:: FRIDAY, JUNE 30 - THURSDAY, JULY 6 ::

📽️ CRUCIAL VIEWING

George Miller's BABE: PIG IN THE CITY (Australia)

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

Maligned upon release by nearly everyone outside of Chicago's own Siskel, Ebert, and Pat Graham, George Miller's $90M perfectionist talking-animal masterpiece returns in 35mm to our comparatively welcoming megapolis. Now, nobody knows what happens in the first BABE, so the titular plucky sheep-herding pig begins this tour-de-force sequel a returning conquering hero of something-or-other, before tragedy strikes; and in Miller's fantastic worldview, tragedy can only occur repeatedly, in the form of elaborate, set-clearing Rube Goldberg catastrophes. Our heroic pinkness becomes an undocumented refugee among many, abused by CBP and housed in an imaginary hypercity's zoophilic sanctuary, and in the subsequent 90 minutes of bold, painterly compositions, LOTR cinematographer Andrew Lesnie works magic alongside a literal army of animal trainers (over seventy are credited). The resulting CGI-assisted supporting performances—memorably the orangutan, duck, and pit bull terrier—far outrank many contemporaneous human thespians; their dubbed dialogue is a simultaneously poetic and illiterate slang-filled tenement argot, as if the Dead End Kids, Vito Corleone, and Blanche DuBois were all in hiding at the Chelsea Hotel, if the Chelsea Hotel was on the Bowery, and if the Bowery was in Venice, and if the Bowery-née-Chelsea-Hotel-on-Venice was constructed from scratch on the nascent Fox Sydney backlot. (The music, by contrast, is a 1950s Parisian daydream, sung by the rue de Belleville's finest castrati mice.) But BABE: PIG IN THE CITY also deserves to be seen on the big screen, in part because of its large-scale PLAYTIME-meets-STARSHIP TROOPERS satirization of both the technocratic dullness and hedonistic excess of monochromatic, globalized modernity, and in part because belly laughter and uncontrollable sobbing are more fun in public. What is clear today is how much is owed to this supposed "failure" of a film by the far more financially successful (and geographically accurate) FINDING NEMO/DORY, where a cornucopia of damaged fauna also attempt to collaboratively extricate themselves from Pacific-coastal urbanity. But with all due respect to Pixar, it's clear which production team will be first against the wall. Screening as part of the Stranger in a Strange Land series. (1998, 97 min, 35mm) [Michael Castelle]

Albert Brooks’ LOST IN AMERICA (US)

Music Box Theatre – Monday, 7pm

Albert Brooks’ first four features as writer-director (along with his two comedy albums and multiple Saturday Night Live shorts) were hugely influential in the development of so-called anti-comedy, a cerebral approach to stage and screen humor in which the deliberate failure to be funny becomes the basis for a kind of meta-comedy. What distinguishes Brooks from practically all of his followers (apart from his inimitable anti-timing) is that he’s also an exacting cineaste on par with the greatest comic directors in terms of craft and originality. Jonathan Rosenbaum regularly likens him to Buster Keaton and Jacques Tati; and in his 1985 essay on LOST IN AMERICA, Dave Kehr went so far as to compare Brooks to such trailblazing modernists as Robert Rossellini and Jean-Marie Straub and Danièle Huillet, explaining: “Brooks purges every trace of aestheticism or editorial comment from his frames, leaving the object to stand on its own, as something sharp, hard, and absolutely immediate… Brooks’ long takes reinforce this feeling of solidity: by resisting the temptation to cut (to enforce a rhythm, to punch up a joke, or simply to vary the visual field), Brooks gives his actors and settings the time they need to exist on the screen, to occupy a place in the film within a weight that goes beyond the immediate demands of the screenplay.” Kehr also made sure to acknowledge that LOST IN AMERICA is hilarious, though he couldn’t predict in 1985 how much funnier the cast’s deadpan deliveries would become over time, when viewers came to expect and even cherish how Brooks and his costars would thwart traditional audience expectations—the brilliant anti-jokes aged into actual laugh-till-you-cry jokes. (A personal favorite: Brooks scanning a Las Vegas Honeymoon Suite and telling his wife, “If Liberace had kids, this would be their room.”) The narrative is predicated on a series of failures, each one more humiliating than the last. It kicks off when Brooks, playing a self-important ad exec in LA, walks into his boss’ office expecting a promotion and finds out he’s being demoted and relocated to New York. The news triggers a nervous breakdown, prompting him to quit his job, buy an RV, and convince his wife to ditch their upper-middle-class life and “live freely” on the road. (In a perfect dig at hypocritical Boomers who went Yuppie in the ‘80s, Brooks insists that their lives will be just like EASY RIDER [1969].) Playing the wife, Julie Hagerty gives one of the all-time comic screen performances, matching Brooks’ intensity and even topping him when her character has her own breakdown and spends all her savings in one night at a Las Vegas casino. The depth that Hagerty brings to her character snapping under the weight of haute bourgeois conformity would be the stuff of great drama if her acting wasn’t so damn funny. For Kehr, the complexity of the characterization in LOST IN AMERICA is reflected in Brooks’ formal decisions: “We find ourselves sympathizing with Brooks’ all-too-recognizable frustrations, yet at the same time the coolness and the distance of visual style is forcing us back, to a point of view outside the situation… To suddenly see objectively what we have been experiencing subjectively is to open a gap between two equally valid but hopelessly incompatible worlds: what seems of immense importance in one sphere seems vain and trivial in the other, courage becomes foolhardiness, idealism becomes self-deception. The gap is huge, absurd, and Brooks’ comedy leaps from it.” Presented by musician/comedian Jon Wurster. (1985, 92 min, 35mm) [Ben Sachs]

Michael Schultz’s CAR WASH (US)

