Cine-File continues to cover streaming and other online offerings during this time of covidity.
NEW REVIEWS
Young-Seok Noh’s DAYTIME DRINKING (South Korea)
Available free on Hoopla through participating libraries with your library card; also available for “free” on Amazon Prime with subscription
"There’s a lot to be said for making people laugh. Did you know that that’s all some people have? It isn’t much, but it’s better than nothing in this cockeyed caravan.” I've been thinking a lot recently about this quote from the Preston Sturges masterpiece SULLIVAN'S TRAVELS. To my mind, one of the most underrated and just plain underseen comedies of the last few decades is this minimalist charmer from South Korea. And now is the perfect time to catch up with it. The setup couldn't be simpler. A young man's oafish buddies convince him to take a bus to the countryside and meet them at a college chum's guesthouse, where "there's lots of booze and delicious barbecue." Of course when he arrives his friends are nowhere to be found; and getting back to Seoul proves to be an unexpectedly tall order. Among the problems he has to contend with are crappy cell phone reception, con artists, and the constant necessity of being polite by accepting drinks from strangers. (To really enjoy Young-seok Noh's debut feature you need to know the basics of Korean drinking. First: over three billion bottles of soju, the national spirit, are consumed annually; second: soju is usually between 20-45% alcohol; and third, it's considered rude to refuse a drink. That's enough to addle anyone's brain.) A hilarious and agreeably gentle comedy, DAYTIME DRINKING plays like a Jim Jarmusch remake of Scorsese's AFTER HOURS. There's even a Catherine O'Hara-like character, a flaky woman with the power to help our unfortunate hero but who only ends up tormenting him. Shot on a budget of only $20,000 this film puts to shame most indie American fare, let alone the dreck coming out of the studios. (2009, 116 min) RC
Carlos Saura’s EL AMOR BRUJO (Spain)
Streams free at io.ua here
Director and screenwriter Carlos Saura once complained that he has made dozens of films of all types, but that the only films for which people seem to remember him are his dance films. With all due respect and notwithstanding his brilliant drama CRIA CUERVOS (1976), Saura’s dance films are justly lauded and virtually without parallel. The apotheosis of his work in the form are his collaborations with dancer/choreographer Antonio Gades and his ballet company that form the so-called flamenco trilogy—BLOOD WEDDING (1981), CARMEN (1983), and EL AMOR BRUJO (1986). The films might properly be called the Gitano trilogy, because each film revolves around stories of the Romani people of Andalusia. Saura has adapted and titled his trilogy after classic source material: the first, Federico García Lorca’s play; the second, Prosper Mérimée’s novella and composer Georges Bizet’s opera; and the last, composer Manuel de Falla and librettist Gregorio Martínez Sierra’s ballet. Each film exhibits Saura’s penchant for revealing the artifice behind his creations, heightening the mythic dimensions of these elemental tales of romantic love, jealousy, and murder. In the last of the trilogy, EL AMOR BRUJO, an actual ghost is conjured, one that binds the wife his mortal being was betraying to call him from the dead night after night at the spot where he was mortally knifed. The film opens with a high overhead shot of the soundstage. Saura’s camera slowly moves into the village where the fathers of Candela and José promise them to each other, sealing the deal with a handshake moistened with wine. Young Carmelo, in love with Candela, looks on in horror. In one of the great image impositions in film, Carmelo’s young face seamlessly morphs into the face of Antonio Gades on the day that Candela (Cristina Hoyos) and José (Juan Antonio Jiménez) are to be married. Carmelo and José’s lover, Lucía (Laura del Sol), are heartbroken, while Candela happily contemplates her nuptials and eagerly joins her husband in their marriage bed. Soon enough, José returns to Lucía and is killed defending her honor. Eventually, Carmelo, who was railroaded for José’s murder, returns from prison and convinces Candela to give up her attachment to a dead man, as Lucía agrees to take her place with José, putting the love matches to right. Along with some original music, the film includes de Falla’s piece in its entirety, which, as Spanish dance music, is a perfect fit for Gades and his