23rd 10 - 2015 | 2 comments »

CIFF 2015: Sherlock Holmes (1916)

Director: Arthur Berthelet

2015 Chicago International Film Festival


By Marilyn Ferdinand

In past years, the CIFF set aside some of its programming for films from bygone eras of particular interest to film enthusiasts. That practice went a bit into decline in recent years, but happily, this year, filmgoers can see three films in new restorations: William Wyler’s Funny Girl (1968); To Sleep with Anger (1990), in conjunction with the festival’s tribute to its influential director, Charles Burnett; and perhaps most exciting, the newly recovered Sherlock Holmes. The latter film was thought lost for nearly a century, but was found in 2014 at the world-famous Cinémathèque Française in Paris, a happy occurrence of the type that has become more common in recent years.


The significance of the find is immense, as it was the only film in which the great stage actor William Gillette ever appeared, preserving his famous, standard-setting characterization of the super-sleuth in his own highly successful co-adaptation with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle of the writer’s first Holmes story to appear in Strand Magazine, “A Scandal in Bohemia” (1891). Its significance to Chicago film history is even more noteworthy because the film was shot at the Essanay Studios at 1333-45 W. Argyle St. in Chicago’s Uptown neighborhood, which now serves as the Essanay Center, a division of St. Augustine College.

2015_02_Flickering_EmpireWhat? Chicago film history? Yes, indeed. For a short time, from 1898 through 1918, Chicago was the filmmaking capital of the United States. A fascinating history of this era written by my good friend Michael Glover Smith and his coauthor Adam Selzer, Flickering Empire: How Chicago Invented the U.S. Film Industry offers a look at this crucible time in film history, with engaging profiles of the major players in the Chicago film industry, including Gilbert M. “Bronco Billy” Anderson and George Spoor, founders of Essanay; Selig Polyscope founder “Colonel” William Selig; film distributor and producer George Kleine; and some of the directors and actors who answered the call of Chicago before they found warmer pastures in Hollywood, including Gloria Swanson, Orson Welles, Oscar Micheaux, and Ben Turpin.

Recently, I sat down to talk about the Chicago film industry and Sherlock Holmes with Mike Smith, whose other claims to fame include his charming indie film, Cool Apocalypse, set to screen at the Gene Siskel Film Center on November 21 and 23, and his engaging blog White City Cinema. Our conversation ranged across a number of subjects, from film preservation to CGI.

Marilyn: Even though I knew there was a Chicago film industry, I had no idea how much was going on. What got you interested in doing this history?

Mike: The impetus was discovering how large the film industry was here, which I had no clue about even though I’ve always been really interested in early cinema. As a film history teacher, I always taught that era—the 1890s and early 1900s. But I mostly talked about Europe and the northeastern United States, Thomas Edison, Biograph, because that’s what the history books focused on.

I discovered by chance how large the industry here was when I went to the Chicago History Museum. They have a very small display devoted to film, TV, and radio, and they had an old Essanay camera on display and a little plaque describing Charlie Chaplin making a film here and the address of Essanay. I knew Chaplin had worked here, but I wasn’t sure when it was, where it was, how long he was here, or how many films he made. So I decided to do a bit of research, and I was surprised to learn he was only here for 23 days, and he only made one short film!

I went to Essanay and was amazed to find that it was intact, and when I started to learn more about the studio, I was surprised to learn that there was no book-length study of Essanay or the local film production scene in the silent era. There have been books that devote a chapter or two to the era, and there have been great biographies written of people like “Bronco Billy” Anderson and Col. Selig, but there’s never been a whole book devoted to just that era in Chicago film history. When I learned how crucial Chicago was to the developing film industry in America, I thought it was a worthy subject for an entire book.

I also think that the fact that Columbia University Press put out the book, which I’m still over the moon about, is that I think they realized that there was no other book devoted solely to this subject. Hopefully, Adam and I have helped to fill in a gap in early film history.

How did you and your coauthor get together?

Adam has been a good friend of mine for over a decade. We met by chance in line at a Bob Dylan concert at the Vic Theatre back in 2004. He is an author, historian, and tour guide and has a number of books out, primarily young adult novels. But he has some history books out, too, most notably The Smart Aleck’s Guide to U.S. History. So it was kind of a natural fit, because he knows Chicago history very well and I know film history very well.


You bring out the entrepreneurial spirit of Chicago. You can do anything here in Chicago, nobody will stop you. How did you feel about the characters you encountered?

I was fascinated by all of the major players and that entrepreneurial spirit really made researching this a lot of fun. I grew to really respect them as visionaries. This industry didn’t exist, so they were helping to build it up from nothing and they were coming from different backgrounds. Col. Selig was a phony medium who saw a kinetoscope and thought, ‘I want to get in on this.’ So the line between artist and businessman was totally blurred and also what it meant to be a filmmaker, a distributor, and an exhibitor. That was really interesting because in a few years, everything would become separate and regimented, but in the early days of cinema, they were selling cameras and they needed films that people could project. For George Spoor, certainly, filmmaking was an afterthought; he wanted to sell cameras.

I was really fond of George Kleine. He became my favorite character even though we write about him less that the others because he wasn’t a filmmaker; he was a distributor and he stood up to Edison the most and also, he was the only one who retired a success in the 1920s. He’s the only one who did not lose his fortune at the end of the local industry here.

Thomas Edison is someone I grew to grudgingly respect. Early on, Adam and I joked around about how he was going to be the villain of the book, and in some ways he is, but we also ended up sympathizing with him the more we looked into his point of view. I don’t think he was a super-villain trying to monopolize the industry out of greed. I think he truly thought that he had a case to make for patenting this equipment, and then the other thing to understand is that he didn’t understand how big the film industry was going to become. So when we look at what he did from today’s perspective, he seems really, really greedy, but if he had known how large the industry would become, he would have behaved differently. He was trying to make practical decisions to protect his own business interests by forming the Motion Picture Patents Company (MPPC) and only licensing his patented equipment to nine studios, and he did do some positive things, such as getting fire insurance for all the theatres that showed his films. In the early 20th century, that was very progressive. We tried to be balanced.

It’s hard to predict the future, though some people seem to have a sense of it, like Selig, who was a very innovative individual.

Moreso than Spoor and Anderson.


But he didn’t have the business acumen or didn’t know how to realize his dreams the way that he saw them. That’s often a problem with visionaries—they need somebody else to do the grunt work. I’m curious about Selig, too, because I know him more for his work out west. Can you tell me more about his Chicago versus western work?

I don’t know exactly how many films he produced here versus there, but I would estimate that the majority of the films he made were here because he started in 1896, and he didn’t shoot his first films out west until 1909. They call him the man who invented Hollywood—that’s the name of the biography of him because he was the first filmmaker to use a location in southern California, but that was almost by chance. He shot part of The Count of Monte Cristo (1908) there, and realized it was so ideal for shooting, especially in the wintertime, that he decided to set up a second branch out there.

The mythology is that Hollywood became Hollywood because Chicago was too cold, which is partially true, but not the whole story. Do you think there was any way that Chicago could have maintained, if not the center of film production, some ongoing film concern here?

That’s an excellent question. It’s hard for me to imagine the industry continuing beyond what it initially was. I feel like it’s almost a miracle that it happened at all.

Film production had already begun in the northeastern United States. Thomas Edison was producing films prior to their public exhibition, and I feel like the only reason it sprung up here was because he stunted the growth of the film industry there. I think it was a combination of the 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition, the fact that Chicago was such an important hub for distribution, and a number of other factors that made it conducive to film production at that particular time, but I don’t think it was destined to last.

There was one really curious individual in this book—the censor, Major M.L.C. Funkhouser. What a great name! If anyone put the film scene in a funk, it was him. Obviously, there were a lot of bad business decisions that were sinking the industry, but do you think censorship was a contributing factor?

Definitely! Although we couldn’t get hard evidence against him, we tried to imply that he was in the pocket of Edison’s trust, the MPPC. The evidence comes mostly from the fact that he was a lot stricter about censoring independent films and foreign films than he was the MPPC films, especially as time went by. So I think that if he wasn’t in their pocket at the beginning, he eventually became that way. But he became that way at the wrong time because the ship was already sinking. Early on, when he did censor local films, he probably hurt the industry, and then later on, he was part of the sinking ship. Metaphorically, he was on the Eastland.


Metaphorically, but almost literally as well because the people most affected by that disaster were not allowed to see the films of it. I find that rather irresponsible and considering the history of the newsreel and how it became more codified here in Chicago, it seems like a real crime against Chicago cinema in that sense.

That footage could be seen in the suburbs but not in the city itself, which I agree is a tragedy. There are a few fragments of the film, all of which were found in an archive in Amsterdam, and one of them is unbelievably gruesome.


One of the amazing things about writing this book was witnessing the discovery of a lot of these old films. The Sherlock Holmes film was found just as Flickering Empire was going to press, so we were just able to add a footnote that it was going to be restored and rereleased. And now I’ve seen the film, and I love it. I think it’s wonderful. And there are a couple of other films that were either rediscovered or have been restored and are coming out soon in definitive editions.

I think we’ve hit into an era where film recovery and restoration is on the upswing. A lot of archives are opening and have the tools to finally see what they have, and I think we’ll see a lot more of these recoveries.

I think you’re right, and what I like is that a lot of these films have been discovered in an archive where they know there are films, but they’ve probably been mislabeled or the archive is in another country and the title was translated as something different so they don’t quite know what they have. So it’s an incredibly exciting time to be a cinephile, and it’s great that enough people care that there’s a market out there for this stuff. And that was another reason I wanted to write this book, because I’m always trying to show my students that film history is exciting. It’s not a boring, dry, academic endeavor. Just to watch films that are 100 years old can be a hell of a lot of fun. I think a film like Les Vampires by Louis Feuillade is as entertaining as a movie can be. Hopefully, my enthusiasm for this topic comes through in the book.

Telling this chapter in film history is really important if you’re going to get a true picture of how film developed in this country.

You’re so aware of the fact that this is the first time it was ever done on film. Maybe there are genre elements that come from literature and theatre, but when you see it on film, you realize that this is the beginning.

Like with William Gillette. Having his stage performance preserved for posterity, those opportunities don’t come along very often and it’s really a treasure to see that.

The last thing I want to say in terms of trying to capture this particular era is that I didn’t only want to transfer my enthusiasm for early film history to the reader, I also wanted to capture the excitement of the age, especially in the first chapter. That was the hook we wanted, to show how movies were sort of the climax of this flurry of invention that included other exciting breakthroughs—the lightbulb, the phonograph, and then there were moving pictures.

You really did that. The early nickelodeons, the idea of just being able to put your face down into the viewer and watch these moving pictures is revelatory to people. This wasn’t always here.

It’s hard to impress upon my students what the world was like before people saw moving pictures because today we’re just bombarded with moving images wherever we go. You’re at the gas station pumping gas and there’s a screen with people moving on it. There are screens in front of you all the time.

Lumiere Brothers

One of my favorite stories about early cinema is the Lumière Brothers had a film about a couple and their baby. They are in the foreground of the shot, and they’re outdoors. What made the biggest impression on audiences was not what was happening in the foreground, but rather the leaves blowing in the wind in the background. If you read contemporary reports of the screening, they talk about how that caused a sensation in the audience. And in a way, it makes sense if you think that people had looked at so many paintings and still photos of trees, just to see leaves blowing is revelatory.

There is a contemporary version of that with CGI, when you can see individual strands of hair moving, which I found fascinating because I was used to traditional cel animation.

I heard there was a hair physicist in Disney’s Tangled (2010) credited in that film. And that’s the great thing about film history, it’s a never-ending series of breakthroughs.

Sherlock Holmes screens Saturday, October 24 at 3:00 p.m.at the AMC River East 21, 322 E. Illinois St.

Previous coverage

The Treasure: Sly comedy about the pressures of capitalism in the new Romania and the pleasures of buried treasure from Romanian New Wave star Corneliu Porumboiu. (Romania)

Motley’s Law: Informative and inspiring documentary about Kimberley Motley, the only American allowed to practice law in Afghanistan. (Denmark)

The Emperor in August: Fascinating, beautifully shot historical drama of the final days before Japan’s surrender to Allied forces in World War II. (Japan)

Dégradé: Tensions both personal and political rouse a group of women trapped in a Gaza beauty salon by street warfare in a revealing look at life in a war zone. (Palestine/France)

Chronic: Compassionate, unflinching look at a home care nurse who treats dying and gravely ill patients as he begins to come to terms with his own terrible loss. (Mexico)

Clever: A divorced martial arts instructor pursues the reconstruction of his ego with a custom paint job on his car in this knowing comedy about human foibles. (Uruguay)

Adama: This ingeniously animated coming-of-age story takes a West African boy from his sheltered village to the very heart of darkness—the battlefield of Verdun during World War I—to bring his older brother home. (France)

How to Win Enemies: On the eve of his brother’s wedding, a lawyer is drawn into investigating a theft that hits close to home in this comedy set in the Jewish community of Buenos Aires. (Argentina)

Women He’s Undressed: Renowned director Gillian Armstrong offers an entertaining, partially dramatized documentary about Australian costume designer Orry-Kelly, who dressed some of the biggest stars in Hollywood. (Australia)

19th 10 - 2015 | no comment »

CIFF 2015: Motley’s Law

Director: Nicole Nielsen Horanyi

2015 Chicago International Film Festival

Motley 1

By Marilyn Ferdinand

The documentaries at this year’s CIFF lean heavily on portraits of influential individuals, including Chicago “Breakfast Queen” Ina Pinkney, Italian designer Michele De Lucchi, and architect Helmut Jahn, whose State of Illinois building in downtown Chicago may be facing the wrecking ball. I don’t deny that these and other individuals highlighted at the festival are interesting and notable, but I’d bet large that the most fascinating and arguably most important person profiled in a CIFF documentary is Kimberley Motley, the central figure of Motley’s Law.

Motley 4

Motley is an American attorney and former Mrs. Wisconsin who is the only American allowed to practice law in Afghanistan. She first went there in 2008 as part of a nine-month legal education program run by the U.S. State Department and spends approximately six months a year in Kabul mainly defending foreigners caught up in the country’s legal system and pursuing women’s rights cases on a pro bono basis.

Motley 7

Motley, half-black/half-Korean, proudly sporting her University of Wisconsin Badgers T-shirts and a dizzying array of dangling earrings, would be a striking figure anywhere, but in Kabul, she’s utterly singular. She never wears a veil anywhere, not on the streets, not at the prisons where she consults with her clients, and not in court. She’s forceful, no-nonsense, and relentless in pursuing justice under whatever laws apply—constitutional, Sharia, or tribal. She shakes off the fact that a grenade was thrown into her house while she was in the States and tells her assistant Khalil, who wants to bring her car into the courtyard, to leave it on the street. She prefers to be the intimidator, not the intimidated.

Motley 5

We follow her as she visits a prison to see her client, a South African contractor who was convicted of what may have been trumped-up charges and has been in prison for six years. Instead of waiting however long the prison guards see fit before allowing her in, she simply breezes in through the open gates, blankets of barbed wire flanking her on either side. The South African has found ways to keep his spirits up, but he says he has reached his breaking point. He knows that if he pays a $5,000 bribe, he will be released—the two Nigerians who were convicted with him went free long ago, most likely because they paid up—but he refuses. He has already gotten a letter ordering his release from Afghanistan Attorney General Aloko, but the court officials want to keep bouncing his case around, perhaps hoping he will eventually pay them off. Motley isn’t exactly patient, but she hangs in there, restating her points over and over; finally, when she offers to help an official with a green card problem he has in the United States, her client gets his walking papers. “Every system is corrupt,” Motley says, “but this system is really corrupt.”

