Sundance: Comedies of Love

It wasn't all seriousness at the festival- we did manage to see 3 1/2 comedies, two of which ended being favorites of both of ours. Though A Prophet remains my favorite from the festival, the two films below were close contenders and I strongly recommend both of them. Notably again, both films were written and directed by women.

Diane Bell's debut feature Obselidia is one of those quirky, unique films that seem to exist in a world of their own creation, like Harold and Maude or Amelie. George (Michael Piccirilli) works at a library, believes love is a protein rendered unnecessary by scientific advancement and is busily devoting his life to compiling an encyclopedia of obsolete things- the "Obselidia." He doesn't drive a car though he lives in L.A., uses a rotary phone, and his apartment is a shrine to things long discarded. Of course he's typing out his life's work on a typewriter. Piccirilli is fabulous in the role, creating a unique character, perfectly nuanced in every scene and immediately charming. It's a subtle, brilliant piece of acting.

When George meets Sophie (the completely alluring Gaynor Howe), he senses a kindred spirit though she's way more adventurous than he is. Well, he isn't really adventurous at all. They meet as George interviews her for the Obselidia- she's a projectionist at a silent movie theater. She later knocks on his door and through conversation the ground is laid for them to take a road trip to Death Valley to meet a scientist who believes global warming is irreversible.

In the desert, their romance blossoms as they contemplate the destruction of humanity. Though Bell's script goes a bit overboard on this part, becoming a heavy handed on this theme, the characters keep developing through it and the story never gets derailed by the environmental agenda. This is really a tribute to the strength of Bell's overall vision and the ability of the actors.

Obselidia works so well because its characters are people you want to spend time with. They are warm, unique, funny and flawed. If you knew them in real life they might be hard to deal with at times but they'd probably be your most interesting and devoted friends. Bell's movie is a true delight, reminding me of Before Sunset in its ability to give its audience a warm glow as the film ends on an ambiguous note that seems just right.

We decided to get tickets to one of the "Surprise Premiers" and take our chances on whatever was playing. It turned out to be Lisa Cholodenko's The Kids Are All Right. We were completely unaware that an earlier screening had led to one of those famous Sundance bidding wars for the film's distribution, but I think enough people had heard about it to make it a hot ticket. I should disclose that I know Lisa Cholodenko, so I'm predisposed to want to like her films, as I did the earlier High Art and Laurel Canyon.

So I'm going to try to be as objective as I can here, without resorting to hyperbole. Having issued that disclaimer, Lisa's film was really, really funny. In fact, it's one of the warmest comedies I've seen in a long time. The film features an outstanding cast of Annette Bening, Julianne Moore, Mark Ruffalo, Mia Wasikowska (soon to be seen as the title character in Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland) and Josh Hutcherson.

Bening and Moore play Nic and Jules, a lesbian couple who's relationship has hit a rough patch after being together for twenty years. They have two teenage kids, Joni and Laser. Joni is 18 and about to leave home for college. The kids were artificially inseminated into their mothers, who used the same sperm donor for both of them. Laser is 15 and wants to know who his biological father is and convinces Joni to make the call to the sperm bank to find out.

Ruffalo is of course the donor. I could go on at length about the plot but I won't. Let's just say the best comedies work because they come from a place that understands that people are flawed and those flaws can be the source of life's funniest (or saddest) moments. The movie has some terrific set pieces, my favorite being the dinner scene where Ruffalo meets the parents for the first time. It has some of the best laughs I can recall since Best in Show. The script, by Cholodenko and Stuart Blumberg gets some terrific laughs out of its lesbian mothers scenario, but it never feels pc or agenda-driven (thankfully) nor does it ever resort to low, obvious jokes. It's just funny and honest.

Though it took me awhile to accept Moore and Bening as an on-screen couple (at first their chemistry seemed off, but then you realize things are far from perfect for them) but by the end of the film the "moms" have won you over through great performances and a solid story. I really wouldn't be at all surprised if Bening is nominated for an Oscar. I've always been a bit indifferent to her, but in this film she's perfect. Moore, one of my favorite actresses, is always a joy to watch, but this is the first time in awhile, perhaps since Short Cuts, where she looks like she's having fun.

Waskikowska is really the center of the story and she's a memorable young actor. Cholodenko has brought some fine performances out of this ensemble. Ruffalo, who gets the film's best lines (and reactions), displays a sense of comedic timing I didn't know he had before. Okay, that's enough. When it comes out, go see Lisa's film. It's a laugh-out-loud funny movie about a family that may not be so much different than your own.

Sundance: Different Lives

When we selected the films we wanted to see, we only had one over-riding thought, which was to choose films we may not get a chance to see at our local theaters any time soon. We avoided the big Hollywood premiers because we can see those eventually at a local theater. One thing I find interesting is that without intending to, out of the eleven films we saw, four centered in the Muslim world and five were directed by women. Try to find that ratio at your local multiplex.

I've grouped the two films below, both directed by women, because they strongly evoke places and times with which I'm unfamiliar and gave us insight into lives we are unlikely to experience except through the movies.


