The Rake Magazine

Author: Cristina Córdova

  • Under the Same Moon

    The story is nothing new: a Mexican mother goes to America, Los Angeles to be precise, in search of a better life for her child, whom she leaves in Mexico under the care of her mother. It’s "real," if nothing else. And it’s touching, if you’re at all moved by a mother’s love and a child’s determination. Director Patricia Riggen brings us a heartwarming tale addressing the controversial issue of illegal immigration. But her focus on nine-year-old Carlitos, and his physical journey to reunite with his mother, makes Under the Same Moon a most precious tale.

    Uptown Theatre, 2906 Hennepin Ave., Minneapolis; 612-825-6006; $8.25 (seniors and children $5.75).

  • Milos Forman: Cinema of Resistance

    Most of us have heard of Milos Forman, or at least his films. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, adapted from Ken Kesey’s novel, won all five major Academy Awards in 1975. Hair, now a cult classic, was nominated for two Golden Globes. And Amadeus, about the life of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, won eight — yes, eight — Oscars. Certainly Forman has met with great success since leaving Prague for the United States in 1968. But what we may not know about him are his accomplishments prior to that move.
    Born Jan Tomás Forman, the Czech filmmaker lost his parents to a Nazi concentration camp, in Auschwitz no less. After studying film at the School of Cinema in Prague, Forman kicked off the Czech New Wave with a new style of comedy — dark and absurd comedy, presenting a satirical view of everyday life. Forman’s The Firemen’s Ball, a major film of the genre, remains a cult classic after more than three decades. This month, the Walker offers a retrospective of his work, from the 1960s to his latest film, Goya’s Ghost, which he both wrote and directed. Plus, meet the director himself on April 12th.

    Walker Art Center, Cinema,1750 Hennepin Ave., Minneapolis; 612-375-7600; $8 per film.

  • Dvorak's Rusalka

    What separates the typical Disney flick from most operas is not just the animation or the language, but the ending, the resolution. True, not all operas end in tragedy (though most do), but even the happily-ever-afters come laden with sacrifice and cost-of-learning, so to speak. And let’s face it, someone usually dies.

    This month, the Minnesota Opera brings us Anton Dvorak’s Rusalka, a beautiful Little Mermaid-like fairytale without the happy ending. Named after the Vysoka country estate (just south of Prague) in which Dvorak took residence in 1884 — with Rusalka Lake at its core — the Czech opera tells the story of a water nymph who falls in love with a prince. But in the world of opera, as in Shakespeare, two worlds colliding can only lead in tragedy — a tragedy, of course, made all too beautiful by Dvorak’s composition. A bit on the Wagnerian side perhaps, the music reinforces the "collision" by creating two entirely unique sound-worlds.

    Conductor Robert Wood, stage director Eric Simonson, and choreographer Mathew Janczewski lead an illustrious cast in this Minnesota Opera performance, featuring the return of Minnesota native Kelly Kaduce in the title role, and Brandon Jovanovich as the Prince.

    Ordway Center for the Performing Arts, 345 Washington St, St Paul, 651-224-4222; $20-$150.

     

  • Rabbit Hole

    Nothing moves people more than the death of a child. And while a play centered around such tragedy might make its audience feel manipulated and cheap, like a bad Lifetime move, David Lindsay-Abaire’s Rabbit Hole handles it with such honesty and insight as to take its audience through the most grievous journey without resentment or reproach. This month, the Jungle Theater takes on the difficult, yet rewarding task of presenting the Pulitzer-winning play to Twin Cities audiences. With directer Bain Boehlke at the helm, the Jungle Theater will perform Lindsay-Abaire’s story of Becca and Howard Corbett. Find out what happens when a family is torn apart by the accidental death of their four-year-old. And what happens when the driver of the car that killed him shows up at their doorstep.

    The Jungle Theater, 2951 Lyndale Ave S. Minneapolis, 612-822-7063; $26-$36.

