Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy
StudioCanal

Words by James Barone

Funny story. The theater where I saw Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy saw fit to place the film on the screen next door to a big action movie (I assume the new Sherlock Holmes). This had no real bearing on my enjoyment of the Gary Oldman-led Cold War-era spy drama, but it was certainly an odd juxtaposition. The walls rattled under the brunt force of the skull-rattling sound effects next door; meanwhile, inside our cozy, sparsely populated theater, Oldman and company built intrigue the old-fashioned way—with dialogue.

Not that they spoke all that often. In fact, Oldman, in the role of semi-retired British intelligence agent George Smiley, remains silent in his first five or so minutes of screen time. The point here being: pay attention, because when someone does open their mouth, it’s probably important.

The main action in Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy takes place in 1973, a year after a British intelligence agent by the name of Jim Prideaux (Max Strong), is presumably gunned down by Soviet operatives while on a mission in Budapest. Control (played by the great John Hurt) has sent Prideaux behind the Iron Curtain to the Hungarian capital so that he may learn the identity of a mole occupying a high-ranking seat in MI6. Prideaux ends up shot in the street, and the botched mission precipitates a major shakeup at the agency, resulting in the expulsion of Control, who passes away soon thereafter, and the erroneously named Smiley.

It’s not over for Smiley, though. News of a mole in MI6 has spread to other levels of the British government thanks to rogue agent Ricki Tarr (Tom Hardy). Smiley is brought in to investigate the remaining powers-that-be of British intelligence: Percy Alleline, Bill Haydon, Roy Bland and Toby Esterhase (Toby Jones, Colin Firth, Ciarán Hinds and David Dencik, respectively).

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy is a study in subtlety. Major reveals unfold in gestures as the true nature of the plot slinks spy-like in the shadows. At times, like the spies depicted herein, the film is almost too sneaky as it shifts without warning from the present to a “happier” time in the past, when Prideaux, Haydon, Alleline, Bland, Esterhase, Control and Smiley all worked together to further the British war effort. In a scene between Smiley and another dismissed operative Connie Sachs (Kathy Burke), she bemoans a time when the English had a right to be proud. Here, the film makes a neat statement about the shifting nature of war—from an idealized time (if you could call it that) when brave combatants honorably faced off on the field of battle, to the Cold War model, where decrypted telegrams and double-crosses became the weapons of choice.

But even when the film leaves its audience straining to keep up with its levels of intrigue, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy still boasts quite an arsenal. Its cast is impeccable, turning each economical line of dialogue into a multi-faceted gem worth pondering over. Oldman distinguishes himself even among such distinguished company. He has an uncanny knack to say so much with a single expression, without uttering a word. For the most part, he wears a sullen countenance and a monotone voice. But as he begins to unravel the film’s mystery, glimmers of a sly fox begin to shine through. Elsewhere, at an office holiday party that serves as a sort of touchstone flashback throughout Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, Smiley discovers his wife cheating with a coworker, and his stoic exterior cracks in a painfully human manner.

Oldman is worth the price of admission. The taught, cerebral suspense is just icing on the cake. Silence truly can be golden.

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Baroque Bash featuring Doom Bird
Crocker Art Museum, Sacramento • Friday, Jan. 13, 2012

Words & Photos Amy Serna

On a normal afternoon the Crocker Art Museum is usually filled with art enthusiasts who quietly soak in the historic and modern art pieces as they roam the halls. But last week on a chilly January night, the art museum was humming. Upon entering the museum lobby, there was a different vibe in the atmosphere. It was filled with excited guests who were patiently waiting for the “Baroque Bash,” a music and art celebration to honor one of the Crockers current exhibitions called Florence and the Baroque: Paintings from the Haukohl Family Collection, to start. People were busy talking in small groups or sipping on glasses of wine and beer. After all, there might not be a better way to properly appreciate 16th century artwork than with a glass of classy wine in hand.

As the room waited patiently for the musical performance by Doom Bird to start, most eyes wandered to the left side of the lobby where museum goers could participate in art demonstrations. A few aspiring artists were caught sketching costume drawings from the Baroque period, along with the help of artist Arturo Balderama. A woman dressed in an elegant dress from the 17th century was modeling for the artists and wandering the lobby so people could appreciate her wardrobe.

