:: FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 1 - THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 7 ::

📽️ CRUCIAL VIEWING

Elaine May's A NEW LEAF (US)

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

Cine-File co-managing editor Ben Sachs, also my husband, once wrote for this site that F.W. Murnau’s SUNRISE is “probably one of the greatest [movies] ever made about love.” I disagreed, arguing that I didn’t think it was very loving for a husband to try to kill his wife. It was my opinion that, at the bare minimum, romance should be free of attempted murder, something I expect as much from my auteurs as I do my spouse. But Elaine May’s A NEW LEAF has swayed me, at least in the filmic sense. (Ben and I are 11 years into a murder-free marriage, and I don’t foresee myself altering those preferences.) May was the second woman after Ida Lupino to direct a major Hollywood feature; she was the first to write, direct and also star in one, as she does in her woefully underappreciated black comedy. Walter Matthau plays Henry Graham, a seemingly asexual playboy who decides to marry after exhausting his inheritance. He sets his sights on May’s character, Henrietta Lowell, a wealthy heiress who teaches botany and dreams of discovering a new species of fern. Such a description should provide an insight into why Henry picks her as his intended target. Except he doesn’t intend just to marry her, but also to kill her, so that he can assume her riches and continue his life of leisure. A few critics have described the film as cockeyed, a sentiment May would likely agree with for different reasons. The original version was a whopping 180 minutes, and she fought to have her name removed from the film after Paramount edited it down to its current length. I can only imagine that it seemed as lopsided to her as the present iteration might seem to some. Still, the brilliance of May’s careful direction and Matthau’s subtle dramatics are fully evident by the film’s end. Just as the set-up recalls SUNRISE, the climax is reminiscent of Roberto Rossellini’s JOURNEY TO ITALY. But instead of a religious procession inspiring a romantic miracle, it’s a fern that prompts Henry’s characteristically supercilious but nevertheless undeniably romantic epiphany. Screening as part of a Dangerous Business: Elaine May Matinees series. (1971, 102 min, 35mm) [Kat Sachs]

Jean-Luc Godard, Anne-Marie Miéville, & Jean-Pierre Gorin’s ICI ET AILLEURS (France/Documentary)

Doc Films (at the University of Chicago) – Sunday, 4pm

Much like Robert Altman’s output of the 1980s, the political documentaries that Jean-Luc Godard directed or co-directed between 1968 and 1979 are frequently dismissed wholesale, generally by those who haven’t seen them. And while Godard issued foolhardy and irresponsible statements in some of these films, it would be shortsighted to reject the entire period, as it contains several instructive failures and at least a few masterpieces. ICI ET AILLEURS (or, “Here and Elsewhere”) is one of the masterpieces, an essay film of uncharacteristic clarity and humility. As Godard and Anne-Marie Miéville explain in the movie, the project began when they went to Palestine in 1970 to document a revolutionary training camp; when they began to edit the footage a few years later, they realized that many of the people whom they’d documented had been killed. The film then became—or, rather, becomes; it’s one of those quintessentially Godardian works that seems to be discovering itself as you watch it—a response to their deaths. The filmmakers bemoan the Israeli government’s injustice toward the Palestinians, salute the revolutionary spirit of the people they documented, and ruminate on their own impotence as westerners to affect the state of affairs in the Middle East. (There are also Godardian considerations of the nature of cinema and the role of images in the perpetuation of imperialism.) The very title acknowledges their feelings of distance from the people they filmed, which the filmmakers illustrate with recurring shots of a middle-class French family sitting down to watch the world news on television—a shorthand image for bourgeois inaction. Yet for all its defeatism, ICI ET AILLEURS has an electric quality; Godard, Miéville, and Gorin seem to have taken inspiration from their Palestinian subjects in the fervor with which they introduce the revolutionaries’ ideas of political work and prolonged struggle. The revolutionaries’ dialectical thinking is reflected in the filmmakers’ device of occasionally superimposing an image on top of another image—this marks an early iteration of a practice that Godard would pursue to breathtaking ends in his series HISTOIRE(S) DU CINÉMA (1988-98). (1976, 55 min, DCP Digital) [Ben Sachs]

King Vidor’s THE PATSY (US/Silent)

Chicago Film Society at the Music Box Theatre – Sunday, 8pm

King Vidor’s follow-up to his 1928 silent classic THE CROWD, THE PATSY succeeds as light-hearted farce where its predecessor does as an epic treatise on the human condition. There are no small movies, Vidor might have convinced us, only small directors. THE PATSY certainly wasn’t lacking on the producer front: billed as a Marion Davies production, it was made for Cosmopolitan Pictures, which was founded by newspaper magnate William Randolph Hearst in part to prop up his mistress Davies’ acting career. Of course, the legend propelled by CITIZEN KANE goes that the endeavor was a vanity-by-extension project to satisfy a pretty young thing—a showgirl at that!—with illusions of grandeur (though Welles would later affirm that he thought Davies to be a very talented comedic actress). Impressed by Vidor’s spate of prestige pictures, starting with THE BIG PARADE through THE CROWD, Hearst sought the director out to helm something for Davies, which, Vidor confirms in his autobiography, “was not an unpleasant chore. I directed Marion in three comedies and I considered her to be a most accomplished comedienne.” The first of Vidor’s three films with Davies for Hearst, THE PATSY follows her charming onscreen patsy, Pat, the youngest and most decidedly awkward daughter of a well-to-do family. The mother (played by Marie Dressler) is a domineering matriarch and the oldest daughter her pet, while Pat and her father are the odd ones out. Pat’s in love with her sister’s beau, while the sister begins an illicit fling with a local playboy. To win the beau’s affection, Pat takes it upon herself to acquire a personality, accounting for Davies’ and the film’s overall comedic brilliance. Davies is, to put it simply, adorable; while her visage may have been classically beautiful, her demeanor is one of a skilled comedian whose gift has proven timeless. Though based on Barry Conners’ 1925 play of the same name, Vidor thought best (and correctly) to let Davies do her thing as a gifted impersonator. “[I]n it,” the filmmaker writes in his autobiography, “I had Marion do three imitations in which she was very adept—Mae Murray, Pola Negri, and Lillian Gish.” This is a standout sequence among many in which Davies exerts more than just beauty, but zeal, an energy at tune with that of the cinema. Vidor has widely been considered an actor’s director; it’s clear he was attuned to his stars’ strong suits and gave them space in which to exhibit them. In fact it may have been Vidor, not Hearst, who actually understood the capacity of Davies’ potential. With live musical accompaniment by Jay Warren. (1929, 80 min, 35mm) [Kat Sachs]