In her directorial debut , visual artist Shirin Neshat adapts Shahrnush Parsipur's novel Women Without Men to the screen with mixed results. The story takes place in Tehran during the summer of 1953 as the Shah stages his coup. Following the lives of four women from different classes and circumstances, it weaves their stories together to illustrate how they attempt to break free of the oppressive restrictions imposed on them by the men who control their lives either directly or indirectly.

Shot with a tremendous amount of creative flair resulting in arresting visuals and set-pieces, the film is always interesting to watch and the actresses form a tight ensemble giving powerful and sympathetic portrayals. The scene where Orsi Toth, playing a young prostitute, escapes from a brothel and scrubs herself raw in a hammam in unforgettable. The story features a heavy dose of magical realism, working best as an allegory rather than as a realistic representation of the time, but Neshat succeeds in recreating many facets of the era in a wholly believable way. Shot in Morocco, the street scenes and houses look and evoke what I imagine Tehran would have looked like in the 50's. However, viewers not familiar with the book will find themselves puzzled over a particular element in the story which is never fully explained by the film's narrative and eventually works against it. This one component actually keeps the film from being as satisfying as it could have been.

Nevertheless, Women Without Men is an impressive debut from an artist whose next film should be worth keeping an eye out for. One thing that came to my mind during the Q & A which followed the film: in contemporary Iran this film stands no chance of ever being shown in a theater or sold as a dvd. Thus it will never be experienced by the audience who would likely appreciate it the most- and that's a conundrum that I find simultaneously intriguing and depressing. It raises a lot of questions for which I have no answers but is the start of an interesting conversation.

Tanya Hamilton's Night Catches Us (the title refers to a Jamaican proverb) takes place in Philadelphia, 1976. Originating in a Sundance lab, it took Hamilton ten years to get this picture made. What floored me after viewing it was learning it was shot in only eighteen days. It looks and feels like they took a lot longer to shoot. Featuring a truly stellar cast (with one odd major exception), Night Catches Us is a period piece that looks at the very personal aftermath of the Black Panther movement from those who were involved in it.

When Marcus (an outstanding performance by Anthony Mackie of The Hurt Locker) returns home to his old neighborhood from prison, he has to contend with a reputation as a snitch, a Muslim brother who wants nothing to do with him (Tariq Trotter of The Roots), and some old relationships that have never been resolved.

He ends up staying with Patty Wilson (Kerry Washington, oddly unbelievable in this role) and her daughter Iris (excellent young actress Jamara Griffin). There's something between these two, but the audience isn't let in on exactly what it is for awhile and Hamilton lets the tension stew for an appropriate amount of time. All we know is that is that Marcus and Patty's deceased husband were both Panthers. Marcus has to avoid the neighborhood's kingpin (Jamie Hector aka Marlo from "The Wire") and a cop who has something on him (Wendell Pierce, also a "Wire" alum). Patty's still living in the past and no one can pull her into the future, though many men would like to. Marcus can't gain a foothold in a society that has no place nor use for him. The drama in this small, intimate story revolves around how people deal with the past and learn how to leave it there.

For me, the only thing that kept this film from being one of my favorites of the festival was Kerry Washington's performance as the neighborhood matriarch and widow with a secret. I found her completely unbelievable in this role, as if she were in another movie entirely, though which one I can't quite think of. A shame too, because hers is really the pivotal character in this gritty morality play with a heart.

The movie also features an outstanding soundtrack by The Roots.

Sundance: Documentaries

We've seen such a wide array of films, it reminds me that cinema is an art form through which so many different worldviews, experiences and visions can be expressed that it's simultaneously exciting and mind-boggling. Possibly the best thing about Sundance, or any film festival for that matter, is the ability to take in so much in a short amount of time and it feels like we've seen very little, though in the past five days we've seen an opera and 11 films, with a day off in the middle where we didn't attend anything except the fridge and the bar.

Since I'm so behind, I'm going to use this one post to cover the three documentaries we've seen, all of which were completely different in execution and theme that it seems weird to write about them all in a single post but there you have it.

Utopia in Four Movements: San Francisco filmmakers Sam Green and Dave Cerf presented a "live documentary" of the human quest for utopia, or at least hope. Using three musicians to accompany the film, this work-in-progress has Green narrating it live in front of the audience as images and footage of a world seeking cohesion and spiritual unity unfurl across the screen. Beginning with the theory behind Esperanto and its practioners and adherents, Green and Cerf take the audience through a thoughtful and evocative tour of the human spirit. If this comes to your town, it would be well worth experiencing, though it's more of a presentation than an actual film in its current form

His and Hers: Director Ken Wardrop filmed 70 women ranging in age from toddlers to octogenarians and asked them about the men in their lives. Capturing the thoughts and moods of the women provides moments that touching, humorous and poignant. Wardrop's idea is a brilliant one, though I wished he filmed it with a more diverse group of women. By using a small geographic area in rural Ireland as his sole source of interviewees, many of these women come across as living very similar lives (indeed, their kitchens often look like they all had the same decorator) and they share variations of similar experiences. I wish he had filmed additional women in London, New York, Cairo and rural China as well as well as a hundred other places. Wardrop's film is charming and intimate, but ultimately it's a wee bit too small for a feature length film.