The musical portion of the show began with relaxing melodies from three instrumentalists who gracefully took strums at a cello and two violins. During their performance, the majority of the audience members seemed to appreciate the music, but were also a little distracted by their surroundings.

After the classical performance ended, Doom Bird was ready to take the stage (which consisted of two rugs on the floor). Band members Kris Anaya and Joseph Davancens were accompanied by many local musical guests for the night including Krystyna Taylor (cellist from Exquisite Crops), Arjun Singh (drummer from Wallpaper) and Adam Wade (singer from Golden Cadillacs). Depending on the night, Doom Bird enjoys to be backed up by great musical talent to keep their shows lively and entertaining. “Joe and I usually play with a large group of people for shows,” Anaya described in an e-mail the day after show. “It usually keeps the audience excited about what we are trying to present in our music.” Although the band admitted that they had not performed in nine months, the performance from the musical group was peaceful and flawless. Each song provided the audience with calming but powerful music notes, making the perfect blend of classical and alternative tunes.

For most of the set, frontman Anaya didn’t have much to say to the audience except for the occasional thank you. But during the middle of their set, Anaya noted that the lobby of the museum resembled a mini airport. “Welcome to the International Crocker Airport,” he joked over the microphone. Taking a bird’s eye view of the museum, it did resemble a map from a stereotypical “airport.” Starting at the left of the lobby was a bar serving cocktails to guests, then families enjoying their dinners on square tables; the middle of the room was filled with rows of silver chairs facing the stage (resembling a waiting room). It provided an atmosphere that made the museum appear busy and full of life. Throughout the entire set, audience members could take in the “artistic extravagance” of art and music that the Crocker Art Museum had hoped for.

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Anton Barbeau

Anton Barbeau, Scott Miller / After Excreta, Side Effects
Javalounge • Wednesday, Dec. 28 & Thursday, Dec. 29, 2011

Words Steph Rodriguez • Photos Edward Goldthorpe

DCOI, a punk rock band based out of Davis, just finished hanging their black and white banner last Wednesday night at the Javalounge when an argument between members of the band and venue owner Toben Woodman took place, ending the evening of music immediately.

After Excreta from Vacaville, Calif., and Side Effects of Oakland performed at the Midtown coffee house, more than 30 attendees waited for DCOI to close out the night, but when words between the band and Woodman during stage setup escalated, the evening of punk rock music was sealed with missing equipment, damaged property and plenty of angry show-goers.

“I’m not going to point the finger at anybody, but there were only like five people left in here, so it’s a real short list,” said Woodman about the missing equipment and added a group of people threw chairs into a dumpster and broke the venue’s signs.

“The PA’s missing, dude,” was overheard within the crowd of people congregating on the sidewalk in front of the venue.

“That particular style of music is more aggressive punk rock,” Woodman said. “We, me, I, the Javalounge, allowed that to happen here because we were reaching out to them. I am not reaching out to them any longer. They will not play here until my stuff is returned and even then, it’s debatable.”

Submerge’s attempts to reach DCOI for comment were not answered as of press time.

Other items broken that night, according to Woodman, were smashed microphones and chords.

Scott Miller

Despite a missing PA system, the show planned for the following night with Scott Miller and alternative rock singer/songwriter Anton Barbeau was still a go.

“I was going to go borrow the money if had to, to get another [PA system] because that’s what we do, the show goes on,” explained Woodman. “Fortunately the community reached back to us in positive ways and loaned us the equipment and a guy came forth tonight who had heard about what went on last night [and] offered to let us borrow one indefinitely if we need to.”

Thursday night’s show saw a wide demographic of attendees, from salt-and-peppered-haired adults wearing all black to children occupying the big orange sofa. The smell of coffee paired with reverb from the single microphone on stage dismissed the previous night’s incidents as Miller opened the show without introduction, taking requests from the crowd like, “Idiot Son” from the album Plants and Rocks and Things when Miller was in the San Francisco-based band the Loud Family. Not a seat was empty in the coffee shop during his entire performance, which included live excerpts from his book Music: What happened?, a cover of the Beatles’ “I Want to Hold Your Hand” and a duet with headliner Barbeau.

Barbeau, a longtime Sacramento musician, is known for his albums The Horse’s Tongue and Waterbugs and Beetles released in the early ‘90s, but the man has a never-ending musical resume that includes writing and producing the album Bag of Kittens with singer/songwriter Allyson Seconds.

