St. Louis Eats and Drinks With Joe and Ann Pollack

Schlafly Bottleworks

Don't plan on wearing what used to be called your Sunday-go-to-meetin' duds to the Schlafly Bottleworks. It's as casual as a well-worn pair of sandals. Larger inside than it appears from the street, it's the scene of farmers' markets, private meetings, a bar, a restaurant and, oh, yes, a brewery, too. The imaginative and interesting ground-breaker for the Maplewood-Manchester strip is a sibling of the Tap Room downtown, but except for a single item, the menus are totally different.

Interestingly, the bar has plenty of televisions but no servers; orders must be placed with the bartender. Evenings seem to start with a combination of people in post-work relaxation mode and families, probably post-work themselves, with young parents feeding younger diners. As the evening ripens, the crowd morphs into more singles and dates, probably paying more attention to the beer than the earlier group.

The Bottleworks kitchen, always a fan and supporter of local suppliers, has strengthened its connections through the years. Many farmers and ranchers have names familiar to patrons of farmers' markets, including the one that operates just outside the front door. The hamburger, for instance, is made with bison commercially raised within a hundred miles of St. Louis.

We didn't have the burger this visit, though previous tastings have proven anywhere from adequate to good. Instead, we kicked things off with a cup of elk chili, thick and studded with beans and bits of tomato. Just enough of a kick in terms of spiciness, and quite satisfying. The sausage platter, one of several appetizers large enough to share comfortably, offered slices of lamb, Italian and andouille. The lamb was outstanding, the others probably pork (the meat was not specified) and satisfactory, though the andouille was very mild indeed. Too mild, in fact, but then again, we have deep affection for spicy food. Thick slices of smoked gouda and an Iowa cheese called Prairie Breeze, semi-firm and creamy, marked the plate, along with a delicious, perfectly cooked head of roasted garlic, some seasoned crostini that we think are from Companion (in lieu of the promised toast points), and Centennial Farms' delicious strawberry-chili jam. The only thing lacking was some mustard, but our server rustled some up in a hurry.

The Bottleworks may well be the only restaurant in the area to offer a sardine sandwich. While this may evoke some wrinkled noses, we love sardines, and did long before they were considered healthy food. Large, skinless and boneless fillets, the kind Joe always described as Portuguese, as opposed to the smaller, skin-on variety from Norway, were on sourdough bread that had been grilled on the outside. It was topped with lettuce, a little mustard and a squeeze of lemon, but no sign, darn it, of the promised pickled onions. Very messy to eat, with the sardines falling out all sides despite a double-fisted grasp. Extremely tasty and a good idea but really needing more attention in terms of execution. The side dish was a cup of exemplary potato salad laced with horseradish.

Bison stew? Sure. Dark brown gravy, small pieces of the tender, beef-like meat, nuggets of sweet potato and mushrooms, along with a few carrots and, of course, onion. Riding atop the stew like a buoy was a muffin-shaped piece of delightful real cornbread, tender and corny.

Another sharing thing could be the sticky toffee pudding, the Schlafly signature dessert that is one of the three or four best in the area, and one served downtown, too. While the serving is immense, it's so good that the other side of the plate should face someone the diner feels very kindly towards. If you've never had it, think of a tender brick of cake, spiced and sweet, the dates in the batter having dissolved in the baking, topped with a warm and very sticky toffee sauce, sharing the plate with a baseball-sized scoop of real whipped cream. Some people go for the ice cream made with Schlafly stout, but that's gilding the lily. Try it in the original version first.

Good service, but a kitchen that, at least early in the evening, tends to rush diners by cramming courses together too quickly. We know it's quiet, guys, but let us relax and enjoy the food.

Beer, of course, much of it made in-house, and also a wine list, both local and farther afield. No reservations on Friday or Saturday evenings, and there's a brunch menu available Sundays.

 

Schlafly Bottleworks

7260 Southwest Ave., Maplewood

314-241-BEER

www.schlafly.com

 Lunch & Dinner daily, Brunch Sun.

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Excellent

Smoking: No

Entrees: $9-$23

Jane Eyre

Hardly any heroine--any time, any place--has the permanence of Charlotte Bronte's most famous creation, and still another remake of "Jane Eyre" only makes her more so. The latest version of the 1847 novel, an excellent rendition and a splendid movie, opens here today.

