Arts & Entertainment

The Boulder Rep is still vivid in the minds of most Boulder theater aficionados. Founded by Frank and Ernestine Georgianna in 1974, the company mounted challenging, exquisitely staged contemporary plays and acted in a variety of around-town venues through the year 2000. Frank was a visionary theatrical force through all those years, both as actor and director, but it was Ernestine, executive producer, costume designer, and keenly incisive watcher and critic who kept things humming behind the scenes. Lovingly tended by Frank over the past two years, Ernestine died November 27 of complications from Alzheimer’s disease.

Talking Heads was an exquisite production of two monologues by the wryly enigmatic Englishman Alan Bennett. The acting, by Chris Tabb and Ann Rickhoff, was pitch perfect, as was Richard Pegg’s direction. Everything about the production felt right, from the brown leaves drifting into a pile beneath a bus-stop bench to the yellow-gray late-afternoon light that shone through a lonely woman’s window. Everyman Theatre was forced to close this year. It will be much missed.

A pregnant woman enters the house of a kindly trucker, and instantly time stops. The couple embarks on a night that’s outside time and outside what we know as reality. Eventually, there is only the image of Celestina and Anibal holding each other in a glowing otherworldly bubble as rain and sirens pelt their insulated world. Director Chip Walton and actors Robert Ham and Bethany LaVoo beautifully realized Jose Rivera’s script, deftly addressing the ideas of time and place. The technical team of set designer Daniel Guyette, tech director Braden Stroup and lighting designer William Temple Davis also created a spare and sensitive setting to buoy some of the more ethereal effects, such as a bed floating in the clouds. Matthew Morgan’s choice of haunting classical guitar music completed the Cloud Tectonics experience.

Freak Train is a wild ride through good, bad and ugly forms of personal expression. Rappers, poets, aspiring bards, monologists, puppeteers, karaoke kings and every other permutation of performer turn up to meet, greet and, in some cases, confound the Bug Theatre crowd, which is usually composed of sympathetic fellow stagehounds. It isn’t high art – expect nudity, profanity, purposeful obscenity – and it can be a little sloppy; with only five minutes to showcase one’s stuff, there’s not a lot of time for polish. But for its energy, its openness and its willingness to turn the boards over to the amateur as well as the pro (at least on the last Monday of every month), we hope the Train keeps rollin’.

First came Patty Dobrowolski and Nancy Cranbourne in Mrs. Schwartz and Dober, a series of overlapping improvised monologues about the actresses’ lives, including Cranbourne’s bitter-comic re-enactment of her mother’s increasing dementia and her own incomprehension. Then there was the truly mind-boggling Ed: The World Made Dress, written and performed by Michelle Spenser Ellsworth. The dress is a movable, functional, nonfunctional piece of sculpture worn by Spencer — even though it must weigh a ton. It contains everything that matters to her, she says, including a paintball gun and a spice rack, and it can be transformed into a confessional booth, a movie screen, a uterus — whatever Ellsworth can conceptualize and the audience imagine. This theater piece is significant, quirky, open to endless interpretation, and purely brilliant.

Though it was warm and celebratory, this Christmas Carol also gave Dickens’s melancholy depiction of poverty in Victorian England its due. The set was ingenious, the costumes sparkled, the child actors were appealing, and Randy Moore gave Scrooge a wistful edge. Take a child this year.

Broken Words is a collage of poetry and prose put together and performed by actors Anthony Zerbe and Roscoe Lee Browne. The result is a magnificent evening that includes the words of Seamus Heaney, Dylan Thomas, Derek Walcott and W. H. Auden, among others. Both actors are relaxed and consummate performers, and they allowed the language to take center stage. For a few short hours, the audience could forget the murky times we live in and believe in the transcendence of the human spirit.

Though the play itself was hard to embrace at times, a combination of Jacobean revenge tragedy and nineteenth-century melodrama that almost worked, Pierre‘s production values were impeccable. Vicki Smith’s set design was elegant and expressive, and Pierre was worth attending just to watch the play of Don Darnutzer’s gorgeous lighting against the scrim. Throw in Kevin Copenhaver and Andrew V. Yelusich’s dazzling costumes, and the evening was a technical wonderment.

When Pigs Fly was a collection of songs, puns, bits and skits performed by a collection of men in drag and directed by the estimable Nicholas Sugar. It was not only bring-down-the-house funny, but also a brave and poignant affirmation of the gay lifestyle and the joys of being out.

From the pieces of furniture worn by the actors in one number to the hanging rubber pullets and clock headdress of another, the costumes for When Pigs Fly were wildly, exuberantly over the top, a pure visual expression of the evening’s liberating energy.

Kenn Penn created a gutsy, complex setting for Alchemy of Desire — one of those archetypal, steamy, swampy bayous, with vines reaching everywhere. Even the weathered wooden steps and platforms reached out into and divided the audience.

Michael Brown’s set for Love’s Labor’s Lost provided all kinds of sweeps and nooks for playing areas, as well as embracing both the romantic and the rational. The outdoor scenes were all dappled, gray-green shadow, framed by beautifully twisting trees; inside, there were shelves of books and scientific instruments. And the lily pond added depth — in every sense — to the action.

The dancing in this show provided all the customary joys of synchronized kicking and tapping, along with loads of wittily unexpected moves. In “I’ve Got Rhythm,” which served as the first-act finale, everything and anything became a musical instrument — miners’ helmets, pizza pans, a plunger and the dancers’ bodies. The number built and built and built, and still you wanted it never to end. The original choreography is by the multi-award-winning Susan Stroman; local choreographer Tony Rintala re-created it with a group of talented dancers.

Hicks has been working with August Wilson’s work for so long now that he almost seems to breathe these plays’ silences, words and rhythms. For King Hedley II, he brought together a fine group of local and out-of-town actors, elicited generous, full-hearted performances from them and balanced the performances one against the other to create a layered, textured and absorbing world on stage.

I’d venture to guess that no one, but no one, would attend a production of Titus Andronicus except under duress, but this version is inviting and howlingly funny. Five actors played all of the roles, the set was a cunningly fitted-out van in the middle of an empty space, the death score was kept on a chalkboard, and songs and dances punctuated the murderous action. This was a clever, inventive and definitive production.