Punk rock, indie or maybe it’s a noise rock booked night at your venue of choice—still the Sacramento music scene is both unpredictable and entertaining. One evening hardcore and punk rock reign supreme within the coffee shops and pizzerias that double as venues, but 24 hours later, the alternative singer/songwriters of the ‘80s are witnessed reviving the classics. Although few all-ages locations exist, it’s apparent from last week’s hiccup that venues will still find a way to put on a show.

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The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
MGM Pictures

Words by James Barone

It feels like a cold, hard winter without the kids from Hogwarts to bring children of all ages out to the cinemas, and the first installment of Peter Jackson’s The Hobbit is still over a year away. For those in need of a literary hero translated to the silver screen, Sony and MGM offer Lisbeth Salander from the frozen north of Scandinavia. She may or may not be good with a wand or sword, but she has a whip-smart mind and is lethal with a Taser.

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo was the first in a trilogy of novels written by Swedish author Stieg Larsson. It was a wild international success throughout Europe, and even spawned a trio of foreign films starring Noomi Rapace (whom U.S. audiences can see in this holiday season’s Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows), all of which were released in 2009. Now, TGWTDT gets a well-deserved American remake—sort of—with Rooney Mara cast in the lead role opposite the most recent James Bond (Daniel Craig) and The Social Network director David Fincher at the helm. It’s the making of a perfect event film, the kind that you’ll discuss over the water cooler at your office on Monday, but if you’re expecting the usual Hollywood-style big action flick, you’ll be sorely disappointed.

Craig plays Mikael Blomkvist, a disgraced journalist who is hired by Henrik Vanger (Christopher Plummer) to supposedly assist in writing a memoir. In reality, Henrik requires Blomkvist’s help in investigating the murder of Harriet Vanger, Henrik’s niece, who disappeared some 40 years ago. The investigation brings Blomkvist to an isolated island in northern Sweden inhabited by the Vangers and reveals the rich, reclusive family’s tortured and sordid past.

It turns out to be a difficult job, one that Henrik has more or less resigned to be futile. But when the trail proves warmer than anyone had thought, Blomkvist seeks help with his investigation. He eventually gets hooked up with Salander, whom the Vangers had hired to investigate Mikael before hiring him, and the two delve into a world full of Nazis, betrayal and Bible-thumping serial killers.

TGWTDT is the sort of movie that grabs you by the nostrils and shakes you around—at times quite violently. The frayed relationships between the members of the Vanger family—i.e. who refuses to speak to whom—is as difficult to keep track of as the myriad character names. Blomkvist even makes a wise crack about that very predicament as Henrik gives him a breakdown of the Vanger family tree. On top of that, the film hops back and forth between Blomkvist and Salander’s disparate plot lines, with him hot on the trail of an intricate mystery, and her forced to perform despicable acts in order to survive as a ward of the state. Fincher is asking you to trust him as he bombards you with twisted layers of intrigue, a menagerie of characters and scenes of violence that are difficult to sit through, without giving much of an indication where it all might be heading.

It’s a leap of faith, but luckily it turns out to be a rather rewarding one. The mystery that is at the film’s heart unfolds with great suspense, and once Salander and Blomkvist’s paths finally intertwine, TGWTDT bursts with frenetic energy. Craig and Mara are fantastic together. An odd couple of the highest order—he is clean cut, professional and cosmopolitan while she is donned always in black, her face pierced and shock of jet black hair—the two characters actually share a similar lost-in-the-woods quality. Blomkvist sees his career in ruins and is engaged in a long-standing affair with his boss, a married woman; meanwhile, Salander is a chronic outsider who craves a real human connection more than she’d probably like to admit.

To the film’s credit, the resolution of the mystery doesn’t mean the end of the characters. There is a long epilogue that follows that wraps up most of the loose ends while creating others. What all this does is make for one hell of a long movie—nearly three hours!—but there’s no reason for that to deter you. Get comfortable and enjoy. Baby, it’s cold outside.

