacing rhythmic Eisensteinian montage as his primary instrument. Taken as a cinematic emblem of Khrushchev-era Cold War thawing, it was an international triumph, even if its tragic wartime romance now seems less conceptually unique than two extraordinary (if far less popular) next ventures.

The Unsent Letter (1960) is one of the movies’ great man vs. nature depictions, as Soviet geologists searching for diamond deposits in remotest Siberia fall prey to that land’s geographic and climatic extremes. I Am Cuba, a Soviet-Cuban collaboration depicting the Cuban revolution on a humongous scale, was derided as being “too Russian” by the Cubanos, “too formalist” (or whatever the current ideological phrase was) by Moscow. Forgotten for decades, it’s been much written about lately — suffice to say Roger Ebert thought it contained the single “most astonishing [shot] I have ever seen,” amid 141 minutes full of such wonders.

After less idiosyncratic but impressive 1970 Soviet-European superproduction The Red Tent (1970) — an arctic adventure with international stars like Sean Connery and Claudia Cardinale, shot in locations as frigid as 40 below zero — Kalatozov died at age 70, planning another impossibly ambitious epic. In a perfect world, he’d actually finish it, his cryogenically frozen brain retrieved from some secret polar lab. Imagine what he could do with a Steadicam and 3-D; James Cameron might find himself merely a wee prince of the world by comparison.

SAN FRANCISCO SILENT FILM FESTIVAL

Thurs/14–Sun/17, free–$20

Castro Theatre

429 Castro, SF

(415) 621-6120

www.silentfilm.org

Couscous with Al Qaeda part 2

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TRUE TRAVEL TALES: This is part two of Marke B.’s culinary journey through the Arab Spring. You can read part one — spicy! — here.

Before we left Tunis, the lovely people and open vibe of which which we’d rapidly fallen in love with, we ate at a mind-blowing West African lunch off a small street near the African Development Agency building, El Khalifa. Heaping plates of sauce-covered, deeply flavored attiéké poulet brasse (a creamy, manioc-based specialty of Côte d’Ivoire) and choucouya de poulet au cancancan, smothered with onions over berberé-spiked rice, were served cafeteria-style to a bustling room of suits talking international affairs in a head-swimming number of languages.

All the development-speak in the air got us scheming about how to bring more tourists back to this great city, with its intense cosmopolitan air, historical riches, and perfectly enchanting old city section — although we’d already witnessed one option in play: activist tourism

In the medina (old city) of Tunis

Fortunately or unfortunately, our hotel (the majestic, insanely reasonable Grand Hôtel de France, go stay there) had played host to a coterie of trendy-anarchisty Western student-types, perpetual cigarette smoke wreathing their immaculately styled dreadlocks. They had come, like us, to see the after-effects of the revolution and make contact with some of the people behind it. But they also wanted a piece of the action, joining demonstrations and breathlessly relating tales of being chased by police — before heading out for a day at the beach. Part of a loose organization called the Knowledge Liberation Front, they had gathered from all parts of Europe, hoping to formulate new models of resistance to the austerity measures sweeping the Union. (The fact that there were so many Italians there, raging against Berlusconi, was kind of encouraging.) They were cute! If, of course, deadly serious. Whatever Tunisian group that had facilitated their “revolution experience” certainly had a great thing started in terms of possible revenue streams.  

But now we were on our way south via Tunisia’s main railroad line, hoping to reach the Grand Erg Oriental, a rippling sea of sand in the Sahara that looks like the pictures in your head when you hear “Sahara.” From there, our ultimate destination would be El Ghriba on the island of Djerba, the oldest synagogue in North Africa, and its huge annual Lag B’Omer festival, which draws tens of thousands of Jews from around the world in a celebrated pilgrimage.   

The third-century Roman-style amphitheater at El Djem 

On the way, we stopped in El Djem, a neat little town that just so happens to contain a humungous, remarkably intact Roman coliseum-like amphitheatre, a 35,000-seat wonder built in the 3rd century (with ancient graffiti carved into its stone!), which we had practically to ourselves. It also has a well-designed museum of ravishing mosaics, including some depicting the martyrdom-by-wild-beasts that the amphitheatre (actually more like a killing factory, really) showcased. Innumerable christians and animals – including now-extinct species of elephants, tigers, even giraffes — were sacrificed horribly for the crowd’s entertainment.

