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:: Friday, JAN. 6 - Thursday, JAN. 12 ::


Tod Browning's FREAKS (American Revival)
Music Box Theatre - Saturday and Sunday, 11:30am

After stumbling dumbfounded out of a senior matinee of TODAY WE LIVE some years ago, I formulated a rudimentary theory about M-G-M's output in the 1930s: every film the studio released in that decade would easily be improved by losing at least twenty minutes. Granted, that wouldn't have much helped TODAY WE LIVE (Howard Hawks' worst film by a mile, from a Faulkner script, no less!), but it illuminated a general bloat that persisted throughout the Louis B. Mayer-Irving Thalberg years. Opulence was always superior to economy, exposition preferable to concision, even when introduced in the last reel when things should rightly have been winding down. Parochial conceptions of narrative progression and dramatic unity always won out over formal innovation, forward momentum, or simple entertainment value. While Warner Bros. pictures represented the surly bleatings of the proletariat and Paramount specialized in the cosmopolitan fantasies and emotional dilemmas of grown-ups, M-G-M fare catered to the starchy pretensions of school marms, small businessmen, undernourished Anglophiles, country club Republicans, and the like. The holy reputation of Thalberg—namesake of an honorary Academy Award, subject of numerous fawning biographies, and the thinly-veiled inspiration for Monroe Starr in Fitzgerald's The Last Tycoon—is scarcely justified by the films he oversaw, today remembered mostly for the anti-septic ubiquity of their white telephones. The M-G-M films play like a striver's gangly conception of sophistication. The exception that proves the rule is Tod Browning's FREAKS, a masterpiece that draws blood and convulses with orgasmic transference. (It's also, at 64 minutes, the only M-G-M film of its era that demands to be longer; blame Thalberg, who chopped roughly thirty minutes out of it after a disastrous preview screening.) It is the culmination of Browning's career-long interest in the grotesque: the armless aspirations of Lon Chaney in THE UNKNOWN, the homicide-by-gorilla machinations of WHERE EAST IS EAST, the incestuous air of WEST OF ZANZIBAR. Without Chaney's star magnetism or the familiar conventions of the popular stage melodramas that had formed the basis of earlier Browning films, FREAKS has nothing to blunt its rough edges; it goes down like wood alcohol. It is also, of course, one of the most compassionate and empathetic films ever made, unsullied even by the sub-distribution efforts of exploitation maven Dwain Esper. (1932, 64 min, 35mm) KAW
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Edmund Goulding’s NIGHTMARE ALLEY (American Revival)
Chicago Film Society* (at Northeastern Illinois University, The Auditorium, Building E, 3701 W. Bryn Mawr Ave.) – Wednesday, 7:30pm

NIGHTMARE ALLEY was something of a holy grail for noir enthusiasts before it was released on DVD in 2005. Given a limited run on first release (Twentieth-Century Fox head Darryl Zanuck reportedly hated it), and hard to see for decades due to rights issues, the film developed legendary status. What drew matinee idol Tyrone Power to William Gresham’s brutal, cynical novel about the rise and fall of a phony psychic? And how did Edmund Gouding, best known for GRAND HOTEL and the Bette Davis vehicle DARK VICTORY, end up directing it? For the record, Goulding does very, very well by the material, achieving a sense of pulp despair from the opening scene and never letting up. (He’s greatly assisted by cinematographer Lee Garmes, whose credits include Sternberg’s MOROCCO and SHANGHAI EXPRESS, DUEL IN THE SUN, and Ophuls’ CAUGHT.) And Power nails the ruthlessness and charisma that are essential to Stan Carlisle’s character; his performance is often show-stopping. That’s not to say, however, that Power gives the only memorable performance—Joan Blondell, who plays a colleague from Carlisle’s days in a circus sideshow, makes quite an impression, as does Helen Walker, who plays a crooked psychiatrist who becomes Carlisle’s partner in crime. This would make for a wonderful double feature with Roy Del Ruth’s pre-Code classic THE MIND READER (1933), another cautionary tale about an aggressive con man who plays the mentalist act; but where Del Ruth’s film is brisk and wry, NIGHTMARE ALLEY is bleak and brooding. It’s as good as its reputation suggested, and definitely worth seeing on celluloid. Preceded by Sally Cruikshank’s 1978 animated short MAKE ME PSYCHIC (8 min, 35mm). (1947, 110 min, 35mm) BS
*Note that the Northwest Chicago Film Society has shortened their name to just Chicago Film Society
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Fridrik Thor Fridriksson’s CHILDREN OF NATURE (Icelandic Revival)
Doc Films (University of Chicago) – Tuesday, January 10, 7pm

