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📽️ CRUCIAL VIEWING

Ernst Lubitsch’s THE MARRIAGE CIRCLE (US/Silent)

Chicago Film Society at the Music Box Theatre – Saturday, 11:30am

It’s hardly novel to remark that Ernst Lubitsch was a masterful director of actors, but it’s nonetheless true—and especially so—of his silent films, wherein the witty barbs of his later sound films are instead suggested by minute facial expressions that achieve the same effect. In her essay on THE MARRIAGE CIRCLE for the San Francisco Silent Film Festival, Jeanine Basinger notes the film’s minimal title cards, which I hadn’t noticed while watching. Indeed, the story is communicated almost entirely through the actors, specifically in subtle gestures that, under a lesser director, would either not occur or would go unnoticed. It’s marvelous to witness with each viewing of a Lubitsch film, providing for that treasured feeling of being dumbfounded by an artist’s craft, of witnessing such skill, knowing that everyone around you recognizes it, too, but still being unable to fully, much less uniquely, put into words just how they might have done it. (One might consider the German auteur’s overall aversion to title cards in his silent films and his penchant for miming out the roles himself; it wasn’t do as I say, but rather literally, do as I do.) The second film Lubitsch made in America (after the 1923 Mary Pickford vehicle ROSITA) and the first of an initially lucrative contract with the newly established Warner Brothers studios that gave him full creative control, THE MARRIAGE CIRCLE centers on two couples in Vienna: Professor Josef Stock (Adolphe Menjou in a relatively small but critically acclaimed turn) and Mizzi (Lubitsch regular Marie Prevost, near vampish in her demeanor), and Mizzi’s friend Charlotte (Florence Vidor, former wife of King) and her husband, Dr. Franz Braun (Monte Blue). Josef and Mizzi have an unhappy marriage, though in Lubitsch’s world, what might be termed ‘unhappy’ is typically still more jovial than most peoples’ actual happiness. But with this film, he nevertheless endeavored to chart the intimate travails experienced “by thousands of married couples… just everyday people we meet all around us.” Mizzi threatens to divorce Josef on charges of cruelty; this inspires the professor to hire a private investigator in hopes of discovering her having an affair, which would then allow him to divorce her. A chance encounter between Mizzi and Doctor Braun (neither of whom is aware that she knows his wife) spurs this development, as Josef mistakes it for being a lovers’ rendezvous, though Mizzi does eventually set her sights on the handsome physician. The circle of the title refers to these roundabout coincidences and machinations, which also include Charlotte mistakenly believing that her husband desires a different one of her friends and later using his business partner’s affection as her own amorous cudgel. It sounds confusing in summary, but under Lubitsch’s deft direction, it becomes so simple as to be understood beyond words. Words, though, might help in further inspiring people to see this masterpiece: Jean Renoir averred that the film “invented the modern Hollywood,” and Alfred Hitchcock said that “[Lubitsch’s] greatest contribution, to me, to the cinema, was his making of THE MARRIAGE CIRCLE.” Lubitsch himself called it his “picture of no regrets,” saying if he had to do it over again, he wouldn’t “change the story structure… [or] the cast,” finally remarking, “Well, there is not one single change I could make if I had to do it again.” The proof of this isn’t on a title card or in any critical examination, but right there on the screen, seen to be believed. Preceded by a TBA short. With live accompaniment by Dennis Scott. (1924, 85 min, 35mm) [Kat Sachs]

Tsui Hark’s KNOCK OFF (Hong Kong)

Music Box Theatre – Friday and Saturday, Midnight

Erstwhile Cine-File contributor Ignatiy Vishenevetsky once proposed that the modern-day action film is the true heir to the movie musical, and few oeuvres confirm this argument like that of Tsui Hark. This isn’t just because action choreography in Tsui’s films is so dynamic as to warrant comparisons with the best of Gene Kelly and Michael Kidd; Tsui orchestrates the many components of filmmaking (such as color, camera movement, montage, and blocking) with such exuberance that his action sequences succeed as a sort of pure cinema that stands apart from the demands of storytelling. It also exists beyond the laws of physics. Given how freely Tsui’s characters defy gravity and other Newtonian laws, it feels appropriate to label his work the true heir to classic Looney Tunes as well as musicals. One reason why KNOCK OFF ranks among the finest Jean-Claude Van Damme vehicles is because it recognizes that Van Damme is most sympathetic as a live-action cartoon character. The actor seems even better suited to Tsui’s universe than he did in his previous collaboration with the director, DOUBLE TEAM (1997)—here, he flashes silly grins, plays the lovable doofus, and even carries out some decent slapstick. Playing his sidekick, Rob Schneider delivers one of his few tolerable performances, in large part because it’s enjoyable to watch Tsui ply Schneider’s screen presence as if it were Silly Putty. The plot has something to do with Van Damme, as a Hong Kong-based designer of knock-off clothing, teaming up with the CIA to stop another ring of knock-off designers from shipping products all over the world lined with miniature explosives. As you might guess from that brief summary, KNOCK OFF doesn’t take itself very seriously, yet the majesty of the action set pieces reflects a consummate degree of artistry. In particular, the film’s climax, set aboard a cargo ship, exhibits a masterful manipulation of physical space in the movement within and between shots; however, there are accomplishments on this level throughout, namely the foot race that takes place early in the film and that manages to be suspenseful and laugh-out-loud funny at the same time. As an added bonus, Ron and Russell Mael (the brains behind beloved cult band Sparks) wrote the film’s synth-pop score, a witty and affectionate pastiche of other Hong Kong action movie music. The unexpected poignancy of “It’s a Knock Off,” the Sparks song that plays over the end credits, is the movie’s last and most sophisticated joke. (1998, 91 min, 35mm) [Ben Sachs]

