Blog

  • When Mr. Right Throws a Left

    And now for part two of my review on This Sporting Life. Because you play sports like I do, I realize your time is short and you do not favor a Freudian analysis of the film’s finer points. And really, don’t all rush to read this; the first part of my review was so extensively read that the the servers might shut down again.

    Here is a short Monkeywrench review:

    1) It’s about sports. The book, which won the MacMillan Prize for literature in 1961, was written by a former rugby player from Northern England who attended Art School.

    The sports treatment in this film is far superior to the work of say, Peter Berg (a Macalester classmate of mine and yes I am jealous) in Friday Night Lights or even the older, more classic North Dallas Forty.

    I am talking smashed bodies, broken bones and fields mired in blood and mud; the life people lived before television and astroturf.

    2) It’s about women. The most riveting part of the flim is Richard Harris’ inability to make Rachel Roberts feel something for him. Had he not thrown a few lefts, he might have been Mr. Right.

    I am not trying to be witty here. This is a tough movie. The woman wounds the man with her words and the man slaps her. It’s all sinister.

    3) It has not one, but two classic Bentleys, and, I believe a convertible Alvis. The contrast of lily white cars against soot gray skies must symoblize something. It could be that the cars are actually better than people. I know this has been my experience. At least with my first Alfa named Gina.

    4) It proves apes like you and I can have feelings. OK, I won’t pull you into this. As for myself however, my woman thinks me an oaf who cares more about sports than houses. I tried to explain that I also love women’s sports. Not working. It hurts.

    5) I forget the fifth reason for the moment. Like I said, I love sports. In fact, yesterday I hit my head so hard on the ground that I am starting to loo

  • Recent Hoops News

    Timberwolves Resign Craig Smith

    This thoroughly minor signing justifiably barely caused a flutter league-wide in the NBA, but smart Wolves fans have a right to wonder why it happened. The Rhino is an undersized power forward on a ballclub that just drafted an undersized center and traded for a journeyman legit center to pair alongside their star power forward who frequently was forced to play out of position in the pivot last season. So, are we going to see Smith and Jefferson form a disastrous frontcourt again this season, or has the Rhino been signed to a 2-year deal to be 10-minute backup at the 4? The money is reportedly right, less than $4 million over two years, which inevitably leads to speculation that Smith is a placeholder as the Wolves continue preparing themselves to be a major player in the 2010 free agent market.

    Forgetting for a moment that big time free agents almost never come to this frozen tundra, the more immediate concern is, what happened to Ryan Gomes being this team’s top priority among its own free agents this summer? The trade for 6-8 Mike Miller and last year’s drafting of 6-9 Corey Brewer coupled with the signing of the 6-7 Smith doesn’t leave a lot of options for the 6-7 Gomes, who swings between the power and small forward positions. All Gomes did last season was do whatever was asked of him without complaint, while posting the second-best season, behind Jefferson, of anyone on the roster. He merits a $4-5 million payday and is exactly the kind of player who won’t embarrass a team that signs him for 3-4 years.

    The devil’s advocacy position is that neither Smith nor Gomes fits into the Wolves’ long range plans; that unlike Gomes, who will draw more interest, Smith is a cheap placeholder and that a team counting on a nucleus of Jefferson/Love/Foye/Brewer, and perhaps Miller and McCants, doesn’t have need for shorty 4’s or even swing 3-4’s. I understand this, although it makes laughable Kevin McHale’s frequent argument that people get too hung up on position at the expense of skill set and savvy. Ryan Gomes is a basketball player, the embodiment of that dictum; he makes others around him better in myriad little ways. Craig Smith is a specialist–an occasional nightmare matchup for teams in the low block–in a specialty that is neither particularly unique nor frequently required, meaning there is high supply and low demand.

    The probable good news is that Gomes may be eligible for the Kevin Garnett supersized bonus package: You get shunned in Minnesota only to land in Boston, where your services are recognized, properly invoked and handsomely rewarded in terms of both wins and dollars. There may be someone else on the market the Celts perceive as a Posey replacement, but I don’t know who. Gomes is not the defender Posey is, nor as money-certain in the clutch from long-range, but he’s younger, would be slightly cheaper, and is a fan favorite in Boston from his two years there.