We had the most extraordinary lunch. At Cafe Le Bonheur, a traditional central Tunisian feast with several salads and a main course of tender rabbit stewed in saffron, served in casual French style by a hip young waiter for cheap. Score! Some balmy afternoon time in cafes over cafe filter (coffee served in a glass) confirmed that El Djem is one of those magical little places you could sink into for a while.

The only other tourists in El Djem belonged to a random British family. Hang in there, Tunisia!

Then it was on to Gabes at the end of the train line, an unremarkable oil town (with attendant pollution — but also plentiful alcohol and solid business-traveler restaurants), where we planned to rent a car and drive to the desert. As soon as we got to Gabes, though, we saw our plans would be interrupted. The barbed-wire around the city square was not an encouraging sign. We were now officially in the south, where the revolution had started and which, with its large and impoverished Berber population, had always been restive. 

Now that the Libyan revolution had begun, and tens of thousands of refugees were flooding into Tunisia (which, wonderfully, had welcomed them with open arms, providing housing and resources), the situation had grown more complicated. According to the press and the government, some of the Libyans were bringing weapons into the country with them — weapons stashes had been found in nearby caves. And, alas, on the route to the Grand Erg from Gabes, an Al Qaeda plot had been foiled, with more evidence of Al Qaeda presence being found in the region. (Both Tunisia and Morocco had remained almost Al Qaeda-free until recently, this was all sad news, although it still seemed divorced from the citizen’s everyday reality. Tunisians, especially, seemed casually or privately religious on the whole.)

We realized that it might not be the best thing to drive through the desert countryside, already a tricky operation, without a guide. So we switched plans and headed to tourist center Douz, where once busloads of tourists unloaded to ride camels and 4x4s into the scrubby surroundings, but which was now slowly but valiantly weathering the almost complete lack of tourist traffic since the revolution.

Livestock market at Douz

(First, it’s kind of gross that thousands of package tours cancelled now that there was no dictator, although people on package tours seem like the most vulnerable to feelings of uncertainty. Secondly, it was pretty inspiring to see people who were slowly slipping into poverty due to lack of income hold their heads up because they had won freedom — and remain positive that once things had settled down, people would come back. We heard that again and again.)   

So, swallowing my environmental eeks, we chartered a 4×4 to drive us over the dunes (after we had passed any cryptobiotic hotspots) to the hot springs oasis of Ksar Ghilane in the Grand Erg Oriental sand sea, which I probably don’t need to mention was aaaaah-mazing.

We rode camels named Caramel and Ghaniya (“pretty girl”) through a halcyon sunset into a full moon. And then it rained! In the freakin’ Sahara! Awesome.

We were, as usual, the only tourists there (and devoured delectable chicken tagine in an empty, cavernous mess hall right out of The Shining: camel-riding makes you ravenous!). As we were as well at our next stop, mountainous Matmata, the famous “trogolodyte” Sand People/ Mos Eisley Cantina town from Star Wars. I think that’s right — don’t kill me Star Wars nerds. There things, however, took another unexpectedly sinister turn.

Matmata is one of the biggest tourist draws in Southern Tunisia, thanks to the whole Skywalker connection. We rode in bumpily aboard a louage, the shared minivan taxis that are the main means of transport in these remote regions. But as we approached we saw smoke — and a tour bus, the only one of that week we later heard, rapidly retreating. As we entered the town center, the smoke grew overwhelming. A large group of men were burning tires in front of the government outpost. We were told that a govenment official was supposed to arrive from the capital that morning with news of a jobs program, but he never materialized. Out here the unemployment rate is around 70-80 percent, so this was a big deal (even though driving away the few tourists seemed like a bad idea.)

In the morning, after the tire fire

We managed to stay the night in one of the sunken, white-washed, fantasy-come-true underground trogolodyte dwellings, mingle with the locals, and stuff ourselves with kousksi bil djaj (chicken couscous), shakshouka (eggs poached with tomatoes, peppers, and tumeric) and makrouth — sweet, date-filled pastries native to the city of Kairoun.

The next morning, though, protesters had blocked the highway and were burning more tires. 

With no means of transportation, we started hiking the 12 kilometers to the next biggest city — luckily the day was overcast, this was still the Sahara after all! A nice man in a truck with government plates stopped to give us a ride, but as we rounded a large curve we hit another roadblock. A gang of young men from a nearby mountain town were standing ominously behind rocks piled on the road, makeshift weapons of former highway signs in their hands. As we slowly approached, they silently surrounded the truck.