Costa-Gavras' MISSING (US/Mexico)

Gene Siskel Film Center – Tuesday, 6pm

A blunt critique of the Augusto Pinochet regime, MISSING was withheld from distribution in Chile until Pinochet left power in 1990. It was also withheld from distribution in the United States because of a lawsuit against filmmaker Costa-Gavras by former US ambassador Nathaniel Davis and a few others, who claimed the film libeled them; the film wasn’t officially available here between 1987 and 2004. MISSING was banned in both countries for basically the same reason: it spells out the evil machinations of the US government and Chilean military in overthrowing Salvador Allende’s democratically elected socialist government in 1973 and subsequently torturing and murdering thousands of Allende’s supporters. For his courage in confronting a then-raging controversy, Costa-Gavras received highest honors the 1982 Cannes Film Festival; he shared the Palme d’Or with the great Turkish dissident and filmmaker Yılmaz Güney (for his final feature, YOL), and Jack Lemmon, who starred, was awarded the prize for Best Actor. I don’t particularly like MISSING—it bugs me in the ways that most of Costa-Gavras’ movies bug me (for one thing, the chest-beating obviousness of it all doesn’t allow for the freedom of interpretation that can be the very stuff of art)—but does this really matter? Like the director’s earlier award-winner Z (1969), MISSING is an enduring example of how the tools of popular cinema can be used to raise awareness about pressing political concerns. Lemmon, doing an effective variation on his everyman persona, plays Ed Horman, the conservative father of left-wing American journalist Charlie Horman, who went to Chile and got disappeared by Pinochet’s thugs. A surrogate for the audience, Lemmon learns about the dictatorship’s atrocities and his own government’s support for them when he travels to Santiago in search of his son. The film plays like a mystery, as Lemmon uncovers more and more of the political reality in his mission to piece together the last days of his son’s life; there’s also some strong acting between Lemmon and the always great Sissy Spacek, who plays his daughter-in-law. In his essay about MISSING for the Criterion Collection, Michael Wood notes how Costa-Gavras slyly avoids making explicit reference to Pinochet or even what nation the story takes place in, explaining that “the point of the thinly disguised allusions is to avoid not the identification of the countries but too easy a limitation of the stories’ reach… if we have to figure out that this place is Santiago de Chile, we will have necessarily figured out that it could be someplace else.” It’s for this reason in particular that MISSING remains crucial viewing. Screening as part of the Propaganda and Counterculture Lecture series. (1982, 122 min, 35mm) [Ben Sachs]

Jeremy Marre’s KONKOMBE: THE NIGERIAN POP MUSIC SCENE (UK/Documentary)

Block Cinema (at Northwestern University) – Thursday, 7pm [Free Admission]

Jeremy Marre’s KONKOMBE: THE NIGERIAN POP MUSIC SCENE is just one of many films in the Beats of the Heart documentary series. These works provide a cursory look at musical scenes from around the world, and Konkombe tackles the impossible task of looking at the titular West African country. While the runtime is far too brief for it to be fully satisfying, KONKOMBE provides an illuminating overview that’ll lead people down their own paths of research. We begin with a bit of historical table setting, learning that the earliest professional musicians in Nigeria were wandering minstrels who delivered daily news. There’s an analogue presented in Kokoro, a blind musician who sings in the streets and served as a massively influential figure in the creation of jùjú music. His commitment to playing among and for the poor provides a throughline to artists like Sunny Adé, who plays the same style for high-ranking officials. Much of KONKOMBE aims to untangle this complex web of musical evolution, noting the social, political, and spiritual foundations for people’s artistry. We see the Lijadu Sisters discuss the challenges of being women musicians while also striving for major popularity. Then, we hear Fela Kútì express the realities of creating art in Nigeria. “As far as Africa is concerned,” he explains, “music cannot be for enjoyment, music has to be for revolution.” This quote reverberates when we see gender non-conforming artist musician Area Scatter play the thumb piano player for a small crowd. KONKOMBE largely succeeds when it allows artists to speak or perform at length; watching such precious footage uninterrupted feels inherently special. And while there is voiceover narration, it’s only to offer important context. The main takeaway, however, is in understanding how every single musician is simply making their art in a manner that aligns with their vision, be it an individual or collective one. To be presented with a diverse array of motivations and styles only makes the film’s closing statement—one about the unknowability of this music’s future development—feel more resonant. (1979, 52 min, Digital Projection) [Joshua Minsoo Kim]

Hal Ashby's SHAMPOO (US)