    Brand Goes to Philly; Camby Lands With the Clips

    Let’s start with my minority opinion that Marcus Camby is a more valuable basketball player than Elton Brand. The market has obviously said otherwise–Brand signed a 5-year, $80 million deal with the Sixers, spurning a Clipper franchise that would have topped those numbers, while Camby is getting a mere $20 million over the next two years and was just given away for a second-round draft choice by the Nuggets. But that’s because even NBA general managers apparently undervalue defense in this league. Marcus Camby was named the league’s best defender two years ago. He is just a whisker behind Tyson Chandler as the best defensive center in basketball. And Nuggets gave him away because they didn’t want to pay the luxury tax!!

    How fucking stupid can the Denver management be? I get it that the Nuggets laid a giant egg last season and don’t want to lose a ton of money on a team that isn’t going anywhere. But to scapegoat Camby for this is asinine. What, you say Camby isn’t scapegoated, he’s just the one guy on the roster whose salary could be unloaded? Well then why is coach George Karl still around–wasn’t he the guy who couldn’t get this squad full of superstar contracts to play a lick of defense (aside from Camby, who led the NBA with 3.61 blocks per game to go with his 13 rebounds and 3.3 assists)? And why did Denver management explain they were dumping Camby to clear cap space to eventually sign free agents like chucklehead JR Smith, he of the $50 hops and 10-cent brain?

    Had Camby been kept on the squad this year, his ten mil would have been half of what Allen Iverson will make, more than four million less than both Melo and K-Mart will draw, and about $320,000 more than Nene will "earn." If I was a Nugs fan, I would be screaming bloody murder. You lose Camby but you keep Karl and the rest of the malingerers who sleepwalked through the season at the defensive end of the court? You’re seriously thinking that JR Smith is the key to your future? You have a $10 million trade exception for a year (about the only worthwhile thing received in the deal) but have the increasingly suspect Melo as your cornerstone, Iverson coming off the books at the end of the season, and the often-injured Nene and scrub Stephen Hunter as your centers alongside the often-injured K-Mart on the front line.

    If Karl is still around by New Year’s Day 2009, I’ll be amazed.

    But back to Camby versus Brand. I’ve long admired Brand’s work ethic and the way his integrity saw the Clips through some very lean years, which makes his apparent bait-and-switch with his former ballclub all the more ironic after the team, at his urging, had gone out and signed Baron Davis. Folks who favor Brand over Camby can point to him being a rare 20/10 career man after nine seasons in the league, and five years younger than Camby to boot.

    I think Camby, despite their huge age difference, will be more valuable than Brand in two years’ time. Because of Camby’s early history with injuries, he actually has fewer total NBA minutes than Brand–23,500 for EB; 21,301 for Camby. And Camby is getting better with age, setting career-highs in blocks, rebounds, and assists last season. Over the past three years he’s never grabbed fewer than 11.7 rebounds per game nor blocked fewer than 3.3 shots per game. By contrast, if we eliminate last year for Brand, who ruptured his achilles tendon and sat out all but 8 games, over his three previous (healthy) seasons, he grabbed 10 rebounds per game once (and then exactly 10.0), never blocked more than 2.5 shots per game, and registered fewer steals and assists than Camby. The only place Brand has it all over Camby is on offense. Brand’s 20.3 career average is nearly double Camby’s 10.7, and his shooting percentage is 50.5 versus Camby’s 46.7.

    But what’s harder to find, points in the paint or interior D? What’s a harder position to fill, center or power forward? And who has the better shot at being injury-free the next few years, the 6-7, 254 bull coming off a significant achilles injury who specializes in low-block offense or the 6-11, 235 shot-swatter who gets his few points mostly on mid-range jumpers? Camby is a young 34; Brand an old 29. The Clippers made out like bandits on this exchange, paying $6 million less and with less long-term obligation, for a better player.

