Author: rakemag

We must be closing in on peak carrying capacity for the planet, because it seems that authors are increasingly having a difficult time making up new names. Writers like Jonathan Safran Foer and our own Shannon Olson are giving their characters names that are really easy to remember–their own. Now Bret Easton Ellis has a book about a guy named Bret Easton Ellis, and it’s not a memoir. But it does draw upon Ellis’ life and previous novels for material, sometimes to highly creepy effect, as when a literary psychopath tries to act out the violent plot of the author’s American Psycho. This ghost story, set in a decaying and drug-addled suburbia, seems to find an older and wiser Ellis regretful about the topics (drugs, violence) his earlier works romanticized.

Ignore the unappealing title, along with any thoughts conjured by the word “quadriplegic.” Even moviegoers who couldn’t care less about rugby or haven’t yet climbed aboard the documentary bandwagon have found themselves in thrall to this film’s jaw-clenching suspense, unsentimental plot, and rugged characters. Its stars play on the U.S. “quad” rugby team, and they are guys who survived debilitating diseases, car wrecks, and brutal fistfights. Now, confined to wheelchairs, they smash each other around the court without pads or helmets or mercy. They’re tough guys who don’t pity themselves in the least, which explains at least in part how they’ve become a new kind of hero and even sex symbol–some of them were recently featured in a New York Times Magazine fashion spread. 612-825-6006; www.landmarktheatres.com

For nearly thirty years, music- and film-lovers have gathered around a concrete slab in Loring Park to dance in the grass, toss Frisbees, and picnic till dusk, when Walker curators project film classics onto a modest movie screen. This year, the musical lineup emphasizes local acts, like teen idols Melodious Owl (at right, August 1) and big-band punksters Thunder in the Valley (August 8). The film selection focuses on the work of Wisconsin boy-made-good Nicholas Ray, including Rebel Without a Cause (August 1) and The Lusty Men (August 15). Ray, who died in 1979, had a great interest in music, associating with ethnomusicologist Alan Lomax and musicians Leadbelly and Woody Guthrie, so he’d probably love seeing his films paired with a little rock-n-roll. 612-375-7600; www.walkerart.org

In the early 1800s, two German brothers were looking for stable, well-paying jobs in order to support their younger siblings after their parents’ deaths, so they became librarians. (Today’s librarians might say that sounds like a fairy tale.) While working in the stacks, the brothers Grimm became the leading folklorists of their day, compiling more than two hundred folk tales and legends. Perhaps due to their own dark past, most of the supposed kiddie tales the brothers collected are twisted and disturbing, driven by envy, vengeance, and the craving for tender young flesh. It’s rich fodder for a film, and Terry Gilliam (who has already taken a crack at fairy tales with Jabberwocky and the Monty Python franchise) adds lots of humor to his revisionist version. However, he misses a great, cathartic moment by not feeding Matt Damon to a wolf.

The sexiest thing in this 1967 classic isn’t the young and charismatic Warren Beatty, or that tart blonde Faye Dunaway, playing the legendary bank robbers. It’s a 1934 Ford V-8, in the role of the car that Clyde stole from Bonnie’s parents, driving the lovers off into the bloody sunset. The film’s climactic shootout rivals Mel Gibson’s Christ-beating reverie for perversity; the couple’s bodies flop out of the car and dance to an endless volley of gunfire. In real life, the car took 160 bullets; afterward, Ruth Warren, whom Clyde stole it from, leased it to various carnival promoters. “The Bonnie and Clyde Death Car” took to the road again, ultimately ending up–where else?–in Vegas, where it resides today. 612-825-6006, www.landmarktheatres.com

Our artist friends went on vacation, and all we got was this roomful of beautiful art. An inspired selection of more than seventy works from forty-four artists revels in road trips, insects, and the meaty kind of sunburn that comes from spending long days near water. Paintings, photochromes, etchings, photos, and drawings that chronicle vacation spots both sublime (Yellowstone National Park) and surreal (claptrap tourist traps) make us glad for the fact that artists are at work even when on vacation. 50 W. Kellogg Boulevard, St. Paul; 651-266-1030; www.mmaa.org

Sure, we’re all on the lookout for self-flagellating nekkid artists rolling in paint or chocolate–but isn’t it nice, sometimes, to be able to take your grandmother to an art show? Botanical art has been used for centuries to illustrate field guides to foreign lands, medicinal and herbal guides, and provide decoration on tombs, buildings, and clothing. Exacting and informational, these paintings and drawings take an unromantic inventory of our natural world. But there’s plenty of romance in the subject matter. Vascular systems, reproductive organs, ripe fruit, and gorgeous blooms, all rendered in stunning detail, are vivid reminders that the kingdom of flora is more complex and mysterious than we’ll ever know. 333 East River Rd., Minneapolis; 612-625-9494; www.weisman.umn.edu

Give her your dog turds, your dead bugs, your snotty noses yearning to breathe free. Sylvia Branzei has a passion for all things really gross, and has made it her mission to share them with people across the land. And the people are eating it up! Her first book, Grossology, spent thirty weeks on Publisher’s Weekly‘s bestseller list, and exhibits based on her studies of creepy creatures and unappetizing bodily functions are hot tickets at places like the Minnesota Science Museum, which is now presenting Animal Grossology, which celebrates tapeworms, blood-suckers, and the bovine digestive process. Branzei, a former science teacher, could tell us things that would keep us up at night, but we’d rather she didn’t.