Eric Rohmer's THE GREEN RAY (France)

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

It's unclear if Rohmer's 1980s Comédies et Proverbs series could have been an improbable influence on Studio Ghibli, but there are more than enough points of comparison with Takahata's ONLY YESTERDAY in the sunny, improvisational, and surprisingly tense LE RAYON VERT (the title is a reference to the optical "green flash" phenomenon sometimes seen on the horizon at sunset). Rohmer here takes the perspective of the antisocial Parisian depressive Delphine (Marie Rivière) during her July vacation, unconsciously seeking a moment of transcendence, constantly struggling to engage with the dismissive conversations and interests of secular urbanity. No other metropolitan auteur has shown more interest in the countryside's tourist economy of recreation and aleatory romance; in SUMMER the seasides stay in the background, as Delphine attempts to transcend the ennui of heteronormative superstition. Preceded by Seymour Kneitel's 1954 short PRIVATE EYE POPEYE (7 min, 16mm). (1986, 98 min, 35mm) [Michael Castelle]

Don Chaffey’s JASON AND THE ARGONAUTS (UK/US)

Music Box Theatre – Sunday, 11:30am

We all have a type of movie that sings to us like the sirens whose song sent so many ancient sailors to their doom. For me, it is the 1960s sword-and-sandal epics from my childhood that riff on Greek and Roman myths. Most of these films are badly dubbed Italian productions with perhaps one name actor who isn’t as instantly forgettable as the movie. Standing tallest among these fantasies is JASON AND THE ARGONAUTS, the only film based on Greek mythology that enlisted the talents of special-effects wizard Ray Harryhausen, whose “Dynamation” sequences integrated live action with stop-motion animation using dolls he constructed himself. To watch this film with an unjaded eye is to see how enthralling pre-computer effects can be. The film opens on a prophecy. Pelias (Douglas Wilmer), half-brother of King Aeson of Thessaly and a favorite of Zeus (Niall MacGinnis), is told that he will win a battle for the throne, but that one of Aeson’s children will return to reclaim it. To try to avoid this fate, Pelias intends to murder the children, but baby Jason is spirited away. Fast forward 20 years, Jason (Todd Armstrong) is now a man seeking to overthrow Pelias. He is persuaded to search for the magical Golden Fleece first to bring stability to Thessaly should he defeat Pelias. Hera (Honor Blackman) decides to help Jason in his quest as part of the long-standing game the gods play with human lives. The rest of the film details the adventures Jason and his Argonauts have as they sail to the end of the world to find the fleece. Harryhausen’s first opportunity to wow audiences comes when Jason lands the Argo on an uncharted island to take on desperately needed fresh water and food. Warned by Hera that they must take nothing but these supplies, the crew faces a rampaging bronze Titan named Talos when Hercules (Nigel Green) removes a golden needle from the giant’s treasure chamber. Talos’ stiff movements make him slow and easy to evade, but his size and relentlessness makes him genuinely scary. When Jason learns how to defeat Talos, both his bravery and the strange pathos of the giant’s demise are memorable. In addition, Jason’s final battle against a small battalion of skeletons shows the care Harryhausen took to create realistic movements for his dolls. For me, the most memorable scene includes no stop-motion animation. Instead, the Argo is saved from crushing avalanches created by the Clashing Rocks by Poseidon (Bill Gudgeon), who emerges from the sea and holds the rocks back so the ship can pass. The blown-up image of Poseidon, with his splashing fish tail and straining muscles, permanently imprinted itself on my young mind. In my admittedly contrarian opinion, director Don Chaffey’s work with his actors is effective. The Argonauts are heroic, and Armstrong is convincing as a leader. Nancy Kovack as Medea is fairly weak, but women rarely come off well in these masculine-focused sagas; the puppet figurehead of Hera on the Argo and her glittered eyelids prove that point. Allowing for the production limitations and societal attitudes of this era of filmmaking, JASON AND THE ARGONAUTS is a rousing adventure well worth anyone’s time. Preceded by Devin Bell’s 2015 short BURNT (6 min). Screening as part of the Stop! Motion: Matinees & Midnights series. (1963, 104 min, 35mm) [Marilyn Ferdinand]