“Uh oh,” I telegraphed to Hunky Beau, “I’ve seen this movie, and it doesn’t end well.” And then, “Well, at least a couple of them are hot.”

The guy giving us a ride backed slowly out and we retreated while he made a few calls. We went back to Matmata, our hearts sinking because the situation was getting heavier there as well. We waited a couple of stomach-wrenching hours on a bend outside of town, wondering what to do, at least enjoying the clifftop views. Lo and behold, our guardian angel in the truck returned with two hardcore, seasoned military men aboard (one of them a thick-faced number who looked like he saw a lot of torture under the old regime — and he wasn’t on the receiving end). We quickly squeezed in. As soon as we got back to the roadblock, the army dudes leapt out of the truck and charged the gang, bellowing and waving their arms.

“That’s the way to do it,” I thought, watching through laced fingers. “Barge the fuck right in.” There was a scuffle, one of the kids tried to grab an officer’s gun, weapons were hectically raised, but the kids eventually backed off after getting to vent a bit, and we charged through. Government escort? I’d never been so happy to have one. And all to help two complete strangers make it to their next vacation stop. Tunisia, I love ya.

But yeah, frustration out there is growing. When we eventually made it back to Douz, we had one of the best meals of my life. Finally, we found a great bowl of Ojja, the egg stew cooked with merguez sausages, served by the wonderful women who run Restaurant Chez Magic —  it really was a house of sausage stew magic!

Ojja at last. Crappy iPhone photo by Marke B.

Final destination: Djerba island, the legendary “Land of the Lotus Eaters.” Probably beautiful in its normal, sunny, sparkling blue Mediterranean state. Racked by magnificent storms when we were there. No Tunisian martinis at the beach for me.

No problem, though — there was plenty to enjoy, including one of Tunisia’s most bewitching specialties: brik. I know that there was a lot of other stuff involved, but if ol’ Odysseus and his Greek crew had trouble leaving this isle behind on their quest to return home, I’m pretty sure brik was involved.

Brik at Bric

Imagine, if you will, a thin-skinned pastry, stuffed with mashed potatoes, tuna, capers, parsley, olives, chopped onion, and harissa folded into a triangle and lightly deep-fried. But wait! Before the pastry is folded, and egg is gently broken into it, so that when your fork pierces the pastry skin, the yolk gently breaks and oozes out like a swoosh of golden flavor. I am sorry my vegan friends! Magnificent, and the place to get them is called Bric Belgacem in Houmt Souk, the capital, on January 14, 2011 Street (named after the date of the dictator Ben Ali stepped down). Gaaah, I want one.    

We had come to Djerba, like supposedly tens of thousands of other pilgrims, for the huge annual Lag B’Omer festival at the ancient synagogue of El Ghriba, in one of Northern Africa’s last remaining Jewish communities. Yep, on this small island, Jew and Muslim live side by side in peace — we’d unfortunately seen a dismaying share of anti-Semitism (not just anti-Israelism) on our journey in the form of graffiti, alas. We felt bouyant to be a part of this giant celebration.

And sure, in 2002 Al Qaeda had tried to blow up El Ghriba, which holds possibly the world’s oldest Torah (paraded through the streets during the festival). A truck bomb had killed 21. But that was long enough ago not to frighten people away, right?

El Ghriba synagogue

Not really. Spooked by the revolution and the turmoil just a few kilometers away in Libya (a flood of Libyan refugees was engulfing the island: there were more Libyan license plates than Tunisian ones), so many tourists had cancelled their pilgrimage that the celebration itself was cancelled. And boy, was it cancelled. When we showed up at the ornately-decorated, marvelously Moorish-style synagogue, there were just five old men praying, a father-daughter pair from Kansas (who had just crossed dangerous Southern Algeria for the heck of it) and the effervescent Zoey, a middle-aged Englishwoman who was receiving text messages from God. Let’s let her finish out this account:

“I woke up one day at my home in Norwich one day and I heard God telling me to drive to Israel.” She looked me in the eyes, completely calmly. “So I loaded up my camper and began to drive, trusting him to provide — and he has, oh how has. I made it to Libya and I asked God how was I going to get in. And you know what? He opened the borders for me, just opened them right up so I could drive through. As I was driving toward the border post, the rebels captured it, peacefully, and in the confusion I just drove. I met the rebels and slept in the mountains with them, until it was time to go. I drove on to Benghazi” — she was in a station wagon towing a trailer with a Jesus fish on the bumper — “where God taught me to accept my fear of being bombed, as bombs rained down all around me. I can tell you that was something.