For Wit, Terry Dodd coaxed nuance and passion from a play that — though it reliably reduces audiences to tears — has always struck us as thin and smug. Her production created a connection to a deep and ancient sea of inner sadness that even Emma Thompson and HBO couldn’t accomplish. We found a grace and truth here that we hadn’t previously sensed, and the result was genuinely moving.

In her first appearance as Professor E.M. Ashford, Susan D’Autremont was appropriately chilly and forbidding. But she brought an almost radiant kindness to her second appearance, at the bedside of her protegé Vivian Bearing, finally calling on Shakespeare’s “flights of angels” to see the dying woman to her rest.

Many a bold-faced name have given performances in Eve Ensler’s original Off-Broadway hit, but it was Margot Kidder who brought it to life in Denver. She gave one of the wildest, most raucous and also most generous-spirited performances ever to grace an area stage, giving new meaning to the phrase “pulling out all the stops.”

As Collected Stories begins, a worshipful young writer comes to a famed and brilliant older author for advice. As the play progresses, the novice matures into a poised young comer, a surrogate daughter to and ultimate betrayer of her mentor. Heather Nicolson brought charm, vitality and intelligence to the role, along with an increasingly evident steely backbone.

John Sloan played the romantic, caustic, moody Berowne in Love’s Labor’s Lost with energy, wit, youthful exuberance and a genuine understanding of the language. His performance confirmed the expectation raised last year by his irrepressible Mairtin in A Skull in Connemara that this was an actor to watch.

When you’ve got either Baierlein or his wife, Sallie Diamond, on stage, you’ve got fine theater. Put them together as Bill and Betty, the hospitable couple in Greek Treats, and the result is an evening of pure pleasure. Entranced by their mythical off-stage friends, Jason and Medea, Bill and Betty rebel against their boring suburban life. Bill dreams of Dionsyian sex, Betty of an all-woman commune where she could unleash her creative impulses. Theirs is the kind of quietly skilled acting that doesn’t advertise itself, but you can see the flame of passion shining through Bill and Betty’s conventional exteriors.

Unlike most actresses who play Olivia, Jadelynn Stahl has no time for the character’s usual posing and passivity. Instead, her Olivia is a luscious, black-haired beauty with a melodious voice and a gift for farce who seizes life by the scruff of the neck and shakes it till she gets the love and happiness she craves.

In Love’s Labor’s Lost, Don Adriano de Armado is almost always played purely as a buffoon, and an endlessly talkative one at that. So, like many of Shakespeare’s extravagantly comic characters with their time-bound puns and word games, he tends to be more annoying than amusing. But in this production, John Hutton created something altogether different, a man who may be ridiculous, but who’s also vulnerable, surprising and sometimes — in an odd way — downright clever. It’s an interpretation that adds freshness and dimension to a venerable play.

You rarely come across a genuine original, especially a truly original performance, but Jessica Austgen is one: sort of pouty, very precise in movement and speech, capable of both absolute gooniness and breathy seduction. I’ve never seen anything like her lean, mustached Sir Andrew Aguecheek in the Theatre Group’s Twelfth Night. But she wins best comic actress for her remarkable melding of innocence, befuddlement, certainty and circuitry as the robot-woman Jacie Triplethree.

Horton was amazingly funny as a self-important academic in Bernice/Butterfly, smirking at his own witticisms, indulging in professorial chuckles and hand rubbings, writing decisively on the blackboard. He took the role right to the edge of absurdity, but stopped at the brink to remind us of his character’s pained and private reality.

Roslyn Washington played the kind of best friend every woman wants: warm and empathetic, full of dumb, endearing jokes. And her humorously faked orgasm was far richer and funnier than Meg Ryan’s gasps and twitches in When Harry Met Sally….

Harvey Blanks has given two brilliant performances in plays by August Wilson this year, and he wins for his work as the strange, affable, dangerous Turnbo in Jitney. Blanks can be incredibly funny or full of emotion. Whatever the sentiment, he gives it everything he’s got — heart, soul, voice and body.

Mare Trevathan Philpott is always a joy to watch, and in Skriker, she got to strut almost all her stuff in one evening. The Skriker is a strange, shape-changing, atavistic fairy creature who talks nonstop in a mix of puns, metaphors, rhymes and allusions. She manifests herself differently to each individual she encounters — wheedling, seducing, empathizing and bullying as needed. In a tour de force performance, Philpott did all of this with clarity, feeling and intelligence.

Charles Weldon gave Jim Becker, the uptight protagonist of August Wilson’s play about life in a cab company, paternal gravitas and a rare, generous smile that seemed to forgive the sins of the world. Then — just in case anyone thought this performance was a fluke — he seduced the audience of King Hedley II this year as the raffish, silken con man Elmore.

We first met Geoffrey Nauffts when his character, Malcolm, was attempting suicide. Once resuscitated, Malcolm remained as swoony, strange, dreamy and off-kilter as when his car’s exhaust was working on him. And his coming-out love affair with a fellow worker melted your heart — at the same time it gave hope to true romantics everywhere. Bottoms up!

Mary Louise Lee’s evocation of doomed, legendary jazz singer Billie Holiday was the kind of performance that stays with you for weeks. She shouted out her jokes and awarded them her own raucous laughter. She communicated raunchiness, pain and vulnerability. Her voice was smooth as glass, her phrasing sinuous as she brought the standards and a host of lesser-known songs to life. “God Bless the Child” was radiant and pure, and “Strange Fruit” chilled to the marrow.

Usually when Americans mess with anything British, we ruin it. But this musical version of

the award-winning 1997 film stayed true to what really is a generous-hearted fairy tale with perceptive and thoughtful things to say about the human condition. And among an excellent and well-seasoned cast, Christian Anderson was truly a standout, providing genuine feeling in the often sterile big-musical genre. He came off as a convincing working-class stiff — graceful in a boyish, macho way, and appropriately awkward when he was actually trying to dance. He’s a fine actor, a good singer and a complete charmer. Too bad the coy, backlit ending prevented us from really assessing the quality of his behind.

After a run at the Wave nightclub, the East German misfit who married an American G. I. belted out the borscht about the inequities of the rock-star life at the Climax Lounge, one of Denver’s newest independent music venues. Do those angry young men and women dancing in the aisles know how far equal opportunity entertainment has come? You betcha!