Mia Wasikowska, a 22-year-old, Australian-born actress who quickly is becoming a household name with world-wide fame, offers a brilliant portrayal, on the heels of winning praise in "Alice in Wonderland" and "The Kids Are All Right." Wasikowska has performed in 16 films (nine features), is working on her 17th, has two more in pre-production and still another in post-production. She also has appeared in two TV series, including a season in HBO's "In Treatment." Not bad for a career that began only seven years ago.

As Jane, a poor girl who seems destined to a life in the serving class, she fits perfectly with Bronte's description of "small and plain." Jane also has courage and an intrinsic honesty, traits to stand her in good stead as she is bounced from pillar to post through a series of gloomy English mansions, and a varied group of those who live "below stairs." She gets advice, though it isn't all good, from Mrs. Fairfax (Judi Dench, always charming), and a certain amount of love from St. John Rivers (excellent Jamie Bell) and his sisters, Diana (Holliday Grainger) and Mary (Tanzin Merchant).

And then there's the mysterious Mr. Edward Rochester (Michael Fassbender). No one can match the performance of Orson Welles in the 1943 version (Joan Fontaine as Jane, screenplay by John Houseman), and Fassbender, undoubtedly influenced by director Cary Joji Fukunaga, wisely does not try. Instead of booming and blustering all over the film, Fassbender is almost cool. It's a portrayal with a great deal of texture, and considerably more humanity, and it works.

It's easy to see how young Jane falls for him; her spirit is an influence on him, as well. And the tragic love story builds to its ultimate climax. Moira Buffini wrote the excellent screenplay, and Dario Martinelli's music fits perfectly. It's rare that the English countryside does not look good on film, and Adriano Goldman's cinematography keeps to that standard. An outstanding movie and a fine story, even in its umteenth remake.

Jane Eyre opens today at the Plaza Frontenac and Tivoli

--Joe

Of Gods and Men

"Sacrifice" is a much over-used word. One human's sacrifice is another human's no-big-deal. When it comes to sacrificing life for an ideal or a belief, it may be another story, told brilliantly in "Of Gods and Men," a French film based on a real event, the 1996 killing of six French Cistercian Trappist monks by Algerian rebels.

Xavier Beauvois' movie, winner of the Gran Prix at Cannes last year, is an exquisite, painful and heart-rending tale of these Frenchmen, willing to die at the merciless hands of the rebels rather than run away back home to France. Living in the desolate Atlas mountains, the monks raise bees and collect honey. They pray and they do good to the impoverished villagers who live nearby.

Brother Luc, a physician by training and life-long practice, treats them, provides shoes to those who are in need. Michel Lonsdale, a 79-year-old French character actor, is well-nigh perfect in the role. Lonsdale also has the line that causes a great deal of thought as he quotes 17th-century French philosopher Blaise Pascal, "Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it from a religious conviction."

Beauvois, who collaborated on the screenplay with Etienne Comar, has turned what might have been a slow, even-tedious tale into a study of ethics and morality--and peace, as well--among these men, thanks also to the impressive work of Caroline Champetier, director of photography, and editor Marie-Julie Maille.

The acting, led by Lonsdale, Lambert Wilson as Christian, the spiritual leader of the men; Olivier Rabourdin as Christophe and Jacques Herlin as Amedee, is staggering in its simplicity. Watching these men silently agree to stay and face almost-certain death is a moving experience, and a lengthy, silent scene when the men open some wine and dine in a setting that bears overtones of the last supper, is heart-rending. Its drama is magnified by the use of Tchaikovsky's "Swan Lake" as background. Movie-goers will be interested, or amused, by the use of the identical ballet music in a crucial scene in "The Black Swan."

This is an almost-perfect motion picture. Highly recommended.

Of Gods and Men opens today at the Plaza Frontenac

--Joe

Kaboom

Trying to combine sex and horror, Gregg Araki's apparent ambition in the stupid, juvenile, self-reverential movie, "Kaboom," which opens here today, rarely works in the hands of good filmmakers. Imagine how boringly awful it can be with someone like Araki at the helm as both writer and director.

The horror parts are ludicrous. The sex is pretty good, with a goodly number of actors leaping upon a goodly number of other actors. Gender is immaterial in all the he-in' and she-in' that is going on. Some of it is slightly stimulating, with some lovely female bodies, for those who admire female bodies. Most of it is rather boring.

Smith (Thomas Dekker) is a college student, a film major (at least Araki can make fun of himself, which is a good thing). Like many college students, his major interest seems to be in partying, drinking, enjoying recreational drugs and engaging in sexual activities with other students.