Motley 10Motley 2

Motley is very frank in stating that she came to Afghanistan for the money, which affords her, her husband, and their three children a very comfortable lifestyle in North Carolina. We see the contrast during the fall months when she’s at home celebrating Halloween with her family and neighbors. Horanyi takes her camera down a North Carolina street lined with trees and comfortable houses and then immediately contrasts it with a Kabul street, where a father, mother, and baby stand in the middle of the street, seemingly with nowhere to go, and children wade through garbage-filled water. The military roams everywhere.

Motley 8

Although Motley lives in a very large, fairly luxurious house in Kabul, she is subject to power outages and leaking plumbing. When the lack of utilities becomes too much, she decides to move into the luxury Serena Hotel; 15 minutes after her check-in, gunmen arrive and kill nine people. She sluffs it off as just another attack to her husband—she likes to drive after an attack because the streets are usually clear—but he learns how serious it was from U.S. news reports. Ironically, her husband is nonfatally shot through the jaw when he visits his family in Milwaukee. Motley decries Americans and their guns, but she isn’t sure she’ll remain in Afghanistan as cut-ins of President Obama announcing the pull-out of U.S. troops in 2015 (now delayed) means decreased security for her and increased factional fighting.

Motley 11

It’s hard to know what keeps Motley going in such capricious and dangerous circumstances, but one case she handles provides the best clue. A young, religious woman has been thrown in jail for running away from her husband. He took her to a party where he wanted her to drink and have sex with his friends. Motley points to the Koran to defend her and wins her release. The poor woman, practically a girl, is crying as she talks to Motley and says she would kill herself if she didn’t fear Allah. Motley may have been in it for the money, but it’s clear that she considers herself, as her banter with Khalil at the beginning of the film states, like a member of DC Comics’ Justice League.


I found Motley’s Law inspirational as well as informative about what life in Afghanistan is like beyond the dutifully reported attacks and counterattacks. While anarchy may seem to reign, people like Motley prove that the infrastructure of Afghan democracy, while shaky, still stands.

Motley’s Law screens Tuesday October 20 at 8:00 p.m. and Thursday, October 22 at 2:30 p.m. at the AMC River East 21, 322 E. Illinois St.

Previous coverage

The Emperor in August: Beautifully shot, compelling, and updated telling of the final days before Japan’s unconditional surrender in World War II. (Japan)

Dégradé: Tensions both personal and political rouse a group of women trapped in a Gaza beauty salon by street warfare in a revealing look at life in a war zone. (Palestine/France)

Chronic: Compassionate, unflinching look at a home care nurse who treats dying and gravely ill patients as he begins to come to terms with his own terrible loss. (Mexico)

Clever: A divorced martial arts instructor pursues the reconstruction of his ego with a custom paint job on his car in this knowing comedy about human foibles. (Uruguay)

Adama: This ingeniously animated coming-of-age story takes a West African boy from his sheltered village to the very heart of darkness—the battlefield of Verdun during World War I—to bring his older brother home. (France)

How to Win Enemies: On the eve of his brother’s wedding, a lawyer is drawn into investigating a theft that hits close to home in this comedy set in the Jewish community of Buenos Aires. (Argentina)

Women He’s Undressed: Renowned director Gillian Armstrong offers an entertaining, partially dramatized documentary about Australian costume designer Orry-Kelly, who dressed some of the biggest stars in Hollywood. (Australia)

13th 10 - 2015 | 2 comments »

CIFF 2015: The Emperor in August (2015)

Director/Screenwriter: Masato Harada

2015 Chicago International Film Festival


By Marilyn Ferdinand

The story of Japan’s surrender to Allied forces on August 15, 1945, which unofficially ended World War II, is one of obvious interest to the Japanese people. In August 1967, director Kihachi Okamoto’s Japan’s Longest Day, the first major film to deal with this event, premiered in Japan (and showed at the 1968 Chicago International Film Festival), where it was a smash hit. Now we have a new film version of that story. Of course, remakes are standard operating procedure in Hollywood and something audiences around the world are used to, but some in Japan have wondered why The Emperor in August needed to be made.


Director Harada felt the time was ripe for a retelling, not only to reveal established and new information about the surrender to a new generation of Japanese indifferent to their country’s history, but also to correct some misperceptions about the emperor’s responsibility put forward in two American histories that won the Pulitzer Prize in 2000 and 2001, respectively—John Dower’s Embracing Defeat and Herbert Bix’s Hirohito and the Making of Modern Japan. His approach eschews the melodramatic style of Okamoto’s film to reveal the workings of Japan’s constitutional monarchy and the real power behind the symbolic power of Emperor Shōwa (Hirohito).


When the film opens, Japan’s war effort is on its last legs, and its government is faced with the decision of whether to accept the Potsdam Declaration Defining Terms for Japanese Surrender issued by U.S. President Harry S. Truman, U.K. Prime Minister Winston Churchill, and Chinese Chairman Chiang Kai-shek or go on fighting. Harada focuses mainly on Prime Minister Suzuki (Tsutomu Yamazaki), the aged general who reluctantly formed a new cabinet at the request of the emperor (Masahiro Motoki), Army Minister Korechika Anami (Kôji Yakusho), and Chief Secretary of the Cabinet Sakomizu (Shin’ichi Tsutsum) as the main political players in deciding the fate of the Japanese nation.


Anami is a proud soldier who believes the Japanese could yet win the war through a coalition of all of Japan’s military branches and has the joyous support of the army in pushing for the “decisive battle” on Japanese soil, using the Soviet sacrifice of 20 million soldiers to win the war against Nazi Germany as an example of what can be accomplished. The emperor (Masahiro Motoki) implores Suzuki to persuade the cabinet to accept the Declaration, fearing that there will be no Japan if all of its people are killed; the “new bomb” has already been dropped on Hiroshima, and Nagasaki will be bombed within the film’s timeframe. Suzuki is old and mostly deaf, but he knows that if he presses Emperor Shōwa’s case, he could be executed for treason under the terms of the constitution, which grant no governing authority to the emperor. Sakomizu observes and records every cabinet meeting, an uncomfortable neutral party in a war of words and passions.


The 2¼-hour film is filled with politicians and military brass moving from meeting to meeting, securing the emperor underground after the Imperial Palace is destroyed in the firebombing of Tokyo, and outsmarting the army, which is poised to stage a coup. Yet it is the more personal moments in the film that resonate most deeply. Anami is shown at home having dinner with his wife, daughter, and future son-in-law as they plan their marriage. Despite the material privations and bombing threat, Anami insists that they start the marriage right with a grand affair at the Imperial Hotel, though the venue will change when the hotel is burned in the firestorm. Anami is deeply touched when the emperor asks him late in the film whether the wedding occurred as planned—a show of concern from a godlike man that convinces Anami that his sacrifice of his political position and his life in the honorable ritual suicide of seppuku are in service to a worthy man and his cause.


The prelude to his suicide—the suicide itself is shown in semigraphic detail, including the politely refused offer of one of his retainers to “relieve (cut off) the head”—is intermixed with scenes of his wife walking for four hours to bring her husband news from a soldier who served under their beloved son, who died in battle at age 20. She arrives in time to see his corpse laid out carefully by his retainers under his uniform, and delivers details of her son’s service as though Anami were sitting across from her drinking tea. The decimated countryside through which she travels is the only time we see the common people of Japan, and their lot is desperate indeed.


Harada lavishes attention on the gung-ho young officers, focusing on Major Hatanaka (Tôri Matsuzaka) as the touchpoint for all of the young officers who refuse to accept surrender, the loss of national sovereignty, or a diminution of the position of the emperor. The emperor has made a recording for national broadcast in which he reads the Imperial Rescript on the Termination of the War. The officers seize the radio station, though quick thinking by Sakokmizu puts the recording out of their reach. They later try to coerce a general into signing a false order to continue fighting; Hatanaka shoots him when he refuses and forges his signature—an ink impression of his official seal. The passion of these nationalists is furious and intense, a reminder of why war and nativism stubbornly persist.


The film is mainly procedural and a bit confusing until all of the characters are firmly assigned in one’s mind; a quick review of the history of this event in an encyclopedia would help audience members make sense of some swiftly moving action. Harada offers some visually stunning moments, which include the glow of Tokyo burning to the ground and a vision of fully flowered cherry trees that Suzuki fears will never bloom again if the war continues. His landscape of faces front extremely impressive performances of all the principal actors, with Yamazaki and Yakusho particular standouts, the former full of shrewdness as well as decisiveness, the latter burning with pride and a surprising vulnerability. I hoped against hope that he would wait for his wife to arrive before gutting himself, perhaps allow her to talk him out of it, though, of course, she would never even try, military families being what they are.


Harada hopes that this film will help frame the debate in Japan about rewriting the country’s pacifist constitution. He wrote a line of dialog with this in mind: “Gun o nakushite, kuni o nokosu” (get rid of the military, save the country).” No one can say for sure whether The Emperor in August will provide the wake-up call Harada thinks his country needs, but his masterful treatment of a crucial historical moment should be must-viewing for any serious cinephile or student of history.

The Emperor in August has only one screening, on Sunday October 18 at 1:45 p.m. at the AMC River East 21, 322 E. Illinois St.

Previous coverage

Dégradé: Tensions both personal and political rouse a group of women trapped in a Gaza beauty salon by street warfare in a revealing look at life in a war zone. (Palestine/France)

Chronic: Compassionate, unflinching look at a home care nurse who treats dying and gravely ill patients as he begins to come to terms with his own terrible loss. (Mexico)

Clever: A divorced martial arts instructor pursues the reconstruction of his ego with a custom paint job on his car in this knowing comedy about human foibles. (Uruguay)

Adama: This ingeniously animated coming-of-age story takes a West African boy from his sheltered village to the very heart of darkness—the battlefield of Verdun during World War I—to bring his older brother home. (France)

How to Win Enemies: On the eve of his brother’s wedding, a lawyer is drawn into investigating a theft that hits close to home in this comedy set in the Jewish community of Buenos Aires. (Argentina)

Women He’s Undressed: Renowned director Gillian Armstrong offers an entertaining, partially dramatized documentary about Australian costume designer Orry-Kelly, who dressed some of the biggest stars in Hollywood. (Australia)

11th 10 - 2015 | 2 comments »

CIFF 2015: Chronic (2015)

Director/Screenwriter: Michel Franco

2015 Chicago International Film Festival


By Marilyn Ferdinand

Mexican director Michel Franco is a man whose creative brief is life and death. His clear-eyed look at grief, bullying, and retribution, After Lucia (2012), is something of a modern horror masterpiece made all the more terrifying because the behaviors on which it focuses are all too human. In his new feature, Chronic, winner of the best screenplay at the 2015 Cannes Film Festival, Franco again takes unblinking aim at a chronic condition of the human animal—mortality.


David (Tim Roth) is a home health nurse working for a Los Angeles agency catering to a wealthy clientele. When we first see him, he’s parked outside a house waiting for a young woman to emerge. When she does, he follows her car to a college campus. Then he takes off for work. Next, we see a wasted woman (Rachel Pickup) leaning motionless against a tiled wall as a handheld shower head positioned near her sprays water on her naked body. David steps into the frame and repeatedly squeezes soapy water from a sponge onto her body, as much for her physical comfort as to clean her. His cheerful efficiency and calm command are a balm to Sarah, who is his patient, and her sister (Kari Coleman) and her sister’s family when they pay what very well could be their last visit to her. When David goes home, he visits the Facebook page of a young woman named Nadia Wilson (Sarah Sutherland) and scrolls through her photos, an action he will repeat several times during the film. Was this the woman he followed from her home?


Over the next few days, David sits with Sarah, fixing her a bit of food, helping her stand, putting her in a wheelchair, getting her into her nightgown. One morning, he arrives for work and finds that Sarah has died. Angry that the night nurse has not washed her because the family told her not to touch Sarah, he slams into Sarah’s bedroom, shuts the door, washes her lifeless body, and puts a nightgown on her—a rather grisly echo of our first encounter with the dying woman and her caregiver. That evening, after his usual run on the treadmill at his gym, he goes to a bar. A couple who have just become engaged buy him a shot to toast their good news. When asked if he’s married, he says he was but that his wife died quite recently. Her name was Sarah. The three toast Sarah instead of the engagement.


What are we to make of David? He seems like a man looking at life from the outside, as though some part of him is dead or on life support and using his work to connect with others like himself. Even more, the fact that dying people allow him the privilege of journeying with them to the end makes his declarations that they are members of his family quite plausible. It’s not easy for the actual families of the dying to make that connection, which arouses their jealousy, and one of his patients, Marta (Robin Bartlett), aware of the mutual dependency that has developed between them, uses it to manipulate him to help her die.


Franco reveals David’s backstory slowly, not allowing us to put the pieces together quickly or easily and not resolving questions that arise from our newfound knowledge. His is a fly-on-the-wall approach that uses static framing to observe actions loaded with meaning for the characters but that go unnoticed to anyone outside their circle. As with After Lucia, a hidden grief leads to psychological disaster and is at least partially responsible for David’s too-close contact with his patients—a stark contrast with the detachment of real caregivers similarly observed by documentarian Frederick Wiseman in his brilliant Near Death (1989)—as well as an estrangement from closer engagement. When Sarah’s niece (Maribeth Monroe) tries to talk with David about her aunt at the cemetery following her funeral, he refuses to speak with her—her need is more than he can bear.

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Tim Roth is beyond brilliant, containing his emotions behind a brittle wall that cracks only once, heartbreakingly. His quiet, compassionate approach to his patients makes death a bearable event. For example, as he washes Sarah, he doesn’t shrink from her limp, skeletal corpse, which requires his careful manipulation. When he helps Marta die, he works quickly and without hesitation to push four syringes of a drug that will arrest her heart into a catheter in her neck. I don’t know how Pickup was able to look so convincingly dead, but she betrayed not a sign of life, and Bartlett’s stillness was a model of how death can move gently, imperceptibly over life. Michael Cristofer, Bitsie Tulloch, and Tate Ellington were all terrific as stroke patient John and his grown children, the latter of whom are grateful and then hostile toward David.

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Finally, the ending of this film has been criticized by some as abrupt, unsatisfying, or a failure of imagination. It is abrupt, but it is entirely consonant with the theme of the film and the many ways that death is the ultimate leveler. In giving us films that make us think and help us negotiate the big questions of our lives, Michel Franco is an incredibly brave and committed artist. His films are priceless gifts to us all.

Chronic screens Wednesday, October 21 at 8:15 p.m., Thursday October 22 at 8:30 p.m., and Monday, October 26 at 12:30 p.m. at the AMC River East 21, 322 E. Illinois St.

Previous coverage

Clever: A divorced martial arts instructor pursues the reconstruction of his ego with a custom paint job on his car in this knowing comedy about human foibles. (Uruguay)

Adama: This ingeniously animated coming-of-age story takes a West African boy from his sheltered village to the very heart of darkness—the battlefield of Verdun during World War I—to bring his older brother home. (France)

How to Win Enemies: On the eve of his brother’s wedding, a lawyer is drawn into investigating a theft that hits close to home in this comedy set in the Jewish community of Buenos Aires. (Argentina)

Women He’s Undressed: Renowned director Gillian Armstrong offers an entertaining, partially dramatized documentary about Australian costume designer Orry-Kelly, who dressed some of the biggest stars in Hollywood. (Australia)

8th 10 - 2015 | no comment »

CIFF 2015: Clever (2015)

Directors/Screenwriters: Federico Borgia and Guillermo Madeiro

2015 Chicago International Film Festival

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By Marilyn Ferdinand

Divorce is never a joyous affair. While it may be a relief to both parties, there is usually an instigator who has the courage to throw in the towel and who can more easily move on. The ego blow taken by the discarded partner is not so quickly healed and often results in a quest for love or status of any kind to replace the feelings of unattractiveness and deflation.

