:: FRIDAY, MAY 30 - THURSDAY, JUNE 5 ::

📽️ CRUCIAL VIEWING

John Ford’s MY DARLING CLEMENTINE (US)

Chicago Film Society at the Music Box Theatre – Saturday, 2pm

You can get into the historical inaccuracies of MY DARLING CLEMENTINE just like you can with any of Shakespeare’s history plays, and much to the same unsatisfying end. That’s because John Ford, like Shakespeare, was never interested in dramatizing the historical record—or in creating myths, for that matter—but in using elements of the national past to reflect on enduring aspects of the national character. Nominally about the events leading up to the legendary gunfight at the O.K. Corral, MY DARLING CLEMENTINE would be more accurately described as a meditation on duty, camaraderie, courtship, and the project of building European-style civilization upon an untamed North American wilderness. Despite the grandness of these themes, the film proceeds largely through modest, unhurried scenes that allow the spectator to luxuriate in the fine points of style and characterization, which may be the most Shakespearean thing about it. The relationship between Wyatt Earp (Henry Fonda) and Doc Holliday (Victor Mature) forms the heart of the movie; it represents a classic Fordian bond between two unalike people—in this case, a reluctant marshal and an alcoholic, tubercular gambler who gave up his career as a doctor—who are united in their willingness to do good by their community. One of the highlights of MY DARLING CLEMENTINE occurs about a third of the way in and depicts the first encounter between these two men, when the lion-like Holliday tries to provoke the cool-headed Earp into drawing a gun in a saloon; Earp figuratively disarms Holliday when he reveals he isn't carrying a gun, and the men share a drink. The triumph of reason over brute force presages the film’s single most iconic sequence: the church-raising ceremony in Tombstone, where Earp dances with the titular Clementine and a harmonious sense of society seems to blossom miraculously out of the desert soil. It follows that this sequence takes place during the day, since all the scenes depicting uncertainty and lawlessness are set at night. The evocative nighttime photography of MY DARLING CLEMENTINE (credited to Joe MacDonald) may be this long-praised film’s most undervalued asset, with lush, enveloping darknesses that allude to the expressionist Ford of AIR MAIL (1932) and THE INFORMER (1935). There are times, in fact, when this feels more like a film noir than a western, and that speaks not only to Ford’s mastery of light and shadow, but his ability to channel feelings of dread. If the film’s scenes of society-building feel so satisfying, that’s because Ford also acknowledges (through the presence of the villainous Clanton family) their moral opposite, the dangerous elements of humanity that we need the law to protect us from. The director, with characteristic self-deprecation, called MY DARLING CLEMENTINE a children’s film because of its stark division between good and bad guys; needless to say, this downplays the rich supporting cast of characters, who are not so easy to pin down as the leads. In addition to Holliday, there’s Linda Darnell’s Chihuahua, a singer of ill repute who faces death with surprising nobility; Cathy Downs’ Clementine, who follows Doc across the country, only to face the indignity of not being wanted by him when she finds him; and Alan Mowbray’s itinerant Shakespearean actor Granville Thorndyke, one of the more memorable clowns in Ford’s oeuvre but nonetheless the recipient of a moment of resonant pathos. (Mowbray would play a variation on this character a few years later in Ford’s WAGON MASTER [1950].) Through his humane, nuanced rendering of minor characters (who sometimes overshadow the major ones), Ford evokes concern for society as a whole—and it is this concern, the director argues, that forms the basis of heroism. Preceded by the 1940 Fleischer Studios cartoon short SHAKESPEAREAN SPINACH (6 min, 16mm). (1946, 97 min, 35mm) [Ben Sachs]

Robert Altman's M*A*S*H (US)

Gene Siskel Film Center – Wednesday, 6pm

A crucial film in Robert Altman's filmography, if not necessarily one of the best, this is significant for being Altman's first major commercial success, thereby paving the way for one of the most fascinating—and downright unpredictable—careers of any Hollywood director. The movie marks Altman's first experiment with overlapping dialogue: some scenes have as many as four conversations going on at once. As in subsequent Altman features, the organized cacophony was achieved through an atmosphere of much improvisation. By some accounts, less than one-quarter of the dialogue that made it into the final cut had been scripted. (Ironically, the movie still won the Academy Award for Best Original Screenplay.) The movie's success has less to do with its technical innovation, however, than with Altman's anti-authoritarian views, which struck a deep chord with the anti-war movement of the time. Though M*A*S*H was set during the Korean War, Altman removed all references to Korea during editing so that the setting might be mistaken for Vietnam. The jivey and often sick humor—which, in hindsight, screams late-60s counterculture—only makes things blurrier. Screening as part of the Robert Altman Centennial series. (1970, 116 min, 35mm) [Ben Sachs]

Robert Aldrich's WHAT EVER HAPPENED TO BABY JANE? (US)

Gene Siskel Film Center – Monday, 5:45pm

One of Aldrich's secret weapons was composer Frank De Vol, with whom he worked multiple times. Better known as simply DeVol, he churned out the theme songs as well as the incidental music for TV shows like Gilligan's Island and The Brady Bunch: catchy, yet generic-sounding stuff was his forte. He worked the other end of the spectrum too—check out his score for KISS ME DEADLY (1955). Aldrich knew that DeVol could be counted on to supply meat and potatoes cues like "Joan Uncovers the Rat" and "Bette Kicks the Shit Out of Joan." A sort of grotesque musical wallpaper, his music effectively magnifies shock and revulsion but without sufficient individuality to call attention to itself; DeVol was the anti-Bernard Herrmann. It's exactly what WHAT EVER requires. Aldrich keeps the focus squarely on Joan and Bette, the yin and yang of "has-been showbiz legends," playing Jane and Blanche, two made-up "has-been showbiz legends." Celebrity and "reality" and fiction blur together more deliciously than ever before or ever since. Screening as part of the Summer Camp series. (1962, 134 min, 35mm) [Rob Christopher]