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Dean Haakenson

Wes Davis

The Non-Drummer Drum Off
Westfield Downtown Plaza Mall, Sacramento • Sunday, December 4, 2011

Words by Amy Serna • Photos by Melissa Welliver

Jesi Naomi

Steph Rodriguez

Dennis “the photographer”

Jonathan Carabba

Doug Riggs

Michael Sean Flanagan

Alexander Ayers

Liam

Blake Abbey

Matt Mingus

Mall walkers had reason to pause during their power walks last Sunday at the Westfield Mall. And no, it wasn’t to watch Santa Claus taking photos with crying babies or ice skaters taking falls at the rink. They paused to see the first Non-Drummer Drum-Off. The event is exactly what its name implies, people attempting to drum like Taylor Hawkins from Foo Fighters but they end up sounding like Animal from The Muppets. In fact, the only qualification of the drum-off was that you were supposed to suck. Even the Facebook event page said if someone was caught practicing before the show, then they would have been automatically disqualified.

Just like American Idol, the non-drummers had to face judges, listen to a sarcastic host and battle to win a prize. The eager non-drummers were going head-to-head for a chance to win a new drum set. At around 3 p.m., a small crowd gathered around a mini stage and bleachers on the second floor of K Street mall in Downtown Plaza that stood in-between the retail stores Express and ZuhG Life (organizers and sponsors of the event). When the show got rolling, most of the audience members ended up being random holiday shoppers, curious workers, or mall walkers who wanted to see what all of the ruckus was about.

The judges, including Matt Mingus from Dance Gavin Dance and Kevin Martinez from Tha Dirt Feeling, had to rate the non-drummers on a scale from 1 to 10 (10 being the highest) and on “charisma and performance.”

The bad drumming started off with Charleeé Wheeler from the local band ZuhG and his attempt to hit the drums like a rock star. Most of the contestants were familiar faces because they were from local bands or people who are active in the Sacramento community, such as Steph Rodriguez from Sacramento News & Review, Alexander Ayers from Prieta, a local photographer named Dennis, Michael Sean Flanagan, Dean Haakenson from Be Brave Bold Robot (who accidentally broke a drum stick while playing) and even our own Jonathan Carabba gave his shot behind the drums. After almost every performance, the host of the event (Blake Abbey from Musical Charis) would make funny, sarcastic remarks about their performance such as, “It’s so bad I want it to keep going,” or, “It wasn’t even entertaining to watch.” After Bryan Nichols, owner of the ZuhG Life store, gave his all playing the foreign instrument, Blake said, “I would rather listen to a whole Nickelback album than listen to that again.” Although the show was not exclusively awkward drumming, the audience members got to enjoy riffs from the professionals like Matt Mingus.

But the show stopper went to a small audience member who was eager to get a whack at the drums. When Blake asked if anyone from the audience would like to drum off, a young boy named Liam not only raised his hand to volunteer but stood up on the bleachers to be seen and heard. After he pulled a rampage behind the drums, he received a perfect score from the judges and huge cheers from the audience. And every time the host would mention his name he would stand on top of the bleachers and give an arm wave of victory. When he found out that he won the contest, he told his proud mom that they are going to need a “bigger truck” to carry his new gift home. Although little Liam arrived as a casual mall visitor, he left as a drumming champion.

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Foo Fighters, Cage the Elephant, Mariachi El Bronx
Power Balance Pavilion • Tuesday, Nov. 1, 2011

Words by Jonathan Carabba | Photos by Melissa Welliver

Twelve red semi trucks lined the northeast corner of the parking lot of Power Balance Pavilion on Tuesday, Nov. 1, offering a glimpse at the amount of gear this monstrous rock tour, featuring one of the world’s biggest bands, had traveled with into town.

Upon walking into the arena just before the opening band started, one couldn’t help but notice a giant runway extending from the stage all the way to the back of the general admission floor area that created a rift between the crowd. And since this wasn’t a fashion show, it was apparent that someone would eventually rock the shit out of that runway and the mini-stage at the end of it. My money was on Dave Grohl. But first, Mariachi El Bronx took to the stage, all eight of them, and dazzled the crowd with their impressive and upbeat set. Mariachi El Bronx is the alter-ego of esteemed Southern California punk band The Bronx, and everything about them is authentic, from their instruments and their sound right down to their charro suits. They played to an ever-growing crowd, maybe two or three thousand (an usher informed Submerge he’d been told to expect 10,000-plus in attendance) scattered throughout the arena, most shoveling nachos or pounding over-priced beers.

