CIFF Diary: Day 4, pt. 3 - Cronenberg Adapts

10/10 - A Dangerous Method is David Cronenberg's new adaptation of Christopher Hampton's play "The Talking Cure," which was built out of John Kerr's book "A Most Dangerous Method."  Although the film feels like some of the better late Cronenberg entries, with similar achievements in the sparseness of the framing and tonal consistency, A Dangerous Method did not rank for me on the level of those pictures.  Granted, I think that Spider (2002), A History of Violence (2005), and Eastern Promises (2007) constitute a particularly accomplished post-millennial run for the Canadian film maker, and I think A Dangerous Method is an interesting addition to the Cronenberg filmography, if not quite as effective as those previous works.  I think what makes A Dangerous Method even more disappointing, especially for a longtime Cronenberg fan, is that the confluence of these historical figures and what we know his visual mind is capable of could have yielded something truly ecstatic, but instead, delivers good performances and mannered storytelling.

Michael Fassbender as Carl Jung in A Dangerous Method

The buzz at the fest about seeing Michael Fassbender in this picture has been, literally, all around me.  I have really been enjoying the conversations I've been having standing in line for various screenings, and have gotten a number of great recommendations from some folks who really know their film.  But, I think I've heard the name of Fassbender uttered with loving intonation more than just about any other, yet on the occasions when I've tried to strike up a conversation about Method as a Cronenberg film, I'm met with a blank stare, behind which I can almost see the ridiculously handsome visions of Fassbender dancing.  And, hey, I get it.  I have been buzzing about his work on this very site, as he is obviously an actor whose skill stands out, even in mediocre Hollywood fair like the recent X-Men: First Class.

Lets look at Fassbender some more (sigh) - X-Men:  First Class

A Dangerous Method is one of Cronenberg's more actor-oriented pictures, (warning:  for those expecting slithering viscera and talking asshole insects, they don't show up here) and as such, it is only partly successful.  The film centers around the story of Sabrina Spielrein, the one time patient and student of Jung who eventually went on to influence the work of both Freud and Jung as an academic, and is played with abandon by Keira Knightly, who has the difficult challenge of playing the complex arc of Spielrein, from the abused and spastic patient she was upon arrival at Jung's facilities to the sexually and intellectually awakened rival of her mentors.  To Cronenberg's credit, he allows his actors to act in a fully embodied way through his framing, but as an audience member I never fully bought the histrionics of Knightly's performance, although I think she was committed to the attempt.

Keira Knightly in A Dangerous Method

Cronenberg is a director who can, in his finest moments, create this perfect balance between the grotesque and the sublime;  between narrative and philosophy.  He has taken some huge risks in his adaptations, particularly in his work with William S. Burroughs' Naked Lunch and J.G. Ballard's Crash, which not only attempted to translate what is great about those works of fiction, but to elaborate and comment back on those works in a way that wholly takes into account the often overlooked differences between novel and film form.  With A Dangerous Method, I think he achieves a merely suitable adaptation, while imbuing it with his particularly adept eye for showing stark scenes of sexuality that teem with violence.  Still, the memory of Viggo Mortensen and Maria Bello on the stairs in A History of Violence will linger in much more resonant ways than anything in Method.

Maria Bello and Viggo Mortensen in A History of Violence

One last thing, and correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't it Cronenberg who railed against the "winking" coyness of 1998's Shakespeare in Love?  Don't get me wrong--I have no affection for that picture (it probably ranks right up there with A Beautiful Mind as one of the worst films to win the Academy Award for Best Picture), but can't it be said that Cronenberg is giving the same kind of wink to the Psychology majors in the audience that Shakespeare in Love was giving to the Lit majors?  I mean, can't a cigar just be a cigar?!  

Up Next:  The "World Cinema" entry from Argentina, Santiago Mitre's The Student

  

 

CIFF Diary: Day 4, pt. 2 - Your Masterpiece is Right In Front of You

10/10 - Attending the CIFF for a number of days, and not always knowing what you're walking into, can yield some varied results, even for the most open-minded film goer.  But, one of my favorite aspects of festival going is taking a chance on an afternoon screening armed only with a guide description that could really go either way: "Fifteen years of 35mm footage shot almost entirely from one vantage point overlooking the back of the Zurich train station is paired with fifteen years of answering machine messages to form an unlikely portrait of the artist."  

The view from Imbach's window - Day is Done

In an interesting contrast to the thoughts on documentary that had been stirred up at that morning's "Art as Activism" panel, Thomas Imbach's Day is Done uses the documentary form in a way that does not have an emergent or overt political agenda, but presents itself as a rather ambitious experiment in auto-ethnographic film making.  And, yes, it is mostly shot out of his studio window, taking only a few short opportunities to share footage from other locations;  a trip to the cemetery with his mother, a Christmas morning with his son, and a few other brief detours from the primary vantage point of the film.  The other main element of this personal exploration is a series of answering machine messages, collected over a number of years, offering this constantly shifting reflection of Imbach through the voices of his friends, family, and creative partners as they plead with him to answer the phone, congratulate him, and occasionally even recommend films (in one moment, a female voice ecstatically recommending Wong Kar Wai's "In the Mood For Love" as Imbach continues to visually obsess over a female who passes in front of his window every day). 