Was there a specific moment of inspiration that led to your becoming a grossologist?
One afternoon about twelve years ago, I was cutting my toenails and said to myself, Wow, what’s this stuff under my toenails? It’s really icky. I realized that since I had majored in microbiology, I could actually figure out what it was. Then I thought, Hey, kids like gross stuff, and I want to teach them science. I will invent a whole new science and call it Grossology. Later, over spaghetti dinner with my husband and stepkids, we came up with a list of ideas for the book.

Are you the only one?
There is a performer who calls herself the premier grossologist of Australia. I still need to hunt her down.

Has anyone vomited during one of your presentations?
Some kids just couldn’t take it and had to leave. One kid told me that he threw up after visiting the exhibit. However, his mother said that it turned out he had the flu. There is one demonstration I do worry about. It is on DALs–defect action levels in foods. While feeding a volunteer peanut butter and jam on wheat crackers, I present information on the allowable numbers of bug parts in those foods: peanut butter (in one pound, 150 insect fragments, five rodent hairs), raspberry preserves (in twenty-four ounces, ten whole insects), wheat flour (in three and a half cups, 125 insect fragments, three rodent hairs). So far, I have been lucky. No one has hurled on stage.

Why are we so fascinated with grossness?
Humans are the only animals to experience the emotion of disgust. (And maybe rats.) It is believed that this emotion helps us to protect ourselves from things that may be harmful. In society, we have made many of those disgusting things taboo, such as eating poo or rotten food.

It seems like kids are naturally excited about grossness. Why do we outgrow it? Or do you think adults just suppress it?
Kids enjoy playing with emotions. They like to get a rise out of adults. So gross stuff works. As we grow older, we learn to control our emotions. Also, in some cases, with more information and experience, things that were once gross don’t seem as bad anymore. Ask any parent who has changed diapers.

What is your favorite gross substance?
I think slime is hecka cool. But my favorite substance to play with is a concoction of cornstarch and water. If mixed correctly, you get a substance that is solid if you apply pressure and liquid if you just let it sit. So if you pat it like a snowball, it stays solid, but if you just stop it will run out between your fingers. It really isn’t gross, just cool.

What truly grosses you out?
Loogies and scorpions. And war, starvation, and cruelty.

Tell us about a gross creature we’ve never heard of.
The bombardier beetle shoots a boiling, toxic liquid out of its butt if attacked–with such force that a blast of smoke appears. Now that is more than a fart.

How do you find out about all this stuff? Do other scientists share their favorite gross finds with you?
My information comes from all over. I use the library, the Internet, and scientific magazines. I also get a lot of information from other people. Recently, a lady from Minnesota sent me a recipe for fake poo that is made with evaporated milk, peanut butter, and honey. Colleagues from museums send me articles, like the one I got from Science World on the first recorded observation of whale farts. When people see disgusting scientific articles, they think of me!

You live with a dog, a cat, and your husband. Which one is the grossest?
Hmm. It is a tie between Jaeger dog and husband Byron. Jaeger eats his vomit and can get very stinky. Byron doesn’t eat his vomit, but on a hot day, he can get very, very stinky.

The duende, a mysterious spirit behind all Spanish arts, has both a dark side and an irresistible appeal. With flamenco, it’s the devil that lights a fire under the feet of dancers, and the handsome stranger who keeps turning up in all the right places. Practitioners of these sultry moves, which began as a gypsy dance in the fifteenth century, say flamenco is more than just choreography–it’s a passionate art. We’ll buy that, especially when the dancer is Manolete, the legend from Granada who’ll give his first-ever performance here. Earlier in his career, Manolete’s moves were considered scandalous; nowadays audiences are more shock-resistant, of course–but go ahead, try us. 612-340-1725; www.southerntheater.org

What started twelve years ago as a modest performing arts festival has swelled into an eleven-day extravaganza, a tribute to the seamy, steamy, and sometimes hilarious underbelly of the local theater community. This year’s lineup features visual arts, kids’ events, podcasts, “site-specific” performances (such as a frilly production of The Virgin Diaries at Via’s Vintage Wear in Minneapolis), and, of course, an endless stream of kitschy, questionable, and downright freaky performances. With 168 events, simply deciding what to see is a central part of the Fringe experience. The festival guide creatively groups performances into categories like “puppetry” and “nudity,” but if nothing grabs you there, try a “solo” show (see Over the Coals, page 69) or something from the “cartoonish violence” lineup. 651-209-6799; www.fringefestival.org