He has a roommate, Thor (Chris Zylka), who likes to wander around without clothes on and who is interested in Smith as a bedmate, too. But Smith has a girl friend, Stella (Haley Bennett), and she has a girl friend, Lorelei (Roxane Mesquida), and enjoys her involvement with both. London (June Temple) never says no to a friend and has no enemies, as the saying went when I was in college. Nicole LaLiberte is a beautiful red-haired woman and James Duval is called Messiah, perhaps because of his hair stylist.

In addition to the sex, there are dream sequences, figures gamboling around green lawns and dark forests wearing animal masks, weird dream sequences and much fun among the students. The movie is dark, the plot absurd, the acting barely post-adolescent and the direction and writing no improvement.

And as Walter Cronkite used to say, "That's the way it is. . . ."

Kaboom opens today at the Tivoli

--Joe

The Piccadilly at Manhattan

Every time we visit The Piccadilly at Manhattan, we feel the time warp. Except for the automobiles, three of the four corners feel like Maplewood 1962. That's fun, and the feeling is reinforced when entering the restaurant which, not so coincidentally, is at the corner of Piccadilly and Masnhattan. It's not so much the décor, which is sort of timeless-nostalgic, as it is the atmosphere, which feels neighborhood-y. There always are regulars on hand, and when it's crowded, people sit on the screened front porch to wait, and it almost feels as if they live there.

We stopped by recently on our way to the Rep, and even at 6 o'clock on a Friday evening, things were hopping. Couples with small children, guys who might have been on their way to the bowling alley or a quarter-ante poker game, well-dressed older folks–everyone, it seems, comes to visit with the Collida family. The food, not surprisingly, is mostly traditional American, but with riffs to accommodate a more adventurous palate, and, perhaps, keep the cooks from boredom, always a good idea.

Onion rings are huge, greaseless and crisp, the rings in a crunchy batter that probably has some cornmeal. They're thick-cut, which always seems to make the onion texture more of a factor in the chew, but adds to the flavor as well. While spinach-artichoke dip with housemade crostini was a temptation, the chilly evening made us succumb to a cup of chili. It's from Edmonds, that old St. Louis favorite, thick and a little spicy, just right. On a menu that tells everyone the kitchen makes all its salad dressings, the acknowledgement of brands like the Volpi salami, is pleasantly honest, and a sign they honor those brands.

The fried chicken flies out of the kitchen at The Piccadilly, always a good sign. Four pieces, half a chicken, arrives with mashed potatoes and green beans. The batter is crunchy, seasoned with just a light hit of black pepper, but it's the chicken itself that grabs attention with its juiciness. Could it be that they're brining it? Good stuff, and good the next day at lunch, too. The mashed potatoes have just a few small lumps, and don't taste of instant. A ladleful of yellow chicken gravy tops them, just like the cafeterias of yore, and the green beans, soft a la granny rather than tender crisp, fit right in with the theme. Meatloaf, a beefy, tender mixture, comes with the same sides.

One of the nightly specials was smoked trout hash with a poached egg. Large chunks of the mild-flavored trout, along with chunks of fried potato, sweet red pepper, and onion, had been stirred together, the trout obviously added late in the process to avoid cooking to the point where it falls apart. The egg yolk always acts as a sort of sauce with hash, and this was nicely done, the yolk hot and still a little runny. A Cajun-flavored sauce surrounded it, too, mild rather than deeply hot-spicy. Our sole quibble was that the trout's basic flavor, even with the smoke, is so mild that the peppers, onions and even the potatoes overwhelmed it.

Desserts, too, are made in house. The chocolate raspberry torte was so smoothly cut and carefully plated that we had doubts, but it tastes fresh and homemade. It's a real torte, too, a single dense layer of chocolate cake split in half and sandwiched back together with a creamy layer of raspberry mousse. The glaze over the top seems to have a hit of Chambord, the black raspberry liqueur. Nicely moist and unsweet, it charms. Individual blackberry cobblers sit in their ramekins, a real cobbler, not fruit with a cake batter poured over it, a flaky-crumbly crust on top and – oh, shades of Stone Street and Ann's grandmother – crust on the bottom as well, a seeming rarity in cobbler styles. Good berries, their juices with a slight gleam of shortening that enhanced the flavor. (When the cobbler was served warm when Ann was a kid, her mother often offered a little butter to melt over it, a yummy overkill.)

Three beers on tap, a short wine list, and a full bar for beverages and seats where some regulars seem to congregate. Great service. Check the website for a map; they're a few blocks off McCausland below Arsenal. And, oh, yes, they've started serving Sunday brunch.

