:: FRIDAY, APRIL 22 - THURSDAY, APRIL 28 ::

We will highlight physical screenings at the top of the list for theaters and venues that are open, grouped in our standard Crucial Viewing and Also Recommended sections, as well as all other physical screenings, and list streaming/online screenings below. 

Remember to check venue websites for information on safety protocols and other procedures put in place for COVID prevention. We recommend verifying those before every trip to the theater.

🐦 THE NIGHTINGALE CINEMA’S
FAREWELL (FOR NOW) FESTIVAL

Join the Nightingale Cinema in saying goodbye to its current space at 1084 N. Milwaukee. For more information on the sudden closure, read this letter posted on the Nightingale’s Facebook page. Join the Nightingale Cinema staff and programmers this weekend for its Farewell (For Now) Festival, with events the entire day on both Saturday and Sunday, including Therapy Sessions with Seth Vanek, the Works of Paige Taul, “Dada’s Daughter” by Sara Sowell, an advanced screening of Henry Hanson’s BROS BEFORE, the Works of Ben Balcom, and much more, including several additional programs curated by the Nightingale programmers. Donations are requested but not required, with all money going to the artists. More info here.

⭐ CHICAGO LATINO FILM FESTIVAL

The 38th Chicago Latino Film Festival runs through Sunday, May 1, with screenings both in-person and online. See below for reviews of select films, with more to come in next week’s list. Note that in-person screenings are taking place across three venues: the Landmark Theatre's Century Centre Cinema (2828 N. Clark St.), the ChiTown Movies Drive-In (2343 S. Throop St.), and the Instituto Cervantes of Chicago (31 W. Ohio St.). A good portion of the films are available to stream within limited viewing windows; note that the content may only be viewable in authorized regions. We will note the film’s streaming availability below each review where applicable. More info on the festival here.

Iván Mora Manzano’s YELLOW SUNGLASSES (Ecuador)

Landmark’s Century Centre Cinema – Friday, 6pm

The “coming of age” qualifier has long struck me as odd. What, exactly, does it mean to come of age, and why is its application seemingly limited to adolescence? As one careens forward in time, this begins to seem like an ever-shifting target, a nebulous goal stuck eternally in the distance. Such is certainly the case for Julia (Paloma Pierini), the protagonist of Iván Mora Manzano’s YELLOW SUNGLASSES, a FRANCES HA-esque (but better) disquisition on the uncertainties of one’s early 30s, when it’s expected that “real life” should be well under way. Julia is far from settled, however, having returned back to Quito (Ecuador's capital) after a break-up. When she applies for a job as a teaching assistant at a local school, it’s implied that she’s overly qualified, having studied philology at university; part of the film centers on her application to a creative writing program. The film’s evocation of life in one’s 30s is subtle. This development, for instance, hints at a generation eager to remain tucked in the comforting embrace of academia, often in an attempt to evade the clutches of life’s banality. After sleeping with a flaky bartender-cum-poet, she falls for his roommate, Ignacio, an underemployed actor who admires the same fictional author whom Julia idolizes. She becomes immersed in his world, hanging around the bookshop where he works, attending his rehearsals, and even joining a writing group with his friend and the bartender roommate. While she has constructive criticism to offer, she must also deal with it being directed toward her, something that causes her to re-evaluate her own talent—or potentially her lack thereof. Things come to a head when Julia begins projecting this onto Ignacio, which spurs a minor breakdown. The ending of YELLOW SUNGLASSES is “coming of age” personified, a predictable conclusion that nevertheless inspires a larger question about what it means to mature. It’s bittersweet, the realities that one must come to terms with to achieve peace. Pierini’s performance is an integral part of the film’s overall success, as are the odd, inexplicable moments that challenge any ingrained prosaism. You’re never too old to grow up, nor are you ever too old to give up; Manzano makes one wonder how different those two mindsets really are. Preceded by Pablo Polledri’s 2021 Spanish short film LOOP (8 min, Digital Projection). (2020, 98 min, DCP Digital) [Kat Sachs]
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Available to stream starting Wednesday through Sunday, May 1; can only be viewed in Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Michigan, Minnesota, and Wisconsin. More info here.

Valentín Javier Diment’s THE ATTACHMENT DIARIES (Argentina)

Landmark’s Century Centre Cinema – Friday, 8:45pm

THE ATTACHMENT DIAIRIES is a horror comedy in the tradition of De Palma’s SISTERS (1973) and CARRIE (1976); both the plotting and the visual style are giddily, knowingly over the top. Much of the fun lies in seeing how director Valentín Javier Diment keeps upping the ante, whether it’s with some implausible narrative twist, flash of Grand Guignol-style gore, or wild camera setup. The story takes place during Argentina’s period of dictatorship in the 1970s. Carla (Jimena Anganuzzi), a young pregnant woman, presents to a remote medical clinic seeking a clandestine abortion, but Irina (Lola Berthet, a veteran of Diment’s films), refuses to provide one. Instead, the doctor proposes that Carla stay at the clinic until she gives birth; in the meantime, the creepy, cloistered clinic will find a wealthy couple to adopt the child when it arrives. The setup suggests an old-fashioned women’s picture, but the execution goes in a much different direction, proceeding first in the direction of Gothic melodrama as Carla languishes in the strange clinic. Diment gradually ratchets up the tension, breaking it with an unexpected development that sees Carla and Irina leaping into a passionate sexual affair. Things get more surprising from there, with turns into mass homicide and even some grisly body horror. No matter how dark the movie gets, however, the visuals assert that it’s all in good fun. Diment wants to play around in the dark corners of his imagination, not analyze them, and this direction invites viewers to join in the fun. Preceded by César Liang’s 2021 Honduran short film WITCH (8 min, Digital Projection). (2021, 102 min, DCP Digital) [Ben Sachs]
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Available to stream through Tuesday; can only be viewed in Illinois. More info here.

Pablo Abdala and Joaquin Peñagaricano’s MATEÍNA (Uruguay/Brazil/Argentina)

Landmark Century Centre Cinema – Saturday, 8:45pm

The time is 2045, and just as all that is old is new again, the war on drugs gets recycled in Uruguay. The government has banned mateine, the active ingredient in yerba maté, a move equal to banning caffeinated coffee in the United States. Close to eradicating yerba’s growth and possession in the country, federal police are working on rounding up the remaining illegal traffickers. Moncho (Diego Licio) and Fico (Federico Silveira) barely escape a sting set up by their yerba supplier and decide to drive to Paraguay, where yerba is still legal, to secure more product. Along the way, a backwater rebel (Yamandú Cruz) encourages them to plant yerba in Paraguay and return with seed to replant Uruguay in such great quantities that the government will never be able to eradicate it again. Thus, Moncho and Fico become the “Seed Kings,” the outlaw heroes for a yerba-filled future. This picaresque road comedy makes plain the misery of the populace without their go-juice as Moncho and Fico drive past near-comatose people as they make their rounds. An Inspector Clouseau-like cop (Roberto Suaréz) chases the pair to the border, surviving every manner of disaster to continue his relentless pursuit. Abdala and Peñagaricano envision the Uruguay of the future as a place in which time has stood still; despite the presence of cellphones, the police still use ’70s-era desk phones, cars are old and taped together, and gas is expensive and rationed. The reason for the ban on yerba is revealed late in the film, knowingly skewering economic colonialism and today’s U.S. cannabis industry. This beautifully photographed and paced film is wise, witty, and wonderful. Preceded by Kevin Castellano and Edu Hirschfeld’s 2021 Spanish short film ONCE YOU POP (17 min, Digital Projection). (2021, 82 min, DCP Digital) [Marilyn Ferdinand]
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Available to stream through Tuesday; can only be viewed in Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Michigan, Minnesota, and Wisconsin. More info here.