Oscar Micheaux's WITHIN OUR GATES (US/Silent)

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

During the Red Summer of 1919, the Chicago Race Riot awoke the nation from its foolish reverie; with 38 people dead and approximately 1,000 black families displaced, the riot in Chicago and others like it across the nation reflected the increased willingness amongst African Americans to fight back against institutionalized racial oppression. Made in 1919 and released in early 1920, WITHIN OUR GATES was appropriately timed against the conflict and also viewed as a direct response to D.W. Griffith's BIRTH OF A NATION (1915). Oscar Micheaux's second film tells the story of a black Southern school teacher, Sylvia, who goes North to seek funds for her school after the enrollment exceeds the money allotted per black child by the state. Along the way she falls in love with another idealist, and the story of her past is disclosed in a revelatory flashback: Sylvia was adopted by a black couple who are later lynched after her adoptive father is accused of killing his employer. Sylvia also escapes an attempted rape at the hands of her white birth father; between this and the lynching, the Board of Censors in Chicago and other cities initially rejected the film for fear that it would incite more racial violence. Shot mostly in Chicago, the film's sole print is the earliest surviving print of a feature film directed by an African American; it was discovered in Spain during the 1970s and restored by the Library of Congress is 1993. Micheaux's film is significant not only for its place within American film history, but also for the way it displays the complexity of race relations between people and regions. (1920, 79 min, 35mm) [Kat Sachs]

King Vidor’s THE BIG PARADE (US/Silent)

Doc Films (at the University of Chicago) – Friday, 8:30pm

By some accounts the most successful movie of the silent era, THE BIG PARADE offers something for everybody: romance, comedy, spectacle, suspense, sincerity, cynicism, cuteness, and violence. Even the film’s depiction of war speaks to both pro- and anti-war spectators, first with rousing scenes of military life that anticipate a lot of late-period John Ford, then with harrowing battle sequences that ask us to question why we send men to fight and die in the first place. In short, this is a chief work in King Vidor’s schizophrenic oeuvre, which encompasses the socialist classic OUR DAILY BREAD (1934), the Ayn Rand adaptation THE FOUNTAINHEAD (1949), and numerous other ideological positions in between. That THE BIG PARADE feels emotionally coherent in spite of its thematic inconsistency is a testament to Vidor’s gifts as a storyteller. Here was a filmmaker who could empathize with his characters no matter where their allegiances went. As in his subsequent masterpiece THE CROWD (1928), Vidor introduces his characters as archetypes, thereby emphasizing the universality of their experience. Jim Apperson (John Gilbert) is a layabout New York heir who discovers direction in life when he’s encouraged to enlist in World War I. Stationed in France, he befriends two working-class soldiers, nicknamed Slim and Bull, and falls in love with a farm girl—these developments, infused with humor and warmth, show how everyone is made equal in war. When Jim and his friends go to battle, they encounter a different kind of equality, in which no soldier has greater luck than any other in escaping death. Vidor’s battle scenes are remarkably tense, even by contemporary standards, thanks to his expert pacing and strong evocation of the characters’ dread. THE BIG PARADE builds to a grand-scale climax, much of it shot by an uncredited second director when MGM executives decided their big investment needed more flashy war scenes. The resolution finds Vidor having it both ways again, delivering a bitter scene where Jim returns home disillusioned, then following it up with a sweeter coda that finds him reuniting with his lady love in France. This sort of crowd-pleasing Hollywood showmanship has its most direct heir in Spielberg’s SAVING PRIVATE RYAN (1998), though one also finds echoes of it in many contemporary Bollywood epics, which also cover multiple genres within individual films. Had Vidor made THE BIG PARADE ten years later, he might well have put a musical number in it. (1925, 151 min, 35mm) [Ben Sachs]

Rob Christopher's ROY'S WORLD: BARRY GIFFORD'S CHICAGO (US/Documentary)

