HEDWIG SING-ALONG

Of course I realize that an angry, mutilated, one-inch penis and a couple of "tits made of clay" do not transform one into an actual biological woman by any stretch of the imagination, thank you very much. (And I don't care how cute your wig is!) And how damn lousy was that filthy communist physician who performed the filthy communist physical that allegedly confirmed Hedwig's alleged "woman-ness," thus allowing him/her into the country in the first damn place? (I ask you.) But such peculiar and glaring incongruence of biology and plot do nothing to detract from the cold, hard fact that HEDWIG IS TOTES THE FUCK AWESOME—one of the finest achievements of the Rock Opera, the Gay Theater, and the Gay Cinema all together—and that I can't even hear the opening bars of "Origin of Love" without bursting into tears and wanting to just die. (In a good way, I guess.) And tonight, SIFF Cinema brings us the Hedwig and the Angry Inch Movie Sing-Along, and encourages us all to dress the part, belt the songs, and remember that magical time when the earth was still flat, the clouds made of fire, and mountains stretched up to the sky... boohooohoohoohooooo! Strange rock-n-rollers a plus. SIFF Cinema at the Uptown, 8 pm, $12, all ages.

'CARRIE'

Fluff them dirty pillows, mama, and do not forget to Plug! It! UP!, because REEEP! REEEP! REEEP! Carrie White is pissed as all hell, covered in pig's blood, and she just cut the dykey gym teacher in half WITH HER BRAINS. Poor Carrie was something of a role model to me growing up (next to Endora, of course, and, to a lesser degree, Count Chocula), mostly because (a) I was totally tortured and quite insane and (b) SHUT UP AND QUIT LOOKING AT ME GOD DAMN YOU I'LL KILL YOU ALL. (Reeep, reeep!) So you can imagine how deeply exciting it is for me as a so-called "person" that Ian Bell (master of whimsy! Mad prince of surprise!) is "doing" Carrie as the next installment of his Brown Derby Series—and, even excitinger-er, that Carrie will be played by none other than NICK GARRISON, as if psychokinetic rage and supernatural revenge on one's entire prom weren't glorious incentives enough. Three nights only! (P.S. They ARE dirty pillows, mama... THEY ARE. Reeeeeep!) Re-bar, 8 pm, $16, 21+.