The Stranger

On April 4, 2006, the UK DJ Mary Anne Hobbs, then the host for BBC One's radio program Breezeblock, played a mix of dark and gorgeous dubs produced by a mysterious character named Burial. That 21-minute mix marked for many the birth of a new sound, a new beat, a new opening. That 21-minute mix is that decade's highest peak in music. Hobbs's show also launched the dubstep movement, which is still going strong and has adherents from here to Johannesburg. Last year, the queen of dubstep transformed a difficult situation (a volcanic explosion in Iceland stranded her in LA) into a musical extravaganza that involved LA's crème de la crème—Take, Tokimonsta, and Flying Lotus. I only wish the smoke of some volcano in Iceland would rise again and this time strand her in Seattle. (Baltic Room, 1207 Pine St, 625-4444, 9 pm, $12 adv/$15 DOS, 21+) by Charles Mudede

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In Certified Copy, Iranian director Abbas Kiarostami explores the value of authenticity from a variety of angles, only the first of which is direct. In a Tuscan bookstore, an English author signs his book about the negligible value of authenticity in art. In the audience is a female antiques dealer, whose mysterious, ever-morphing relationship to the writer drives the rest of the film. Holding this elegant puzzle together: Juliette Binoche, whose rich, squirrelly performance won her top honors at Cannes, and William Shimell, a British opera singer in his first film role, a fact that provides a final twist on the film's theme. Is a singer acting somehow less authentic than an actor? (See Movie Times: thestranger.com/film) by David Schmader

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Your Highness is a movie with only one joke and only one purpose. The joke: What if people in medieval times got high and talked like people talk in now times? The purpose: watching James Franco and Danny McBride do stuff. In short: FUCK MY YES-HOLE. McBride plays Thadeous (Kenny Powers in chain mail), lovable dumbass and bitter younger brother to the dashing Prince Fabious (James Franco, angel spawn). After Fabious's virgin bride is kidnapped by a gross wizard, the brothers embark on a quest to see who can make the most dick jokes (oh, and rescue her, I guess). It's fucking stupid, but I laughed and laughed. (See Movie Times: thestranger.com/film) by Lindy West

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City Lights is Charlie Chaplin's greatest movie about Charlie Chaplin, but Modern Times is Charlie Chaplin's greatest movie about America. From the early factory scenes—in which a hyperefficient feeding machine is introduced by corporate bigwigs to cut time wasted on employee lunches, leading to Chaplin's mental breakdown and imprisonment—to the glitzy, that's-showbiz faux finale, there's never been a more American movie. It's got it all—love, labor strife, cocaine, paranoia about Big Brother, and trouble with the law—and it's just as relevant today as it was in the dog days of the Great Depression. (SIFF Cinema, 321 Mercer St, 324-9996, 6:30 pm, $10) by Paul Constant

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Head baker Taka Hirai spent three years at Joël Robuchon's three-Michelin-starred restaurant in Tokyo, and this expertise is reflected in everything at Fuji (except maybe the decor). They use a particular European cultured butter; they make their own yeast. Japanese-meets-French offerings include curry buns, green tea Danishes, and baguette sandwiches with fillings such as smoked salmon, milk cream (!), and mentaiko butter, while the straight-up French stuff—croissants, tiny quiches, etc.—is WAY better than some ostensibly French bakeries. Fuji Bakery is damn good. (Fuji Bakery, 526 S King St, www.fujibakeryinc.com, 11 am–7 pm; also in Bellevue) by Rachel Eggers

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If you haven't heard Seattle's Sleepy Eyes of Death by now, it's about time you get your dang ears on it. Moog, Korg, and Roland keyboards unify with high-altitude guitar work and vocoder-processed vocals on songs with names like "Data Grave" and "White Light, Collide" into your mind's stratosphere. Think the astral sound structures of France's M83 pulverized into stardust by thunderous live drumming. Onstage, the quartet plays at near earth-shifting volumes and blasts onlookers with what seems like a Milky Way's worth of smoke machine product. Earplugs and maybe a painter's mask are all the gear you need for this space travel. (Sunset Tavern, 5433 Ballard Ave NW, 784-4880, 9:30 pm, $10, 21+) by Grant Brissey

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