Music Box Theatre – Sunday, 7pm

If the name Barry Gifford rings a bell to Cine-File readers, it’s likely for his contributions to what you might call “David’s world”: David Lynch, that is. Lynch’s WILD AT HEART (1990) was an adaptation of a Gifford novel, and they co-wrote LOST HIGHWAY (1997) together. Until I saw ROY'S WORLD: BARRY GIFFORD'S CHICAGO, a dreamy, immersive documentary by Cine-File contributor Rob Christopher, I was unfamiliar with his Roy stories, myself. Roy is the character Gifford invented as an alter-ego for himself as a boy/young man, a movie-loving street kid whose coming-of-age adventures Gifford has been chronicling in works of autobiographical fiction for nearly 40 years now. “Roy’s world” is a specific time and place—Chicago, mostly, in the 1950s and early ‘60s. This documentary celebrates these writings by adhering to a strict no-talking-heads policy. Christopher eschews entirely the standard on-screen interviews in favor of voice-over narratives: reminiscences from Gifford himself provide context for readings from the work. For these, Christopher and producer Michael Glover Smith (also a Cine-File contributor) scored a coup: they got Willem Dafoe, Matt Dillon, and Lili Taylor to read, and their distinctive timbres and tough-but-tender personas embody the texts. Gifford/Roy’s Chicago is a wintry, working-class world. His father ran an operation called Lake Shore Pharmacy, across from the old Water Tower. It was a 24-hour kind of joint, ostensibly a drug store; showgirls would drop by on their breaks and repair to the basement, where he’d administer some kind of pep shot. The people who hung around the store, including Gifford’s own family, were “not people to mess around with”; some had been gangsters during Prohibition. The film pulses with the seamy romance of the town’s jazzy nightlife, enhanced by a cool, atmospheric score by jazz vibraphonist Jason Adasiewicz. Still, a young boy experienced the corruption of organized crime, and the intertwined iron fist of Richard J. Daley’s machine, as just a part of the atmosphere. Hardboiled as it was in attitude, the town nevertheless seems like it must have been a hell of a place to grow up. Gifford’s mom was from Texas, a former beauty queen, 20 years younger than his dad. The marriage didn’t stick, and her struggles—during an era when being a “divorcee” was still rather a scandal—are poignant. In fact, Gifford confides in us that one of his chief motivations for creating Roy was to remember the time he had with his mother. The story “Chicago, Illinois, 1953” recalls a humiliating incident when a shopkeeper mistook his mom, bronzed from a season under the tropical sun, for a Black woman, and refused to serve her. It is illustrated by shimmering black-and-white animated drawings. When young Roy later asks his shaking mom why she didn’t simply tell the man she was white, she replies, “It shouldn’t matter, Roy.” The story “Bad Girls,” set during the early ’60s and illustrated by rotoscoped footage from Graceland Cemetery, nicely evokes the feeling of teenage discovery, as Roy and a new female friend roam our fabled “city of neighborhoods.” Christopher’s design also includes found footage in striking black-and-white and eye-popping saturated color, and archival materials ranging from Gifford’s home movies to neighborhood newspapers. Zooming carefully into photographs from a bygone world, patiently waiting for them to reveal their secrets, Christopher encourages us to imagine the individual lives and stories spilling outside the frame. For locals, the film transforms Chicago into a fascinating palimpsest, allowing us to trace the former lives of buildings and neighborhoods behind our everyday cityscape. While the film is deliberately unhurried, its open-all-night vibe will cast a spell on anyone open to its urban jazz-noir mood. Gifford’s Roy stories work as history and as autobiography, but above all they’re a form of make-believe. It required almost an equivalent act of imagination for Christopher to conjure up a world that opens up as richly as his inspiration, but that’s what he’s done with ROY’S WORLD. I emerged from this sensory experience as if from a waking dream, blinking and momentarily disoriented, though with a heightened alertness. It was as if I’d visited a land of phantoms—but of course, these were really only the shades of men and women just like us. ROY’S WORLD made me feel as if the past never really went anywhere, if only we look closely enough. Critic Jim Laczkowski will moderate a Q&A with filmmaker Rob Christopher and producer Michael Glover Smith (both of whom are Cine-File contributors) after the screening. (2019, 75 min, DCP Digital) [Scott Pfeiffer]

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David E. Simpson’s HALSTED STREET, U.S.A. (US/Documentary)