company. Gades is a master of group choreography, and the two masses of dancers who carry the newlyweds aloft, undulating in sensuous patterns, are a breathtaking sight. There are few dancers who are as skilled and well-matched as Gades and Hoyos, and it is this compatibility that Saura plumbs for its emotional resonance during the wedding reception, when Carmelo is induced to dance with Candela. Hoyos is mesmerizing when she breaks free of the group performing the Ritual Fire Dance and seems consumed by the flames themselves. Most charming is the dance of the eight grandmothers in joyous celebration that makes one wonder why we don’t all get up and dance early and often. EL AMOR BRUJO’s cast acts with depth and conviction as they exemplify flamenco dancing at its finest. (1986, 100 min) MF
Jean-Marie Straub’s FRANCE AGAINST ROBOTS (France)
Available to stream free at https://kinoslang.blogspot.com/ through 4/12
Jean-Marie Straub’s latest, FRANCE AGAINST ROBOTS, recently received its World Premiere online at Kino Slang, the blog of film programmer Andy Rector. This surprise event is the inaugural program of a new weekly online series sparked by the worldwide quarantine, which, to my mind, puts it in the same “corona-ssaince” category as Bob Dylan’s stealth-dropping of the 17-minute single “Murder Most Foul” and Jean-Luc Godard’s surprise appearance on Instagram Live Chat (in which the great director spoke at length about “images in the time of the coronavirus”). Straub’s 10-minute short begins with a five-minute long take/tracking shot that follows Christophe Clavert (best known as a cinematographer) in three-quarters view from behind as he strolls alongside a Swiss lake and recites a Georges Bernanos text from 1945 about political revolution. The substance of this text, which provides the film with its title, is that different forms of government (e.g., “the Imperial English Democracy, the Plutocratic American Democracy and the Marxist Empire of Soviet Dominions”) may appear to be in opposition but actually share the goal of maintaining the same system that allowed them to acquire wealth and power in the first place. The notion that the Soviet Union “profited from Capitalism” no less than the United States, which must have seemed perverse when Bernanos wrote it at the dawn of the Cold War, looks eerily prescient from the vantage point of the 21st century—but the real hammer blow arrives in the last two lines of Bernanos’ text that Clavert speaks (certainly the most important film dialogue I expect to hear all year): “In short: regimes formerly opposed in ideology are now directly united by Technology. A world dominated by Technology is lost for Liberty.” Clavert stops walking to deliver this last line, and the camera tracking behind him follows suit, as if to emphasize its importance. It is here that viewers likely first become aware that the sky in this shot, filmed at dusk, has considerably darkened over the course of the previous five minutes. Then a curious thing happens: The film restarts. We see the opening titles again followed by another five-minute long take of the same action (Clavert walking alongside the same lake and reciting the same text); only this time the sky is brighter, presumably because it was shot earlier in the day than the take that precedes it. It’s important to note here that Clavert is also credited as “Editor,” which might seem curious for a short that essentially consists of two shots but this single cut proves to be crucial to the film’s overall meaning. In addition to the way the dark/light dichotomy arguably injects a sense of optimism into the proceedings, Straub/Clavert’s allowing us to see the same thing twice also highlights what is specifically filmic about FRANCE AGAINST ROBOTS. This is not merely a film about someone talking. As with the work of Eric Rohmer, it’s about someone talking in a specific time and place—a quality underscored by the way viewers can perceive the slightest variations between the two takes, not just in the images but also on the soundtrack: Along with Clavert’s spoken-word monologue, dig the slightly heightened sounds of honking geese and lapping waves in the background (the mixing of which is credited to the legendary François Musy). (2020, 10 min) MGS
Films by Marie Menken (Experimental)
Available for rent on the Film-makers’ Cooperative Vimeo-on Demand Page here