Iceland has enjoyed a relatively robust and prolific film industry in recent decades, which is all the more surprising when one considers that the population currently hovers at an all-time high of barely more than 300,000 people. The godfather of Icelandic cinema is Fridrik Thor Fridriksson, a self-taught filmmaker who is almost single-handedly responsible for the country’s impressive movie boom in the 1990s and early 2000s. His breakthrough feature CHILDREN OF NATURE, the only locally produced film in 1991, was also the first Icelandic movie to be nominated for the Best Foreign Film Oscar. Fridriksson immediately sunk his unexpected international box-office grosses into buying additional filmmaking equipment and established the Icelandic Film Corporation, which produced dozens of distinctive features in the ensuing years. CHILDREN OF NATURE ranks for me alongside Leo McCarey’s MAKE WAY FOR TOMORROW and Yasujiro Ozu’s TOKYO STORY as one of the cinema’s most powerful statement about the predicament of the elderly. It tells the story of Thorgeir (Gísli Halldórsson), a retiree who is virtually forced by his uncaring family into living in a nursing home in the capital city of Reykjavik. Upon arriving there, he unexpectedly meets his childhood sweetheart, Stella (Sigríður Hagalín), who tells him she doesn’t want to die in a retirement home. Thorgeir steals a jeep and the two escape to rural northwestern Iceland, with the authorities in hot pursuit, so that Stella might be able to see again the land of her childhood before she dies. Any plot description of CHILDREN OF NATURE, however, is bound to make it seem like the kind of cute Hollywood movie about the “life left in old dogs” to which it actually serves as a welcome antidote. One of the most evocative scenes in this beautiful meditation on life, love, and mortality occurs right before the couple flees to the countryside; Thorgeir strolls alone through Holavallagardur cemetery, a remarkable location where trees grow out of burial plots dating back to the19th century. Although a realist at heart, Fridriksson’s effortless ability in scenes like this to capture uncanny visual metaphors ends up paying mystical dividends: Bruno Ganz turns up in a surprise wordless cameo at the end in what seems to be a reprise of his angel character from Wim Wenders’ WINGS OF DESIRE. For those unfamiliar with the work of Fridriksson or Icelandic cinema in general, this is probably the single best place to start. (1991, 82 min, DCP Digital) MGS
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Andrea Arnold’s AMERICAN HONEY (New American/British)
Doc Films (University of Chicago) – Saturday, 7pm and Sunday, 3:45pm