Doc Films (at the University of Chicago) – Friday, 7pm and Saturday, 4pm

The American New Wave of the 1970s was a fruitful time for all filmmakers, but especially Black filmmakers, such as L.A. Rebellion luminaries Charles Burnett, Julie Dash, and Larry Clark. But Black filmmakers had other points of entry into the industry. Michael Schultz is one of them. Schultz, a multidegreed graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Madison, Marquette, and Princeton, has directed for the stage and more than 100 films and TV programs. Schultz’s first major success was COOLEY HIGH (1975), improbably produced by Roger Corman’s American International Pictures, which helped him find a place inside Hollywood’s major studios. His first assignment, for Universal Pictures, was CAR WASH, written by future director Joel Schumacher and featuring megawatt entertainer Richard Pryor at the height of his fame in its ensemble cast. CAR WASH is a day in the life of the owner and workers of the Dee-Luxe hand car wash in Los Angeles. Schumacher packed his script with types, some of which are an awkward fit to the material. It’s a tribute to Schultz’s directorial skills that he was able to take what could have been little more than a potentially offensive sitcom and bring to life a small, specific world instead. Wise to its Los Angeles location, the film opens with a car stuck in traffic. George Carlin plays a blabbering cabbie whose professions of racial tolerance are an unending stream of insults for Marleen (Lauren Jones, the director’s wife), the black hooker in the backseat who looks too exhausted to care. Looking at $19 on the meter and then at the contents of her coin purse, Marleen slinks out of the cab and locks herself in the ladies' room at the car wash for a makeover. Thus, we arrive at the film’s main setting. From the introduction of the motley cast of characters in the ordinary act of reporting for work, the film feels real, even exciting, despite its focus on a deeply mundane business. The “wet” crew, who work hosing, hand-soaping, and cleaning the car interiors, gradually filter into the employee locker room, joking and signifying as they change into their orange jumpsuits. T.C. (Franklyn Ajaye) fusses with his enormous Afro to look his best when he spots the object of his affection—the lovely, long-haired, pink-miniskirted Mona (Tracy Reed)—walking to her waitress job across the street. Transgendered Lindy (Antonio Fargas) is equally fastidious about her appearance as she winds her carefully coiffed hair in a protective fishnet. Floyd and Lloyd (Darrow Igus and Otis Day) slide into the locker room performing the new opening for their duet singing act; cigar-chomping Lonnie (Ivan Dixon) drolly remarks in his basso profundo voice that “it’s getting better” as he exits the room. Duane, newly minted as Nation of Islam adherent Abdullah (Bill Duke), shows up late, a repeat infraction silently noted by car wash owner Leon (Sully Boyar) as he views the crew at their stations from the front office. Eventually, the film’s award-winning (Cannes, Grammy) score by Norman Whitfield kicks off as the soon-to-be bestseller for Rose Royce, “Car Wash,” blares from the speakers that pipe music from a disco-flavored radio station. Schultz knows how to balance comic bits with personal moments that lend weight to these often unremarked-upon lives. Leon’s squeeze on the side, cashier Marsha (Melanie Mayron), is frightened by wet crew member Chuco (Pepe Serna) as she does her nails while sitting on the toilet, but through her considerable acting chops, she transcends Marsha’s humdrum existence in a fabulously awkward, but successful flirtation with an aging lothario (Al Stellone) paying for his car wash. When she shouts her last line, “I’ve got a date!” we share in her astonished triumph. The script skewers Leon’s son, Irwin (Richard Brestoff), as a middle-class version of a radical chic warrior, eschewing a day in the front office to labor alongside the “workers” and read aloud passages from Mao’s little red book. But Brestoff’s engaging sincerity wins our affection, as well as that of the wet crew. By contrast, Abdullah is far too angry for the car washers or us to relate to, and his pain and confusion are revealed almost too late in the film to soften our regard for him. It’s a credit to the great work of Ivan Dixon and Bill Duke that a potentially violent confrontation becomes a heartfelt window into the shared pain and camaraderie of Black manhood. Most intriguing to me was Marleen, a largely silent character whose own self-regard oozes from her even as she declares her undying love for Joe, whereabouts unknown, in lipstick on the men’s bathroom mirror. Finally, I guess I need to talk about Richard Pryor, who almost stops the film dead in its tracks. He plays Daddy Rich, a celebrity preacher who touts the ministry of greed. He is, I suppose, a better aspirational figure than a bejeweled gang leader, but Abdullah calls him out for the pimp he is. This is not a funny scene, and it interrupts the pace of the film. Fortunately, the Pointer Sisters, who play his female entourage, sing “You Gotta Believe” with all the razzle-dazzle that puts people like Daddy Rich in the plush life. I breathed a sigh of relief when they all drove away. I’ve barely touched on the many vignettes and characters teeming in this mostly joyful, sometimes soulful film. Michael Schultz seems to love them all and the rich multiethnic gumbo they comprise. CAR WASH stands like a beacon between the 1965 Watts riots and the 1992 L.A. riots with a vision of what things might look like if we could “all get along.” Screening as part of the Some Dreamers of the Silver Screen: L.A.'67-'76 series. (1976, 97 min, 35mm) [Marilyn Ferdinand]

Kenji Mizoguchi’s UGETSU (Japan)