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

SHAMPOO is a raunchy sex farce set over 24 hours and a comedic showcase for immortal sex symbol Warren Beatty. Beverly Hills hairdresser George Roundy (Beatty) has ambitions to own his own salon while sleeping with all his female clientele. Things get complicated when he asks his mistress (Lee Grant) to invest in his dream while his ex-girlfriend (Julie Christie) betrays him with her husband (Jack Warden). There remains a debate surrounding SHAMPOO: who truly directed it, Hal Ashby or Warren Beatty? a Notorious control freak, Beatty hired the soft-spoken giant so he could walk all over his production, often leaving Ashby in the corner while he discussed the next shot with DP László Kovács. Capturing the hemorrhaging right-wing cultural hegemony, SHAMPOO remains a timeless document of gender, class, and sexual politics in revolution. The Roman Catholic Church expressed its feelings towards the film by giving it a "condemned." Robert Towne says that his script for the film was largely influenced by Jean Renoir’s THE RULES OF THE GAME (1939). As with many Beatty projects, the development process took years, with his hands on all levers. Towne and Beatty set out to create a modern Restoration comedy. As Towne recalls, “[Beatty] wanted to do a movie about a compulsive Don Juan. He asked how I would do it. I said that I’d do it somewhat like The Country Wife.” Watergate was nearing its endgame during principal photography, and Nixon would resign when it was still in the editing room in August of 1974. Beatty cast two of his real-life ex-girlfriends, Julie Christie and Goldie Hawn. A single line of dialogue delivered by Christie characterizes Beatty’s relationship to the material— “I want to suck his cock!” Despite the god complex inserted into the film's sex comedy, its sexual politics have endured. Women spend all day talking about "how men are fucking them over," observes George about his clientele. From wealthy traditionalist statesman to oversexed hairdresser, the male characters are deplorable. Even when it comes to pass that George has hooked up with the wife (Lee Grant), mistress (Christie), and daughter (the seventeen-year-old Carrie Fisher, in her first film role) of the same middle-aged Beverly Hills power broker (Jack Warden), we can’t quit him. The audience would despise any other leading man in the role. In the end, the hero gets the dream but loses the girl. Left with the inability to shake his habit, he watches his love step into a car and drive away. For a man like George, the worst part is about to come next: he’s going to get older. Screening as part of the Columbia Pictures in the 1970s series. (1975, 109 min, DCP Digital) [Ray Ebarb]

Paul Vecchiali’s FEMMES FEMMES (France)

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

The undersung French filmmaker Serge Bozon calls this film, made by another undersung French filmmaker—Paul Vecchiali (best known stateside for producing Chantal Akerman’s JEANNE DIELMAN)—“the best film of the best decade of French cinema (the Seventies).” He goes so far as to conclude his testimonial with the assertion that “if [my peers and I from Lettre du Cinéma are] making movies now, it’s—one way or the other—thanks to Paul Vecchiali.” Even Pier Paolo Pasolini loved FEMMES FEMMES, so much so that he asked the two lead actresses to replay a scene from it in SALÒ a year later. It was released the same year as CELINE AND JULIE GO BOATING, and it suggests a more constrained version of Rivette’s film, largely taking place in the heroines’ cramped Parisian apartment—a sprawling urban game board it is not. The film begins as if a formal exercise, with aged actresses Sonia and Hélène (played by Sonia Savange and Hélène Surgèr) executing a bit. They soon fall into their “regular” behavior, after which it’s revealed that Hélène is an alcoholic shut-in and that Sonia still does a bit of acting. It’s as incidental as it sounds; the details are less important than the women’s mere presence, on the screen, on the stage, in this world. The film is a quasi-musical, with characters sporadically breaking into song, reinforcing the artificiality of its construction much like the conspicuously staged sequences. When it might begin to feel too real, concerns of art and aging (in ways that evoke SUNSET BOULEVARD by way of WHATEVER HAPPENED TO BABY JANE?) imbuing the film with a certain gravity, the queerness of the conceit swipes at the knees of seriousness and brings it down with everything else. Vecchiali was inspired by the poetic realism of French films from the ‘30s and ‘40s, evident in his own films but with a screwier sensibility. This was the film that enabled Vecchiali to found his Diagonale et Co. production company, a collective that included such filmmakers as Adolfo Arrieta, Jean-Claude Biette, Jean-Claude Guiguet, Marie-Claude Treilhou, and Gérard Frot-Coutaz, prompting critic Serge Daney to call him the “best French producer.” Vecchiali worked frequently with composer Roland Vincent, whose score for FEMMES FEMMES is particularly memorable (think a soap opera theme from the ‘80s). Sonia and Hélène’s whimsical histrionics challenge as much as they appear to enforce notions of gender, performance, and the effect of time on us all; the film’s capriciousness renders it, like the women, indefinable by words alone. Screening as part of the Paul Vecchiali and Diagonale series. (1974, 115 min, DCP Digital) [Kat Sachs]

Ruth Leitman’s NO ONE ASKED YOU (US/Documentary)

