Year: 2006

Vigorously booed at the Venice Film Festival, acclaimed as masterpiece by others, this time-travel extravaganza hits our shores after six years of labor from director Darren Aronofsky (Pi, Requiem for a Dream). Wildly ambitious in its scope, The Fountain takes place over a thousand years and weaves together three stories, with the same actors helming each thread. Rachel Weisz (the good wife of Mr. Aronofsky), fresh from her Oscar triumph in The Constant Gardner, brings her sexy intelligence to the role of a woman trying desperately to finish writing a book while fighting a life-threatening disease. Studly Hugh Jackman is the man who flies through time and space to tap into the “tree of life” in an attempt to save his beloved. Along the way, he becomes a sixteenth-century conquistador, a modern-day scientist, and a bald guy floating in a bubble ship through space in the 2500s. Looking both daring and outlandish (not to mention all its New Age claptrap), The Fountain could be Aronofsky’s Matrix … or his Battleship Earth.

We don’t know Kazakhstanis from Martians, but something tells us they’re not the backwater, Jew-loathing whoremongers that writer-producer-star Sacha Baron Cohen makes them out to be. Borat is a mock documentary in which the titular hero, a Kazakhstani television personality, comes to the U.S. on a cross-cultural mission and winds up crossing the Southern states to get to California—and Pamela Anderson, whom he wishes to marry. Despite some funny moments—including a grotesque, buck-naked wrestling match between Borat and his overweight manager—Borat’s broad humor often collides with downright insulting material. Filling his movie with real-life footage of Southern bigots as well as obviously staged moments (a book signing and attempted abduction of Pamela Anderson, a ride in an RV full of idiotic frat boys), Cohen and his fellow screenwriters ask you to laugh with (and at) a creature devoid of redeeming virtues. Ultimately, Cohen isn’t merely shooting fish in a barrel—he’s throwing in a stick of dynamite.

Bouncing between near misses (Cold Mountain) and outright dogs (the risible Stepford Wives), Nicole Kidman could use a surefire hit, at least critically. Whether or not this so-called imaginary portrait of doomed photographer Diane Arbus will be the tonic for Kidman’s post–Oscar malaise is an intriguing question. Looking almost too clean and bright for its subject matter, Fur appears to suggest that Arbus was molded by a mysterious presence—here, in the form of a hairy Robert Downey Jr., who lurks in an apartment below her studio. To suggest that Arbus was anything but a visionary on her own terms is sadly typical of Hollywood’s general squeamishness about artists, especially female ones. Director Steven Shainberg scored an art-house hit with his bland Secretary, and in casting Kidman’s perfect face (instead of, say, Maggie Gyllenhaal’s softer, less-chiseled mug), you wonder if he hasn’t missed the point of Arbus’ entire oeuvre.

As a condiment, wasabi is earthy, spicy, and slightly mysterious. As the new sushi place off Washington Avenue, Wasabi is bright, happy, and kinda cute. Glass-bead curtains, green bamboo framework, and an automated door sensor that shouts “genki!” (how are you?) to new arrivals give this place a whimsical touch. What is earthy and spicy is the menu, full of customary Japanese offerings. Traditional sushi and sashimi are fresh and generous, but pay special attention to the chef’s specials like the Crazy Tuna roll, which employs smoky, pepper- encrusted tuna balanced with silky avocado. Hearty noodle dishes, flavorful don buri, and entertaining hibachi dinners are all great pre-Guthrie or post-Dome options. Lunch service is perfectly timed, and most specials are under ten dollars. 903 Washington Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-338-6688