“Checkpoint after checkpoint opened up before me. Sometimes they would search my car, but I had a Koran, and when they saw I had the Word of God with me they let me through. Once when danger approached, I received a text to avoid a certain area. Then finally, I was stopped and they ransacked my trailer. They tried to ransack me as well, but God put a stop to that! I was blindfolded and sent to a prison in Tripoli for a week. They ended up deporting me, and so I’m waiting here at the border until God tells me to try again. Really, you just need to trust sometimes. I can see that you’ll be hearing from him today, just by coming here.

“Sometimes,” she continued, “we have to do whatever crazy thing our heart tells us we should do, and call it belief.”

And with that, she went to drop a harboiled egg in an ancient well, which is the tradition at such occasions.

 


The energy of Arab Spring uprisings soon spread to Spain, although with a very different effect: you can read my report here.

 

 

 

 

Obama 2012 raises $86 million in small donations

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The Obama 2012 campaign files its first financial report with the Federal Election Commission on Friday July 15. In an email to Obama supporters, the campaign noted that, “the Washington chatter around the report we’re releasing has focused on one number: the sum total we’ve raised.”

That number, as it turns out,  is more than $86 million, with 98 percent of the contributions coming in at $250 or less, with the average donation being $69, according to the Obama campaign.

”But other numbers that the pundits often ignore — like how many field offices we and the DNC have open, how many one-on-one conversations we’ve had with potential supporters, and how many people have already decided to own a piece of this campaign — tell the real story of our campaign,” Jim Messina, campaign manager for Obama for America, observed in an emailed statement.

According to a video the Obama campaign released today, they’ve had 31, 000 face-to-face conversations and 290,000 phone conversations with supporters. And they have already held 650 grassroots planning meetings and signed up 1,500 full-time volunteers.

”All those numbers are in the video, and they’re the ones you should be proud of today. Watch it now,” the Obama campaign suggests.

The campaign concludes by noting that, “our opponents won’t have hundreds of thousands of people giving whatever they can afford — so they’ll be relying heavily on money from two sources to fund an unprecedented barrage.”

These two sources, the campaign claims, are “Washington lobbyists and special interests whose explicit aim is to influence the federal government in any way they can,” and, “outside groups that don’t have to disclose a word about what they’ve raised or who they’ve raised it from, like one of Karl Rove’s political organizations. His groups have set an astounding $120 million fundraising goal in their campaign to tear down President Obama.”

The specter of Rove (aka the “boy genius” or “Turd Blossom” depending on your point of view) rising from the ashes like Harry Potter’s nemesis Voldemort isn’t exactly comforting (unless you believe that American politics are on a parallel track to the outcome of the Harry Potter 7: Part 2 movie, which opens this Friday.)

As the Obama campaign notes, “The threat to our success from these determined groups — acting solely in their own interest, not the public interest — is real, and it’s growing. And it’s going to take serious commitment and vigilance from all of us to withstand their attacks while still building the grassroots campaign we’ll need to win.”

Now I know plenty of people who are pissed off at Obama, because, yes we did kill Osama, and yes we didn’t withdraw all the troops from Afghanistan, etc. etc. But it feels as if the moment is already here in which regular folks need to remind themselves what life under a Republican administration with Rove’s hands on the wheel  was truly like. Unless, of course, you truly believe that life under Obama is just as bad. In which case, let’s hear about the realistic alternatives…

Zero tolerance for BART cop killings

27

I understand how frustrated some commuters were when protesters shut down the Civic Center BART station. And you can make the argument that the protest might have alienated fewer people if it had been outside the station, or whatever. But the fact is, a man is dead because a BART cop shot him — and quite a few other people are dead because BART cops shot them, and in at least three of those cases, the shooting was unjustifiable. And the BART Board sat on its hands for almost 20 years and did nothing (until the Oscar Grant shooting was captured on video).


So I’m with the protesters on this one. It was important to make a statement, to disrupt business as usual, and to tell BART that, frankly, we’re all sick of this shit.


And now BART says it’s going to enforce a “zero tolerance” policy for protests. BART’s Linton Johnson says:


“That delay goes to the protesters. That mess, those fringe groups own it.”


