The Stranger

Would you rather play Tetris with Jennifer Zwick or look at her art? You can't do both; you have to choose. Most artists would probably rather not learn the answer to this question—how can little old contemporary art compete with a classic, gloriously time-sucking video game? Zwick is not most artists. She'll be at her own photo show—Bilaterography, focusing on symmetries both found and created in the world—waiting for you to decide. She's keeping score. At the end of her show, a winner will be declared: Will it be Tetris or art? (SOIL, 112 Third Ave S, 264-8061. Noon–5 pm, free.) by Jen Graves

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Magik Markers (Seattle guitarist/vocalist Elisa Ambrogio and Brooklyn drummer Pete Nolan) have scraped their way toward America's noise-rock summit with an approach that reconciles understated songcraft with a smeared palette of cacophonies. The duo's newest album, Balf Quarry, benefits from new clarity thanks to producer Scott Colburn and an improved melodic sense without losing much of that bracing Markers prickliness. Sic Alps scuzz up garage rock like they've held a lifelong grudge against it, then top the mess with fetching tunes. With AFCGT. (Chop Suey, 1325 E Madison St, 324-8000. 8 pm, $8 adv/$10 DOS, 21+.) by Dave Segal

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To celebrate the holiday season, the delightfully playful, indie-rock inclined Mt. St. Helens Vietnam Band are throwing a party. It's a family affair—the band's singer, Benji, is married to the band's multi-instrumentalist, Traci, and drummer Marshall is Benji's adopted brother. (And full disclosure: Benji's brother Peter is married to my sister, Katie.) On top of all the original holiday carols like "Involuntary Solitude" and "Inuit," tonight's show is also the only place you'll be able to buy a copy of the band's holiday EP An Eskimo Christmas. With LAKE and the Beats, Man. (Crocodile, 2200 Second Ave, www.thecrocodile.com. 8 pm, $10, 21+.) by Megan Seling

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The ubiquity of It's a Wonderful Life has turned it into cultural wallpaper: It's easy to forget the film's improbability as a go-to Christmas classic. (And the improbability of Frank Capra—anti-Semite, Mussolini admirer, informer for J. Edgar Hoover—as the guardian of our Christmas spirit.) The film claims to be an affirmation of the humble, well-lived life, but it constantly skates over a cold, uneasy abyss: the power of the heartless banker, the tension of small-town living, happiness hemmed in on all sides by despair. "Capra films move like hunting dogs," wrote critic David Thomson. Life is hunting you down. (Grand Illusion, 1403 NE 50th St, 523-3935. Every damn day, 6 and 8:30 pm, $5–$8.) by Brendan Kiley

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How can Madonna, a supernaturally talented genius of cultural performance, fail so spectacularly when she tries to approximate human behavior on-screen? David Schmader, our own supernaturally talented genius of trash cinema, has been chipping away at this question in a monthlong series called Almost Human. Tonight, he presents Body of Evidence—a 1993 sex thriller in which, Schmader says, "Madonna plays a woman so sexy she's on trial for fucking a man to death. It's more likely Madonna's wooden acting gave him splinters and he died of infection. It features Madonna being slapped in the face by Julianne Moore and boned in the butt by Willem Dafoe—and it's STILL BORING." (Central Cinema, 1411 21st Ave, 328-3230. 7 pm, $8, all ages.) by Brendan Kiley

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Loving Hut is an international chain of vegan restaurants ruled by Supreme Master Ching Hai, whose teachings insist heaven will be blocked to carnivores, and who might be insane. "Meat is mostly virus," says Supreme Master TV, played on a perpetual loop in Loving Hut. "By eating meat, your diet becomes mostly virus." Servers smile as if their lives depended on it. It's fascinating, in a cult-themed minimalist dinner-theater way, and some of the food is very good—try the corn-doggy "golden stick," the mushu delight, and the jasmine tea. (Loving Hut, 1226 S Jackson St, 726-8669. 11 am–9 pm.) by David Schmader

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