Bleak Week: Cinema of Despair

Music Box Theatre – See showtimes below

Clint Eastwood's UNFORGIVEN (US)
Sunday, 2pm
What has made UNFORGIVEN the most unassailable entry in the Eastwood canon? You can’t say the man’s other movies are bereft of star power or that they aren’t as thrilling or dramatically engaging as this Best Picture winner. And you certainly can’t say that this treads different ground than his other films. It’s a curious case, trying to figure out what makes the general moviegoing public (and particularly viewers who love to measure Eastwood’s personal politics against the ideas embedded in his films) so stalwart in their appreciation for UNFORGIVEN. In many ways, it serves as the crystallization of everything that had been and would be communicated through his entire body of work. Beginning with an unusually touching introduction and finishing with a coda so heartbreaking as to challenge the torrents of tears brought about by THE BRIDGES OF MADISON COUNTY (1995), the film's bookends almost make you forget the rest of the plot: a small-dick cowboy carves up a prostitute’s face, resulting in her fellow saloon gals putting out a $1,000 bounty on the micro-penis-ed assailant, which prompts a retired murderer to abandon his children for a Homeric odyssey of mournful regret and shockingly vengeful violence. Bolstering the film’s representation as a summation of Eastwood’s work to that point, Clint dedicated it to his two great mentors: Sergio Leone and Don Siegel (who arguably helped create "Eastwood the Artist" through such films as DIRTY HARRY [1971], THE BEGUILED [1971], and ESCAPE FROM ALCATRAZ [1979]). Around the time Eastwood had finished his last film with Siegel, he received the script for UNFORGIVEN (when it was still called The Cut-Whore Killings) and thought to film it in the '80s, but he remained patient, waiting for the right time to mount the film. UNFORGIVEN takes a remarkably bold position, as it wipes away the mysticism Eastwood had once given his gunslingers in films like HIGH PLAINS DRIFTER (1973) and PALE RIDER (1985), along with the more digestible backstory elements that spurred the vengeful actions of THE OUTLAW JOSEY WALES (1976). It also provides a blueprint for a more hotly contested title of his, AMERICAN SNIPER (2014). William Munny (Eastwood) in UNFORGIVEN shares many traits with the rendering of Chris Kyle in SNIPER. Both of these guys hold serious loner status, along with shared pasts centered around the murder of women and children for blood money or bloody nationalism; yet Munny seems to understand the cost of his past as compared to Kyle, who appears castrated by the modern world in ways that hadn't existed in the Old West, unable to fully process his actions. UNFORGIVEN plainly reveals the hypocritical cowardice of the West's gunfighters and outlaws, while SNIPER relishes a certain Fordian cause-and-effect tactic that imbeds its critiques deeper into the movie’s construction, similar to what Ford did in THE LONG GRAY LINE (1955). SNIPER also does not contain much, if any, moments of comic relief, unlike UNFORGIVEN. Munny is as much a work of fiction as SNIPER’S version of Kyle who, in real life, was an across-the-board liar and cold-blooded murderer—much closer to someone like Munny—yet both of these characters have a foot in the real world. So, how are we to allow our sympathies for Munny but not Eastwood’s depiction of Kyle, who, yes, is based on an actual, once-breathing individual who was blasted through the skull by a fellow wannabe-mercenary? My point is, Munny and Kyle are renderings of the same character, though UNFORGIVEN has the benefit of being set in the distant past while the crimes of AMERICAN SNIPER are a lot closer to home. The strength of UNFORGIVEN has to do with how it can still provide insights into Eastwood’s increasingly murky later career, which includes films much-deserving of UNFORGIVEN’s solidified status. Eastwood’s main characters—like Harry Callahan, Chris Kyle, and William Munny—represent "constants in a changing world," one that was never meant to embolden meat-headed machismo or state-sanctioned violence, but instead challenge what lies inside the hearts of people raised in a country forever haunted by its own brutally violent past, present, and (most likely) future. With an introduction by Katie Rife. Also screening as part of the Films of Gene Hackman series. (1992, 130 min, 35mm) [John Dickson]
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Henri-Georges Clouzot's THE WAGES OF FEAR (France)
Sunday, 5pm
Though THE WAGES OF FEAR is often grouped with Clouzot's taut thrillers like DIABOLIQUE and THE RAVEN, it might be more appropriately labeled as a melodrama, as Pauline Kael originally suggested. The film takes place in a remote, dilapidated South American oil town home to French, Italian, and Dutch vagabond expatriates. With no means of escape or promising job opportunities, four men undertake the suicidal mission of transporting jerrycans of hazardous nitroglycerin to a raging fire at an oil field across the mountains. The gig pays well, but the stakes are high: they're warned that even the smallest bump or pothole will result in an instantaneous death. This plot device makes for one of the longest sequences of sustained suspense ever committed to film; however, the nitroglycerin is really just a pretext for an exploration into the fortitude of human nature under pressure. The central theme of THE WAGES OF FEAR, and of Clouzot's work on the whole, is trust (or a lack thereof). The film supports the idea of Clouzot as a misanthropic or nihilistic filmmaker, as evidenced by its absurd, almost Sartre-esque conclusion. Like THERE WILL BE BLOOD, the film captures the obsession and mania that seem like an inevitable byproduct in the quest for oil. Though THE WAGES OF FEAR isn't an explicitly political film, it is decidedly anti-American, offering a critique of corporate imperialism, indigenous exploitation, and a division of labor in which (for the underclass) work and death are essentially one and the same. (1953, 131 min, New 4K DCP Digital Restoration) [Harrison Sherrod]
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William Wyler’s THE HEIRESS (US)
Sunday, 11:30am
It’s a tale as old as time: Boy meets girl. Girl is supposedly unloveable, due to any number of qualities the absence of which necessarily deem a woman to be so. She’s homely—though, because no one in the movies can be ugly, beautiful actresses playing such parts are just made up to look it—and socially forlorn or even outright shunned because she’s also graceless, annoying, or disobliging, characteristics which, if overcome or further contextualized, will eventually be tolerated by a magnanimous suitor who will provide her with a fairytale ending. William Wyler’s THE HEIRESS, adapted from Augustus and Ruth Goetz’s 1947 play of the same name (the Goetzes also wrote the film’s screenplay), which is in turn based on Henry Jame’s 1880 novel Washington Square, demonstrates this up to a point. James couldn’t have possibly anticipated the longevity of the ugly duckling trope, but he did create a bleak apotheosis of it: a character presumably so lacking in beauty and charm that even her own father considers her a “mediocre and defenseless creature without a shred of poise,” whom no man could possibly love for any reason other than her considerable inheritance. Playing this character, Catherine, is Olivia de Havilland, too naturally beautiful to have been made to look ugly but nevertheless determined to portray this character with Wyler at the helm. (This was made following de Havilland’s momentous legal battles with Warner Bros, perhaps accounting for her resolve to play a character so egregiously underestimated.) André Bazin had thought Wyler to be an embodiment