I have a couple of questions: That “mess” of a police shooting — who owns that? Why are people angry (for good reason) about the BART Police suddenly “fringe groups?”


And when do we get a “zero tolerance” policy for dubious police shootings?

The Performant: Meme trope traditions

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Taking in the San Francisco Mime Troupe’s “2012: The Musical”

Even the most anarchic, atheistic, or contrarian among us deserve the comfort of a few holiday traditions, whatever the season — and come the Fourth of July weekend you’ll find a kindred crowd hundreds strong camped out in the lower quadrant of Dolores Park. Unusually for Independence Day frolics, the focus is not on the consumption of grilled foodstuffs or blowing things up (fine traditions both), but on the opening of the latest San Francisco Mime Troupe show. Although the largest crowds typically show up for the official opening, always scheduled for the glorious Fourth, the preview performances are also well-attended, and it’s not unusual for folks to pick a preferred date that remains constant for years on end. And no matter how fog-bound the holiday itself, somehow the Mime Troupe opening miraculously manages to fall on one of the sunniest weekends of the year, proof perhaps of some insidious cosmic intervention, either on behalf of the Mimes or the ‘Murkins.


Politicized street theatre will always have a rather niche appeal, but the Mime Troupe nonetheless packs parks and indoor venues all over California, and in years past, the nation, with its signature brand of comedic-leftist-satire-with-song-and-dance-routines. For many San Franciscans it may sometimes feel like they’re preaching to the choir, but as anyone who’s ever seen The Reverence Billy on a roll can attest, sometimes the choir needs preaching to same as anyone else. And when it comes to the Mime Troupe, they don’t just talk a good game, but do their best to abide by it. In addition to “overthrowing capitalism one musical comedy at a time,” the Mime Troupe operates as a multi-racial, multi-generational collective, and it’s actually thanks to them, defendants of a little-remembered obscenity case in the 1960s, that theatre companies can perform uncensored in the parks of San Francisco today. Not that there’s anything particularly obscene about this year’s offering—“2012, The Musical”—where the only affront to public decency are the villainous corporate green-washers written into the script.
 
So here’s where it begins. A sunny Saturday in the park. Picnickers and space hoarders arriving hours early to ensure a good seat on the grass. By noon the Troupe is working out last-minutes staging kinks and sound mix, as eager, unaffiliated petition-bearers circulate the area. This year’s theme combines the personal (struggling radical theatre company looking for funding) with the political (when they find it, where is it really coming from, plus a side-plot involving an incompetent Senator running for President at the behest of the Rand Corporation). In keeping with the 2012 trope, a play-within-the-play is staged complete with spandex-clad denizens from the future, mad scientists Nostradamus, and a befeathered Mayan priest. But for the Mimes, it’s the memes they help disseminate that impact most. Self-determined collectivism. Radical inclusion. Art for people not for profit. The uncensored, uncensured use of public space. And an unabashed fealty for showtunes.
 
Through September 25,
Various locations
Free
(415) 285-1717
www.sfmt.org

Mayor Lee’s budget deal

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The way the daily newspapers are presenting it, the budget that Mayor Ed Lee and the Board of Supervisors Budget and Finance Committee negotiated represents a new era of civility and cooperation at City Hall. The committee, after marathon negotiations, approved the $6.8 billion deal unanimously. Both sides called it a good process and a good result.

And indeed, by any standard, the way Lee worked with community groups was a huge breakthrough. After 16 years of essentially being cut out of the process under mayors Willie Brown and Gavin Newsom, the stakeholders — the people who provide the essential city services — were actually at the table. And the final blueprint isn’t as bad as it could be.

But it’s still a budget that does nothing to restore the roughly $1 billion of General Fund cuts over the past five years, that seeks no new taxes from big business or the wealthy, and that includes spending on a new Police Academy class that even the mayor doesn’t think the city needs.

And from the start, the mayor and his staff were absolutely determined to privatize security at the city’s two big public hospitals — even when it makes no political or fiscal sense.

The privatization plan was the centerpiece of what became a 13-hour shuttle diplomacy session, as staffers and supervisors sought to reach a deal they could all accept. The Mayor’s Office — particularly Steve Kawa, the chief of staff — put immense pressure on the committee members to accept a plan to replace deputy sheriffs with private security guards at San Francisco General and Laguna Honda hospitals. In the grand scheme of things, the $3 million in projected savings wasn’t a huge deal — but the politics was unnecessarily bloody. It’s as if Lee and Kawa were determined to privatize something, whatever the cost.