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

Some films are so brilliant that they appear more elementary than they actually are, the depth of their magnificence unwinding naturally rather than with obscure aesthetic and plotting mechanisms that must be parsed out and ascribed meaning. This applies to many of Kenji Mizoguchi’s films, the best of which explore life’s cruel ironies through obvious means and from there develop into cinematic aphorisms that expose inexorable truths. Set, like many of the director’s greatest works, in the past—in this case, Japan's Azuchi–Momoyama period (1568–1600), marred by decades of civil war—UGETSU (sometimes called UGETSU MONOGATARI) centers on two peasant couples caught in the midst of ongoing battle. Genjūrō (Masayuki Mori) is a farmer and potter who begins making a lot of money by selling his wares to enemy combatants; his wife, Miyagi (Kinuyo Tanaka, who worked with Mizoguchi for 17 years and was also the second Japanese woman to direct films), is more concerned with the sanctity of their domestic life, which they share with a young son. Genjūrō's brother, Tōbei (Eitaro Ozawa), yearns to be a samurai much to the chagrin of his wife, Ohama (Mitsuko Mito). (All the actors were regular collaborators with Mizoguchi, Ozu, Kurosawa, and other luminaries of Japanese cinema.) Miyagi is separated from the group when the others, having been warned by a man in a boat on the same river they’re crossing, decide it’s too dangerous for her to go along on their trip to sell more pottery. Ohama is later separated from Tōbei when he goes to join up with the samurai; later she is attacked by a group of soldiers, after which she beings working in a brothel. Meanwhile a mysterious woman and her attendant approach Genjūrō at the market, and he becomes entranced by her ethereal beauty, eventually going to the stately manor where she lives. The woman is Lady Wasaka (Machiko Kyō, donned in white makeup to resemble a Noh mask), whom Genjūrō is enticed to marry, enjoying the relative luxury of her noble accommodations. Based on two stories from Ueda Akinari’s eponymous 1776 collection (and derived in part from Guy de Maupassant's 1883 short story "How He Got the Legion of Honor”), an important work of kwaidan literature—the genre roughly described as being ghost stories and which were popular during the Edo Period—the film assumes more supernatural elements as it progresses; Mizoguchi moves seamlessly into these, aided by the elegant “scroll shots” for which he’s famous. The ghosts are not evil entities but rather the spirits of women defeated by life and love, yet still aspiring to find happiness even after death. The story’s relative simplicity—insofar as it explores the ravages of war and the suffering of women, two enduring themes in general, with the latter being especially important to Mizoguchi as both a person and an artist—is made more dynamic by Kazuo Miyagawa’s striking cinematography. As Richard Brody notes in a 2014 essay for the New Yorker, “Mizoguchi is both Japan’s John Ford, with his emphasis on history and legend, and its Max Ophüls, with the grandly operatic resonances of his highly stylized images.” Indeed, as Mizoguchi merges the solemnity and splendor of filmmaking, he reveals the same about life as well. Preceded by a 35mm trailer reel of films from 1953. (1953, 97 min, 35mm) [Kat Sachs]

Robert Altman x2

At Doc Films and Alamo Drafthouse

Robert Altman’s NASHVILLE (US)
Doc Films (at the University of Chicago) – Friday, 4pm and Saturday, 7pm
It remains debatable as to whether NASHVILLE is Robert Altman’s crowning work (one could make as strong a case for MCCABE AND MRS. MILLER, THE LONG GOODBYE, or CALIFORNIA SPLIT), yet in no other film, save for perhaps SHORT CUTS, did the director achieve so many of his ambitions in one go. Indeed, the most remarkable thing about NASHVILLE may be how it threatens to collapse on itself at any moment but somehow doesn’t—Altman’s direction of this two-hour, 40-minute opus is comparable to a captain steering an ocean liner around a range of icebergs without even rattling the passengers. The film famously juggles two dozen principal characters and about half as many different storylines, but no less remarkable is the way Altman succeeds with multiple formal experiments that could have easily come off as gimmicky or distracting. Several of these experiments have to do with sound. Building upon the multi-track audio of CALIFORNIA SPLIT, Altman shot much of NASHVILLE with up to 16 separate microphones, seldom letting the actors know who would be recorded directly and mixing the wealth of sonic material in post-production. Roger Ebert once wrote that the beauty of Altman’s films often lies in basking in the music of a room, and by that token, NASHVILLE is a veritable symphony of jargon, offhand remarks, noise, and actual songs. Most of the songs, in fact, were written by the actors who sing them, and another one of Altman’s fascinating experiments was to insist that not all them be good. To reflect the range of quality one finds in Nashville’s music scene, Altman included great songs (like Keith Carradine’s Oscar-winning “I’m Easy” and the classic-style country numbers sung by Ronee Blakeley, arguably the best singer in the cast), hokey songs (like the self-aggrandizing tunes of Henry Gibson’s Haven Hamilton), and even terrible songs (like the ones performed by Gwen Welles’ heartbreakingly naive Sueleen Gay). Similarly, NASHVILLE alternates between a number of tones, ranging from poignant to sardonic to bitter to menacing. Altman creates the impression that he’s discovering the movie as it goes along, which is fitting, given how it was shot. Screenwriter Joan Tewkesbury created characters and situations for the film, but per Altman’s instruction, wrote very little dialogue; that was left to the actors, whom Altman directed to improvise as much as possible. As Altman put it, “We would stage events and then film the events,” resulting in a fiction film that has the look and feel of a documentary. In one way, NASHVILLE is a documentary about post-60s political disillusion in America—one significant through line comes in the form of campaign speeches by an erstwhile third-party presidential candidate named Hal Philip Walker, who roams the city in a tour bus, blasting calls for political upheaval. The movie ends at a Walker campaign rally that goes catastrophically wrong, then regains ground through the giant sing-along of another Carradine-penned number that would seem to contradict the spirit of liberty that’s run through the epic poem that preceded it. For even a few minutes after the credits end, the song’s haunting refrain repeats: “You may say that I ain’t free, but it don’t worry me.” Screening as part of the Programmers’ Picks series. (1975, 160 min, DCP Digital) [Ben Sachs]
---
Robert Altman's COME BACK TO THE 5 & DIME, JIMMY DEAN, JIMMY DEAN (US)
Alamo Drafthouse (3519 N. Clark St., Suite C301) – Wednesday, 7:30pm
A forgotten mid-period gem from Robert Altman's nearly fifty-year career, COME BACK TO THE 5 & DIME receives a well-deserved restoration and revival. A middling story, adapted from Ed Graczyk's play—which Altman directed on Broadway to poor reviews—COME BACK is a curious hybrid of film, theater, and television that takes the best Altman offers to each. Set entirely in a Woolworth's that's near the filming location of George Stevens' GIANT, a nearly all-female James Dean fan club reunites 20 years after the actor's death. After the sole male member of the fan club returns as a woman, the story coalesces around soap opera secrets and their hammy revelations, befores and afters, literal mirrors and their reflected transformations. Altman's "roaming camera" of orchestrated pans and zooms makes the claustrophobic space open and lively, and the flashbacks to 1955 are shown through the general store's theatrical two-way mirrors. Genuine and artful performances (Pauline Kael wrote of the actresses: "They bring conviction to their looneytunes characters") builds meaning and helps draw out the cause and effect of Graczyk's text through Altman's craft. The two are meant for each other: both peddle in pop culture iconography, religio-hyperbole, and insular, provincial groups of deeply flawed people. However, where Graczyk turns to nostalgia and melodrama, Altman elicits a complex mix of sentimentality and cynicism. Accompanied by a prerecorded introduction and discussion with historian and programmer Elizabeth Purchell and critics Willow Catelyn Maclay and Caden Mark Gardner, coauthors of the upcoming book Corpses, Fools, and Monsters: An Examination of Trans Film Images in Cinema.(1982, 109 min, DCP Digital) [Brian Welesko]