Marie Menken was a grand and unwieldy cinematic force. She was beloved by and influential on the generation of filmmakers that included Stan Brakhage, Jonas Mekas, and Andy Warhol. She made great innovations in the language of handheld 16mm cinematography, extending her body and her eye though the Bolex camera, and imbued poetry and passion in every object she put before herself. As Jonas Mekas wrote: "She filmed with her entire body, her entire nervous system....She took the film (the non-narrative film, the poetic film, the language of film) in a completely new direction, away from classic filmmaking and into a new adventure." This collection includes 11 of her films, including the highlights: VISUAL VARIATIONS ON NOGUCHI (1945), GLIMPSE OF THE GARDEN (1957), and GO GO GO (1962-64). (1945-67, 75 min. total) JBM
Lindsay Anderson’s “Mick Travis” Trilogy (UK Revival)
Available to stream on the Criterion Channel (subscription required)
Lindsay Anderson’s “Mick Travis” trilogy is available to watch on the Criterion Channel for the rest of the month; if you haven’t seen these seminal works of British cinema, now would be a great time to catch up. Like numerous filmmakers of the French New Wave, Anderson was a critic before he started directing movies; his most renowned critical achievement may be his book-length critical study of John Ford, which was one of the first of its kind. As a budding filmmaker, Anderson helped define the style of postwar British realism with his documentary shorts and his first fiction feature, THIS SPORTING LIFE (1963). The Travis trilogy marked a distinct break with realism, however, as Anderson drew on such diverse influences as Brechtian theater, pulp science fiction, and Jean Vigo’s ZERO FOR CONDUCT (1933) to create a rich, satirical portrait of postwar England. A Palme d’Or winner at the Cannes Film Festival, IF… (111 min, 1968) wears the influence of Vigo’s work on its sleeve, delivering a surrealist narrative of unrest at an elite boy’s boarding school. The film may be of its moment in its revolutionary concerns, but Anderson’s shape-shifting style and the spirited cast (which features Malcolm McDowell in one of his first major performances) still communicate a youthful energy. O LUCKY MAN! (178 min, 1973) is, simply, one of the supreme works of narrative cinema, a three-hour epic that amounts to nothing less than a communiqué on the state of the western world circa 1973. McDowell returns as now-reformed revolutionary Mick Travis, who begins the film wanting to make his mark as a traveling coffee salesman. His picaresque adventures take him all over England, into a variety of careers, and up and down the social ladder. Anderson incorporates aspects of realism, surrealism, rock documentary (songwriter Alan Price appears onscreen throughout the film to perform songs that comment on the narrative), silent cinema, and more; the movie feels like the work of a former critic in the best sense, delivering what feels like a synthesis of film history up to that point. BRITANNIA HOSPITAL (111 min, 1982) also functions as a social commentary, but its focus is narrower than its predecessor’s. Like IF…, it is a film specifically about British politics and class relations, with the title location serving as a metaphor for the country as a whole. The movie takes place on the 500th anniversary of England’s most distinguished hospital; over the course of the madcap day, much of the staff goes on strike, demonstrators outside the building protest the hospital’s treatment of an African dictator, the board of directors receives a visit from the Queen, and Mick Travis (now a cynical journalist) investigates the strange experiments that mad Doctor Millar has been cooking up in the new wing. BRITANNIA HOSPITAL reflects Anderson’s anger at the Margaret Thatcher regime and the state of the British health system; unlike the other two films in the trilogy, it’s sometimes overwhelmed by its anger. The movie inspired plenty of anger too; it was greeted with walk-outs at its Cannes premiere, quickly buried by its distributor, and signaled the end of Anderson’s career in British narrative cinema. It’s saddening to think how many more films Anderson might have made before his death in 1994, but what he left behind is still breathtaking. BS
Cindy Sherman’s OFFICE KILLER (US)
NOTE: We had previously listed this as being available to view on Shudder, which, apparently, it is not. (It appears to be the case when searching for the film’s streaming availability, but it not actually on the site when one signs up.) If you’re eager to watch this amazing film, we recommend searching for it on YouTube.