Leslie Ortiz and Gabriela Cruz’s BLURRED WOMEN (El Salvador)

Landmark Century Centre Cinema – Sunday, 3:30pm

El Salvador has the reputation of being one of the most dangerous and repressive places for women to live. With decades-long prison sentences for anything that authorities believe to be an abortion (including miscarriages), human trafficking, rape, domestic abuse, and femicide ever-present threats, it is up to Salvadoran women to save their own lives and sanity. Leslie Ortiz and Gabriela Cruz’s BLURRED WOMEN (the literal translation for the Spanish title, LIENZO EN BLANCO, is BLANK CANVAS) strings together several interconnected stories that touch on these traumas and the affected women’s attempts to cope with them. Dora (Ana Ruth Aragón) is a seamstress whose daughter, a talented artist, is missing, leaving Dora and her husband to raise her 8-year-old daughter (María Teresa Martí), whose traumatic loss of her mother has struck her mute. Alicia (Alicia Chong) is an artist who holds art therapy sessions for traumatized women in the neighborhood. Luz (Lilibeth Rivas) works at a garden center. After she sells a bunch of roses to a man who wants to apologize to the wife he beat up, she is abducted and raped. This litany of loss and suffering would bring anyone to their knees, but the women in this film are anything but blurred. Luz immediately reports the crime, and when the police appear to have no interest in finding her rapist, she follows a lucky lead to the home of her attacker. Dora refuses to give up trying to locate her daughter or letting her memory fade. She prevails upon Alicia to exhibit some of her daughter’s paintings in the community center where she works. Alicia herself has a glancing encounter with the rapist (Carlos Córdova) and ensures that he knows his secret has been discovered. BLURRED WOMEN is a fairly short film, but Ortiz and Cruz make the most of every minute. There is never any question about what is happening and how people feel about these experiences. At the same time, the no-nonsense approach to difficult subjects allows each of these women to exercise her own agency and the audience to absorb their strength and resolve. This film is well worth seeing. Preceded by Dandara de Morais’ 2021 Brazilian short film THE TIMES I’M NOT THERE (23 min, Digital Projection). (2021, 71 min, DCP Digital) [Marilyn Ferdinand]
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Available to stream through Tuesday; can only be viewed in Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Michigan, Minnesota, and Wisconsin. More info here.

Macha Cólon’s GARDENIA PERFUME (Puerto Rico/Colombia)

Landmark’s Century Centre Cinema – Thursday, 8:15pm

Isabel (Luz María Rondón) has just lost her husband of 53 years. An ardent gardener and knickknack hoarder, she creates such sensational funeral decorations for his funeral that they draw attendees from the next-door funeral decorated by Toña (Sharon Riley) and her three-person crew. Ever the entrepreneur, Toña induces Isabel first to start decorating her funerals and then to help her give some ailing people a nudge into the next world so she can work a few more funerals. Director Macha Cólon has cast these two Puerto Rican legends of stage and television in a comedy that doesn’t overlook the sadness of death and loneliness, but rather bumpily places it in the context of the joys of life and connection. Isabel’s bizarre decorations reflect the lives of the people who have died (for example, a shoemaker laid out in a gigantic high-heel shoe), and the deceased she has honored arise for a brief moment to smile their approval. A devout woman who fervently believes in an afterlife, Isabel goes along with the euthanasia scheme just once, but sours on it quickly when it goes wrong. However, her ties of love to the neighbors in her somewhat dangerous neighborhood in San Juan has her overcome her misgivings to help her queer neighbor Julia (Blanca Rosa Rovira) die with dignity and receive the send-off of her dreams. Cólon, a queer Puerto Rican artist and documentarian making her feature film debut, dedicates her film to the late political documentarian Benito Reinosa and the late Carlos Madera, who celebrated queer culture in Puerto Rico. GARDENIA PERFUME carries on their legacy with humor and heart. Preceded by Paloma Coscia de Luque’s 2021 Argentine short film FOURTH B (10 min, Digital Projection). (2021, 97 min, DCP Digital) [Marilyn Ferdinand]
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Available to stream starting Wednesday through Sunday, May 1; can only be viewed in Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Michigan, Minnesota, and Wisconsin. More info here.

Aurel’s JOSEP (Spain/France/Animated)

Landmark’s Century Centre Cinema – Saturday, 6:45pm

When French editorial cartoonist Aurel decided to make an animated feature film, he couldn’t have chosen a more apt subject than Catalan artist Josep Bartolí. Bartolí’s line drawings of Spanish refugees fleeing Franco at the end of the Spanish Civil War match the starkness of their plight. Aurel mixes these drawings with his own to tell the little-known story of the horrors those refugees faced at the hands of the French who herded them into concentration camps. Aurel frames the story through the eyes of a dying grandfather (voice of Gérard Hernandez) telling his artistically inclined grandson (voice of David Marsais) about a Bartolí drawing hanging on his wall, which he obtained during his stint as a gendarme at the camp where the artist (voice of Sergi López) was interned. JOSEP spares us none of the gory details—starvation, humiliation, rape, and murder, all at the hands of the French—but it also offers some ordinary scenes of life in the camps, such as evening get-togethers facilitated by the African guards when the Spaniards could dance together and participate in a sex lottery. The film segues into a brief investigation of Bartolí’s life after the war, including his time in Mexico as one of Frida Kahlo’s lovers and the introduction of color into his art. The film is marred by the use of clichés—depicting the worst of the French gendarmes as a pig, showing the Luftwaffe flying in a swastika formation, having a mariachi band inexplicably playing music on a train in Mexico. Because the story is so compelling, however, JOSEP offers audiences an engrossing experience that artfully integrates Bartolí’s works into the telling. Preceded by Cristóbal León and Joaquín Cociña’s 2021 Chilean short animated film THE BONES (14 min, Digital Projection). (2020, 71 min, DCP Digital) [Marilyn Ferdinand]
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Available to stream through Tuesday; can only be viewed in Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Michigan, Minnesota, and Wisconsin. More info here.

Anita Rocha da Silveira’s MEDUSA (Brazil)

Available to stream starting Wednesday through Sunday, May 1; can only be viewed in  Illinois. More info here.
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Landmark’s Century Centre Cinema – Friday, April 29, 8:30pm

With a stylish soundtrack and neon cinematography, Anita Rocha da Silveira’s MEDUSA is certainly paying homage to Dario Argento’s horror films. Yet with a larger commentary on obsession with social media - especially focusing on female relationships and sexuality - the film is simultaneously reminiscent of Sofia Coppola. This makes for a unique thematic and visual combination as MEDUSA draws on dreamy, fairytale qualities of both directors. By day, Mariana (Mari Oliveira) sings with an extremely conversative, Christian all-girls choir. By night, she and the singers act as vigilantes, donning white masks and assaulting women they deem morally sinful, their violent acts inspired by a story of an actress whose face was deliberately burned by a woman in a white mask. The actress, Melissa (Bruna Linzmeyer), has since disappeared, though the girl gang, led by the enthusiastic Michele (a standout Lara Tremoroux), is desperate to revel in what horrors happened to Melissa. When Mariana’s own face is slashed by one of the group's victims, she risks the safety of her position in both the group and the larger society, which is dominated by an aggressive, misogynistic religious hysteria. Lacking options, she takes a job at a clinic for long-term comatose patients. From its striking first few scenes until its tenacious final moments, MEDUSA is consistently arresting. While it tackles many socio-political themes, it balances the thematic overload with hauntingly evocative visuals. Rocha da Silveira brilliantly juxtaposes close-ups of character’s faces with intense examinations of bodies, both in motion and in stillness, in joy and in pain; a few of these images I expect to stay with me for quite a while. (2021, 127 min, DCP Digital) [Megan Fariello]

Aly Muritiba’s PRIVATE DESERT (Brazil/Portugal)

Available to stream starting Wednesday through Sunday, May 1; can only be viewed in  Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Michigan, Minnesota, and Wisconsin. More info here.
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Landmark’s Century Centre Cinema – Saturday, April 30, 7pm

After Daniel (Antonio Saboia) is ghosted by a love interest with whom he had contact only through text message, he embarks on a journey from his home in southern Brazil to the country’s northeast region in pursuit of his mysterious paramour. It’s equally true that he’s trying to put distance between himself and his problems back home, where he’s in trouble at his job as a police academy instructor following a violent outburst toward a recruit; he’s also taking care of his elderly, infirm father with little help from his independent-minded younger sister. But it’s the ghosting from his would-be girlfriend Sara that puts him over the edge, spurring him to abandon both his family and any chance at being redeemed on the job. To reveal where this film—at first a seemingly straightforward treatise on masculinity, its symptoms, and its consequences—deviates from its purported conflict would be to spoil the plot, but this is integral to any discussion of it: Sara isn’t who Daniel thinks she is. Rather, she’s a young man, Robson (Pedro Fasanaro), who sometimes presents as a woman. A point in the film’s favor is that it doesn’t belabor labels; director Aly Muritiba (who scripted the film with Henrique Dos Santos) presents the two protagonists’ sexualities matter-of-factly, refusing to provide any certainty about their sexual and gender identities. Daniel and Sara/Robson eventually meet, setting off a chain reaction in Robson’s life; the change is demarcated by a stark shift at the film’s midpoint, when it switches focus from Daniel to Sara/Robson and their equally complicated life. The subject of toxic masculinity is broached via Daniel’s acknowledgements around his violent outburst, something he credits to a culture where men are forced to unquestioningly accept society’s patriarchal institutions. (His father is a retired officer, apparently one of high rank; he’s shown earlier in the film dressed in uniform and loading his gun during a particularly delirious and disconcerting moment.) Robson, however, is understandably dismissive of his excuses—they’re a particularly assured character, as confident in their gender fluidness as one could be under the circumstances. On the whole the film challenges accepted notions of masculinity in Daniel’s apparent emotional frailty and in Sara/Robson’s unwavering resilience. It’s likewise representative of the character’s fluidity, bold in its unwillingness to yield easy answers. (2021, 120 min, DCP Digital) [Kat Sachs]