of his revered sectarianism to reality; though previously considered unadaptable, it then makes sense that someone like Wyler may have been able to crack James’ code, so to speak, crafting something at once startlingly plain-dealing yet still so evocative, much like Catherine herself proves to be. Montgomery Clift co-stars as the handsome young fortune hunter with whom she falls in love, the poor naif at first not realizing and then disbelieving that he could be after her only for her money. De Havilland physically embodies the character’s naïveté, literally wide-eyed and with a childlike tenor to her voice; it’s her physical countenance, then, that begins to shift as her family—her doctor father (Ralph Richardson), who’s still obsessed with his deceased wife, having made her the standard by which he judges even his own daughter, and her Aunt Lavinia (Miriam Hopkins)—reveal their low esteem of her, not believing that someone like Morris could genuinely love someone like her. It’s cruelty of the most insidious kind, cloaked by seeming affection. “Yes, I can be very cruel,” Catherine says later, having become, if any of the virtues her father initially thought lacking, wickedy defensive. “I have been taught by masters.” It’s formidable and empowering all the same, proving that while Catherine can’t be saved, she at least won’t be so easily forsaken. (1949, 115 min, 35mm) [Kat Sachs]
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Joel Coen & Ethan Coen’s A SERIOUS MAN (US)
Sunday, 8:15pm and Monday, 4pm
“Why does He make us feel the questions if He’s not going to give us any answers?” So asks Lawrence “Larry” Gopnik (a career-best Michael Stuhlbarg), a modern day Job drowning in a sea of compounding woes, begging for an explanation from a God that refuses to provide any answers, or perhaps a God pleading with Larry to understand that the answer is “there is no answer.” Much of Joel and Ethan Coen’s late 2000’s output is concerned with the triviality of life’s design, their highly acclaimed NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN (2007) wrestling with the random nature of the universe within a bloody neo-Western context, and BURN AFTER READING (2008) throwing their nihilistic leanings into a larger satirical playpen to reckon with socio-political matters. With A SERIOUS MAN, the Coens build something more intellectual and seemingly personal, pulling heavily from their childhood growing up in a predominantly Jewish neighborhood in Minnesota, to interrogate the tragi-comic pitfalls of faith. The Coens take us to the late 1960s, where, in the fateful two weeks leading up to his son’s Bar Mitzvah, Larry finds himself embroiled in the surprising end of his marriage, his wife hoping to remarry Sy Abelman, a booming and scene-stealing Fred Melamed. This, alongside a brewing controversy with a South Korean student who may or may not have bribed Larry for a passing grade (“Accept the mystery”), and on the eve of the tenure board deciding Larry’s academic fate, it’s no wonder a crisis of faith is in order. Perhaps Larry’s particular failing is his attempt to apply his own teachings as a physics teacher to his theological beliefs; yes, mathematics can provide understanding for Schrödinger's Paradox, but no such legibility exists for the whims of the universe. The Coens—similarly, and with maniacal glee—leave much room for ambiguity throughout the proceedings. Is the opening passage—a centuries-old, tone-perfect Yiddish folk tale of a husband and wife confronted by a dybbuk—a clue to the generational suffering of the Gopniks, or is it merely another story about our lack of certainty in an uncaring universe (Schrödinger's Dybbuk, perhaps)? Has Larry’s brother, Arthur (Richard Kind, no notes), actually uncovered the secrets of the universe through his bizarre probability map known as “The Mentaculus,” or has he just found a convenient outlet for his own depression and sexual repression? Does the ancient Rabbi Marshak have something meaningful to say in his recitation of the lyrics of “Somebody to Love,” or is he just a big fan of Jefferson Airplane? The joy, pain, awe, and magic of A SERIOUS MAN is how beautifully Jewish it all is, not just in subject matter, but in feeling and tone and theme, in wrestling with the horrors of the world just as Jacob wrestled with the angel in Genesis. Is it a sheer coincidence that amongst the valuables stored in Rabbi Marshak’s office lies a painting of “The Binding of Isaac,” a Biblical trial that makes as much logical sense as Rabbi Nachtner’s story of the “The Goy’s Teeth” uttered earlier in the film? For those who refuse to accept the open ends and unanswerable questions of A SERIOUS MAN, just remember the great scholar Rashi and his quotation that opens the film: “Receive with simplicity everything that happens to you.” (2009, 105 min, 35mm) [Ben Kaye]
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Kelly Reichardt's WENDY AND LUCY (US)
Monday, 6:30pm
"You know, scientifically speaking, Marian," says Matthew Modine in SHORT CUTS (1993), "there's no such thing as beyond natural color." Is there such a thing as beyond naturalism? If there is, Reichardt has moved beyond it, beyond even neorealism, using an unvarnished eye to fashion impressionistic portraits of characters who inhabit very specific times and places. Though she's made only a handful of films, a randomly chosen moment from any one of them bears her distinct sensibility. That's a great reason to revisit one of her previous masterpieces (though "masterpiece" seems like a pretentious way to describe this simple, heartbreaking story about loneliness). WENDY AND LUCY is centered on an outstanding performance by Michelle Williams and a painterly eye for the environs of Oregon. Anyone who's ever spent time in the Pacific Northwest will savor details like the greenness of the grass in an empty field or the slow clatter of a freight train going by. It's a small gem that has all the Americana of a John Ford movie yet recalls the naturalism of VAGABOND and even UMBERTO D. And like those movies it's about people literally living hand to mouth, an existence where a gift of $6 (which occurs towards the end) is truly a sacrifice. Owing much to co-screenwriter Jon Raymond's fiction, it unfolds like a perfectly constructed novella. (2008, 80 min, 35mm) [Rob Christopher]
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Albert & Allen Hughes' DEAD PRESIDENTS (US)
Tuesday, 6:30pm and Wednesday, 4:15pm
Fredric Jameson wrote that the caper film and the war film share “the same abstract structure, the same variety of character types and clashes, the same as it were sealed social world,” and Albert and Allen Hughes’s DEAD PRESIDENTS takes this thesis as the springboard for their dive into the epic of Black life in the twentieth century. Replacing the low-level POV of their debut MENACE II SOCIETY with a widescreen canvas, the story—adapted freely from Wallace Terry’s Bloods: Black Veterans of the Vietnam War: An Oral History—spans several years in the lives of its characters between 1968 and 1973, from their Bronx neighborhood to Quang Tri Province and back. Beginning in medias res with images of white-painted faces from the explosive truck heist climax, which also served as the marketing hook, the film flashes back to trace a long road to this crime, arguing that behind the grimiest headlines are histories no less worthy of the Hollywood treatment. Like many of their indie contemporaries, the Hughes brothers were precocious autodidacts raised on trips to the theater and video store who set out to make a Black masterpiece worthy of the film school canon; the ensemble includes actors on loan from GOODFELLAS (Tony Sirico, Michael Imperioli), UNFORGIVEN (Jaimz Woolvett), and PLATOON (Keith David), while a brief