Bhutto: Jessica Hernández and Johnny O'Hara's portrait of the first woman to be the leader of a Muslim country is one of the slickest, best-made documentaries I've ever seen. Unfortunately it borders on hagiography, making it seem like the death of Benazir Bhutto is something that has doomed any prospect for a peaceful outcome to the "clash of civilizations." If you know little of the history of modern Pakistan or of Bhutto and her family, this film is an interesting, lively and involving primer. However, there are some noticeable skims over the reasons why Bhutto was in exile for eight years or why she stepped-down from her second term. Everyone on camera (and it's an impressive group) has an agenda in shaping the Bhutto legacy and the implications her assassination has for Pakistan's future. In the end however, it tells us nothing about what Pakistan lost the day she was killed because the one thing the film never tells you was what she wanted to do beyond "restore democracy." It's a great package, put together by people close to Bhutto and her political machine, but in the end it feels like it's selling a politician (albeit a fascinating one)- not documenting history nor making a case for why Bhutto was such a pivotal figure.

Sundance: Enter the Void

Gaspar Noe's Enter the Void was MG's pick and since she likes films with an edge I can understand why, but I did tell her it was the last thing I'd want to see. But fair is fair- we chose the films together and we each had our own selections. Having seen his previous two films, Irreversible and I Stand Alone, I had little enthusiasm to see another one and when I found out the starting time was at 8:30 in the morning I felt a vague sense of dread.

Noe seems to be working hard to create his own little cinematic niche, which I would call either "the cinema of endurance" or more pointedly, "the cinema of audience abuse." At about the forty-five minute mark I wandered into the lobby to find out how much longer it was going to last and a volunteer mistakenly told me the running time was 96 minutes. It actually lasts 156 minutes, so the final hour I sat there feeling like Linda Blair in that scene from The Exorcist when the bed is roiling underneath her, wanting to scream "make it stop! make it stop!" But it just went on. And on. And on.

Although MG liked it, I really can't recall a film I've liked less without resorting to something as old as Caligula or as reprehensible as The Girl Next Door (the only film I actually felt ashamed to have watched afterward).

Noe's first film, I Stand Alone, **SPOILER ALERT** is about a Travis Bickle-like racist who's having an incestuous relationship with his young daughter and proud of it. The final twenty minutes or so is preceded by a flashing "warning" sign telling the audience something awful is about to be revealed. His second film, Irreversible starts off with the notorious, tortuously long rape scene that must last twenty minutes and feels like an eternity and then rewinds itself showing the events leading to the rape. It's fun stuff. Though I admired the audacity of the first film, I found Irreversible a pointless, nasty exercise in gratuitousness.

With Enter the Void, Noe assaults the audience with a hallucinatory odyssey of violence, sex, drugs and death. The first half hour held some promise as we're taken through the seedy underside of Tokyo with some truly impressive camerawork and cgi effects. The characters are intriguing at first, if for no other reason than they seem to be on the verge of disaster. When Oscar, a teenage drug dealer is set up and murdered by the cops, Noe turns the volume up to ear-splitting levels. Same thing when we get to see Oscar's parents die in a horrific car crash. It's aural violence and unfortunately the images are pretty indelible. Noe's a talented filmmaker, but it's a perverse talent that only a few will probably appreciate.

Once he dies, the rest of the film follows Oscar as a ghost. Trying to keep a vow he made to his sister after their parents were killed that they would always be there for one another, Oscar haunts his sister as she deals with grief and a life in Tokyo's underworld that has few options for her. Between flashbacks to his own death and that of his parents, interludes with his sister that border on the incestuous, and a long trip to a love motel featuring some explicit sex, Enter the Void is a two and a half hour hallucinatory journey- a violent, sex-drenched phantasmagoria that leaves one drained and relieved when it's finally over. Enter at your own risk.

Sundance: A Prophet- “Un Prophète”

Our first film at the Sundance Film Festival was Jacques Audiard's brilliant gangster epic “Un Prophète” or A Prophet. Knowing this is going to sound hyperbolic, this film is on par with City of God, Goodfellas and Scarface, in that it features a main character who starts off as a relative innocent and through immersion into the world of crime (in this instance being wrongly incarcerated in a French prison), the protagonist emerges as a significant crime figure. It's really one of the best movies I've seen in a long time and writing this three days after viewing it, it still resonates strongly.

A Prophet was a winner of the Grand Prix prize at the Canne Festival and it's easy to understand why. The film straddles two worlds in conflict, that of the Arab immigrant in Europe, and their nationalist antagonists. When Malik El Djebena finds himself in prison at age 19, he is completely unequipped for what's ahead of him. Quickly enough he faces a kill-or-be-killed dilemma, and when he comes through for the prison mob boss, the path is opened for his eventual emergence as the dominant figure in the prison hierarchy. That probably gives too much away as it is, so I won't say more than that.