📽️ CRUCIAL VIEWING

George Cukor’s THE MARRYING KIND (US)

Chicago Film Society at Northeastern Illinois University (The Auditorium, Building E, 3701 W. Bryn Mawr Ave.) – Wednesday, 7:30pm

If I had to choose a favorite moment out of George Cukor’s entire monumental filmography, it might be a quiet scene from the first act of his criminally underrated THE MARRYING KIND in which Florence, a recently married, working-class New York City housewife, lays out for some family members her plans for her new life as a bride. One of her goals is to take time every day to “just think,” to expand her mind a bit whenever she’s alone. As delivered by the great Judy Holliday in one of those signature Cukor shots where an actor sits still and bares their soul with calm dignity, these lines become an exquisite miniature portrait of proletarian self-determination. You truly believe that Florence is going to better herself because you see how deeply she believes it. As is often the case with Cukor, the scene is all the more beautiful for its avoidance of sentimentality and overstatement—indeed, a casual viewer would be excused for mistaking it for light comedy. Holliday never abandons the ditzy comic persona she perfected in Cukor’s BORN YESTERDAY (1950), finding humor in her character’s inability to speak as eloquently as she’d like, and Cukor’s unfussy blocking and visual composition foreground the poignant characterization in the best sort of “invisible” Hollywood artistry. Yet this is revolutionary stuff. Countless American movies think nothing of reducing working-class housewives to comic stereotypes, but Cukor and company demand here that we respect Florence for her intellect and individuality. This profound sympathy colors every scene of the film, which charts the ups and downs of Florence’s marriage to postman Chet (Aldo Ray) without ever privileging his perspective over hers or vice versa. Many of Cukor’s films feel decades ahead of their time in their sexual politics (Is there any Hollywood film of the 1930s more knowingly queer than SYLVIA SCARLETT?), and THE MARRYING KIND, in the glorious equality of its storytelling, is no exception. Tellingly, it was written by the real-life married couple Ruth Gordon and Garson Kanin, who also co-wrote Cukor’s A DOUBLE LIFE (1947) and ADAM’S RIB (1949). I can’t comment on their working methods, but the finished film suggests they were very good at respecting each other’s point of view. It also suggests an astonishingly uncynical view of workaday life. The casual, anecdotal structure of THE MARRYING KIND, which grants as much dramatic weight to everyday frustrations as it does to “big” events, shows affinity with contemporaneous Italian neorealist films, though Cukor himself cited Chekhov’s The Cherry Orchard as an influence. That’s not too surprising, given the director’s prestigious theatrical background; at the same time, there aren’t many Hollywood directors who’d see similarities between the struggles of Chekhov’s fading aristocrats and the day-to-day situations of a city postman and his wife. The uncommon wisdom of THE MARRYING KIND stems from Cukor’s appreciation of a universal humanity. Preceded by the 1946 March of Time short LIFE WITH BABY (19 min, 16mm). (1952, 93 min, 35mm) [Ben Sachs]

Kera MacKenzie and Andrew Mausert-Mooney’s MAKE A DISTINCTION (US/Documentary)

Block Cinema (at Northwestern University) – Friday, 7pm

Kera MacKenzie and Andrew Mausert-Mooney’s MAKE A DISTINCTION is a bold step into the feature form by the Chicago-based duo. Made over four (shall we say, fraught) years, the film seems to narrate the course of its own development, from exploratory survey to statement of purpose: if you’re wondering where it’s going at the start, you’ll know exactly where you stand at the end. (Spoiler alert: stolen land.) Not that things are all that vague at the jump: an electric opening montage featuring clips of Kwame Ture and Fred Hampton signals the general direction. But the following scenes, cruising the communities surrounding Kentucky’s Fort Campbell Army Base and glimpsing the travesties inflicted on the American environment by capitalism and militarism, suggest filmmakers seeking refuge in pockets of untrammeled nature—and in a familiar idiom of landscape essay film. This impression is deceptive: halfway through, the film changes course dramatically, turning its focus towards Chicago and adopting a tone of forceful and incisive analysis. Defiantly casting their 16mm camera lens on the many Dick Wolf television productions shooting around the city, the filmmakers unpack incestuous relationships linking the dramatized copaganda of shows like Chicago PD, the corrupt developers behind the Cinespace Chicago studio, and the actual CPD forces who have brutalized city residents with impunity for decades. With damning precision, MacKenzie and Mausert-Mooney lay out on-screen texts and primary documents, arguing implicitly for formal, economic, and political alternatives to the commercial film industry’s hegemony…before changing stylistic gears yet again. These shifts are abrupt, but the film’s own internal polymorphism—the confidence with which it swerves from landscape to essay film to insurrectionary botany lesson (?!)—helps us imagine what such a radical film practice might look like. The electrifying Dick Wolf sequence divides the film, much as the opening’s Fred Hampton quotation divides the people from the pigs. But MacKenzie and Mausert-Mooney don’t just ask us to pick a side, they show us how. By returning, with lucid self-awareness and burning urgency, to landscapes, figures, techniques, and themes from its first half, MAKE A DISTINCTION demonstrates how historical consciousness can orient diverse experimental tactics towards a unitary, emancipatory purpose. In other words, like all the films in this program, it’s an object lesson in political filmmaking. Preceded by Emily Drummer's 2019 short FIELD RESISTANCE (16 min, Digital Projection). Filmmakers in person for a post-screening discussion. (2021, 62 min, Digital Projection) [Michael Metzger]

Wu Yonggang’s THE GODDESS (China/Silent)

Silent Film Society of Chicago and the Film Studies Center (in the Logan Center Performance Hall at the Logan Center for the Arts, 915 E. 60th St., University of Chicago) – Sunday, 2pm

Ever since Samuel Goldwyn became so infatuated with STELLA DALLAS that he made it twice (his son rebooted it a third time), the figure of the fallen woman who becomes a self-sacrificing mother has been a well-internalized archetype in American society. Golden Age Chinese films were strongly influenced by Hollywood, so it is no surprise that director Wu Yonggang chose just such a story for his directorial debut, THE GODDESS. To emphasize their universality, Wu gave the characters in THE GODDESS no names. The protagonist, a prostitute and mother played by Lingyu Ruan, prepares for her evening stroll by getting a thermos of warm milk ready for the neighbor to feed to her infant son when he wakes up. After straightening up her home a bit and applying some lipstick, she hits the streets of Shanghai to try to drum up some business. One night, while evading the police, she hides in the home of a gangster (Zhizhi Zhang), who accepts her “gratitude” and muscles into her life for several years. Hoping to keep her son on the straight and narrow, she hides her money from the gangster and uses it to pay for her son’s education. But gossip about her profession and the paternity of her now school-age son (Keng Li) lead to disappointment and tragedy. THE GODDESS is a straightforward melodrama with a bit of cinematic innovation, such as its depiction of the bright lights of the city as well as a shorthanded scene of “the goddess” picking up a trick. More advanced for its time are the questions it poses about the root causes of prostitution and the cruelty of blaming a child for its parents’ defects. Shockingly, it also holds a good deal of relevance for today’s backward-looking moral outrage, particularly in our schools. Lingyu Ruan’s heartfelt and charismatic performance made her a star overnight, and Wu was launched into his successful career. The film will be shown with a new, experimental score written by Min Xiao-Fen and performed by her and guitarist Rez Abbasia. (1934, 85 min, DCP Digital) [Marilyn Ferdinand]

Sebastian Meise’s GREAT FREEDOM (Austria/Germany)