    Yes, Camby is more redundant on a team that already has a legit center in Chris Kamen. Teams would be smart to try to run on a Clips team that sports a front line of Kamen/Camby/Thornton with the defensively challenged Baron Davis at the point and perhaps rookie Eric Gordon on the wing. But here’s a trade proposal I think would be great for both clubs: Camby and Cuttino Mobley to the Miami Heat for Shawn Marion. The Matrix would be a perfect fit between Kamen and Thorton, provide Davis and Gordon (and Thorton) with a dyamite running mate, and be the jack of defenders he was in Phoenix. Granted, Marion’s weird unhappiness with the perfect situation he was given in Phoenix, and at an inflated salary, is troubling in terms of him b
    eing a veteran leader in LA, and a contract agreement (or a sign and trade after an extension by Miami) would have to be worked out. But with Davis/Marion/Kamen as your nucleus and Eric Gordon and perhaps Deandre Jordan in your future, the Clips could make some noise in the tough Western Conference.

    Meanwhile, Miami would have Camby to go with Wade and Beasley, a perfect complement. Those who think the Heat are (or should) be building slow and sure have a lot more confidence in Wade’s ability to absorb punishment without future injury than I do. No, Miami should be in a win-soon mode, and putting a leviathan like Camby in the pivot and Wade and Beasley (and Mobley, don’t forget) on the wings is a nice little recipe for success. Just a thought.

    Posey Makes the Hornets Favorites in the West

    The best way to describe James Posey to fans in New Orleans is that he’s the anti-Bonzi Wells; a guy whose game is always better than his stats, and whose results are almost always better than the process you see before your eyes. Posey isn’t pretty–well, unless he’s making like the heir to Robert Horry on those big-time treys–but the kind of defense and rugged physicality he brings to the court isn’t meant to be pretty. He fits in so smoothly with Tyson Chandler and David West that it is tempting to think about bringing Peja Stojakovic off the bench as a 6th man of the year candidate. The ideal signing, and, if not for "Camby for a second round draft pick," the coup of the off-season acquisitions.

     

  • Kevin Mahogany Channels Big Joe Turner

    MUSIC
    Kevin Mahogany Sings Big Joe Turner



    Mahogany’s resemblance to Turner is more physical than vocal. While
    matching Big Joe’s large, expansive frame, Mahogany is more dulcet
    crooner than blues shouter, closer in spirit to another vocalist he
    feted four years ago on his Mahogany Music label, Johnny Hartman. But
    Mahogany did play a Turner-Jimmy Rushing composite in Robert Altman’s
    film, Kansas City, and as recently as last year was playing Turner
    tribute gig at Birdland in New York with the likes of saxophonist Red
    Holloway and pianist Cyrus Chestnut. While not quite so star-studded,
    the lineup at the Dakota includes a gloriously gutbucket rhythm section
    of Blue Note and Groove Merchant recording artists Reuben Wilson on the
    B-3 organ, Grant Green’s son, Grant Green Jr., on guitar, and renowned
    session and ex-Living Colour drummer JT Lewis—and vocalist Kathy Kosins
    to boot. But the main attraction remains Mahogany who in addition to
    the Turner material has done albums devoted to romantic ballads, big
    band standards and Motown hits, and unearthed the essential strengths
    of every style while showcasing his own silky baritone. Listening to
    this ace band launch into “Roll ‘Em Pete,” “Shake, Rattle & Roll,”
    or other standards associated with Turner will likely open the spigot
    on the more freewheeling side of his nature. – Britt Robson



    July 21st & 22nd, 7pm & 9:30pm, Dakota Jazz Club, 1010 Nicollet Mall, Downtown Minneapolis, $20-$25



    FILM

    The Dark Knight



    The Dark Knight
    is an impossibly good crime drama, populated with memorable characters
    and constructed with textured ideas about morality and justice and
    society’s ability to effectively mete it out against the world’s evils.
    It is an instant classic for comic book fans and is one of the most
    intensely entertaining films in years. The quality of the cast is exceeded only by director Christopher Nolan’s assured guidance of
    all his film’s moving parts. Weaker genre films are often drenched in
    selfish art direction, but Nolan favors a subtler approach that builds
    on the style established in the first film and he composes action and
    violence firmly grounded in reality. Audiences overdosed on poorly
    implemented computer graphics fakery will find The Dark Knight a jolting tonic. – Joe Kvam



    Read the full review HERE.