The LIDA Project developed this play through improvisational exercises, and the result was a hallucinatory and grimly humorous exploration of a feverish time in North American history and politics. You could see the months of rehearsal in the way the actors worked together on stage, strong in their individual segments, comically synchronized when they were singing and dancing, sometimes seeming like the tentacles of one breathing creature. Every performer, from Guy Williams as a mind-blowing Manson to Jadelynn Stahl as vicious Sexy Sadie, gave a deeply committed performance.

This play celebrates the kind of vanishing small-town eatery that once functioned as the heart of its community. Nagle Jackson’s script was smart, literate, absorbing and feelingful. But part of its success laid with the actors, Kathleen M. Brady and Jamie Horton, for whom Jackson specifically wrote the play as tribute to the trio’s long association. Brady and Horton created multi-dimensional, vulnerable characters who animated this funny and touching show and left a lingering sense of sweetness.

This one-man show written and performed by the multi-talented Thaddeus Phillips was funny, soulful, brilliant and sweet as it followed a young tapper’s education, progress through life and enforced exile in Cuba. Phillips himself is a prodigious tapper, a terrific actor and an iconoclastic thinker. For Lost Soles, he used objects — a photograph of Fidel Castro, a small box that became a tiny bed with a handkerchief coverlet, a toy car, water glasses, video screens and washing lines — in completely original and unintended ways, as if size were as mutable a concept as it was in Alice in Wonderland.

In staging Bernice/Butterfly, the Denver Center did exactly what a major regional theater should do: It mounted an original play that, in part, celebrates the history of the West, cast it with respected local actors and asked the author to direct. The acting was superb, the technical values impeccable and the script funny, sad and wise. The audience could sense the inter-connectedness of the artists involved, and the result was a richly textured and satisfying evening.

We’re going to go out on a limb here. Any company that has the guts and vision to evoke the bleak, war-torn Europe of Family Stories: Belgrade, the sinister fairy world of Caryl Churchill’s The Skriker and the bad acid flashback that Manson Family Values represents is doing the kind of serious exploration that helps advance an art form. Theater needs this kind of daring if it’s not to become smug and safe, a sea of jiggling musicals or a few hours’ distraction for the wealthy.

There’s no getting away from it. It’s not just that the Denver Center has the resources to ensure a certain level of consistency; it’s that the company also has the integrity to put on a solid roster of plays, including those of Shakespeare, Pinter and such modern wonder boys as Martin McDonagh while remaining willing to take necessary risks — original scripts, for example, and a highly successful production of Thornton Wilder’s puzzling and intriguing allegory, The Skin of Our Teeth.

The DCTC knows its audience, and in a kind attempt to thank and keep its blue-haired patrons, the organization offers discounted tickets to selected matinee productions throughout the season. This year’s series included a diverse theatrical palette, from Thornton Wilder’s The Skin of Our Teeth to that old roasted chestnut, A Christmas Carol. It’s just the thing for the mature, discerning theater-goer on a budget.

Chip Walton and his Curious crew have already made a name for themselves as a troupe, consistently staging quality fare for Denverites seeking something beyond the offerings of the big boys at the Denver Center for the Performing Arts. And now they’re making it even more enjoyable, with two-for-one Thursdays. Throughout the season, bring a friend to a Curious production and tickets are half price. How can you possibly say no to that?

The dust that lay mostly undisturbed for years in this old Federal Boulevard movie house has begun to fly. The Industrial Arts Theatre Company, homeless after the demise of its latest roost at the Denver Civic, is tearing down walls and reconfiguring seats in the eighty-something building in an effort to bring the place back to vivid life. Plans for a gallery show and theater opening are already in the works for this spring; if all goes well, IAT will host everything from dance performances and concerts to improv comedy nights in the near future. It looks like the nomadic IAT has finally found a permanent home.

Foothills Art Center just celebrated its 35th anniversary, but the real milestone lies with the impending retirement of longtime director Carol Dickinson. When Dickinson took over Foothills more than a decade ago, the center was a genuine backwater; with little more than her will, she transformed it into something relevant and worth seeing. She brilliantly retooled the exhibition schedule, satisfying the conservative small-town tastes of Golden while bringing in more sophisticated viewers from Denver. Dickinson was surely the best thing to happen to Foothills, and she’ll be sorely missed.

The Rocky Mountain College of Art and Design recently announced that it is moving out of Denver, but the news is a lot better than it sounds. The school has been in a group of ugly buildings at the corner of East Evans Avenue and South Oneida Street, but in June it will move into the old Jewish Consumptive Relief Society campus, near Colfax Avenue and Pierce Street in Lakewood. The JCRS is magical, the grounds filled with big, old trees and historic buildings. The stately place deserves to have new life breathed into it, and that’s what RMCAD is set to do.

After cutting her director’s teeth for a few years on a small storefront operation on Broadway, Jeanie King moved her Fresh Art Gallery over to the ever-changing Santa Fe Drive arts district. She’s created an enormous and smartly appointed complex that, in addition to a huge exhibition space, has half a dozen studios and a sculpture garden. The gallery’s stock-in-trade is contemporary abstraction by Colorado artists, especially emerging ones. The relocation was a smart move, and more than a thousand guests showed up for Fresh Art’s recent grand opening, making it one of the best-attended art events in memory.

It’s early to really start crowing, since the doors of the Newman Center aren’t yet open to the public, but this building is a beauty, built for the ages from Indiana limestone and decorated with bas relief frescoes and a gorgeous carved-stone window. The crowning jewels of this new home to the Lamont School of Music and DU’s esteemed theater program are its world-class performance stages, including the elegant, Old-World-style Gates Concert Hall, the functional Hamilton Recital Hall and the innovative Byron Flexible Theatre. What performance student wouldn’t feel at home in a proving ground this grand?

The husband-and-wife team of Tyler Aiello and Monica Petty Aiello has big dreams of establishing a full-tilt art center, with an exhibition space, classrooms, studios, foundries and even a coffee shop. Most of it is still pie-in-the-sky, but the couple already owns a large building and adjacent lot in a neglected area north of downtown, near the railroad yards. The Aiellos launched the first phase of their multi-part project, the exhibition space, last fall. A wildly successful reception ushered in Studio Aiello’s debut exhibit, Grand Opening Group Show, which garnered the venue immediate notice as the best new gallery in town.

It was certainly a surprise to find a museum-quality show in a run-down warehouse near the National Western Stock Show Complex, but there it was: Stephen Batura’s hEMLOCK rOW. For this show, Batura did paintings in casein on wood, with subjects found in old photos from the Denver Public Library, where he used to work. The monochrome paintings were meticulous depictions of train wrecks, a favorite topic for Batura. Considering the creepy setting and the show’s title, it seemed just right that hEMLOCK rOW closed on Halloween.