  • QWIKSAND

    "If Shaft was living in
    southern California and he invited Bob Marley and Jimi Hendrix over
    for dinner," reads their website bio, "Orange
    County quartet QWIKSAND would make a groovy side-dish." What the California surf funk band fails to mention is the wonderful scent of salt and sun evoked by their music — so much needed in the land-locked Midwest as the winter lays its icy claws to rest. A jam band at heart, QWIKSAND serves up fun, melodic funk, interlaced with rap sessions reminiscent of the Spin Doctors. Though they’re often compared to the Red Hot Chili Peppers, QWIKSAND has actually developed a much smoother, perhaps even poppier, sound. Currently on tour promoting their new album, QWIKSAND delivers its Liquid Dream to the Fine Line. Joining them will be dEv JAna, The Limns, and The Rebelution.

    8 p.m. (QWIKSAND goes on at 10:30 p.m.), Fine Line Music Café, 318 1st Ave. N., Minneapolis; 612-338-8100; $3, or go here for a free ticket.

  • Before Their Time: The World of Child Labor

    In January, the New York Times reported labor abuses in Chinese factories.  "’I work on the plastic molding machine from 6 in the morning to 6 at
    night,’ said Xu Wenquan, a tiny, baby-faced 16-year-old whose hands
    were covered with blisters."

    At the end of last year, a Gap scandal revealed child-labor abuses in India.

    Around the world, an estimated 350 million children continue to sacrifice their childhood, their health, and their education working in exploitative and unsafe conditions.

    While we may read the headlines and stay abreast of the current conditions across the globe, the distance, perhaps, makes it all too easy to dismiss the harsh realities our children endure. 

    Leave it to a physician/photographer to bring it home. 

    Taking it upon himself to expose one of the world’s greatest injustices, David Parker has traveled the world, with camera in hand, photographing children laboring in Bolivian tin mines, Indian sweatshops, Nepal brick factories, Mexican garbage dumps, and the list goes on.

    With his new book, Before Their Time: The World of Child Labor — a collection of these photos — due out this month, Parker will be exhibiting his photos at the Nina Bliese Gallery from March 31st through May 2nd. Join him for the opening reception (and book signing) on April 10th, from 5-8 p.m.

  • A Writer, a Photographer, a Life, a Town, a World

    "Where is Brad Zellar?" you might ask, as his hiatus from The Rake has created quite a void. Happily, he’s been busy promoting his new book, Suburban World: The Norling Photos, from Borealis Books.

    Zellar discovered Irwin Norling
    in 2002, when he unearthed Norling’s neglected negatives from the
    Bloomington Historical Society archives. Struck by the breadth and
    depth of the subject matter — everything from family portraits,
    Shriners, and donkey baseball games, to car crashes, drug busts, and
    murder scenes — and by the "astonishing and remarkably comprehensive
    record of life in one American community," Zellar unknowingly began his
    quest to compile his first book. The result is an extraordinary photo
    essay book featuring Bloomington, MN, from the late 1940s through the ’70s — and the beautiful irony of a veteran journalist exposing an amateur photographer who expertly documented an era.

    Brad
    Zellar is an accomplished journalist, a brilliant writer, and an
    incredible human being. Some might call him a "character" even. And
    they wouldn’t be wrong. So, here we have a great character, and a great storyteller, who happens to run into
    another character — or at least his work — and gets blown away by it.
    Why? Probably because he’s just as much a character, because he’s just
    a good a storyteller, and because he has a similarly bleak underbelly.
    If you’ve been following Zellar’s Yo, Ivanhoe! blog, you should know that underbelly quite well by now.

    Norling
    wasn’t your typical photographer. He was just a guy — a guy who took
    photos, a guy who was clearly obsessed with documenting life in some
    form, and a guy who sat for hours at his police radio waiting for calls
    to come in so he could run out and photograph the latest accident, the
    latest murder scene, or any other major event, no matter how bleak.

    Seems to me he and Zellar would have made a mighty pair.

    That
    said, the book itself is quite an accomplishment. While it looks like
    your typical coffee table book at first glance — something you can
    impress your guests with perhaps, but that might serve no purpose
    beyond that — this is certainly not the case. Suburban World: The Norling Photos will keep you enthralled from start to finish.

