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  • Sweeney Todd: Compare and Contrast

    At last night’s opening of Sweeney Todd, at the State
    Theatre    , I couldn’t help but make comparisons to the recent film version. This
    is what theatergoers do at revivals, right? They consider the present viewing
    experience in relation to all previous encounters with a favorite play or musical. And to
    be clear: Sweeney is, by far, one of my favorites.

    The first thing that struck me last night was that the
    performers not only sang; they orchestrated. Johanna played the cello, Tobias the violin. They took turns at the piano. Mrs. Lovett played the freakin’ triangle. I was glad it wasn’t
    another of those overblown, over-produced Broadway productions with all manner
    of mechanical, remote-controled set elements. You see, when I go to the theater, I don’t want a stage production with an inferiority complex, something that really
    wants to be a film. As it turned out, this was a fairly simple, hand-made interpretation reliant only on instruments, a few set pieces, and, most of
    all, these actors’ ability to conjure alternate reality.

    What’s more, a lot of Sweeney stage adaptations are very
    vertical in design; most of the ones I’ve seen have employed some sort of chute
    (just like the movie) with which the barber can cleanly dispose of his victims.
    This production, on the other hand, was more abstract in its handling of the murders–as well as the disposal of the corpses.
    I won’t spoil it by giving anything away, but will say that the stage version
    comes off as much, much funnier–much thanks to the fact that it doesn’t resemble
    a slasher flick.

    On the play’s youngest characters, Johanna and Tobias: Here’s an instance where I
    preferred the actors/singers in the
    film version. The actress who played Johanna, in particular, had a very pretty but nonetheless
    unsophisticated voice that sounded almost white in tone. The stage version, of
    course, employs adult actors who, great as are (with plenty of color to their voices),
    aren’t quite so fresh-faced–and therefore aren’t as forceful–in their youthful parts.
    As for the character of Anthony (played last night by Benjamin Magnuson), he
    looked more the part of a brute sailor; whereas in the movie he was a mop-haired,
    Victorian-era metrosexual. In other words, in the movie, he looked a lot like an ex-boyfriend, which I didn’t care for.

    But the stage version’s most important distinction is that
    it doesn’t allow for such moping, brooding portraits of these characters. Sweeney et al. can’t be so internalized in a 2,000-seat house. David Hess, who plays
    Sweeney, interprets the barber as more enraged than sociopathic. Mr. Todd therefore appears less the self-pitying, self-isolating freak than, in fact, a blood-thirsty
    demon dead set on exacting revenge.

  • Don't Let It Leak: Truckers Love Pie

    LECTURE
    The Cat Is Out of the Bag, and Here to Tell You about It

    What does an undercover CIA agent do after she’s outed in one heck of a national security scandal? Apparently, she writes a book about it and tours the country. And while that might sound a little snide on my part, it’s actually quite a lucky thing for us, as we now get to hear the story from the horse’s mouth. For 18 years Valerie Plame Wilson kept her covert CIA status a secret from both family and friends. But, somehow, in 2003, when her husband came out against the war in Iraq, Wilson’s name was leaked to the media. Whether the two items are related is for you to decide, though certainly Wilson will have something to say about it. While no one has been charged for the leak — a leak that jeopardized the safety of Wilson, her family, and all other covert agents, for that matter — the White House has been repeatedly blamed. Curious? Get the details from Wilson this evening when she shares her chilling tale.

    7:30 p.m., Orchestra Hall, 1111 Nicollet Mall, Minneapolis; 612-371-5656; $42-$66.

    MUSIC
    Jason Isbell, Will Hoge, and Dawn Landes

    Four years with the Drive-By Truckers may have earned Jason Isbell a a great deal of know-how and skill, a good deal of fame, and at least a small amount of money. But since he has gone solo, the man has shown himself to be a true star. His first solo album, Sirens Of The Ditch is a slick and polished mix of hard rock and country balladry (with plenty of soul) that seems a long way off from the Drive-By Truckers grunge he so recently left behind. Perhaps his song "Grown" says it best: "All them years ago you took a nervous little kid / and showed me how to slow it down just a little bit." Hear Isbell slow it down just a bit this evening in a performance with Will Hoge and Dawn Landes.

    7 p.m., Varsity Theater, 1308 4th St. S.E., Minneapolis; 612-604-0222; $15.