Chicago Filmmakers (1326 W. Hollywood Ave.) – Sunday, 4:30pm

In 1934, Conrad Friberg (as Conrad O. Nelson) made a 12-minute city symphony of Chicago called HALSTED STREET that took the unusual approach for the genre of examining life along the length of a single street. On the cusp of the new millennium, director David E. Simpson decided to repeat the experiment. Bookended with comments by Studs Terkel about the Great Depression and the dawning of a new century, the film begins not on Halsted St. proper, but rather at the shore of the Ohio River in Cave on Rock, Illinois. It is in this small, all-American town that Route 1, which becomes Halsted at the I-57 interchange on the city’s Far South Side, begins. Whereas Friberg could find farmland actually on Halsted in 1934, Simpson had to traverse the length of the state, where we see Fourth of July celebrations and get a brief tutorial on corn and how it is fertilized. Once we hit the South Side, the neighborhoods turn poor and Black, with neglected housing projects replacing many of the tenements and religious missions Friberg filmed. Gentrification is just beginning in Pilsen, a Czech neighborhood that transformed into a Mexican community. It is a bitter irony that when we reach Lincoln Park, we learn that the biggest problem facing residents is parking, as we watch a Latino valet running to retrieve a car for one of his employer’s well-heeled patrons from a faraway lot. At the terminus of Halsted in Lakeview, Simpson captures the rowdy and colorful Pride Parade. As he juxtaposes the proud parents carrying a PFLAG banner with the celebrants in Cave on Rock’s Independence Day parade, the various versions of being an American come into sharp, somewhat disturbing focus. Director in person. Screening as part of the “Chicago on the Silver Screen'' program, cosponsored by the Chicago Architecture Center. (1999, 57 min, Digital Projection) [Marilyn Ferdinand]

Gregg Araki’s THE LIVING END (US)

Gene Siskel Film Center – Tuesday, 7pm

A paradigm of New Queer Cinema and oft described as the “gay THELMA AND LOUISE” (the feminist road movie having come out the year prior), Gregg Araki’s THE LIVING END is that and more—a thrilling challenge to cinema’s heteronormative mores and a demystifying, Godardian, post-BONNIE AND CLYDE provocation. Jon (Craig Gilmore) is a film critic—working on an essay about the death of cinema, because aren’t we all?—who’s just learned he has HIV. Luke (Mike Dytri) isn’t so much a ne'er-do-well as an always-do-well, in the sense that he cares for nothing and no one, their opinions on his actions so meaningless as to be nonexistent; he, too, is HIV positive. The two meet after Luke is attacked by three men wielding iron pipes and wearing promotional movie t-shirts. Luke kills the attackers in self-defense, but this isn’t the first violent incident to take place in the film’s uncanny valley; Luke is shown earlier being targeted by a lesbian serial killer couple (Johanna Went and Warhol superstar Mary Woronov) who are thwarted only by the unexpected presence of large snakes in nearby grass (pun intended, I’m sure). The influence of John Waters looms large, specifically in these kooky moments that cause one to question what universe the film takes place in. It’s seemingly alternate to our own, similar in most respects but with junctures of incandescent lawlessness that are hard even to imagine in our repressed society. The two go on the road after Luke kills a cop, making the characters partners in crime as well as sex. Araki’s audacious approach to the AIDS crisis of the era is decisively bold in that he doesn’t present it as a crisis at all, at least not for long. By way of a James Dean-style insouciance toward his illness, Luke inspires Jon to disregard his status and embrace so-called risky behavior, like having unprotected sex. Hence why Araki—who, working on a shoestring budget, wrote, directed, shot and edited the film—signs it from the onset as being an “irresponsible film.” (As much in how it was made, too; Araki didn’t obtain any location permits, shooting guerilla-style with a small, unobtrusive crew.)  But it’s in this simple, almost obvious refutal of the moment’s brazen recriminations against queer people that the film becomes alight with fleeting joy and barely constrained rage, which glints the fugitives’ sun-kissed skin and the scorched metal of their omnipresent weapon, the gun that shoots back at a society rejoicing in their demise. It’s a nihilistic romance not for the ages but for its age, a postcard from the past still being sent, an irresponsible film fulfilling its ultimate responsibility. Preceded by Sadie Benning’s 1990 short IF EVERY GIRL HAD A DIARY (8 min, DCP Digital) and Tom Chomont’s 1969 short OBLIVION (6 min, DCP Digital). (1992, 84 min, DCP Digital) [Kat Sachs]

Albert Magnoli's PURPLE RAIN (US)

Music Box Theatre – Thursday, 9:45pm

Unbearably campy in its daytime scenes and nearly sublime in the nighttime sequences (Donald Thorin, who shot this, was also the cinematographer on the greatest of all Night Movies, THIEF), PURPLE RAIN, Prince's Albert Magnoli-directed Minneapolis Sound creation myth/excuse-for-concert-footage forms a strange counterpart to UNDER THE CHERRY MOON, the 1986 follow-up. While the little man from Paisley Park remains a cipher—more of an overwrought presence than a star in his own film—Morris Day and Jerome Benton steal the show, gamely embracing the sort of 30s-influenced dialogue humor that would dominate CHERRY MOON. A theory: every generation produces a group of people who could conceivably become classical Studio Era character actors, but only in the 1930s to the 1950s did any of them fully embrace that potential. Day, with his shoulder-twitching cockiness and oversized suits, and Benton, who walks a fine line between straight man and comic foil, join Divine's turn in TROUBLE IN MIND as the finest representatives of that tendency to come along in the 1980s. 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. (1984, 111 min, 35mm) [Ignaity Vishnevetsky]