 

The Piccadilly at Manhattan

7201 Manhattan Ave., Maplewood

314-646-0016

www.thepiccadilly.com

Lunch & Dinner Tues-Sat., Brunch Sun.

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Poor

Smoking: No

Entrees: $8-15

Driving Miss Daisy

With a cast that looks--and acts--as if they were born for the roles, the Dramatic License production of "Driving Miss Daisy" brings style and grace to a suburban shopping mall, and its presence is a plus for civilization. Alfred Uhry's comedy, with serious moments here and there, much like blueberries in a muffin, is a sweet-natured tale that is coming up on its final weekend.

For several reasons, I was unable to attend on the opening weekend, but it was nice to see an almost-full house for a Sunday matinee yesterday. The use of small spaces to promote and perform the arts in malls in Crestwood and Chesterfield helps spread St. Louis' acting wealth around, and small companies who perform there deserve praise just like the mall owners who make the space available.

Then story involves the title character, a wealthy, elderly Jewish woman (a delightful Sally Eaton), her son Boolie (B. Weller, underplaying with grace) and Hoke, her African-American chauffeur (Dennis Lebby) is a good look at mid-20th century America. It covers some 25 years in their lives (1948-1973), from the time just one more driving accident, destroying more than the usual mail box, makes her uninsurable.

Daisy, a retired school teacher, was born poor but her family prospered in the midst of Atlanta's rise to become the major city of the post-World War II south. She has enough money, a house, a maid and a seat in a Reformed temple. She thinks she's rather liberal, but is typical of the Atlantan of the period. Boolie, running the comfortable family printing business, belongs to the Chamber of Commerce, and though he knows it's wrong, he will not rock the boat.

Hoke understands, too, knowing his place and his role, and fighting quietly against being there.

Eaton's Daisy is a perfect aging mother, crochety and fierce, distrusting Hoke and the maid, scorning her daughter-in-law for putting on airs, frightened of the changes she can feel in the air. Weller, who loves his mother and understands her, and nicely shows the frustration that grows in his dealings. He and Hoke conspire lovingly against Daisy, slowly dragging her into the slightly less-segregated second half of the century. Lebby, who has played the role several times before, handles it stylishly. He's polite and in control, accepting small slights because he knows how to make the necessary compromises, but when he finally has his back to the wall, he strikes sparks. All three offer exciting performances.

Annamaria Pileggi's direction brings out all the nuances in Uhry's play, which works well on the small stage. Daisy's frocks, and Weller's checked trousers, reflect the time and place very well. It's a good play, with then ability to provide humor, and also to look beyond the laughs to see the tears.

Driving Miss Daisy, by Dramatic License Productions, continues through March 27 at Chesterfield Mall.

The Real McCoy

Wow!

That's the first reaction to "The Real McCoy," a powerful play that receives superb acting and brilliant staging by the St. Louis Black Repertory Company. It is the United States premiere of a work by Canadian playwright Andrew Moodie, based on the life of Elijah McCoy, the son of escaped slaves, and is a gripping, fascinating tale of a great inventor and a driven man who improved human life in many ways, but whose fame was was held down by societal norms of his lifetime. It opened Friday at the Grandel Theatre, to run through April 10.

McCoy's primary invention was a lubricating device for locomotive engines, but he also invented the folding ironing board and the lawn sprinkler. He was known, it is claimed, as "the real McCoy," because railroads, purchasing lubricating equipment, asked for that made by McCoy and not that of his competitors. During his lifetime, he held nearly 60 patents, most of them in areas involving mechanical and thermodynamic engineering.

Moodie is credited as being the play's original director, with the local production program noting that it was "staged by Tracy D. Holliway-Wiggins based on original staging by Andrew Moodie." Holliway-Wiggins is the Black Rep's resident stage manager. With Alex Van Blommestein's set design looming like a massive gear system, we are thrust into then Industrial Revolution, and before curtain we watch old, faded movies of railroad trains with puffing locomotive engines.

The action is rapid-fire, with 48 scenes blending into one terrific story, perhaps a touch melodramatic at the end. Ka'ramuu Kush is imposing and fascinating in the title role, and the other six actors equally strong as many different characters. Kush, who was in the title role of "Pericles" in January has made a large leap; he is totally confident, in full possession of his character, passionate in his intellectual capacity, secure master of what he knows. He totally engulfs the audience.