Music Box Theatre – See Venue website for showtimes

Until 1969 there existed in the German Criminal Code a provision (known as Paragraph 175, which was made even harsher by the Nazis before the war) that prohibited sexual activity between men. Though this facet of the code was later repealed, it wasn’t until 1990, following the reunification of West and East Germany, that it was abolished altogether. This isn’t too shocking, considering similar laws existed in the United States up to just a few decades ago (even if they were not as specifically targeted and sparsely enforced, sodomy laws were only fully abolished in 2003); truly galling, however, is the fact that, when the concentration camps were liberated following the end of World War II, German survivors who had been deported because of their sexual orientation were sent back to prison to finish out the remainders of their sentences. Such is the case for Hans Hoffmann, the main character of Sebastian Meise’s staggering second feature, GREAT FREEDOM—he’s played by Franz Rogowski, who turns in as complex and nuanced a performance as he did in Christian Petzold’s 2018 masterpiece TRANSIT. The film begins with Super 8mm footage of Hans and several men engaging in sexual activity in a public bathroom; it’s then revealed that the footage comes from various sting operations and is being used to prosecute Hans under the aforementioned provision. He’s sent to prison, a place that seems familiar to him. It soon becomes clear via a clever narrative structure that this isn’t Hans’ first time in jail: presumably he’s been in and out of prison since the 40s, when his first sentence had been disrupted by his deportation to a concentration camp. The film cuts between that episode and two of Hans’ other prison stays, including one in the late 50s and another in the late 60s, with little explanation as to what he did in between. Each period of imprisonment is distinguished by its own unique drama. A through line, however, is Viktor (Georg Friedrich, impressive in his almost childlike severity), a surly prisoner serving a long sentence for murder. He and Hans are cellmates at first, with Viktor initially shunning Hans for his homosexuality. Viktor warms up to Hans upon realizing, by way of the tattoo on the latter’s arm, that he’d been in a concentration camp; Viktor offers to cover the marking, an activity that brings the two into a tentative understanding, if not exactly a friendship. Hans’ second detainment, in the 50s, revolves around his relationship with his partner, who’d been arrested with him. Hans’ radical tenacity is evident here, as he refuses to apologize for who he is and whom he loves. During Hans’ final stay (scenes of which are stitched throughout), he becomes closer with Viktor as he helps his avowedly heterosexual cellmate contend with the physical horrors of drug addiction. Gradually the pair begins to express both physical and emotional affection, and the story evolves beyond one of queer love to one of just plain love, between two people struggling against a merciless world. The deft narrative framework aside, it’s a strikingly simple story (almost oversimplified at times, the film’s one deficiency); the work of cinematographer Crystel Fournier, a frequent collaborator of Céline Sciamma, is stunning, further conveying via evocative imagery the tale of these maltreated souls. Sporadic inclusion of 8mm footage, of Hans in the midst of sexual acts and, later, during a relaxing sojourn with his partner, reveal the freedom, illusory and otherwise, inherent to the sensation of privacy. The motif of confinement persists throughout, and Hans’ ultimate, antithetical embracement of it as sublime as it is bewildering. (2021, 116 min, DCP Digital) [Kat Sachs]

Kleber Mendonça Filho and Juliano Dornelles’ BACURAU (Brazil)

Gene Siskel Film Center – Sunday, 6pm

Kleber Mendonça Filho’s three features to date—NEIGHBORING SOUNDS (2012), AQUARIUS (2016), and now BACURAU (co-directed by Juliano Dornelles)—are all blatantly ambitious in their narratives and aesthetics, with complex plot structures and expansive widescreen imagery. But where his first two films (both novelistic in feel) suggested he was something of a Brazilian Arnaud Desplechin, the no-less-commanding BACURAU takes its cues from the American genre movies of George Romero and John Carpenter. The Carpenter influence is more overt, and not only in the powerful widescreen compositions; BACURAU employs Carpenter’s signature font for its credits, and it even uses a piece of music written by the horror master. But the film’s underlying concerns—namely, how societies are made and broken—are distinctly Romero-esque, and it’s this panoramic vision that makes the film feel epic even when the action and dialogue are stripped-down. It’s best not to reveal too much of the plot, as one of the chief pleasures of the film lies in how you gradually put together the fictional world that Mendonça Filho and Dornelles have imagined from the clues that they give you. Suffice it to say, though, the influence of genre cinema doesn’t become fully apparent until the second half of BACURAU; for almost the first hour, the film generally wades in the environment, introducing character after character and fleshing out what life might be like in an isolated, northern Brazilian village during a dystopian future “a few years from now.” These passages advance a bifocal vision, dramatizing individual lives and the collective spirit of the community with comparable pungency. (The rural setting notwithstanding, you may be reminded of the social portraiture of NEIGHBORING SOUNDS.) Sonia Braga, the star of AQUARIUS, returns as the town doctor, who’s a sweetheart when she’s sober and a terror when she’s drunk; her performance is the film’s showcase, but every community member gets a few distinctive moments apiece. Mendonça Filho and Dornelles also bring lots of flavor to their characterization of the North American visitors who start to arrive in the title village near the end of the first half of the movie. The malign presence of these characters can be read as a metaphor for the ravages of international capitalism on Brazil, but the film derives its raw power from the sheer dread of its violence. Director in person for a post-screening Q&A, moderated by Kathryn Sanchez, Professor, Department of Spanish and Portuguese, University of Wisconsin, Madison. (2019, 131 min, DCP Digital) [Ben Sachs]

Apichatpong Weerasethakul’s MEMORIA

Gene Siskel Film Center – See Venue website for showtimes

I generally don’t like to talk about presentation and distribution when reviewing films because it’s generally a secondary, or even tertiary, aspect of the film that merits no discussion. Yet I feel that here these things not only need to be addressed, but they're so crucial to MEMORIA that they need to be mentioned at the top. For those who don't know, this film was originally released as a kind-of roadshow museum piece. The plan was for MEMORIA to have a single print circulate through the US as a “never-ending” release; it would be available to see at only one city at a time. This idea was met with both intrigue and ridicule, though I would fully recommend that people see this in the theater—after all, the entire distribution system is intended to create a viewing experience that's unique to each screening. At the same time, there's a cynical side to me that wonders whether the whole thing was a P.T. Barnum-esque grift to get eyes on the kind of slow cinema that 99% of moviegoers wouldn't usually care about. After only two January stops on its “never-ending release,” the distributor, Neon, pulled the plug on this high art concept and decided in April that MEMORIA would have a standard multi-city, multi-screen release. Was this a kowtow to public perception of elitism? A tacit admission of failure? Or simply the re-evaluation of the desire to get MEMORIA in front of as many eyes as possible? I can’t say and won’t speculate. All this being said, I’ll let people decide for themselves what they think of the plan and simply move on to the film itself as a story, not as an artifact or performance. In MEMORIA we have Weerasethakul’s methodically meditative take on slow cinema that's so much warmer than many other filmmakers in this style. Tilda Swinton, naturally, gives a spectacular performance. As a Scottish emigre living in Colombia, Swinton's Jessica finds herself slowly questioning her sanity; it seems that she is the only person who can hear a loud, booming sound. In an attempt to explain the sound, she calls on a sound engineer, Hernán, to artificially recreate it. The two manage to approximate it, but when Jessica goes to see Hernán afterward, no one at the sound lab seems to have heard of him. Between this and her straining relationship with her sister, Jessica leaves the city for the countryside where she meets a quiet fisherman that also happens to be named Hernán. From there, things get weird. For such a slowly paced film, Weerasethakul took a giant risk taken by making so much of it sound-based. With Jessica’s mystery boom being the engine of the story, much of MEMORIA revolves purely around sound, or the lack thereof. As in such movies as THE CONVERSATION (1974) and SOUND OF METAL (2019), sound plays a character itself. There are more than a few scenes where sound is practically the only thing that moves. The frame will be stock-still, actors looking almost artificially frozen, and the sound design carries the story. It’s a simple idea but executed brilliantly. With this in mind, I can see why the distributor wanted to have this be approached as a heightened theatrical experience. The wind, the sound of memories, birdsong—all these things begin to overwhelm you as the movie progresses. Eventually, all you really have left is sound and you have no choice but to give in fully to it. It really is a beautiful thing. MEMORIA commands submission to one’s ears in a way that film rarely does. People talk about the immersive quality of action films, as if the average person has ever found themselves anywhere near an actual explosion, as opposed to a film like this that draws you in so totally with your senses, seducing the eyes and ears as opposed to pummeling them relentlessly. You’ll find yourself lured in without recognizing that it happened. To find yourself in a dark room, slowly getting lost in another world is what any good movie should do. And this film does it far better than most. Knowing the story of this film, and the weird hype it’s created, it’s so satisfying to see that MEMORIA lives up to all its accolades. (2021, 136 min, 35mm through Sunday; DCP Digital thereafter) [Raphael Jose Martinez]