Reviews of Andrea Arnold’s AMERICAN HONEY, from those found in such notable publications as The New York Times, The Guardian, and The A.V. Club, as well as smaller outlets like local newspapers and little-known blogs, are rife with the phrase “at once.” According to these reviews, the film, its characters, and even its director, are “at once” any number of paradoxical adjectives, an assessment that’s as accurate as it is hackneyed. The first American feature from the extolled British director, AMERICAN HONEY is an epic film shot almost exclusively handheld and in 4:3; a coming-of-age proclamation that’s uncannily wise beyond its years; a road movie that eschews genre clichés. The young protagonist, Star (played by Sasha Lane, who Arnold discovered while she was on spring break from college), takes care of two young children, who may or may not be her siblings, while enduring sexual abuse from a man she calls ‘Daddy’ but whose exact relationship to her is unclear. The ambiguous exposition is reminiscent of much of Arnold’s oeuvre, down to the gritty details—her Academy Award-winning short film WASP (2003) and narrative feature FISH TANK (2009) are both about disenfranchised families whose circumstances are less than desirable. Having previously witnessed her dumpster diving for food, Star’s lot seems to improve when she unexpectedly meets Jake (Shia LaBeouf in a role that benefits from his ignominious intensity) and his band of roving misfits, otherwise known as Team 071, a group of young magazine sales people from similarly proletarian backgrounds. The ensuing two and a half hours (Arnold’s audacity in regards to length would be worthy of praise even if the film wasn’t so adroit, if not plain masterful) focuses as much on this wily lifestyle as it does the emerging romance between Star and Jake, with a few violent non sequiturs that both pull us from our reverie while likewise evincing the realities of the characters’ socio-economic status. “I grew up with a lot of Hollywood films,” Arnold told The A.V. Club in an interview. “Cozy farm houses, cowboys, nice flats in New York. Especially as a kid, those things have a huge impression on you. If you see films like that all the time, you think that’s how it is.” She later explained: “I think the film became the mix of my leftover fantastical ideas—you know, I grew up seeing farmhouses on the prairie. Then when we go there, a lot of the farmhouses are run down, and that’s how it is now.” Much of the criticism towards AMERICAN HONEY is directed at her depiction of working-class youth. In his review of the film for The New Yorker, Richard Brody writes that “[p]erhaps the most distressing cliché that afflicts many movies about poor people is that they’re depicted as being poor in language, poor in thought—as if people who don’t have money talk about their lives any less, or any less well, than people who do." This critique is similarly cavalier in its assumption that Arnold is necessarily striving for authenticity, or that people with money actually talk about their lives in any meaningful way. And perhaps it’s silence that unifies us more than words—or maybe music. Not only is the film named after a Lady Antebellum song (“Nothin' sweeter than summertime/And American honey…”), but it features a wide array of contemporary American pop music, with songs from the likes of Banky W, Bruce Springsteen, and Rihanna, to which the characters know every word. Their reverence for this music is almost fanatical, reflecting relationship with the medium rivaling that of any “person with money.” Winner of the Jury Prize at the 2016 Cannes Film Festival, AMERICAN HONEY seems to have mostly flown under the radar following its early fall release. For me, it’s tied with Kelly Reichardt’s CERTAIN WOMEN as my favorite film of 2016; both are about women from small places who lead small lives, but with big hearts. That people are wary of Arnold’s film shows that perhaps we’re uncomfortable with the idea that an outsider, whether that status for her be defined by gender or country of origin, see us better than we see ourselves. (2016, 163 min, DCP Digital) KS
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Martin Scorsese’s SILENCE (New Drama)
Music Box Theatre - Check Venue website for showtimes

Throughout his long and accomplished career, Martin Scorsese has incorporated religion into many of his films—be it thematically, iconographically, or overtly, as in THE LAST TEMPTATION OF CHRIST and KUNDUN. After twenty years in the making, his latest film, SILENCE, is a combination of all three. In the 16th century, a pair of Portuguese missionaries (Andrew Garfield and Adam Driver) embarks on a trip to feudal Japan to discover the whereabouts of Father Ferreira (Liam Neeson), a priest who is believed to have apostatized due to the intense persecution Christians have been subjected to in that country. SILENCE is the sort of film where one’s personal beliefs or lack thereof will surely shape the one’s reconciliation of the events transpiring on-screen. It is emotionally-tolling and psychologically-straining. Interestingly enough, it is as pro-religion as it is anti-religion. Akira Kurosawa’s influence looms large here, with RASHOMON and SEVEN SAMURAI coming quickly to mind, and Scorsese flirts with other works of Eastern cinema by paying homage to several Japanese greats. The film’s bleak tone and heavy subject matter is aided by a muted color palette before, roughly halfway through, a shift occurs and there is an explosion of color and vibrancy while still maintaining the same somber undertones. In a land where to be Christian is essentially a death sentence to many, it’s captivating and at times, a bit perplexing that Father Rodrigues (Garfield) and the other Japanese converts remain so resolute in their faith. The biggest question raised is the notion of religious truth and whether that truth can be universal to all or not. Although lacking in the subtlety found in some of his other works, Scorsese’s SILENCE is a well-crafted test in the face of hardship and one that is sure to evoke a strong reaction by all. (2016, 161 min, DCP Digital) KC
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Charlie Chaplin’s THE KID (Silent American Classic)
Doc Films (University of Chicago) – Wednesday, 7 and 9pm