    THEATER & PERFORMANCE
    Three and Twenty Dead Folks Baked in a Pie

    It’s hard to go wrong with Sweeney Todd. A serial killing barber with a straight razor is surely captivating; but when you combine that with a woman who butchers the dead and bakes them into meat pies, that’s a recipe for success. Isn’t it obvious? I mean, who won the Golden Globe for best picture this year? Who won best actor? What film is nominated for three Academy Awards? — These are all attributed to Tim Burton’s film version of Sweeney Todd, starring Johnny Depp. And while Depp is certainly a hard act to follow, and the film was clearly a smash, let’s face it: this Stephen Sondheim musical is made for the stage.

    7.30 p.m., Historic State Theater, 805 Hennepin Ave., Minneapolis, 612-673-0404; $27-$67.

     

  • Mao and Asher, Now Appearing at 20.21

    Faces are changing fast at the Walker Art Center‘s 20.21.

    Chef Scott Irestone tendered his resignation abruptly last week. Executive sous chef Asher Miller — now acting head chef — said he was on vacation and returned to find that his boss of three years had left the Wolfgang Puck family, where he’d been working since 1996 (in Las Vegas, for Spago, Chinois, and Postrio, before coming to Minneapolis to open 20.21 in 2005).

    "There was no indication anything was wrong before I left," Miller says. "All I know is, the parting of ways was very much Scott’s decision."

    Miller, a veteran of Fermentations in Dundas, MN, and Cafe Barbette, also has been with the Walker restaurant since it opened. And he’s refreshingly forthright about his desire to take Irestone’s place.

    "I want the job," says the slim, shaved-headed 27-year-old. "And I’m doing the job now. So it makes sense."

    No word yet from Puck HQ, however, on whether or not they’re even considering Miller or plan to bring in another seasoned Wolfgang-inspired line man from Vegas or L.A.

    No matter what happens, Miller promises the menu at 20.21 will remain consistent. There is, apparently, no room at all for a local man to experiment (which gives one a clue as to what might have ired Irestone, does it not?). The careful fusion of Asian and American tastes — quail in pineapple-black pepper sauce, fried calamari salad, Shanghai Maine lobster — is set in stone.

    "Everything in the restaurant is per Lee Hefter [Puck’s first lieutenant out of Spago – Beverly Hills] and you just don’t mess with Chef Lee," Miller explains. "Our menu is and always has been Lee’s. But the cool thing about that is while everything stays the same, your job is to make it a little more perfect every time."

    One thing at 20.21 has changed, however. The frothy and ebullient hot-pink Andy Warhol portrait of Marilyn Monroe — a fixture in the lounge since the restaurant’s inaugural dinner — has been switched out with the dour, green-hued likeness of Mao Tse-tung.

    Hey, Chef Lee. . . what’s the deal with that?

  • Jovovich-Hawk for Target

    p.s. I heart these looks from the latest Go International
    designer, Jovovich-Hawk. These will hit Target stores on March 2 or thereabouts.

     

     

  • Why It Took Me 'Til Now To Post on NY Fashion Week

    1. d’Uh. I’m
    not even there.

    2. By
    now, I’ve had my fill of black, gray, and wool–even though I am somewhat pleased
    by the, uh, "bold prints" that will purportedly appear on racks everywhere
    next fall. My original point being: right now I’m looking forward to spring,
    not fall.

    (2.5 A
    parenthetic thought: In theory, graphic prints are fine. But have you noticed
    how revolting they are in the real world–on curvy, non-coat hanger
    bods?)

    3. While
    we’re on the topic of fall ’08 top trends, let’s talk shoulder pads. Don’t
    get me wrong: linebackers are sexy ‘n all (or so I hear).
    However, I, myself, do not care to emulate the look since, as I recall, shoulder pads make me feel fat.

    (3.5. I’m too busy scrutinizing Hillary’s wardrobe.)

    4. Frankly, there’s a strong current of maternity-esque
    fashions (much of which look eerily similar to that shapeless
    sheath     Angelina Jolie recently wore; see the Halston
    runway shots for examples). I must admit: for whatever reason (biological clock?), I’m drawn to
    such free-flowing, waist-less frocks. But I–and other women like me–have taken some heat for dressing this way. Guys don’t much like it, you see. So,
    I was hoping to avoid the look from hereon out. However, I do wonder if this means my beloved
    babydoll will resurrect. Thank God for pregnant superstars!

    5. Have
    you heard about the recession? I don’t mean to be a downer; however, I do
    feel recession and fashion are strongly correlated. Personally, my
    consumer confidence is in nosedive. I’m terrified of
    finding more fleeting fashions at which to toss my dough. For example, I covet those adorable scrunchy boots (see Jill Stuart‘s collection), but how long can
    that last?