    The forward, written by professional photographer Alec Soth,
    presents a most honest and provocative perspective on the art of
    photography. "Most great pictures aren’t about artistry," writes Soth,
    as he goes on to explain how professional photographers have to get over themselves
    and avoid pretense in order to take good photos. In the end, his
    argument extols the virtues of amateur photography — a most
    controversial idea coming from a professional photographer.

    Following
    Soth’s forward, Zellar steps in with his master story-telling skills.
    But what story is he telling? Norling’s? His own? Bloomington’s? All of
    the above. Zellar weaves together a story that takes us across
    generations and paints a picture of the picture of the picture, and
    more. And, frankly, it’s engaging at every level. Framed in his own
    story of discovery, Zellar tells us Norling’s story, and shares with us
    a fuller picture of Bloomington than Norling’s photos alone could ever
    tell.

    And then come the photos. Beginning with his first
    accident photo in 1941 and ending with the opening of the Interstate
    Highway 35W (which is actually one of very few photos placed out of
    chronological sequence), the photos document the development of a city
    and its people over a twenty year span. The beauty, however, is in the
    juxtaposition of sweet everyday images and grotesque realities — the
    local hardware store followed by an autopsy photo, a tea-pouring
    housewife followed by a fatal accident, a wedding followed by a BPO
    training and an electrocution. While it may seem an odd mix of photos,
    the collection offers an unusually panoptic glimpse at the past. And
    the photos of accidents and violence lend a telling air of disrupted
    placidity — the clash of old and new, the perils of change, and the
    backlash of progress.

    You don’t need to be Bloomington obsessed —
    or Zellar obsessed, for that matter — to enjoy this one. And to top it
    off, the Minnesota Historical Society is kicking off the book release
    with an exhibit featuring Norling’s photos and a recreation of his
    darkroom. Don’t miss out.

    Reception and book signing on April 1, from 5 to 8 p.m.; author presentation on April 8th at 7 p.m.; Minnesota History Center.

    April 9, at 7:30 p.m., Richfield Borders Books and Music.

    April 16th at 7:30 p.m., Magers & Quinn Booksellers.

     

  • Keep Them Rakes Comin'!

    The people in
    this photo were impressed by The Rake’s depth and breadth of subject
    matter. Some of them are Twin Citians on vacation; two spend their
    time now between Tucson and Puerto Vallarta (the Rake began publishing after they
    left Minnesota, and they have enjoyed their copies so much they are
    passing them on to other folks, including Canadians); one is a
    California dress designer who created gowns worn at the Oscars this
    year and last; one is a painter who spent eight years sailing around
    the world, and authored a book about her adventures. There’s a former
    school teacher who recently played to sell-out crowds in the musical Those Sassy Sixties, at the Santa Barbara Theater in Puerto Vallarta, a nurse
    practitioner, a yoga teacher from San Diego, a psychotherapist/wood
    carver, and a former advertising agency owner who is writing his first
    detective novel. Can you tell who’s who??

    The
    photo was taken on the veranda of a condo overlooking the Bay of
    Banderas. Whales have been spotted from this spot, and pelicans sail
    by in stately groups to spend their evenings at Los Arcos, the rock
    arches near Mismaloya Beach south of Puerto Vallarta. Most of the
    people in the photo had not seen The Rake before, and all clamored to
    keep at least one copy. Favorite article: Jeannine Ouellette’s
    feature about imagination in the November 2007 Rake. The request from
    the former Minnesotans: Keep them Rakes comin’ our way!

    I
    was glad to hand over the copies of The Rake, as I find I am loathe to
    put them in recycling; I want to keep them all! If The Rake publishes
    for many more years, as I hope it will, I could become one of those
    people who can only walk in small paths through their residences, as The Rakes will be piled up to the ceilings.

    Thanks for the consistently excellent publication. It’s one of the few I read from cover to cover.