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In psychological terms, it seems that cars are symbolic of the male ego, and that certainly is the case in the mordantly funny Clever, a new comedy from the Uruguayan filmmaking team of Federico Borgia and Guillermo Madeiro. The duo, who were both born in Montevideo and earned social communication degrees from the Catholic University of Uruguay, have worked together since 2005, honing their unique style in the process of making short films, music videos, and experimental documentaries. In this, their feature film debut set sometime in the early 2000s, Borgia and Madeiro take aim at machismo, chronicling the frustrations of Clever (Hugo Piccinini), a martial arts instructor who, in the opening scene, is sitting in court as the presiding judge grants a divorce to his wife Jacqueline (Soledad Frugone).

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Clever did not want the divorce, and soon after the court hearing, we see him persuade Jacque to get in his rusted, blue Chevette and then try to force her to kiss him. She fights him off and disappears behind a gated entrance to the home they once shared. When we next see the couple, it is six months later. Clever has completely shaved his balding head, giving him a tougher look, and painted his car orange. He is picking up his son Bruce (Santiago Agüero) for his weekend of custody. The exes talk to each other amicably, though Clever grills Bruce later about the new man in Jacque’s life.

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After a trip to the dojo where Clever teaches, he takes Bruce to his apartment, minimally furnished and very much a divorced man’s pad. Bruce isn’t much like his namesake and Clever’s idol, Bruce Lee, preferring to sit in front of the TV playing videogames on a cheap game console. When he wants to play with Clever’s model cars, Bruce must be very careful—this is a collection as fragile as Clever’s ego. Bruce does delight his father, however, when he notices a car painted with flames as they drive along a Montevideo street. After Clever’s friend and coke-snorting buddy Juez (Ernesto Borgia) strong-arms the car’s owner into telling him who painted it and where he can be found, Clever sets off for the sleepy town of Las Palmas to find the artist who can make his wheels the most badass at the city’s annual car show.

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Borgia and Madeiro’s shooting style, ably lensed by cinematographer Ramiro González Pampillón, favors extreme close-ups and slow horizontal pans that provide humorous juxtapositions. For example, we see only the stubbly mouth of the judge in the opening scene as he steams his glasses with his breath in slow motion and rubs them clean. We watch Bruce pumping small dumbbells, followed by a pan to his father pumping considerably more iron in one of many mirror images that dot the film. The directors use slow motion to suggest Clever’s emotions, as when he sees his car after Sebastian (Marcos Escobar), the body-builder/artist, drives it out of his shed; this priceless moment of ecstasy uses a corny love song about sex in a car performed in English by singer Ismael Varela to reveal the dragon-shaped flames along the side and the classic pose of Bruce Lee with hands at the ready painted on the hood.

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In the grand tradition of Paris, Australia, in Peter Weir’s The Cars that Ate Paris (1974) or Werner Herzog’s Wisconsin in Stroszek (1977), Las Palmas is a place that reason forgot. When Clever stops to relieve himself in the bushes, a boy on horseback rides by and shoots his tire out with his rifle. His arrival in town along a long approach appropriately lined with tall palm trees lands him next to a cantina with a red popsicle painted on its side. Everyone near the cantina, including a man wearing a pageboy wig, is slowly sucking on a popsicle, a Las Palmas specialty made of wine from locally grown grapes. Police play pick-up sticks with a handcuffed prisoner and argue about whether he moved a stick. Clever incurs the wrath of the man (Néstor Guzzini) he was told was the artist by rightfully doubting he is who the villagers and he say he is (and slights are not forgotten in this small, possibly inbred town.) Finally, Sebastian and his mother (Marta Grandé) form quite a pair—a muscle-bound, religious mama’s boy who has “a 100 percent latin temperment” and possibly a hard-on for Clever, and a sexually frustrated woman who has decorated their home with hundreds of her paintings and drawings of nude males.

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Where Clever succeeds most spectacularly is in the offhand depiction of the masculine psyche. The man whose car sent Clever on his quest is a flabby, hair-covered, unattractive man who projects his desired self-image onto his car. Clever’s car, at the beginning, reflects the shabby state of his ego. He is assertive in Las Palmas, but can’t wheedle his way out of sleeping in Sebastian’s bed—feet to head—and finally simply abandons Sebastian near a small lake where they are shooting photos of the car when it appears that the artist is planning to make a major move on him. His impotence in the face of his wife’s rejection finally erupts when he bashes a large rock through his rival’s windshield, a perfect image of his shattered ego. In the end, he reveals himself to be very much the boy, as he and Bruce sit side by side wolfing burgers down at a sidewalk stand and playing in the cars most suited to them—bumper cars.

This film is filled with oddball moments, gorgeous frames, and most important, a central character whose confusion is touching and funny in equal measure. This is a film to treasure.

Clever screens Saturday, October 24 at 8:30 p.m. and Sunday, October 25 at 6:15 a.m. at the AMC River East 21, 322 E. Illinois St.

Previous coverage

Adama: An ingeniously animated coming-of-age story depicts a 10-year-old West African whose journey to save his brother takes him into the heart of battle during World War I. (France)

How to Win Enemies: On the eve of his brother’s wedding, a lawyer is drawn into investigating a theft that hits close to home in this comedy set in the Jewish community of Buenos Aires. (Argentina)

Women He’s Undressed: Renowned director Gillian Armstrong offers an entertaining, partially dramatized documentary about Australian costume designer Orry-Kelly, who dressed some of the biggest stars in Hollywood. (Australia)

5th 10 - 2015 | no comment »

CIFF 2015: Adama (2015)

Director/Coscreenwriter: Simon Rouby

2015 Chicago International Film Festival

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By Marilyn Ferdinand

In a village in West Africa isolated at the bottom of a large, circular gorge, 12-year-old Adama (Azize Diabaté Abdoulaye) and his friends enjoy an afternoon swimming and diving into a water-filled depression far below a narrow path where some village elders and Adama’s brother Samba (Jack Amba) are standing. Although told to stay with them to prepare for his initiation the next day, Samba defies the elders and performs a perfect swan dive into the pool. His independent nature will prove a trial to the villagers, and especially Adama, when his initiation into manhood is interrupted by an evil omen that he is possessed—an albatross flying high above the village. When he is told he must live with the village shaman, who will try to cure his possession, Samba sets off in the night to join the people of the wind, the Nassaras, in the outside world who have tempted him with gold and adventure. Adama sets off to bring his brother home. Eventually, his travels land him in the middle of no man’s land during World War I’s Battle of Verdun, during which more than a quarter-million French and German soldiers perished.

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In his debut feature film, French animator/director/screenwriter Simon Rouby has turned to France’s past to tell a fable of sorts with flourishes of magic realism abetted in this animated film by a combination of 3D laser-scanned characters and 2D scenery and decors. While France’s colonial past is alluded to, as Samba is enticed to fight for France, while men in the coastal village to which Adama makes his way are conscripted if they don’t volunteer, the film’s main focus is the fish out of water adventure of Adama and his single-minded quest to save his brother.

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The look of this film is both beautiful and a bit disconcerting. The backgrounds in the African portions of the film are impressionistic, with all the beauty of a New Mexico desert. The high cliffs that surround Adama’s village are modeled on the landscape where the Dogon tribes live—North Mali, by the Bandiagara cliffs—though the actual location is left unspecified in the film. Ferrofluids (iron particles mixed with ink that can be manipulated with magnets) and a combination of live-action effects and paintings provide some stunning images, from ghostlike soldiers in gas masks to a sandstorm that pummels Adama on his trip to the coast. On the other hand, Adama and Samba, though designed by Rouby to look lifelike, look anything but. Perhaps in 3D, they accomplish his goal, but in the 2D I saw, they looked like rough CGI.

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Appearances aside, the action and voice actors are compelling and affecting. When Djo (Oxmo Puccino), the strong African warrior who protected Adama while they were crossing to France, is shown in a vast hospital blinded by mustard gas, it is a shocking and terrible moment. His dismay at being sent to a fight an enemy he never got a chance to see shows the gaping distance between traditional wars fought face to face and the mechanized, impersonal death that has grown ever more sophisticated since the beginning of the 20th century. Adama’s naïve wonder at the world outside his village, from the spreading ocean to the truck tracks that seem to line every road, reveals his disoriented curiosity. When he falls in with a French thief who arranges for them both to get to Paris on a truck and then steals Adama’s money, Adama’s tears of loneliness, fear, and frustration in a back alley where he is forced to spend the night are all too real and pitiable.

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Throughout the film, Adama is met with an effigy of a spirit or god that seems to keep him on his course to finding Samba. It appears that Abdu (Pascal N’Zonzi), a beggar Adama encountered in the seaside village who was forced to fight for France, is the embodiment of this spirit; Adama sees him on the Verdun battlefield cursing at the German planes that swoop down to strafe anything that moves. He provides Adama and Samba with the key to survival—to remember their roots—and finishes Samba’s initiation ceremony by making a small cut on each temple that symbolically opens his eyes to the world beyond childhood.

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Adults watching this film will find the coming-of-age story familiar, but the context unfamiliar and sobering. Despite the resemblance of the village to the isolated utopia of Shangri-La, the villagers are real people, with strict rules and rebellious youths. The blood ritual is mild in comparison to other types of traditional initiation rites, but the connection to the out-of-control test of manhood that was The Great War should have audiences wondering which way of life is more civilized. This film may be too intense for younger children, but should resonate with young adults. One of Rouby’s stated goals of helping Europeans and others understand the experience of immigrants from Africa is noble, but the remoteness of a film set 100 years in the past with folkloric content may not be sufficient to open eyes and hearts. Nonetheless, this film may be just good enough to pull it off.

Adama screens Friday, October 23 at 5:45 p.m., Sunday, October 25 at 11:30 a.m., and Monday, October 26 at 12:45 p.m. at the AMC River East 21, 322 E. Illinois St.

Previous coverage

How to Win Enemies: On the eve of his brother’s wedding, a lawyer is drawn into investigating a theft that hits close to home in this comedy set in the Jewish community of Buenos Aires. (Argentina)

Women He’s Undressed: Renowned director Gillian Armstrong offers an entertaining, partially dramatized documentary about Australian costume designer Orry-Kelly, who dressed some of the biggest stars in Hollywood. (Australia)

1st 10 - 2015 | 2 comments »

CIFF 2015: Women He’s Undressed (2015)

Director: Gillian Armstrong

2015 Chicago International Film Festival


By Marilyn Ferdinand

My 2015 Chicago International Film Festival coverage kicks off today, and the film under consideration is a real doozy from the brilliant Australian filmmaker Gillian Armstrong. Armstrong has largely abandoned the feature format she plied with such skill to turn out such enduring films as My Brilliant Career (1979), Starstruck (1982), and my favorite version of Little Women (1994), and turned to documentary filmmaking. While spending about the last 40 years creating her version of Michael Apted’s Up series featuring three girls from Adelaide, Armstrong has kept her focus on women’s experiences and her homeland. Women He’s Undressed combines these two concerns as Armstrong creates a hybrid documentary about costume designer Orry-Kelly, the Australian from the tiny coastal town of Kiama, NSW, who made it big on the other side of the Pacific dressing some of Hollywood’s brightest stars.

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Armstrong combines traditional talking-head interviews and clips from some of the nearly 300 films for which Orry-Kelly made costumes with depictions of Kelly, engagingly played by Australian TV star Darren Gilshenan, breaking the third wall to speak directly to the audience about his life from a stage, the place where Kelly first gained inspiration and experience in show business. As seems to be something of the norm with biopics these days, Women He’s Undressed starts with Kelly’s death, as eight young women dressed in red gowns carry a rowboat like a coffin. The dresses refer to Kelly’s most notorious creation, the red gown Bette Davis’ defiant character wore to the white ball in Jezebel (1938), and the boat the conveyance Armstrong uses throughout the film to propel Kelly away from Australia and through the episodes of his life. “When you grow up with the smell of the ocean, the horizon beckons you every day,” Kelly says early in the film.


Costume designer Ann Roth, who worked with Kelly, questions Armstrong’s project at the very beginning. “You say nobody knows who he is? Who doesn’t know who he is!?” A string of snippets showing the costumes he made on the backs of a slew of famous actresses, from Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca (1942) to Rosalind Russell in Auntie Mame (1958) and Natalie Wood in Gypsy (1962), confirm that even if people don’t know precise details about Orry-Kelly, they certainly know his work.

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The film proceeds roughly chronologically from Orry George Kelly’s childhood and takes liberal dives into his experience of being an out gay man in homophobic Hollywood. His nurturing mother, played by Deborah Kennedy, encouraged his art studies and theatrical ambitions, while his father, a tailor and reformed drunk, propagated a bright pink carnation he dubbed the “Orry,” in oblique reference to Kelly’s being “different” despite his father’s attempts to drum the tendency out of him.


Much is made in the film of Kelly’s “matehood” with Archie Leach when they were both struggling actors living together in New York. Through Kelly’s narration, we learn that the two had a lot in common and subsidized their anything-goes lifestyle in Greenwich Village by making and selling Kelly-Leach ties by the hundreds. Throughout the film, Armstrong returns to Archie’s transformation into Cary Grant, how Grant played the studio game by giving up his relationship with actor Randolph Scott to marry actress Virginia Cherrill; his subsequent suicide attempt, which Kelly blames on denying his true nature; and his later failed marriages. This throughline provides the private part of Kelly’s biography that producer/director Eric Sherman says he undoubtedly had but had been secretive about to the end of his life. Grant, who never answered any questions about his sexuality, doesn’t come off very well in the film, but this again would probably be true to Kelly’s undoubted sense of betrayal and abandonment.

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The main event, of course, is Kelly’s spectacularly successful career. He was hired by Warner Bros. to bring some gloss to their proletarian style of filmmaking, and he outdid himself. He worked with colleagues Adrian and Travis Banton to make Kay Francis Hollywood’s “best dressed woman,” and Ruth Chatterton, another Warner Bros. star, called his designs “well bred.” His gowns for 42nd Street show the energy of the unforgettable penny costumes and double-hooped skirts that he may or may not have had a hand in creating; the film suggests that he admired the creative volcano that was Busby Berkeley. It was his working relationship with Bette Davis, however, that provided him with his greatest challenge.


It’s fascinating to learn that Davis refused to allow Kelly to use a metal underwire to boost her sagging breasts because she feared the metal would give her cancer, so he had to design other foundations for her. Armstrong shows us clip after clip of Davis and the challenges her figure posed to Kelly. His tests of fabrics for the red gown in Jezebel were extensive and successful, as many people who have seen the black-and-white film swear it was red that they saw. Another figure that gave Kelly trouble was Natalie Wood’s. Her too-slender form did not make her the ideal candidate for the role of Gypsy Rose Lee, the world’s most famous stripper. Armstrong takes a peek inside one of her costumes for the film to show the padding Kelly used to fill out her breasts and hips.

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Angela Lansbury, who considers herself a character actress, confirms that Kelly’s skill went beyond making beautiful clothes to helping actors inhabit their roles and enhance their performances by matching the mood of each scene. This comment is illustrated through several of the films he designed. For example, clips of Now, Voyager (1942) show the transformation of Bette Davis from a dowdy, mentally unstable woman to a glamorpuss of classic elegance; however, the real touch of genius Kelly brought to the film was in the last scene, when he responded to Davis’ desire that her clothes not detract from the drama of the moment. He puts her in a simple blouse and skirt, allowing her face to register as the most important element in the frame. In another anecdote, we learn that Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis went into the ladies restroom at the studio in their Some Like It Hot (1959) disguises to see if anyone would notice them—nobody did!

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Kelly also liked to push the envelope of the stuffy 1950s. His designs for Auntie Mame allowed him to create flamboyant, colorful outfits for the outsized personality of the main character, a visual tweak to the Establishment that defined Mame Dennis. He was determined to bring all of Marilyn Monroe’s sex appeal to the screen in Some Like It Hot. Jane Fonda, who worked with him on some forgettable movies, is interviewed about this film and says that despite not being gay, she was transfixed by Monroe’s pregnancy-swollen breasts, which Kelly saved from censorship by some strategic beading.

