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THURSDAY

It’s been nearly 50 years since Jackson Pollock took to the great white canvas in the sky, and Hollywood hasn’t yet produced a Lust for Life-style biopic on the prototypic American action painter. Which is a shame, since his life was full of episodes that just beg to be writ in sensationalist celluloid: Pollock pissing into gallery owner Peggy Guggenheim’s fireplace as her stunned party guests look on; Pollock drunkenly ranting at the moon from a New York City rooftop; Pollock slamming his Oldsmobile into a tree with his mistress beside him. Ed Harris plans to fill the gap with Pollock, his long-planned ab-exploitation project, but since the film still awaits a distribution deal, I’ll settle for tonight’s staged reading of Richard Rashke’s Pollock biodrama, Season to Season. The press release promises “adult themes,” so I expect some two-timing, dangerous driving, drunken rambling, and—just maybe—public urination. At 7:30 p.m. at the Corcoran Museum of Art’s Hammer Auditorium, 500 17th St. NW. $20. (202) 639-1770. (Leonard Roberge)