Cheryl Dunye's THE WATERMELON WOMAN (US)

Gene Siskel Film Center – Saturday, 2pm

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. Preceded by Jan Oxenberg's 1975 short A COMEDY IN SIX UNNATURAL ACTS (26 min, DCP Digital). (1997, 90 min, DCP Digital) [Cody Corrall]

David Lynch's LOST HIGHWAY (US)

Music Box Theatre – See Venue website for showtimes

David Lynch loves to play in the dark. His longtime cinematographer Frederick Elmes once remarked that "with David, my job is to determine how dark we're talking about." There's sort-of-dark, and really-dark, and pitch-black-dark; all of these kinds and more are put to gripping use in LOST HIGHWAY. The most breathtaking example (perhaps echoing a shot from THRONE OF BLOOD) is a scene that takes place in a shadowy hallway. Avant-garde sax player and demi-protagonist Fred Madison slowly moves from lightness to dark, appearing to slowly dissolve before our very eyes. It's the sort of infinitely subtle visual moment that home video just can't adequately reproduce, and LOST HIGHWAY is packed with them. For too long this movie has been overshadowed by its more-celebrated follow-up, MULHOLLAND DR. But the fact is the two movies function as a true diptych, exploring similar themes of doubling and identity in ways that complement each other. To ignore LOST HIGHWAY is to discount some of Lynch's most indelible moments: including an unforgettably disquieting sex scene, the eerie Natalie Woodishness of a leather-clad Natasha Gregson Wagner, a gorgeous use of This Mortal Coil's "Song to the Siren," Richard Pryor's out-of-left-field cameo (it was his final film), and of course Robert Blake's unforgettable performance as the sinister Mystery Man. Film’s editor Mary Sweeney in attendance for a post-screening Q&A following the Saturday, 6:20pm screening. (1997, 135 min, New 4K DCP Digital Restoration) [Rob Christopher]

Wong Kar-wai's IN THE MOOD FOR LOVE (Hong Kong)

Gene Siskel Film Center – Thursday, 7:45pm

Taking place in 1960s Hong Kong or in the memory of 1960s Hong Kong—that city deemed too modern, many of the film's exteriors were shot in Bangkok, after all—Wong Kar Wai's film is a beautiful rumination on its title. Much has been made of IN THE MOOD FOR LOVE's restraint, and there is that: a couple, married to other people who are themselves having affairs, become intimate in every way but physical—save for slight, loaded gestures and tight spaces. The film is pregnant with the overwhelming feeling of infatuation, executed in a lusciousness that recalls something from a dream. But for every restraint there is a counterpoint in excess: Maggie Cheung's many gorgeous dresses are as flamboyant as they are confining; the musical score is both pitch-perfect and overwhelming, familiar and foreign; the cinematography is so rich and meticulous that its multitude of color is evocative of Douglas Sirk's melodramas. IN THE MOOD FOR LOVE has hit upon such acclaim because of its local particularity—a commemoration of sorts for Hong Kong's transfer of sovereignty that had not yet happened—as well as its thematic universality as a transnational melodrama. As characters move through Hong Kong, Singapore, the Philippines, Cambodia, and the film shifts forward and backward in time, we are reminded of the fluidity of borders, time, and memory. Encore screening! Originally screened as part of 50/50, the Siskel’s year-long series including a film from each year the theater has been open. (2000, 98 min, 35mm) [Brian Welesko]

Andrew Semans’ RESURRECTION (US)