  • Souper Tuesday

    After the all the caucusing, I’m sure you’ll want to burrow into the couch with a piping hot bowl of intellegence and comfort. With each spoonful you’ll feel better, listen a little less to the talking head on the TV and a little more to your inner voice. Soup is egalitarian, soup doesn’t make snide remarks, soup is there for YOU. Saddle up, get your stock bubbling, it’s going to be a long year.

    For the Hillarites, maybe a hearty chicken noodle soup, just like mom used to make.

    For the Obamicans, a rich yet humble wild rice soup to take the edge off the rollicking-crazy changes life is bringing.

    McCainsters might enjoy a little Algerian Jary soup which will give you much needed zing while ensuring long life and good health.

    Mittmen, something with ketch-up? Or this creamy, spicy, crabby soup that tries to cover all the bases?

    And for those that still heart Huckabee, how about a hunter’s stew that’s as tough as Chuck Norris.

    Undecided? Eat Senate Bean Soup every day until you can make a decision.

  • If You Give a Mouse a Nice Bottle of Portuguese Wine

    There’s a picture book called If You Give A Mouse A Cookie, by Laura Joffe Numeroff, that I used to read to my children. It goes like this:

    If you give a mouse a cookie, he’s going to ask for a glass of milk.
    When you give him the milk, he’ll probably ask you for a straw.
    When he’s finished, he’ll ask for a napkin.
    Then he will want to look in a mirror to make sure he doesn’t have a milk mustache.
    When he looks into the mirror, he might notice his hair needs a trim. So he will probably ask for a pair of nail scissors.

    The story goes on this way for about a dozen more pages, until the mouse gets very thirsty, requests a second glass of milk, then asks for a cookie to go with it. It’s a tale about the domino effects of life. And I recalled it this afternoon after struggling for nearly a week to write about Irreverente, an absolutely stunning Portuguese wine.

    I bought my first bottle last Thursday and started a blog entry about Irreverente back then, but I wanted to do more than describe how silky and plummy and honey-filled it is, how like Brandy or Port the finish, how it leaves the tastes of cigar leaves and currant in its wake.

    So I pulled up a map of Portugal and started studying it, and then I remembered that Jose Saramago, who won the Nobel Prize for literature in 1998, is Portuguese. I’ve read All The Names, Saramago’s most recent book, plowing through his desultory, no-punctuation style to unearth the quiet story of rectitude in anonymity beneath. But I have to admit, I started Blindness, a parable about a plague of sightlessness and the novel that was most responsible for his earning the Nobel, but never finished. It was excellent — stirring — but also just as dark and murky as the title implies.

    I considered, first, trying to read Blindness before writing about the wine (I thought I could get it done over the weekend) but decided that was overkill. So instead, I read a number of reviews and deconstructions online, most of them favorable but a few not, and realized that it probably would be impossible for me to gain a true understanding of Saramago without first reading Albert Camus.

    It’s generally accepted that Camus inspired Saramago, and that his novel The Plague directly precedes Blindness. The truth is, I read The Plague a long, long time ago but I have never, shockingly, read The Stranger, Camus’ other masterpiece, so I strongly considered going to the library to pick up both.

    By this time it was Saturday. I had a dinner party to attend on Saturday night and didn’t make it to the library. Plus, I was bringing a bottle of the Irreverente to the event, partly because it’s my new favorite wine but also because I was hoping someone would say something profound about it. . . .or about Saramago or Camus. . . .over the course of the evening.

    This, however, did not happen. What did happen is that the late night on Saturday was followed by another on Sunday and then a wicked bout of insomnia Sunday night and Monday, which I exploited to read more about Camus. But this caused me even more angst — of course, everything causes me angst when I’m sleepless — because I came to the conclusion around 3 a.m. that I would be a very poor student of Camus, and therefore Saramago, if I did not first establish a firm basis in Kierkegaard, Nietzsche, and Sartre.

    It was a huge amount of work to contemplate, especially as I was feeling guilty that I hadn’t written the wine review already. Finally, this afternoon, sleep-deprived and horrified by my own lack of knowledge regarding Portugal, existentialism, and illness-as-metaphor, I opened my last bottle of Irreverente, drank a glass, and just then received a one-line e-mail from the supplier in response to my query, telling me (in very short form) that Irreverente is a blend of four grapes: Alfochiero, Jaen, Tinta Roriz and Touriqua Nacional.