Serving as main support to the Foo was Cage the Elephant, best known for radio hits like “Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked” and “Shake Me Down.” Lead singer Matt Shultz convulsed around the stage, shaggy long hair in his face, very Kurt Cobain-esque. He even flung himself off the stage a couple times, clearing the barriers (a solid seven- or eight-foot gap) into the crowd, resulting in some of the most Jesus-like crowd surfing possible. Overall, Cage the Elephant’s set was heavier than one might expect having only been exposed to the band’s more radio-friendly vibe. Their heads were down the whole time as they charged through their surprisingly scream-y and edgy sounding set. Definitely a punk-rock-meets-grunge sort of vibe, and Sacramento was into it.

At 9:03 p.m. the lights dimmed again and Foo Fighters burst into “Bridge Burning” and then “Rope” back-to-back, the first two tracks off of the band’s seventh studio album, Wasting Light, released on April 12 of this year. What followed was an onslaught of songs (over two dozen total, including a five-song encore) delivered with gut-wrenching passion. “My Hero” was played early on in the nearly three-hour set and Foo Fighters’ charismatic frontman Dave Grohl ran up and down the rock runway for the first time, shredding on his guitar and screaming in the faces of fans. During the same song, he incited a massive sing along and slowed the song down, then moments later they finished it off heavy-as-hell again. They had the crowd in their hands, taking the place from rocking and chaotic to mellow and serene, to rocking again in a split second. “I just want to make sure you understand you’re not going home early,” Grohl told the now-entranced crowd. “Get comfortable, you’re gonna be here a long fucking time.” People went apeshit.

After ripping through another 10 or so songs, including crowd favorites “Breakout” and “Monkey Wrench,” as well as a guitar solo-off between Grohl and fellow guitarist Chris Shiflett (during the song “Stacked Actors”), where Grohl was standing on the mini-stage at the end of the runway that had now been lifted a good 15 feet off the ground, the two faced each other down from opposite ends of the arena. It was impressive and fun to watch, but it drew a four-minute song into what felt like half an hour. Drummer Taylor Hawkins also squeezed in an impressive but maybe excessive solo at the tail end of one of the songs. Submerge would have liked to have seen some of the filler cut and replaced with B-sides from old albums. But, it was an amazing performance nonetheless and it’s safe to say the audience got its money’s worth. Grohl even put a local touch on the massive show. “I dated a girl from Sacramento,” he announced at one point, speaking in reference to professional snowboarder Tina Basich, who is from here. The two dated years ago. He apologized for taking so long to make it back to Sacramento, “It’s been eight years?” he said. “I’m sorry. We’ve been practicing for tonight.”

During their encore, Grohl first appeared with just an acoustic guitar to play a song called “Wheels.” “It’s big in Germany,” Grohl exclaimed. “If you’re louder than the Germans…” he said as the crowd sweltered. “OK, we’ll play a bunch more songs.” Grohl played a couple more acoustic songs, “Best of You” and a cover of The Beatles’ “Blackbird.” “Times Like These” started out with just Grohl on stage, asking the crowd to sing along, but halfway through, the full band kicked in, bringing the energy in the building back up to a boiling point. After blazing through the track “Dear Rosemary” and a cover of Tom Petty’s “Breakdown,” Foo Fighters closed the epic set with their smash hit “Everlong.” It was nearly midnight when the last note (more like feedback) rung out, well past most of the crowd’s bedtime, but you won’t find anyone complaining. Unless, that is, they have to wait another eight years to rock ‘til midnight with Foo.

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The Muppets
Walt Disney Pictures

Words by James Barone

They certainly don’t make them like they used to. The Muppet Show ran five seasons between 1976 and 1981 and brought a rare kind of experience into American homes. Not since The Flinstones beforehand (or The Simpsons to follow) did a program have the ability to stimulate the minds of children as well as tickle the funny bones of their parents. Though its time on television wasn’t notable in longevity, its influence was far-reaching. The show spawned a series of theatrical releases, the last of which, 1999’s Muppets from Space, garnered very little attention at the box office. Walt Disney Pictures, whose last Muppets film, Muppet Treasure Island, was released in 1996, hopes to revitalize the franchise with the plainly titled The Muppets, co-written by and starring Jason Segel.