In the end, Sup. Jane Kim deserves considerable credit for holding firm and refusing to accept the proposal — and since Sup. David Chiu went along with her, they joined Sup. Ross Mirkarimi as a three-vote majority on the five-member panel and shot it down.

Police Chief Greg Suhr pushed for funding for a new police academy class to train 35 officers at a cost of $3.5 million (that’s $100,000 a cop). “I don’t think the department has looked hard enough at how we deploy the existing officers,” Sup. John Avalos told us.

And some key issues are still up in the air — for example, whether the mayor will adequately fund public financing of the November campaigns. With at least eight serious candidates running for mayor (not counting Lee), and most of them looking for the public financing that will help level the playing field, the city’s going to have to come up with at least several million dollars. That’s critical to the fairness of the election.

The bottom line remains: This city has been deeply damaged by years of cuts. And the next budget needs to start with a plan to repair that.

Editor’s Notes

tredmond@sfbg.com

I had, as they say, a spirited and frank discussion last week with Enrique Pearce, the political consultant working on the Run Ed Run campaign. I chided Pearce, whose firm is called Left Coast Communications, for leading an effort that, at the very least, involves some touchy legal and ethical issues. (After all, the group is raising money for a campaign for a candidate who hasn’t filed as a candidate. There are reasons why federal, state, and local laws mandate that people who are running for office declare that they want the office before they start raising money.)

Pearce insisted he was doing nothing illegal. (Okay, if he says so.) He also argued that his firm is the most progressive consulting operation in the city. (Whatever.) But the real focus of our discussion — and the reason it’s worth talking about — was the question of whether corruption really matters.

I think sleaze — and the appearance of sleaze — is a defining progressive issue. If Pearce agrees, he’s got some ‘splainin’ to do.

Let’s back up here. When Willie Brown was speaker of the state Assembly, he passed some good legislation, and allowed some very bad legislation to become law. But his greatest legacy is term limits — and the terrible public perception of what was once one of the best state legislatures in the nation.

Brown was the epitome of corruption, a guy who actively flouted the notion of honest, open government. Among other things, he had a private law practice on the side — and clients would pay him big money because of his influence on state legislation. Of course, we never knew who the clients were; he wouldn’t release the list.

When he was mayor, his sleazy ways continued — and left even progressive San Franciscans believing that you can’t trust City Hall with your money. Which means, of course, that it’s harder to convince anyone to pay more taxes.

There’s no question that Brown and Chinatown powerbroker Rose Pak (don’t get me started) were key players in putting Mayor Ed Lee in office, and that they’re playing a big role in this new effort. Which means, as far as I’m concerned, that it’s utterly untrustworthy — and that progressives should be miles and miles away.

I’m not arguing that Ed Lee is a bad mayor (he’s way better than the last guy). He might even turn into a good mayor if he runs for a full term. Pearce thinks he’d be better for progressives than state Sen. Leland Yee. We can argue that later.

But as long as his campaign is directly linked to people whose standard practices undermine the heart of the progressive agenda (which depends on a belief that government can be trusted to take on social problems), then you can count me out.

The nonconformist

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arts@sfbg.com

FILM Marxist, aesthete, padrone, Oscar winner, supreme screen sensualist — the list of contradictions goes on, onscreen as well as off, for Bernardo Bertolucci. Earlier this year he emerged from a long creative hibernation (attributable, it turns out, to back pain so severe it prevented any work) to accept an honorary Palme d’Or at the Cannes International Film Festival and begin work on his first film in nearly a decade, a claustrophobic drama about a withdrawn teen who secretly sequesters himself in the family basement. It will be filmed in 3-D — an idea so daft it just might prove brilliant.

Because, after all, it is lunacy and excess as well as intelligence, beauty, instinct, and so forth that have led Bertolucci to some of his most extraordinary as well as dubious achievements, nearly all of them debatable as falling into either category.