FACETS Cinema – Saturday, 11am and Sunday & Monday, 7pm

I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that, in my mid-30s, abortion is now being restricted nationwide and challenged more than it ever has been in my lifetime—and Ronald Reagan was President when I was born. Two years ago the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade, putting into jeopardy the lives of anyone with the ability to become pregnant. I’m fortunate enough in many aspects of my life to not have to worry about an unwanted pregnancy (living where I do, it wouldn’t be as much of an issue if I needed to terminate one), so it’s still shocking for me (again, a privilege for which I am exceedingly grateful and angry over the fact that it’s now even less so for most birthing people in the United States) to read things like “a new study estimates that more than 64,000 pregnancies resulted from rape between July 1, 2022 and January 1, 2024, in states where abortion has been banned throughout pregnancy in all or most cases,” as reported recently by the Scientific American. A great big “fuck you” to everyone who’s made this the case, Ruth Leitman’s NO ONE ASKED YOU is also described as a “documentary about battling misogyny with comedy in the war over abortion.” Lizz Winstead and other comedians, including the likes of Sarah Silveman and Margaret Cho, add humor to the proceedings, for sure (I guess in the absence of actual medicine being denied to us, laughter will have to suffice), but ultimately Leitman’s film is a smart, accessible, and useful text for understanding the current state of reproductive rights in our country. Shot over six years, the film documents Winstead’s Abortion Access Front and its cross-country mission of providing support and entertainment for abortion clinic workers and advocates as well as information to anyone who might benefit from it; it also offers a look into those working to undermine the bodily autonomy of birthing people outside of clinics and in front of governing bodies. A throughline amidst the sprawling narrative of recent changes to abortion laws, both attempted and achieved, is that which led up to the overturning of Roe v. Wade in 2022, starting with Mississippi’s last abortion clinic, The Pink House, which was at the center of the Dobbs v. Jackson Women's Health Organization Supreme Court case and which ultimately closed days after the Court’s decision led to an almost-total ban on abortion in the state. As with every such struggle, it’s the people at the heart of the issue, on both sides, who best illuminate what’s at stake: on the one side, the rights of birthing people to have autonomy over their bodies and, on the other, the ability to restrict such rights through unethical and draconian means. At times some of the pink-pussy-hat feminism featured within can be cringey (though intersectionality is addressed, if not exactly belabored), it’s a necessary laugh-so-you-don’t-cry look at the current state of affairs of an issue that will harm more lives than those on the other side purports it will save. The Saturday showtime will be followed by a post-screening Q&A with the filmmakers, moderated by Gordon Quinn; the Sunday showtime by a Q&A with Chelsea Souder, co-owner of Hope Clinic; and the Monday showtime by a Q&A with the filmmakers moderated by Caryn Capotosto. (2023, 100 min, DCP Digital) [Kat Sachs]

📽️ ALSO RECOMMENDED

Tibor Takác’s THE GATE (Canada)

Music Box Theatre – Friday, 11pm

In THE GATE, Tibor Takác attempts to graft Spielbergian wonder onto a plot where hell opens in a suburban backyard. At the time, the film did not garner the same appeal as similarly toned releases such as POLTERGEIST (1982) or GREMLINS (1984). Released in 1987, this oddball endeavor is smeared with enough Satanic Panic vibes to make you wonder if it’s meant as commentary on the era’s heavy metal hysteria. And perhaps that’s why THE GATE was unappreciated upon release. While Takac’s film is not as disturbing or as fierce as TRICK OR TREAT (1986) or BLACK ROSES (1988) in its depiction of the perils of metal worship as an indoctrination to teen satanism, all the benchmarks are present. Glen (Stephen Dorff in his film debut) and his heavy metal-loving friend Terry (Louis Tripp) unwittingly crack open a portal to hell in a suburban backyard, unleashing a mélange of creatures sent to gather sacrifices for an old god. These two are innocent enough in their debauchery that their accidental conjuring of a demonic army is nearly forgivable. The idea of opening a gate to hell is not a new one, but had been revitalized by concept albums released by bands such as Queensyrche, Iron Maiden, and King Diamond in the late '80s. The stoic satanic conjuring reflected in music and most devil films like CURSE OF THE DEMON (1957) or ROSEMARY’S BABY (1968) is replaced in THE GATE with a series of comic plot devices. Glen cuts his hand, which accidentally provides blood for the backyard hole; the kids phonetically read words on a children’s Magic Slate; and the family dog gets buried in the hole when the vet’s office is closed. This confluence of events, along with the convenience of being a specific time of year, must occur before a league of Claymation creatures can escape. As with many teen films of the '80s, the parents are out of the picture, as they leave for the weekend. Glen’s older sister, Al (Christa Denton), is put in charge of the kids, but as an iconic '80s big sister, she’s more interested in friends and teen rebellion than watching over her brother. Al has drifted from Glen to find acceptance in her peer group, but the horror that emerges nudges her back toward familial loyalty. It is in Al’s character arc of returning to family and Glen’s willingness to sacrifice himself that fill THE GATE with themes straight out of Amblin Entertainment’s bible for a successful teen adventure movie. Takác’s film may veer toward a Spielbergian end, but it is unmistakably darker. Glen and Terry wrestle with grief and alienation as well as demons, which grounds THE GATE in genuine emotional stakes. Much of the film’s longevity rests in Randall William Cook’s tactile creature effects. There’s an unnerving delight in seeing these miniature creatures scramble around, each one a triumph of stop-motion and forced perspective techniques. Cook’s effects work runs the gambit from 80’s horror films such as THE THING (1982) and FRIGHT NIGHT (1985) to the blockbuster spectacles of THE LORD OF THE RINGS trilogy and THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN (2012). Though Takác may have attempted a family-friendly horror film with all the hallmarks of a Spielberg teens-in-peril adventure, the darker tone that permeates the story made it nearly impossible to gain the mass appeal he sought at the time. It is the creative innovation that makes THE GATE the beloved cult classic it is today. Presented by Metal Movie Night with Metal Vinyl Weekend spinning records and summoning spirits (plus Death Rattle Market and Terror Vision pop-up tables) in the Music Box Lounge starting at 9pm. The Metal Movie Night pre-show of classic trailers and metal videos starts at 10:45pm (1987, 85 min, 35mm) [Shaun Huhn]

Orson Welles' THE TRIAL (International)

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

Casting a glib and voluble Anthony Perkins in the role of Josef K., a man compelled to court by a nebulous governmental authority who is ignorant of any crime, provides for a decidedly strange and personal adaptation of Kafka's unfinished story. At times a confounding film, Orson Welles' loose adaptation offers an unsettling and haunting expression of the modern experience. By putting K—and by extension the audience—into byzantine governmental systems, nightmarish and anonymous spaces, and contact with people sometimes better described as moving bodies, Welles "confronts the corruptions and self-deceptions of the contemporary world." Iconic images abound through Welles' aesthetic mastery, using sets and later (when the money ran out) abandoned locales in Paris, Zagreb, and Rome; the scale of an office floor the size of an airplane hangar is astonishing. Welles himself—also appearing as K's lawyer—is monumental in scale as well, looming over the picture in all his anxiety and discontent. Screening as part of the Decoding Kafka: A Cinematic Interpretation series. (1962, 118 min, DCP Digital) [Brian Welesko]