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Orry-Kelly won three Academy Awards, and his designs were knocked off for retail sale all over the world, a fact the film suggests galled him given that his own atelier went bust. In the end, his hope for a comeback from cancer was not to be, and his wish that, after years of estrangement, Cary Grant would be one of his pallbearers actually did come true, as Armstrong shows someone scrawl his signature in the funeral guest book that opened the film.


Gillian Armstrong brings almost as much design panache and ingenuity to her film about Orry-Kelly as he had himself. Her strategy of offering a theatrical setting for the imagined scenes with Kelly, complete with stage make-up and tinny sound effects, evoke the era in which he grew up and from which he claimed his influences. The film is hampered only by the familiar talking-heads format that may be necessary to offer detail but interrupts the flow of the film as told by Kelly himself. Where did this script by Katherine Thomson come from? The movie discusses an autobiography Kelly wrote but never published and shows one of his heirs holding it, under orders never to let it slip from her grasp. Did Thomson crib dialog from it? I don’t know. But I can say that as written, the outspoken, entertaining Orry-Kelly in Women He Undressed is as unforgettable as his costumes.

Women He’s Undressed screens Friday, October 23 at 8:30 p.m. and Wednesday, October 28 at 5 p.m. at the AMC River East 21, 322 E. Illinois St.

30th 03 - 2015 | no comment »

How Strange to Be Named Federico: Scola Narrates Fellini (Che strano chiamarsi Federico, 2013)

Director/Coscreenwriter: Ettore Scola

18th Annual European Union Film Festival


By Marilyn Ferdinand

It was strictly a coincidence, but a few hours before I viewed How Strange to Be Named Federico, I took a look at The Three Disappearances of Soad Hosni (2012), an experimental biography of Egypt’s biggest star told entirely through clips of her films. Bowled over again by the audacious approach Rania Stephan took to her subject, I was fully primed for this impressionistic tribute to the great Italian director by Ettore Scola, who modeled his own career to some extent on Fellini’s.


Anyone interested in learning all about Fellini’s life and career should look elsewhere. Scola privileges impressions, memories, and imagination in offering some background on the director. In particular, Scola pays tribute to the camaraderie he experienced with Fellini, particularly when they both worked for the satirical newspaper Marc’Aurelio.


Scola transitions between color and black and white cinematography, between reenactments and archival footage, and across decades to show the footprints Fellini left that Scola stepped into. We see a reenactment of a young Fellini (Tommaso Lazotti) showing his sketches to a front-office editor at Marc’Aurelio, who flips through them declaring them funny or not funny and then deciding they are good enough to bring to the attention of the head editors. The bullpen sessions of the illustrators, all with their own “columns” and all vying for the coveted center spread, is a wonder of competitive spirit, friendly banter, and creative foment.


Scola first enters the picture as a nine year old (Giacomo Lazotti) reading Fellini’s cartoons to his blind grandfather. Ten years later, we will see Fellini’s introduction to the Marc’Aurelio office play out again when young Scola (Giulio Forges Davanzati) shows up, portfolio in hand, to see if he can make the grade. A rather sobering scene of some low-level functionaries of Mussolini’s fascist government coming into the editorial office and the illustrators standing at attention and giving their names and “rank,” that is, the sections they draw, created an uncomfortable reminder of the Charlie Hebdo attacks this past January.


Film director Fellini (Maurizio De Santis), an insomniac, is shown driving with Scola to view the prostitutes standing on the streets to ply their trade. They pick up one hooker (Antonella Attili) who relates that her days in the life are nearing their end; she has saved money, which she has given to her boyfriend to purchase a house for them. The seeds of The Nights of Cabiria (1957) thus are sown. There are some other interesting tidbits about Fellini’s works, including the omission of Mastroianni among the great Italian actors the director tested to appear in Casanova (1976) and the enshrinement of Stage 5 at Cinecittà Studios as Fellini’s home.


As the film moves into eras in which footage of the real Fellini and his film shoots are available, Scola gives us a behind-the-scenes look at some of the director’s classic films. Crane shots of Anita Ekberg and Marcello Mastroianni playing in the Trevi fountain in La Dolce Vita (1960) intermingle with footage and restaged circus acts from La Strada (1954), with his Fellini stand-in watching the proceedings. Hilariously, Fellini and Scola are accosted by Mastroianni’s mother, who complains that Fellini always makes her son look handsome, whereas Scola always makes him look like a vagabond. While some of Scola’s memories may be suspect, I have no doubt this incident actually took place.


Scola distances himself from the film somewhat by having Vittorio Viviani serve as narrator, offering at least the semblance of an objective point of view from which the audience can take its cues. A familiarity with Fellini’s works makes viewing much more enjoyable and enlightening, as the movie feels a bit like a group of friends getting together to talk about a mutual acquaintance. A sampler of Fellini’s films at the end might jog a few memories, and offers, like a similar end montage of excised kissing scenes from Cinema Paradiso (1988), the only truly sentimental interlude of the film. The free-wheeling and affectionate moments that went before are almost as good as having the maestro back among us.

How Strange to Be Named Federico is the closing night film. It will show Thursday, April 2 at 7:30 p.m. at the Gene Siskel Film Center, 164 N. State St., Chicago.

26th 03 - 2015 | no comment »

Open Up to Me (Kerron sinulle kaiken, 2013)

Director/Screenwriter: Simo Halinen

18th Annual European Union Film Festival


By Marilyn Ferdinand

Among the more difficult challenges to empathy I have personally faced is trying to understand the mindset and choices of transgender individuals. I know and consider one transgender woman a friend and colleague, and I accept unconditionally that she is a woman. Yet it’s hard for me to understand how a mind and body can be so at odds that one would literally undergo the pain of surgery and hormone injections required for gender reassignment. That is why I very much looked forward to seeing Open Up to Me, a new Finnish film that puts a transgender woman at the center of its story.


The film opens during a therapy session, the last one Maarit (Leea Klemola) will have with her therapist. Maarit, a former school counselor, puts her underemployment as a cleaner with a janitorial service down to her honesty. She fears she will never have a relationship with her daughter Pinja (Emmi Nivala) because of her ex’s hostility, and she admits she would like to have a relationship with a man but worries that the exceptional individual who would accept her may be too hard to find. Her therapist leaves her with the final thought that it’s no longer necessary to hide away from other people and that Maarit must try to get the things she wants out of life.


On one cleaning job at the home office of a psychotherapist who is leaving town for two weeks, Maarit is given the keys to lock up. She explores the woman’s bedroom, trying on her lipstick and putting on one of her outfits. The doorbell rings, and not sure what else to do, she opens it. Sami (Peter Franzén), an attractive high school teacher and soccer coach about the same age as Maarit, asks if the therapist is in and learns she has just left town. Sami assumes Maarit is her work colleague and asks if she can talk to him. His marriage is in crisis, and he fears it will fall apart imminently if he doesn’t do something. Maarit, a trained social worker, agrees, and learns and is touched by Sami’s innermost feelings about sex and love. Just as he leaves, his wife Julia (Ria Kataja) arrives looking for the therapist, whom she has begged Sami to see to no avail. Again, Maarit agrees to speak with Julia, and gives her some advice that makes the couple’s evening at home the best they’ve had in ages. Unfortunately, Maarit has developed a crush on Sami and pursues him to the affair that was almost inevitable from the moment they met. Maarit, it seems, will now learn what it’s like to be the other woman.


The script for Open Up to Me is a mass of ’80s tropes and techniques, like an abundance of annoying lens flares, the dress-up/mistaken identity set-up from the Melanie Griffith-Harrison Ford vehicle Working Girl (1988), and a horny high school student with a lot of screen time, Teo (Alex Anton), who only seemed to be in the film to channel Tom Hanks’ manchild from Big (1988). Nonetheless, I had no trouble overlooking these recycled plot devices and some pretty schematic coincidences. This film gets my full endorsement for the riveting central performance by Leea Klemola.


Klemola makes Maarit’s sometimes self-sabotaging honesty the hallmark of her character, and suggests some of the masculine habits she has retained post-transition, like pursuing Sami and coming on strong, that make her performance as a transgender female so believable. (A review of the film by one transgender woman confirms that her performance was very convincing.) When she tells Sami what it was like to go on her journey, one that started at the age of five, I felt I got a bit of insight into the flash of awareness many of us have at that age about who we are as a discrete person, separate from our parents and surroundings. Maarit’s attempts to deny her gender identity by becoming an athlete, husband, and father and keeping her secret self well hidden make perfect sense. As with any soul-denying lie, however, the truth will out eventually, and the collateral damage to her daughter and wife a lasting regret she will have to learn to live with.


The women in this film are more courageous than its men. Pinja is harassed at school when a suicide inquiry brings Maarit back to town under suspicion of child abuse. Pinja, however, stands up to the ridicule and fights back to restore her father’s good name. Julia, though she hasn’t much screen time, comes off first as a bigot when she learns what kind of person her husband chose to cheat on her with and then as someone relieved not to have to pretend to be happy anymore. Sami is kind of a mess of a character, seemingly not concerned with Maarit’s physical change, but eventually uncomfortable in her world. I pegged him as a curious man who never intended for the affair to be more than a dalliance and who becomes furious with Maarit for her characteristic honesty when she unexpectedly runs into Julia. He’s a weak, entitled man who doesn’t deserve Maarit, as she learns rather quickly.

Open 2

Although this is a film that will draw attention because of its unique central character, the real takeaway is that honesty, no matter what its cost, is the most rewarding approach to life and that eventually those we love can learn to live with the truth. In the film’s best moment, Pinja and an emotionally overcome Maarit are reunited. Pinja’s matter-of-fact last line is, “Dad, your make-up is running.”

Open Up to Me is showing Friday, March 27 at 8:00 p.m. and Tuesday, March 31 at 6:00 p.m. at the Gene Siskel Film Center, 164 N. State St., Chicago.

24th 03 - 2015 | 2 comments »

The Dinner (I nostri ragazzi, 2014)

Director/Coscreenwriter: Ivano De Matteo

18th Annual European Union Film Festival


By Marilyn Ferdinand

One of the most popular writers in Europe is Herman Koch. The sometime actor published his first book, a collection of short stories, in 1985 and has produced eight novels to date. He hit big with his sixth novel, Het diner (The Dinner), a best seller that has been translated into 21 languages, spawned a 2012 film of the same name in his native country of The Netherlands, and reportedly will receive an English-language film treatment with Cate Blanchett at the helm in her directorial debut. The story, one of feuding brothers and family crime, proved irresistible to Italian director Ivano De Matteo as well. His version takes liberties with the novel that open the action beyond a single dinner conversation, giving context to the hard choices at the heart of the drama.


The film opens with two drivers exchanging heated words when one of them blows a red light because he is talking on his cellphone. As tempers flare, the offended driver stops his car, pulls out a baseball bat, and goes after the cellphone user. The driver’s side window shatters, but not from the bat—the driver is a police officer, and he fires a fatal shot into the man in self-defense. The bullet passes through the man and strikes his 10-year-old son Stefano (Lupo De Matteo), who is sitting in the passenger seat and was pleading with his father to stop arguing. This incident brings the two brothers at the heart of the story, Massimo (Alessandro Gassman) and Paolo (Luigi Lo Cascio), together, the former a lawyer defending the shooter and the latter a physician treating the injured boy.


The solidly middle-class Paolo and his wife Clara (Giovanna Mezzogiorno) have one son, the sullen, acne-scarred Michele (Jacopo Olmo Antinori), who hangs out with his older cousin Benedetta (Rosabell Laurenti Sellers) watching embarrassing and violent videos on TV and YouTube. Benny’s father, Massimo, is a wealthy widower who is on his second marriage to Sofia (Barbora Bobulova), who has recently given birth to a daughter. Clara hates Sofia, and Paolo has some long-standing enmity toward his brother, but like clockwork, the two couples meet at Massimo’s favorite restaurant once a month.


Michele has been doing poorly in school, and Paolo wants to keep him from going with Benny to a party. Clara, not wanting him to miss something he has been looking forward to, gets Paolo to relent. At the party, Michele is hopelessly out of place among the college-age crowd and ends up getting very drunk. He decides to leave, and Benny trails awkwardly after him in her high heels. The teens are uncommunicative the next day, but when Clara watches an Italian version of “Crimestoppers,” she sees a video of two people beating and kicking a homeless woman and dragging her along the street. Clara views the video again on her son’s laptop the next day after he goes to school, gets up shakily and walks to the kitchen, only to have her knees go out from under her, shocked to confirm her fear that the pair may be Benny and Michele. Later, Benny pumps her father for legal information about the crime, which she claims her friends committed; Massimo goes to an unsuspecting Paolo and says he suspects that their children were responsible. Angry at Clara for keeping him in the dark, Paolo forces the truth out of Michele. It is then up to the families to decide whether to cover for their children or turn them in.


The theme of The Dinner is similar to that of another EU festival film, Magical Girl (2014), that is, the human struggle between emotion and reason. Clara and Paolo are horrified that Massimo can defend the policeman who left a family man dead and his son temporarily paralyzed, but Massimo believes that everyone deserves a defense. This is the kind of rational thinking one needs and expects from a lawyer. Paolo is overcome with horror at what his son and niece have done, yelling at Massimo, Clara, and Sofia for talking about the best way to keep them from paying for their crime. Paolo’s conflict is enormous, flipping constantly between love for his son and his belief in justice, challenging his kneejerk liberal philosophy. Clara shows herself to be a hypocrite, watching her “Crimestoppers” show to see whether justice will be served, yet choosing to believe the lies of her son until he is forced into confessing and then actively seeking to keep the truth from getting out. Sofia is more dispassionate, as Benny is not her natural daughter, but she will do whatever Massimo believes is right.


The film remains blessedly neutral about technology. Just when we think the film will blame Benny and Michele’s actions on their consumption of violent videos, we see that a security camera is instrumental in uncovering their crime. De Matteo rightly lays the blame directly where it belongs—on human nature, on people driven to violence by thoughtlessness or the view that some people’s lives are worthless. Envy certainly plays a role in how Paolo and Clara regard Massimo and Sofia and their luxurious lifestyle. Our sympathies are constantly shifting, and our beliefs about the characters reinforced and challenged again and again.


The naturalistic film style and the mesmerizing performances, especially by Lo Cascio and Mezzogiorno, take this film and its somewhat familiar theme to some interesting places. It is, however, hard to get a toehold on the film because we are catching these characters at a stressful moment in time; without a thorough grounding in character, the film sometimes tips into melodrama. Whereas the first half of the film contains only diagetic music, the introduction of an emotional score in the second half amps the melodrama rather unnecessarily.


The tack De Matteo takes to this story recalls the amorality of privilege and the immorality of envy found in The Bling Ring (2013), suggesting that Gen X filmmakers (De Matteo is 49) are acutely aware of the worm riddling our new Gilded Age and are seeking to examine and expose it. While The Dinner perhaps needed a more full-bodied script to draw out more nuance to the situation, this film is well worth a look.

The Dinner is showing Thursday, March 26 at 8:15 p.m. at the Gene Siskel Film Center, 164 N. State St., Chicago.

20th 03 - 2015 | 4 comments »

Magical Girl (2014)

Director/Screenwriter: Carlos Vermut

18th Annual European Union Film Festival

Magical Girl 1

By Marilyn Ferdinand

Midway through Spanish filmmaker Carlos Vermut’s mordant sophomore feature Magical Girl, Bárbara (Bárbara Lennie), a former prostitute in the S&M scene around whom much of the action centers, meets Oliver Zoco (Miquel Insua), a wealthy paraplegic who runs a brothel for sadists. Married to a psychiatrist who keeps her on a short leash and desperate for $7,000 to pay off a blackmailer, Bárbara has agreed to a one-off session with one of Zoco’s clients. Zoco asks her if she likes bullfighting, and they agree that neither of them has a taste for it. Zoco then offers the following analysis of the place of bullfighting in Spain.