    Locations and times vary, click HERE for local listings.






    BENEFIT EVENT

    Summer Sounds


    Do a little good tonight! The Minneapolis Aquatennial and The Harrington Foundation have teamed up for this year’s Summer Sounds benefit event. With proceeds going to help create scholarships for students in need, Summer Sounds is a good cause with a great party attached to it. Come enjoy the dynamic jazz stylings of local legend Debbie Duncan
    along with Parisota Hot Club, The New Primitives, Bill Duna and the
    Latin Jazz Combo, and many more. Put your bids down on a vast array of
    items in the silent auction which will include vacation packages,
    retail gift certificates and artwork, then enjoy the delicious buffet
    by D’amico Catering. Not quite enough? You’ll also get to rub elbows
    with the Aquatennial’s Queen of The Lakes, which I’m sure is something you’ve been dreaming about your entire life…right?



    6-10pm, Calhoun Beach Club, 2925 Dean Parkway, Minneapolis, $40 Advance, $50 Door







  • Monkeywrench Movie Review. Part One.

    I am a gearhead, or as they say across the pond, a "petrolhead." While this ostensibly disqualifies me from writing a movie review, my British friends think otherwise. Particularly if I am writing about British films.

    The flim you need to watch is called This Sporting Life from 1964. It is a classic of the British New Wave (predated the French) and perhaps the most famous of the "kitchen sink dramas" set in the economically-depressed regions of Nothern England.

    It is directed by the great Lindsay Anderson (his first feature film) who went on to direct the scandalous …If with Malcom McDowell at the end of the decade. It also features the performance of a lifetime by Richard Harris (his first feature flim lead) and Rachel Roberts (nominated for an Oscar, as was, I think, Harris.)

    For a critical appraisal of this classic, simply read the review on the Criterion Flims website (get all your flims–buy and own them— from this website and waste no time with anything else) or check out Strictly Film School.

    For a monkeywrench review, here are my thoughts:

    This is a brutal flim. Many consider it the finest British flim ever made (questionable, but worth considering). It is unflinching and unstinting in its attention to emotional and aesthetic detail.

    What really makes it work for me, however, is Richard Harris’ perfomrnace and that of Ms.Roberts. While it was said at the time that Harris was aping Brando in This Sporting Life, I feel he provides a far more emotionally nuanced performance of an athlete with feelings than "I coulda’ been a contenda" Marlon and his assorted women.

    I wonder if there is even such a thing as a British method actor?

    Leave it to the Americans to coin a buzz phrase. Leave it to the British to mint the finest actors on the planet. (Think Tom Hollywood Hanks in Forrest’s Hump versus Peter Sellers in Being There.)

    Alas, why should you watch this film about sports?

    1) Because it is about sports.

    2) Because it is about women.

    3) Because it has not one, but two classic Bentleys.

    4) Because it shows that apes like you and I can have feelings.

    5) Because it says something about living life over keeping your head in the sand (whether in the suburbs or the skyscraper you inhabit downtown).

    Part Two, including a very greasy plot synopsis, to follow soon. I am too drained from watching. I have feelings.

    (Impatient? There’s always Wikipedia.)

  • Arts Up in Arms: The MIA Attempts to Quell the Rumors this Saturday

     

    DISCUSSIONS/ART

    MAEP Community Meeting


    Attention artists and art appreciators! As many of you already know, beloved coordinator of The Minnesota Artist’s Exhibition Program, Stewart Turnquist, who held his post for the past 31 years, resigned unexpectedly last week. Many local artists are concerned,
    fearing the future of the artist-run program – which under Turnquist’s
    leadership has successfully maintained a collaboration between the MIA
    and the statewide artist community. Come down to the MIA this Saturday morning for a public forum which will invite those with questions and concerns about the future of MAEP to speak their mind. Our local artists need
    your show of support, so if you appreciate the vibrant arts and culture scene
    that has been so carefully cultivated in our fair city throughout the years, or you are an artist yourself – your input is
    absolutely vital!