George Cukor's GASLIGHT (US)

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

Almost 80 years after its premiere, George Cukor’s GASLIGHT remains an essential and influential staple of the psychological thriller genre, successfully blending elements of horror, film noir and melodrama like few other films of its era. After a two-week whirlwind romance, Paula (an incredible Ingrid Bergman) marries Gregory (Charles Boyer), who convinces her to move back into her deceased aunt’s house in London. This childhood home, however, is not a place of comfort for Paula, as her aunt was brutally murdered there years ago. Gregory’s manipulation doesn’t stop there: his increasingly abusive behavior towards his wife involves cutting her off from the outside world and systematically convincing her she’s going mad. With memorable supporting performances from Joseph Cotten, Dame May Whitty, and Angela Lansbury (in her movie debut), GASLIGHT is a skilled illustration of psychological torture. The camera at times isolates Paula from everything and everyone around her, and Bergman’s expressive face reveals each thought and emotion as she stands amongst the decisively crowded mise-en-scène. In other moments, the camera flies into close-up, suggesting the insidious force traumatizing Paula; Cukor merges performance, camerawork, and staging in spectacularly practiced ways. Perhaps the largest cultural effect of the film is felt in the denominalization of the title; also, “gaslighting” has recently become a more widely recognizable tactic of abusers. GASLIGHT often feels surprisingly contemporary—it’s impossible to watch it and not consider present dialogues surrounding true crime stories, especially regarding female audiences. Early in the film, Paula encounters an older lady on the train who is enthusiastic to describe true and fictional accounts of violent crimes against women. This continues to be a familiar conversation, and it establishes GASLIGHT as a strikingly realistic antecedent of current cultural fascinations. Screening as part of the Women's Paranoia: Cassandras and Conspiracies series. (1944, 118 min, DCP Digital) [Megan Fariello]

Rolfe Kanefsky’s THERE’S NOTHING OUT THERE (US)

Alamo Drafthouse – Wednesday, 9:30pm

At first glance, THERE’S NOTHING OUT THERE appears to be a schlocky B-movie creature feature, but don’t be fooled by appearances alone, as Rolfe Kanefsky knows exactly what kind of film he’s making. It’s hard to imagine anyone believing the makers set out to form a serious alien-monster film. In 1991, this style of postmodern horror filmmaking wasn’t commonplace. Audiences now have a menagerie of horror-parody to consume prior to reaching this deep-dive cult classic. The holy trinity of slasher parodies produced during the height of the slasher film paved the way for Kanefsky. STUDENT BODIES (1981), PANDEMONIUM (1982), and personal favorite WACKO (1982) all throw horror conventions in our face and predate Wes Craven’s SCREAM (1996) and Keenen Ivory Wayans’ SCARY MOVIE (2000) by more than a decade. THERE’S NOTHING OUT THERE marks Kanefsky’s directorial debut. Kanefsky wrote the film in high school, his parents put a mortgage on their home to raise funds, and the film was first made on video as a way to rehearse prior to actual filming in 1989. Interested in deconstructing the common tropes that horror fans know so well, Kanefsky’s vision was ambitious, balancing satire and homage in almost every scene. The plot follows a classic horror premise: a group of friends heads to a remote cabin in the woods and finds themselves threatened by an evil force. Our protagonist, Mike (Craig Peck), is a self-appointed horror movie guru who begins to recognize the familiar patterns of a horror movie scenario. As he tries to warn his friends, his horror-genre knowledge is met with disbelief, and he’s dismissed as paranoid and annoying. Mike’s awareness and ability to apply horror-film logic drives much of the film’s humor. He advises against skinny dipping, splitting up, and wandering off alone--classic horror "don’ts"--that his friends repeatedly ignore. When strangers start swimming near the cabin, he labels them as fodder for the lurking threat, epitomizing his cynical awareness of the conventions. It is Mike’s meta-commentary and self-awareness of being in a horror film that allows him to break the fourth wall, use a boom mic as a pole vault, and turn off the set lights when setting a Rube Goldberg type trap. Mike is a prototype for later characters like Randy Meeks in SCREAM. If viewers haven’t caught on that they are watching a parody by the time the boom mic is in the middle of the frame, then this is the moment that breaks any remaining illusion. The project’s low budget posed challenges, but it pushed Kanefsky and his team to be creative, especially in bringing the alien creature to life with practical effects and puppetry. The creature, resembling a large crab-shaped stuffed animal covered in green goo, may look like a low-budget prop, but its interactive design made it surprisingly effective for the story’s tone. The team’s inventive use of Sam Raimi-inspired cinematography and dynamic pacing are intended to mimic the rhythm of classic horror films, even as it pokes fun of their formulas. In retrospect, THERE’S NOTHING OUT THERE was ahead of its time. While SCREAM would later popularize self-aware horror, Kanefsky’s film carved out space for genre parody that goes beyond slapstick and visual references to reflect a genuine love for horror cinema. Mike also deserves the same reverence as Randy Meeks, maybe even more, since Mike survives. Screening as part of Alamo Drafthouse’s Weird Wednesdays series. (1991, 91 min, DCP Digital) [Shaun Huhn]

Emilio Fernandez's VICTIMS OF SIN (Mexico)