Much like Stanley Kubrick, Charlie Chaplin was infamous for his long production schedules, often shooting dozens of takes of the same shot. THE KID, his first feature, took five and a half months to film—particularly long when considering that the finished version runs just over an hour. (IMDB lists that the shooting ratio was reportedly 53:1.) Yet neither Kubrick nor Chaplin should be accused of wasting time; rather, they used time purposefully, having their actors replay complex actions (and enact complex emotions) to the point where they seem effortless and innate. Watching THE KID, one marvels at how the gags seem fall into place, how adroit everyone—but especially six-year-old Jackie Coogan—is at physical comedy. (Chaplin, in fact, instructed his young costar in his every movement, yet the performance onscreen never seems forced.) Here, as in most of his films, Chaplin uses his fellow actors to construct an emotional universe in which the grandiose expressiveness of the Tramp makes sense. THE KID is a remarkable fusion of humor and sentiment, outdone only by Chaplin’s later CITY LIGHTS. The Tramp’s relationship with the orphaned little boy climaxes in some of the most moving expressions of love in cinema; what had been comic, even moving, erupts into something transcendently beautiful. The film feels very much like a transition from shorts to features—consider the extended dream sequence set in heaven, which feels like it could be a stand-alone piece—but that’s not meant as a slight. As Dave Kehr has noted, all of Chaplin’s films feel haphazard in shape, built out of disparate observations and moods. Yet the constant emotional specificity of the filmmaking develops a cumulative power nonetheless, as THE KID amply proves. (1921, 68 min, 35mm) BS
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Akira Kurosawa’s THRONE OF BLOOD (Japanese Revival)
Gene Siskel Film Center – Saturday, 4:45pm and Thursday, 6pm

Ambitious in its classicality, Akira Kurosawa’s take on one of Shakespeare’s most famous plays is more of a transposition than it is an adaptation; he approaches the material’s inherent universality as a foundation from which to build his own broad themes, which stem from distinctly Japanese beliefs and traditions—he even abandons Shakespeare’s language, further removing the ideas from their Western origins. In THRONE OF BLOOD, Toshiro Mifune is Washizu, a samurai general whose future is revealed to him by a spirit in the woods as he returns victorious from battle. After that prophecy becomes a reality, his ambitious wife (Isuzu Yamada in a haunting performance that informs the film’s overall tone) pressures him to escalate his brutality in order to fully realize the perilous omen. Of course, a plot summary of Shakespeare’s Scottish-set play is unnecessary even when it’s rendered Japanese, but context becomes all the more significant as one mentally subs out the traditional (at least in the Western sense) settings and character dynamics with elements of Noh theater that beautifully complement the thematic flatness of Kurosawa’s interpretation. He juxtaposes the ascetic aspects of this highly stylized art form—examples of which include staid movement and masks depicting fixed facial expressions—with decidedly natural landscapes; shot on the side of Mount Fuji and permeated with a thick, seemingly impenetrable fog, the film is in this way reminiscent of Japanese ink painting, further imbuing it with an otherworldly ambience. All of this, the characters, their setting, and the cultural influences on these things, as well as the famed “death by a thousand arrows” ending, lends itself to Kurosawa’s rather pessimistic outlook. This is perhaps best represented by a scene near the beginning of the film in which Washizu and Miki—the film’s Banquo—wander in and out of fog as they look for Spider’s Web Castle amidst an impassable forest. The scene is a few minutes long, and its repetitiveness effectively undoes whatever hope one may feel, whether it’s for the Macbeth figure himself or towards the play’s ultimately conservative frame of reference. “In Kurosawa’s film and worldview, the cycle of human violence never ends,” writes Stephen Prince in his essay for the film’s Criterion release. “Thus the film’s many circular motifs describe the real tragedy at the heart of the history that THRONE OF BLOOD dramatizes. Why do people kill one another so often and through so many ages? Kurosawa had no answer to this question. But he showed us here, through the film’s chorus, its circularity, and its Buddhist aesthetics, that there may not be an answer within this world.” (1957, 105 min, 35mm) KS
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Nicholas Ray’s REBEL WITHOUT A CAUSE (American Revival)
Doc Films (University of Chicago) – Sunday, 7pm