    Saturday, 10:30am-Noon, The MIA, Pillsbury Auditorium, 2400 3rd Avenue South, Minneapolis, Free

    ART

    All Buildings Dream in Blueprints



    One of my fave Minneapolis photographers and an all-around talented fellow, Eric William Carroll,
    opens this amazing solo exhibition at Augsburg College’s Christensen
    Center Art Gallery tonight. Using light and blueprint paper, Carroll
    transforms three-dimensional objects and spaces into two-dimensional
    images using an old-timey photography process referred to as diazotype.
    Cool, right? It gets cooler. The installation includes a 2-D,
    large-scale recreation of Augsburg’s annual Student Art Exhibit, which
    was on display in the same gallery this past April. All Buildings Dream in Blueprints
    merges memory with this very moment, creating a visual version of deja
    vu that is as pretty as it is fascinating. Runs through September 5th.



    Friday, Reception 5:30pm-7:30pm, Christensen Center Art Gallery, Augsburg College, 720 22nd Ave. S, Minneapolis, Free



    MUSIC

    Anthony Cox, Phil Hey & Chris Lomheim


    Here’s a gig that lets you strain the brandy or fine single malt over
    your tongue while you swell with pride for living in a place with such
    a vibrant local jazz scene. Cox is an internationally renowned bassist
    who had Billy Higgins and Dewey Redman on his first record and happens
    to call the Twin Cities home. Hey is a protégé of Ed Blackwell and has
    been arguably the top drummer in town for two decades. They’ve formed
    trios with pianist Billy Carrothers and guitarist Dean Magraw, among
    others, but when Cox called Lomheim as well as Hey to fill some
    corporate dates, things took a quieter, albeit very satisfying, turn.
    Lomheim favors the melancholy of Bill Evans and is also a composer of
    some note. Cox, who always admired Evans’ bassist Scott Lafaro, was
    amenable to that approach. The first time they played the AQ a few
    months back was reportedly a luminous affair. Despite their Ornettish
    associations, Cox and Hey are enjoying the hushed, relaxed groove of
    calling out standards-be it Monk or Jerome Kern, with Lomheim always
    bringing at least one original for variety-and spooling out the
    interplay. -Britt Robson



    Friday & Saturday 9pm, Artists Quarter, 408 St. Peter Street, St. Paul, $10





    FESTIVALS

    Highland Fest



    I spent a good chunk of my youth living in St. Paul’s Highland Park
    neighborhood, and the bustling Highland Village was a primo spot for
    within-walking-distance loitering. Each summer for three days, tents,
    moonwalks, food vendors and more come out of the woodwork to turn this
    specialty shop-infested three block stretch into an arts and crafts mecca,
    and the whole neighborhood turns up to spend their hard-earned cash on
    pottery, dreamcatchers and cheese curds. The best part, of course, is
    the beer garden set up near the library, where you can sip (or guzzle)
    3.2 Bud Light while enjoying the musical stylings of such safe-bet acts as Martin Zellar, Yodel A-Go-Go, and tons more. Highland Fest is a fun
    stroll-through, a decent excuse to scarf down some mini donuts, and a
    good way to get some sun! Watch out for off-leash children



    Friday-Sunday, Highland Park, Ford Parkway & Cleveland Ave, St. Paul, Free

    WINE & DINE

    A Culinary "Cue" from Chef Alan Shook

    Meet Chef Alan Shook from Cue at the Guthrie, get recipe tips from the upcoming World Flavors Dinner Party, and pick up ingredients at Whole Foods to make your own gourmet meal! Chef
    Alan will demonstrate cooking techniques, sharing a special
    scallop recipe plus dip and sauce recipes from our upcoming World
    Flavors event. You’ll learn how to transform asparagus, carrots, and
    red peppers into a colorful party mosaic, pretty as a picture and good
    enough to eat too!

    Don’t forget to RSVP for the World Flavors Wine Dinner and Patio Party at Cue
    on July 22nd from 6 to 9pm featuring a multi-course gourmet meal, live
    jazz from Irv Williams and Peter Schimke, and more. Grab a date and
    enjoy this culinary adventure with us! Click HERE for more info and to reserve your spot!