It often seems that when famous gallery artists turn to film they tend to stick to the experimental. Perhaps it’s the desire to be “taken seriously,” or to continue their high art, just in a different medium. From Salvador Dali to Yoko Ono to Matthew Barney, those respected in the art world seem to, quite ironically, play it safe by staying weird. Cindy Sherman’s sole feature film, the 1997 horror-comedy OFFICE KILLER, is in direct contrast to this tiring practice—and thankfully so. Her film is pure, gleeful genre fare through and through. No too-clever-by-half attempts at cinematic subversion or meta commentary. No gimmicks, no tricks. Just a fun, entertaining black comedy. This doesn’t mean that the film is without any visual beauty. As a photographer in the late 1970s and early 80s, Sherman forever changed the art world with her incredibly cinematic, and highly influential, Untitled Film Stills series. This was the work where she took pictures of herself as different clichéd female types, very inspired by film imagery of the 1950s and 60s. The photographs go far beyond simply being well executed “stills” of non-existent films; her exploration of female identity and female roles in American society is ultimately what is being put on display. So anyone familiar with Sherman’s work shouldn’t find it surprising that when she decided to finally direct a feature that she would tell the story of a female office worker, of a certain age, and her growing madness in dealing with the world around her. The visual touches of Sherman’s photography delightfully appear now and again, but she mostly frees herself from the idiosyncratic eye of her past and allows herself all the room needed to tell this oddball story. Given the dry academic lens her art is often viewed through, it’s easy to forget how truly playful Sherman’s work is. This film is a great reminder than underneath everything Sherman continuously celebrates the joy that can come with artifice. Starring one of the grand dames of American comedy, Carol Kane, and a perfectly cast-against-type Molly Ringwald as the scenery-chewing villain, corpses and laughs quickly pile up. Co-written by New Queer Cinema pioneer Todd Haynes, OFFICE KILLER plays out as a lighthearted (blackhearted?) mélange of MS .45-lite and OFFICE SPACE. When Kane accidentally kills a man who has been emotionally abusing her at work she realizes that she may actually enjoy murder. What makes this film particularly timely is the source of her growing alienation. She is thrust, unprepared, into the same uncomfortable new world that so many people are experiencing right now—working from home. The comedy/horror of email and long distance work are splattered across the screen. Laugh at the absurd, squirm at the gore, and remember that this goofball movie was directed by the recipient of a MacArthur genius grant. (1997, 82 min) RJM
Yasujiro Ozu’s THE ONLY SON (Japan)
Available on the Criterion Channel (subscription required)
In his “Great Movies” essay on Yasujiro Ozu’s poignant and compassionate THE ONLY SON, the master’s first sound film, Roger Ebert makes a key point about what makes Ozu so distinctive as a storyteller: “I really do feel as if Ozu is looking at his films along with me.” Indeed, we feel Ozu’s presence as we watch this simple domestic drama about the only son of a widowed mother, who sacrifices what little she makes slaving away at a small-town silk factory to put her boy through high school, then send him away to Tokyo. There, he is to join his mentor and follow his dreams. (The teacher is played by Ozu’s great regular, Chishu Ryu.) Years later, the mother pays her boy a surprise visit in the big city, only to discover that he now has a wife and a baby. But the great secret of his life is that he considers himself a failure. THE ONLY SON is impressive in that one glimpses the concerns and strategies of Ozu’s dozens of later films, already in place. It speaks of birth and childhood; of youthful romance leading into adult struggle and child-rearing; of the distance between reality and dreams, and the specter of aging and loneliness. It examines the bitterness and bonds of family life with empathy towards all, especially parents. It’s got the delightful compositions, so observant of forms and geometry. (Ebert draws our attention to Ozu’s “little teapot,” which almost always appears in his interiors.) After an especially emotionally intense scene, in which mother and son share their mutual disappointments in the middle of the night while the daughter-in-law eavesdrops, Ozu cuts to one of his signature, much-studied but still mysterious “pillow shots”—here, a corner of the room—and holds it for almost a full minute. It’s as if the empty room is absorbing the powerful emotions—or, as Paul Schrader wrote in his famous study, as if the forms somehow transform these emotions "into an expression of something unified, permanent, transcendent.” The tone is contemplative, and thereby deeply respectful: both to his characters, and to us, the audience—who, after all, feel we’re observing his creations alongside him. THE ONLY SON is an early chapter in the life’s work of an artist with a singularly wise, bittersweet and loving vision—a vision which always needs to be shared, but which I find especially essential in troubled times. (1936, 83 min) SP