nightmare sequence expands the template with hallucinatory gore worthy of Lucio Fulci. The Scorsese influence surfaces immediately in the opening act, where Anthony Curtis (Larenz Tate, whose bashful charm fades into resentment over the runtime) belongs to a good family with college ambitions for him, but admires the local numbers runner (David), a gangster who lost a leg in Korea. Desiring to make his mark, he enlists in the Marines and ships out for Vietnam, alongside childhood friend Skip (Chris Tucker) and a psychotic preacher’s son, Cleon (Bokeem Woodbine). Returning home to a cold, indifferent welcome, the veterans learn the lesson every generation of Black soldiers before them have, and find another means of branding their names upon the world. As a Vietnam movie, the screenplay’s treatment glides over the meaning of the war in favor of spectacle and savagery, more concerned with its economic and psychic aftereffects on a generation of servicemen seeking a common cause in the aftermath of the turbulent ‘60s. Having transitioned from music videos, the Hughes brothers are most successful when conjuring a mood and attitude through songs that cut through the haze of history. The gold-certified period soundtrack includes Gamble & Huff, Motown, and Stax recordings, with “Just My Imagination” playing like a taunt under the scene where Tate and Tucker discuss the allure of the home front, suggesting soul music as the mirage of Black success, a defaulted promissory note. The finale’s leitmotif is Isaac Hayes’s sprawling funk cover of “Walk On By," a grandiloquent treatment of the Bacharach and David melody that claims an omnipresent pop phenomenon for the artist’s inimitable voice and swagger. (1995, 119 min, 35mm) [Brendan Boyle]
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Akihiro Suzuki’s LOOKING FOR AN ANGEL (Japan)
Tuesday, 9:15pm
There’s a compelling through line connecting Dogme 95 films, Akihiro Suzuki’s LOOKING FOR AN ANGEL, and the early 2000s output of the InDigEnt label. Straddling two centuries, these works quietly rewrote cinematic language. With the rise of consumer-grade filmmaking and the falling price of MiniDV cameras, filmmaking shifted from the elite to the accessible. The dream of making a movie was suddenly within reach. Audiences, too, were evolving—trained to see beyond a camcorder image. Whether it was the plastic bag sequence in AMERICAN BEAUTY (1999) or the camera-shaking dread of THE BLAIR WITCH PROJECT (1999), digital aesthetics became part of our visual literacy. The dull ache and tragedy of everyday life hid behind digital curtains: in DANCER IN THE DARK (2000), Lars von Trier layered despair through pixelated digital footage, letting 35mm serve as the space of fantasy. MiniDV didn’t just represent reality—it became reality. Enter LOOKING FOR AN ANGEL, a digital video elegy swimming through the fragmented memories of the protagonist, Takachi, a young man recently deceased. Rejecting the polish of commercial cinema, it opens with the phrase “Piss Factory Presents”—an irreverent prelude to what feels like found footage from the soul. Characters drift in and out like ghosts, half-formed and haunting. The result is less narrative than sensation: part video diary, part travelogue, part social media feed. Shot in MiniDV, the film eschews structure for something more fragile and intimate. Had Suzuki used celluloid, the reflection of humanity may have been lost. Instead, through the compression and blur of digital footage, he offers glimpses of a vanished friend. Just over an hour long, LOOKING FOR AN ANGEL feels like a whispered memory—aching with grief and steeped in camcorder sincerity. Suzuki’s portrait is deeply queer, not just in identity but in form. He calls the film “not straight, gay, queer, bisexual, non-sexual or porn,” but “anti-heterosexist.” What results is a shoegaze-inflected requiem: melancholic, gentle, and defiantly unclassifiable. The lo-fi aesthetic—blurry focus, inconsistent lighting, abrupt cuts—mirrors memory itself: unreliable, fleeting, and sometimes viciously sharp. Takachi, a gay man and former porn star, is found dead—possibly murdered by a hookup. His death is the film’s center of gravity through which memories, half-truths, and friendships orbit. Reiko and her friend Shinpei visit Takochi’s hometown of Kochi before his death. “All boys seem to be angels there,” he says. But Kochi is also where he will be lost. The film’s blue hue, initially suggesting a camera without white balance, becomes something more poetic—mourning as color palette. The grain softens cityscapes into memory, evoking nostalgia’s hazy blur. Ehoes of Harmony Korine’s '90s digital work meet the momentary queer joy expressed by Gregg Araki. But Suzuki’s vision is wholly his own—quietly radical, deeply Japanese, and profoundly moving. Sex in Suzuki’s film is not a centerpiece, but a fleeting touch of intimacy. Encounters are quiet, sometimes off-screen, charged not with eroticism but a longing for connection, for kindness. In Takachi’s final monologue, he pleads, “Be gentle with me. I always wanted people to be gentle.” It’s a wish to be held a moment longer before the world slips away. At a recent Queer East 2025 screening, Suzuki revealed that actor Kōichi Imaizumi—who played Takachi—has since passed. The film was already a reverent elegy; now it’s also a memorial. LOOKING FOR AN ANGEL is a mixtape of memory, grief, and tenderness—a lo-fi lullaby for those we've lost and those we can never fully know. (1999, 61 min, DCP Digital) [Shaun Huhn]
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Yorgos Lanthimos' DOGTOOTH (Greece)
Wednesday, 7pm and Thursday, 9:30pm
Mention of the words "Greek" and "cinema" in the same sentence often provokes shudders from veteran filmgoers. The fact is, one is used to seeing the same touristic views of the southeastern European country in film after film; the same easygoing, slightly quirky story of an extended family (usually staring Irene Pappas) set against a Mediterranean paradise. Either that, or the latest chef d'oeuvre by Theo Angelopoulos, who is to Greece what Manoel de Oliveira has become to Portugal. The novelty of Greek cinema seems to have worn off years ago (in the not too distant past the Film Center even offered a yearly spotlight on the country), and now one can finally look beyond it to individual works. On the surface and at its core, DOGTOOTH has very little in common with some of the dominant characteristics associated with Greek cinema: it's set mostly in interiors (a single house, in fact); the characters at the center of the film are completely atypical, in fact, totally balls-out nuts by any national standards; and its style is closer to Ulrich Seidl or Harmony Korine in the way it flattens out space, often capturing its protagonists in awkward, slightly off-center compositions. DOGTOOTH is a real oddity, and as such it merits close attention. Expertly straddling dark, Buñuelian humor with psychological horror, the film centers on three kids who are held captive by their parents at a remote estate. Even when the film's central contrivance becomes perfectly coherent, the film never loses its fascination or mystery. Director Yorgos Lanthimos' approach is to shoot and edit as if each scene were a loose fragment, so that small details or clues are teased out in the elaborate narrative. A discussion piece, if there was ever one, and a film that grows with multiple viewings. With an introduction by Katie Rife. (2009, 96 min, New 4K DCP Digital Restoration) [Gabe Klinger]
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Also screening as part of Bleak Week are Roman Polanski’s 1974 film CHINATOWN (131 min, 35mm) on Monday, 8:30pm and Tuesday, 3:15pm and Michael Ritchie’s 1972 film PRIME CUT (88 min, 35mm) on Wednesday, 9pm.