REBEL WITHOUT A CAUSE has had more lives than many auteurist causes: it's A Film By Nicholas Ray, but also a genuine popular classic sustained by an endless supply of James Dean posters, magnets, t-shirts, and tchotchkes. Modern viewers often find it dated, largely because fashion dictates a less didactic and purpose-driven form of expression. If the psychological jargon and parenting advice are hopelessly rooted in the 1950s, the sex is something else again. Here, the title is misleading, perhaps disingenuous: treating Dean's Jim Stark as a privileged creature of inchoate disaffection is only possible by willfully turning a blind eye to the quite legible and articulate critique of straight sexuality that limns nearly every exchange. It's in Sal Mineo's tentative entreaties to Dean, but even more brashly in the moment Natalie Wood interrogates William Hopper on the proper way for a teenager to express love for her father; her desires literally know no established form. It's a movie about people denied a framework and vocabulary for coming to terms with themselves and their environments. Luckily, this confusion does not infect the movie's craft. Ray's JOHNNY GUITAR bustles with so much action that its cramped frames feel primed to burst, as if the director had exhausted the limits of flat cinematography; REBEL, Ray's Cinemascope debut, reverses course and uses the wide canvas to describe new dimensions of loneliness and isolation. (1955, 111 min, 35mm) KAW
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Terry Gilliam's TIME BANDITS (British Revival)
Doc Films (University of Chicago) – Thursday, 9:45pm

If Andrei Tarkovsky crafts profound lyric poems about dreams and the time-space continuum, then Terry Gilliam might be his lowbrow, comic book counterpart. Indeed, anachronistic whimsy abounds in TIME BANDITS, the first feature in Terry Gilliam's "Trilogy of Imagination." The film centers on Kevin, a precocious young history buff who discovers that his bedroom closet is a time portal to the past. After inadvertently joining forces with a team of treasure hunting dwarves, he travels to various centuries, encountering Napoleon, Robin Hood, Agamemnon, and others. Each dwarf has been said to represent a member of the Monty Python troupe (Gilliam himself is embodied by Vermin, the plucky leader of the group). The word "logic" is not part of Gilliam's vocabulary, and the sooner one can jettison the need for any hint of historical accuracy or narrative coherence, the sooner one will be susceptible to the film's charm. Though it has the trappings of a children's movie, TIME BANDITS features some delightfully disturbing images, namely undead minotaurs who emit fireballs from their empty eye sockets. In fact, under its fanciful surface, this is essentially a story about a boy who's so ignored by his parents that he welcomes what befalls them. Gilliam attempts to inject the film with some social commentary by offering a perfunctory critique of techno-modernity and consumer culture, but luckily this gets lost amidst all the wackiness. As with any Gilliam film, TIME BANDITS boasts plenty of psychedelic eye candy and visual wizardry, including spatial distortion, inverted images, and M.C. Escher-esque set design. A nice aperitif before next week's screening of Gilliam's dystopian magnum opus, BRAZIL. (1981, 116 min, DCP Digital) HS
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Anna Biller’s THE LOVE WITCH (New American)
Gene Siskel Film Center – Check Venue website for showtimes

