Year: 2007

Paintings by Edvard Munch, Vilhelm Hammershøi, Carl Larsson, August Strindberg, Harald Sohlberg, Akseli Gallén-Kallela, Eero Järnefelt, and Fanny Churberg will shimmer on the walls of the MIA. The show explores Nordic attitudes toward nature and the past and present significance of landscape in Nordic culture and thinking. Expect a beautiful show—rampantly pretty as well as expressionistic and emotional. In the face of full-on loveliness, there’s not much to say—so why not go with someone you’re squabbling with? All that stuff will melt away. 612-870-3000; www.artsmia.org

The work in SAD, says curator Diane Mullin, “probes conditions of light, atmosphere, and isolation, addressing how our northern surroundings affect and define us.” Mounting this show in summer is a counterintuitively interesting idea: When the weather gets too good, go and soak up a little soggy gray despair (maybe we’ll discover we’re even SADder than we thought?). The artists involved are all Twin Cities-based: Ana Lois-Borzi sews and crafts bulbous glandular things and makes other body-centric conceptual objets; Jan Estep uses video and embroidery to address the relationship of a lone self to the rest of everything; and Katherine Turczan photographs often isolated human beings here and also in Ukraine. The work of the other artists (Theresa Handy, Chris Larson, Charles Matson Lume, Andrea Stanislav, and Piotr Szyhalski) is equally disparate, and represents a sort of honor roll of the Cities’ most kick-ass conceptualists. 333 E. River Rd., Minneapolis; 612-625-9494, www.weisman.umn.edu

Both Shinique Smith and Michael Paul Britto were in a show called “Frequency” at the Studio Museum of Harlem last year, curated by the incisively yet inclusively smart Thelma Golden. Also included was Kalup Linzy, whose hilarious and fond videos of various homefolks recently showed at Midway Contemporary Art in Northeast Minneapolis. Indeed, it seems that much of the most interesting art in circulation around here—including the recent show by Jim Denomie and Andrea Carlson at the Minneapolis Institute of Arts and Kara Walker’s survey at the Walker—is being done by people with access to at least a couple of different cultures. Maybe that double vision provides the binoculars we need to see the real lay of the land. I’m not sure which of Britto’s videos will be presented, but his Dirrrty Harriet Tubman is pretty funny, an action-thriller parody using a sanctified figure. The thing to ask is, can we all play? Franklin Art Works, 1021 Franklin Ave. E., Minneapolis; 612-872-7494; www.franklinartworks.org

A fruit so juicy that you have to lick your arm after eating it, and a technology so viral that it threatens ubiquity. Are these opposites? Or, in some sense—desire, say—are they the same? They’re things you want and don’t want; they’re too much. That is, roughly, the theme of this show, curated by Soap Factory director Ben Heywood. He’s gathered a selection of odd sculptures and … well, let’s call them “states of affairs” … from the slew of artist submissions the Soap receives annually. None was deemed worthy of taking over the sizable joint; but all were sufficiently tasty to deserve inclusion in this big survey of … what, exactly? The Imaginary as double for Consumer Desire? Dreams of the cost of this era of culture? It’s a complicated picture, but one worth a visit to the cavernous, cool reaches of this vast converted factory. Molly Roth and other recently celebrated local artists share the rooms with young artists from New York and elsewhere. 518 Second St. S.E., Minneapolis; 612-623-9176; www.soapfactory.org

Maybe it’s the railroads that have tied Minnesota so tightly to the folk music scene since the ’40s. Or maybe it’s the good old Midwestern working-class mentality that permeates the back roads and smaller towns throughout the state. Regardless, our imprint on contemporary folk doesn’t stop at Bob “Zimmerman” Dylan. Hailing from Dylan’s hometown, and clearly influenced by much of the same music as his forebear, Charlie Parr has been quietly shaking the Americana music scene with his authentic rendering of Piedmont-style blues. With the storytelling finesse of Dylan and Woodie Guthrie, the finger-picking mastery of Rev. Gary Davis and Dave Van Ronk, and the raw soul of Robert Johnson and Brownie McGhee, Parr builds on a strong tradition of American folk and blues while addressing the very real issues of the contemporary Midwestern working man. 612-338-2674; www.thecedar.org 612-338-6425; www.cabooze.com