In 1901, Artus and Anne Van Briggle opened a pottery factory in Colorado Springs, and their work immediately gained worldwide fame. Van Briggle pottery is displayed in museums in New York, London and Paris. As might be expected, however, the biggest horde was kept in the potters’ home town, at the Colorado Springs Pioneers Museum. Although the majority of the museum’s Van Briggles are usually put away, last summer the finest of them were brought out for this over-the-top show. Van Briggle Pottery is still in business, but the best pieces, like the ones in One Hundred Years, go back to the days when the long-gone Artus and Anne were still at the wheels.

Most of the exhibits at the Lakewood Cultural Center are organized by guest curators, and, oddly enough, the modestly supported place often lucks out. A prime example was last summer’s Veterans of Clay, a brief survey of Colorado ceramics that was ably assembled by the studious Tom Turnquist, a nationally known ceramics authority who actually lives — get this — in Lakewood. Primarily a pothead, Turnquist included a lot of vessels by legendary old-timers such as Nan and Jim McKinnell, then went a step further, supplementing those works with very different creations by contemporary sculptors like Doug Fey and Jim Foster. Somehow, it all worked.

Ceramic artist Jun Kaneko has pushed the clay vessel to the limits, throwing pots that are much, much larger than he is — many of them towering more than ten feet tall and weighing thousands of pounds. This fall, Carson-Masuoka partner and gallery director Mark Masuoka organized a major show of Kaneko’s widely known work. Once a studio assistant to the great potter and now an old friend, Masuoka had an inside track in putting the exhibit together. The enormous size of Kaneko’s pots is just one of their winning qualities; others include the artist’s fine sense for color and patterns, all of which came together in this amazing exhibit.

The Rule Gallery’s Universal Limited Art Editions, which opened in February and is still on display, showcases fine prints by a who’s who of contemporary artists. The top-drawer New York printmaker of the exhibit’s title provided its fine prints, including some by Jasper Johns, Robert Rauschenberg and Terry Winters. ULAE prints are a part of many important collections, such as those at the Museum of Modern Art in New York and the National Gallery in Washington, D.C., and it’s great to see works of this caliber in Denver.

The unforgettable An American Century of Photography was presented last summer at the Denver Art Museum, and the sprawling twentieth-century survey included some of the most important images ever produced. Curator and connoisseur Keith Davis made selections from the heavy-duty collection of Kansas City’s Hallmark Corporation, which has acquired famous photos by all of the superstars in the finest, rarest and most-sought-after print versions imaginable. Of all the fine photography shows presented this past year, none held a flashbulb to An American Century of Photography.

Roach Studios has been a fixture on Broadway since the 1970s, but the enterprise itself

dates back to 1936, when the late Otto Roach established it in Lakewood. The specialty of the house then — as it is today — was custom photo enlargement. In 1958, Roach sold the business to his young assistant, Dutch Walla, who still owns it along with his son, Jay, a legend in the darkroom. In December, the Wallas opened Gallery Roach in the front of the shop — now located on Broadway — with Two Men, One State of Mind…Colorado, a show focused on classic black-and-white landscapes by Roach and the elder Walla. The exhibit proved that fine work from the past stands up to the best the present has to offer.

Even though Street Level was all about New York, it was organized right here in Denver by Simon Zalkind, who saluted his former home town by painting the gallery walls a yellow the exact shade of the mustard at Nathan’s on Coney Island.

When the Colorado Photographic Arts Center was founded in 1963, the art crowd held photography in disrepute. But times change, and the medium now has an assured place in the visual arts. To celebrate its fortieth anniversary, CPAC did something special: It mounted the exhibit Betty Hahn, which spotlighted the grande dame of New Mexico photographers who, like CPAC itself,

was a pioneer. (It was her first solo show here.) During her career, she invented or rediscovered many experimental methods, but her best pieces, and the ones that made her famous, are those about the Lone Ranger and Tonto.

The informal space in the front of Artyard took on an elegant formality when Rokko Aoyama’s solo, Visual Itch, was on display. Though Aoyama lives in Colorado, she was born and raised in Japan, and the island country’s taste, materials and subject matter dominated this show. The Japanese snack Manju inspired the shapes, which were then painted in the pastel colors made for Japan’s Lexus cars, rendering Aoyama’s contemporary installations reminiscent of giant strings of pearls. Despite her influences, Aoyama’s best asset is her skill in speaking the language of contemporary American art.

The breathtaking Manuel Neri at Robischon Gallery was a stunning display of works by one of the greatest Bay Area artists ever. Neri has used the figure as a taking-off point for his sculpture for almost fifty years, ever since his first child was born to the first of his five wives. Although his pieces are highly conventionalized, the female form is always apparent. Neri hired various models to anchor his work until the 1970s, when he settled on a permanent muse, Mary Julia Klemenko. As an adjunct to Manuel Neri, the artist did a book filled with nude photos of Klemenko taken decades ago; as appealing as these were, however, Neri’s magical sculptures were the real attraction of the show.

Young Boulder artist Joseph Shaeffer has some pretty wild and extreme concepts — like using the attractive and repellent properties of magnetic fields to make sculptures. In Continuum, at the now closed and sorely missed Andenken Annex, Shaeffer employed magnets to keep his sculptures together or apart, depending on his changing mood. The most remarkable piece in the show commemorated the World Trade Center with a pair of 1/500-scale models of the Twin Towers that hovered above the floor, held aloft in mid-air by magnets mounted high above, in the ceiling.

While kids right out of art school can often score a co-op gig if they’re lucky, they almost never wind up at a top gallery — especially one like Judish Fine Arts, a stunning space in a Victorian stone church in northwest Denver. But that’s precisely what happened to John Morrison, who made his debut at Ron Judish’s gallery last year. A smart combo of sloppy abstract expressionism and anal minimalism, Morrison’s paintings represented a reconciliation of opposites. The colors were luscious and impeccably chosen, put together in perfectly conceived juxtapositions. Morrison has kept a low profile lately, and his work has not been seen since the show closed, which is too bad, because it was definitely one of last year’s best efforts.