Martin Scorsese’s RAGING BULL (US)

Gene Siskel Film Center – See Venue website for showtimes

Trapped in a hospital bed, Martin Scorsese was at death’s door. After years of pushing his body through intense working hours, prescription drug abuse, and sacrilegious amounts of cocaine, the then-35-year-old suffered internal bleeding, boarding brain hemorrhaging. Years prior, Robert De Niro was handed Raging Bull, the memoir of one-time middleweight champion boxer Jake LaMotta. Notorious for letting opponents pulverize his body into a numb chunk of meat to the point of exhaustion, LaMotta drank heavily, beat his wives, and racked up a charge for allowing the prostitution of a 14-year-old girl at his club. By the release of his book, he was an out-of-shape entertainer with brain damage working rundown night clubs to feed himself, reciting Shakespeare and cracking Don Rickles-esque crowd work. Seeing Jake’s potential as a character, De Niro pitched the story to Marty. Occupied by his promising follow-up to TAXI DRIVER (1976), Scorsese was deep into production planning for a nostalgic musical revue, NEW YORK, NEW YORK (1977), convinced he'd secure his spot as one of the great American directors. Navigating a turbulent marriage and an affair with his lead actor, Liza Minelli, there was no time for others’ passion projects; besides, he had no interest in a sports movie, with little exposure to boxing growing up. DeNiro would persist over the next few years. When the musical was a critical and financial disaster, Scorsese could not believe it, having given his all. Pushing closer to the edge, Marty had a revolving door of girlfriends and drug habits. In 1978, he was taken to the emergency room for coughing up blood and collapsed at 109 pounds. Watching the tubes keeping him alive coming in and out of his body, he saw how far he’d fallen from the son of two garment workers in Little Italy, a boy who had fallen under the influence of a charismatic priest and at one point considered becoming a seminarian. He recounts, “I prayed. But if I prayed, it was just to get through those 10 days and nights. I felt [if I was saved] it was for some reason. And even if it wasn’t for a reason, I had to make good use of it.’” He realized his self-destructive tendencies could bring anguish to anyone in his orbit, including those he loved, just like LaMotta. Finally, the director was ready. De Niro and Scorsese began putting a draft together from LaMotta’s text, then they brought Paul Schrader to work on a draft. After Schrader handed in his work in under six weeks, Scorsese and DeNiro put their finishing touches on Schrader’s structure, adding their favorite scenes from the memoir. The studio’s first reaction was, “Why would you want to tell a story about a human cockroach?” The preproduction research for both director and actor serves as a template for contemporary filmmakers and actors. De Niro’s preparation for the role inspired an entire generation of actors looking to commit their entire body, a standard that has become its own acting school. Scorsese and designers attended boxing matches, studied boxing photography books for composition, consulted LaMotta and his former trainers for accuracy, and home movies for the family’s interpersonal relationships. Having lost a fight, De Niro’s Jake mutters, “I’ve done a lot of bad things, Joey. Maybe it’s coming back to me.” After dancing with death, Scorsese worked on RAGING BULL as if it were the last film he’d ever make. Borrowing from the great masters, he weaves the most graceful brutality of the latter 20th century put to celluloid. Hitchcock’s PSYCHO (1960) shower sequence served as template for Jake’s annihilation on the robes, followed by a shot of Ray’s glove taken from Samuel Fuller’s THE STEEL HELMET (1951). One of the first boxing films of the sound era to place the camera inside the ring, director of photography Michael Chapman (TAXI DRIVER, THE LAST WALTZ and AMERICAN BOY) and Scorsese play with frame rates within takes, flying the camera through the action, and relishing in all they have at their disposal. To add an extra layer to the period piece, the production chose black and white film stock. The great Thelma Schoonmaker cut the film; this was her first feature as editor. Together with the director, she elevated the work to a vicious level of grit violence. Famously, when asked how such a nice lady could edit such violent films (for Scorsese), she replied, “Ah, but they aren’t violent until I’ve edited them.” In all its barbarity and beauty, the film gives a naked depiction of humanity. It delivers a vision as complex as its subject. To call RAGING BULL one of the greatest movies of the 1980s is a misnomer. The level of experimentation and personal filmmaking could only fit in the realm of 1970s New Hollywood. Along with THE KING OF COMEDY (1982), LaMotta’s story received a greenlight during a golden age of American cinema, only to release during the postmortem of United Artists and the cinematic wasteland of studios. Artists’ work is often cited as therapeutic. RAGING BULL offers a new light, proving that it can also be the first step towards repentance of sins. As the film is viewed for a 4K restoration, we should keep in mind how much the director has accomplished over the years. In the decades since the film’s release, Scorsese has continued to uplift new voices in cinema through the World Cinema Project and educate through the Film Foundation. The now-80-year-old director has made it clear his penance for his early years is permanent. (1980, 129 min, New 4K DCP Digital Restoration) [Ray Ebarb]

Tim Burton’s MARS ATTACKS! (US)