Orson Welles' THE LADY FROM SHANGHAI (US)

Music Box Theatre – Saturday and Sunday, 11:30am

Orson Welles famously adapted this noir story on the fly to satisfy contractual obligations. And yet THE LADY FROM SHANGHAI is as inventive as any of Welles' "proper" masterpieces, creating an Expressionist phantasmagoria out of the story's bizarre characters and situations. (One highlight: Welles regular Everett Sloane playing a lawyer, whose crutches give him a machine-like walk, having to interrogate himself in court.) It's also just as personal. If Welles' great theme is, according to Chris Marker, how close we can get to evil, then THE LADY FROM SHANGHAI is no deviation. As Welles' dumb Scotsman finds himself knee-deep in conspiracy, he rationalizes his participation out of love for the alluring woman of the title, played by Rita Hayworth, whom he would soon divorce. (1947, 87 min, 35mm) [Ben Sachs]

Wong Kar-wai's THE GRANDMASTER (Hong Kong/China)

Doc Films (at the University of Chicago) – Friday, 7pm

While Wong Kar-wai has been a darling of Western critics and cinephiles for much of his career, his movies have been regarded as arty and pretentious specialty items back home in Hong Kong. The reversal of this trend with THE GRANDMASTER may be explained by its China-centric qualities, namely its deep exploration of Chinese identity and history and the philosophical side of kung-fu. Western critics lamented the film’s “patchwork” quality (it is certainly the most elliptical thing Wong has ever made), and they have a point. But to paraphrase something André Bazin wrote about THE DIARY OF A COUNTRY PRIEST, THE GRANDMASTER's narrative awkwardness is the price Wong pays for something more important; for, while it may not be as “perfect” as beloved earlier films like CHUNGKING EXPRESS (1994) or IN THE MOOD FOR LOVE (2000), its thematic richness makes it more profound than either. THE GRANDMASTER definitely seems like the digest of a much longer movie: the plot unfolds as a series of self-contained vignettes in the life of Ip Man (Tony Leung Chiu-Wai, charismatic as ever), a real kung-fu master who immigrated from southern mainland China to Hong Kong in the mid-20th century, single-handedly popularized the minimalistic fighting style known as Wing Chun, and became Bruce Lee’s first teacher (yes, an adorable moppet turns up as young Bruce in the final scene). Each scene feels like a narrative block that has been separated from the ones that precede and follow it by several years, sometimes with only intertitles supplying crucial missing information. Characters who seem like they will be important (like Ip’s wife and a mysterious barber/martial artist known as “Razor,” played by Song Hye-kyo and Chang Chen, respectively) pop up for a scene or two, make a big impression, then vanish for the rest of the movie. The second most important character is Gong Er (an excellent Zhang Ziyi), the daughter of a kung-fu master from the North, who, in a parallel narrative, attempts to avenge her father’s murder and shares feelings of mutually unrequited love with Ip. Unrequited love has long been a pet theme of Wong’s, but the characters’ emotions here, however moving, are not the film’s reason for being. They are instead the byproducts of a fascinating allegory about the paths different Chinese people took in dealing with social upheaval and adapting to exile during a specific period in history. Wong has always been concerned with preserving the past, and the importance of preserving the past becomes the explicit theme of THE GRANDMASTER, as Wong uses kung-fu as a metaphor for Chinese culture in general—the “grandmaster” Ip is a teacher who passes along traditions and thus allows his cultural heritage to perpetuate. One of the most important scenes shows how Gong Er’s father, Gong Yutian (Wang Qingxiang), is incapable of teaching his traitorous disciple, Ma San (Zhang Jin), a particular kung-fu move that involves the act of “looking back.” Ma San soon colludes with occupying Japanese forces and thus symbolizes disrespect of tradition and sacrifice of one’s integrity in order to survive. Gong Yutian informs Ma San that he will never attain the highest level of martial arts—the ability to “see humanity,” which follows “seeing oneself” and “seeing the world.” By contrast, Ip and Gong Er are able to maintain their ideals and live in exile in Hong Kong—although their differing philosophies ensure that they meet different destinies. Gong Er betrays her father’s wish in seeking vengeance for his death and allows herself to become mired in pessimism and opium addiction. Ip, however, has the ability to look forward and backward simultaneously; his essential optimism—even in the face of overwhelming suffering (two of his daughters starve to death, and he and his wife are separated from each other against their wishes)—ensures that he alone among the film’s characters is able to “see humanity,” and that his Wing Chun school in Hong Kong will flourish. The final scenes are among the most mature that Wong has created. The action was choreographed by the great Yuen Woo-Ping, and part of the fun of watching these characters fight is seeing how their personalities are expressed through different fighting styles: the clever and humble Ip’s brand of Wing Chun is based on the precise execution of a few effective blows, while the more petulant Gong Er is the last remaining practitioner of the maximalist style known as “64 hands.” Wong, working with his longtime editor (and production/costume designer) William Chang, as well as collaborating for the first time with cinematographer Phillipe Le Sourd, breaks with martial-arts movie tradition by capturing the fights not with long takes and wide shots but by using close-ups, varying film speeds, fast cuts, and a shallow depth of field. (This last aspect has the effect of turning everything in front of the camera lens—drops of water, icicles, Zhang Ziyi’s porcelain skin—into a fetish object.) The breathtaking visuals, aided by bone-crunching sound effects, make each fight—especially the instant classic train-station climax involving Gong Er and Ma San—a master class in filmmaking. Screening as part of Doc’s Friday series: In the Mood for Wong Kar-wai. Note: There are three different versions of THE GRANDMASTER. The version playing at Doc Films, the domestic Chinese cut, is the longest, running 22 minutes longer than the version released in the U.S. by the Weinstein Company in 2013. (2013, 130 min, DCP Digital) [Michael Glover Smith]

Mike Nichols' PRIMARY COLORS (US)

Doc Films (at the University of Chicago) – Wednesday, 7pm

PRIMARY COLORS was neither the first Hollywood portrait of a sitting president (PT 109) nor would it be the last (W., SOUTHSIDE WITH YOU), but it's unrivaled for its fortuitous synchronicity and blunt pop aspirations. By the time of its March 1998 release, Hollywood's love affair with William Jefferson Clinton was already well established: PRIMARY COLORS fits snugly with a lineage that stretches from the fawning Tinsel Town fundraisers and the '92 campaign film "The Man from Hope" (from the team that brought you DESIGNING WOMEN!) to assorted big-screen stand-ins (DAVE, THE AMERICAN PRESIDENT) and even the digitally-composited Hound Dog himself receiving spiritual supplication from surf bum Rasputin Matthew McConaughey in CONTACT. The film version of PRIMARY COLORS would be the capstone—or the balloon payment—of the bicoastal infatuation, with John Travolta sidelining Phil Hartman as showbiz's great presidential interpreter. The anonymous source novel, which delivered an unvarnished but inoffensive roman à clef account of the 1992 Democratic primary, had provided D.C. politicos with endless gossip and spurred a bidding war for the movie rights. As conceived by a team of well-known Hollywood liberals, the movie was never a credible hit piece. With hindsight, we can appreciate it as an ambivalent valentine from the very core of the Establishment: the anonymous scribe turned out to be Newsweek pundit Joe Klein and director Mike Nichols, married to ABC News anchor Diane Sawyer, was himself no stranger to the Georgetown cocktail circuit. Two months before the release of PRIMARY COLORS, another insider political comedy, WAG THE DOG, had earned critical plaudits before being overtaken by gale-force-level external events: the revelation that President Clinton had been carrying on a tryst with a White House intern suddenly made the cynical showbiz comedy look prescient. (As the scandal unfolded, Clinton himself promptly moved to validate the premise of WAG THE DOG—a president looking to distract the voting public from a sex scandal by launching a war with Albania—by bombing a pharmaceutical factory in Sudan and ordering a return mission to Iraq with Operation Desert Fox.) PRIMARY COLORS would now face two unforeseeable obstacles: the ongoing box office strength of TITANIC (still No. 1 after fourteen weeks in release!) and the daily trickle of revelations from Ken Starr, Monica Lewinsky, Linda Tripp, and an ever-expanding cast of supporting characters. In the week leading up to the release of PRIMARY COLORS, Kathleen Willey doubled down on the accusation that Clinton had fondled her in the Oval Office, Starr's grand jury heard testimony from one of Lewinsky's college friends, and the President invoked executive privilege in hopes of halting the inquisition of Clinton's White House aides. Universal Studios had just spent $65 million to make PRIMARY COLORS, and potential moviegoers could find a much juicier version on C-SPAN for free. Could anyone—critic, pundit, or president—have judged PRIMARY COLORS fairly in that moment? Seen today, it's obviously a template for TV's THE WEST WING (another political melodrama that sidelines the boss to put campaign strategists, press wranglers, and idealistic wonks at the center of the story... and also features Allison Janney, to boot) but it also serves as a surprisingly clear-eyed reckoning with the very fissures within the Clinton coalition that would be thrown into sharper relief in the 2008 and 2016 primaries. We're all Sister Souljah now, and there's not enough midnight basketball to restore the luster of the New Democrats' promises. Still, this is a big Hollywood production that offers a black man with activist roots (Adrian Lester) and a mouthy lesbian (Kathy Bates) as the primary audience surrogates—and the most credible chroniclers of Clintonian betrayal. (Two months later, Warren Beatty's BULWORTH would offer an even more pointed assessment of the Baby Boom generation's political abasement and its willful abrogation of civil rights heritage.) The script from Nichols's most venerable collaborator, Elaine May, is tops and Emma Thompson absolutely crushes it as the ambitious first-lady-in-waiting. The movie definitely deserves another look in light of Hillary Clinton's campaign—may we recommend an impromptu double feature of PRIMARY COLORS and THE PURGE: ELECTION YEAR? Screening as part of Doc’s Wednesday series: They Thought I Was a Nice Girl: The Films of Elaine May. (1998, 143 min, 35mm) [K.A. Westphal]

