Year: 2005

Maybe the Fishing Hat Bandit could have picked up a dame if he hadn’t had such a dumpy fashion instinct. Because, according to the movies, girls go for bank robbers in a big way (see Bonnie and Clyde, above). French director Benoit Jacquot does an erotic thriller take on this attraction with the story of Lili, a Parisian art student (the very intense Islid De Besco), who follows her on-the-lam bank robber across Spain, Morocco, and Greece. Set in the 1970s, shot in black and white, and mostly wordless, this homage to the French New Wave explores the thrill of crime and the complexity of an attraction that defies common sense and even the instinct for self-preservation. 309 Oak St. S.E., Minneapolis; 612-331-3134; www.mnfilmarts.org

Is Matthew Barney the George Lucas of art film? He devoted years of painstaking toil to a cycle of films, completing them, as Lucas did with the Star Wars franchise, in nonsequential order. They are also populated with exotic creatures, some of whom might not be out of place in a Star Wars flick. But while Lucas’ saga boils down to a good vs. evil battle, Barney’s Cremaster films … well, the fetal development motif gets a little complicated. Suffice it to say that Cremaster 2 (which premiered at the Walker in 1999) follows a backward narrative from the 1977 execution of Gary Gilmore (played by Barney) to an 1893 performance by Harry Houdini (who may have been Gilmore’s grandfather, and is played by Norman Mailer). Beyond that, you’re just going to have to take our word for it: This is truly weird and wondrous stuff. 612-375-7600, www.walkerart.org

LANDMARK: 24 Hours at the Stone Arch Bridge Sunrise August 27 to sunrise August 28, Stone Arch Bridge How do you say “I love you” to a 2,176-foot span of metal and stone? Six local artists decided the only way to pay proper tribute to the architecture, culture, and history of this 1883 landmark, as well as the geology and spirit of the place where it stands, was with a twenty-four-hour multimedia spectacular. During this meandering, seemingly nonsensical lineup of performance and installation events, brass musicians will float on the river and dancers will portray the bridge’s past as a major transitway (it was built by James J. Hill). Tour guides and tucked-away installations will tell historical narratives. Video projections will create the illusion of never-ending daylight. Even poetry will appear and disappear along the riverbanks, making a lovely valentine. Minneapolis riverfront; www.localstrategy.org

Marriage is a bit vague, isn’t it? Unless you have a lawyer write your vows, the actual terms of the agreement aren’t really spelled out beyond love and cherish. Who has to clean the bathroom? Whose last name does the dog take? In William Somerset Maugham’s witty, subversive 1920s comedy The Constant Wife, the spouse of a surgeon decides to redefine her marriage as a sex-free zone after her husband takes a mistress. When Constance plans to vacation with her own lover, however, her cheating husband raises a peevish British protest. Although the Guthrie has run its share of British drawing-room comedies, this is the first time it’s staged a Maugham play. 612-377-2224; www.guthrietheater.org

The other day, a shaggy-haired, bespectacled woman in overalls—we’ll call her Megan—welcomed a visitor into her south Minneapolis home, where she lives with ten unusual friends. They are mostly in their twenties, and they identify themselves as dumpster divers—anti-consumerist people who on principle do almost all of their shopping in garbage bins.

The interior of the house was a contemporary still life of bike parts, bolts, chrome wrenches, and the skeletons of five bikes. A transgendered man wearing camouflage fatigues and sparkly legwarmers said hello. He lives under the stairs and identifies himself, by choice, as homeless. Megan explained that homelessness is an “optional part of the lifestyle.”

There were two kitchens: one meatless (downstairs) and one meat-ful (upstairs). The meatless kitchen overflowed with dirty pots and pans. “Everyone expects this house to be really dirty, but it’s not dirty in the mold sense. If there’s dirt around, it’s dirt dirt, like soil dirt.” (It wasn’t immediately clear which kind of dirt was proliferating in the sink.)

The upstairs kitchen was crowded with longhaired, easygoing people. A child danced around holding a piece of bread that was slathered with something green. Her babysitter explained that it was split-pea soup.

Aaron (not his real name) is a curly-haired diver and punk rocker hoping to move into the communal house. He sat on the pavement in a parking lot outside his current digs. Friendly, thoughtful, and welcoming, he seemed like a person you might enjoy encountering in a dumpster.

He moved from South Dakota to Minneapolis a year ago and became a dumpster diver as an outgrowth of his enthusiasm for bicycling. Hardcore bike culture intersects with diving culture and punk culture because of shared environments, politics, and interests. “Part of the appeal for me is belonging to the scene, but not entirely.” Aaron crossed his legs, leaned back, and smiled. “For me, diving is about living off the land in an urban setting,” he said. “It’s a weird Robin Hood-type thing. Divers pick up the consumerist excess. We’re trying to reduce waste.”

What makes a good dive? “The finds. I’ve found bananas not even close to being ripe, coconuts, and packaged foods like rice and noodles. We’ve also found Naked Juice and yogurt-covered pretzels.” Dairy and meat products are fairly common. Nothing about the diving experience strikes Aaron as unsanitary. Skilled divers know the delivery and disposal schedules for each grocery store, especially during the summer, the better to guarantee quality finds and avoid odorous encounters with rotting goods. “Dumpsters are actually pretty clean,” said Aaron. While some divers wear rubber gloves, he doesn’t. “It’s just not that gross. To keep a low profile, it’s good to wear dark stuff,” he added, though the sartorial tastes of most divers run toward black anyway.

Experienced divers target co-ops and natural grocery stores because “the food is better and they’re easier to dive.” Many corporate grocery stores have replaced dumpsters with compactors, partly to frustrate people like Aaron. He said that most natural grocery stores and co-ops know what’s going on but choose to turn a blind eye. “Co-ops are an exercise in anarchy,” he said, “and so is diving. Anything that undermines consumerist culture is anarchistic, so it’s no surprise that co-ops don’t mind.”

“Don’t mind” may be a bit of an overstatement. A number of co-ops and natural grocery stores post signs with meek warnings like “Employees only” near their trash bins. As it turns out, the legal point of contention is trespassing, not robbery. This year marks the seventeenth anniversary of the legalization of dumpster diving. In 1988 the Supreme Court ruled that any item placed in a trash receptacle does not legally belong to anyone and is therefore up for grabs. It is also the twenty-fifth anniversary of the founding of Food Not Bombs, an international group of activists who help eliminate hunger by recycling excess food, much of which is otherwise headed straight to the dumpster. While the group has fought with government officials about sanitation concerns, it does make an attempt to formally collect food from grocery stores rather than digging through their garbage. Its website features activist initiatives, legal advice on avoiding arrest, and recipes—though a quick scan did not reveal instructions for split-pea bread spread.—Shenandoah Sowash