The Stranger

German director Uli Edel has made a masterpiece: a concrete-grit drama about super-controversial historical characters (the young German "urban guerrillas" who assassinated 34 people and blew up department stores, newspaper offices, and embassies during the 1970s) that doesn't romanticize or apologize for anyone. Its politicians are chubby ex-Nazis who serenely eat lobster bisque while the Vietnam War rages on. And its young terrorists are deluded egotists who like guns, fast cars, and fucking just as much as they like proletarian emancipation. The film is complex, sexy, horrifying, and long—and deeply, deeply satisfying. (See Movie Times: thestranger.com/film.) by Brendan Kiley

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I spent most of junior high with a hunk of graphite stuck in my left hand—'cause y'know, nothing ever made that detention clock tick faster than a good ol'-fashioned pencil fight. At the WXPFL Championships, however, there'll be pro "Gra-Fighters," so expect serious wood splinters and real-deal bloody knuckles. Also expect a bunch of funny dudes like comedian Owen Straw, Grudge-Rocker Jake Stratton, and Seattle's only hamburger-peddling wrestling clown Ronald McFondle to keep you completely entertained. (Rendezvous, 2322 Second Ave, 441-5823. 8 pm, $6, 21+.) by Kelly O

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Nothing radical or iconoclastic went into the making of Elephant's Graveyard—just meticulous storytelling by a midcareer playwright (George Brant), disciplined direction (by Jason Harber), and a fantastic 13-member ensemble (including Ray Tagavilla and Michael Blum). In 1916, Sparks Circus pulled into the muddy town of Erwin, Tennessee—true story—and things went fatally sideways. The Rashomon-like, multiple-perspectives-on-one-event trick is an old one, but Balagan makes it fresh all over again. (Balagan Theatre, 1117 E Pike St, 800-838-3006. 8 pm, $15. Through Sept 26.) by Brendan Kiley

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The final quarter of this four-day, cutting-edge digital-arts fest climaxes at Neumos with a bombastic nocturnal techno feast featuring Alter Ego, Tim Exile, Reagenz, and Jerry Abstract. Before that, hit Volunteer Park in the afternoon for eclectic, cortex-splintering sets by Eddie, Gaslamp Killer, KiloWatts, and Sub Swara; and in between, chill out to the audiovisual splendors of the showcases Ameritronica (Triple Door) and Beauty in Binary (Seattle Asian Art Museum). And realize you've just had a whirlwind tour of electronic music's peaks. (Various venues, www.dbfestival.com. Noon–2 am.) by Dave Segal

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Patton Oswalt is a funny little squeezy-toy of a person whose standup—cheerfully brutal, sprawling yet precise—is among the best in the world ever. In the grim almost-comedy Big Fan, Oswalt plays Paul Aufiero, a Staten Island parking-lot attendant whose life, wife, god, sun, stars, and reason to eat, poop, and breathe is the New York Giants. When, thanks to alcohol and overexuberance ("fan" is short for "fanatic," right?), he gets the shit beaten out of him by his favorite player, Aufiero's life plummets to dark, low, surprising places. Big Fan makes the most of Oswalt's chubby pathos while excising any hint of healing irony. It's tough and good. (See Movie Times: thestranger.com/film.) by Lindy West

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Two weeks ago, Ryan Boudinot read from his debut novel, Misconception, at Elliott Bay Book Company. Somewhere in the middle of the first chapter, around the part when the main character describes his own sperm as seen in a microscope as "each a tiny exclamation point carrying my half of what could have been a human being," an offended woman stormed out of the reading, which made the evening feel even more exciting. We can only hope that Boudinot manages to alienate even more uptight grannies with his hilarious, pervy stories tonight. (University Book Store, 4326 University Way NE, 634-3400. 7 pm, free.) by Paul Constant

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