    Saturday, 1-2pm,
    Whole Foods Market, 3060 Excelsior Blvd, Minneapolis, Free





    FESTIVALS

    Chiang Banger



    Who knew a Thai restaurant could rock so hard? This Sunday throw
    caution to the wind and join the crew at delicious Uptown staple Chiang
    Mai Thai for their first (and hopefully annual) block party.
    Spice up the laziest day of the week with yummy food, ice cold beer and
    music from some of the hottest bands in town including local indie
    legends, Polara, sexy electro-dream gods Solid Gold,
    and many other hipster notables such as Ouija Radio, The Mood Swings,
    Shortcuts, Fuck Knights, Frontier, Caroline Smith, Bitch City, and Grey
    Skies – with witty banter thrown in between sets by emcee and comedian
    Chris Maddock. The perfect end to a smashingly good weekend!



    Sunday, 2pm-10pm, Behind Chiang Mai Thai, Lake St. & Girard Ave., Uptown, Free







  • Muja Messiah's Debut Album

    "Don’t wait for the critics to jump on this dude before you start giving it up," says everybody’s favorite Albino rhymer, Brother Ali. He’s speaking about Muja Messiah, the latest local rapper to make a big splash in the national underground hip-hop scene. "Muja is the shit. The man is right with his."

    So this is your last chance to go grab (download…) Muja’s debut album Thee Adventures of a B-Boy D-Boy and enjoy it for yourself, before I ruin it with tempered, analytic praise.

    Ready, go. Now come back. We can have a nice discourse in the comments section below. We will agree with each other, all of us emphasizing each other’s opinions in a positive, supporting manner. Which happens.

    Okay. Let’s start with Bro Ali’s statement that "Muja is the shit." If being ‘the shit’ – and making an album that is also ‘the shit’ – necessitates putting forth an unbroken series of successful songs, then indeed there’s something gorgeous about Muja Messiah. Thee Adventures cycles through a medley of styles. The production ranges from the jazzy slow jam to the upbeat to the downright krunked, the rhymes from egotistical to introspective. And Muja effortlessly navigates from track to track, rapping convincingly over the varied beats – it’s not just like he wrote a rhyme and a producer made a beat and they synced them up and smashed them together; rather his flows seem actually to be linked with the rhythms.

    Overall, his style has a bit more of an edge than most Minnesotan rappers’. Just when I thought the local scene was as saturated as it could possibly be – this is a small city to have as many big names as we do – Muja is able to inject it with something that, if not completely new, is at least new to us.

    Though he expertly tackles the self-conscious and political rhymes that have filled several albums on the Rhymesayers label, Muja Messiah (whose album is put out by Black Corners) is most on point when he’s rapping about his life on the streets of North Minneapolis. (Not to say other rappers here haven’t dabbled in this milieu; it’s just that, to my mind, Muja is so far the most noteworthy.)

    On "What’s This World Coming To" (which features Slug) he’s all like:

    "I was conceived in a mustard green Cutlass Supreme/
    lucky me at the time I was the youngest of three/
    til my big sister drowned in a river/
    years later my brother got gunned down and they never found the killer."

    As this verse shows, he handles his personal history with frankness and even a little bit of humor. It’s his trademark mixture, and proves to be engaging on every track. One gets a sense that Muja is rapping about some important, personal issues, but where applicable he’s able to see the absurdity of his situations. I think that might be called scope.

    What’s maybe most endearing, though, is an inferiority complex that hovers over the album, in regards to street credibility. While Muja Messiah raps about the toughness of his childhood, the murder victims he knows (including his brother), and his absent dad – this is the stuff of Tupac, let’s remember – he still seems to need to validate himself and the city he grew up in.

    On the Lil’ Jon-inspired "Get Fresh," he’s all like:

    "Niggaz backstabbin’ my city
    like it’s all backpackin’ and hippy
    like it ain’t crackin’ in my city
    We don’t be rappin’ about rappin’
    We rap about what be happenin’
    in the streets."

    Likewise, Thee Adventures features guest verses from Black Thought (The Roots), Slug, and I-Self Devine; his beats are produced by guys that have worked with Eminem, Nas, and De La Soul; and yet it seems like Muja’s ego still needs some propping up. It’s sweet, kind of. Coming from the state that labors to make sure everyone knows that Bob Dylan was born here, the self-conscious ego seems a very Minnesotan thing. The overall effect works in Muja’s favor: Because of its insecurities, his thuggish style of rap is accessible even to guys like me.