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Robert Eggers’ THE NORTHMAN (US)

Music Box Theatre – See Venue website for showtimes

Vikings are having a moment in pop culture, but Robert Eggers is less than thrilled. Saying that "recent television, film, and video game representations of Viking mythology and Old Norse culture are romanticized and made to look flashy and cool," he decided to make the ultimate Viking film, aiming for historical accuracy. But THE NORTHMAN plays more like an '80s action movie, full of macho masochism à la Mel Gibson and sporting a revenge-driven plot influenced by HAMLET that could be set in the present day—of course, with some major details changed. Prince Amleth (played by Alexander Skarsgard as an adult) watches his father (Ethan Hawke) murdered by his uncle Fjolnir (Claes Bang), leading to a lifelong vow of revenge. Years later, he disguises himself as a slave and arranges to be sold into servitude in Iceland, where Fjolnir rules. Toiling on Fjolnir’s farm, he bides his time till he can enact his revenge. But that conflict takes place in a world where reality and fantasy blend together and the worlds of humans and animals seem very close. For all the period research that went into it, THE NORTHMAN, like Eggers’ THE LIGHTHOUSE (2019), boils down to a conflict between two men; and like the earlier film, it risks succumbing to making the extensive world-building a background for that struggle. Yet THE NORTHMAN has a far more seductive look, embracing blatant artifice—if the crows in the first scene aren't CGI, they're giving the film's best performances—and monochrome tones through which a fire’s golden glow bursts. (Tinted silent cinema is a touchstone for this film's cinematography.) Like Eggers’ first two films, both period pieces, THE NORTHMAN combines a trippy tone with extremely detailed production design. It’s most intriguing when Eggers’ direction hints at a world where reality and fantasy blend together, with the style rejecting the rationalist tendencies of contemporary Europe. THE NORTHMAN tries to embody Viking culture instead of merely depicting it. The sound design is purposefully overwhelming, with music blending into foley effects. Eggers still hasn’t topped his debut, THE WITCH (2015), but he’s made the leap from A24 folk horror to a $90 million studio project without watering down or changing his aesthetic. (2022, 136 min, DCP Digital) [Steve Erickson]

Bill Condon’s KINSEY (US)

Gene Siskel Film Center – Tuesday, 7pm

Over his lifetime, Alfred Kinsey collected around 5 million specimens of gall wasps. Through this research he was certain of one thing, that difference is a fundamental aspect of life, one that does not exclude humans. This understanding led him down the path of sexology, the study of human sexuality. With KINSEY, Bill Condon delivers a biopic on the man as he works not only to push his controversial research to completion, but also to understand his own sexuality and marriage. Liam Neeson plays Professor Kinsey, often referred to as Prok by his students and colleagues; he gives a great performance as a man who is loving, funny, curious but perhaps at times a little selfish and analytical. His research, while not only controversial, is also extremely sensitive. The questions Kinsey asked had people providing insight into their sexual preferences, when they first experienced orgasm, how many times a week they had sex, et cetera. At times it seemed like Kinsey may have been more worried about getting the data rather than considering the ethics of his studies—Condon includes a few scenes depicting the free-spirited nature of Kinsey and his colleagues, who were sometimes filmed having sex for research purposes. One of the big scenes in the film's second half concerns a fight between two researchers whose fling turned into a romantic entanglement that led to resentment and jealousy. The blow-up seems inevitable and yet the parties involved were able to work through it fairly reasonably, likely due to the nature of their work. Kinsey saw society as plagued by a lack of sexual knowledge due to the prevailing morality at the time, and he sought to fix that problem. While the film is a fairly standard biopic despite its radical subject matter, perhaps that is for the best. As we can see clearly today, with states across the US banning classes on sexuality and gender, not a lot has changed since Kinsey was around. It's necessary that films like this exist and continue to be shown, otherwise we are doomed to repeat our past failures at the expense of sexual and gender minorities. Screening as part of the Film Center’s Science on Screen series. Preceded by presentation from Dr. Jessica Hille, gender and sexuality scholar and Assistant Director for Education at the Kinsey Institute. (2004, 118 min, 35mm) [Drew Van Weelden]

Alan J. Pakula’s THE PARALLAX VIEW (US)

Doc Films (at the University of Chicago) – Thursday, 7pm

Released just two months before the resignation of President Richard Nixon, THE PARALLAX VIEW is a high point of the politically paranoid Hollywood cinema that peppered the 1960s and '70s. Even next to such classics as THE MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE (1962), THE CONVERSATION (1974), and EXECUTIVE ACTION (1973), this movie, with its thinly veiled allusions to the Kennedy assassinations, stakes the firmest claim that just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not after you. The movie basically mocks the Warren Commission’s official statement that a single gunman murdered JFK. After a witness to the assassination of a presidential candidate visits a reporter (Warren Beatty) to tell him she saw multiple assassins (and after six other witnesses turns up dead of drug overdoses), the reporter begins to pull at a string that will unravel his entire life. Many films of this style relied on the energy of the zeitgeist, the fear that America was just one large Potemkin village. THE PARALLAX VIEW imagines what might befall the most American of personalities, the One Good Guy Standing Up For What's Right, if what he stood up for wasn’t what the government agreed with. This is a political horror film, for conservatives afraid of Big Government and for liberals afraid of the Rogue State. Pakula cleverly doesn't reveal to the audience which reading is correct, all while manipulating you as if you were Rosemary Woodhouse. Screening as part of Doc’s first Thursday series: Projecting Paranoia. (1974, 102 min, 35mm) [Raphael Jose Martinez]

Bruce LaBruce’s NO SKIN OFF MY ASS (US)