Music Box Theatre – Thursday, 9:45pm

While Tim Burton’s previous—and best—film, ED WOOD, is a love letter to the behind-the-scenes agonizing process and joyful collaboration of low budget filmmaking, MARS ATTACKS! is a love letter to those B-movies themselves. Based on the visually striking Mars Attacks trading card series from the 1960s, which features iconic short aliens with bulbous brains, the film combines mid-century pulp with a distinctly ‘90s scoff. This was one of the reasons MARS ATTACKS! received mixed reviews at the time of its release, but in retrospect it’s hard to deny its success as both a homage and a satire. It’s an alien invasion film that, like Jordan Peele’s recent NOPE, is focused on the dangers of spectacle, its humor and cynicism drawing from the very human reactions to very bizarre circumstances. The film follows multiple storylines concerning politicians, journalists, and civilians, and it boasts a large A-list cast typical of disaster films—including Glenn Close, Pierce Brosnan, Annette Benning, Pam Grier, Michael J. Fox, and Jack Nicholson, who plays both the president and a sleazy Vegas entrepreneur.  Those characters in power are obsessed with the optics of the invasion, making choices on the assumption that these Martians are obviously extraterrestrial ambassadors of peace. Of course, they aren’t, vaporizing humans with their ray guns and infiltrating the White House; the aliens are quite unsettling at times, their squawking “ack ack” language both humorous and completely disconcerting. Ultimately, it’s the everyday civilians who are more in tune with how to handle the Martians, and it’s what is frequently considered lowbrow culture that ultimately saves humanity—reflecting Burton’s overall passion for the oft-discarded objects of Americana. MARS ATTACKS! also looks fantastic, with bold colors, impressive vistas, and outstanding costuming by Burton collaborator Colleen Atwood. The Martians themselves fit effortlessly within Burton’s overall aesthetic. Standing with the most iconic of his visuals is the Martian’s human disguise, played by Lisa Marie, complete with a large blonde bouffant to hide the Martian’s brain. Her skintight dress, gaudy makeup, blank stare, and awkward gliding through the White House is not just visually arresting but an outstanding physical performance. The Martians’ interpretation of what humans would consider to be a distractingly sexy woman also mirrors MARS ATTACKS!’ thematic examination of spectacle and cultural symbols. Presented by Ramona Slick and Rated Q - A Celebration of Queer, Camp, & Cult Cinema. Enjoy pre-show drinks and a DJ set in the Music Box Lounge at 9pm. (1996, 106 min, 35mm) [Megan Fariello]

📽️ ALSO RECOMMENDED

Stephen Sommers’ THE MUMMY (US)

Music Box Theatre – Friday and Saturday, Midnight

THE MUMMY is often singled out as a film that shouldn’t work and somehow does— Roger Ebert said as much in his review of the film. It’s a delight despite itself, capturing the fun of the action-adventure genre and never taking itself too seriously. It’s also been meme-ified by the generation that grew up perhaps renting this from Blockbuster for sleepovers or watched it repetitively on cable—mostly pointing to its two incredibly good-looking, charismatic stars. Its main performances are exactly what keeps THE MUMMY from tipping into absurdity, as both Brendan Fraser and Rachel Weisz completely understand the balance of sincerity, screwball comedy, and sweeping romance needed for a film like this, and their chemistry is extremely endearing. Set in the 1920s, Weisz plays Evelyn, an amateur Egyptologist and librarian (along with Parker Posey’s Mary in PARTY GIRL, one of the few iconic cinematic librarians). Her performance is the heart of THE MUMMY, and her transformation from bookworm to action heroine who is still very much a bookworm at heart was certainly one of the reasons I found this film so compelling as a teen. Evelyn, along with hunky American adventurer Rick O’Connell (Fraser) and her treasure-obsessed brother (John Hannah), set out to find Hamunaptra, the lost city of the dead, a place which is sought after by many, and protected by an ancient order of bodyguards. Their presence, however, raises the titular mummy (Arnold Vosloo), an imprisoned Egyptian high priest who yearns to reunite with his lover (Patricia Velásquez). Despite its two-hour-plus run time, THE MUMMY never feels slow, with compelling action set pieces and some genuinely horrific moments—particularly those that include flesh-eating scarab beetles. In addition to its strong performances, THE MUMMY also successfully balances genre, from screwball comedy to horror to action-adventure. All of these, too, are classic Hollywood genres and, despite some dated special effects, the film manages to feel timeless. The film was in the works for a decade before its release in 1999, demonstrating the challenge of bringing these Universal monsters back to the big screen. With a failed reboot attempt as recent as 2017, it’s hard to deny that this cinematic THE MUMMY is arguably the most iconic. (1999, 124 min, DCP Digital) [Megan Fariello]

Rodrick F. Wimberly and Senuwell Smith's THE WOODSTOCK OF HOUSE (US/Documentary)

Gene Siskel Film Center – Friday, 8:30pm

Serving as a foundation for mainstream hits we love today, house music first evolved out of disco. Named after the club Warehouse, where legendary DJ Frankie Knuckles spun tracks night after night, house quickly spread around the globe and continues to influence millions. This documentary focuses on “The Woodstock of House,” which takes place at the Chosen Few DJ’s Picnic in Jackson Park—a massive event that brings in over 40,000 house fans from all over the world. The film takes us through a history of disco, then tells of disco's retreat following the infamous “Disco Demolition Night” at Comiskey Park and the subsequent creation of the house genre. Directors Rodrick F. Wimberly and Senuwell Smith show that house, with its thumping pulse and evocative flips on old favorites, is not just about having fun. The music was a response to the hatred and bigotry of the era; it promoted peace and love and sought to uplift, not unlike the original Woodstock Music and Art Fair of 1969. This pulse that beats throughout the music is something we all share on an instinctual level, and on those grounds, we can connect with one another. The interviews with important house music figures are great, and the knowledge they impart will make you appreciate this city even more. Be sure to have your weekend free though, because after the credits roll, you will want to grab your friends for a fun night out dancing. Followed by a post-screening discussion with crew and subjects scheduled to attend. (2021, 98 min, DCP Digital) [Drew Van Weelden]

Wes Anderson's ASTEROID CITY (US)