Films by Edward Owens (Experimental)
Available for rent on the Film-makers’ Cooperative Vimeo-on Demand Page here
Edwards Owens does not currently hold a place in that remarkable, silly, messy, contested pantheon of independent American filmmakers of the last century. No. Instead he sits in the much more interesting realm of those sometimes forgotten, sometimes ignored, sometimes marginalized filmmakers that still possess the power to seduce and surprise. He lives among Storm De Hirsch, Bob Cowan, Pola Chapelle, and other filmmakers whose work could hit you in the gut just as they could be easily forgotten by the next person over. And he's from the Southside of Chicago. And local-born experimental film artists from his era are as rare as a hen's tooth. He began studying at SAIC in the mid-60s, went off to New York to make some films and live in the scene, then returned to Chicago to finish his degree at Columbia, but never made a film again (that we are aware of). There's plenty to be seen of the influence from mentor Gregory Markopoulos, but Owens work possesses a depth and flare of his own. Dramatically-lit portraiture, poetic superimpositions, and keen still-frame interludes dominate the work. PRIVATE IMAGININGS AND NARRATIVE FACTS (1968-70) is the most oft-shown of the work, probably because of the great title and workable length. It's a short, silent, tinted, portrait of costumed and posed figures. It's minor compared to the next title. REMEMBRANCE: A PORTRAIT STUDY (1967) is something else: a dimly lit revelry of pop tunes, drinking, and celebratory immersion. The final superimposed still images tear to the core. It's a film buzzing with energy and discovery. It's a tremendous film. TOMORROW'S PROMISE (1967) comprises the bulk of the running time at 45 minutes and it's his most accomplished work. It contains all the elements of the other two films, sustained and controlled over near-feature-length. Watching it you might say it's a shame these films have gone unseen for so long, or you might be simply overjoyed you are getting to see them now. Also included is his student work AUTRE FOIS J'AI AIME UNE FEMME (1966). (1966-70, 100 min. total) JBM
Michael Reich’s SHE’S ALLERGIC TO CATS (US Experimental)
Available on Apple TV and to rent on Amazon Prime Video
“Everyone is a lost dog.” So says Michael Reich’s bizarre debut feature SHE’S ALLERGIC TO CATS, which toes the line between experimental video art and charming dramedy with ease. Mike Pinkney’s apartment is full of rats and he spends all of his free time making glitch-heavy video art that nobody understands. He’s sick of his day job as a dog groomer and wishes he could spend more time on his passion project: an all-cat remake of Brian De Palma’s CARRIE. His plans shift, however, when a woman brings in her dog to get groomed and Mike falls swiftly in love, forcing himself to get his act together and go after what he wants. The film utilizes an unconventional yet deeply nostalgic visual style by first shooting in digital and then running it through various analog and older digital formats: from DVD players, to Mini-DV, and VHS tapes. It makes for a sometimes-jarring watch, but one that compliments its equally strange structure. SHE’S ALLERGIC TO CATS is based on Reich’s own life, and highlights the insecure voices in Mike’s head, along with his tendencies to hyperfixate on fantasy, in a way that feels both inventive and personal. Before this feature, Reich and Pinkney collaborated on several lo-fi, VHS-based music videos for acts like The Shins and My Chemical Romance—and before that, Reich documented the underground L.A. punk scene in a similar style through the now defunct Video Thing project. It’s probably not for everyone, but the eclectic distortions of style and form in SHE’S ALLERGIC TO CATS make for a fascinating watch, and shows a lot of promise for what’s to come. (2016, 72 min) CC
Diao Yinan’s THE WILD GOOSE LAKE (China)
Available to rent via Film Movement/Gene Siskel Film Center here