The quirky and elegant paintings in the Bob Koons exhibit Nearness of Distance at Carson-Masuoka Gallery were fresh off the easel — and they looked it. Koons, who showed related work earlier at Edge Gallery, transforms old master paintings into contemporary ones. After choosing a landscape from art history, he paints the scene, but he does it out of focus and then fills in the details with a rainbow of non-naturalistic colors. Though they have the look of computer-generated prints, the works are actually hand-done acrylics on canvas. The resulting works presented at this Sante Fe Drive arts district gallery were stunning; judging by this promising show, we think the best from the young Koons is yet to come.

The growth of modern painting from 1900 to 1950 as it played itself out in Colorado was the topic of the impressive Colorado Collections II, which hung in the Denver Public Library’s Vida Ellison Gallery. All of the big names from that time were featured, including Birger Sandzén, Vance Kirkland and Charles Bunnell. The show was put together by Kay Wisnia, a staff member of the DPL’s Western History department, who used her relationships with major collectors such as Hugh Grant and Kathy Loo in order to borrow important pieces. With access to these private troves, Wisnia gave viewers a rare opportunity to see things that have almost never been exhibited publicly before.

It’s hard to believe it’s already been four years since William Havu opened his flashy gallery in the Golden Triangle, and even harder to remember that the neighborhood — now an urban enclave – was simply a deserted mess. For his anniversary last fall, Havu dedicated an exhibit to some of his favorite artists, most from Colorado. The place was decked out with creations by the likes of Martha Daniels, Emilio Lobato, Amy Metier and Sushe Felix, among others. With some of the state’s best artists on board, Anniversary Show was truly something to celebrate.

If your ideas about Western art are limited to bronze statues of cowboys and Indians, Salient GROUND at Robischon would have quickly dispelled them. In this show, two great Colorado painters translated the familiar tradition into something new. Don Stinson romanticized the ruins of motels, gas stations and drive-ins by depicting them in magnificent natural settings, while Karen Kitchel created a conceptual installation out of 96 related plant paintings that led the viewer through the four seasons. Though distinct, the artists’ individual styles both expressed a single coherent theme: the West right now.

Denver sculptor Emmett Culligan made a splash when he first emerged on the scene a few years ago, and since then, he’s gotten relentlessly better. His latest efforts were featured in Emmett Culligan, at Judish Fine Arts in February. The fabulous monumental sculptures on display had gravity-defying features, with big slabs of native Colorado stone soaring at preposterous angles. There is a whole new generation of young sculptors — many of whom are very good — that has emerged in the past few seasons, but Culligan stands out as the best of the current bunch.

After World War II, American pop culture hit Japan like a tsunami. Tokyo, for example, is filled with Yankee Doodle standards like skyscrapers, neon signs and McDonald’s. This influence extends to the arts, as well, and Cydney Payton, director of Denver’s Museum of Contemporary Art, tapped into the trend with POPjack, a show combining American pop art with Japanese art based on it. The exhibit ably demonstrated how two worlds could collide and converge at the same time.

The homegrown blockbuster Retrospectacle, which opened last fall at the Denver Art Museum, has been described as a “Dianne Vanderlip lovefest.” That’s because it highlights Vanderlip’s 25 years as curator of the museum’s modern and contemporary art department, a job that was created specifically for her. The exhibit includes many of the great New York artists, including Robert Motherwell and Andy Warhol, who are joined with Colorado stars such as Clark Richert and John DeAndrea. Retrospectacle was not only one of the best bets of the past year, but of 2003, too, since it will stay up through the summer.

Collecting art has never been an inexpensive hobby. But even the poorest aesthete can build up a cachet of original works at an Art Trading Card swap, where painters, drawers and doodlers convene to barter tiny masterpieces. The cards are only two by three inches — about the size of your average baseball card — so you’ll probably still need to find something for the wall above the sofa. In the meantime, go forth and trade: Outside of what it might cost you to create or reproduce your own cards, this club is absolutely free.

Wife-swapping is dead? It simply ain’t so. If you’ve always wanted to have group sex with a charming, friendly group of people — and do a little drinking and dancing beforehand — you’ve just hit the jackpot. Formed in 1969, the Golden Circle is Colorado’s oldest and most legitimate swingers’ club, a strictly couples-only affair for people who believe that swinging isn’t sleazy, just an alternative lifestyle.

First of all, there’s no need to arrive single, but if you do, there’s no need to be shy. Nor do you have to be accomplished on the dance floor, though you’ll see plenty who are. Known for its friendly regulars and non-threatening atmosphere, the forty-and-over Sunday-night Sharp Images dance has endured for at least fifteen years, for reasons that will become obvious the minute you step in the door.

The Mercury Cafe’s indomitable life force, Marilyn Megenity, has seen it all — good, bad and ugly — in the many years she’s been running the place. So if she personally endorses something, it’s gotta be good. Right now she’s touting the Middle Eastern Peace Dance, which is held the last Saturday of every month and features live music by Sherefe and the Habibis. It seems to encourage what Megenity calls “that old wild hippie freestyle,” a sweet-vibed communal phenomenon some of us haven’t seen since 1970 — give or take a few Phish concerts.

Each spring, lindy hop king Frankie Manning returns to Denver, like the swallows to Capistrano, for a weekend of dance, dance and more dance. The octogenarian’s history as a dancer dates back to the heyday of the Savoy Ballroom in Harlem, where he helped invent the original lindy moves. When swing gave way to bebop, and jazz audiences stopped dancing, Manning took a thirty-year break and went to work at the post office. But he’s been back on his feet since the 1980s, dancing across the country and becoming an annual fixture at Karen Lee’s dance studio alongside his son and fellow dancer, Chazz Young. Swingers, take note: Reservations for his April 16 through 19 Denver turn are going quickly.

Wanna know who wins the Worst Parent or Guardian in a Movie award for 2002? What

about Actor Who Should Have Known Better? Or Worst Attempt to Act Smart? Abby Winter and her partner, Laura Peterson, will happily slag off — even at industry favorites. The roommates use amusing photos of their cats, Gleason and Mr. Thornhill, as their rating system; a hissing, hairball-hacking Gleason is the worst snub they dole out (and they do it often). They’ve targeted Titanic as the worst movie of all time and were even tepid about O Brother, Where Art Thou? Although the site doesn’t have a professional polish, Winter’s sardonic wit and Peterson’s childish graphics are good for endless hours of entertainment.