Sapphopalooza at the Music Box

Music Box Theatre – See showtimes below

Lilly & Lana Wachowski's BOUND (US) [SOLD OUT]

Friday, 7pm

At the Music Box several years ago following a screening of BOUND, Lana Wachowski shared that part of the inspiration for making the film was a traumatic viewing of SILENCE OF THE LAMBS. Lana had not transitioned yet, but she had struggled with her gender identity since childhood; she was physically shaken by yet another disturbing depiction of trans identity and queerness as psychopathic pathology. The Wachowskis were determined to create something different: an engrossing, entertaining genre film that didn't criminalize or pathologize queerness. The result, BOUND, is an incredibly entertaining debut from the directing duo who would go on to make THE MATRIX trilogy, CLOUD ATLAS, and the very queer sci fi series SENSE8. BOUND stays true to its genre as a film noir set in Chicago (the Wachowskis' home town) with sumptuous cinematography by Bill Pope, who went on to collaborate with them on the first three MATRIX installments. BOUND tells a tightly wound (pun intended!) heist story centered around Corky (Gina Gershon), an ex-con and expert thief, who meets Violet (Jennifer Tilly), a high femme mob moll looking to get out of the family business. Sparks fly when Corky and Violet meet in the elevator of an art deco high rise and Violet pursues Corky aggressively with big Barbra Stanwyck energy. The first third of BOUND features a series of erotically charged moments that thrilled the queer community at the time with their authenticity, in large part because the Wachowskis hired Susie Bright, a queer writer, activist, and self-proclaimed "sexpert," to consult on the film. (Bright also has a brief cameo at "The Watering Hole," a classic lesbian dive bar filled with Bright's friends from the San Francisco dyke scene.) Things get complicated after Corky and Violet decide to pilfer $2 million from Violet's lover, Caesar (Joe Pantoliano). In a Bogart-esque performance that descends into wild paranoia, Caesar derails Corky and Violet's careful plan to pit him against his mortal enemy, Johnnie Marzzone (Christopher Meloni). BOUND is a delight to watch on many levels: for the lesbian love story, the oh-so-'90s interior design of the claustrophobic film set, the suspenseful heist plot, and the creative visual and sound design that build a lush, atmospheric viewing experience. With post-screening discussion between director Lilly Wachowski and Annie Howard. (1996, 105 min, 35mm) [Alex Ensign]

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Cheryl Dunye's THE WATERMELON WOMAN (US)

Saturday and Sunday, 11:30am

It’s 1997 in Philadelphia, but Cheryl (Cheryl Dunye) can’t get her mind off the 1930s. An aspiring filmmaker who pays the bills by juggling various wedding gigs and shifts at a video store, Cheryl becomes fascinated by an obscure film actress named Fae Richards—also known as The Watermelon Woman—who played Black “mammy” roles throughout the ‘30s. Cheryl turns this obsession into her first real film project, a documentary that leads to a journey of finding forgotten pieces of Black lesbian history and filmmaking. At the same time, Cheryl navigates her budding relationship with a white woman, Diana (Guinevere Turner), often mirroring Richards’ rumored relationship with director Martha Page. Dunye makes it clear that THE WATERMELON WOMAN is both a Black film and a lesbian film, and that acknowledging the importance of how those identities relate to one another is integral to understanding a broader picture of queer history in America. This is not a film that cares about a white gaze—nor should it—but it is crucial viewing all the same. The dialogue is sometimes charming, sometimes awkward, and always laugh-out-loud funny, making THE WATERMELON WOMAN a breeze to watch. But there is real heart and substance in addition to all that; the yearning for a past that was never yours, a future that isn’t quite here yet, and an identity that guides how you move through the world. Co-presented by Cortlyn Kelly / The Art Idiot. (1997, 90 min, DCP Digital) [Cody Corrall]

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Rosa von Praunheim's CITY OF LOST SOULS

Chicago Filmmakers – Friday, 7pm

German director Rosa von Praunheim is certainly not an unknown filmmaker, but much of his work is nearly impossible to see in the U.S.; only a small handful of his more than 150 features and documentaries are currently available on home video or streaming platforms. A shame, given his importance as a pioneer of queer cinema and as an early figure of New German Cinema. Praunheim began directing in the late 1960s, along with compatriot gay German directors Werner Schroeter and Rainer Werner Fassbinder, though he would be less associated with the New German Cinema movement than as a central and influential maker of queer cinema. In contrast to Schroeter's formal play and Fassbinder's lacerating character studies, Praunheim would quickly adopt an unapologetically camp aesthetic, that mixed comedy, bad taste, and exaggerated stereotypes with pointed political and cultural critiques, sometimes controversially aimed at his own gay community, and with a keen appreciation of history. His 1983 film CITY OF LOST SOULS exemplifies the various strains in his work. It, like many of his films, is concerned with individuals on the fringes of society. Here, we have an ensemble work about American émigrés living in Germany who collectively represent a wide range of queer, trans, and drag identities, starring performers who are playing variants of themselves (most prominently punk singer Jayne County). The film follows their intersecting lives (all either work at Angie Stardust's hamburger stand or live at her pension), as they contend with relationship issues, work problems, accidents, religious epiphanies, rivalries, in-fighting, and a broader society that views them as permanent outsiders. Think R.W. Fassbinder meets Robert Altman meets John Waters. And add some musical numbers. It's a delirious and wonderfully uncouth film that pokes its finger in a lot of eyes, isn't afraid to reveal warts, and tries hard to have a good time, damn the naysayers. What keeps it from being too sharp or cynical, though, is Praunheim's obvious care for these individuals (both the characters and the performers, as they're basically one-in-the-same). There's an underlying tenderness, beneath the crass and exaggerated surface. Presented in collaboration with the Goethe-Institute Chicago as part of the Berlin Nights series. (1983, 91 min, Digital Projection) [Patrick Friel]

Harley Cokeliss’ DREAM DEMON (UK)

Music Box Theatre – Friday, 11:45pm

While the title might be evocative of the NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET series, DREAM DEMON presents its story quite differently. With soft lighting throughout and a wistful score by experimental musician Bill Nelson, the film is reminiscent of other UK horror fantasy crossover features of the time from more well-known directors like Ken Russell and Neil Jordan; the dreamchild featured throughout the film is played by Annabelle Lanyon, who also has a memorable performance as a fairy in Ridley Scott’s LEGEND. In DREAM DEMON, director Harley Cokeliss brings much not just stylistically but also thematically to what on the surface appears to be a familiar setup. Diana (Jemma Redgrave) is having nightmares about her impending marriage to the self-absorbed, wealthy Oliver (Mark Greenstreet). While at first these terrifying visions seem like normal premarital nerves, it becomes clear that there’s something more sinister under the surface of these disturbing dreams, almost all of which involve violent men. When Diana is accosted by two persistent and repulsive investigative journalists (Jimmy Nail and Timothy Spall), interested in sordid details about her sex life with Oliver, she is aided by an American woman named Jenny (Kathleen Wilhoite). Jenny’s parents, whom she has no memory of, once resided in Diana’s current house. As Diana’s dreams become more intense, impacting the real world, it’s clear there’s a strong connection between these nightmares and Jenny’s past. Cokeliss includes a lot of unnerving close-ups and low angles, in and out of the dream state, focusing on both everyday and extreme acts of sexual violence and misogyny; the impressive horror effects are grounded in very real abuse. DREAM DEMON both implicitly and explicitly addresses the fears women have of men; it feels often daring in its directness. Jenny’s initial appearance is presented as heroic, and the relationship between the two women becomes the film’s main story. They need each other to navigate this horror, and while DREAM DEMON might start off as a film about Diana’s anxieties about marrying a man, its core ends up being an empowering sapphic romance. Programmed and presented by SUPER-HORROR-RAMA. Every ticket includes a limited edition pinback button, and every show kicks off with giveaways donated by the Shadowboxery, Cryptid Craft Studio, Night Natalie, Drive-In Asylum, and House of Monsters for the first people who answer trivia questions correctly. (1988, 89 min, DCP Digital) [Megan Fariello]

