Ashes to Ashes

(THEATER) The husband and wife of Ashes to Ashes (at least, they seem to be married) engage in a mix of verbal games, self-revelation, and abuse that veers from uncomfortable to funny to very, very sad. Actors Amy Fleetwood and Steven Sturm never slip into the arch mannerisms that often tear playwright Harold Pinter's delicate webworks to tatters; in Tobin Maheras' spare production, they turn these elusive sentences into vivid, jagged shards of consciousness. (Thurs-Sat Feb 28-March 2, A Theater Under the Influence at the Union Garage, 1418 10th Ave, 720-1942, 8 pm, Sun at 7 pm, $12 [Thurs is pay-what-you-can]. Through March 10.) BRET FETZER

Yumiko Kayukawa

(ART) Kayukawa paints pretty, pretty girls in chic, skimpy clothes and floats them on a background of Japanese ideograms and screenlike floral motifs. Somehow the combination is the juiciest possible eye candy, pure pleasure, without the kind of bitterness that underlies the reading of magazines like Vogue. Very few things make me want to be a teenager again; these paintings do. (Roq la Rue, 2224 Second Ave, 374-8977; opening reception 6-10 pm. Exhibit runs through April 5.) EMILY HALL

Scotland, PA

(FILM) Christopher Walken is simply one of the greatest actors of our time. Watch him glide through Scotland, PA. As Lieutenant Ernie McDuff, investigating the murder that's left a diner called Duncan's in the hands of Joe and Pat McBeth (James LeGros and Maura Tierney), Walken is funny, odd, threatening, and just all-around entertaining. I don't recommend everything he's done--Walken appeared in nine movies in 2001 alone, some of which surely suck--which is why you should see him in this one, which is quite fun. Damn. He's just so great. (See Movie Times.) BRET FETZER

The French Connection

(FILM) Here is what Pauline Kael wrote about this 1971 blockbuster: "This right-wing, left-wing, take-your-choice cynicism is total commercial opportunism passing itself off as an Existential view.... The only thing this movie believes in is giving the audience jolts." But guess what: Kael is dead and William Friedkin's classic potboiler lives on, thanks to the effortless brilliance of Mr. Gene Hackman as Popeye Doyle. You watch the film now and reel in astonishment at the fact that Hackman has been great in movies for more than 30 years now. (Grand Illusion, 1403 NE 50th St, 523-3935, 7 & 9 pm, $7.) SEAN NELSON

J. M. Coetzee

(LECTURE) When I was a professor at a local university, a colleague told me that South African novelist J. M. Coetzee--who was born in the third most beautiful city in the world, Cape Town--is genuinely eccentric. He has a strict diet, bizarre exercising habits, and so on. But this gossip did nothing to change my mind about Coetzee's status as an important writer. Indeed, I think Seattle Arts & Lectures should be praised for bringing a writer of such caliber and literary significance to Seattle. Now all they have to do to convince me that they are the shit is to bring Dostoyevsky (Coetzee's literary ancestor) to us. Yes, I know Dostoyevsky is dead, but anything is possible in our town. (Benaroya Hall, Third Ave at University St, 7 pm, $7.50-18. Call 621-2230 for ticket information.) CHARLES MUDEDE

Bling Bling

(MUSIC) The best DJs are critics as well: "spinning records" is not playing music, but thinking deeply about music. "Bling Bling," the B.G. song about cell phones, jewelry, new cars, and all things that "bling," is the title of MC Queen Lucky's night at the Backdoor Ultra Lounge, and the description of the music is "pure hiphop." "Bling Bling" has come to be a catch phrase meaning any number of things, but never is it equated with any kind of "purity" in regard to hiphop. Queen Lucky's set, though, is big, wide, strong, sexed-up hiphop all night long--purified "bling." What an interesting critic you are, Queen Lucky. (Backdoor Ultra Lounge, 503 Third Ave, 622-7665, 10 pm, $5.) BRIAN GOEDDE

Daniel Johnston

(MUSIC) Why is Daniel Johnston like Beethoven? Because they both had an immortal beloved, a muse whose elusive qualities inspired pretty much their entire body of work. And though Beethoven may get the garlands of history, Daniel Johnston is more likely to make you feel his pain. Years have gone by since he first started signing his beautifully disturbing (and vice versa) laments, but Johnston hasn't changed much (neither has Beethoven, much to his credit), which is part of his eternal attraction. No matter if you've gotten over the romantic-agony phase of your life; as long as there is a Daniel Johnston, you can always return to the well. (Crocodile Cafe, 2200 Second Ave, 441-5611, $10.) SEAN NELSON