Antonio Fargas is primarily George McCoy, a former slave but educated enough to know what a prodigy he has sired. Father and son break over the role of God in their lives, and it's a terrible moment, but one they have chosen and are willing to live with. Chauncy Thomas is a delight as young Elijah, wearing knickers and the attitude of a Horatio Alger hero, that no obstacle is too difficult.

As the grown-up, Kush learns that some obstacles, like American corporate executives and some would-be partners, and the color of his skin, really are too difficult.

The beautifully balanced cast also sparkles with Alan Knoll and Whit Reichert as a wide variety of American businessmen, lawyers, bankers, customers--even a couple of English prep-schoolers--who befriend, belittle, bully and, at times, benefit the inventor. They play perfectly off one another, sometimes as vaudevillians like Gallagher and Shean, sometimes like "The Sunshine Boys." Knoll in drag is a hoot, Reichert as a hard-hearted man with a soft spot is beautiful. St. Louis audiences may have, as Humphrey Bogart told Claude Rains, "the beginning of a beautiful friendship." They are marvelous.

Monica Parks and Sharisa Whatley offer outstanding performances as the women in McCoy's life, teachers and maids and secretaries and wives, with Parks as his first wife, who died only four years into the marriage, and Whatley as his second, a relationship that lasted far longer than it seems in the play. Parks, back in town after earning an M.F.A. in acting in Washington, D. C., is her usual charming self, and Whatley has been in several Black Rep productions in recent years.

The play is a triumph for the Black Rep, with superb ensemble work and a strong drama that has real-life overtones. In addition to Van Blommestein's stunning set, Jennifer Krajicek's costumes are simple and charming, Mark Wilson's lights underline the action at the right times and whether Moodie or sound designer Robin Weatherall chose the music, it made everything feel right.

"The Real McCoy" is the real McCoy, one of the half-dozen best productions of its 34 seasons and it earns the highest recommendation.

The Real McCoy, at the Black Rep through April 10.

Beehive The 60s Musical

When the '60s arrived, I was a grown man with an interesting job, a house, a wife, two very small children and the personal security that came with surviving having been on strike for more than three months. I had strong musical interests, but they did not include piping girl voices, even if they were in splendid harmony.

"Beehive," which involves six women singers and the music of the decade, from doo-wop to rock, from Motown to Carnaby Street, never appeared on my must-do list. However, the Rep's production, which opened last night to run through April 10, was pleasant enough, if rather innocuous and without intellectual stimulus, especially as compared with "In the Next Room, or the Vibrator Play," at the downstairs Studio. The show, created by the late Larry Gallagher in 1986, has been bumping around the country ever since, a little like "Forever Plaid," only for girl singers.

 
When it comes down to basics, I enjoy watching women sing and dance, and the cast sang and danced with skill and grace. Things changed with the second act, with songs that were more political, more strident, more appealing, more familiar. And I realized why. In the later part of the decade, my older children were nearing their teens, listening to their own radios, asking about the lyrics they were hearing. "Beehive" became, as we used to say, "up close and personal" to me.

Made a huge difference.

So did Lauren Dragon, who did four second-act solos with a fierce, penetrating approach in the Janis Joplin mode. She struck a most familiar chord in the Kris Kristofferson-Fred Foster song, "Me and Bobby McGee," with a lyric that typified the feeling of many through that entire decade, "Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose." Jessica Waxman and Debra Walton combined on an exciting version of "Do Right Woman" and "A Natural Woman," with Dragon returning for "Piece of My Heart" and "Try (Just a Little Bit Harder)."

Walton opened the second act with the Tina Turner "A Fool in Love," written by Ike, perhaps at a time when they both were living here and and playing the late-night clubs in East St. Louis. After Jennie Harney led the way in an elegant "River Deep, Mountain High," Walton returned with a swinging "Proud Mary."

Lisa Estridge was prominent early, telling stories, involving the audience in "The Name Game" and other silliness. The songs featured the likes of Lesley Gore, Brenda Lee and Annette Funicello, with Waxman a standout in "You Don't Own Me." The material moved to London for a while, and birds like Petula Clark and Dusty Springfield, with Kristen Maloney delivering stylishly in "Downtown" and "Don't Sleep in the Subway."

Pamela Hunt did her usual slick direction and choreography, and John Carver Sullivan's costumes ranged from truly glamorous to "did I really wear that!" Michael Sebastian led then band and served as the pianist. Other musicians were John Brophy, drums; Mike Buerk, saxophone; Jay Hungerford, bass; Steve Schenkel, guitar; and Andy Tichenor, trumpet.