Douglas Sirk's WRITTEN ON THE WIND (US)

Gene Siskel Film Center – Sunday, 1:30pm

On their bright, Technicolor surfaces, the films of Douglas Sirk can appear as so many reiterations of the well-worn genre of the classical Hollywood melodrama. Lush domestic interiors, weeping women, maudlin mothers, betrayal, and heartbreak all make their obligatory appearances; all are familiar markers of a predictable narrative structure that will inevitably deliver the triumph of heterosexual union and affirm the solidity of the patriarchal family. This, however, is only the proverbial tip of the iceberg, with vicious currents stirring underwater. WRITTEN ON THE WIND, undoubtedly one of Sirk's strongest films, demonstrates precisely why the director underwent significant critical reevaluation in the 1970s, leaving behind a reputation of glitz and fluff to become the darling of cinephiles, feminists, and Fassbinder alike. Working within and against the conventions of genre, Sirk's over-the-top excess forces the recognition of fissures and cracks that lurk within the dominant ideology the film superficially endorses. The glossiness and artificiality of Sirk's surfaces gives way to a complex meditation on the contradictions of gender, class, and sexuality. Dave Kehr sees the film as "a screaming Brechtian essay on the shared impotence of American family and business life... that draws attention to the artificiality of the film medium, in turn commenting on the hollowness of middle-class American life." The film stands as an excellent introduction to Sirk for those unfamiliar, but repeat viewings do not disappoint: as Pedro Almodóvar said, "I have seen WRITTEN ON THE WIND a thousand times, and I cannot wait to see it again.'' Screening as part of the Summer Camp series. (1956, 99 min, DCP Digital) [Erika Balsom]

Kevin Smith’s DOGMA (US)

Alamo Drafthouse – Thursday, 6pm and 9:45pm
Davis Theater – Thursday, 6:30pm

Kevin Smith's fourth film stands as one of the most audacious pieces of mainstream Hollywood auteur filmmaking of the 20th century. His career began on a rollercoaster. He had two wildly successful films—CLERKS (1994) and CHASING AMY (1997)—with a giant bomb in between, MALLRATS (1995). By this point the critics have mostly agreed that he had a good deal of talent, if unfocused and not fully realized, and he already had a diehard cult of fans. With this kind of cache and zeitgeist, he was finally able to get his dream film made, DOGMA. A surprisingly devout and practicing Catholic, Smith had always wanted to make a film about God through a very Catholic lens. An admittedly audacious project, he cashed in every chip he possibly could and got a rogue's gallery of actors on board: Ben Affleck, Matt Damon, Alan Rickman, Chris Rock, Salma Hayek, George Carlin, Janeane Garafolo, and Linda Fiorentino. The high concept fantasy comedy involves two fallen angels (Affleck and Damon) who have found a loophole to get back into heaven via a demon. An abortion counselor in suburban Chicago, who unbeknownst to herself is the last descendant of Christ, is visited by an angel and sent on a mission to stop the fallen angels. Along the way she teams up with Smith's stoner avatar Silent Bob and his obnoxious hetero life mate Jay, also Rufus, the Black 13th apostle written out of the Bible due to racism, and the physical embodiment of serendipity, who is now a stripper. You can easily understand why this film was heavily protested by Christians. It's clear that everyone thought Smith, with his offensive stoner comedy past, would be gleefully reveling in being as offensively blasphemous as possible. But, oddly enough, it stands tall alongside Scorsese's THE LAST TEMPTATION OF CHRIST (1988) as a deeply considered exploration and questioning of both faith and religion by someone who actually goes to church. A lot. Still, it is surprising to see the man who coined the nonsense phrase "snootchie bootchies" waxing almost rabbinically about the theologically legalistic intricacies of plenary indulgences. Yes, it's a bit of armchair/stoner theology going on here, with Smith taking from Judaism, Islam, early post-schism Catholicism, and what seems to be the religious fiction of Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman's Good Omens, but holding a man who has a literal giant shit demon in his film to a high theological threshold would also be disingenuous. It feels as the irreverence here comes from Smith's being steeped in the uniquely American version of Catholicism with its slight patina of cultural Protestantism. There's a little bit of Martin Luther in all Americans in our inability to fully believe in anything unquestioningly and our penchant to turn dissatisfaction into public spectacle. With this in mind, it's hard not to see DOGMA as a genuine exercise of a Catholic's faith in art. Just one equally filled with theological pontifications and dated gay jokes. It's exactly how you'd imagine a Catholic Gen X slacker from New Jersey would wrestle with God. By far the most commercially successful, and notorious, of the films Smith made in his View Askewniverse (the cinematic universe in which 9 of his film take place), it's now being re-released in theaters because after a long dark period in which the film was owned by Harvey Weinstein. Since the 2008 BluRay went out of print, DOGMA has been commercially unavailable in any manner until now, when Iconic Events bought the rights and are putting it back in theaters for an ersatz 25th anniversary celebration. Hopefully it'll hit streaming soon too because I'm definitely interested to see the current cultural response to this toilet humor testament to the Catholic divine. (1999, 128 min, DCP Digital) [Raphael Jose Martinez]

Jaume Collet-Serra's HOUSE OF WAX (US)