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

Emilio Fernández, a prolific director and screenwriter of Mexican cinema’s Golden Age, won world fame when his tragic melodrama MARIA CANDELARIA (1944) won the Palme d’Or at the 1946 Cannes Film Festival. Today, that film is more famous than seen, a fate that has befallen a large number of his films. Fortunately, a new 4K digital restoration of his VICTIMS OF SIN, made with his regular collaborators, screenwriter Mauricio Magdaleno and legendary cinematographer Gabriel Figueroa, is making the rounds. Set among the nightclubs and red light district of Mexico City, VICTIMS OF SIN centers on the fortunes of Violeta (Ninón Sevilla), a former sex worker hired as a dancer by nightclub owner Don Gonzalo (Francisco Reiguera) upon the urging of his star singer, Rita (Cuban singer and actress Rita Montaner). Violeta is hugely popular, but her downward slide begins when she rescues and adopts a baby boy whose besotted mother (Margarita Ceballos) puts him in a garbage can on orders from Rodolfo (Rodolfo Acosta), her pimp and the baby’s father. To say I have never seen a film like this would be an understatement. From its beginning, when Rodolfo carefully examines his oil-flattened hair in a barber’s mirror, calculates how much he should pay the barber, dons the hat and coat that complete his zoot suit, and strolls to meet his stable of whores at Don Gonzalo’s nightclub, VICTIMS OF SIN is a nonstop entertainment that mixes comedy, melodrama, and most especially music and dance. The film is frontloaded with singing and dancing. Montaner sings as a bevy of chorus girls in swinging peasant dresses swirl on the dance floor. When Sevilla enters for her star turn in her revealing frilled skirt and frilled show pants, we get the first of many tastes of her sensual style as she moves to the orchestra’s African, Caribbean, and Cuban rhythms. “Nightingale of the Americas” Pedro Vargas, a ubiquitous presence in Mexican cinema, also offers a song from his seat in the audience that seems to foreshadow Violeta’s fortunes. This scene, which mixes Cuban and Mexican characters, shows how Cubans moved freely to Mexico to work and live—and just as freely moved back in a snit! Fernández, of course, doesn’t forsake his story for the pleasures of musical comedy. He rouses anxiety in the audience with such moments as Violeta snatching the baby from the garbage can just as workers reach its location with their garbage truck or a gang of men crossing some railroad tracks with a real train bearing down on them. One hilarious scene depicts Violeta standing with a long line of prostitutes as Santiago (Tito Junco), another pimp and nightclub owner who becomes Violeta’s common law husband, walks in front of them with a mariachi band trailing behind him. Another odd moment is when Santiago and Violeta go to a church to have their boy christened—but we never learn his name at this or any point in the movie. Figueroa’s black-and-white cinematography is, as usual, stunning and inventive, and the sets and costumes add flair and a degree of authenticity to the story. VICTIMS OF SIN races to its melodramatic conclusion, which offers Fernández’s signature sentiment—a prayer for all the unfortunates of Mexico. Screening as part of the Mexican Romance: Through the Heart of the Nation series. (1951, 84 min, DCP Digital) [Marilyn Ferdinand]

Paul Schrader's HARDCORE (US)

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

Paul Schrader’s sophomore film as director, following his debut BLUE COLLAR, sets the tone for the director’s own personal output of films to follow. Made only two years after Schrader’s screenwriting credit for TAXI DRIVER, HARDCORE follows Jake Van Dorn (George C. Scott), a devoutly Calvinist father in search of his missing daughter, who happens to have found her way into the underground world of porn. Jake hires a private detective (Peter Boyle) to track his down his daughter, and finds himself completely un-ready for what information the detective might turn up. Much like the plot of TAXI DRIVER, Scott takes it upon himself to venture into this seedy world and reclaim his daughter on his own, to “save her” from a reality he feels she can’t understand or endure. His search takes him to Los Angeles, where Jake finds himself at odds with a changing world, far from his Grand Rapids hometown where the more communal, small-town ways of life still reside; the journey he takes to find his daughter becomes more of a black-comedic nightmare than anything, as Jake prowls the corridors of neon-lit porn stores and brothels, pointing towards the removed sexual-atmospheres of his surprise hit AMERICAN GIGOLO and the deeply-underrated LIGHT SLEEPER. The film was made at the end of the so-called New Hollywood-generation, with Schrader being late to the directing chair; it bears many of the bitter, raw attitudes that awaited a film-world about to be consumed by the likes of STAR WARS (which receives an ominous and hilarious jab at a strip club, an in-joke of the likes we’ll probably never be able to see again). Humor looms large in a film that, on the surface, appears bleak and unforgiving. HARDCORE retains a very curious position that tries to align with and pity Jake, but also can’t help giggle at his discomfort, as in the scene where he nervously paces around a sex shop, looking at dildos while Neil Young’s “Helpless” plays on the store’s hi-fi; or where, in an attempt to locate one of his daughter’s male “co-stars,” he holds a casting call in his hotel room, confronting a group of young men so eager to be a part of something, they casually revert to exposing themselves in an effort to be wanted. Its despite these satirical barbs that the film rests itself upon a bed of real, naked emotion, as in the scene where Jake is shown the porno his daughter has been found performing in. Scott’s father figure breaks painfully and earnestly, in a stellar series of cuts and camera positions, reinforcing the power of film to show us the disquieting howls of an unforgiving world, through the complicated mechanics of artifice. This is a film about discomfort and loneliness (something that would become trademark for Schrader) in which its characters just simply want to belong, to be a part of something, anything, resembling any notion of a comforting reality; what HARDCORE comes to depict, ultimately, is a reality where moral conviction itself is not enough to change a world at odds with certain notions of decency, it is instead a world where all one can do is stop the projector and look away. Screening as part of the Columbia Pictures in the 1970s series. (1979, 109 min, DCP Digital) [John Dickson]

Alonso Ruizpalacios’s LA COCINA (Mexico/US)