For the food-obsessed, the arrival of Jean-Georges Vongerichten in our town is nothing less than a blessed event. But does Chambers Kitchen live up to the hype? Maybe. The David Rockwell interior achieves cool without sacrificing comfort. The staff, while efficient and knowledgeable, can still manage a genuine smile. But in the end, it’s all about the food, isn’t it? With offerings like house-made mozzarella with grilled figs, glazed short ribs with crispy cheddar polenta, and halibut with Malaysian chili sauce, nothing is shockingly revolutionary—but that’s fine, because who can eat that all the time? Jean-Georges hits you not with superficial dazzle but developed flavor. The dishes are balanced, nicely portioned, and seem intended for true eaters, not chef groupies who push the plate away after one orgasmic bite. As in his other restaurants, he proves here that high style and sophistication don’t have to come at the price of sincerity. 901 Hennepin Ave., Minneapolis; 612-767-6900; www.chambersminneapolis.com

We enjoy a make-over just as much as anybody. But when it happens to a favorite dining spot, we get a smidge skittish. Will they go too glossy? Will they forget that we like to bring the kids with us? Happily, the Edina Grill has been successfully updated without losing its soul. There’s a new sassy bar, but a giant orange-juicing machine stands right around the corner. Despite modish art on the walls and sophisticated dark-wood booths, the tables are still set with terry towels for napkins and a malt tin full of silverware. As always, you can enjoy your Elvis burger or killer waffles, but there’s also new fare, like the ahi tuna with vibrant herbs and sweet-potato risotto, or a BBQ sandwich that goes for tangy and vinegary over sweet. Some new dishes need a tweak, but old faves sing all the more beautifully in this new space. 5028 France Avenue, Edina; 952-927-7933; www.edinagrill.com

Roughly translating as “dance of utter darkness,” Japanese Butoh evolved in large part amid the rubble left by World War II. Sankai Juku, the thirty-year-old company that’s appeared here previously a handful of times, is perhaps the most acclaimed practitioner of this avant-garde form. The troupe’s approach favors minimalist movements and poses that appear heavier and more grounded than other styles of modern dance; Sankai Juku founder Ushio Amagatsu describes it as “sympathizing or synchronizing with the gravity.” Per the Butoh standard, this performance involves a cast of just seven dancers who appear with shaved heads, white costumes, and white body paint from head to toe. Under a canopy of lotus leaves, they’ll enact a series of movements that, according to Amagatsu, extract various metaphors from the act of self-reflective gazing. 612-624-2345; www.walkerart.org www.northop.umn.edu

Too often the only news most Americans hear from the Indian subcontinent involves violence between Hindus and Muslims there. But followers of these religions weren’t always at each other’s throats. Kathak, the classical Indian style of dance that originated in the twelfth century, for example, was patronized by Hindu and Muslim rulers alike. As a result, it embraces diversity, much in the same way Sufism, the mystic outgrowth of Islam, has evolved. Honoring this affinity between the dance and the religion, Katha Dance Theater sets its signature kathak-inspired moves to the words of various Sufi poets, including Rumi. 345 13th Ave. N.E., Minneapolis; 651-209-6689; www.kathdance.org

Word is slowly getting around about the Ten Thousand Things company, which is best known for playing prisons and halfway houses. By reducing layers of artifice to the simplest costumes and rudimentary props and using only the best actors in town, this troupe has proven its knack for tapping into the emotional core of classical texts. That’s the sort of theater many of us “on the outside” are also hungry for, so the company has been adding a smattering of public performances to its schedule of late. In producing Shakespeare’s play about gambling for love, Ten Thousand Things has rounded up a cast that includes company veteran Steve Hendrickson as Shylock the Jew and Stacia Rice—recently christened a “curtain-call cutie” by another local magazine—as the lovely heiress, Portia. 612-203-9502; www.tenthousandthings.org

The script for this eighteenth-century comedy of British manners, stereotypes, and romantic entanglements is quite a mouthful, but by adding a few musical flourishes, the Jungle aims to create a rather more rollicking production. However, no amount of song and dance can steal the show from Mrs. Malaprop, the source of the term malapropism. A plum role for any actor, here she’s played by Claudia Wilkens, who’s demonstrated her comic chops on the Jungle stage many times before. 612-822-7063; www.jungletheater.com