    At the end of the day, he can’t ignore the fact that Kenwood and Linden Hills are as much a part of his city as any other neighborhood. Seeing as how he’s the wordsmith here, it’s not surprising that he puts it best himself:

    "I’m from a pasture where the grass is greener
    started as a rapper and emerged as a leader…
    I’m down with Black Thought
    I’m down with Black Blondie
    I am the Black Honkie."

     

    **CD release party Sunday, July 27 at First Avenue**

  • All Hopped Up on Russian Rye

    I could tell jokes about Tsarist Russians all day long, so I’ll just leave it to the folks at the Guthrie’s Wurtele Thrust Stage, where a new adaptation of Nikolai Gogol’s 19th century comedy The Government Inspector runs through August 24. Local playwright Jeffrey Hatcher (The Falls and the screenplays for Stage Beauty and Casanova) lends his trademark humor to the madcap proceedings where, unfortunately, the parts do not add up to a whole.

    The heads of a small Russian village are horrified to learn that a government inspector is coming to make a thorough visit to the town. Even worse, he may be in disguise. Mayor Anton Antonovich (Peter Michael Goetz) knows his town isn’t an exemplary place – the hospital was built the same size as its model, the school principal is frightened of his teachers and geese are being raised in the courtroom jury box – so he proclaims that the government inspector must be found and dealt with. A case of mistaken identity leads them to Ivan Alexandreyevich Hlestakov (Broadway vet Hunter Foster), a down-on-his-luck-and-finances card player on his way to visit his father. He unexpectedly finds himself the object of everyone’s affections, getting bribes thrown at him from the men of the town and much, much more from the women.

    The sardonic examinations of greed and corruption are balanced with as many sex jokes and innuendos as you would imagine in a Russian play. No doubt taking many liberties with the source material, Hatcher and director Joe Dowling have crafted several moments of uproarious hilarity. It really is a pity that the comedy isn’t consistent; when the jokes fall, they fall hard and the play creeps to a crawling pace. The cast is a worthy ensemble, but they cannot help when audiences are thrown yet another joke about what Russian alcohol is made of or a talk about seduction shortly before the most repulsive woman walks in. As a result, the play is only truly captivating when certain performers are on stage. When they’re gone, you’re in for the long haul.

    In the central role, Foster gives an admirable performance. Another unfortunate mistake is making Foster’s character one of the least interesting in the play. Ivan is a typical, likable doofus in way over his head, but when Foster gets the chance to reach beyond that, he is truly hilarious. Whether it be showcasing his physical abilities when drunk or composing an impromptu poem/love song to his supposed sweetheart Marya (think "aria" or… "operaria"), he shows a wide array of comic talents that are suppressed more often than not. In having Ivan attempting to make himself seem like a gentleman, we get a character that is too typically bumbling, especially when the audience knows the performer is capable of so much more.

    As the mayor’s wife, veteran performer Sally Wingert easily walks away with the show. Decked out in a set of increasingly ridiculous dresses, Wingert completely inhabits the role of lusty, jaded and ignored woman and runs. She manages to take every line, no matter how cliché, and turn it into comedic gold; while butchering French for comic effect is hardly a new joke, Wingert’s crass and brash destruction of the language has audiences splitting their sides. Kris L. Nelson and Lee Mark Nelson do a twisted, lispy riff on Tweedledee and Tweedledum to great effect. And in a brief but memorable role, Jim Lichtscheidl is hilarious as a laidback, honest and gossipy postman.

    The other members of the cast are more or less successful in their shtick: Raye Birk, Wayne A. Evenson and Stephen Yoakam are funnier in their neurotic town head roles; Maggie Chestovich less so as the mayor’s daughter, playing her as the stereotypical whiny teenager without any real innovation. But they play off each other well. Sparks fly in some cases; Foster’s secret trysts with Wingert and Chestovich are among the high points of the play, even if the circumstances surrounding their meetings are no more than afterthoughts.