Gene Siskel Film Center – See Venue website for showtimes

As a screenwriter and director, Alonso Ruizpalacios has been deeply engaged in the culture and history of his home town, Mexico City. His last film, the engrossing quasi-documentary A COP MOVIE (2021), told a true story through fictive means as part of its indictment of policing in Mexico’s capital. For his latest film, LA COCINA, Ruizpalacios breaks from his home country to look at the Mexican diaspora. He has taken a 1957 English play, Arnold Wesker’s The Kitchen, and adapted it as a melodrama that takes aim at U.S. immigration policy, exploitative capitalism, and kitchen culture through the experiences of undocumented workers in New York City. We think we will be identifying with a young Mexican woman named Estela (Anna Díaz), who opens the film by crossing into Manhattan to find a restaurant named The Grill (likely modeled on The Capital Grille chain) and a line cook named Pedro (Raúl Briones, one of the stars of A COP MOVIE) who holds the promise of a job in the restaurant’s kitchen. Very quickly, the film becomes the story of Pedro’s unraveling, as his volatile emotions, cultural alienation, and affair with a güera waitress (Rooney Mara) set him on a collision course with his boss, his coworkers, and, most especially, himself. Ruizpalacios films mainly in black and white, with well-chosen moments of monochromatic color, and does a superb job of creating a shared environment of anger, camaraderie, and petty oppression among the kitchen staff and front-of-house workers. Indeed, his filming of the lunch service at the restaurant is almost baroque in its frenzied choreography of movement and shouted orders. The director is occasionally heavy-handed with his symbolism, and several long speeches and poetic non sequiturs reveal the film’s stage origins. Nonetheless, the performances of the entire ensemble—and this really is an ensemble work that brought Lanford Wilson’s play Balm in Gilead to mind—really get under one’s skin. (2024, 139 min, DCP Digital) [Marilyn Ferdinand]

Charles Chaplin's THE GREAT DICTATOR (US)

Alamo Drafthouse – Sunday, 12:15pm

One of the most courageous of all films, Chaplin's satire attacked Adolph Hitler while the US government was still officially neutral towards Nazi Germany, but it's even more remarkable for recognizing the complex relationship between fascism and popular culture. Chaplin famously quipped that he had a vendetta against Hitler because he stole the Tramp's mustache, and he portrays his Hitler caricature Adenoid Hynkel as a version of his beloved Tramp turned inside out by the evils of the twentieth century. The clownish, neurotic dictator is of course motivated by delusions of grandeur (which Chaplin displays, gorgeously, in a ballet sequence where he dances with a balloon globe) but he's equally dependent on mass acceptance. Chaplin also represents the people persecuted by dictatorship; he stars in these scenes as well, playing a Jewish barber even more reminiscent of the Tramp. The scenes depicting the barber's social life in the ghetto are so deeply felt in their sympathy for European Jewish humor that THE GREAT DICTATOR could be ranked justifiably with the great Jewish films. Given his worldwide popularity, Chaplin's decision to ally his screen image so closely with the Jews had deeply radical implications, but that's no match for the openly Leftist monologue at the film's end. Following a series of tragic/farcical complications, the plot breaks away and Chaplin addresses the camera for a three-minute unbroken shot. What begins as an outcry against fascism turns into a plea for human brotherhood, and it's audacious in how fully it manipulates the communicative nature of cinema. Writing about this scene in 1974, Jonathan Rosenbaum was rightly hyperbolic: "Seen with historical hindsight, there are few moments in film as raw and convulsive as this desperate coda. Being foolish enough to believe that he can save the world, Chaplin winds up breaking our hearts in a way that no mere artist ever could." (1940, 124 min, DCP Digital) [Ben Sachs]

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

Alamo Drafthouse – Saturday, 12:30pm

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

Tobe Hooper's THE TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE (US)

Alamo Drafthouse – Monday, 9:30pm

A film of seminal importance, THE TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE sits at the crux of a huge shift; it feels as if American cinema had always been moving toward it, and its wake is continually influential. It’s certainly an essential film in the horror canon with regards to many subgenres, though notably as an early example of the slasher, with Marilyn Burn’s Sally Hardesty as one of the most iconic of final girls. The film opens with Sally, her brother Franklin (Paul A. Partain), and their friends as they travel through Texas to visit their late grandfather’s home. After picking up a strange and violent hitchhiker, they find the house, but they're unable to escape the savage behavior of a family of vicious cannibals residing nearby. While this plot by now feels all too familiar, THE TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE continues to be shocking in its grotesqueness. It’s a slow film, not in pace necessarily, but in the way the violence builds, the way the characters unhurriedly move through the landscape, and the way in which director Tobe Hooper portrays the muggy weather of the open Texas countryside, everything and everyone covered in sweat and flies. The graininess of the film gives a sense of humidity. Its iconic imagery is due, in part, to its distinctive look, taking place primarily during the day with the light of Texas sun; it’s quite a beautiful film despite its extreme violence. Though, important to note, it’s not especially explicit. The power of THE TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE is how much unsettling horror Hooper implies. It feels like the film is drowning the audience in it, that slow burn contributing to the terror. This is one of the most impressive examples of American independent cinema, made in extreme conditions and on an extremely low budget. Cowritten by Hooper and Kim Henkel, THE TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE also remains evergreen in its subtle (and not so subtle) social commentary, not just on US culture and politics in the 1970s, but in its continued reverberation fifty years later. As Hooper’s breakout feature, it was perhaps inevitably impossible to live up to its cultural impact, and his oeuvre has yet to get the same re-appreciation as horror figures like John Carpenter or George Romero. But aspects of THE TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE show up in all his films, particularly its repulsive take on humanity grounded in bonkers humor. Screening as part of the Alamo Time Capsule 1974 series. (1974, 83 min, DCP Digital) [Megan Fariello]

Joseph H. Lewis' GUN CRAZY (US)