Now that he’s reaching a half-century spent in the director’s chair, it is clear what an unpredictable, erratic, even arbitrary career this has been; the line between the sublime and silly in his films is easily felt but almost impossible to define. What makes 1972’s Last Tango in Paris, for instance, a genuine fever dream of mad desire, while two later films equally about eros and yearning — 1996’s Stealing Beauty and 2003’s The Dreamers — are fussy, false, a little embarrassing? Trained as a poet (whatever that means), he surrenders to cinema time and again as someone intoxicated by images as he once was to words, taking each sustained impulse to its logical (or illogical) endpoint, whether to transcendence or off an artistic cliff.

The Pacific Film Archive’s summer retrospective “Bernardo Bertolucci: In Search of Mystery” provides an opportunity to weigh most of the exhilarating highs and a couple of the baffling lows in a wayward trajectory one hopes is nowhere near complete. (Only 71, he can surely spare us another three decades — look at Manoel de Oliveira, wildly prolific at 102, yet without a single film as memorable as a half-dozen or more of Bertolucci’s.) All 13 features will be offered in new prints, a big lure for a director whose best movies — particularly those shot by the incomparable cinematographer Vittorio Storaro — it would be criminal to view in any but the most pristine visual condition.

After a promising literary start as a teenager — his father, notably, was a well-regarded poet, art historian, and film critic — Bertolucci apprenticed to family friend Pier Paolo Pasolini on 1961’s Accattone!. When Pasolini moved on to another project, Bertolucci made his own directorial debut at age 21 with similarly gritty The Grim Reaper (1962). That tale of a prostitute’s murder, cowritten with Pasolini, as well as 1964’s Before the Revolution (a presumably somewhat autobiographical mélange about a young bourgeois torn between tentative radicalization and pleasures of the flesh as represented by Bertolucci’s then-wife Adriana Asti) reflected his heavy early influencing by the ebbing Italian neorealist movement and still-current French New Wave.

Inspired by Dostoyevsky, 1968’s Partner was a transitional work, straddling Godardian dialecticism and pure extravagance. When 1970’s Jorge Luis Borges-drawn puzzle The Spider’s Strategem found Bertolucci discovering his sumptuous mature style (as well as Storaro’s rapturous lighting and camera movement), Godard denounced him as a sellout. The international breakthrough was that same year’s The Conformist, a Moravia story about the individual surrender to fascism — passivity turning to criminality being a frequent Bertolucci subject — that somehow became a baroque tone poem of saturated color, hedonistic suggestion, and damp paranoia. It announced the arrival of a great artist, albeit one for whom style would always trump political content, and whose literary sources were often twisted nearly past recognition by his own overwhelming authorial stamp.

The 1970s were a dazzling high-wire decade for Bertolucci. Last Tango was an X-rated scandal and sensation, an experience so psychologically (and literally) naked for Marlon Brando that he didn’t speak to the director for years afterward. Bertolucci explained: “He felt that I stole something from him, that he didn’t know what he was doing … I like to have very famous, important actors because it is a challenge to find out what they are hiding.”) Its tale of two people with only compulsive coitus in common is still berserk, implausible, off-putting, and completely enveloping.

The epic, multinational cast (Robert De Niro, Gerard Depardieu, Donald Sutherland, Dominique Sanda, Burt Lancaster, even some Italians) 1900, a film originally over five hours long, offered the first half of Italy’s 20th century as a class struggle, as well as a conceptual one, between idealism and decadent pageantry — Pasolini wrestling with Luchino Visconti. Few knew what to make of the contrastingly intimate (yet, again, stylistically gaga) 1979 La Luna, an Oedipal drama based on a dream Bertolucci had about Maria Callas. Fervently loved by a slim cult following, it was otherwise so ridiculed and loathed that 32 years later 20th Century Fox still hasn’t coughed up a U.S. home-format release.

With the new decade, the limbs Bertolucci went out on became less reliably inspirational, perhaps partly because Storaro had developed conflicting allegiances to other directors (Francis Ford Coppola, Carlos Saura, Warren Beatty). Tragedy of a Ridiculous Man (1981) is dispirited and dull. Little Buddha (1993) was a silly idea nonetheless spiked by enchanted storybook scenes with Keanu Reeves as Siddhartha — ludicrous-sounding stunt casting that is somehow perfect. Stealing Beauty and The Dreamers found this uneasily homophilic director reduced to ogling young bodies of both sexes like a dirty old professor.

