WEDNESDAY 12/14
Janus/Criterion
Vitti wanders through Antonioni's industrial wasteland.
Scribners
Wodehouse is no stranger to holiday jollity.
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Visual Arts: Temporary Edifice
I'm not sure why the big bamboo assemblage that is Compound has been shoved to the wall in its atrium gallery. When first deployed by Cambodian-born artist Sopheap Pich at the Singapore Biennial earlier this year, it was presented in the round, so you could view it from all sides. In its new configuration, overseen by the artist last month, the modular, crab trap–like cages have been stacked into a vaguely urban form—suggesting a city's towers, though empty within its lattice. There's the appearance of density but no mass, as if a building had been removed from beneath exterior scaffolding left in place. Pich, trained in the U.S. but now living in his homeland, leads a compound existence combing two cultures; his installation also has a hybrid aspect—skyscraper meets basketry, if you will. There's a collision between old and new that Pich pointedly documents in a series of photos facing Compound. Study their dates carefully, and you'll see that an entire lake has been filled in—by truck, barge, and sand pump—to provide more buildable land for booming Phnom Penh. The bamboo and rattan used in Compound are indigenous materials, green and sustainable, but they have no use in a modern skyscraper. And yet Pich can reassemble the work elsewhere, in a new museum setting, and it may ultimately outlast Boeung Kak Lake and the fishing communities that once thrived there. (Through April 1.) Henry Art Gallery (UW campus), 543-2280, henryart.org. $6–$10. 11 a.m.–4 p.m. BRIAN MILLER
THURSDAY 12/15
Comedy: Amusingly Affronted
D.L. Hughley was just another struggling comic until the Kings of Comedy tour—subject of a 2000 documentary—got him onto TV. But let's face it, he was never going to be Bill Cosby heading some sitcom family forever, and his club material firmly resists the clichés of wedded bliss. Though married for 25 years, Hughley's jokes often deal with the everyday humiliations of domestic life. Why can't a married man spend his weekends on the couch, watching porn and TV sports to his heart's content? Why must he be roused to go on Costco expeditions and other needless tasks? In Hughley's harangues and complaints, you hear not only echoes of Richard Pryor—particularly in his observations about race—but also the old marital grievances of Jackie Gleason. And, like Gleason, he's got a great radio voice—one that breaks up a register when relating each new indignity and affront. His exasperated husband persona doesn't make his humor misogynist or cruel. Rather, you sense the awareness that if he weren't married, he wouldn't have any material. (Through Sat.) The Parlor Live Comedy Club, 700 Bellevue Way N.E. (Lincoln Square), 425-289-7000, parlorlive.com. $35. 7:30 p.m. T. BONILLA
FRIDAY 12/16
Film: Taste the Sugar
In the surprise 2003 Christmas hit Elf, Will Ferrell embraces the cutesy confection of its plot. Santa Claus doles out presents at an orphanage; a wee human crawls into his sack of toys, winds up at the North Pole, and is subsequently raised as an elf. Eight zillion sight gags constitute the first act of the film (directed by Jon Favreau), in which a giant-sized Ferrell bangs his head into low ceilings, squats on miniature crappers, and botches even the most remedial toy-making duties. Ferrell finally discovers he's the bastard son of James Caan, now a distant, terse Manhattan publishing-house exec. Innocent, syrup-swilling Ferrell then goes to big, bad NYC, meets Zooey Deschanel, and hilarity often ensues. So frantic, off-the-cuff, and self-aware in his ad-libs, Ferrell owns the movie the way Santa owns Christmas. (Through Dec. 23.) Central Cinema, 1411 21st Ave., 686-6684, central-cinema.com. $6–$8. Call for showtimes. ANDREW BONAZELLI
Classical: Messiah Participation
Now and then some classical pundit will write a hand-wringing column about drawing younger audiences, usually including a call to make music somehow more "interactive." Because today's wired kids apparently find it hard merely to sit and observe something. (They have no problem with TV and movies, but never mind.) So they rack their brains for gimmicky schemes to get people doing something during concerts; orchestras in Cincinnati and Indianapolis, for instance, have established Twitter sections for those with Restless Thumb Syndrome and friends who are dying to read "smokin' tuba lick!!! #shostakovichrocks." But if only there were some less superficial way to get people invested in music-making, to make them feel like they're actually contributing . . . maybe . . . no, it's too crazy, it would never work. But just suppose . . . nah . . . OK, I'll tell you. Here's my wild, unprecedented idea for making music more interactive. Perhaps you could LEARN TO PLAY OR SING. It may not get you into the Seattle Symphony, but there are easily a dozen each of local community orchestras and choirs who would love to have you. For one thing, there are sing-along Messiahs every Christmas, and Eric O'del is conducting one tonight. Bring your own score or rent one there, and stand shoulder to shoulder with those who've always dreamed of belting out the "Hallelujah!" chorus. Or if you prefer just to listen to Handel's 1741 setting of the Nativity story, the Seattle Symphony is presenting its annual Messiah tonight, too (and also Sat. & Sun.) Do-it-yourself or fully professional, Handel can handle any treatment. Sing-along: Seattle Unity, 200 Eighth Ave. N., music@seattleunity.org. $20. 7 p.m. SSO: Benaroya Hall, Third Ave. and Union St., 215-4747, seattlesymphony.org. $20–$91. 8 p.m. (also 1 & 8 p.m. Sat., 2 p.m. Sun.) GAVIN BORCHERT