It is curious that Spain is the country where bullfighting is most popular. Do you know why Spain is a country in eternal conflict? Because we are not sure if we are a rational or an emotional country. Nordic people, for example, act in accordance with their brains. However, the Arabs or Latinos have accepted their passionate side without blame. Both, they know which are their strong points. Spaniards are balanced right in the middle. That’s the way we are. And what is bullfighting? The representation of the struggle between instinct and technique, between emotion and reason. We have to accept our instincts and learn to deal with them as if they were a bull, trying not to be destroyed by them.

This speech is the key to the quietly savage tale Vermut has put on the screen for our amusement and horror.


In sadomasochistic relations, it is the submissive who controls the action. Magical Girl shows just how much two seemingly vulnerable and submissive females control and bring about the ruin of the men in their lives. One of them is the picture of innocence—Alicia (Lucía Pollán), the 12-year-old, leukemia-stricken daughter of unemployed literature teacher and single father Luis (Luis Bermejo). The close, loving relationship between them is evident in his loving names for her, the games they play, and his parental concern over Alicia’s request to spend the night with some girlfriends watching Japanese anime. Her favorite anime is Magical Girl Yukiko, and her fondest wishes are to possess the costume Yukiko wears and to live to be 13. When her father discovers her laying in her room unconscious and rushes her to the hospital, he learns that her second wish likely will not come true. He decides he will grant her first wish, even though the designer outfit costs nearly $7,000.


The second submissive is Bárbara. The opening scene of the film shows a young Bárbara (Marina Andruix) turn the tables on her math teacher Damián (José Sacristán) when he forces her to read aloud a note she was passing in class. The note reveals that she thinks “Cabbage Face” is pathetic, and when he demands the note from her, she makes it disappear through sleight of hand. The adult Bárbara is kept in luxurious bondage by her husband Alfredo (Israel Elejalde), who shoves an antipsychotic or antidepressant down her throat, checking to see if she has swallowed it, even sweeping his finger around the inside of her mouth to be sure. The depth of her disturbance shows when they go to visit friends, and after being forced to hold the friends’ new baby, Bárbara starts to laugh. Compelled, like Damián compelled her so long ago, to reveal what she was thinking, she says she was imagining what everyone’s faces would look like if she tossed the baby out the window.


At home, Alfredo forces Bárbara to take a sleeping pill, and when she awakens in the middle of the night, she finds only empty hangers in his clothes closet. She downs the bottle of sleeping pills, only to vomit them out the window and right onto Luis, who is standing in front of a jewelry store ready to smash and grab the valuable contents in the window to finance the Yukiko costume. Bárbara takes him in, washes his clothes, and while they are drying, seduces Luis, thus leaving herself open to the blackmail he sees as the only way to get the money he needs.


Both Alicia and Bárbara depend on others to take care of them. Both are sick and find ways to use that sickness to get what they want. The frivolousness of Luis’ mission forms a dead-on critique of affirmative parenting. Luis may be delusional about Alicia’s real needs—as a friend from whom he tries to borrow money says, Alicia just wants to spend time with him—but when he presents her with the dress, her reaction is underwhelming. When she starts looking through the box, he realizes he missed something—the $20,000 magic wand accessory—and is forced to extend his blackmail demand. Alicia is indeed a very entitled child who elicits our sympathy and scorn at the same time.


Bárbara finds a way to embarrass Alfredo for making her go out when she didn’t want to, and though he tries to leave her that same night, he returns the next day with an ultimatum I suspect would vanish into thin air if Bárbara ever called him on it. That she doesn’t, and indeed, pursues increasingly more dangerous sexual activities to deal with her blackmailer suggests to me that she’s trying to have her cake and eat it.


As with any good bullfight, Vermut waves his red cape and punctuates these fairly straightforward, intertwined stories like a picador with some lacerating scenes of seriocomedy, as when Bárbara splits her forehead open when she head-butts a mirror or Alicia dances in manic delight to some Japanese music, clutches her side and suddenly collapses out of the frame. The undercurrent of economic crisis in Spain adds an air of desperation, and Luis’ instruction to Bárbara to put the money in a copy of the Spanish constitution held at a public library because “nobody will read it” offers a sardonic commentary on the state of neoliberal policies in Spain. His men—all educated intellectuals—often have the mere illusion of control, but when they succumb to their emotions, their ferocity is something to behold.


Vermut offers some interesting set-ups to suggest character, and even cinematic parody. When Bárbara enters Zoco’s mansion, the formality of the setting and faux gentility of the characters echo the sleazy sophisticates of Eyes Wide Shut (1999), and the addition of the black lizard room, with this animal silouette hanging portentously over the door, is the kind of sly joke one would expect from the likes of Luis Buñuel. Revelation of the scars criss-crossing Bárbara’s body brings out the Spanish sense of morbidity (and incidentally, offers more erotic menace than a “sensation” like Fifty Shades of Gray [2015] could begin to think of) and the pallor of death that permeates so many films from that country. In other instances, an overhead shot of Damián’s desk, with every object regimentally aligned with geometric preciseness, is a perfect snapshot of a man desperately trying to keep the bull locked in its pen, and the small hand reaching toward him holding the key to the gate.


When Vermut pulls his sword out from behind his cape to go in for the kill, the change is as unexpectedly thrilling as it would be in a real bullfight. Damián is the sleeper character in this film, and his obsession with Bárbara the driving force in a truly unsettling tale of revenge. Like the Spanish, Vermut moves us slyly between the poles of reason and passion. The final victory, perhaps unsurprisingly, goes to the bull.

Magical Girl is showing Saturday, March 28 at 3:00 p.m. and Wednesday, April 1 at 7:30 p.m. at the Gene Siskel Film Center, 164 N. State St., Chicago. The Wednesday screening will be introduced by Steven Marsh, associate professor of Spanish film and cultural studies at the University of Illinois Chicago.

16th 03 - 2015 | no comment »

West (Lagerfeurer, 2013)

Director: Christian Schwochow

18th Annual European Union Film Festival


By Marilyn Ferdinand

On October 3, 1990, East and West Germany were officially reunified, and Germans in both halves of the country looked forward to better times for the entire country. The hardships under which the East Germans lived for decades, however, did not vanish overnight, and integration of the two populations was fraught in many ways. Christian Schwochow, who was born and grew up in East Germany, has begun to examine this past. His 2012 miniseries The Tower dealt with the crumbling of communist rule in East Germany, observing life in the former Soviet bloc country near the final approach of reunification. West takes a step back to the 1970s for a look at life for East Germans who were granted permission to emigrate to the west.


The film opens with our main characters, Nelly Senff (Jördis Triebel) and her son Alexej (Tristan Göbel) bidding a loving farewell to the man of the house, Wassilij (Carlo Ljubek), who is leaving on a trip. The context of the trip is vague, and when he says that he will see them in a week, the furtiveness of the exchange made me wonder whether they were all going to try to escape to the west. Flash forward three years, and a worried-looking Nelly is indeed making for the border with Alexej to start a new life—but with the government’s blessings. Nelly, jittery that something will foul up the plan, tries to keep Alexej from the leaving the car to use the rest room. This action ironically arouses suspicions, and Nelly is asked to submit to questioning. Although her papers are in order, East Germany reserves one final indignity for her before she leaves—she is made to strip, jewelry and all, for a cavity search before she is released to West Berlin’s Marienfelde Refugee Center.


Mother and son are given room and board, and Alexej is enrolled in the local school. They are given a card that will need 12 stamps from various officials before they can leave the center and find a job and a place of their own. Slowly, Nelly begins to make friends, and Alexej latches onto a long-time resident of the center, Hans Pischke (Alexander Scheer), who distracts him when the boy witnesses a hanging suicide. Nelly, initially furious that Hans seems to be playing father to Alexej, relaxes when he tells her why and begins to trust him. Sadly, an American official, John Bird, (Jacky Ido) who refuses to stamp her card because he believes Wassilij was a Soviet courier who is still alive, derails her plan to get on with her life and stokes her paranoia to the point that she begins to suspect Hans of being a Stasi spy.


West is a film that cuts a lot of narrative corners and provides so little backstory on any of its characters that it’s hard to register them as anything but types. This sketchiness may be deliberate, as it helps us to identify somewhat with Nelly’s dislocation and distrust. Nonetheless, because we are shown things Nelly is not—Hans taking Alexej away from the scene of the suicide, Alexej buying flowers for his mother that he leaves as a surprise for her in their room—her anger and paranoia seem quite unreasonable. Schwochow further plays with our sense of reality by giving us a few brief glimpses of Wassilij, sometimes as Nelly’s delusions and then perhaps as a real person. He offers an American paranoic, a fairly predictable, but perhaps accurate touch, but puts Nelly in the position of using sex to find out what he knows about Wassilij; adding this cloak-and-dagger element and setting up the stereotype of the German woman desiring an African-American cheapens an already unflattering portrait of an intelligent, professional woman (a chemist) defined by her lover and mother roles.

"Lagerfeuer"  • 2012

Nonetheless, looking past the narrative weaknesses, West is a riveting experience thanks to the mesmerizing performances of Triebel and Göbel. Triebel won best actress awards at the 2014 German Film Awards and 2013 Montreal World Film Festival and was a best actress nominee of the German Film Critics Association in 2015 and the 2014 Seattle International Film Festival. Triebel is on camera almost constantly, and her intense, full-bodied performance makes up for the sometimes weak dialogue with which screenwriter Heide Schwochow, the director’s mother, saddled her. So focused is she that looking at screencaps for this film, I was extremely surprised how much her character smokes in the film—I just never noticed. At the same time that I felt her full-bore seductiveness toward Bird and deep love for Wassilij in their one brief scene together, there was a certain containedness that felt absolutely right for someone who lived under an oppressive, vigilant regime.


Göbel’s open face and innocence stand in contrast to his costar’s suspicions and fear. Alexej misses his father, a fact he and Nelly talk about openly. At the same time, his inability to deal honestly with his mother, standing bewildered, unable to say the flowers are his gift to her when she snatches them out of their vase and smashes them in a trashcan, rings painfully true. His relationship with Hans is wonderfully warm, untainted by the suspicions of others; we’re grateful he has Hans to turn to when the West German boys start to pick on him and break his glasses. Frankly, I could have looked at him the entire film and not have been bored at all.


Alexander Scheer has a tricky balancing act. Hans must be normally friendly but seem abnormally so to Nelly. He doesn’t quite pull it off, but I give him full marks for convincing me that he had been tortured by the Stasi and emotionally crippled as a result. It is important to realize that not everyone can be strong and put the past behind them.

West 2

Schwochow’s handheld work, getting right into the faces of his characters, creates an intimacy that draws us into the story, even as his muted, cool colors suggest the gray area between imprisonment and freedom. When Nelly’s world gradually starts to open up, it is a joyful relief, a reminder that despite its imperfections, unification made life better for a lot of people.

West is showing Saturday, March 21 at 5:00 p.m. and Wednesday, March 25 at 6:00 p.m. at the Gene Siskel Film Center, 164 N. State St., Chicago.

12th 03 - 2015 | no comment »

Life of Riley (Aimer, boire et chanter, 2014)

Director/Co-Adaptor: Alain Resnais

18th Annual European Union Film Festival


By Marilyn Ferdinand

On March 1, 2014, Alain Resnais died after a long and fruitful 91 years of life. A chronic asthmatic from a comfortably bourgeois family who was exempted from active military duty during World War II, he made some of the most powerful antiwar and humanist films ever produced, including Night and Fog (1955) and Muriel, or the Time of Return (1963). He also created films of mystery with elliptical narratives like Last Year in Marienbad (1961), reflecting his early interest in surrealism. In his later years, he struck up a working relationship with British playwright Alan Ayckbourn, whose comedies of manners reminiscent of Molière’s bedroom farces must have held great appeal for the French director. Resnais’ adaptation of “Intimate Exchanges,” Smoking/No Smoking (1993), swept France’s César awards. His next collaboration with Ayckbourn was an adaptation of “Hearts,” the bittersweet Private Fears in Public Places (2006). Their next collaboration turned out to be the last film Resnais ever made, Life of Riley, or Love, Drink and Sing, as Resnais’ title translates. The story and presentation are light as a feather, yet something of Resnais’ gravitas as a director adheres, making it an appropriate valedictory work.


The comedy involves three bourgeois couples—Kathryn (Sabine Azéma) and her physician husband Colin (Hippolyte Girardot), Tamara (Caroline Sihol) and her wealthy husband Jack (Michel Vuillermoz), and Monica (Sandrine Kiberlain), who has left the titular George Riley, for life on a farm with Simeon (André Dussollier). The first two couples are involved in an amateur drama of the 1965 Ayckbourn play “Relatively Speaking,” and much of the film’s action involves them traveling to and from rehearsals. It appears that Kathryn and Tamara were once professional actresses, and a mild level of competitive sniping goes on. Generally, however, harmony reigns.


All that changes when Kathryn wheedles a secret out of Colin—one he all but reveals to her with poorly veiled hints—that George has terminal cancer and has perhaps six months to live. Despite Colin’s warnings about patient confidentiality, Kathryn immediately blabs the news to George’s best friend, Jack, whose distraught reaction is theatricality itself. The friends decide that the best thing for George is to join the cast of the play to get his mind off his troubles, and he is summarily recruited for that purpose. The heightened emotions that emerge during the amateur theatrical, so reminiscent of a similar treatment by another British humorist, Jane Austen, in Mansfield Park, pose a challenge to the harmony of the couples, as each woman—long-ago lover Kathryn, estranged wife Monica, and current fling Tamara—are drawn toward the charismatic, doomed George out of boredom, duty, or a need to be needed.


Resnais hews close to the stage origins of this romantic farce by emphasizing the artifice of his soundstage shooting, with fake flowers and plants, barely there sets, and long sheets of painted muslin to simulate walls, with the actors pulling back the muslin to exit and enter the scene. There is a sitcom quality to the construction of the film with Resnais’ use of drawings of each set as the establishing shot of where the next scene will take place, and light, lyrical transitional music. The cast of veteran actors use all the verve at their command, with Resnais’ wife and frequent collaborator Sabine Azéma a particular stand-out as a take-charge woman shackled to a passive husband. Michel Vuillermoz is pitch-perfect as a doting father to 16-year-old Tilly (Alba Gaïa Kraghede Bellugi) who all but ignores his gorgeous wife, practically ensuring her dalliance with George. While André Dussollier doesn’t have much screen time, cartoonish encounters with a tree stump, trying to avoid kicking it when Monica runs to George’s side, lead amusingly to the inevitable.


The difference between the “no sex, please” British and the “amour fou” French is the emotional bedrock of their respective approaches to the bedroom farce. British romantic comedies tend to be less fussy, more declamatory, and generally safer from an emotional point of view. The French, who seem to take love as it comes, compartmentalizing the propriety of official matrimonial alliances and the passion of romance, always seem much more serious to me about the place of love in their lives. It’s hard to imagine an Englishman filming Jacques Demy’s semi-tragic The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (1964), for example. It is this underlying passion that gives Life of Riley the heft it has. When each of the women contemplates spending George’s final days with him in Tenerife—in his infinite bet-hedging, he has asked them all—their true feelings emerge in a very telling way. It is at this point that Resnais finally and fittingly films scenes in the interior of each of their homes.


Despite the brightness of the comedy and energetic work of the splendid cast, it is hard to watch Life of Riley without a certain melancholy setting in. Like the unseen George Riley, Alain Resnais’ ghost haunts this motion picture. The final grace note of the film reminds us of just how enormous our loss really is.