    Catherine Mora Cleary, Minneapolis
    Red Handed

  • Monotonix Leaves Its Love Bruises on the Twin Cities

    A wide stance is key to surviving
    a Monotonix show. Keep your feet shoulder-width apart and your arms
    ready to brace the incessant shock waves of bodies crashing into you.
    Never lose focus of the strange looking man with a bad perm and pervy
    mustache. He is not a cast-off from a Starsky and Hutch fan club. He
    is the singer—a moving target who neglects social graces, like keeping
    his sweat to himself. The most important rule is to put as much distance
    as possible between you and the danger zone.

    The problem is the danger zone
    comes to you.

    The Israeli trio sets up on
    the bar floor, giving them full access for intra-audience thrashing.
    The rig looks worse for wear. The drum kit seems one cymbal crash away
    from shattering. The guitar looks as if one piece of duct tape was removed
    the whole thing would break into splinters. The singer appears diabolically
    insane, and the whole lot looks like they found their clothes in the
    back alley dumpster. Nevertheless, the perpetually touring band is aching
    to leave its love bruises on the Twin Cities. And bruise they will with
    Monotonix’ one-two punch of low-brow histrionics.

    At a Monotonix show, the slippery
    threads of controlled chaos constantly threaten to blow loose. The guts
    of rock and roll kitsch foam up at the first pounding of the kick drum.
    In the first 30 seconds of Monotonix’s set at the Uptown Bar, singer
    Ami Shalev breaks the first rule of getting a good review: stealing
    the music journalist’s beer and pouring it on the heads of adjacent
    audience members.

    For a half hour they play with disaster and consistently ram into, and on top of, the crowd.
    With his grossed out and glistening ape-man chest fully exposed, Shalev
    plants himself on top of the bar and hikes his sweat pants up to his
    nipples, screaming some nonsense into the microphone no one can decipher.
    His usual act is to stuff gasoline soaked hankies down his trousers
    and flame up like a human pyrotechnic. Due to repercussions of the unfortunate
    2003 Rhode Island club fire, Shalev has been asked to stub out any fiery
    intentions for Minneapolis. Tonight he gets his death-taunting kicks
    by sticking his head into the path of ceiling fan blades. He leaps away
    unscathed, proving his shamanistic powers of invincibility.

    Sounding like a mash up of
    Black Sabbath, Dio, and a slew of third-rate punk bands, the music is
    an after thought. Chord progressions are hazy at best. And forget about
    heartfelt lyrics. They’re just meaningless guttural intonations.
    The three could have had equally mesmerizing careers as magicians or
    fire-spewing carnival freaks. To them, it’s all about the performance.
    They ride on shock value. That’s the genius of their scheme. It takes
    wise men to get paid to make fools of themselves.

  • What! No Oliver?

    Some
    years ago I was stranded at Minneapolis-St Paul airport for 24 hours on
    route from Portland, Oregon back to the UK.  Unfortunately, and admittedly
    completely unfairly — as I did not see anything of the Twin Cities
    themselves — I acquired a distinctly jaundiced view of the area,
    assaulted as I was by the sound of miniature, furry, mechanical pigs and cows
    that barked (the only word I can think of to describe the odd yapping sound
    they made) and Holstein patterned tee shirts extolling the virtues of Mooonnesota. 

    All that changed, though, when a colleague introduced me to the wonders and joys
    of The Rake a year or so ago, which despite dealing with the cultural goings on
    in a city (sorry, cities) six time zones away, has come to be a regular must
    read    .  In no small part that has been due to Oliver’s column,
    and I look forward avidly each month to my next fix of erudition, wit, and wine — not to mention the pleasure of simply wondering how, for example, he is
    going to leap from King Arthur to a New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc, and by what
    route.

    Imagine,
    therefore, my dismay to discover a gaping hole in the March edition — an Oliver
    shaped absence.  I hope that this is no more than a temporary omission and
    that he will be back in the April issue (and subsequent editions as well) …
    please!

    Great
    mag, by the way, but all the better taken with a sip of wine!

    Mark Robinson, U.K.
    Letter