THE WILD GOOSE LAKE is less a neo-noir than an extended stylistic exercise, with writer-director Diao Yinan (BLACK COAL, THIN ICE) finding a different cinematic device to employ in every gunfight, chase sequence, and one-on-one standoff. Diao’s depiction of Wuhan is highly stylish too—the city’s criminal underground is always agleam with rain or neon light. The luscious visual design sometimes recalls another recent Chinese film, Bi Gan’s LONG DAY’S JOURNEY INTO NIGHT (2018), and like it, the narrative is designed like a ride, moving viewers from one vivid location to another. Diao’s camerawork isn’t as ambitious as Bi Gan’s, but WILD GOOSE LAKE conveys a sense of motion through inventive editing that seems to hurtle you through time. This feeling allows one to emphasize with the harried antihero, an ex-con who finds himself on the run from cops and criminals alike after he accidentally shoots a police officer and a bounty gets put on his head. The film’s violence is alternately gritty and exaggerated; you’re never quite sure what tone each action set piece is going to take. That sense of unpredictability goes a long way from keeping WILD GOOSE LAKE from feeling familiar, which is impressive given how many tried-and-true noir archetypes Diao trots out. (2019, 111 min) BS
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It costs $12 to rent the film for three days, with half the proceeds supporting the Film Center.
RERUN REVIEWS FOR FILMS WITH SPECIAL AVAILABILITY
NICK ALONZO X 2
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Nick Alonzo’s SHITCAGO (US)
Available for free at the filmmaker's YouTube page
In a review of Jacques Becker’s MONTPARNASSE 19 for Cahiers du Cinéma in 1958, Jean-Luc Godard movingly wrote: “I would give the whole of the postwar French cinema for that one shot, badly acted, badly composed, but sublime, in which Modigliani asks five francs for his drawings on the terrace of La Coupole.” This is how I feel about Nick Alonzo’s SHITCAGO; the performances may be uneven, some of the location sound may be poorly recorded but this brisk first feature is thrillingly alive and uproariously funny in a way that other contemporary American movies are not. Made on a shoestring budget by a cast and crew of friends, this day-in-the-life-of-Chicago comedy is consistently inventive in its black-and-white cinematography and crisp editing schemes as it follows the mundane adventures of an unnamed protagonist (Jeremiah Aviles) traversing the city in search of& something. It’s hard to say exactly what. Aviles’ character is as passive as protagonists get. Wearing a black skullcap and a permanently neutral facial expression (think of a Latino Buster Keaton), this wonderfully inexpressive young man bikes, walks, and rides trains and buses from one neighborhood to the next from morning to night, encountering a bizarre assortment of obnoxious or hostile characters to whom he shows little or no reaction: a man talking loudly about his colonoscopy while vaping, a self-described “tree rights activist,” a man blatantly perusing porn in a public library, a drunk girl looking for a party, a pretentious art critic, an aggressive weed dealer, and, best of all, a character referred to in the credits only as “Hot Dog Stand Jerk.” The scene involving this last character stands out as the most Chicago-centric scene in what is undoubtedly one of the most Chicago-centric movies ever made: the jerk harangues the protagonist about putting ketchup on his hotdog with uncommon vitriol, at one point exclaiming “They should put you in fucking jail for that!” A title card informs us that all of the characters and situations in the film are loosely based on “real life personal experiences” that happened in Chicago. Real experiences. Real people. Real funny. (2015, 65 min) MGS
Nick Alonzo’s THE ART OF SITTING QUIETLY AND DOING NOTHING (US)
Available for free on the filmmaker's YouTube page
“Sitting quietly, doing nothing, Spring comes, and the grass grows, by itself.” So goes a 17th-century haiku by Basho that inspired the title of Nick Alonzo’s 2018 comedy. This koan-like poem, which reminds readers of the importance of letting things happen (as opposed to making them happen), is fitting for our modern world where the notion of busy urban professionals consciously “unplugging” in order to undergo a “digital detox” has become a common occurrence. This also happens to be the story of Carl (Alex Serrato), the film’s poker-faced anti-hero who embarks on a solitary, Henry David Thoreau-style retreat into nature after a breakup with his longtime girlfriend Gloria (Alycya Magana). In contrast to Alonzo’s debut feature, SHITCAGO, which featured a deadpan protagonist encountering a strange menagerie of characters in the city, most of THE ART OF SITTING QUIETLY AND DOING NOTHING is devoted to scenes of Carl alone in the woods in the suburbs—masturbating, exercising, writing in his diary, attempting to fish, etc.