THE LOVE WITCH is a remarkably dense pastiche, recreating elements of American melodramas, sexploitation comedies, and low-budget horror films from the 60s and early 70s with loving care and deadpan assurance. Writer-director Anna Biller (who also designed the sets and costumes) invokes Radley Metzger, Elizabeth Taylor vehicles like BUTTERFIELD 8, Stephanie Rothman’s THE VELVET VAMPIRE, George Romero’s SEASON OF THE WITCH, and likely many other cult films and filmmakers. The mise-en-scene is striking and loud, at times verging on Kenneth Anger levels of expressiveness; the sex is lurid and silly, the politics blunt and sincere; and Biller demonstrates such command over tone that even the odd pauses in the dialogue feel carefully considered. The heroine, Elaine, is a California witch living a life of leisure and looking for a man to love. While she manages to lures a number of men to her bed—employing a combination of sexual allure, magic spells, and burlesque dancing—she never lands on a lasting relationship. Part of the problem is that Elaine’s magic turns her lovers into pathetic devotees; another is that Elaine’s lovers keep dying on her. The lovers’ demises represent grotesque exaggerations of the ways in which women can feel disappointed by men; these scenes communicate a certain raw honesty that used to exist commonly in disreputable genres when filmmakers were given a high degree of creative freedom. THE LOVE WITCH is a tribute to that era and a provocation for ours, calling into question the expectations that women have of men, and vice-versa. (2016, 120 min, 35mm) BS
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Pablo Larrain’s NERUDA (New Chilean)
Music Box Theatre – Check Venue website for showtimes

In a year where Pablo Larrain is best known to American audiences for his film JACKIE, NERUDA slides in at the end of 2016 with a bang. Following the political life and exile of famed poet Pablo Neruda (Luis Gnecco), the film is an atypical biopic. In the late 1940s, Pablo Neruda is a Senator in the Chilean political machine who is discovered to be a communist and forced to go on the lam. Chased by the son of a well-known Chilean police detective (Gael García Bernal), what follows is an amalgamation and deconstruction of historical facts plus a romanticized narrative from the viewpoint of Neruda. Larrain’s film seeks to blur the lines of the past and humanizes the poet in profound manner. What’s most striking about the film is the dual-tiered plot lines, one following the titular character and the other Bernal’s character and the way in which they both manage to coexist despite their obvious differences. The film’s verisimilitude brings Neruda’s legacy to the forefront: will he be remembered as the master wordsmith he was or as the Red political figure who fled his country as an outcast? In the end, NERUDA is a film that delves into the backstory of one of the most influential poets of the 20th century, encapsulating not only his impact on the common people but also his effect on Chile’s political climate in the 1940s. (2016, 107 min, DCP Digital) KC
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The Film Studies Center screens U of C professor d.n. rodowick’s 2015 experimental film PLATO’S PHAEDRUS (68 min, Digital Projection) on Friday at 7pm, with Rodowick in person. The screening is at the Logan Center for the Arts (915 E. 60th St., University of Chicago). Free admission.

Gallery 400 (400 S. Peoria, UIC) presents a lecture by video maker and artist Simon Leung entitled Observations on Yvonne Rainer as Artist and Performer on Wednesday at 6pm. Free admission.

AMC River East 21 opens Ding Sheng’s 2016 Chinese film (starring Jackie Chan) RAILROAD TIGERS (124 min, Digital Projection) on Friday.