Alamo Drafthouse – Tuesday, 9:30pm

In his audacious feature debut, HOUSE OF WAX (2005), Jaume Collet-Serra remixes the Vincent Price classic. Rather than echoing André de Toth’s 1953 film or Michael Curtiz’s 1933 MYSTERY OF THE WAX MUSEUM, Collet-Serra conjures a new grotesquerie, fusing post-9/11 torture horror with the surreal menace of TOURIST TRAP (1979). At its core lies an ancient myth: the battle of good and evil twins. From Zoroastrianism’s cosmic siblings—Ahura Mazda and Angra Mainyu—to West Africa’s Mandinka creation story of Pemba and his sacrificial twin, the evil twin has long stood as a vessel for the uncanny. This archetype persists through DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE (1931), THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK (1939), and THE GREAT DICTATOR (1940), evolving in horror as the fear of the doppelgänger. DEAD RINGERS (1989), SISTERS (1972), and THE DARK HALF (1993) echo this dualism. Collet-Serra's HOUSE OF WAX gives us twins versus twins, circling one another until the inevitable showdown. The marketing sold the film as slasher, nostalgia, and wax-coated gore, but it's more accurately a Frankenstein’s monster of horror pastiche—stitched from TOURIST TRAP, THE TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE (1974), and a title borrowed for name recognition. The slasher setup is simple: six college-age archetypes detour into Ambrose, a deserted town absent from GPS. Our group of victims are all heartthrobs of early aughts television including Chad Michael Murray (Gilmore Girls, Dawson's Creek, and One Tree Hill) as Nick the bad-boy twin to Carla, played by Elisha Cuthbert (Are You Afraid Of The Dark?). Jared Padalecki, Jon Abrahams, Robert Ri'chard, and Paris Hilton round out the cast. When their vehicle’s fan belt is found cut, Carly and her boyfriend investigate the town, discovering a wax museum made entirely of wax—walls, chairs, even the piano. The horror escalates with twin killers, a family legacy of madness, a town filled with wax corpses, and a literal meltdown of the set in a finale that rivals anything in 2000s horror for sheer visual bravado. Brian Van Holt plays both Bo and Vincent Sinclair—twins raised under a sadistic wax sculptor. Bo is the hunter while Vincent is the artist. Their combined skills result in victims encased in wax, without the ability to scream. A brutal metaphor for immobilization, for becoming object and art—frozen in perfection. And then there’s Paris Hilton. Warner Bros. leaned into her notoriety with the campaign, “See Paris Die!” Hilton embraced it, selling the slogan on T-shirts. Her impalement in the film was a pop culture spectacle, a sacrificial offering to our hunger for eating the rich. It wasn’t just horror; it was tabloid exorcism. Collet-Serra told Fangoria the title was used just for branding. Instead of an avenging artist, we get Southern Gothic rot and family trauma, wrapped in the viscera and goop of the Hayes brothers’ script. When the entire wax museum eventually melts, it is both a technical marvel and thematic mic drop. It’s not just wax that liquefies, it’s illusion itself. The fire spread beyond the screen, literally igniting part of the Warner Bros. backlot and resulting in a lawsuit. Appropriately, the film critiques its era while bathing in its excess: Paris Hilton, nü-metal, beautiful mannequins. The wax stands for a culture obsessed with surface, suspended animation, and the false promise of permanence. In the end, Carly and Nick crawl through the disintegrating sign. From artifice, they emerge—scarred, but real. HOUSE OF WAX isn’t a remake; it’s a resurrection. Messy, molten, unforgettable. Horror, after all, is transformation. And this one burns beautifully. Screening as part of the Terror Tuesday series. (2005, 113 min, DCP Digital) [Shaun Huhn]

Ryan Coogler’s SINNERS (US)

In wide release – See Venue websites for showtimes

Popular hit SINNERS, still going strong after five weeks of wide release in movie theaters across the country and around the world, has already earned back its $90 million cost five times over and has garnered a tankerful of positive ink, including 10 reviews, articles, and podcasts from the United States’ so-called paper of record. So, what is a film like this doing on Cine-File? While our mission is to champion what I like to call “offroad movies,” SINNERS, I believe, needs our attention. Ryan Coogler, one of the most gifted director-screenwriters working today, has garnered popular acclaim by offering original stories that are wildly entertaining while providing the kind of food for thought that cinephiles used to chew on with every new release. That in itself makes the film an outlier in this age of mostly vacuous retreads and superhero movies. The filmmaker also has come under attack for negotiating a supposedly “extinction-level event” for Hollywood studios by securing final cut, a percentage of box office, and ownership of his film after 25 years. There is nothing unprecedented about this deal, that is, if you’re white. The racist hysteria aimed at Coogler, however, emphasizes the more serious point behind SINNERS—the need for Black Americans to have agency over their own lives and intellectual property. This need is the motivation that propels Coogler’s story. Twin brothers Smoke and Stack (Michael B. Jordan), World War I veterans and Chicago bootleggers, return to their hometown of Clarksdale, Mississippi, in 1932 after finding that the North was little more than Jim Crow with tall buildings. They make a deal to buy an empty mill to set up their own juke joint, recruit their cousin Sammie (Miles Caton) to play guitar and sing, sign up a local musician legend Delta Slim (Delroy Lindo) with the promise of all the food and drink he wants, pluck a large cotton picker (Omar Miller) out of the field to act as bouncer, and line up food and a venue sign from a Chinese couple (Li Jun Li and Yao). With everything set in place, the brothers prepare to open their venture the same night. Little do they know that a trio of white vampires, drawn to Sammie’s music, will show up at their club to “assimilate” them. Coogler takes his time settling us into life in the Mississippi Delta, slowing us down to the pace of life in a hot, rural environment. His return of the prodigal sons shows off the pride they feel and inspire in others, as well as the ruthlessness they learned as war veterans and Capone associates. The no-fuss deals Smoke strikes with his juke joint employees are as efficient and amusing as the touching reunion of Stack with his wife, Annie (Wunmi Mosaku), and grave of their infant son, which Annie sets with a bottle of milk almost daily. His elements of magic realism move beyond vampire manifestations to include a dance floor peopled with Black musicians from every place and era, from Africa to the Bronx, in a celebration of Black creativity and joy that the juke joint revelers easily tap into. The failure of the vampires to gain permission to enter the juke joint thus separates them from that which they hoped to appropriate. SINNERS is teeming with the joy of Black life even in its sorrow and the obstacles faced by its characters in just trying to live their lives with purpose and dignity. The always interesting Jordan differentiates his dual roles beautifully. Caton is a skilled musician and surprisingly affecting actor who has a huge future ahead of him. A final, personal delight for me was seeing Buddy Guy play the elderly Sammie in his own club, named for the woman he got busy with at the juke joint, as he contemplates that fateful night. Having the rare movie that is an authentic cultural expression wrapped in an ever-satisfying horror and revenge fantasy is something to celebrate and encourage. (2025, 137 min, DCP Digital) [Marilyn Ferdinand]

Hayao Miyazaki's MY NEIGHBOR TOTORO (Japan/Animation)

FACETS – Sunday, 1:30pm

The seminal Studio Ghibli film MY NEIGHBOR TOTORO is one of director Hayao Miyazaki's most beloved and celebrated. Thought-provoking and poignant, Miyazaki's fourth feature is an enchanting, hand-drawn masterpiece that demonstrates his creative passion. Mei and Satsuki, the two female protagonists, are perfect vehicles to allow the viewer to see the world through the eyes of children. The film does not rely on traditional narrative structure, where conflicts arise and obstacles must be overcome. Instead, Miyazaki appeals to the viewer to live in the now much like a child would. Both the pain and elation that Chika Sakamoto (Mei) and Noriko Hidaka (Satsuki) emote through their voice acting is palpable in every scene. From this vantage point, a feeling of wonderment occurs, and the dazzling animation invites a sense of nostalgia. This perspective makes it easy to believe that the strange magical spirit Totoro, his band, and the soot spirits are all very real. While these creatures may only be symbolic of nature (the wind, why plants grow, etc.), they serve as a source of comfort and hope for the two girls. Miyazaki's animation is bright and vivid—an homage to rural life—and the mystical quality of the film is bolstered by Joe Hisaishi's uplifting score. MY NEIGHBOR TOTORO is a beautiful tale about love, family, and hope that makes for joyous viewing for people of all ages. Presented by the Chicago International Children’s Film Festival and FACETS Anime Club. Pre-show activities begin at 1pm. (1988, 86 min, Digital Projection) [Kyle Cubr]

