A safe generalization: A play is better than the movie of the play. I’d have to scramble to think of a film better than its theatrical source material. Even last year’s Doubt, which had a dream cast directed by its writer, was effective but not quite the kick in the gut on screen that you got watching it live. (Oh, okay, I’ve got one: Grease. The movie has good new songs and John Travolta. Hey, I’m trying here.)

I only bring it up because Frost/Nixon, playwright Peter Morgan’s crisp rendering of the famous series of interviews between David Frost and Tricky Dick, opens tonight at the Paramount. Don’t assume you’ve got that one covered because of the wan Ron Howard flick. I know, I know: The film boasts Oscar nominations and a great Frank Langella performance. But deft verbal sparring almost always sounds better in person (an observation I wish Twitter fans would consider…).

Also better live: a real singer in an intimate venue. Cue Diane Schuur, who’s at Jazz Alley through Sunday with songs from Some Other Time, her album salute to the music her parents loved. They had great taste—the Gershwins, Irving Berlin, “Danny Boy” (always kills me), and the Comden/Green/Bernstein classic from On the Town: “This day was just a token/Too many words are left unspoken/Oh, well/we’ll catch up some other time.” Schuur’s warm vibrato treats that sentiment with wistful tenderness.

SAM’s Paul Newman fest offers Cool Hand Luke on Thursday. Easily one of his best performances—casting him as a sort of Jesus figure on a Southern chain gang was a very good idea, anyway: I know if I were in shackles no one could give me a reason for living more than Paul Newman circa 1967 (unless it’s Paul Newman circa 1956…or 1975…or…). And the scene with his broken-down mother (Jo Van Fleet) bidding him farewell breaks my heart every time.

If you can get into The Moondoggies at the Crocodile by all means go. The Next Big Thing buzz on these guys is high, as reported here earlier, and who doesn’t want to be able to say, “I saw them when…”?

Lots of last chances this weekend for good theater. Carrie Fisher’s fluffy but very funny Wishful Drinking is heading for Broadway soon. Not sure how it will hold up under New York scrutiny but as a glib distraction on a Seattle night it’s fine by me.

Book-It’s The Beautiful Things That Heaven Bears misses the book but shouldn’t be missed, thanks to a fine cast led by an indelible Sylvester Foday Kamara. That guy is someone to keep watching.

And though the 5th Avenue’s remount of Sondheim’s perfect pointillist musical Sunday in the Park With George didn’t at all prove to be the triumph it was in New York, I still think everybody should watch it then talk about why it didn’t work. (My thoughts: The sweet-voiced leads were out of their depth and aside from a few nice touches—i.e. Seurat singing to his child before putting it in his painting—none of the details were, forgive me, pointed enough in execution.) The show’s a masterpiece, the production isn’t, but you’ll never see a Sunday with this visual shimmer again. Attend, criticize, buy the original cast album or DVD featuring Mandy Patinkin and a sublime Bernadette Peters, and get back to me.

And if you can think of any play that made a better movie let me know about that, too. (Ah: The Front Page via His Girl Friday? Right?)