Over the past three years, this Canadian punk rocker has metamorphosed into an indie-folk-rock darling, collaborating along the way with Peaches, Broken Social Scene, and the Norwegian folk duo Kings of Convenience. Following a soulful Parisian solo debut (Let It Die in 2004), Leslie Feist’s talent is now firmly cemented with her latest, The Reminder, a combination of alternately buzzy, sultry, brash, and wistful songs. While her music is notably kaleidoscopic in genre, a well-worn gossamer voice is the link that winds throughout Feist’s repertoire; and her songwriting’s poetic approachability has helped her elbow past those run-of-the-mill indie rockers to make it into mainstream stardom. 612-339-7007; www.hennepintheatredistrict.org

Even the irrepressible Wynton Marsalis merits no better than third in the current family pecking order after brothers Delfeayo and Branford put out resplendent discs—“Minions Dominion” and “Braggtown,” respectively—in 2006. Now Delfeayo (the trombonist, for those without a scorecard) is kicking off the Minnesota Orchestra’s Sommerfest program with a Duke Ellington tribute by an all-star ensemble that features Branford on tenor and soprano sax, pianist Anthony Wonsley (who was superb with Delfeayo at the Dakota this past winter), drummer Winard Harper, and saxophonists Mark Gross and Jason Marshall. Given the level of talent involved, and the titan being honored, expect both the arrangements and the improvisations to be top-notch. 612-371-5656; www.minnesotaorchestra.org www.minnesotaorchestra.org

You might discount her new, blues-oriented disc (aptly titled Into The Blues) for its pallid genre clichés, but notice that even on this misguided collection a few tunes still shimmer with Joan Armatrading’s trademark emotional hum. For decades now, she has bared her soul with pride and erudition instead of pretense and self-pity, capturing the paradoxical strength of vulnerability with as much visceral nuance as any singer-songwriter (it’s a big claim but no exaggeration). Back to the Night (1975), Lovers Speak (2003), and the others in between are all five-star records. While unfurling her agony, ecstasy, and all the careening within that gamut, this statuesque St. Kitts native will make you grateful for your goosebumps. 651-690-6700; http://oshaughnessy.stkate.edu

Kevin Costner plays the upstanding Earl Brooks, a family man and business leader who just happens to also be a serial killer with an alter ego named Marshall. Our starring cast includes Costner, Demi Moore, and William Hurt … well, that makes three actors who have seen better days. And yet, Mr. Brooks was written and directed by Bruce A. Evans, the guy who penned Stand By Me and the underrated Starman. Sometimes—not very often, but sometimes—these types make decent, straightforward, and entertaining B-movie fare that’s good for passing a summer evening. They did it a lot during the golden age of the studios, generating movies still watched today (such as Desperate Hours and the original Cape Fear). Who’s to say they can’t still do it today?

Judd Apatow seems to be everywhere. He was the executive producer of the critically acclaimed television show Freaks and Geeks and the writer-director of The 40 Year-Old Virgin. He will also lend his imprimatur to the upcoming teen sex comedy Superbad. In the meantime, he has produced another ribald farce in the style of Virgin (sans Steve Carell). In Knocked Up, a lovable stoner and budding internet-porn businessman played by Seth Rogen impregnates the Ashley Judd look-alike Katherine Heigl. She’s a gorgeous television personality; he’s a loser with a heart of gold. When they decide to have the baby together, laughs ensue. That’s the formula anyway, and what made Virgin work so well was Apatow’s fondness for Altman-like conversation and his healthy respect for these flawed, immature characters. (A plethora of dick- and boob-jokes didn’t hurt matters either.) Here, though, Apatow seems to think he’s making serious commentary on parenthood. Clocking in at two hours and ten minutes, it’s a bit long-winded. Still, much of the humor won’t be matched by any other movie this summer—in particular, there’s a hilarious passage about shaving one’s privates.