True to form, the story of The Muppets is as heartwarming as it is absurd. Gary (Segel) is the loving human brother of Walter, a Muppet. The two live a charmingly perfect life in Smalltown, U.S.A. Though the two brothers care about each other very much, they are not blind to the differences between them. Gary grows up into a man and enters into a wonderful relationship with Mary (Amy Adams) that is about to celebrate its tenth anniversary, but Walter remains forever short and made of felt. One thing that Gary and Walter do share in common is their love for The Muppet Show, which, for obvious reasons, becomes a touchstone for Walter throughout his life. To celebrate his impending anniversary with Mary, Gary offers to take her and his brother to Los Angeles to visit The Muppet Theater, which has fallen into disrepair over the years of neglect. As it turns out, evil oil tycoon Tex Richman (Chris Cooper) plans to buy the studio plot on which the theater stands and tear it down for the oil reserve beneath. Gary, Mary and Walter must then convince the Muppets to get the band back together, so to speak, after many years apart for one last show, a telethon to save the theater that was home to so many cherished memories.

Longtime fans will pick up on all the trademark moments. There’s sharp pop culture satire behind all the singing and dancing. In one such scene, vexed with trying to find a celebrity host for the telethon, Kermit the Frog is seen rummaging through his old Rolodex, scratching names such as Molly Ringwald off the list. There are also the numerous, off-the-wall celebrity cameos—from Dave Grohl to Mickey Rooney; Leslie Feist to Judd Hirsch. Characters often break the fourth wall, such as when Gary acknowledges to Mary that he’d just been involved in a dance number, and that signature self-deprecating wit that has served the Muppets well through the decades—and perhaps even left an indelible mark on a generation of people who prefer to downplay their own accomplishments.

But one thing you won’t find here is any shred of Gen X cynicism. This is a film with its heart firmly affixed to its sleeve—a wide-eyed, unabashed celebration of the Muppet legacy. Not only are the Jim Henson puppets praised for their nostalgic value, but they are also served up as a sort of tonic for the state of entertainment today. The top-rated show on the network that hosts the Muppets’ telethon is a game show where teachers are punched in the face by students. Also in the film, Richman strikes a deal with The Moopets (a satire within a satire), Fozzie Bear’s ex-backing band while he was performing in Reno, which Richman calls a cynical act for cynical times. The Muppets Vaudville-style comedy show may be old fashion in comparison, but it proves to be timeless.

Segel and co-writer Nicholas Stoller’s (Get Him to the Greek) script is fawning in its love for its puppet subjects, but it is also clever, engaging and hilarious at times. The songs too, as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as can be, also have an underlying wink and nod that will delight audiences on multiple levels. Will The Muppets propel the title characters back into the spotlight? Maybe not, but you really can’t fault Segel and company for trying.

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J. Edgar
Warner Brothers

Words by James Barone

J. Edgar Hoover is a titan of America’s recent past. For decades, under eight presidents, he was head of the FBI and stood watch over the country through some of its most trying times. For that alone, Hoover’s story is perfect fodder for the big screen, but when you add his personal life to the mix—one full of immense personal struggle and hypocrisy—then you wonder why someone really hasn’t done this before. Hoover’s triumph and tragedy is closely tied to America’s own, and this is given its due in a new film from director Clint Eastwood.

J. Edgar comes to us from the unlikely team of Eastwood—former Republican governor of Carmel-by-the-Sea, Calif., and forever entrenched as Dirty Harry in our film lexicon—and Sacramento native screenwriter Dustin Lance Black, who won a best screenplay Oscar for Milk, the story of Harvey Milk, the first openly gay man to win an election for public office in California. In J. Edgar, we find a central character who is far less open about his sexuality than Milk. Instead, his life is his bureau, which through sheer determination and well-placed underhandedness, he manages to elevate from bureaucratic afterthought to the top law enforcing institution in the country.

The story of the film happens in two times. We see the title figure (Leonardo DiCaprio) toward the end of his life—as President John F. Kennedy’s assassination makes way for Lyndon B. Johnson and eventually Richard Nixon. He is relating his memoir to a new crop of agent. As he does so, the film flashes back to a young man eager to make an impression and serve his country. It’s the Roaring ‘20s and the nation struggles with the fear of a communist invasion. By 1924, Hoover’s work combating the “red threat” gets him appointed department head of the then Bureau of Investigation by the attorney general. It’s at that point the agency starts to morph into the entity we know it as today.