Music Box Theatre – See Venue website for showtimes

Through ten feature films made over nearly thirty years, Wes Anderson has honed an exacting Lionel Model Train set aesthetic in which human history and emotions often play second banana to design considerations and deadpan humor. Especially since his first stop-motion animation film, FANTASTIC MR. FOX (2009), Anderson's movies have mostly dispensed with any pretense of naturalism in favor of a strictly controlled environment in which the puppeteer's hand often invades the frame to rearrange the furniture or to recast his doll-like charges' fates. Depending on your tolerance for his near-autistic compulsion to demonstrate mastery over his domain, these films can be either an unbearable slog or a charming detour from humdrum reality. I'm an admirer of Anderson's steadfast dedication to his vision but often find that not much about his toy constructions follow me out of the theater after the credits roll. Though he often puts his characters in fraught world-historical settings and programs them to emote after heartbreak or other traumas, these feelings and reactions rarely break through the symmetrical compositions and wind-up gizmos buzzing about in the background. The need to deflect and distract oneself from pain through obsessive hobbyism is a time-honored strategy, especially for men, or, more precisely, boys who refuse to grow up. Anderson's latest has all the hallmarks of his previous work but adds a layer of present-day resonance. Though set in the 1950s, in a small western town on the edge of a nuclear testing site, and featuring a cascade of major and minor movie stars and even an alien landing, the references to COVID lockdown life are everywhere. This time the unreality, panic, and erratic behavior—while still often played for laughs—is not cribbed from beloved short stories or arcana, but from the very recently experienced every day. This gives the film a gravity the previous ones lacked. We all lived through a thing even a control freak like Anderson can't ignore by descending into his basement tinkerer's kingdom and his work is all the better for it. (2023, 105 min, DCP Digital) [Dmitry Samarov]

Alice Winocour’s REVOIR PARIS (France)

Gene Siskel Film Center – Check Venue website for showtimes

Mass shootings may be most prevalent in the United States, but they aren’t exclusively ours. France has had its share of attacks, though they usually come from political terrorists instead of disturbed hotheads. One such attack at the Bataclan Theatre and several bars and restaurants in Paris in 2015 touched the life of director Alice Winocour, whose brother survived the assault that left 130 dead and 416 wounded. How those who have undergone such a trauma cope with it and move forward with their lives is the subject of REVOIR PARIS. The central character is Mia (Virginie Efira), a translator who lives with her physician boyfriend, Vincent (Grégoire Colin), and a very pretty cat. The pair are out for dinner one night when Vincent is called to the hospital. Mia mounts her motorcycle and heads home, but gets caught in a downpour. She stops at a brasserie to have a drink and wait out the storm. Not long after she is seated, a well-armed gunman enters her part of the restaurant and opens fire as part of a coordinated terrorist attack that, we learn later, also will claim lives in two other restaurants. After a blackout, the film moves forward three months. Mia’s torso wound is being examined by a doctor, who says they will try to lessen the appearance of the scar but can’t perform miracles. Mia contemplates going back to work, but she is haunted by the attack, which she can’t remember. During the film, she will slowly recover her memories as she revisits the scene, interacts with other victims and their family members, and tries to track down the person she clung to for strength during the worst of it. Winocour’s staging of the attack is terrifying and realistic, and the lead-up to it is well-executed. Working a radio interview with a Russian dissident, Mia translates that he’s not worried about being attacked in Paris. Later, a pedestrian hits the window next to Mia at the restaurant where she and Vincent are dining, startling her. Then, Vincent uses the formal “Excusez-moi” with her when he leaves to take a call, signaling trouble in their relationship before the attack. Throughout the film, Winocour interjects first-person narratives of other survivors and the memories of a teenager (Nastya Golubeva Carax) of the night she learned that her parents were in the brasserie. She also takes us into the world of undocumented workers from Africa who comprise much of the restaurant workforce in Paris. I appreciated being able to see the hidden life of a city many—even Parisians—think they know. I found the film somewhat sketchy, particularly in its character development, and a bit facile, but I appreciated the heartfelt effort to dramatize this undercovered topic. (2022, 104 min, DCP Digital) [Marilyn Ferdinand]

Dan O’Bannon’s THE RETURN OF THE LIVING DEAD (US)

Alamo Drafthouse (3519 N. Clark St., Suite C301) – Monday, 9:30pm

Do you wanna party?! It’s party time! What we have here is a cult film of impressive influence. Usually cult films find themselves an audience that clutches to them so tightly that they are nearly suffocated by the fandom and then never do much more than appeal to those diehards. Dan O’Bannon’s THE RETURN OF THE LIVING DEAD has escaped this insularity; not only has it managed to reach legitimate cult status, but it has also helped create an entire new (sub)genre of film—the zombie comedy. Without THE RETURN OF THE LIVING DEAD there would be no MY BOYFRIEND’S BACK, no SHAUN OF THE DEAD, no ONE SHOT OF THE DEAD, no JUAN OF THE DEAD, etc. Just look at the worldwide influence in that short list alone; English, Japanese, and Cuban filmmakers all picking up where O’Bannon left off. Most famous for co-writing ALIEN and TOTAL RECALL, RETURN was the first of only two films he had the chance to direct. Based on his own screenplay, O’Bannon pits a crew of punk rockers against a graveyard full of zombies. A mysterious gas leaking from a U.S. government-marked canister infects employees and cadavers at a medical facility; the cremation of one of those newly undead contaminates the clouds overhead, creating a toxic rain that falls on a cemetery, bringing a host of zombies out of their graves. The plot is simple and direct, getting down to business right away. Played for laughs, THE RETURN OF THE LIVING DEAD mixes humor, horror, gore, and punksploitation into a film that once dominated the home video rental market, and still lends itself perfectly to revival screenings and midnight showings. The film is a love letter to underground culture as a whole; to weirdos, freaks, and the socially awkward looking for the same. RETURN augments its cult cred with a soundtrack of equally-cult bands: The Damned, Roky Erickson, 45 Grave, T.S.O.L., The Flesh Eaters, and of course, The Cramps. Unlike George A. Romero’s social-message zombie classics, RETURN is pure 20th century American trash culture. And god bless O’Bannon for that. It’s a film of forever quotable lines, cheesy practical effects that you can laugh along with, and a Ramones-esque d-u-m-b nihilism that could have only been bred in the Cold War of Reagan’s ‘80s. This is a fun movie, plain and simple. I like it. It’s a statement. Screening as part of the Graveyard Shift series. (1985, 91 min, DCP Digital) [Raphael Jose Martinez]

Steven Spielberg's JAWS (US)