Doc Films (at the University of Chicago) – Thursday, 9:30pm

The 1990s were an explosive time for American independent cinema. The film brat and video store brat generations were merging with various punk movements and not only creating films for themselves but creating a new network of small, regional film festivals to showcase them. The democratization of film, which has become the standard with digital filmmaking and the internet, was finally beginning to happen. Even within this world, there were people making truly subversive and transgressive films; and with his debut feature, NO SKIN OFF MY ASS, Bruce LaBruce made a clarion call for queer punk cinema that is still reverberating. The umbrella term of New Queer Cinema, which was coined in 1992 to describe such other punk-influenced directors as Derek Jarman and Gregg Araki, doesn’t quite fit what LaBruce was doing with here—this was queercore cinema. It's a movie made by a cinema theory scholar who wrote for Maximum Rocknroll. LaBruce deconstructs and re-queers Robert Altman’s 1969 adaptation of Robert Miles’ novel A Cold Day in the Park while also deconstructing and queering skinhead and punk sub-subcultures. This movie isn’t gay as in happy, but queer as in fuck you. Tagged with being Kurt Cobain’s favorite movie, it could be seen as a ‘90s nostalgia curio if it didn’t still feel as shockingly transgressive as it did then. NO SKIN nearly got LaBruce thrown in jail because someone at the film lab he sent it to called the cops. He was accused, but not charged, with multiple infractions dealing with pornography all because he sucked a skinhead’s dick. Thank you for your service, Bruce. Fortunately, he got away free and managed to abscond with the original negative before he was forced to make the permanent edits that the police demanded. (Ironically enough, this film helped propel LaBruce into a parallel career as an actual pornographer.) Everything about NO SKIN is crude, rude, and rough. And that’s its beauty. It has the feeling of an overly xeroxed punk show flier, of a late-night copy shop zine. It feels held together by staples and duct tape. It’s overflowing with what Aaron Cometbus would call “punk rock love.” Punk rock love is a 16mm film about a hairdresser obsessed with a Marxist lesbian filmmaker’s skinhead brother. For the longest time, you could see this only on decent-at-best transfers from the original 16mm to VHS or on a non-US DVD. Now we have a digital restoration. With a film that already looks down and dirty, not having the added layer of format grime is an utter treat. And considering there is no set release for this restoration on any physical media or streaming platform, catching it in the theater is absolutely crucial. Screening as part of Doc’s second Thursday series: Punks Behind the Camera. A recorded Q&A between LaBruce and Cine-File contributor Raphael Jose Martinez precedes the film. (1991, 73 min, DCP Digital) [Raphael Jose Martinez]

Jacques Audiard’s PARIS, 13TH DISTRICT (France)

Gene Siskel Film Center – See Venue website for showtimes

Though it’s adapted from three works by American cartoonist Adrian Tomine, Jacques Audiard’s generational portrait PARIS, 13TH DISTRICT couldn’t feel more French in terms of its filmmaking. The exacting black-and-white photography frequently recalls Philippe Garrel’s films, while the drift-like narrative structure, which reflects the way the characters float in and out of sexual relationships, resembles those favored by André Téchiné. (The second similarity can’t be coincidental; Céline Sciamma, who cowrote this, also worked on the script of a recent Téchiné feature, BEING 17 [2016].) This isn’t to say that Audiard’s film is derivative; it just falls into a very French tradition of movies that comment or expand on other movies. Audiard marries his creative reference points to his own ongoing concerns—principally, the makeup of contemporary, multicultural France—and in this regard the film plays like a follow-up to A PROPHET (2009) or DHEEPAN (2015). One of the main characters, Camille, is of African descent; another, Émilie, is Chinese. Audiard regards their intense, short-lived affair as a sociologically fascinating, only-in-Paris phenomenon, and the sex scenes manage to be erotic in spite of this. After the two protagonists split up, the plot shifts focus from Camille and Émilie to consider another character who lives in the neighborhood: Nora, a thirty-something woman just entering law school who discovers she resembles a popular webcam sex performer. How Nora’s story intersects with the other characters’ is best experienced without reading about it first; this is the sort of movie where half the fun is watching the puzzle pieces of the script fall into place. Audiard and his cowriters are interested in how the sexual habits of a particular generation reflect their general ideas about love, responsibility, and social engagement—somewhat like what director Mike Nichols and cartoonist-cum-screenwriter Jules Feiffer did in CARNAL KNOWLEDGE (1971), although PARIS, 13TH DISTRICT feels much less tormented by comparison. (2021, 105 min, DCP Digital) [Ben Sachs]

Katsuhiro Ôtomo’s AKIRA (Japan/Animation)

Gene Siskel Film Center – Monday, 6pm

A cataclysmic explosion rips through Tokyo in 1988, reducing it to rubble. Within one minute, Katsuhiro Ôtomo sets the stage for his masterpiece AKIRA, which arguably would become one of the most—if not the most—influential anime films of all time. After the opening, Ôtomo jumps ahead to 2019. Neo Tokyo has been built next to the ruins of the old city, which is now a playground for biker gangs, troubled youths, and corrupt hands of the law. Despite a period of patriotism and rebuilding, the new city has plunged into chaos, reminiscent of the blast that destroyed what once stood before. Our protagonist, Kaneda, and the eventual antagonist, Tetsuo, are up to shenanigans with their motorcycle crew when they get tangled in a web of politics, money, and supernatural abilities. After Tetsuo’s chance encounter with a psychic child who miraculously appears to be decrepitly aged, Ôtomo shows how quickly power can corrupt. Tetsuo himself begins to exhibit these psychic powers, his surge in ability causing unstable hallucinations and agonizing pain. We slowly learn these abilities derive from a mysterious being named Akira. Some say Akira is a God, bringing about a cleansing of the Earth; others say Akira is pure energy that should be controlled and used as a weapon for the military. If Akira is, as some aver, a God meant to bring about a new world, what is the catalyst necessary to bring about its arrival? Tetsuo becomes the necessary vessel, an amalgamation of flesh and cold steel that has been corrupted by the cruel world around him. Speed is constant force throughout the film, and it's driven by Shoji Yamashiro’s haunting soundtrack. The world keeps spinning, unrelenting for any person or thing. Thankfully for Kaneda, he and his bike are constantly ahead of the capital steamroller, his taillights leaving a beautiful blur for the rest of the world to stare at in envy. AKIRA is necessary viewing for any fans of anime or the cyberpunk genre, and it gets better with every revisit. Screening as part of 50/50, the Film Center’s year-long series including a film from each year the theater has been open. (1988, 124 mins, DCP Digital) [Drew Van Weelden]

Jane Schoenbrun's WE'RE ALL GOING TO THE WORLD'S FAIR (US)

Music Box Theatre – See Venue website for showtimes

Here in 2022, it seems we’re finally shedding some well-worn tropes about how to depict the internet on film. At a stage when webcam horror has been played out for a number of years (and considering there are only so many ways to dramatize message notifications), how does a filmmaker hope to capture the omnipresent role of the internet in our lives without resorting to the usual cliches? Enter Jane Schoenbrun’s WE'RE ALL GOING TO THE WORLD'S FAIR. Schoenbrun has been a mainstay of independent film for the last six years, heading up projects like experimental TV show The Eyeslicer and dreamy anthology COLLECTIVE: UNCONSCIOUS (2016) and also lending their talents as a producer to indie oddities like CHAINED FOR LIFE (2018) and TUX AND FANNY (2019). WORLD'S FAIR, their debut feature, continues Schoenbrun’s creative hot streak by flipping the script on internet horror, exploring the ups and downs of the digital world in all of its mess. Newcomer Anna Cobb anchors the film as Casey, a lonely teenager who spends most of her free time (and much of the film’s runtime) running a small YouTube channel. In the opening scene, Casey begins the "World’s Fair Challenge," where the participants repeat "I want to go to the world’s fair" on camera several times à la CANDYMAN, wipe a bit of their blood on their monitor, and wait for strange things to start happening to them. It’s clear that Casey is seeking a sense of community by participating in the post-capitalist hellscape of the internet, where self-expression is rewarded mostly by how well one fits themselves into established memes on established platforms. Casey’s view counts suggest she has been shouting into the void for a while now, which is taking its toll on her mental health and setting her up to be a living creepypasta. The film doesn't repeat the usual “Is this real or inside my head?” question; both possibilities are equally scary, since most of the depersonalization that Casey describes is consistent with severe depression. Whether or not the supernatural elements come to bear, someone still develops a double-consciousness about their problems, coping with the difficulties of life by turning them into objects of horror. The approach is a sort-of corrective for the preponderance of trauma-plot horror films—here is a character who exists in our world, where trauma can sell quite well if you know how to package it. Schoenbrun’s skills as a director are numerous, but maybe the most significant derives from their experience as a producer. Their penchant for editing anthologies comes to bear on the fake viral video collages that break up Casey’s increasingly disturbing video diaries, with material coming from a diverse list of collaborators that includes filmmakers Theo Anthony and Albert Birney as well as ASMR artist Slight Sounds. While the variety of approaches to the subject is refreshing on its own, Schoenbrun’s editing rhythms heighten the material, expertly re-creating the real-life discomfort of seeing a timeline where shitposts and footage of war crimes pop up back-to-back. Perhaps more important is Schoenbrun’s empathy toward Casey, a young and confused woman with a codependent relationship with the internet. Eschewing moralistic didacticism, Schoenbrun lets the conflicts play out ambiguously, particularly when an anonymous older man begins contacting Casey about her videos. On the one hand, any grown man reaching out to a teenager online should send up immediate red flags. On the other, he seems to be the only one actually concerned about Casey’s health. Will the internet be Casey’s savior or downfall? Schoenbrun asks, why not both? (2021, 86 min, DCP Digital) [Maxwell Courtright]