Featuring brilliant performances from Tahar Rahim in the lead role, Niels Arestrup doing a Brando-esque turn as the French prison boss Cesar, Hichen Yacoubi as Malik's first kill who becomes a ghostly presence through the remainder of the film, and Reta Kateb as Jordi the drug connection, these actors create memorable characters, defining the film in humanistic rather than violent/action-packed sequences- a component of the very best films of the genre.

As one of those French films whose distribution in the states remains tenuous, if you are appreciative of gangster films as a genre, or interested in cinema that explores conflicts among different societies or cultures, or if you are just a fan of great acting or plotting in movies, A Prophet is a film not to be missed- add it to your Netflix queue right now and keep an eye for it at your local theater- you won't regret seeing this searing masterpiece.


Update 02/02/10: “Un Prophète” has been nominated for an Oscar in the Best Foreign Language Film category. If there is a screening in your city, I can't recommend it strongly enough.

Carmen at Utah Opera

Upon my arrival in Salt Lake City, MG whisked me over to the beautiful Capitol Theater downtown to attend the final performance of Utah Opera's Carmen. I have to admit, my "big city" prejudices made me initially skeptical that this would be a good production and I'm pleased to say that this was a wholly worthwhile and classy production of Bizet's masterpiece of proto-verismo. Salt Lake's Capitol Theater, built in 1913 and refurbished in 1976, is a beautiful house with some really quirky architectural features I've not seen anywhere else which definitely makes one feel they are in a building of a distinct place and time. For the most part the audience appreciates this by dressing up in their Sunday finery. You can't get a drink at the bar, but you can get chocolate drops and gummy bears. Below are interior shots of the house:


Opera's ultimate femme-fatale (well, maybe after Lulu) was convincingly played by Leann Sandel-Pantaleo, whose mezzo provided enough smoke and color to make her Carmen a convincing temptress, wholly believable as the object of Don Jose's fatal obsession.

If her mastery of French was just short of allowing her to capture the more subtle nuances in Meilhac and Halevy's libretto, it didn't diminish the theatricality of her performance. Christopher Feigum's Escamillo was a dashing toreador, at least until the seat of his pants split during his knife fight with Don Jose, and if he was aware of this wardrobe malfunction he gamely didn't let on. Chad Shelton's Don Jose gave the perhaps the afternoon's best vocal performance, though he wasn't wholly convincing as the character. His Don lacked a certain arc illustrating the inner conflict or insane lust that causes one to willingly throw away one's life and prospects for the sake of a woman he knows is bad news from the get-go. Nevertheless, as he waited in the shadows to extract his revenge his face bore the look of a man truly possessed by anger and menace. His final showdown with Carmen show both performers at their best, with Sandel-Pantaleo especially convincing as a Carmen whose defiance in the face of inevitable death is captivating.

Erin Snell's Michaela was well-sung and performed. It's a small role, but she made a lasting impression in it. The children's chorus under the supervision of Susanne Sheston was exceptional. The sets by John Conklin were appropriate and detailed, if a bit provincial and too traditional for a 21st-Century production, though they looked great in the house.

The costumes by Susan Memmott-Allred were were to be expected, that is to say they didn't distract (until Escamillo's previously mentioned malfunction) but they added little and Carmen's large leather belt did little to distinguish her from the rest of the cigarette-girls and sometimes during the large ensemble scenes I found myself seeking her out among the crowd.

The orchestra, under conductor Ari Pelto, did a fine job though it sounded underpowered at times and I'm fairly certain it wasn't a full complement of players.

Next up for the company is my favorite Rossini- La Italiana en Algieri and if this production of Carmen is indicative of Utah Opera's quality, I would recommend checking it out.

Bozo is alive and well and working for San Diego Opera

Though I try to not be snarky when I write these posts, keeping in mind that it's likely I will eventually come face to face with someone whom I've written something terrible about, every once in awhile I just need to take the gloves off. Like everyone other American, I get a lot of junk mail and solicitations, especially from performing arts companies that obviously share/sell their lists of buyers/subscribers among one another. In principle this makes complete sense and I have no problem getting mailings from an arts company or organization that I've never attended. However, when they send me something so ridiculously insulting after they've obviously gotten my name and address from another organization that's actually received money from me I can't help but feel the hair on my neck rise. This is especially true when I receive mailings that are just plain stupid and poorly executed for art forms or organizations I care about or would like to see succeed out of principle if for no other reason.