Music Box Theatre – See Venue website for showtimes

An ambitious thriller, RESURRECTION gives pulpy elements an arthouse treatment. Several aspects of the plot harken back to the golden age of stalker movies, but the movie falls into the small group of films in which the target proves to be at least as dangerous as the stalker. Margaret (Rebecca Hall) believes she has taken control of her life after she was groomed and abused by her ex-boyfriend David (Tim Roth) 22 years ago. She tries to keep a tight rein on her daughter Abbie (Grace Kaufman), who's leaving for college soon, and maintain an emotionless, wholly sexual relationship with Peter (Michael Esper). Still, her life has been haunted, not only by David’s manipulation but by the child she lost. In the film’s centerpiece, Margaret delivers an eight-minute monologue spelling out the full details of David’s abuse. One day, she sees him return, and the two spend the rest of RESURRECTION playing a game of cat and mouse. It's possible to make equally good cases for the film as either feminist or sexist in its view of trauma defining a woman's life, but that testifies to its embrace of messiness and nuance. Too many recent genre films telegraph their politics through “relatable” characters simply depicted as victims. Margaret is never fully reduced to her problems, but her issues run too deep to be healed, resulting in behavior that’s destructive to herself and others. This might all fall apart without Hall’s carefully modulated performance. She speaks in a clipped, posh English accent, with mannerisms that suggest Margaret’s tight struggle to control herself. Hall’s performance lends the character dignity and belief in herself; as strange as her actions get, she never seems to perceive herself as losing control. The mood of brooding despair is enhanced by the small number of characters and locations. Semans films Albany, New York, as a glossy, anonymous city full of skyscrapers but void of social interaction, in line with the way Toronto has frequently been used. (In fact, the only clue to the setting is a patch on a cop’s uniform.) While one could compare RESURRECTION to several classic horror films, naming them would spoil the plot. It’s more telling that Todd Haynes' SAFE (1995) also seems like a key reference point. (2022, 104 min, DCP Digital) [Steve Erickson]

Martin Scorsese's ALICE DOESN'T LIVE HERE ANYMORE (US)

Doc Films (at the University of Chicago) – Friday, 5pm and Saturday, 8:30pm

This comedy-drama is generally regarded as one of Martin Scorsese's least personal projects, but time has proven it a characteristic film. As in his later AGE OF INNOCENCE and GANGS OF NEW YORK, Scorsese's approach to ALICE is to recast an established Hollywood genre (in this case, the hard-boiled women's picture that flourished in the 40s and 50s) in his own register, making each scene a series of emotionally discrete moments defined by brilliant stylistic flourishes. A violent domestic encounter between Harvey Keitel and Ellen Burstyn is staged in the romantic/chaotic manner of MEAN STREETS; the energy of the life in the room determines the effect as much as the overall ugliness of the situation. Many of the film's best moments transpire in this sweet-and-sour fashion, particularly the ones in the busy diner where Burstyn's single mother finds work. The film's southwestern setting and blue-collar milieu anticipate two of Jonathan Demme's subsequent masterpieces, CITIZENS' BAND (a.k.a. HANDLE WITH CARE, 1977) and MELVIN AND HOWARD (1980), as does the dusty desert lighting. Scorsese's depiction of working-class anxiety is virtually the opposite of Demme's easygoing humanism, but his characterization is no less sympathetic. (1974, 112 min, Digital Projection) [Ben Sachs]

David Cronenberg's CRIMES OF THE FUTURE (Canada)

Facets Cinema – See Venue website for showtimes

David Cronenberg is the most phenomenological of directors. I never feel more aware of being human, more embodied than while watching his films. This is certainly spurred on by his visual body horror, but it’s also found in his fascinating themes about what it means to exist—about consciousness being firmly grounded in the corporeal and whether technology amplifies or obstructs that experience. CRIMES OF THE FUTURE is this Cronenberg at his best, with themes from his previous films coalescing and evolving into something new. Particularly reminiscent of his last true body horror, eXistenZ (1999), where video game consoles are essentially external organs, CRIMES OF THE FUTURE imagines technology as textured and tangible, beautiful and grotesque; with a lot to admire in the film, the viscerally stunning design of the futuristic technologies stands out. It's set in a dystopian future where humans are mutating so they no longer feel pain, surgeries are performed on the streets and new government agencies like the National Organ Registry are founded. Kristen Stewart’s Timlin, an enthusiastic and awkward assistant at that agency, is the highlight in a film of striking and funny performances. But the protagonist here is Saul Tenser (Viggo Mortensen). He and his partner Caprice (Léa Seydoux) are well-known performance artists, sensually using Saul’s body— primarily the unique organs he can grow—as their canvas. They find themselves at the center of a secretive conflict about humanity’s future —will these strange new mutations be stopped or is there a leaning into the evolution? The plot draws heavily on neo-noir, as Saul covertly slinks through the city, trying to uncover secret factions at work. CRIMES OF THE FUTURE is overall claustrophobic; this dilapidated future is rich with dark corners, shadows, and crumbling structures. At one point a character speaks of the interior of the body as "outer space," suggesting the external world is empty compared to what’s going on inside. The science-fiction world of CRIMES OF THE FUTURE is completely realized, but expertly reveals only so much of its secrets, leaving one with the disappointment that it must end and an eagerness to revisit all of Cronenberg’s work. (2022, 107 min, DCP Digital) [Megan Fariello]

🎞️ PHYSICAL SCREENINGS/EVENTS – ALSO SCREENING

⚫ Cinema/Chicago
Joon-ik Lee’s 2021 South Korean film THE BOOK OF FISH (126 min, Digital Projection) screens on Wednesday, 6:30pm, at the Chicago Cultural Center (78 E. Washington St.). Followed by a post-screening discussion with Professor Ji-Yeon Yuh, Northwestern University. Free admission with online registration. More info here.