On the other hand, 1990’s The Sheltering Sky was difficult, ravishing, another masterpiece if a great commercial disappointment. Another leap into exotica, 1987’s The Last Emperor had the opposite fate — winning all nine of its nominated Oscars in a slow year, a staggering spectacle widely admired yet loved by few (least of all the Chinese), elephantine yet wry, and closer to David Lean respectability than auteurist idiosyncrasy. Then after all this 1998’s Besieged, a tiny story of unrequited love and noble sacrifice shot with two actors and hand-held camera, felt rejuvenative — as if the increasingly burdened composer of massive symphonies had discovered the joy in a piano miniature.

The curio in the PFA’s series is 1967’s The Path of Oil — a three-part Italian documentary about petroleum production, apparently undertaken in a funk when two failed first features had temporarily reduced his career prospects. It’s handsome, if clearly less than a labor of love. But for the Bertolucci fetishist, no film is so impersonal or underwhelming (or on the other hand beloved) that it might not yet spring surprises, whether on a first viewing or an umpteenth. 

BERNARDO BERTOLUCCI: IN SEARCH OF MYSTERY

July 8–Aug. 18, $5.50–$9.50

Pacific Film Archive

2575 Bancroft, Berk.

(510) 642-5249

bampfa.berkeley.edu

Psychic Dream

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July 6-12

ARIES

March 21-April 19

The surest way to create lasting security is by being open this week. A huge amount of potential is trying to express itself in your life, but you have to make sure that your fears aren’t unnecessarily limiting you. Try new ways of doing things and taking risks, Aries.

TAURUS

April 20-May 20

The choices you make will have important consequences for your future this week, Taurus. And make no mistake — you are making choices, no matter what you do. Strive toward balance between what you ideally want and what is practical right now for best results.

GEMINI

May 21-June 21

If you aren’t checking in with your innermost truths, you may feel like a chicken with its head cut off, running aimlessly in circles. Clarify your desires and goals so you can move forward on them. Here’s the key when all else fails: if it doesn’t nurture your heart, it’s not likely to have staying power.

CANCER

June 22-July 22

If you don’t trust in what you’ve got, you won’t get the pleasure from it that you deserve, Moonchild. Give thanks for the good stuff in your life this week to help you remember what holds you up. Change is coming on quickly and you shouldn’t let feelings of scarcity lead your thinking when it does.

LEO

July 23-Aug. 22

You are at the end of a meaningful cycle, Leo, and there is a battle of the bands being fought within you. Part of you wants to look back, and part of you is yearning to rush ahead, but neither side is right. Finesse a mashup that honors both impulses without downgrading either one.

VIRGO

Aug. 23-Sept. 22

Be nice to yourself, Virgo. The way that you talk to yourself inside your head lays the foundation for how you think, which in turn sets the stage for how you treat others. Be kind — and when you fail to do that, be compassionate. This will help all parts of your life.

LIBRA

Sept. 23-Oct. 22

Don’t add complications to your relationships right now, Libra. Be emotionally honest with yourself as you slow it down with others. You should not rush into or out of anything, buddy. Improvements are needed, but not at any cost. Make your insides certain, and the rest will fall into place.

SCORPIO

Oct. 23-Nov. 21

Freedom does not mean you can recklessly do whatever you like — it means you choose without compulsions and obligations driving you. Strive toward authentic freedom this week, even if you have to start with letting go just when you want to add something new, Scorpio.

SAGITTARIUS

Nov. 22-Dec. 21

Sometimes things just hurt and the crappy feelings are unexplainable. This week you know exactly why you feel cruddy, and if you don’t pick at it, this wound will heal on it’s own. Let your heart mend without adding distractions to the mix. Find opportunities in your current sorrows, Sagittarius.

CAPRICORN

Dec. 22-Jan. 19

It’s time to use your creative powers to make a quantum leap through your own crap, Capricorn. Instead of keeping your nose to the grindstone, keep your eyes focused upward! You can unify the different elements of your life that are wigging you out with patience and courage this week.

AQUARIUS

Jan. 20-Feb. 18

Deal with reality this week, no matter how worrisome it may feel. There’s a fine line between coping with the real and torturing yourself with negative projections — and your job is to avoid the latter. When in doubt, directly address your concerns, and use the KISS method (“keep It simple, stupid”).

PISCES

Feb. 19-March 20

Find the balance between where you get happiness versus pleasure this week. Make sure you maintain your integrity with the fun you’re pursuing, Pisces, even if that means you have a little less of it. It’s not an either/or situation, but it’s best to pursue good times with honor.

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