Which is why I found it especially galling to receive a brochure from San Diego Opera in the mail yesterday that was so insulting to the intelligence I feel compelled to call them out on it in this very public way. Now understand, I have never attended a performance there, though in the past couple of years I have considered it because I hear and read good things about them. I haven't been in San Diego since about 1979, and if it weren't to see an opera, I can't really think of any reason at all to return. My feelings about San Diego probably resemble Dorothy Parker's about Oakland, though I'm sure the weather is better and the women are more attractive. Still, there's no lure except to possibly go down and see an opera and spend a nice evening in the Gaslight District. After all, it's the only sizable coastal California city that regularly elects Republicans, so what else could I possibly find of interest down there except some really tasty Mexican food?

But look at the back of this ridiculous brochure I received from them:

Where to start?

First of all since, I live in San Francisco, they must have gotten my name and address from another company. In the past I've regularly bought tickets from San Francisco Opera, LA Opera, and the Met, so it's likely one of those companies provided them with my information. Given that, and my San Francisco address, it would seem likely that I'm a person who would willingly travel out of town to attend an opera. Which means I like opera, right? So why would I travel a great distance to sit in a shitty $35 seat? More importantly, why do they think I need to be told that the source for Rent or Pretty Woman is an opera? I already know that.

Next, "Think you don't know anything about it?" Hello, I obviously do, which is why you have my name and address in the first place.

My "wallet will thank me"? Really? What planet are you from?

"It's cool" because Willem Dafoe and Mary Kate Olsen like opera? This is the most egregious insult of all. No, it's cool because when done right it's the most sublime form of all the performing arts, incorporating music, theater, dance, literature and stagecraft into a seamless experience that is unlike any other. That's why it's cool. I couldn't give a fuck about what Jeremy Irons thinks about it, though I would love to sit next to Parker Posey or Claudia Schiffer during a performance of Tristan and Isolde. If you can guarantee that, consider the seat sold. Having confessed that, I don't think they'd be in the $35 seats the brochure is promoting.

"Be Social"? Huh? I don't even understand what this means in relation to making a decision to go to the opera. Do they mean "go see Boheme instead of playing Beer Pong with your buddies?"

Finally, "It helps my heart"? I'm sorry, but what marketing program did you attend? Who did you sleep with to get this job? This is simply the lamest pitch I have ever seen from a professional organization in my life. Seriously? You expect this to get me to buy tickets? From out of town?

Never mind the fact that the schedule only would allow me to see one opera during a trip. Never mind that the programming is so safe that the choices are all things that I've likely seen before (perhaps multiple times). What you have going for your season is some unusually good casting for a smaller market in a city that everyone I know agrees is a pleasant place to spend a weekend.

Aria serious? Wake up, please. Opera needs real professionalism to bring in new audiences and attract the out-of-town visitor. Your brochure is so lame that regardless of your strong casts, it simply puts me off because it doesn't speak to anything that made me interested in the art form in the first place. Spread that around college campuses if you must- but don't put that crap in the mail.

Ensemble Parallele's Wozzeck looks great... but I'll be at the movies

Sometimes I really do wish I could be in two places at once. This coming Sunday I'll be leaving to attend the Sundance Film Festival for the first time, which I'm pretty excited about, especially since MG is going to be my escort and she's an old pro at this event. If anyone can get us into one of the Runaways screenings, please let me know- there's a few rounds of drinks in it for you if you can come through. As fun as all this sounds, it also means that I won't be able to attend what is likely to be one of the highlights of this year's performing arts season, Ensemble Parallele's production of Alban Berg's masterpiece Wozzeck at the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts.

They've only scheduled two performances, on January 30 & 31. The company, led by Nicole Paiement, bills itself as a Contemporary Chamber Opera and the production will feature an orchestration by composer John Rea for chamber orchestra. The cast features bass-baritone Bojan Knezevic, a graduate of the Adler Fellowship and Merola programs, as Wozzeck, tenor John Duykers as the captain, and Canadian soprano Patricia Green as Marie. Director Brian Staufenbiel's film noir staging uses multimedia projections by media artist Austin Forbord evocative of German silent films of the 1920s.

I went to a preview of the production and was greatly impressed by the talent and dedication of this team as well as the formidable passion and knowledge Paiement brings to this opera. The accompanying film work looks to be an integral and compelling aspect of the production. You can view an example of it bel0w.

San Francisco Opera hasn't presented Wozzeck since 1999 and in the current climate I wouldn't expect to see it there anytime soon. The work is one of the most searing musical and theatrical experiences created of the 20th Century and here's a chance to see and hear it by a company that has a palpable excitement for it.

Tickets are available by calling 415 978 2787, at the Yerba Buena Box office at 701 Mission St. in SF or online at

YBCA .

I'm going to have to miss it, but there's no reason why you should.

San Francisco Opera's 2010 Season

While the pernicious Belgian was the first to break the final piece of the puzzle, the Opera Tattler was first to get the whole thing out there before anyone else. Thanks to the comment section on her blog, I just took a look at what David Gockley is serving up at the Warm Memorial next fall, and while it's only exciting if you're one of those "the voice is everything" kind of opera fans, I'll admit it is interesting.