Alamo Drafthouse (3519 N. Clark St., Suite C301) – Tuesday, 4pm

If PSYCHO forever changed bathroom behavior, then JAWS no doubt gave us pause before diving head first into the ocean; but like the best horror movies, the film's staying power comes not from it's superficial subject matter, in this case a mammoth, man-eating shark and the ominous abyss of the deep blue sea, but from the polysemic potential and wealth of latent meanings that these enduring symbols possess. JAWS marks a watershed moment in cinema culture for a variety of reasons, not excluding the way it singlehandedly altered the Hollywood business model by becoming the then highest grossing film of all time. A byproduct of such attention has been the sustained output of scholarly criticism over the years. At the time of its release, JAWS was interpreted as a thinly veiled metaphor for the Watergate scandal (an event that was slightly more conspicuous in the book), but since then a variety of readings have emerged, including socioeconomic and feminist analyses; however, Marxist theorist Fredric Jameson may provide the most intriguing interpretation by connecting the shark to the tradition of scapegoating. Like Moby Dick or Hitchcock's titular birds, the shark functions as a sacrificial animal onto which we project our own social or historical anxieties (e.g., bioterrorism, AIDS, Mitt Romney). It allows us to rationalize evil and then fool ourselves into thinking we've vanquished it. But by turning man-made problems into natural ones we forget that human nature itself is corrupt, exemplified here by Mayor Vaughn who places the entire population of Amity Island in peril by denying the existence of the shark. Jameson's reading is in keeping with the way in which Spielberg rarely displays the shark itself (the result of constant mechanical malfunctions); as opposed to terrifying close-ups, we get point of view shots that create an abstract feeling of fear, thus evoking an applicable horror film trope: the idea is much more frightening than the image. JAWS is a timeless cautionary tale because it appeals to the deep-rooted fears of any generation. And because sharks are scary. (1975, 124 min, DCP Digital) [Harrison Sherrod]

Christopher Nolan's DUNKIRK (UK)

Alamo Drafthouse (3519 N. Clark St., Suite C301) – Saturday, 11am

Christopher Nolan’s 10th feature film finds the director delving into the past to tell the story of Dunkirk, a moment during World War II in which 400,000 British and French soldiers found themselves cornered along the shore of the Strait of Dover with German forces closing in from all sides. Focusing on the extraction of the British soldiers, the film’s narrative is split into three timelines, from the perspectives of those on land, on the sea, and in the air. The most unique feature here is the differences in time dilation that each of these plot threads experiences—the time scale covering a week, a day, and an hour, respectively. Much like the structuring of Steven Soderbergh’s TRAFFIC, these scenarios are differentiated from one another via distinct tones. Despite being a war film and covering so much material, the film is relatively light on dialogue. Instead, Nolan seeks to create impact through visually stunning detail and intimate camera work. Cameras are strapped to planes, on boats, and to cameraman in the water, creating a deeply immersive experience. As seen throughout his oeuvre, in which he’s been a proponent of on-location shooting and practical effects, the vast beaches coupled with huge warships create a daunting sense of scale. This immensity also helps to create isolation; some of the characters seem but a drop of rain in a storm—an impression accentuated by the use of soft focus during long shots. Hans Zimmer’s score creates foreboding and suspense. Rising and swelling like the sea itself, the music is underlined with the tick-tock of a pocket-watch, driving home the theme of elapsing time. Drawing inspiration from films as diverse as SUNRISE (1927) and SAVING PRIVATE RYAN (1998), and building on ideas explored in Nolan’s own films MEMENTO (2001) and INCEPTION, DUNKIRK immerses its audience with its complex, interweaving storylines. (2017, 106 min, DCP Digital) [Kyle Cubr]

Cédric Klapisch’s RISE (France)

The Wilmette Theatre (1122 Central Ave.) – See Venue website for showtimes

For the life of me, I can’t understand what film critics have against Cédric Klapisch. They say his characters are cliché. His plots are predictable. He doesn’t offer any original insights. He’s too lackluster, but also too ebullient. What’s a romcom director to do? What I love about Cédric Klapisch is his unabashed celebration of life and its possibilities. In his wonderful new film, RISE, there is every reason for his central character, Élise Gautier (Marion Barbeau), to despair. About to premiere as the lead in the Paris Opera Ballet’s production of La Bayadère, she sees her boyfriend making out in the wings with another dancer. Devastated, she loses concentration and lands a grand jeté awkwardly on her bad ankle, after which she is told by her physician that she may be able to dance again in four months, two years, or never, forcing the ballet company to fire her. Moreover, she lost her mother when she was a girl and has been raised by an inept father (Denis Podalydès) who provides for her materially, but not emotionally. At 26, Élise was nearing the end of her ballet career, but being forced prematurely to plan her “second life,” as all ballet dancers must, leaves her confused and rudderless. Another dancer (Souheila Yacoub), whose career was ended by an injury at 18, invites Élise to come with her and her chef boyfriend (Pio Marmaï) to work at an artists’ colony in Brittany. She peels carrots and watches modern dancer/choreographer/composer Hofesh Shechter (himself) and his company rehearse a new dance. Slowly, Élise starts to envision a new future—one not lighter than air but rather planted firmly on the ground. It’s only fair to say that RISE had me a “hello”—the opening shot is of the exquisitely supple arm of Barbeau, a principal dancer with the Paris Opera Ballet. But Barbeau does more than dance beautifully. Her acting is incredibly strong for a debut performance, adding the kind of nuance and exhilaration she infuses into her dancing to a part that requires quite a few colors. RISE is also laugh-out-loud funny at times, mostly when focused on Élise’s New Age physical therapist (François Civil), who is twice unlucky in love. Most notable are the generous amounts of dancing that are brilliantly filmed by Alexis Kavyrchine. Kavyrchine is able to isolate a small step en pointe, but also the facial expressions that communicate a dancer’s motivation beyond just executing moves. One standout scene is on the cliffs off the Atlantic coast, where the dancers allow the wind to push them around and swirl them together in chains that, from above, resemble Matisse’s human daisy chains, an artistic companion to his more formal shots a la Degas of the corps de ballet lounging and stretching in their white tutus at the beginning of the film. Kavyrchine’s greatest moments come during the premiere of Shechter’s thrilling contemporary dance. He maintains the energy and movement of the heavy steps and swirling runs of the dancers as they weave in, out, and around each other, while never cutting away from the ensemble for too long. His work finds the perfect balance between Fred Astaire’s insistence on full body shots and the frenetic editing that is more impressed with its own movement than the choreographer’s. RISE really gets inside the heads and hearts of those who commit their lives to the stringent discipline of dance, and with one literal leap of faith, fills us with their joy. (2022, 117 min, DCP Digital) [Marilyn Ferdinand]