Life of Riley screens Friday, March 13 at 6:00 p.m. and Thursday, March 19 at 6:00 p.m. at the Gene Siskel Film Center, 164 N. State St., Chicago.

9th 03 - 2015 | 4 comments »

Amour Fou (2014)

Director/Screenwriter: Jessica Hausner

18th Annual European Union Film Festival


By Marilyn Ferdinand

Austrian director/screenwriter Jessica Hausner is one of the most unique voices in European cinema today. Her particular concern with the intertwining dance of love and illness made her film Lourdes arguably the best film of 2009. Amour Fou, her first film in five years, forwards that concern and suggests by its title that Hausner will present a comedy about the folly of love. Indeed, Hausner’s film offers an amusing look at the petty passions of the haute bourgeoisie, but as she did with Lourdes, Hausner builds a sense of horror that mirrors the rising passions of a world in flux.


The film takes place in Berlin in 1811. Friedrich Vogel (Stephan Grossman), a tax official with the Prussian government, and his wife of 12 years, Henriette (Birte Schnoeink) live a comfortable life with their 9-year-old daughter Pauline (Paraschiva Dragus). They are attended to by servants and attend musical evenings and balls among their social peers. Henriette is a compliant wife who considers herself her husband’s property, remarking that she has no desire for the freedom her companions are afraid will infect the common classes as French revolutionary ideas spread through Europe. A poet she admires, Heinrich (Christian Friedel), responds that it is better to die free than to be bound to an unhappy, conventional life.


Heinrich, in fact, longs for death, saying that he has no talent for living and suffers constantly due to his sensitive nature. Further, his romantic nature requires him to find a woman who will die with him out of love for him. Unfortunately, the woman with whom he has been involved, his cousin Marie (Sandra Hüller), refuses to enter into a suicide pact with him. Thus spurned, Heinrich believes that Henriette, who was attracted to the tragic heroine in his most recent poem, may be an acceptable substitute.


Amour Fou is as droll a film as one can imagine. The actors all underplay their scenes, a parody of the polite society to which their characters belong. Their homes and clothes tend to bright colors, thus saving them the inconvenience of donning rose-colored glasses. The scene in which Heinrich implores Marie to die with him is worthy of Mike Nichols and Elaine May, an earnest Heinrich (“You would make me very, very happy.”) met with Marie doing a double-take and dismissing the idea with an incredulous laugh. And Hausner gives the Vogels a Weimaraner, indelible to me as the quintessential absurdist dog because of the photos of William Wegman.


But Hausner tends to trap her characters at the bottom of frames, inside window panes, and below heavy, sashed curtains, similar to how she seemed to crush Christine, her pilgrim with multiple sclerosis in Lourdes, by filming her through a small slit between enormous church pillars. None of these wealthy bourgeois are truly free, though they scarcely seem to notice. Their self-dramatization—the aristocrats whining about having to pay taxes, their loathing of equality and their fear of a Jacobin terror, the poet for whom death seems the only answer to his roaring mediocrity and dependence on his relatives for a living—is laughable, but given the social and economic terrors of our modern world, all too familiar and deadly serious.


Heinrich’s courtship moves in fits and starts, with a selfish cruelty Henriette recognizes but is helpless to resist. He insists that she is lonely, a misfit, unloved and unloving, despite all appearances to the contrary. Henriette begins to have fainting spells and spasms, which are initially diagnosed as a nervous disorder, but later determined to be the result of a large tumor or ulcer that will kill her in a matter of months. Given her diagnosis, Henriette’s attitude toward Heinrich’s proposal changes, but in his simpering egotism, he only wants her to die for love of him, not to forestall her own suffering.


Hausner’s linking of love and illness is an interesting one. In Lourdes, Christine’s attraction to a man and determination to compete for his affections with a pretty nurse seem to banish her disease—making her a shoe-in for the best pilgrim of the trip award—though she is only in remission. Henriette, on the other hand, falls ill when faced with Heinrich’s “mad love”—not a true romantic love, as he clearly says he’s still in love with Marie, but one based on a platonic ideal not unlike the kind of love desperate pilgrims seek from Our Lady of Lourdes.


Looking at her own mediocrity—her skill on the pianoforte is hardly better than her daughter’s and her singing a crow’s caw when she renders a song she heard an opera singer perform at the gathering that opens the film—and her pending mortality, Heinrich’s proposal seems a way to fulfill her desire to make a mark, to become mythic through an act of extreme romanticism. This is the age that birthed Richard Wagner, after all. How else can one explain her rejection of her life, of a daughter and husband who clearly love her? Indeed, Friedrich travels through the conflict-torn countryside to reach a specialist in Paris and returns with the news that Henriette might still be cured.


The careful framing, gorgeous period settings, brilliantly orchestrated set-pieces like a ball with period dancing, and vibrant colors of this film are a feast for the eyes, and I admired the subtle performances of this uniformly fine cast. Schnoeink especially initially emerges as a shallow hausfrau without a thought in her head that her husband and acquaintances haven’t put there. As her situation grows more dire and her choices narrow, our laughter gives way to concern and a contemplation of what we owe to society and what we owe to ourselves. There is a shocking ambiguity to her actions and a genuine poignancy to her growing attraction to the eternal, but is she the victim of yet another man dumping his desires into her empty cranium? Trapped between two equally distressing outcomes from the audience’s point of view, we wait anxiously for Henriette to make her choice.

Amour Fou screens Monday, March 9, at 6:00 p.m. at the Gene Siskel Film Center, 164 N. State St., Chicago.

7th 03 - 2015 | 2 comments »

La Sapienza (2014)

Director/Screenwriter: Eugène Green

18th Annual European Union Film Festival


By Marilyn Ferdinand

Most of us have met people who identify with bygone eras. They style themselves to suit their preferred time, in ’60s go-go boots, short Sassone hairdos, and day-glo miniskirts or ’40s wide-shouldered, double-breasted suits, fedoras, and hand-painted ties. It’s rare to find someone go much earlier than the 1920s, however, because the clothing gets a lot more complicated and cumbersome. However, though he may not dress the part on a daily basis, Eugène Green is all about Baroque, a period that occupied the whole of the 17th century in Europe. Green is an New York-born filmmaker and naturalized French citizen who, through his teaching, theatre work, and films, has revived the French Baroque style of performance.


Green began making films when he was in his mid-50s, and when I saw his last feature film, The Portuguese Nun (2009), I felt he had a lot of potential but hadn’t quite jelled as a filmmaker. I’m happy to report that with his new feature film, La Sapienza, Green has arrived with a clear intention of what he wants to say and the wherewithal to pull it off superbly.


The film’s central couple, architect Alexandre Schmidt and his psychologist wife Aliénor (Fabrizio Rongione and Christelle Prot), are frustrated by their career compromises and disconnection from each other. After a particularly disheartening meeting with some investors who reject his desire to use existing structures and people-friendly spaces in favor of a more cost-effective development project for Bissone, Switzerland, Alexandre decides to take a break. He asks Aliénor if she wants to go to Italy with him, where he intends to do research for his long-delayed book on his idol, Baroque architect Francesco Borromini (1599-1667).

La Sapienza

The two travel to Stresa, a beautiful town on Lake Maggiore in northern Italy, where they encounter 18-year-old Goffredo (Ludovico Succio) and his 16-year-old sister Lavinia (Arianna Nastro) while walking along the lakeshore. Lavinia suddenly grows dizzy and weak, and the older couple hail a cab and take the siblings home. Aliénor’s concern for Lavinia grows, and when Alexandre announces that he needs to travel to Turin and Rome to conduct research, Aliénor decides to stay behind. She enjoins him to take Goffredo, an aspiring architect, with him.

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It’s possible to look at the doubling of Aliénor and Lavinia and Alexandre and Goffredo as doctor/patient and teacher/student, respectively, and suspect that the roles will be reversed. Indeed, this is exactly what happens, but this schema is more complex than that. The couples are bilingual in French and Italian, but to learn their individual lessons, the females speak French to each other, and the males speak Italian. Aliénor and Alexandre become time travelers, not literally meeting people from the time of Green’s imagining as happens in a film by another New Yorker in love with France—the all-too-facile Midnight in Paris (2011)—but rather by interacting with teens who embrace the ethos of the Baroque period. Succio and Nastro are rather unusual looking, as though they came from another time. Lavinia is said to have a wasting disease, archaic terminology that takes Aliénor aback, and the girl believes there is a cloud hanging over Goffredo that is the cause of her condition, certainly an evocation of hysterical illness that would not be treatable until the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Goffredo sleeps with his door unlocked, despite Alexandre’s cautions against it. The young man says he always burns a candle at night, whose light he believes will keep him safe. Indeed, Goffredo wants to design buildings to contain light and people, a stark contrast to Alexandre’s design for a windowless hospital to eliminate outside distractions and focus its patients entirely on their recovery. “I would do it differently today,” he says to Goffredo.

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The heart of the film might be said to encompass Alexandre and Goffredo’s tour of the great edifices of Borromini. Alexandre explains the challenges Borromini faced, particularly from his mentor and eventual rival, Gian Lorenzo Bernini, a compromising architect with whom Alexandre regretfully identifies. The plain facade of Borromini’s Sant’Ivo alla Sapienza, built on a limiting footprint in Rome, opens to reveal an undulating, soaring interior, using the geometry of circles and ovals to create the feverish excessiveness that characterizes Baroque style. Green leads us to the cornice high above the nave floor, shaped and lit like the eye of God, the most ancient being in a film reverent toward the past.

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Alexandre’s desire to retain existing elements for new construction, as Borromini did, reminds us that cities and towns are an amalgamation of styles from throughout history; Green’s reference to an archeological dig further reinforces the fact that human life on Earth has been built, layer by layer, on the foundations of the past, a repudiation of modernity and its overweaning ego. Green lays his criticism on a little thick at a dinner party of shallow bourgeois professionals living on an ancient estate without seeming to notice anything around them but their own intrigues. He doubles down with a comic burlesque involving an Australian tourist (Jon Firman) who demands to be let in to a chapel that is closed because he came all the way from Sydney to see it.

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Green’s camera roves Borromini’s edifices and lingers lovingly on the majesty of Stresa, contrasting the survivors of the past with the straitjacketed characters of the modern age for whom the camera rarely moves. In keeping with Baroque theatre style, the actors declaim their lines with little emotion and generally static facial expressions. Nonetheless, though the buildings have been given the illusion of movement by their architects, our cast comprises real people with actual movement and simmering emotions that infuse their performances as the film progresses. As with The Portuguese Nun, Green adorns his females, especially Aliénor, with beautiful and distinctive clothing in keeping with his version of a costume drama.

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Green himself becomes the mouthpiece of the past, playing the Chaldean, one of an ancient tribe driven by the American invasion of Iraq from their ancestral lands and thought by Aliénor, who encounters him one night, to have gone extinct. The Chaldean says his people were able to read and speak with the stars, and he looks at Aliénor and says her destiny is a good one, filled with love. When Alexandre and Goffredo return to Stresa the next day, Lavinia is cured, Alexandre and Aliénor find themselves passionately in love again, and Alexandre finds a new purpose as a teacher. It appears Green believes in oracles as well, and he arrives at his happy ending via a well-lain journey of discovery. In his worldview, it seems that those who remember the past will be lucky enough to repeat it. Bravo, professore.

La Sapienza shows Saturday, March 14 at 3:30 p.m. and Monday, March 16 at 6:00 p.m. at the Gene Siskel Film Center, 164 N. State St., Chicago.

11th 03 - 2014 | 4 comments »

17th Annual European Union Film Festival @ The Gene Siskel Center (Update March 16)


By Marilyn Ferdinand

From March 7 through April 3, the Gene Siskel Film Center holds what is arguably Chicago’s best festival of new cinema gathered from the countries of the European Union. Such films as Alois Nebel (2011), Tell No One (2006), Time to Die (2007), and The Way I Spent the End of the World (2006) are just some of the extraordinary films that had their Midwest or North American premiere at the festival.

This year, I’ve been granted the privilege of previewing the films as a member of the press. In deference to the awesome Lori Hile, who helped arrange my credentials, the format of my reviews will be abbreviated to conform with the Film Center’s requirements. I may return with full reviews after the festival.

So in fits and spurts, as I finish screeners or attend screenings, here is my coverage of some of the films on offer at this 2014 edition of the greatest show on State Street.

Tricked (2012, The Netherlands)
Director: Paul Verhoeven


Paul Verhoeven hasn’t released a film in six years, so when I saw that Tricked was on the EU festival schedule, I was very excited to see the latest from this genre-bending, original director. Sadly, I almost missed the film, such as it is, because Verhoeven decided to preface it with a 45-minute documentary about the making of Tricked; I thought I had misread the program and considered walking out on this pedantic vanity exercise. The 74-year-old director must feel creatively blocked, because he decided to crowdsource the script, one scene at a time. The lengthy and cumbersome process did not bear the kind of fruit he wanted, and he ended up cowriting much of the film with Robert Alberdingk Thijm. The result is a very funny 50-minute sitcom/soap opera about a philandering husband whose affairs put him in hot water with his floundering construction company and his family. While not classic Verhoeven, Tricked still shows his flair for genre work and reflects his roots in television and early handheld camera work.

The Excursionist (2013, Lithuania)
Director: Audrius Juzėnas


The national cinema of Lithuania is in rather sad shape, so the entry of an ambitious film like The Excursionist is certainly cause for celebration. The film purports to tell the true story of a Lithuanian girl who escaped the Soviet-ordered deportation (“excursion”) to the detention camps of the Gulag and traveled back to Vilnius over the course of more than two years. This type of story is more familiar to audiences in a Nazi-Jew format, and seeing stories of the hardships suffered by Soviet bloc countries on screen, as with the excellent Czech film Alois Nebel shown at the EU festival last year, is a welcome historical expansion. The film itself is hampered by its sense of its own importance and a cloying score that underlines in red the terrible hardships suffered by the protagonist. The film feels long, but it held my attention primarily due to the remarkable debut performance of Anastasija Marcenkaitė in the demanding title role. In the end, director Juzėnas transforms this personal story into an allegory for all conquered peoples who resist their oppressors.

Cycling with Molière (Alceste à bicyclette, 2013, France)
Director/Screenwriter: Philippe Le Guay


For my money, the best bet of the festival is Cycling with Molière. This superbly acidic comedy affords its two superb leads, Lambert Wilson and Fabrice Luchini, every opportunity to use all the actorly tools at their disposal to enact a cinematic version of Molière’s The Misanthrope for a modern audience. Wilson plays a commercially successful actor on a hit TV show who wants to stretch himself by producing Molière’s famous play and playing Alceste, the title character. He goes to the Île de Ré, a fashionable vacation spot on the west coast of France, to try to convince a reclusive actor who lives there to play Philinte, Alceste’s pragmatic foil. Like Alceste, the actor has turned his back on his profession and everyone he knows after a serious betrayal. He refuses to commit himself until the two of them have rehearsed the play, switching roles each day to see who is the better Alceste. The film is full of uproarious physical comedy, and Wilson and Luchini find the peculiarities and narcissism that humans in the arts and in hiding are heir to. Even better is the chance to hear the poetry of Molière’s play in French, not something American audiences can experience every day. This is a wonderful film. DO NOT MISS IT!