—scenarios out of which Alonzo gets a surprising amount of comic mileage. The incongruity of this city dweller alone in verdant nature is highlighted by the fact that he perpetually sports a t-shirt emblazoned with Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon album cover—the ultimate symbol of mass reproduction and popular culture—but Alonzo also posits Carl’s strange odyssey as a genuine, and genuinely poignant, desire for spiritual rebirth. At its best, the minimalist, black-and-white-shot SHITCAGO brought to mind early Jim Jarmusch and Chantal Akerman. THE ART OF SITTING QUIETLY AND DOING NOTHING, a clear advance on its predecessor, might best be described as “stoner Apichatpong.” (2018, 80 min) MGS
Alex Thompson and Kelly O' Sullivan's SAINT FRANCES (US)
Available for rent through Oscilloscope Films and the Music Box Theatre here
SAINT FRANCES, the pungent debut feature from director Alex Thompson and writer Kelly O'Sullivan, is funny, warm, and truly affecting. It's got the flux of life about it, that constant play of comedy and drama. It could make many women feel less alone, not the least because it's so unusually frank about certain bodily realities. In fact, it's more awash in blood, mostly uterine, than some horror films, but the sanguinary is often played for laughs. O'Sullivan herself stars as Bridget, a woman freighted with shame and self-contempt because, at 34, she has no career, no family, no house. (She lives in a tiny apartment in Chicago's Uptown neighborhood.) Even though she doesn't particularly like kids, she interviews for a summer job as a nanny in a wealthy Chicago suburb. The parents are a lesbian couple: the affectionate, sad-eyed birth mother Maya (Charin Alvarez), a devout Catholic, and the no-nonsense, professional Annie (Lily Mojekwu). They've just had an infant, so they need someone to look after their rambunctious six-year-old, Frannie (Ramona Edith-Williams). Frannie and Bridget are at odds at first, and the story is about their unfolding friendship, as Fannie brings out a knack for caregiving Bridget never quite knew she had. She also becomes a bit of a caregiver to Maya, who has postpartum depression. (The movie insists that women should speak out about the loneliness of motherhood, the unspeakable thoughts you can sometimes have.) Things get complicated when Bridget finds out she's accidentally pregnant by Jace (Max Lipchitz), a sweet 26-year-old she's just met. She's immediately certain she wants an abortion; she pops a medication and never looks back. Judging from interviews, O'Sullivan has been in Bridget's shoes, whereas I've been in Jace's. He's supportive of her choice at every turn, yet he still wants to discuss the "emotional impact" and his "residual sadness about our loss." Bridget, though, doesn't feel a loss, and in fact resents that she should be expected to feel anything at all. (Actually, she feels a tremendous amount, which we find out later in the movie—but, refreshingly, no regrets.) Seeing the world through Bridget's eyes made me turn over my own life experiences in a way that felt productive. The movie edges right up to the predictable, but it never quite gets there, thanks to the freshness and honesty of the performances and Thompson's skill for finding just the right shot. Even a potentially contrived bonding montage between Bridget and Annie (gymnastics, ice-skating, the beach) comes off as a bit of summery poetry. The film is light and suffused with the sun—so many cicadas on the soundtrack—but it's got a real edge to it. Little Ramona Edith-Williams steals the movie as Frances. She's precocious, but she's a real kid. She can be a brat. She's bossy and loud. And she's funny and darling and smart and heartbreaking, and yes, I fell in love with her. There's a breathtaking scene late in the film when Bridget goes to the park to watch fireworks with Maya and the children, and a confrontation ensues having to do with the nation's cultural divide. My pulse began to pound, but the way the film handles it is remarkable. We're on Bridget and Maya's side by tacit assumption, but somehow everyone's humanity emerges enhanced. Laughter on the edge of tears is the stuff this film is made of; it has the joy and sadness of life in it. You come out with your sense of empathy, and your heart, freshly filled up. (2019, 106 min) SP
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It costs $12 to rent the film for three days, with half the proceeds supporting the Music Box.