Anton Corbijn's SQUARING THE CIRCLE (THE STORY OF HIPGNOSIS) (UK/Documentary)

Music Box Theatre – See Venue website for showtimes

Much like music videos were in the '80s and '90s, record album artwork is a popular but generally anonymous venture. Music videos were populist films, watched more times than some of the greatest and most successful commercial films of all time. But it's rare to be able to name the people who directed them. Similarly, some record covers have achieved a level of true pop art that would make Andy Warhol blush—let's be real, more people can recognize the cover of Dark Side of the Moon than any Rembrandt. But who can name the artist behind that timeless image? At the beginning of this movement, of album art as capital-A "Art", was Hipgnosis, an English photography and design studio. Breaking onto the scene after designing the cover of the second album by their friends Pink Floyd, Hipgnosis quickly became one of the most sought-after design firms for (primarily) British rock album covers. This film is gorgeously made by Anton Corbijn, himself a known quantity in the rock art world, having started by taking some of the most iconic photographs of Joy Division, along with making videos for Front 242, Echo and the Bunnymen, Depeche Mode, U2, and Nirvana. Though formally a rather standard talking head rock doc, Corbijn appreciates the confluence of fine art and pop music in a way that allows this film to be visually arresting in a way that most films like this simply aren't. The talking head segments are done as black and white portraiture—what Corbijn has excelled in for the past 40+ years. With featured interviewees including the main members of Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, Paul McCartney, as well members/employees of Hipgnosis such as co-founder Aubrey "Po" Powell, there is a level of cultural weight in the stories and conversations presented. SQUARING THE CIRCLE does a great job of pulling out from the iconic images we've seen for over half a century and showing how they were made via an extensive catalog of behind-the-scenes footage. We get to see how Hipgnosis made the covers for such classic records as Houses of the Holy, Wish You Were Here, Band on the Run, and Animals. Considering how powerful some of the images have become, it's a bit of a shame that there are no artists or art critics featured in the film. This is more of a tale of '70s rock and all of its well-documented ego and excess, and how it bloated to even include the album art. Even a design company had their own Behind the Music-esque rise and fall. We see how punk rock came and tossed Hipgnosis and their clients into the cutout bins of history. While this is definitely a film for the hardcore fans of rock/pop history who have spent hours staring at the sleeves of their Zeppelin, AC/DC, Scorpions, Floyd, Def Leppard and Wings albums, entranced by their surrealistic and often humorous beauty, it's a bit more than another purely nostalgic rock doc piece for the Boomer generation. SQUARING THE CIRCLE speaks about a very specific and unique time, when two-dimensional physical art was nearly as important in the music industry as the music itself. A time, half a century out, that seems just as strange, surreal, and imagined as the record covers that Hipgnosis themselves created. (2022, 101 min, DCP Digital) [Raphael Jose Martinez]

🎞️ PHYSICAL SCREENINGS/EVENTS –
ALSO SCREENING

⚫ Chicago Film Archives
The Chicago Transit Authority, in partnership with the Chicago Film Archives (CFA), presents a new, one-of-a-kind temporary art installation now playing at the Cicero Green Line station (4800 W. Lake St.). The installation, called we love, is a filmic exhibition of home movies and amateur films selected from collections housed and preserved at CFA. The video, which has a runtime of approximately 48 minutes, will be projected onto a wall in the mezzanine area of the station. The video will run day and night through mid-March next year. More info here. 

⚫ Chicago Filmmakers
Xavier Dolan’s 2019 film MATTHIAS & MAXIME (118 min, Digital Projection) screens Friday, 7pm, as part of the Reeling Pride Month film showcase, presented by MUBI. More info here.

⚫ Cinema/Chicago
Aodh Ó Coileáin’s 2020 Irish film CUMAR: A GALWAY RHAPSODY (72 min, Digital Projection) screens Wednesday, 6:30pm, at the Chicago Cultural Center (78 E. Washington St.). Note that advance tickets are no longer available. Please pick up a Rush Card when doors open at 5:45pm to reserve your place for a last-minute ticket. Open seats will be made available to Rush Card holders 15 minutes prior to showtime on a first-come, first-served basis. Admission is not guaranteed. More info here.

⚫ FACETS Cinema
FACETS and Color Comics present We Can Be Sheroes: Celebrating Black Women in Sci-Fi, which includes two screening blocks, a panel discussion and post-show reception, on Friday starting at 6pm. More info here.

⚫ Gene Siskel Film Center
Note that the Gene Siskel Film Center will be closed Saturday and Sunday due to the NASCAR Chicago Street Race. More info on all screenings and events here.

⚫ Music Box Theatre
It’s officially Music Box Garden Movies season! See Venue website for films and showtimes. 

Nicole Holofcener’s 2023 film YOU HURT MY FEELINGS (93 min, DCP Digital) continues. See Venue website for showtimes. 

The Chicago Japan Film Collective presents Iizuka Kasho’s 2022 film ANGRY SON (112 min, DCP Digital) on Saturday at 4:30pm. More info on all screenings and events here.

⚫ Sideshow Gelato (4819 N. Western Ave.)
The Sideshow Gelato shop presents Sideshow Sinema!, a series during which they will screen films connected to the shop theme, every Thursday. More info here.

⚫ Sweet Void Cinema (3036 W. Chicago Ave.)
Find information on the Humboldt Park microcinema, including its screening and workshop schedule, here.

CINE-LIST: June 30 - July 6, 2023

MANAGING EDITORS // Ben and Kat Sachs

CONTRIBUTORS // Michael Castelle, Kyle Cubr, Ray Ebarb, Megan Fariello, Marilyn Ferdinand, Raphael Jose Martinez, Dmitry Samarov, Harrison Sherrod, Drew Van Weelden, Brian Welesko