Asghar Farhadi's A HERO (Iran)

Doc Films (at the University of Chicago) – Saturday, 7pm

With such films as ABOUT ELLY (2009), A SEPARATION (2011), and THE SALESMAN (2016), Asghar Farhadi established himself as a master of intricate, morally complex social dramas. Concerned with how seemingly small actions can carry wide-reaching social, economic, and political implications—particularly within and across the stringent societal dictates of Iran—he has cultivated a taut, character-driven style that builds both suspense and intellectual frisson out of snowballing ethical quagmires. After the relative disappointment of his Spanish-language EVERYBODY KNOWS (2018), Farhadi returns to his bailiwick with A HERO. Amir Jadidi plays Rahim, a sign painter in debtor’s prison for failing to pay back a loan to his aggrieved creditor, Bahram (Mohsen Tanabandeh). During a short leave, Rahim comes into possession of what could be his ticket out of jail: a handbag containing 17 gold coins, found by his girlfriend at a bus stop. However, when this turns out to not be worth enough, he decides to return the bag to its owner. For his allegedly altruistic deed, Rahim is hailed as a hero by the media, given a certificate of merit from a prisoners’ charity, and offered a job in the city council. What we see that these groups don’t is that Rahim’s publicized story of civic goodness is not as he claims. Gradually, his relatively minor misrepresentations branch out into a latticework of face-saving lies and ethical predicaments in which nearly everyone, from the prison warden to the leader of the charity, becomes complicit. A HERO continues to prove Farhadi’s adeptness at navigating a sprawling cast of three-dimensional characters with divergent backgrounds and vantages, whose personal stakes he parcels out with a rigor befitting a procedural thriller. He doesn’t make value judgments on their decisions, as there’s always another unexpected wrinkle to complicate the situation, always another (and then another) detail to problematize our sympathies. The RASHOMON-esque perspectives of his dense script are further compounded by the presence of social media, a timely device Farhadi uses to comment on the propagation of fraudulent narratives by opportunistic actors. A HERO may not be as grand as A SEPARATION or have as engrossing a central performance as THE SALESMAN, but it’s just as effective at getting us to look beyond judgment-minded systems and their reductive logics to acknowledge the fallible, multifaceted humanity of which we’re all part. Screening as part of Doc’s Saturday New Releases series. (2021, 127 min, DCP Digital) [Jonathan Leithold-Patt]

Pierre Pinaud’s THE ROSE MAKER (France)

Music Box Theatre – See Venue website for showtimes

The French have long taken pride in the artisanal products family-owned businesses have made for hundreds of years—wine, cheese, couture clothing, perfume. However, the economies of scale and mechanization that have arisen under late capitalism have eroded individual craftsmanship and squeezed out small producers. THE ROSE MAKER looks at this process in the rose cultivar business. Eve Vernet (a brilliant Catherine Frot) is barely making a go of her rose-making business and is in danger of being bought up by industrial rose maker Lamarzelle (Vincent Dedienne). With the help of her longtime assistant, Véra (Olivia Côte), and three low-cost workers from a rehabilitation shelter (Fatsah Bouyahmed, Marie Petiot, and Manel Foulgoc), Eve hopes to win an important rose-breeding competition and the cash and buyer demand that come with it by stealing a rare rose from Lamarzelle’s compound and creating a new hybrid. Director Pierre Pinaud suggests a comedy spy caper, complete with 007-style music written by Mathieu Lamboley, as the motley crew breaks into Lamarzelle’s rare rose house, but his main focus is on how Eve and her crew form a family of sorts dedicated to bringing beauty into the world despite the odds. This soulful film reminds us that there’s a whole lot more to life than just making money—or roses. (2022, 94 min, DCP Digital) [Marilyn Ferdinand]

🎞️ PHYSICAL SCREENINGS/EVENTS –
ALSO SCREENING

⚫ Block Cinema (at Northwestern University)
George Tillman, Jr.’s 2013 film THE INEVITABLE DEFEAT OF MISTER AND PETE (108 min, DCP Digital) screens on Friday at 6pm (note the early start time). Miriam Petty (Professor in Screen Cultures, Associate Dean for Academic Programs) and Nick Davis (Professor of English and Gender & Sexuality Studies) will join Golden M. Owens (PhD Candidate in Screen Cultures) for a post-screening discussion about the film. Free admission. More info here.

⚫ Doc Films (at the University of Chicago)
Yvonne Welbon’s 1995 short film REMEMBERING WEI YI-FANG, REMEMBERING MYSELF (30 min, 16mm) and Camille Billops and James Hatch’s 1991 film FINDING CHRISTA (55 min, Digital Projection) screen on Monday at 7pm as part of Doc’s Monday series: An Open Window: Black Female Directors Across the Diaspora. The Chicago-based Welbon will introduce the screening.

Ritesh Batra’s 2013 Indian film THE LUNCHBOX (104 min, 35mm) screens on Sunday at 7pm as part of Doc’s Sunday series: Food, the Common Tongue: Loves, Rages, and Delights of Gastro-Cinema.

Alexander Cassini’s STAR TIME (85 min, DCP Digital) screens on Tuesday at 7pm as part of Doc’s Tuesday series: Neo-Noir ‘92. More info on all screenings here. 

⚫ Facets Cinema
Rusty Cundieff’s 1995 horror anthology TALES FROM THE HOOD (98 min, Digital Projection) screens on Thursday at 9:30pm as part of the Halfway to Halloween series. The screening takes place after Facets’ monthly Film Trivia hosted by local programmer Mike Vanderbilt and Cine-File contributor Raphael Jose Martinez. More info here. 

⚫ Film Studies Center
Screening on Friday starting at 7pm as part of the 2022 Department of Cinema and Media Studies graduate conference “Silly Media” are a newly commissioned animated short from Cressa Maeve Beer; Jordan Wong’s 2020 “horny desktop film” MOUNTAIN LODGE; and Steven Quale’s 2011 film FINAL DESTINATION 5 in 3D. 2011-2022, 105 min, DCP and Digital Projection. More info here. 

⚫ Gene Siskel Film Center
Fanny Liatard and Jérémy Trouilh’s 2022 French film GAGARINE (97 min, DCP Digital) begins screening this week. See Venue website for showtimes. 

Nicholas Hytner’s 2022 National Theatre Live presentation of The Book of Dust (180 min, Digital Projection)screens Sunday at 2pm. More info on all screenings here.

🎞️ LOCAL ONLINE SCREENINGS –
ALSO SCREENING/STREAMING

⚫ Facets Cinema
Ivaylo Hristov’s 2020 Bulgarian film FEAR (100 min) is available to rent through Thursday. More info here.

⚫ Media Burn Archive
On Thursday at 6pm, as part of their “Virtual Talks with Video Activists” series, Media Burn Archive hosts documentarian Irene Sosa for a virtual screening and discussion of a 30 minute work-in-progress segment of her interactive documentary DEEDEE HALLECK: A VISIONARY, with a discussion moderated by Angela J. Aguayo, Associate Professor in the Department of Media and Cinema Studies at the University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign. More info here.

⚫ Video Data Bank
“Spring with Mike Kuchar” is available to stream for free on VDB TV. The program includes Kuchar’s SUNLIT SORCERY (2022, 34 min), composed of his works ECHO’S GARDEN (2010), A MIDSUMMER’S NIGHTMARE (2008) and THE VERNAL ZONE (2008), and Oscar Oldershaw’s AN AFTERNOON WITH MIKE KUCHAR (2014, 32 min). More info here.

CINE-LIST: April 22 - April 28, 2022

MANAGING EDITORS // Ben and Kat Sachs

CONTRIBUTORS // Maxwell Courtright, Steve Erickson, Megan Fariello, Marilyn Ferdinand, Jonathan Leithold-Patt, Raphael Jose Martinez, Michael Metzger, Michael Glover Smith, Drew Van Weelden, K.A. Westphal