First of all, though it's understandable, there isn't a 2010-11 season in the same way subscribers have become used to. The Ring is the summer offering and it's a separate package. SFO is offering six fall operas and that's it until next year. Only one will cause any real excitement to fans of opera as a complete experience who've been attending performances for awhile: Janacek's The Makropoulos Affair with Karita Mattila. The rest will succeed because they're tried-and true war-horses guaranteed to sell seats (Aida and Madama Butterfly- each with a surprising run of 12 performances) or the casts are so strong people won't be able to resist seeing them- Werther with Ramon Vargas and Elina Garanca, Placido Domingo as Cyrano de Bergerac (the biggest surprise and a nice feather in Gockley's cap for bringing Domingo back to SFO for the first time since the 90's), and The Marriage of Figaro with "it-girl" Danielle de Niese.

Other notable singers taking to the stage next fall will be Eric Owens, who was stellar in the company's Porgy and Bess, Dolora Zajick as Amneris (for what must be the 100th time), quickly-rising local favorite Quinn Kelsey, Svetla Vassileva as Butterfly, Marcello Giordani, Carlo Ventre and Lucas Meacham.

Some of the brightest of the Adlers, including Maya Lahyani and Susanah Biller will be heard a few times during the fall as well.

Not exciting, but then the the 2009 season looked totally lackluster on paper as well and it turned out to be the best overall season the company has had in years. If I had to place bets, as long as Domingo shows up, the only dud of the season may well indeed be Aida, as Otello proved to be last year. Otherwise, it looks like Gockley may be poised to repeat last year's success.

Did I really just write that?

Mayes I have another round?

A couple of friends made a point to tell me how much they enjoyed my post on the Lush Lounge so I've decided to write more about bars, since after horror movies, opera, 70's rock, old-school hip-hop, Tolstoy, Henry James and middle-age White American male angst it's probably the topic I'm most qualified to write about. The dilemma is to wax poetic about what is now gone, such as the hey-day of The Mason Street Wine Bar in the 90's or to explain why the most recent version of Mayes Oyster House on Polk is doomed to failure. Perhaps the post should be called "Just Because You Have the Money to Open the Place Doesn't Mean You Should be the One Making the Decisions," which means I'm going to discuss Mayes.

The original version of this place lasted over 100 years at 1233 Polk Street before closing in the 90s (?). Eventually it re-opened as Axum 2, an Ethiopian food/jazz club that looked poisonous from the doorway. The guys who run O'Reilly's in North Beach took it on and made it the most beautiful room on Polk Street bar none, and one of the most beautiful in the City, calling it O'Reilly's Holy Grail, while leaving the original Mayes sign above the door and trying to capitalize on the building's history. The place was truly gorgeous and the owners had imported these amazing stained glass windows from Ireland to mask out the skanky alley that bordered the building (and was the location of the doorway of the ill-advised O'Reilly's hotel/motel above the joint).

Then it sunk. Over-priced menu that made no sense. Too few tables in the bar, too far apart and too understaffed to get a drink in a reasonable amount of time. Service that was spotty. Cozy as hell but it was never clear what the place was supposed to be- bar? restaurant? jazz-lounge? Oh yes, there was music too, and it usually was embarrassing, which is a shame considering all the talent in this city that has all too few places to play. But then again, the grand piano was in a spot that made no sense at all- halfway in the restaurant, halfway in the bar, it centered neither. For a decent musician it would have been embarrassing to tell your friends you were playing there- so obviously they didn't.

Boom. Gone one day, with a sign outside saying it would be back. Meanwhile, these same guys take over Jonny Wok's next door and turn it into McTeague's- the best idea anyone has ever had as far as a bar goes in this City in the last 20 years and the most poorly executed. Okay, so there's this alley named after Frank Norris. Norris was an American writer and a proponent of literary naturalism who is chiefly remembered for two books: The Octopus, which is an indictment of the railroad industry, and McTeague, which is probably the greatest and most entertaining novel ever set in San Francisco, specifically Polk Street at the turn of the century- and I don't mean the last one. The great thing about McTeague is that if you look closely enough and pay attention, you can still see the vestiges of Norris' San Francisco in the neighborhood, which is fun and reassuring because you realize the street has always been a magnet for the best and the worst in the City and that in some ways nothing has changed at all in the last hundred years. At least that's reassuring to me, because my life in this City is somewhat anchored to Polk Street- which on the middle to southern end can often seem pretty disheartening on some days and wildly entertaining on others. However, after you read Norris's book it makes you feel like you are just part of the inevitable chain of history in the neighborhood.

McTeague was an ignorant, drunken dentist who sat in his office drinking Anchor Steam beer and playing his celesta while waiting to pull teeth out of the people who came to his dirty office on Polk and Pine. Then, because he's an idiot, he blows it all and ends up killing his equally stupid wife. Then he can't figure out a good way to dispose of her body. It's American literature, it's fun, it's the Tenderloin! Read the book- it's terrific- one of my favorites of all time. And now you know why there is an alley named "Frank Norris" and who he was. So what is McTeague's bar like? Depressing beyond belief. It's an Irish sports bar with televisions all over the place and very loud, bad music. Hello, two words here, in two different versions: FUCK YOU and MISSED OPPORTUNITY!