Once housed at the venerable bookstore’s LoDo events space, the long-running Tattered Cover Film Series moved to the Starz FilmCenter this year without amping up the price. Curated by critic Howie Movshovitz, the series uncovers both obscure gems and the occasional classic, such as Casablanca. They even pay for the parking, too: All you have to buy is the popcorn and soy-milk latte.

Most of the movies that clog area theaters fall into predictable categories: comedies, dramas, action-thrillers, idiocy. But the Denver Pan-African Film Festival, sponsored by Starz FilmCenter, offers cineastes a tasty alternative. Last year’s event featured a hefty menu of fifty flicks, ranging from light entertainments to wrenching documentaries, and the 2003 version, scheduled to take place April 21 through 27 at Starz, promises to up the ante.

Last year, hard times killed the Denver Jazz on Film Festival at age four. But from the ashes rose the Denver Jazz on Film Series, a slightly shorter, but no less syncopated, bow to a great American art form as interpreted by moviemakers around the world. Thanks go to the new Starz FilmCenter on the Auraria campus (also home to the Denver International Film Festival), which screened twelve jazz-related films over Valentine’s Day weekend, including a vivid documentary about the late saxophonist Dexter Gordon, Bertrand Tavernier’s classic Round Midnight and cinematic glimpses of jazz greats Chico Hamilton, Thelonious Monk and Stephane Grappelli. Happily, the out chorus is still on hold: Denver Jazz on Film will return to Starz next winter.

In About Schmidt, Alexander Payne’s black comedy about a retired insurance man’s reassessment of his bleak life, Jack Nicholson’s Warren Schmidt sets out from sleepy Omaha in his huge motor home and takes I-80 to Denver, where he hopes to prevent his daughter’s wedding to a dopey waterbed salesman. Payne shot very little of the film here — a few establishing shots and casual exteriors — but in the course of things, Nicholson takes some very specific Denver street directions (“…then turn left on Speer”). Thanks to the magic of movies, Nicholson also winds up in a Denver hot tub that’s not really in Denver — with pushy Kathy Bates.

In 2002, Australian director Phillip Noyce returned to top form with two films — a dark adaptation of Graham Greene’s disturbing Vietnam novel, The Quiet American, and the movie that set last October’s Denver Film Festival abuzz, Rabbit-Proof Fence. It’s the heroic story of three half-caste Aborigine girls who run away from a Dickensian government orphanage in the 1930s, crossing 1,500 miles of the Outback to reach home. Beautiful and moving, it won the festival’s audience-appreciation award and — even better — can be seen right now in theatrical release.

Documentarian Donna Dewey is the only Denver-based filmmaker to win an Academy Award, and last year she put her heart and soul into producing a moving non-fiction film called Chiefs, which chronicles two seasons of play by a high school basketball team on Wyoming’s impoverished Wind River Indian Reservation. Dewey and Wyoming-born director Daniel Junge capture the sweet hopes of these boys from the rez, as well as their troubles and traumas, in unblinking fashion. Among the new wave of films about contemporary Native American life, this take on the hoop dreams of kids may be the truest and most emotional.

The arrival of the New York-based Madstone chain on Denver’s art-film scene is most welcome — especially in the affluent, educated southeast quadrant of town, where the theaters are located. At the slickly redecorated complex that was once the Tamarac 6 multiplex, Madstone unspools an intriguing mix of first-run imports and the latest homegrown films for thinking audiences. Best of all, there’s a rich array of revival fare, ranging from such Hollywood classics as Dr. Strangelove and On the Waterfront to independent features like Blood Simple and Stranger Than Paradise. Directors’ retrospectives feature double bills, children’s classics run on weekends, and Madstone’s popular “Shock Therapy” programs curdle the blood ’round midnight.

While taking in the latest indie romance or taut French thriller at the Mayan, why not take something good into your body, too? The concession stand is well stocked with upscale delectables, including the Alternative Baking Company’s new vegan cookies, in Peanut Butter Persuasion or Phenomenal Pumpkin Spice. The ice cream bars are from Ben & Jerry’s (try the Heath Toffee Crunch), the coffees now come from Vail Mountain Coffee Roasters, and the juices are Odwalla. The bestseller? Superfood, an apple-based nutrient drink chock-full of spirulina and open-cell chlorella. Choose chocolate from Switzerland (Rod Lindfils) or Germany (Ritter Sport), and if all else fails, fall back on the time-honored Vienna Bagel Dog, slathered in mustard and relish, or that exotica called popcorn.

With good screen size and projection, state-of-the-art sound and the latest in stadium-style

seating, the Colorado Center rates just fine in our theater-comfort category. But what sets it apart from the many other stadium-theater venues is the consistent helpfulness of the staff, good access to theaters and — as the real estate people like to say — location, location, location. Situated at the crossroads of two arterials, I-25 and Colorado Boulevard, it’s easy to reach from almost anywhere in the metro area, and the indoor/outdoor parking is both ample and convenient. Catch Daredevil or Chicago wherever you like, but the Colorado Center makes the experience a breeze.

It’s time to cut the cards — aces high and seven-card stud. And just $10 will get you in the game every Friday night at Breckenridge Brewery. You can spin the wheel, but you don’t have to worry about losing the rent or your pink slip: Once you’re in, it’s all Monopoly money. The door charge is given to local charities, including Big Brothers Big Sisters of Colorado and the Denver Ronald McDonald House. And even if you blow all of your funny money, there’s still free food and live music. Such a way to soothe your soul.

The Old Firehouse Art Center in Longmont really knows how to throw an artwalk. The community celebration, held along the town’s main drag, includes a slew of art openings, live music, artist and vendor booths, dancing, and art workshops for kids. There’s the inevitable street food, of course — hot dogs, lemonade, kettle corn and more. But what really makes Artwalk Longmont a special event are the extras: Last year, for instance, brought Geese Galore, the town’s amped up version of CowParade. They kicked off the program using nineteen oversized, artist-decorated, fiberglass fowl rather than the traditional bovine beauties. And while no festival is complete without a little brawling in the streets, the Artwalk’s was just a bit more civilized, with the Longmont Theater Company staging exciting Shakespearean swordfights for everyone’s entertainment. Touché!

There was an international flair to the fifth annual “Writers Respond to Readers” event at the Tattered Cover, where aspiring scribes and readaholics rubbed bookmarks with known authors in a small group setting. Esmeralda Santiago, Francesca Marciano, Lynn Freed and Simon Winchester made up the eclectic writerly circle this year, suggesting that the event is crossing borders, both geographic and literary, as it grows. Authors even go so far as to give sage advice on getting from the page to the publisher.