    I took my cue from this. Mind you, I still intend to read Saramago, Camus, Kierkegaard, Nietzsche, and Sartre. But, lucky for you, I have emerged from my circular mouse-and-cookie behavior and am able to say, simply: Go out right now and buy this wine. It’s available at The Wine Thief, Solo Vino, and Byerly’s wine stores.

    And, by the way, if you give it to a mouse, he will immediately become as happy as the ones pictured above. No insomnia or existential hand-wringing at all. Guaranteed.

  • The Three Pointer: Ongoing Progress

    Copyright 2008 NBAE (Photo by Garrett W. Ellwood/NBAE via Getty Images)

    Game # 47, Home Game #23: Houston 92, Minnesota 86

    Season record: 10-37

    1. Telfair and Jaric Stake Their Claims

    It may be a long time before Randy Foye earns the starting point guard position. The blueprint has it that Foye will be at the point just as soon as he works himself into game shape from that truculent knee injury that robbed him of more than half a season. For two games in a row he has been the first player off the bench and the plan is obviously to install him as the floor general for this ballclub as soon as possible.

    But that doesn’t mean he will *earn* the job, especially given the disparity between Foye’s stumblebum narcissism and the perspicacity with which the current PG incumbent, Bassy Telfair, performed tonight in a close loss to Houston that was well-played by both teams. It was perhaps Telfair’s best game of the season, right up there with the Indiana blowout and the near upset of the Celtics. He consistently dribble-penetrated through the tall trees of China (Yao Ming) and Spain (Luis Scola) and at least four of his dozen dimes were highlight-reel quality, the kind that lift a team’s offensive confidence the way a block or a steal lifts a defense.

    My personal favorite was the last of those 12 assists, occurring with 3:31 to play and the Wolves down 4, 78-82. Starting out at the left key, Telfair took a near baseline angle on his drive to the hoop, and Houston’s entire defense, accustomed to his artistry by now, coalesced around both the dribbler and the two big men in or near the paint. And so Bassy just kept going, beneath the hoop and apparently headed toward the corner, the place where he’d fed Ryan Gomes for a trey on the previous possession. But then he suddenly hooked back upward in a tight circle toward the foul line, getting about two steps and four dribbles before sending a bounce pass across the paint to a driving Craig Smith, who laid it in while being fouled by Shane Battier. These are the kinds of moves that make you happy you are watching hoops–so simultaneously splashy and selfless and filled with David vs. Goliath imagery, and happening in such a flash that the collective roar of the crowd is what most ratifies the fact that you have just seen it.

    And in fact we have not seen it very often in the history of the Timberwolves, where even successful points like Sam Cassell and Terrell Brandon didn’t exactly glide in for that flash, or polish up the feed on quite so shiny a silver platter. (That’s why Stephon Marbury was always regarded as the Judas of Wolves’ Camelot for bugging out on KG–and yes I just mixed about a half-dozen historical metaphors.) Hell, Telfair doesn’t do it that often, but tonight he made impartial observers wonder why you’d want a replacement–at least until he missed the jumper Houston dared him to shoot (he was 3-7 FG overall) with the Wolves down one with 51 seconds left to play.

    Foye was horrible. Most of his passes were benign, around-the-horn types delivered either from a standing dribble or after he’d already picked up the ball, not off penetration. He wasn’t quick and he wasn’t smart and he was foolishly too confident for his incomplete recovery to game shape. His lone assist, versus four turnovers, occurred when he fed Al Jefferson at the foul line and Jefferson took a jab step to feint out his opponent and then sailed in off the dribble to slam it home–in other words, an assist that was generously awarded. Yeah, I know that Foye can be special, that he likes the pressure, scores most of his points in the fourth quarter, etc. etc. But people forget that last year he shared half-court sets with some pretty fair passers who demanded double-teams when they got the ball–Kevin Garnett and Ricky Davis. You could run the entire offense through either one of them, and in fact the Wolves did so on a variety of occasions when Foye was the "floor general." The other day, Foye told the media that everybody would know he was back and fully recovered when he had "a big game." I got the distinct impression that he meant 30 points a lot more than he meant a dozen dimes. Anyway, he now has five assists and nine turnovers in four games since his return.