    Set in what may be the brightest and most colorful version of Russia ever, Dowling directs the production with the intent to make everything fast and snappy. From the plywood cutout set by John Arnone, to the cartoonish costumes by Ann Hould-Ward, everyone involved seems determined to make audiences forget ever thinking that Russians are dark and depressing. With transitions offset by a raucous ensemble of villagers and a turntable on the stage (why not?), everything flows quickly. Until, of course, the jokes fall flat and the pace drops dead.

    The Government Inspector is far from tedious in the end. It is always entertaining and frequently laugh-inducing. Just not as consistently riotous as it should be. A likable cast with more than a few comic gems is enough to pull the production out of any rut and make even the lamest of jokes admirable. And in a show where making a good, lasting impression is the most important thing, the folks at the Guthrie have certainly accomplished their mission.

  • Asher’s Land

    I just got back with a shitload of red lights. You know, Christmas lights, my wife calls them twinkie lights. At the junk store they were 20 cents a box, dirt cheap, so I bought 170 boxes. 100 lights to a box, that’s a shitload of lights.

    I come in the house with as many as I can carry in one load and the wife says, “What the hell you got there? Cupcakes? Let me see what you got there.” She’s got sweets on the mind so I sour her mood and show her the lights. “What we need these for? You old fool.” She walks to the kitchen to cough up phlegm. After 51 years of marriage she’s still private about some things.

    I go to the kitchen; the wife’s sitting down at the table with a flame under the teakettle that looks like it could get out of hand. I think of the Holsteins across the road and how the summer of ’76 they fried to a crisp after lightening hit Asher’s land. “Sure hope you’re watching the stove.” My wife looks at me through cloudy glasses and says, “What do we need all those lights for?” I don’t want to answer this question.  It will just lead to another.

    I look at her as the kettle takes to screeching and hear those Holsteins plain as day, belting to break free. Red lights flashed that night through these kitchen walls and we lost power for five days. I think about the boxes of red lights I’ve stacked in the other room, wondering what I might do to warn the weather that its comeuppance is due. I take to the road, arms full of lights, and hike over to Asher’s land, dirt cheap now that Clint Asher’s gone and not a one of his kids left to farm. I’ll stake out the land and run the lights along the border so God can look down and weep all the same. Off in the distance I see one cow chewing her cud. One cow silhouetted in the back, mirroring the outline of the wife in the window.

    My son’s hiding behind the wife’s dress sucking his thumb. Dirty feet on the both of them. The wife’s stirring ingredients for a devil’s food cake, spatula heavy with candied cherries. Cats flying through the yard. Crows cackling. Within minutes the sky’s tumbling and daylight is only a memory. “Come on in,” I hear the wife say. “You old fool,” she says as she tosses the tea leaves out the back door on top the bed of jonquils.

    That’s a shitload of lights I found today. I head closer to what remains of Asher’s barn and leave the lights I’m carrying. The cow has jumped the fence and a flash of red rises from the ground. Those lights, 20 cents a box, someone’s junk times one hundred, have found their new resting place under God’s stirring sky that may soon leave us powerless.
     

     

  • The Naschmarkt: Vienna's Outdoor Market

    "Probieren Sie mal, Herr Professor," says the guy behind the counter at the market stall, as he holds out a freshly fried felafel ball. "Have a taste." (I guess the beard and glasses make me look like a Herr Professor.) A few feet away, another vendor holds out a green olive on a toothpick. Strolling through the Naschmarkt, Vienna’s open air market, is like running a gastronomic gauntlet. The market stretches out for about a mile through the
    heart of the city, with scores of vendors on either side of narrow pedestrian
    walkways.

    Naschmarket Vegematic guy

    On loan from the Minnesota State Fair: The Vegematic guy!

    Most of the fruit and vegetable vendors seem to be Turkish, but you
    can also find bakeries, cheese shops, wine merchants, doner kebab vendors,
    Oriental markets, and stalls offering everything from artisan vinegars to fresh
    pasta, fish, meat and sausage. There are also a lot of little cafes in the
    Naschmarkt, offering everything from traditional Austrian Wienerschnitzel and brathaendl (roasted chicken) to palatschinken (crepes) to Thai, Chinese and Vietnamese cuisine.

    **Click here for more pictures from the market and take a look at the video (below).**