Northbrook Public Library (1201 Cedar Ln., Northbrook) – Wednesday, 2pm and 7pm

The legacy of Joseph H. Lewis was cemented by GUN CRAZY, a B noir whose audacity well exceeds its small budget. The film's visual ingenuity is still remarkable: Lewis stages tracking shots in reverse, creates odd compositions that intentionally leave faces or key actions out of the frame, and—most famously—shoots a bank robbery in a single long take from the back of a car. Along with some of Val Lewton's productions, it's one of the few U.S. films of the 40s that can be compared to CITIZEN KANE in its go-for-broke stylization. But the psychological element of the film (so pronounced it can't really be called "subtext") is fascinating as well, as John Dall's emotionally stunted antihero is pulled into crime by a femme fatale as protective as she is conniving. This makes him different from the standard noir hero, who's confident but merely unlucky. Given his introversion and child-like fascination with guns, Dall is vulnerable to misfortune from the very start. This would place GUN CRAZY among the most fatalistic noirs, if it weren't for Lewis' overt sympathy for the character, which in turn makes the Rocky Mountain manhunt of the third act even more intense. The accomplished black-and-white cinematography is by Howard Hawks regular Russell Harlan. Screening as part of the Noirvember Film Series. (1949, 86 min, DCP Digital) [Ben Sachs]

🎞️ ALSO SCREENING

⚫ Alamo Drafthouse
Colin Eggleston’s 1978 Australian horror film LONG WEEKEND (92 min, DCP Digital) screens Tuesday, 9:30pm, as part of Terror Tuesdays, programmed by John Dickson from the Oscbarbate Film Collective. More info here. 

⚫ Chicago Film Archives
The Chicago Transit Authority, in partnership with CFA, presents a new, one-of-a-kind temporary art installation 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 will be projected onto a wall in the mezzanine area of the station and will run day and night through March 15, 2026. More info here.

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

⚫ Comfort Film at Comfort Station (2579 N. Milwaukee Ave.)
Comfort Film presents part of the First Nations Film and Video Festival 2024, including a feature film and several shorts, on Wednesday at 7:30pm. Free admission. More info here. 

⚫ Doc Films at the University of Chicago
Edward Yang’s 1996 Taiwanese film MAHJONG (121 min, DCP Digital) screens Friday, 9:30pm, and Saturday, 7pm, as part of the New Releases and Restorations series.

Nathaniel Dorksy’s films SONG AND SOLITUDE (2006), ARBOR VITAE (2000), THE VISITATION (2004), and THRENODY (2002) screen Sunday, 8pm, as part of the Devotional Cinema of Nathaniel Dorsky and Jerome Hiler series. Total runtime is approximately 92 minutes.

Kim Longinotto and Jano Williams’ 1995 documentary SHINJUKU BOYS (53 min, 16mm) screens Thursday, 9:30pm, as part of the Subversive Histories: A Snapshot of Queer Cinema series. More info about all screenings here.

⚫ FACETS Cinema
Another edition of FACETS and Kartemquin Films’ Vital Conversations series takes place Sunday at 2pm. The panel takes on the question, “How are people creatively using media to engage, activate, and organize, and whose voices are we still leaving out?” Moderated by Maxwell Evans of Block Club Chicago, the panel features Stephanie Skora, founder of Chicago’s Brave Space Alliance and editor of the “Girl, I Guess” progressive voter guide; Alex Herrera of Free Spirit Media; and Margaret Caples of the Community Film Workshop of Chicago. More info here. 

⚫ Gene Siskel Film CenterNesa Azimi,
Mati Diop’s 2024 documentary DAHOMEY (68 min, DCP Digital), Shiori Ito’s 2024 documentary BLACK BOX DIARIES (102 min, DCP Digital), and Anirban Dutta and Anupama Srinivasan’s 224 documentary NOCTURNES (83 min, DCP Digital) begin screening this week. See Venue website for showtimes. More info on all screenings here.

⚫ Music Box Theatre
Adam Elliot’s 2024 animated film MEMOIR OF A SNAIL (94 min, DCP Digital) begins and Sean Baker’s 2024 film ANORA (139 min, 35mm and DCP Digital [check showtime for format]) continues screening. See Venue website for showtimes.

Jim Sharman’s 1975 cult classic THE ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW (100 min, 35mm) screens Saturday at midnight.

Neil Diamond and Catherine Bainbridge’s 2024 documentary RED FEVER (104 min, DCP Digital) screens Monday at 7pm. Programmed by the First Nations Film and Video Festival.

Katie Krentz and Patrick McHale’s 2014 animated film OVER THE GARDEN WALL screens Wednesday, 7pm, as part of the Animation Adventures series. Please note this screening is SOLD OUT.

The Arc’teryx Chicago Winter Film Tour screens Thursday, 7pm. The first 50 guests will receive a complimentary Arc’teryx item. One complimentary concession voucher will be included with every ticket for a free popcorn or candy concession item. More info on all screenings here.

⚫ Sideshow Gelato (4819 N. Western Ave.)
SUPER-HORROR-RAMA! presents Fred F. Sears’ 1957 film THE GIANT CLAW (75 min, Digital Projection) on Thursday, 7:30pm, as part of this month’s Flipping the Bird: A Thanksgiving Series. Every screening includes a social hour with live music starting at 6pm, a surprise short feature in keeping with the theme of Thanksgiving and killer giveaways donated by House of Movie Monsters and The Shadowboxery at 7pm, and a brand new video intro by Drive-In Asylum, a fanzine exploring classic eras of horror, sci-fi, cult, and exploitation films through vintage newsprint ads. More info here.

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

CINE-LIST: November 1 - November 7, 2024

MANAGING EDITORS // Ben and Kat Sachs

CONTRIBUTORS // John Dickson, Ray Ebarb, Megan Fariello, Marilyn Ferdinand, Shaun Huhn, Joshua Minsoo Kim, Raphael Jose Martinez, Brian Welesko