⚫ Comfort Film at Comfort Station (2579 N. Milwaukee Ave.)
As part of the Silent Films and Loud Music series, Mukqs will perform live scores for James Sibley Watson and Melville Webber’s THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER (1928, 13 min, Digital Projection); Oskar Fischinger’s AN OPTICAL POEM (1939, 8 min, Digital Projection); and Charles F. Klein’s THE TELLTALE HEART (1928, 24 min, Digital Projection) on Wednesday at 8pm. Screening will be out on the Comfort Station lawn, weather permitting. Free admission. More info here. 

⚫ Gene Siskel Film Center
Jono McLeod’s 2022 documentary hybrid MY OLD SCHOOL (104 min, DCP Digital) continues and Clio Barnard’s 2021 film ALI & AVA (93 min, DCP Digital) begins this week. See Venue website for showtimes.

The National Theatre Live production of Suzie Miller’s play PRIMA FACIE (2022, 120 min, DCP Digital) screens Sunday at 2pm. This screening is sold out, but an encore screening has been announced for August 28.

The Mariposa Film Group’s 1977 documentary WORD IS OUT: STORIES OF SOME OF OUR LIVES (124 min, 35mm) screens on Sunday at 2pm, preceded by Peggy Rajski’s 1994 short TREVOR (23 min, DCP Digital). Tom Joslin’s 1977 experimental feature BLACKSTAR: AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A CLOSE FRIEND (85 min, DCP Digital) screens with Debra Chasnoff, Kim Klausner and Margaret Lazarus’ 1985 documentary CHOOSING CHILDREN (45 min, 35mm) and Jim Hubbard’s 1985 short MEMENTO MORI (16 min, 16mm) on Wednesday at 7pm. All screen as part of the Pioneers of Queer Cinema series. 

Fernando Meirelles and Katia Lund’s 2002 Brazilian feature CITY OF GOD (130 min, DCP Digital) screens Monday at 6pm as part of 50/50, the Siskel’s year-long series including a film from each year the theater has been open.

⚫ Music Box Theatre
Dean Fleischer-Camp’s 2022 animated feature MARCEL THE SHELL WITH SHOES ON (89 min, DCP Digital) continues this week. See Venue website for showtimes.

Ryan Imhoff and Matt Neal’s locally produced 2021 horror film FRESH HELL (79 min, DCP Digital) screens Friday and Saturday at midnight.

Evan Bode’s short film A SPOT FOR FROG screens on Saturday at 2pm, plus live music by Ratwyfe, Mia Stegner, and John Stegner. 

Simon Blake’s 2022 film ITHACA (45 min, DCP Digital) screens on Sunday at 7pm, followed by a Q&A with Blake and Colette Delaney-Smith.

Campbell Scott and Stanley Tucci’s 1996 film BIG NIGHT (109 min, 35mm) screens on Tuesday at 7pm as part of the Good Taste Tastes Good series. Please note that this event, which includes a food package, is sold out.

Gene Wilder’s 1986 comedy HAUNTED HONEYMOON (84 min, 35mm) screens on Wednesday at 7pm. Presented by the Gilda’s Club Associate Board. More info on all screenings here. 

🎞️ LOCAL ONLINE SCREENINGS –
ALSO SCREENING/STREAMING

⚫ Video Data Bank
“This Must Be the Space: A Video Conversation on Artist-Run and Artist-Inhabited Spaces,” curated by Emily Eddy, is available to stream for free on VDB TV. The program includes Videofreex’s ME’S AND YOUSE (1971, 4 min) and LAINESVILLE TV NEWS BUGGY (1972, 16 min); Nazli Dinçel’s UNTITLED (2016, 12 min); Glenn Belverio’s BAD GRRRLS (1993, 29 min); George Kuchar’s VERMIN OF THE VORTEX (1996, 22 min); Anne McGuire’s ALL SMILES AND SADNESS (1999, 7 min); and Tom Rubnitz’s FROM THE FILES OF THE PYRAMID COCKTAIL LOUNGE (1983, 6 min). More info here.

CINE-LIST: August 5 - August 11, 2022

MANAGING EDITORS // Ben and Kat Sachs

CONTRIBUTORS // Michael Castelle, Rob Christopher, Cody Corrall, Maxwell Courtright, Steve Erickson, Megan Fariello, Marilyn Ferdinand, Scott Pfeiffer, Ignatiy Vishnevetsky, Brian Welesko