It's the final production of the 2010-11 season, but next season, opening in September with "Red," John Logan's play about artist Mark Rothko that won a Tony a year ago, looks to be a major improvement.

Beehive opened at the Repertory Theatre of St. Louis last night to run through April 10.

--Joe

Jimmy Webb

Jimmy Webb sure doesn't sing very well, but he writes good songs and tells great stories, and puts an awful lot of energy into his cabaret performance, which opened a three-night run last night at the Kranzberg Arts Center. He'll be back on stage Friday and Saturday, hitting many high spots on his nearly half-century road as a song writer..

The 64-year-old Webb, back in St. Louis after a absence of several years, has written songs in all styles for singers of all styles. Singers from Willie Nelson to Patti Lupone, from Frank Sinatra to Glen Campbell have recorded his songs, and his performance last night echoed, if it didn't equal, singers from that roster.

But many years in Hollywood turned this Oklahoma country boy, a true son of a preacher man, into gray-haired singer who has become an eminence grisee in terms of giving phrase to the second half of the 20th century. One of his first big hits was "Highwayman," first sung by Johnny Cash, Nelson, Waylon Jennings and Kris Kristofferson, and Webb worked it over to start the evening on a high note.

He told stories of his days as a young writer in Hollywood, of meeting Sinatra and teaming with Linda Ronstadt at a time when different lifestyles kept them working at arms' length. He talked of buying a house in Encino, Calif., from Phil Harris, who was band leader to Jack Benny and husband to Alice Faye and that led to "Campo de Encino."

Many songs resulted from stories; others led to stories. All were told in good spirit and good humor, and when he muffed a line in "What Does a Woman See in a Man?" he went back and bollixed it again, told a self-deprecating story, tried one more time and caught it right. Then he quoted Campbell, "If you do it perfect, they'll expect it like that every time."

"Up, Up and Away," "Galveston," "Wichita Lineman," "By The Time I Get to Phoenix," "Didn't We?" and a few others rounded out the set, and a rousing encore of "MacArthur Park" completed the rousing evening. Great singing? No. Great Entertainment? Right on!

Jimmy Webb sings his own songs in a cabaret performance at the Kranzberg Center for the Arts Friday and Saturday at 8 p.m.

--Joe

A Somewhat Gentle Man

Coming out of prison after serving 12 years for murder can be a disorienting experience, but Ulrik (Stellan Skarsgard) shot a man as a hired killer, not as an emotional revenge-seeker, a robber, or someone in a passionate argument. That makes it both easier and more difficult for him to return to a normal life, and that's the most interesting part of "A Somewhat Gentle Man," an interesting, if sometimes uneven tale from Norway.

His former boss, Rune Jansen (Bjorn Floberg), a swaggering small-time hood in this rather small city, has been fronting him for the jail time, sending money to Ulrik's former wife and to his son, and wants him to return to the three-person gang. Ulrik isn't very interested, preferring work as a mechanic in a garage with a kindly owner. The third member of the gang is Rolf (Gard B. Eidsvold), fascinating in his ability to accept bullying and insults from Jansen. He's amazing, and fun to watch.

Ulrik also returns to an active sex life, though the women chasing him, including his former wife ("let's have a quickie," she tells him, and bends over the sink in the restaurant where she works), are the fiercest set of harridans since the daughters of Melissa Leo in "The Fighter." Ulrik's landlady, Karen Margerethe (Jorunn Kjellsby), looks like a cross between the Queen of Hearts and the worst blind date of your adolescence. She brings dinner to his room, insists on sex before he can eat, then sits silently while he eats and they watch the Polish television version of "Dancing With the Stars."

Then he rescues a battered wife who is the bookkeeper at the garage, but that relationship also ends badly. Skarsgard, a fine actor, is a native of Sweden whose range has included roles in everything from "Hamlet" and "The Pirates of the Caribbean" to cat-food commercials. He has been making movies for more than 40 years, and has been a mainstay with the Swedish National Theater.

Watching him as Ulrik is fascinating; he lacks many social graces, doesn't smile, says little, keeps his own counsel. Watching him reach out to a son he has not seen in 12 years is a frightening experience for him, and coming to grips with the fact that his son's girlfriend is afraid of him and her parents are disdainful hurts him a lot. Repairing the relationship is gimmicky, but when Skarsgard smiles, as wide as a horizon, it's all worthwhile.

A Somewhat Gentle Man opens today at the Tivoli.

--Joe