Andrew DeYoung’s FRIENDSHIP (US)

Music Box Theatre – See Venue website for showtimes

There are moments where you almost feel bad for Craig Waterman, the chaotically average protagonist of Andrew DeYoung’s FRIENDSHIP, as he plods through life, struggling to maintain any kind of stable relationship, be it platonic, professional, or romantic. The problem, however, is that Craig is played by Tim Robinson, one of contemporary comedy’s premier lunatics, a man known for yelling, growling, and stink-facing his way through any and all social interactions to the point of sheer absurdity. Robinson’s comedic voice has solidified over the past decade, primarily through his Netflix sketch-comedy series I Think You Should Leave, but FRIENDSHIP represents something sharper and sadder, a prime leading-man vehicle for Robinson that wholly succeeds by keeping one foot firmly planted in crushing reality and the other maniacally flailing for its life. Stemming from the similar strains of comedic DNA that birthed last year’s RAP WORLD (2024)—along with sharing some of the same cast members—DeYoung’s debut feature is a potent examination of toxic masculine culture’s erosion of traditional male friendship dynamics, a system of aggression and dominance that leaves men like Craig with nowhere to turn but inward, toward chaos and anxiety and constant, unending fear. Craig’s seemingly voluntary isolation is put to the test when he meets his new neighbor, Austin (Paul Rudd, making a triumphant return to theatrical comedy after years in the Marvel superhero desert), an effortlessly cool and collected weatherman who takes Craig under his nurturing wing of friendship by way of adventures like exploring the underground sewer system and foraging for mushrooms. Naturally, things go the way of FATAL ATTRACTION (1987) as Austin realizes that, to put it simply, Craig’s just not that great of a hang. The repercussions of this friend break-up prove fatal, as Craig’s feelings of inadequacy infect every facet of his pathetically mundane existence, most notably his relationship with his oft-neglected wife, Tami (a brilliantly committed Kate Mara, in what might otherwise be a thankless role). Whenever the overall structure of FRIENDSHIP threatens to become nothing more than loosely collected sketches, each scene evolves into a deeper dive into Craig, a character brought to life by Robinson’s gripping traits as a performer, his physical and emotional instincts birthing new expressions of comedic id and ego with every passing moment that oscillate between hilarious and nightmarish (of particular note, a mid-film sequence centered around a drug trip unlocks newfound vistas of comedic potential I never thought possible). It would be unfair to reveal the specifics of FRIENDSHIP’s final scenes, but DeYoung and co. let this tale of unrequited brotherhood lead to its logical conclusion, where loose ends tie up in the most rip-roaring fashion possible, and Craig—for better or worse—learns what it means to be a friend. (2025, 100 mins, DCP Digital) [Ben Kaye]

📽️ ALSO SCREENING

⚫ Alliance Française (Julius Lewis Auditorium, 54 W. Chicago Ave.)
William Klein’s 1982 documentary THE FRENCH (135 min, Digital Projection) screens Wednesday at 6:30pm. There will be a pre-screening discussion led by Michele Steele, ESPN correspondent, in conversation with Kamau Murray, Founder and CEO of XS Tennis. Guests will also enjoy a post-screening reception featuring a complimentary glass of French wine. Free admission. More info here. 

⚫ Chicago Public Library
View all screenings taking place at Chicago Public Library branches here.

⚫ Cinema/Chicago
Raine Allen-Miller’s 2023 film RYE LANE (82 min, Digital Projection) screens Monday, 6:30pm, at the Chicago Cultural Center.

Andreas Dresen’s 2024 film FROM HILDE, WITH LOVE (124 min, Digital Projection) screens Wednesday, 6:30pm, at the Chicago History Museum. Both are free to attend. More info on all screenings here.

⚫ Comfort Film at Comfort Station
Tone Glow and Comfort Film present Spirit and Light, Earth and Sky, a program dedicated to the works of LeAnn Bartok, on Wednesday, 7pm, in Logan Square Park. Free admission. More info here.

⚫ Gene Siskel Film Center
Bartek Dziadosz and Tilda Swinton’s 2024 documentary THE HEXAGONAL HIVE AND A MOUSE IN A MAZE (93 min, DCP Digital) and Jonathan Millet’s 2024 film GHOST TRAIL (106 min, DCP Digital) begin screening this week, and Laura Piani’s 2025 film JANE AUSTEN WRECKED MY LIFE (94 min, DCP Digital) continues. See Venue website for showtimes.

Black Harvest presents MAHOGANY at 50 – On Style, Memory, and Meaning, a shorts program that’s part of a city-wide 50th anniversary of the film MAHOGANY. It screens Tuesday at 6pm.

David Maysles, Albert Maysles, Ellen Hovde, and Muffie Meyer’s 1975 documentary GREY GARDENS (95 min, DCP Digital) screens Thursday, 6pm, as part of the Summer Camp series. More info on all screenings here. 

⚫ Music Box Theatre
Rusty Cundieff’s 1995 film TALES FROM THE HOOD (98 min, DCP Digital) screens Friday at 10:30pm. Co-presented by the Horror House, the screening features a preshow drag/burlesque performance.

Wes Anderson’s 2009 film FANTASTIC MR. FOX (87 min, 35mm) screens Saturday, 11:30am and 10:30pm, as part of the Animation Adventures series.

Joseph Ruben’s 1984 film DREAMSCAPE (99 min, DCP Digital) screens Saturday, 11:45pm, programmed and presented by Super-Horror-Rama.

Wes Anderon’s new film THE PHOENICIAN SCHEME (2025, 101 min, DCP Digital) begins screening Thursday, with showtimes at 4pm and 7pm. The full run of the film begins next Friday. More info on all screenings here.

⚫ VDB TV (Virtual)
Selections from the Phil Morton Memorial Research Archive, in conjunction with the announcement of the Phil Morton Memorial Research Archive Collection, streams free on VDB TV. More info here.

CINE-LIST: May 30, 2025 - June 5, 2025

MANAGING EDITORS // Ben and Kat Sachs

CONTRIBUTORS //  Erika Balsom, Brendan Boyle, Rob Christopher, Cody Corrall, Kyle Cubr, John Dickson, Alex Ensign, Megan Fariello, Marilyn Ferdinand, Patrick Friel, Shaun Huhn, Ben Kaye, Gabe Klinger, Raphael Jose Martinez, Harrison Sherrod