The Park Ridge Classic Film Series at the Pickwick Theatre (5 S. Prospect Ave., Park Ridge) screens Sergio Leone's 1968 film ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE WEST (175 min, Digital Projection) on Thursday at 2 and 7pm.

The Italian Cultural Institute (500 N. Michigan Ave., Suite 1450) screens the 2008 Italian television series Inspector Montalbano: August Flame on Tuesday at 6pm. Introduced by University of Chicago professor Veronica Vegna. Free Admission.

The Northbrook Public Library (1201 Cedar Lane, Northbrook) screens Colin Higgins’ 1980 film 9 TO 5 (109 min, DCP Digital) on Wednesday at 1 and 7:30pm. Free admission.

Chicago Cultural Center and the Chicago Latino Film Festival present Marcos Carnevale’s 2005 Spanish/Argentinean film ELSA AND FRED (106 mins, Video Projection – Unconfirmed Format) on Wednesday at 6:30pm. Free admission.

At Facets Cinémathèque this week: James Spinney and Peter Middleton’s 2016 UK/French documentary NOTES ON BLINDNESS (90 min, Digital Projection) and Christopher Cannucciari’s 2016 documentary BANKING ON BITCOIN (90 min, Digital Projection) both play for a week.

Also at the Gene Siskel Film Center this week: Otto Bell’s 2016 UK/Mongolian documentary THE EAGLE HUNTRESS (87 min, DCP Digital) and Jayro Bustamante’s 2015 Guatemalan film IXCANUL (93 min, DCP Digital) both play for a week; Nikolaus Geyrhalter’s 2016 Austrian documentary HOMO SAPIENS (94 min, DCP Digital) is on Friday at 7:45pm and Tuesday at 8:15pm; Steven Okazaki’s 2015 documentary MIFUNE: THE LAST SAMURAI (80 min, DCP Digital) is on Saturday at 3pm and Monday at 6pm; Philip Kaufman’s 1979 film THE WANDERERS (117 min, DCP Digital; New Restoration) is on Saturday and Wednesday at 7:45pm; and Ceyda Torun’s 2016 US/Turkish documentary KEDI (80 min, DCP Digital) is on Sunday at 3pm.

Also at Doc Films (University of Chicago) this week: Quentin Tarantino’s 1992 film RESERVOIR DOGS (100 min, DCP Digital) is on Friday at 7 and 9:30pm and Sunday at 1:30pm; Gregg Araki’s 1992 film THE LIVING END (81 min, Digital Projection) is on Monday at 7pm; and Sydney Pollack’s 1975 film THREE DAYS OF THE CONDOR (117 min, 35mm) is on Thursday at 7pm.

Also at the Music Box Theatre this week: Sang-ho Yeon’s 2016 South Korean film TRAIN TO BUSAN (118 min, Digital Projection) is on Friday and Saturday at Midnight; and Hiroaki Miyamoto’s 2016 Japanese animated film ONE PIECE FILM GOLD (120 min, Digital Projection) is on Tuesday and Wednesday at 7pm.


Olympia Centre (737 N. Michigan Ave. - entrance at 151 E. Chicago Ave.) presents Virginio Ferrari & Marco G. Ferrari: Spirit Level through April 6. The show features sculpture, 16mm film, video and installations by artists Virginio Ferrari and Marco G. Ferrari, including Marco Ferrari’s SPIRIT LEVEL (2015-16, 30 min) and CONTRAILS WITH BODY (2011-16, 3 min).

The Art Institute of Chicago (Modern Wing Galleries) has Dara Birnbaum’s 1979 two-channel video KISS THE GIRLS: MAKE THEM CRY (6 min) currently on view.

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CINE-LIST: January 6 - January 12, 2016

 Patrick Friel

CONTRIBUTORS / Kyle Cubr, Ben Sachs, Kathleen Sachs, Harrison Sherrod, Michael Glover Smith, Kyle A. Westphal, Darnell Witt

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