    Then there is Marko Jaric, owner of the team’s most bloated long-term contract, and tarnished by the unfortunate circumstance that he cost Minnesota not only Cassell (who had to go), but a still-to-be-sacrificed first round draft pick. At the beginning of the season, the Wolves could have "disappeared" both Jaric and Telfair and the faithful would have nodded their heads knowingly and figured it was an inevitable part of this rebuilding mop-up. Tonight each inspired in his own way. For Jaric it was chasing around sharpshooter Tracy McGrady until his uniform was sopped and nearly all the color (which wasn’t much to begin with) was drained from his Serbian face.

    This was particularly stirring during the yeoman third period when Houston ran Jaric through innumerable picks and McGrady was given license to take a five-point halftime lead and parlay it into comfortable double-digits, if not an outright blowout. T-Mac yo-yoed on the perimeter, straining Marko through the screens, ever testing for penetration, or angling to get him aloft with an up fake. When the quarter was over, McGrady was 2-8 FG in those 12 minutes, and held scoreless from the jumper he hit at 10:59 to the free throws he made at 2:59. During those eight minutes Jaric was not marvelous or magnificent so much as unrelenting and tunnel-visioned, winning the third period battle even after McGrady’s trey put Houston back on top by 3 in the quarter’s final 67 seconds.

    Although coach Randy Wittman gave Jefferson his first blow of the second half with 8:40 to go in the fourth quarter, he was appropriately loathe to replace Jaric with another defender on McGrady. But when Houston swelled the lead to 10 with 7:10 to play (with McGrady held scoreless in the 4th but with two assists), Witt needed more offensive firepower and subbed in Gomes for Jaric, sliding McCants over to guard T-Mac. McGrady promptly nailed a jumper from just inside the three-point line, then got into the paint (something that almost never happened with Jaric on him) and dished over to Bonzie Wells for a trey that negated two dime-initiated baskets by Telfair and kept the lead at 9. After that, McCants gathered himself and played pretty staunch defense. But McGrady jab-stepped left and nailed a 17-footer to give the Rockets back a one-point lead with 1:10 left to play, then essentially iced it with a trey with 31 seconds remaining to boost the Rockets’ lead to 4. Afterward, Wittman had the answer to my question about Jaric or McCants on T-Mac going before I could finish it, noting the lead that was widening, crediting both players with fine D on a very talented shooter, and saying that the plan had been to get Jaric back in the game at some point. But it didn’t happen.

    2. Shaddy’s Snit

    With 4:37 left in the second period, Rashad McCants was whistled for a charge on one of those calls that could have legitimately gone either way. But McCants was pissed and complained to the officials as the Wolves called timeout. After this extended harangue, Wittman caught Shaddy’s attention as he was headed toward the bench and harshly told him to get over to the sideline. McCants angrily threw his hand up in Wittman’s direction, turned his head away and yelled something on the order of "get fucked" as he went and sat down.

    When play resumed, McCants was obviously still seething. After a trey by McGrady, Shaddy nailed a step-back jumper, but then Rafer Alston hit a three, boosting Houston’s lead to a game-high 10. McCants’ pass was then stolen by Wells, but Corey Brewer stole a McGrady pass in turn a
    nd the Wolves headed down the court. When Jefferson fed the ball to Brewer for a jump shot, McCants was standing in the corner, first calling for the ball and then putting his hands on his hips and delivering a malevolent gaze at everyone. Shaddy’s fury was not lessened by the fact that Brewer hit the jumper and when Houston subsequently called timeout, he stalked to the bench in high dudgeon, yelling and screaming, presumably at the injustice of not getting the ball. Dressed in street clothes, Theo Ratliff came over first and tried to console him, or at least get him to pipe down. The coaches were still conferring with each other away from the sideline but the players couldn’t help but notice McCants going batshit and stole glances, mixed with a few sour looks, his way. When Witt and company came to the sideline and Wittman pulled out his chalkboard, McCants sat down to his right side. His back was to where I was sitting at this point, but it was obvious that his tirade was continuing because Mark Madsen (also in street clothes), a man of infinite patience and goodwill, got a dark look on his face and yelled out something, again presumably to quiet McCants. Finally, Wittman turned to his right, glowered at McCants, and hollared, either "get out of here" or "get the fuck out of here," but in any case, the way McCants’s shoulders kept moving, I assume he kept talking, until Wittman finally hollared again, "Shut up!" and then started to work on the upcoming play.