Women have been trying to balance life and art since before Virginia Woolf longed for a room of her own and Tillie Olsen traded her ironing board for a typewriter. And for the past 27 years, Colorado women looking to fend off the mundane for twelve glorious months have turned to the Rocky Mountain Women’s Institute. The well-connected non-profit artists’ colony annually grants approximately ten artists, writers and scholars $1,250 stipends, a venue to show their finished work, and the sense of a creative life. What the winners do with their laundry is their business.

Our very own single-name artist, Avi, finally won the coveted Newbery Medal this year with his fiftieth adventure novel, Crispin: The Cross of Lead. The Brooklyn-born writer dabbles in many genres, but in Crispin, he combined historical and young adult fiction, portraying the life of a thirteen-year old peasant boy living in fourteenth-century England. The parentless lad is accused of murder and must win his freedom and find his own identity. Maybe he and Avi’s next fictional character, Oscar Westerwit, the New York City “full-sized uptown romantic” squirrel, should compare notes.

Greg Campbell knows a bit about adventure and horror. The Fort Collins freelance writer and dad was held at gunpoint and hung with the boys of Soldier of Fortune for his first book, The Road to Kosovo. But he upped the danger quotient in 2002’s Blood Diamonds, his investigation into the Sierra Leone diamond trade. In that West African country, Campbell found villagers who’d had their hands chopped off by machetes to ensure their cooperation with the Revolutionary United Front militias; he also witnessed instances of ethnic cleansing and mass rape. In his 282-page book, he explores the role of diamonds in financing the country’s civil war and terrorist organizations — including al-Qaeda — and their effect on everyday people. Campbell, who has given up the war-correspondent life, is currently posted Stateside, as the founding editor of the Fort Collins Weekly.

Life, love and used-car lots. It’s the stuff of vanity presses. In Up, we find Becky Pine, a recent CU graduate, looking for a life (surprise) as she picks up and moves to Los Angeles. A used-car lot takes her in, and Pine gets schooled on love, life and being a newly outed lesbian. It’s a quasi-autobiographical story: Lisa Jones (not the Bullet Proof Diva and Village Voice writer) also grew up in Denver, moved to California and sold cars. Why she gave up that glamorous lifestyle to become a Denver copy editor, we can only imagine.

In a time when a collection of short stories is as de rigueur for debut authors as the tell-all publishing roman a clef, Erika Krouse’s Come Up and See Me Sometime, a novel in thirteen stories, is refreshingly honest and well crafted. In fact, the Boulder writer’s collection of independent young women at loose ends even elicited a positive review from the notoriously persnickety New York Times Review of Books. Krause introduces each story with an epigram from Mae West, the patron saint of tough dames and wicked wit, setting the stage for a hearty mix of both.

God-Shaped Hole, Tiffanie Debartolo’s tale of star-crossed love – born in the classified ads, played out beneath the artificial glow of Los Angeles life — has all of the elements of pure romantic noir: The lead character, Trixie, has a love affair with the dreamy and intense Jacob, a writer for an alternative weekly newspaper, that is burning, tumultuous and, ultimately, tragic. (Let’s just say someone drowns in the Pacific, leaving the other for the great wave in the sky.) But the debut novel from DeBartolo, who also penned the screenplay for the Jennifer Aniston/Ione Sky vehicle Dreams of an Insomniac, is funny, bold, quasi-philosophical and a hell of a lot smarter than your standard grocery-store paperback fare. Currently splitting time between Boulder and the Big Apple, DeBartolo is reportedly at work on her second book; we can only hope it’s as divine as her first.

We know, we know. Poets and sunshine go together like peanut butter and broken glass. But if you ever tire of pouring your heart out from some ratty couch in some dim, cloistered coffee shop, why not give Ink! a try? First off, they brew up some mean java, grinding beans from all over the planet and clearly explaining the flavors du jour so you don’t accidentally find yourself with a light French chicory when what you wanted was a dark, powerful Sumatran. Second, when the weather is nice, sidewalk tables have a great view of the new condo complex going up on the other side of Lincoln. You poets love that urban-renewal land-rape stuff, don’t you? So grab yourself a sweet, foamy latte, bring along your journal, and catch a few rays while you get a look at the real world going by. Trust us: It beats crying alone in the rain anyday.

This annual celebration of hickory-smoked meats and serious sauce (sanctioned by the Kansas City Barbecue Society) is the high country’s best family-style blowout. Visitors sample ‘cue from more than seventy of the nation’s best grill and smoker masters, making the array of meat and sauce choices finger-lickin’ heaven on earth. Sides of down-home, kid-friendly entertainment, a pancake breakfast and Frisco’s homespun setting (and dreamy August weather) add even more sustenance to the event. Need a reason to head to the hills? This is it.

A local staple for eleven years, the Colorado Performing Arts Festival offers locals an opportunity to revel in homegrown arts, whether it be music, theater, dance, or something a touch more avant-garde. Visitors to the 2002 event, held in late September at the Denver Performing Arts Complex, saw Aztec dancers, story weavers, poetry jazz and even kids’ comedians. But the best part is that there’s no charge to discover the talent lingering within our city limits.

Dude! There is nothing cheaper than free, and free is one concept that truly befits the sport of skateboarding, which, at its best, has no rules — except, perhaps, those agreed upon by the boarders themselves. And that’s exactly how things work at this 60,000-square-foot, city-built facility, which opened to the public in summer 2001 and has been such a hit that it’s already expanding. But the fun at Denver Skatepark isn’t reserved just for the kids who cram the place: Watching the action can be every bit as entertaining. Grab a soda and hot dog from the cart that always seems to be there when the boarders are, find a spot with good sightlines of the concrete bowls and ramps, and prepare to be amazed — and amused.

Swallow Hill’s annual picnic is a glorious celebration of all things acoustic. The 2002 event featured a high-flying collection of the nation’s best singer-songwriters and performers in a wide range of genres. That these electrifying and, typically, electricity-free artists are showcased outdoors in the rustic, rural setting of Four Mile Historic Park makes the event a family-style hoedown of the purest kind. Folk music has never been easier to swallow than at this bucolic-in-the-big-city picking party.