The Strange Little Cat (2013, Germany)
Director: Ramon Zürcher


It is best to approach this apparent slice of life as an experimental film to avoid frustration. The plot, such as it is, involves the interactions and reminiscences of a family gathering at a large Berlin apartment for dinner, perhaps a reunion. What Zürcher appears to be interested in is the magic of everyday life, as he trains his camera on the extraordinarily choreographed movements of the family members as they work across one another to pull dishes out of cabinets and weave in and out of each other’s paths. The fantastic enters the scene, such as when a bottle spins in a pot of hot water and a hacky sack flies through the open window from far down below on the street, an impossible kick for the small boy playing with it. Flashbacks occur when various family members tell stories; these stories, which could be spooky but end up not amounting to much, add a certain amount of suspense, another device Zürcher examines in his formalist approach to filmmaking. The wild cards in the deck are a dog and a cat whose behavior we never really see but who the characters assure us are crazy in what sounds like ad libbed dialog. Zürcher trains his camera on two children, particularly a boy, who observe everyone, clearly stand-ins for the director. What they—and he—think of the scene is largely inscrutable, and so may it be for the audience.

Clownwise (2013, Czech Republic)
Director: Viktor Taus


Think a more fraught and loosely structured The Sunshine Boys meets The Best Years of Our Lives and you’ve about got the gist of this drama about three aged members of a legendary comedy troupe who are headed for one last show. The film is poignant about the passing of time, with members of the troupe and their families facing cancer, Alzheimer’s, estrangement from loved ones, and bitter memories. If the film had worked a little harder on delineating and integrating the stories in a tighter structure, it would have been more compelling to watch. The script has some good moments, and it’s always a pleasure to see Kati Outinen in a film, but there was neither enough clowning nor wisdom for my tastes.

Another One Opens (2013, Austria)
Directors: Jim Libby and Nicolas Neuhold


Vienna’s improv theatre company English Lovers is responsible for this English-language dramedy that claims to be 100 percent improvised. Of course, improvisation with a well-established company isn’t really off the cuff, as the company members are very familiar with working scripts out together. Thus, Another One Opens is coherent, well paced, and quite intriguing, as a magic inn gives five troubled people who were friends in college a chance to repair their lives. The relationships didn’t feel as fleshed as I would have liked, but I was a sucker for the Enchanted April premise and healing passing down through generations of women. Recommended.

The Human Scale (2012, Denmark)
Director: Andreas M. Dalsgaard


This documentary poses some incredibly interesting notions about the history of urban planning and the opportunities that exist to rethink cities both old and new. A cadre of architects from the firm of Danish architect Jan Gehl travel the globe to urbanizing China, crowded Dhaka in Bangladesh, New York City, and Copenhagen, revealing that urban landscapes have been designed to facilitate the movement of automobiles, not the needs of human beings. In a forward-thinking approach to rebuilding Christchurch, New Zealand, after earthquakes devastated its city center, a bottom-up approach to what the people wanted yielded a low-rise landscape with plenty of spaces for people to congregate. As our population explodes and our fossil fuels dwindle, human convenience and human-powered conveyances may be our most sustainable future. Highly recommended.

22nd 10 - 2013 | no comment »

CIFF 2013: A Middling Achievement


By Marilyn Ferdinand

Another Chicago International Film Festival has come and is just about gone, and unlike previous years, I don’t feel at all exhausted by the effort. I don’t feel particularly inspired by it either. Perhaps my lack of fatigue has something to do with the lack of challenging, thought-provoking fare. While my writing output has been prolific—I even managed an interview, something I generally shun because of my shyness—this festival played things right down the middle, so gathering my thoughts about each movie had little of the struggle I normally face.

This is not to say that I didn’t see some interesting films. I was confronted with a surprise right at the end with a raw look at old age when I was expecting an adoring portrait of an elder stateswoman of the Broadway stage, Elaine Stritch. A more adoring portrait emerged from Wałęsa: Man of Hope, but the film was enlivened by the brilliant filmmaking technique of a grand master of Polish cinema, Andrzej Wajda. I also found the mix of comedy and drama unexpected and quite moving in the Cuban love story/social commentary Melaza, from a first-time feature director to watch, Carlos Lechuga.

As usual, I didn’t see the tent-pole films, perhaps with the exception of A Thousand Times Good Night. It floored me that so many people were excited that the protagonist was a woman in a male-dominated profession, as though that “feminist” cred makes up for its oh-so traditional values. Jirí Menzel, another grand master of cinema returning to the CIFF, could never be called politically correct with regard to women, but he also didn’t seem to take his own film too seriously—the result was diverting and forgettable.


Two presentations I chose not to write about were Frederick Wiseman’s At Berkeley and David Robinson’s presentation of several silent films from his festival in Pordenone. At Berkeley had some interesting moments—for example, a neoconservative professor at the formerly ultraliberal Berkeley speaking out against providing a modest amount of money to faculty with children for child care because she thought it was subsidizing a “personal choice”—but the intense focus on administrators and budgets threw the film off balance for me. Robinson’s selections were, on the whole, interesting, throwing in one of the many versions of the butterfly dance, as well as a couple of modern silent films and one series of outtakes from a formerly lost film by a native of Kenosha, Wisconsin I must remember to say I did not see because of copyright issues.

If I have any grand conclusion to make about this festival, it is simply that not every year is a banner year. CIFF is trying to broaden its scope with its regional focus—this year was Africa—but programmers need to do more to foster connections to emerging national cinemas and innovative filmmakers if Chicago is to get more of the world-class films it deserves.

Previous coverage

Elaine Stritch: Shoot Me: Documentary filmmaker Chiemi Karasawa captures more than the Broadway legend in her 87th year—she provides a moving testament to life near the edge of death. (USA)

Shakespeare and More – A Conversation with Harry Lennix: The actor talks about his new film, H4, Othello, his new production company, and more.

The Don Juans: Veteran director Jirí Menzel brings his gleeful sensuality to bear on this story of two Don Juans working together to produce Mozart’s Don Giovanni and finding out about their failings as men. (Czech Republic)

The Exhibition: In this thoughtful and comprehensive documentary, an ambitious artist raises provocative and controversial issues when she paints a series of violent portraits of murdered prostitutes. (Canada)

Melaza: Economic uncertainty causes a young couple in love to make ingenious and risky arrangements to keep afloat in this lovely, surprisingly funny slice of life under communism. (Cuba)

H4: Shakespeare’s Henry IV Parts I and II are given a contemporary spin by this spirited African-American production starring the great Harry Lennix as the title character. (USA)

Lifelong: The final breakdown of an unhappy marriage between an artist and her architect husband is chronicled in painful detail. (Turkey/The Netherlands/Germany)

Papusza: A biopic about the renowned Romany-Polish poet Bronisława Wajs, aka Papusza, is rendered in stunning images, with a strong emphasis on Romy life during the 20th century. (Poland)

The Verdict: The Belgian criminal justice system is put on trial when a man who was denied justice for his murdered wife takes the law into his own hands and dares a jury to convict him of premeditated murder. (Belgium)

A Thousand Times Good Night: This film explores the choice a war photographer is forced to make when her sexist husband threatens to leave her and take their two children with him if she doesn’t stop putting herself in harm’s way. (Norway)

Wałęsa: Man of Hope: Renowned Polish director Andrzej Wajda offers an informative and exhilarating look at the life of Solidarity founder, former Polish president, and Nobel Peace Prize winner Lech Wałęsa. (Poland)

The Invisible Collection: A young man who has lost his friends in a car accident comes to terms with his grief through an encounter with a blind collector of rare prints. (Brazil)

Stranger by the Lake: A lake in summer is the setting for a close exploration of the mating rituals of gay cruisers and the fatal attraction that envelopes one of the regulars to the lake. (France)

21st 10 - 2013 | 4 comments »

CIFF 2013: Elaine Stritch: Shoot Me (2013)

Director: Chiemi Karasawa


By Marilyn Ferdinand

To paraphrase Thomas Aquinas, if you know who Elaine Stritch is, no explanation is necessary; if you don’t know who she is, no explanation is possible. Even if we had a documentary that went through her life in meticulous detail—which this film doesn’t come anywhere near to doing—a woman who belongs to the glorious age of the Broadway musical is a figure whose celebrity took place long ago, out of view of most of the world. That she made numerous films and television shows, most recently as Alec Baldwin’s mother in “30 Rock,” does not dim the glow that adheres to Elaine Stritch because of when her life in the theatre took place, and only those of us who follow musical theatre really understand why this documentary needed to be made.


Or so I thought. Whether or not she intended to, Chiemi Karasawa filmed a much different, much more valuable film than the one I thought I was going to see. Elaine Stritch: Shoot Me is an appropriate title for this documentary about the 88-year-old Broadway legend because while we are aware that Stritch needs the attention of a film crew like a fish needs water, we are brought uncomfortably close to the tail end of a life, one now filled with infirmity. If Stritch were a horse, we might find it kinder to put her down. That she bravely reveals all of her pain and struggle, both physical and psychological, makes this an unforgettable and necessary document, as well as a roadmap for taking our leave from this world.


I wish to emphasize that Stritch is still with us, and in fact, attended the sold-out showing of Shoot Me. (UPDATE: Elaine Stritch died July 17, 2014, at the age of 89.) She’s halt of gait, forgetful, and very hard of hearing, but her performer’s instincts and wit are as sharp as ever. Her performance at the AMC Theatre 11 was loaded with zingers, her characteristic profanity, and a teary appreciation for the love we lavished on her, a love whose pursuit propelled her to stardom.

Elaine Stritch_2

Karasawa films Stritch as she gets ready for a cabaret show at New York’s Café Carlyle with her long-time accompanist Rob Bowman. She sports the Judy Garland look of black tights and a long men’s shirt during rehearsals, in performance, and in fact, most of the time. One of her intimates says Elaine just won’t wear pants! She is very thin, so the effect is rather worrying, particularly when she goes through her dance routine.


She has a lot of trouble remembering her lyrics, a problem compounded by diabetes. When Rob suggests she check her blood sugar, she reacts with a violent “NO,” but soon relents. On seeing the number, she dispatches Rob to get her some orange juice immediately, and he jumps. She was always a volatile, self-critical performer, which we see in a vintage clip of her recording the cast album for “Company” with a displeased Stephen Sondheim listening to an unsuccessful take. Now, her volatile blood sugar makes her more unpredictable than ever. Add to that her decision to climb off the wagon after what she says is nearly a quarter-century of sobriety, and the health horrors multiply.

Stritch’s decision to start drinking again is very telling. She feels that at her age, she has earned the right to do what she wants, but the real impetus behind it is her fear of death. Despite the fact that alcohol could conceivably kill her, she feels calm and safe after she has taken a drink, and we don’t really believe her when she says she allows herself only one drink a day. As though to confirm our suspicions, she orders an old fashioned and then shows that she carries a tot of Bombay gin in her purse at all times. Perhaps we’d do the same if the reaper were so near at hand.


One scene shows her going out of town to appear at an anniversary celebration for an 80-year-old theatre—younger than she—and celebrating when the show is canceled because of an approaching hurricane. She says she wasn’t feeling well anyway. Cut abruptly to news that Stritch is in the hospital, a cruel echo of an earlier scene from “30 Rock” showing her in a hospital bed. We don’t know why she’s there, but she looks frail sleeping under sedation, and when she wakes up, she says she can feel death around her, that it’s her time. A devout Catholic whose uncle was Cardinal Samuel Stritch, archbishop of Chicago, she hopes there isn’t nothing when she dies; “I wouldn’t like that,” she says as though she should be able to have the afterlife she wants, but then with a real uncertainty.

John Bay

We see the world start to pay her homage, with the Stella Adler Studio of Acting wanting to name a rehearsal room after her, but having to offer her three rooms before she finds one that is sufficiently small. Her assistant has been helping her choose photos from her collection to hang in the school, and we see her photographed with her beloved husband, actor John Bay, who died when Stritch was in her 50s after they had been married only 10 years. Her abiding love for him extends to her preference for the product of his family business, Bay’s English muffins, a staple in my home and found only in Chicago. When her regular delivery of the product arrives, she wants the cameraman to watch her open the carton and follow her out to the back porch to throw away the packaging. It’s a truly dotty request, but she who must be obeyed gets her way.


We get very little from her past—a few musical clips, photos of her when she was at the height of her beauty, clips from her Emmy Award-winning program “Elaine Stritch: At Liberty” and her acceptance speech in which she brings down the house by saying she’s glad that she won and the other nominees lost. Stritch’s honesty makes her the ideal person to reveal the ravages of old age as well as the vitality that many of us don’t believe the elderly have. Stritch will not be pushed off stage until she’s ready to go.

That she does, when she moves out of her long-time home in The Carlyle Hotel and into a condo just outside her native Detroit. Many of us go home to roost when our time is near. Gradually, not entirely gracefully, but with gusto, Elaine Stritch is walking her path to an eternity beyond the footlights.

Elaine Stritch: Shoot Me has no more showings, but the film has been picked up by Sundance Selects for distribution and cable airing. www.chicagofilmfestival.com

Previous coverage

Shakespeare and More – A Conversation with Harry Lennix: The actor talks about his new film, H4, Othello, his new production company, and more.

The Don Juans: Veteran director Jirí Menzel brings his gleeful sensuality to bear on this story of two Don Juans working together to produce Mozart’s Don Giovanni and finding out about their failings as men. (Czech Republic)

The Exhibition: In this thoughtful and comprehensive documentary, an ambitious artist raises provocative and controversial issues when she paints a series of violent portraits of murdered prostitutes. (Canada)

Melaza: Economic uncertainty causes a young couple in love to make ingenious and risky arrangements to keep afloat in this lovely, surprisingly funny slice of life under communism. (Cuba)

H4: Shakespeare’s Henry IV Parts I and II are given a contemporary spin by this spirited African-American production starring the great Harry Lennix as the title character. (USA)

Lifelong: The final breakdown of an unhappy marriage between an artist and her architect husband is chronicled in painful detail. (Turkey/The Netherlands/Germany)

Papusza: A biopic about the renowned Romany-Polish poet Bronisława Wajs, aka Papusza, is rendered in stunning images, with a strong emphasis on Romy life during the 20th century. (Poland)

The Verdict: The Belgian criminal justice system is put on trial when a man who was denied justice for his murdered wife takes the law into his own hands and dares a jury to convict him of premeditated murder. (Belgium)

A Thousand Times Good Night: This film explores the choice a war photographer is forced to make when her sexist husband threatens to leave her and take their two children with him if she doesn’t stop putting herself in harm’s way. (Norway)

Wałęsa: Man of Hope: Renowned Polish director Andrzej Wajda offers an informative and exhilarating look at the life of Solidarity founder, former Polish president, and Nobel Peace Prize winner Lech Wałęsa. (Poland)

The Invisible Collection: A young man who has lost his friends in a car accident comes to terms with his grief through an encounter with a blind collector of rare prints. (Brazil)

Stranger by the Lake: A lake in summer is the setting for a close exploration of the mating rituals of gay cruisers and the fatal attraction that envelopes one of the regulars to the lake. (France)

20th 10 - 2013 | no comment »

CIFF 2013: Shakespeare and More – A Conversation with Harry Lennix


By Marilyn Ferdinand

Harry Lennix is a busy man. An actor who has distinguished himself in the theatre (for example, the title roles in August Wilson’s King Hedley II at the Mark Taper Forum in Los Angeles and Malcolm X at Chicago’s Goodman Theatre) and in 95 (and counting) film and television shows, including his latest, NBC’s “The Blacklist,” Lennix has also launched a production company, Exponent Media Group (EMG), to bring back mid-budget films. The second EMG production, H4, is at the Chicago International Film Festival, where Lennix hopes it will find a receptive audience and, importantly, a distributor. I had a chance to talk with him about H4 and more this past week.

What was the genesis of the H4 project?

It was more or less a thought experiment for Ayanna Thompson, a preeminent Shakespeare scholar at George Washington University, a brilliant woman of color I met in Memphis, I think it was 2008. I told her that I’ve always loved Henry IV, and I wondered if there was a way to contexualize it without changing the language substantially to this experience we call the black experience.