SUPPORT LOCAL THEATERS AND SERIES
As we wait for conditions to improve to allow theaters to reopen, consider various ways that you can help support independent film exhibitors in Chicago weather this difficult time. Memberships, gift cards, and/or merchandise are available from the Gene Siskel Film Center, the Music Box Theatre, and Facets. Donations can be made to non-profit venues and organizations like Chicago Filmmakers, the Chicago Film Society, South Side Projections, and many of the film festivals. Online streaming partnerships with distributors are making films available via the Gene Siskel Film Center and the Music Box Theatre, and Facets has its own streaming service (see below).
The Gene Siskel Film Center is one of a number of theaters around the country partnering with film distributors to offer new and recently restored films via streaming, with part of the rental cost going to the theaters. The Film Center from Your Sofa: Stay Connected and Stream with Us series features new titles each week through the end of April.
The Music Box Theatre also has partnered with several distributors to offer streaming of films, with part of the rental cost supporting the theater. Check their website for details.
Facets has a subscription-based streaming service, FacetsEdge, that includes many exclusive titles.
COVID-19 UPDATES
All independent, alternative, arthouse, grassroots, DIY, and university-based venues and several festivals have suspended operations, closed, or cancelled/postponed events through the end of March at least. Here is the most recent information we have, which we will update as new information becomes available:
Asian Pop-Up Cinema – Spring series postponed till the fall
Beverly Arts Center – Closed through the end of March (tentative)
Block Cinema (Northwestern University) – Spring calendar on hold with no definitive start date
Chicago Film Archives – the CFA’s annual “Media Mixer” event, previously scheduled for May, is postponed until late summer (date TBA)
Chicago Film Society – Remaining March and April screenings on their current calendar are postponed, with intentions to reschedule at future dates
Chicago Filmmakers – All screenings postponed until further notice, with the intention of rescheduling at future dates
Comfort Film (at Comfort Station) – Programming cancelled with no set start date
Conversations at the Edge (at the Gene Siskel Film Center) – Remaining programs cancelled, with plans to reschedule at future times
Doc Films (University of Chicago) – Spring programming cancelled
Facets Cinémathèque – Closed through April 17 (tentative date)
Film Studies Center (University of Chicago) – No April screenings/events; May programming is wait and see
filmfront – Events postponed until further notice
Gene Siskel Film Center – Closed until further notice
Music Box Theatre – Closed until further notice
The Nightingale – March and April programs postponed
The Park Ridge Classic Film Series (at the Park Ridge Public Library) – Screenings cancelled through the end of March at least
Festivals:
The Cinepocalypse film festival (June) – Postponed with plans to reschedule at a future time
The Onion City Experimental Film + Video Festival (March 12-15) - Postponed with plans to reschedule at a future time
The Chicago Latino Film Festival (April 16-30) – Postponed with plans to reschedule at a future time
The Windy City Horrorama festival (April 24-26) – Cancelled; will possibly be rescheduled or reconfigured at a future date
The Chicago Critics Film Festival (May 1-7) – Postponed until further notice
The Chicago Underground Film Festival (June 10-14) – Postponed (tentatively in September)
CINE-LIST: April 10 - April 16, 2020
MANAGING EDITOR // Patrick Friel
ASSOCIATE EDITORS // Ben Sachs, Kathleen Sachs, Kyle A. Westphal
CONTRIBUTORS // Rob Christopher, Cody Corrall, Marilyn Ferdinand, JB Mabe, Raphael Jose Martinez, Scott Pfeiffer, Michael Glover Smith