Through cunning and hard work, Hoover propels himself and his fledgling FBI into the limelight. Not only does it become a force for law enforcement, but it also captures the public’s imagination. One of the nice quirks of J. Edgar is that the film shows the impact the FBI had on popular culture. It shows film heroes segueing from gangsters to those who catch them, that FBI agents showed up as icons on cereal boxes, inspired toys and how the agency propelled its leader into almost celebrity status, sharing tables at clubs with the starlets of the day.

Behind the scenes, though, Hoover’s life isn’t as easily definable. His overbearing mother, played by Dame Judi Dench, is perhaps the engine behind J. Edgar’s perpetual drive. He’d do anything to please her, even deny his own nature. As far as his personal life goes, Hoover shows very little interest in women, or anyone else who isn’t of concern to the bureau, for that matter. As the film opens, he does try to court Helen Gandy (played by Naomi Watts), but even though that goes nowhere, he still hires her on as his personal secretary (a position she carries throughout the rest of Hoover’s life, according to the film). But it’s not until he meets Clyde Tolson (Armie Hammer) that something stirs in him. Hoover eventually hires Tolson, though he doesn’t seem to meet his agency’s stringent qualifications, and the two strike up a long but chaste companionship that lasts the rest of Hoover’s life. In fact, in real life, Tolson was the benefactor of Hoover’s estate.

It’s the relationship between Tolson and Hoover that’s the heart of the film. Presidents change, the country ebbs and flows in and out of chaos, but through it all, the two men are at each other’s side, though Hoover is portrayed as less willing to express his feelings than Tolson. It’s an interesting choice, considering Hoover’s sexuality has never been proven one way or the other, though rumors and stories persist on both sides. Nevertheless, it makes an already compelling tale even more so. As one of the most powerful men in the country, Hoover kept many secrets (and he wasn’t afraid to use them to his own benefit), including one of his own.

As the film goes, J. Edgar moves at a ponderous pace, switching back and forth from the past to present with clunky transitions. However, a strong cast giving powerful performances is enough to hold it together. J. Edgar is an excellent biopic insofar that it shows the man for all his supposed triumphs and foibles, and in so doing portrays those of a country as well.

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Ernesto’s Mexican Food
1901 16th Street • Sacramento

Words by Blake Gillespie • Photos by Melissa Welliver

Ernesto’s Mexican Food is celebrating its 20th year on the corner of 16th and S streets, which is a mighty feat in local dining and deserving of our deepest apologies. Last Thursday, three staff members took their maiden steps into the cantina. To our delight, the overdue visit resulted in fulfillment and a desirable balance of spice and spirits in our breath.

The stylish yellow tint and stucco exterior place Ernesto’s at the higher end of Mexican dining, but the menu prices are reasonable. The interior is neither heavy-handed nor kitschy in providing an authentic Mexican experience. Ernesto’s has class, but no room for pomp. Seating is balanced between the communal and the intimate. On a busy night, it must feel like a jumping and cramped party. Where does the mariachi band even fit? But, on a Thursday afternoon it’s casual and discrete.

My only sustenance the day of our lunch date with Ernesto’s was three cups of coffee, a multi-vitamin and a glass of water. I was in a state of considerable hunger, feeling the pangs in the mid-region, and the scents lingering inside Ernesto’s did not help my cause. The complimentary chips arrived fast with an extra mild salsa and bean dip. Despite a predilection to avoid beans, I decided to be a professional and sample it. It led to four more sample scoops to be certain I truly enjoyed beans for the first time in ages.

The salsa is mild to a point of just being finely diced wet vegetables. The chefs keep a hotter salsa in the back of the house for themselves, but the servers will gladly bring some upon request—if only we knew this during the meal. It’s not unusual for the kitchen to have its personal stash, often too dangerous for the dining patron. Chefs and cooks pride themselves on their special concoctions unfit for the weak of stomach. Ernesto’s willingness to share their stash is a favorable quirk to the menu—it plays to our eagerness to be “on the inside” of the business or the regular-syndrome that compels people to order off the menu and give the server the secret wink that they are “in the know.”

The Cadillac Margarita is billed as being “voted ‘The Perfect Margarita in Midtown’ by SN&R.” Compelled to judge the claim further, I ordered one only to have the pucker of lime mixed with the potency of Agave Blanco tequila send me kicking the booth boards in approval. The rocks pour is served in a tall glass with a salted rim and lime slice to temper the tequila’s zing. Ernesto’s doesn’t bother with extravagant presentation or bait you into multiple orders with a slim tequila pour drowned in lime juice. It’s got a kick and no-nonsense pour that warrants the vote of confidence.