Meanwhile, O'Reilly's/Mayes resurfaces as a douche bag-bar-of-the-month called Midpoint, meant to signify it's location between not-quite upper, definitely-not-lower Polk Street. It looks like Gavin's Matrix in another, less lush life. Fails within months, if not weeks. Yet still, these guys are the driving force behind stringing holiday lights across Polk and they've sunk a lot of money into this joint in a neighborhood that is crying for someone to make it pop and for that reason one can't hate them and must root for them, but they simply blow it at every turn. Midpoint is shuttered. McTeague's stumbles forward and a sign appears announcing an eventual rebirth of Mayes' which lingers on for months. Then a menu appears in the window which makes me intuitively understand they still don't get it. Dumbshits. This will never be a destination restaurant street on this end. La Folie is a mile away and in another universe. It needs to be an interesting neighborhood joint with great and unpretentious food that caters first to the neighborhood- everyone in the neighborhood regardless of their age.

What they've done is come up with a place for 20-30 somethings who can't afford much beyond the $1 happy hour oysters and more than one $9 cocktail before they find a hook-up for the night. The stained-glass windows are gone and the hostess has no idea what happened to them although she says many people have asked about them. The bar area still hasn't figured out the seating arrangements. The service by all accounts sucks because they still don't know how to staff the joint. Worst of all, later at night it wants to be a club with a dance floor playing doucheco in the back part. No, no, no- why don't they get it?

Stop me now, because what the fuck is this place? In a word, dead within the year, leaving the owners flat-ass broke on their third time at the track betting on a loser and an eventual shuttered building in a prime spot, once again. It's too bad, too. It really is a great room and has so much potential. But you read it here first. Prove me wrong- please. You guys have a year.

And about the Mason Street Wine Bar... now that was a joint!

A Lush Failure

San Francisco is a city that drinks. No matter where you live in this town there is always a great place you can get to (and more importantly, from) without having to get in a car or even a cab if you want to go out and have a few with your friends or meet a new one. If there is one thing we tend to do well, it's bars. Yet tonight I went out to dinner with my friend Kristi and on the way home we decided to stop in at the newly relocated Lush Lounge to see what it looked and felt like. The horror. I haven't felt so dismayed since I looked into the reincarnation of The Owl Tree- which I've never stepped foot in since Bobby died- it's just too sad to see what it's become.

The Lush Lounge originally opened at Polk and Post in the space that long ago a version of the Motherlode- one of the City's more interesting trans bars that got folded into the DIVAS complex now residing across the street. The Motherlode was a fascinating joint, much more fun than the disgusting Aunt Charlie's and unlike Aunt Charlie's, the stench of spilt semen and urine didn't abuse your nose when you walked through the front door. But for one reason or another, it closed and the space was eventually re-opened by a guy named Kenny and his partners (who later opened up Vertigo down the block) as the Lush.

The Lush was originally conceived as a piano bar, something Polk was sorely missing since the demise of The Swallow in the 90's. There was an upstairs stage where bands like Lee and the Press-On Nails would give incredibly entertaining shows. It was actually the first place I ever saw Leslie Presley, who makes Lavay Smith look like chopped liver, and that ain't an easy thing to do. But the Lush ran into problems, the music stopped and the bar evolved into a predominantly gay bar that was straight-friendly and became the anchor for what came to be the renaissance of lower Polk Street, with the Hemlock, Blur, Vertigo, R Bar, O'Reilly's, McTeague's and others all following its lead. The drinks were good, the people were nice, and while there were TVs in the bar (anathema to me), they were always showing old movies- not ESPN or some bullshit like that. It was a nice place on a shitty corner where anyone could feel at home and have a good time.

A few months ago they posted a sign saying they would be moving across the street into a place formerly occupied by a skate shop among other things. I have no idea why. Probably another greedy landlord wanted to jack up their rent to some obscene level now that they were successful and the owners of Lush probably said "fuck you" and they saw the empty place across the street which was bigger and said "let's start over." Then they closed. The Lush was stripped to the walls. Across the street the windows were papered over with a sign announcing their eventual relocation.

Every once in awhile I'd walk by, see the doors open as they were renovating the joint and think to myself "looks good- nice, big place, exposed brick walls- looks like they're doing it right."

Tonight the reality was a dismal slap in the face. Where to start? Two large-ass TVs above the bar tuned to ESPN and some other lame-ass sports channel. The music was Gene Loves Jezebel followed by a bunch of 80s bands most people never heard of and couldn't care less about. The decor looks like the Bigfoot Lodge (whose continued success confounds me to no end) crossed with a Conde Nast ski resort. In two words- it sucks and it looks like a douche bar. Even worse, the clientele was like an older version of R Bar or the Hemlock- straight, drinking Coronas and PBRs, looking to get laid. Having recently spent a couple of hours last Saturday night at what must be the douchiest bar in all of San Francisco (not by choice, mind you)- the Republic, I won't say I was disgusted, but I was not at all amused. Is this the future of Lower Polk/ Tendernob? I hope not.