This coffeehouse opened last May and quickly became the social epicenter of the Curtis Park neighborhood. The building has seen many uses since it went up in 1885, including as a Prohibition-era speakeasy and a 1950s vanilla factory — hence the name. Today the coffeehouse has plush sofas and funky furniture, as well as artwork by neighborhood residents on the walls. But what really makes the Vanilla Factory special is the vintage player piano with original sheet music. The circa-1920 piano is on loan from a Curtis Park resident, Cricket Krantz, who wanted her neighbors to be able to enjoy it. The piano still cranks out tunes from the old days, and it’s easy to close your eyes and imagine being served a bit of bootleg gin at an after-hours jazz party.

The Dushanbe Teahouse rarely needs to coerce anyone to sip or dine there. With its folkloric Tajik craftsmanship, the teahouse is a magnificent place to sit, especially when it’s open to the summer breezes like an airy, sun-filled tent. And once it year, it’s even more enticing with its wonderfully celebratory Rocky Mountain Tea Festival. There’s something here for tea lovers of every stripe: seminars and tastings for serious drinkers, a tea dinner for the serendipitous — even an inexpensive tea party for the under-twelve set. It’s a summertime tradition we hope to see continue for years to come — with or without two lumps.

Tea and Harry just seem to go together, like frogs’ eyes and newts’ toes. And nearly 200 million books sold worldwide doesn’t hurt, either. So Oak & Berries Tearoom owner Roxanne Mays hosts Harry Potter teas each November for kids of all ages to get together over a cuppa to discuss the newest book’s possibilities or recount the latest on-screen antics of Harry, Hermione and Ron. It’s a splendid, Hogwarts-worthy setting, and costumes are welcome, as are good appetites: The Tearoom offers finger sandwiches, hot chocolate and other tidbits to all attending Potterphiles. We assume there’s a nice, safe place to park broomsticks.

The Ogden Theatre isn’t exactly a quiet room. On most nights, the music is loud and so is the crowd, the members of which angle for position, and cocktails, on the floor and in an upper balcony. But when the Icelandic dreamspace outfit Sigur Rós performed for a sold-out show in November, the place took on the feel of a symphonic chamber. Attendees appeared genuinely stunned by the gorgeous, whale-sound music they were hearing, as well as the accompanying film reels projected on a giant screen. Vocalist Jón Thor Birgisson wailed siren songs and led a large band through waves of blissful sound shaped by keyboards, piano, strings and guitars played with violin bows. No wonder the audience couldn’t stop staring: Watching Sigur Rós’s performance was like watching the Northern Lights move about the sky.

At a show that recast the Flaming Lips as a backing combo for Beck, bandleader Wayne Coyne enlisted nearly thirty local fans to join the band on stage, cloaked in full animal-suit regalia.

Louisville-based UltraCo Inc., once a darling of the Boulder-area high-tech economy, has since fallen on harder times. Founded in 1999, the company rebuffed a few acquisition attempts, only to see its business model fizzle after the dot-bomb. But UltraPlayer media software, with its customizable appearance and the versatility to play all of the most popular audio and video formats, is still among the cream of the crop — and even though the company is defunct, the software is still available to download for free online.

The minds behind HigherListening.com — Dan Vigil, Kelly Beckwith, Nate Weaver and Trish Baird — have done a fine job in the past few years, moving from a mere message board to what is now a comprehensive online resource for those interested in local performers of all stripes. Offering a local calendar along with news, reviews, interviews and a comprehensive database of performers, the site covers the Mile High scene admirably and is eminently surfable. Deep down, though, it’s the creators’ straightforward and sincere enthusiasm for local music that makes it all happen.

Despite their collective name, the members of Accidental Superhero have worked hard in their seven years, making their own success instead of waiting around for a record-label deal. The Internet-savvy Colorado Springs outfit racked up close to a million downloads through MP3.com, repeatedly edging past radio-saturating bands and onto that site’s top-ten list. Now their music can be heard across the country on low-watt FM stations, as well as many other places on the Web. The Superheros self-sold over 10,000 copies of their first CD back in 1998; a new disc, Full Circle, is poised to do even better. The New York Post is just one in the gaggle of press cheering the band on. All this, and they can leap tall buildings in a single bound.

Under the leadership of music director Marin Alsop, the Colorado Symphony Orchestra released a new CD this year through the Naxos imprint. Recorded live at Boettcher Hall, the disc offers a unique take on two of Tchaikovsky’s more popular symphonic compositions. So far, Naxos has distributed 4,500 copies to retail stores, and sales have been better than expected; we’d call that a coup in the world of classical music.

No matter how mainstream and mall-ready punk rock gets, there’s always a new batch of bands lurking in dirty bars and warehouses tearing out the type of hot-wired, four-chord rock that launched the genre almost thirty years ago. On Undead in Denver, compiler Timmy Gibb and producer Bart McCrorey have assembled a cast of sixteen local bands contributing two songs each, most of which heavily reference the sound of punk legends such as Social Distortion, Channel 3, the Avengers and the Ramones. Standout tracks include Reno Divorce’s “Getting Used to You,” The Hacks’ “Vodka,” Teenage Bottlerocket’s “Mini Skirt” and the Swanks’ “Big Man Mouth” — but the whole disc rumbles with the subterranean shock of raw, honest and uncorrupted punk rock.

David Eugene Edwards is the grandson of a Nazarene preacher, and like a chip off the old block (or in this case, brimstone) he offers up his solo debut side project Wovenhand. The presentation sounds as though it has gathered some dust, probably because it is largely derivative of his band 16 Horsepower. But Wovenhand’s message — like the call of a street-corner doomsday prophet — is hard to ignore.

After a few years of toiling in the music shadows, Dixie transplant John Davis has finally treated the local music consciousness with his unique take on American roots music. Dreams of the Lost Tribe is a lush, layered masterpiece of deep-fried Americana that’s equal parts Flannery O’Connor, deep-bottom blues and Tin Pan Alley treasure. Chock-full of imagery, emotion and fresh language, this debut is a commanding stunner.

The Czars have long specialized in dreamy, abstract, melancholic music, and the inspiration for their album titles over the years seems to come from an equally surreal place. Now comes further proof that the Czars are simply playing with us: Witness the lighthearted wordplay of X Would Rather Listen to Y Than Suffer Through a Whole C of Z’s. Whether it’s with their album titles or their music itself, the Czars always keep us guessing.