    When the players broke the huddle, McCants was no longer in the game. McCants continued to talk while on the bench, no longer quite so angry but demonstrably making his case beside Foye, who looked like he simply wanted the whole episode to be over. Shaddy’s teammates likewise regarded his actions as annoying during this entire time. I honestly wondered if there would be a significant blowback. Up in his seats at halfcourt, VP Kevin McHale clearly had a notion as to what was going on and just as clearly didn’t look very happy about it.

    Yet two minutes after the benching, Wittman called for McCants to re-enter the game with 52 seconds left in the half. And during the second half, McCants was given almost exactly the same minutes as in the first half, in almost exactly the same substitution pattern. So, on the surface at least, no hard feelings. When I asked Wittman about the "tiff" after the game, he asked what I meant by tiff. I repeated the "shut up!" part of the conversation and he said, with a good-natured smile on his face, "That’s coaching. When you tell a guy to shut up, it is time for him to shut up." And since it was already near the close of the post-game press conference anyway, he chose that point to walk away from the mic and end it there. McCants was already gone when I got to the locker room.

    3. Honorable Mentions

    Ho-hum, Al Jefferson had 33 points and 16 rebounds, although the four turnovers were a blemish. Meanwhile, unless Ryan Gomes is going off for 35, as he did against Golden State, or zero, as he did in the first of the back-to-back with Chicago, it is very difficult to know whether he has scored 6 or 25, because he gets them so efficiently in rhythm with the flow of the game. Tonight he had just two at the half, but posted ten more after the break, five in each of the third and fourth quarters, while outplaying his doppelganger Shane Battier, who was held scoreless in the second half and finished with just 5 points and 6 rebounds in 33:43.

  • Super Tuesday

    Ok. It’s Super Tuesday, people. If you’re going to do one thing today, then head over to the caucuses to vote. Let this be another record-breaking year for voter participation — even in the primaries.

    Find out where to go for your precint caucuses.

    BOOKS & AUTHORS
    My Journey as an Abortion Doctor

    This being Super Tuesday, why
    don’t you go all out and take on one of the critical issues behind any
    political campaign these days (and for so many years past) – the
    abortion issue. Hear from a twenty-one year veteran on the front lines
    of the abortion war, Susan Wickland, as she discusses her book This Common Secret: My Journey as an Abortion Doctor.
    Having had an abortion at a very young age, and since then helping
    women across the country through their own versions of the experience,
    Wickland has much light to shed on the topic and the women behind it.

    7:30 p.m., Magers & Quinn Booksellers, 3038 Hennepin Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-822-4611.

    LECTURE
    Andrea Palladio: Architecture and Agritecture

    As
    Americans, we are often slow to learn from the past. We believe
    in growth and progress and often have a hard time stopping to take a
    look back at past accomplishments. Well, stubborn Americans, it
    is time to get some schoolin’ from the pages of history. University
    of Minnesota Professor Leon Satkowski will present a lecture tonight
    on Andrea Palladio, one of the most famous Italian architects of the
    16th century. You may be asking yourself, "What does
    a dead Italian architect have to do with me?" Well, plenty actually. Focusing on the Italian villas that Palladio designed to serve as working farms, Satkowski will discuss how we can improve our own modern-day site planning
    and sustainability. In an age where "going-green" is the new
    trend, we might find some not-so-new ways to improve our earth through
    architecture. —Kate Leibfried

    7 p.m., Pohlad Hall, Minneapolis Central Library, 300 Nicollet Mall, Minneapolis; 612-630-6000; free.

    FILM

    Vince Vaughn’s Wild West Comedy Show


    Vince Vaugh     fans, comedy fans, fans of the Wild West, get ready for a special advanced screening of director Ari Sandel’s new film, Vince Vaughn’s Wild West Comedy Show.
    Follow Vaughn on a 30-city, 30-day, 30-show tour with four energing
    comics. The film takes you behind the scenes from beginning to end as
    Vaughn handpicks his comics and leads them on his 30-day adventure.
    You’ll enjoy laughs both behind and on the scene, as well as a host of
    special guests.

    7:30 p.m., The Oak Street Cinema, 309 Oak St. S.E., Minneapolis; 612-331-3134; $8.

     

  • Doncha' Wish Your Benz Was …

    You know what they say–if pictures could sing.

    Well this is the last of my photo batch from that National Musee’ D’Automotive in France. I have been saving her picture because she is the car that spoke to me more than any other.

    I think that is because this Benz seems like a female sibiling of the SSK that dominated so many race tracks in the 1930s. I never realized that brute had a twin–much less a sister.

    Don’t you wish?