Another great SF bar bites the dust. Too bad. So raise a glass to the death of the Lush Lounge as it was- for it has now joined the ever-increasing list of joints that "used to be." As for me, I guess I'll go back to the Geary Club next time (at least when Lillian or June are there because the other woman is a fat, old, rude bitch and I always go across the street to Whiskey Thieves when I see her behind the bar). Yeah- the selection of booze isn't what I'd like (not like I'm picky), but the people are real, the drinks are cheap, and it still has the feel of the neighborhood. Cheers.

The Bald Idol's Masquerade for the New Year

I last left you as MG, the Ginger, Chad Newsome and I were off to celebrate the close of the decade and the start of a new one. We went to AsiaSF for dinner and the show which was hugely entertaining and full of fun people. Then we arrived somewhat late to the San Francisco Symphony's Masquerade Ball, but being NYE and all we didn't consider it to be much of a problem to arrive a bit late, unintentional as it was, and thankfully no one at the Symphony thought so either.

The Symphony's Masquerade Ball, was in a word, a blast. Initially I had some reservations about the appropriateness and "fun factor" of this event given that I'm the only one in our party over 40 and half it is still way shy of 30. This proved to be a completely baseless concern as I was pleasantly surprised by the number of younger people in attendance. It was a really mixed crowd, and more importantly, one ready to have a good time, which they (and we) did. The conductor for the evening, whose name I'm ashamed to admit I can't recall at the moment, was really a droll and engaging delight as the orchestra went through a light-hearted program of waltzes and music from operettas. Afterward, there was a big band on the main stage playing standards from the American Songbook and pop cover band Tainted Love in the upstairs lobby. Top this off with an elegant but fun crowd, free flowing food and drink, and we have what looks to be the beginning of a tradition as far as I'm concerned. We all had a fantastic time and would happily do this again. If you've never been, I strongly recommend it. The Symphony does this evening right and the Symphonix crowd seemed very well represented.

The next evening we had a small party at my apartment and among the party people were four other bloggers which was delightful to me but also great fun because most of the people there were into music of one form or another and everyone had an opinion or a talent to share. Tarot was performed and fine food was consumed. Sometime around 4 in the morning MG shut the whole thing down and I have to admit to not seeing that parting shot. Regardless, it was a fantastic ending to what has proved for me and many I know to be a trying year on many levels. The next day, spent recovering, was pleasant and languid.

And here we are well into 2010. The only thing I've seen so far is Cutting Ball Theater's production of Eugene Ionesco's The Bald Soprano, which I caught last night with the Minister's Rebellious Daughter. This is the best Cutting Ball production I've seen with a uniformly solid cast (always a strength with this company) and a solid production translated and directed by Rob Melrose, who was involved in Berkeley Rep's disturbing Pillow Man a few seasons back. It runs through January 24th and I recommend it strongly. Don't let the whole absurdist theater/ anti-play moniker put you off- this an hour plus of solid theater.

Now that the holidays are over it's time to get serious and the Symphony is in the middle of the George Benjamin: Project San Francisco composer-in-residence program. Last year's program with Sofia Gubaidulina was a revelation and though I missed last weekend's concerts this weekend I'm going to attend. Patrick wrote a post about the Friday performance and it sounded interesting (6.5 nonsense aside). Lisa Hirsch went on Sunday I'm going to check it out this weekend.

Which brings me up to today, which is the price I pay for not having written anything significant in what seems like forever. The big news today is that Simon Cowell is leaving American Idol after this season. My friend Sugar T (who hates that moniker) says this is because Cowell knows Idol is in its death throes and he knows when to bail so he can turn "X Factor" into the next huge Fox franchise. She's probably right, but I can't imagine Fox turning its back on the world's most popular program even if its ratings are off 25% from their peak- it still kills everything else in its path. So they will replace Cowell with someone. The question is with whom?

This should be interesting. Paula Abdul, while a dominant presence on the show, was relatively easy to replace because she's not the heavyweight force behind it. Cowell knows the industry-side of things and had(?) a piece of the action of any records made by the winners. So the replacement should be a producer with a personality. How long is that list? I have five suggestions so far: Timbaland, Jay-Z, Mark Ronson, Rick Rubin and Jeff Lynne. Any of these guys would keep the show interesting and they know enough about pop music to keep the show from falling apart. Would any of them do it? I doubt it, though with a big enough piece of the pie I'm sure they would think about it. A friend also mentioned Harry Connick Jr. as a replacement which is an interesting idea, but I don't see Connick as the guy who can resuscitate the show after Cowell's departure.

So there you have it- one post covering the Symphony, absurdist theater and American Idol. I do believe I'm caught up- except I forgot to mention if anyone has an extra ticket for Nathan Gunn's recital tomorrow I would gladly skip the Idol premiere to attend it with you.

Happy New Year!