She grafted together this script, and the director Paul Quinn, who’s Aidan Quinn’s brother and a terrific director and a great teacher, and I, primarily him, put it into a screenplay form. All of us started to rehearse it in a classroom at Fairfax High School in Los Angeles—30 adults sitting in chairs and desks for high school students. We would just read the script and over the course of those weeks, characterizations starting coming through, people sort of cast themselves in these parts. It was sort of an organic experience that way, and we tried to figure out a way to shoot it for not a lot of money, but not have it look cheap. If you don’t have a lot, you want to use what you have and make it look like it’s intentional.

What about these particular plays attracts you, and what about them seems particularly relevant to the African-American experience?

The black experience is a wide and long experience. There is a distinction between black and African American. The primary thing that black has in it is the slave experience. For example, you can be white and be African American. If you were born in South Africa and nationalize yourself here, you’re African American.

Why I liked it so much and why I thought it was applicable was because it is a human experience that a father does not always approve of his son’s development. And that was the case here. In this case, the father has arrived at power through what might be seen as illegitimate means. The history of Richard II and then Henry IV taking over power from him is interesting, and he felt bad about it evidently, at least in Shakespeare’s imagination. So I thought, where does that apply in black life?

I thought our royalty are generally spiritual, political type leaders, people like Dr. King. Jesse Jackson Jr., of course, has a father who himself wanted to be president, wanted to be in the great halls of power. Martin Luther King’s father was a preacher, Adam Clayton Powell Jr., who became a congressman, had a father who was head of the largest Protestant church in America. So it seemed to me that this was right for a comparison, and so we created this kind of political potentate. Originally, we felt we might make him a spiritual leader because there was no easy allusion to a black person being the head of state in America. But clearly that’s no longer true, as we have a very powerful black man in office now, and so we seized on that. I think that what resulted you can easily buy.

Have you had audience reaction to the story? Do they get it?

I don’t know because nobody has seen it in its completed form. We took a more or less rough version of it to Stratford-upon-Avon, England, Shakespeare’s birthplace, and showed it to a couple hundred Shakespeare scholars at the most prestigious Shakespeare scholarship conference in the world, the International Shakespeare Conference. It’s every other year, and they asked us to screen it because Ayanna is a member. They looked at it with great interest. They were curious about what the ramifications were, the violence, the sociopolitical activity that was going on in it. I think they accepted it wholesale in the sense that you’re asking it. They didn’t have any problem with its contextualizing of the people they were watching on film saying these words and doing these things. I don’t imagine that we’ll have a big issue or a whole lot of debate about whether or not we’re worthy.

All of us, Marilyn, we all have to study Shakespeare. All of us, if you speak English. You have to read it or watch the movies and talk about it. And we are forced, as it were, just by circumstance never to really be able to see ourselves in these roles. We’re told it’s universal, we’re told it applies to every human experience and every group of people. But we don’t get a chance to see it. And so this was my way of saying, I think you’re right, it is universal, it is great, it is timeless, and we have as much right to do it since I had to study it, since I had to learn it and practice it.

And I can’t tell you how many hours and hours of craft time is devoted to Shakespeare performance, and that normally, when I get to do it, I’m in a subservient role or a marginalized or token role. And I don’t really get a chance to chew up this language and to digest it in the way that white actors do. And there’s no reason for it.

With the exception, I suppose, of Othello.

I don’t like that play, Marilyn, I don’t like that play one bit, and I’ll tell you why. I’ve done it, I’ve played the part, and I know a lot of people think it’s great, but it is like if you want to do Shakespeare, Negro, you go and do Othello so you can be this simpleton who is manipulated by this evil white man who’s not even in a position of power. But he’s got you twisted around his finger and you revert to type, to this bestial, thoughtless, murderous, suicidal animal. That’s what happens. Although it’s probably a rare black actor who says that, I don’t think I’m alone. It’s extremely uncomfortable to play that part and have any pride, any kind of equilibrium as a black man. It’s impossible, really, to walk away with your dignity. I don’t know who can do it really—I’m sure there are people—it’s just probably me, but I don’t want to be relegated to Othello. It’s not indicative of the black experience.

You seem to be forming something of a stock company with the directors, like Danny Green, and producers involved in your projects? Tell me a little more about the collaboration. Is it your intention to always be working together?

Yes, that’s very perceptive of you. Danny and Albena Dodeva actually got engaged in H4 fairly late, at post-production, as producers. Post-production is the single most important aspect of getting a film made. There’s pre-production, which is cool and fun and crazy, and production, which is heaven. You’re loving doing it, you’re loving the problems that are facing you. But you can have all this stuff, all the ingredients for a meal, but then you’ve got to put it all together and put it in the oven. That’s post-production, which Danny and Albena have learned brilliantly through doing Mr. Sophistication (2012).


Our filmmaking company is called Exponent Media Group (EMG), and our intention in calling it exponent is because we believe we can exponentialize limited resources and show that there’s a third way. You don’t need hundreds of millions of dollars to do these blockbuster superhero movies, and you don’t have to look like you filmed it on your iPhone in your back yard. There is something in between that can combine the technological advances with a good production and good, old-fashioned Hollywood movie-making. And that’s what we intend to do with EMG, and this is the second effort. We are gearing up to go into our third effort, and I’m extremely excited about that. One of them is going to hit.

What are you doing about the distribution end of things?

That’s the million-dollar question. We had a distribution deal for Mr. Sophistication, but it fell through because it was delayed, and we didn’t want to wait too much longer because we want to get H4 out and make sure that it comes out at the right time. Now that I’m on this television show, we think this is a great time to launch EMG. We are close to closing a deal on Mr. Sophistication. We don’t have a distributor yet for H4, but we hope to be able to find one through our submission to these film festivals, Chicago being the most important one. This is our opening shot, so we’ll see.

I’ve enjoyed the films you’ve been in that have appeared at the CIFF, which go back to The Human Stain (2003). Was it problematic for you to have Anthony Hopkins in the title role for that?

I had absolutely nothing to do with the casting for that (laughs). No, I love Anthony Hopkins. I worked with him on Titus, and I think he’s a great actor. I know that other actors were interested in and up for that part. But here’s an interesting thing, color in America. What is black? For example, Dr. Adam Powell, for his early years, passed for white. A lot of people passed for white. J. Edgar Hoover, they say, was black and passed for white. So black is really a state of mind. So I didn’t have a problem with Anthony Hopkins playing the role.


I think if somebody, particularly like me, who is taking these plays or movie ideas and adapting them for the black experience, that goes both ways. So if I want to do Shakespeare, there should be no reason why white people can’t do Lorraine Hansberry or August Wilson as long as there’s a context for it that makes sense. I just saw The Hollow Crown on “Great Performances,” with Jeremy Irons the other day and they had a very good actor by the name of Paterson Joseph playing Henry V’s cousin, York. But he was black! I’m not aware, in the 14th century in England, of any black person walking around in the court of the king as a fully functional, empowered official of the court. So who is this guy? I wanted to know. It took me out just long enough for me to say, I applaud the effort, that’s nice, it’s good that they want to include people, but that is not indicative of an actual experience.

My question has been with regard to these things is can we be inventive enough, creative enough to find a way to include somebody without forcing the issue? I don’t want to force myself on somebody just because, you’re right, the black actor should be able to do Shakespeare. That’s not good enough to me. It’s fine for some people, but I don’t have a problem with people also who don’t like it, who say, that is not historically accurate. At the end of the day, I know that there’s a way to do these plays … and not to make it relevant, the plays are relevant. The play didn’t ask me to do it. It was perfectly fine! But since I love the language and since I’ve taken it upon myself to try it, then it should make sense to the person who just wants to come in and have a good experience without having to twist his mind up so that he can make sense of it.

So, that’s what I want to do, and I hope that we get to do a lot more of these plays. I want to do Julius Caesar, for example, and I just did a Romeo & Juliet with a cast of all people of color set in Harlem. This is an idea whose time has come. We are having a good amount of attention coming our way because of H4, and I’m curious to see if it continues. I hope it does.

You are still very involved in the Chicago community. What does your connection to our city mean to you?

For me, Chicago is the prototypical American city in the sense that it was founded by a black man, Jean Baptiste Point du Sable, who founded this outpost and had a relationship with the natives there and later with a lot of other people, like French traders. To me, he exemplifies the American experience, someone who takes what is in front of them and then spins it into gold. Now Chicago is also known as the city that works, and I love that work ethic that we have there. We may not have the most polished baseball team or what have you, but we find a way to get it done, and that has always been my motto. I went to a Catholic seminary whose Latin motto means “work and prayer.” I have always believed that those two characteristics are beneficial. You can’t pray too much. I think you can work too much, but when you find a balance between those two things, I believe that progress gets made. I like being identified with and representing Chicago. People ask me all the time where I live, and I tell them it may be New York or L.A., but I’m from Chicago. My mama’s there, my people are there, my beginnings, my whole roots and infrastructure are Chicago. And I’ll never stop being part of it, I love it.

18th 10 - 2013 | 2 comments »

CIFF 2013: The Don Juans (Donšajni, 2013)

Director/Coscreenwriter: Jirí Menzel


By Marilyn Ferdinand

One of the things I love most about much of Czech cinema is its joyously subversive attitude toward life. When my Czech dentist told me that when efforts to remove a Soviet tank from a square in Prague were going nowhere—the Czechs took it down, the Soviets put it back, and so forth—some Czechs finally laid the matter to rest by painting it pink, too big an embarrassment to the Soviets to let stand. How very Czech! Thus, when I heard a grand master of the Czech New Wave, Jirí Menzel, would have a film at this year’s CIFF, I couldn’t wait to see it.


The last time Menzel showed at the CIFF, it was with his film I Served the King of England (2006), a surprisingly buoyant sex farce set before, during, and a bit after the rise of Nazism in Europe. It was apparent then that Menzel has a prodigious appreciation of the female of the species, his love and joy of women apparent even in the darker sequences portraying the German occupation of Czechoslovakia. In I Served, the main protagonist is a small, horny man, almost a pet to the prostitutes he beds and whose naked bodies he decorates with flowers. In The Don Juans, Menzel lightly tarnishes the innocence of sex he previously celebrated. His central character and occasional first-person narrator, Vítec (Jan Hartl), is a small-town opera director who claims (falsely) to hate opera and who beds as many sopranos as he can get his hands on.


His company is filled with regional singers of varying levels of skill, most of whom have businesses or jobs on the side. For his production of Mozart’s Don Giovanni, he brings in Jakub (Martin Huba), an aged lyric bass of some renown, to play Don Pedro, the man who condemns Don Giovanni to burn in hell. Jakub was also a Don Juan in his day, and his return to the Czech Republic after a successful career in the United States brings him face to face with a former lover from some 40 years in the past, the eccentric Markétka (Libuse Safránková), whom he impregnated and abandoned. Through Markétka and an ego-deflating soprano (Marie Málková) who tells him that his good luck with women is directly related to what he can do for their careers, Vítec becomes a wiser, if not entirely repentant man.

donsajni-film-recenzia-novinky-feeling-movies-sk-5Don Juans

The Don Juans is a broad comedy with a wealth of sight gags. For example, as Vítec tells us about his lust for sopranos, we get a series of quick-cut images of women’s faces as they hit a high note while laying on his bed, the affirmation of his sexual prowess, at least in his mind. Markétka finds herself in police custody twice, first following a swat team raid on a 250-year-old opera house where she has trespassed with a group of children to stage a children’s opera, and second, after she has driven off with a car being used in a robbery to prevent the theft and crashed it into a butcher shop. Both scenes are played for antic humor, as the heavily armed police watch a long stream of children pour out of the theatre door, and as the hapless woman who doesn’t know how to drive barrels through the streets, all four doors wide open and slamming into objects along the way. Markétka is a delightful character whose reminiscences of Jakub, her greatest love, are dewy and bright, but who is rueful about how such Don Juans leave a trail of tearful women in their wake.


There doesn’t seem to be much evidence that Vítec has inspired such heartbreak in his women. They all pass through his bed and into his shower, where he presents them with a basketful of unopened toothbrushes, unabashed about how many one-night stands he has. None of them seem jealous, confirming that he is a means to an end and nothing more. Vítec’s character takes on the lightest of shades when he comes into Markétka’s orbit; it was his car that was stolen to use in the robbery, and he comes to the police station to meet the woman who wrecked it and sort out the property damages. He learns her story, meets the 40-year-old daughter, 20-year-old granddaughter, and 6-year-old great-granddaughter who emanated from her affair with Jakub, and works to bring them together, a brief encounter that will end for the sick, feeble Jakub as it did for Don Giovanni, in death.


I found the performers enchanting right down to their toes. Safránková plays her part with a combination of ditzy abandon and calculation. Her reverence for the old opera house, learning to work its ancient scenery-changer and introducing Vítec to the glory of the past, seems fitting for a film about an anachronistic art form that in the newly capitalist Czech Republic will be defunded to pursue more lucrative enterprises, like a casino or hockey rink. Yet, the opera company members are moving into the future in much the same way as the rest of the country. Málková is a hard-looking punk rocker, but with her glorious voice, she bumps the less-gifted Alenka (Anna Klamo) from the part as Donna Anna, even though Alenka slept with Vítec to get her diminutive husband (Jiří Hájek) the starring role. Another singer runs a travel agency, taking calls on her cellphone during rehearsals and performances. Still another sleeps her way to wealth, providing the wedding in the final scene that Vítec says is essential to a successful story.


The Don Juans is a lovely film to look at and a generally joyful romp overflowing with gags. Its examination of the cruelty of womanizers is light as air, but still makes its point to some degree. The film is a bit disjointed, favoring comedy over coherence, particularly in delineating the separate stories of Vítec and Markétka until they merge. As Don Giovanni is my favorite Mozart opera, I reveled in the music that liberally scores the film, but the obvious dubbing was a bit distracting. Nonetheless, I found myself grinning through much of the picture, levitating on the luscious images, generally spot-on humor, and always engaging Czech sensibility. This is a fluffy effort, to be sure, but one that is a pleasure from start to finish.

The Don Juans screens Saturday, October 19, 1:30 p.m. at the AMC River East 21, 322 E. Illinois St. in Chicago. www.chicagofilmfestival.com

Previous coverage

The Exhibition: In this thoughtful and comprehensive documentary, an ambitious artist raises provocative and controversial issues when she paints a series of violent portraits of murdered prostitutes. (Canada)

Melaza: Economic uncertainty causes a young couple in love to make ingenious and risky arrangements to keep afloat in this lovely, surprisingly funny slice of life under communism. (Cuba)

H4: Shakespeare’s Henry IV Parts I and II are given a contemporary spin by this spirited African-American production starring the great Harry Lennix as the title character. (USA)

Lifelong: The final breakdown of an unhappy marriage between an artist and her architect husband is chronicled in painful detail. (Turkey/The Netherlands/Germany)

Papusza: A biopic about the renowned Romany-Polish poet Bronisława Wajs, aka Papusza, is rendered in stunning images, with a strong emphasis on Romy life during the 20th century. (Poland)

The Verdict: The Belgian criminal justice system is put on trial when a man who was denied justice for his murdered wife takes the law into his own hands and dares a jury to convict him of premeditated murder. (Belgium)

A Thousand Times Good Night: This film explores the choice a war photographer is forced to make when her sexist husband threatens to leave her and take their two children with him if she doesn’t stop putting herself in harm’s way. (Norway)

Wałęsa: Man of Hope: Renowned Polish director Andrzej Wajda offers an informative and exhilarating look at the life of Solidarity founder, former Polish president, and Nobel Peace Prize winner Lech Wałęsa. (Poland)

The Invisible Collection: A young man who has lost his friends in a car accident comes to terms with his grief through an encounter with a blind collector of rare prints. (Brazil)

Stranger by the Lake: A lake in summer is the setting for a close exploration of the mating rituals of gay cruisers and the fatal attraction that envelopes one of the regulars to the lake. (France)

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