The drink situation properly handled, we ordered a large bowl of fresh guacamole, which was a constant at the tables there before us. If it is not made fresh, why bother? That’s my firm stance on guacamole, and I admire Ernesto’s like-mindedness. It was a delicate blend of chunky and whipped, with enough jalapenos to give the zest a kick.

We ordered from the lunch menu and had I not involuntarily fasted, I would have left with a heavy to-go box. Ernesto’s proved its legitimacy and legacy with a lunch portion worthy of my hunger, but not unconquerable in girth. The signature combinations section is priced fairly at a flat rate of $9.99 and a hefty plate of three samples of Mexican dishes will arrive with the option of chicken, steak or carnitas. The steak combination is a taco, enchilada and quesadilla with a side of traditional Mexican rice, beans and salad garnish. There was little uncertainty in the server as to whether or not I was finished when he removed a plate that only left the salad garnish. I briefly considered spreading the leftover mole sauce from the enchilada on the garnish and finishing it off, but thought better of it.

One might surmise that promptly following this exercise in gluttony that I retired home and took a siesta on my chaise-lounge sofa. The glory of good Mexican is substituting quality ingredients with hefty filler. The enchilada was the only item drowned in sauce and cheese, but the tacos and rice serving were light. I did not feel engorged or sluggish. I was filled properly with plenty of tortilla absorbing the tequila in my gut.

Ernesto’s 20th Anniversary Party is Friday, Nov. 18, 2011 with live music, cake cutting and food and drink specials.

Post from: Submerge Magazine

Touch of Pink

District 30 • Wednesday, Oct. 26, 2011
Words by Jenn Walker • Photos by Matthew Burks

If glitz is what you were looking for downtown Wednesday night, District 30 had it. The posh nightclub was holding its fall fashion series throughout the week, and this night was the Touch of Pink runway benefit show featuring the work of Sacramento designer Faatui Toele.

Inside, 20 to 30 people were spread around the bar. A few select individuals grinded, pinning each other against walls as DJ Nate D and company spun beats like Flo Rida’s “Low” or Lil John and the Eastside Boyz’s “Get Low” from a perch behind a tall wooden platform. Some people lounged in plush, long booths sipping drinks, while others settled into chairs lining the runway, helping themselves to glasses of champagne.

Despite the event being a breast cancer benefit, few wore even a touch of pink. Many were fashionably clad, nonetheless, sporting creepers, mini dresses, faux hawks, suit jackets, vests and platforms.

There were plenty of drinks to be had, as some leaned against the marble-top bar while heavy bass lines pulsed beneath their feet. Slowly people began to gather around the runway in anticipation beneath whirling lights, colorful birdcages and a spinning disco ball suspended from the ceiling.

By the time the models emerged from behind the slinky black curtain onto the catwalk, 40 to 50 people crowded around to watch. The models were all legs and tresses. The first model pranced onto the stage dressed in high-waist sequined booty shorts and a sleeveless zebra-print blouse. Another appeared with a black, off-the-shoulder one-sleeve draped over a pink tube dress underneath. And yet another appeared sporting a red tube dress with a zip down front, her neck wrapped in long strands of crystals.

The audience was receptive, letting out supportive whoops and hollas. True, a few of the models could have used some coaching on both their swagger and poker face, looking a little uneasy approaching the crowd. Submerge couldn’t help noticing, however, a huddle of three or four noticeably obnoxious male spectators that couldn’t contain their urges to be heard, shamelessly blurting out, “Why is everyone cheering for that girl? Oh, it must be her family!”

The show went on. The models towered over the crowd in metallic stilettos and short ankle boots. The rest of Toele’s collection featured mostly black, skin-tight, thigh-high dresses, one-shoulder cuts and more sequins. Several models donned pieces with metallic zig-zag patterns, while other garments incorporated beading and more zippers. The designs were classic and sexy, though not particularly cutting-edge.

Toele modestly trailed behind the models onto the catwalk for the finale. Shortly after, the models reappeared from behind the curtains and got down on the dance floor, helping the crowd loosen up while the DJs returned to the turntables, churning tunes by Adele and the Red Hot Chili Peppers into the night.

Post from: Submerge Magazine