The passing girl - Day is Done

Imbach also includes musical interludes, primarily Dylan tunes, re-recorded by the "Day is Done" musicians, which gives the film a coherent musical quality.  Day is Done is erratic in both it's aural and visual elements, speeding up and slowing down, cutting off songs in mid phrase, whipping our necks around through swift camera adjustments.  There is an element at play here of Imbach playing God (or Trickster...or Verotv!), manipulating the pace and meaning of everything outside his window, spinning the tunes he wants to hear, and ripping the needle off the record player when he's had enough.  

Thomas Imbach - Day is Done 

Day is Done may be my favorite film at the festival so far, and it's a must for lovers of experimental film.  The screening I attended also had the most walk outs of anything I have been to thus far, but, admittedly, it's not for everyone.  The rewards of Day is Done are worth waiting for and will most likely stay with you for a while, the immediacy of it's humor and drama all managed from a singular perspective.  Day is Done is a film for those who truly love moving images and the expressive possibilities of film technique.  Imbach's very personal and vast experiment is incredibly adept in it's technique, meditating on the movement of life that is happening outside of all our windows.  And, I would imagine, it is the only truly experimental feature length film at the fest.

Up Next:  David Cronenberg's A Dangerous Method  
  

CIFF Diary: Day 4 - Art as Activism

10/10 - The CIFF has arranged a number of great panel discussions for free throughout the fest, and the first panel arrives with particular resonance amid the activities of the 99% occupying Chicago and other major cities around the world.  As I was driving to the fest last Friday, I contacted my close friend Jason Del Gandio, author of Rhetoric for Radicals (seen here, expertly articulating the goals of the "Occupy" movement on Crosstalk) and asked him for an update on the movement, which grew from reports of 800+ to 900+ cities just in the span of our short phone conversation.  It was becoming clear to both of us that something was really happening, and needed to continue.

Ruth Leitman, Alex Kotlowitz, and Naomi Walker

On Monday morning's panel, moderator Naomi Walker, a Columbia College teacher and mentor for young documentary filmmakers, reminded us and the panel of the words of John Dewey:  "The real purveyors of news are artists."  The very question the panel interrogated that morning was one that Del Gandio and I have been discussing for years:  what is the role of the documentary film within activism, and how do you negotiate that delicate point where art and activism meet?  In relation to the "Occupy Wall Street" movement, it seems a particularly important question to ask right now, as the cameras are still in the streets in the ongoing pursuit to bring "the news" to the masses.  The panel Monday morning served to remind us how important the aspect of storytelling is to the documentary form in relation to it's political potency.  The term "documentary" seems to have a wide-ranging definition these days, but, as panel member David Fine reminded us, the goal is to "show the other side" in the face of the corporate dominated media script, which so rarely listens to peoples stories anymore, especially those that reveal the kind of social unrest that is happening currently.  The panel identified themselves primarily as storytellers who allow the politics of their work to emerge through the stories of the individuals they encounter.  Featured on the panel were David Fine, director of Salaam Dunk, Ruth Leitman, director of Tony and Janina's American Wedding, and Alex Kotlowitz, the writer and producer of the new Steve James documentary, The Interrupters.

Up Next:  A very different kind of documentary - Thomas Imbach's Day is Done 

CIFF Diary: Day 3 - The Kids Are Alright

10/9 - Sunday turned out to be a light screening day, mostly due to the good company and conversation of my former film and theatre student Husni Ashiku joining me for a couple of days at the fest, who reminded me that taking time to process with a thoughtful companion can often be more important than trying to fit in as many films as possible.  The Sunday afternoon screening of Aki Kaurismaki's Le Havre was one of those screenings where the make-up of the audience added an extra, interesting layer to seeing the Finnish director's new tale of an elderly shoeshine and his ailing wife who take in a young African refugee who has escaped from a cargo hull in French seaport of Le Havre.  Le Havre is perhaps unique to most modern movies in that it's two primary characters are poor septuagenarians, an aspect we couldn't help but ignore when the theatre was suddenly inundated with a rather sizable class of school kids around 13 or 14, all in uniform that suggested some sort of military academy field trip.  There was the typical loud whispering across the isles, and one girl, with the kind of adrenaline fueled clumsiness that often arises on junior high field trips, tripped over one of her classmates, bashing headlong into the back of my seat.  Not your typical CIFF audience members, but aside from some mild annoyance, a refreshing change of pace.

Andre Wilms and Kati Outinen in Le Havre

Deliberately paced and lit, patient in its narrative, dry in its humor, Le Havre is what those of us who have at least some experience with Kaurismaki have come to expect...but what would a 13 year-old Military academy student make of this?  Part of me would like to think that somewhere in that group there is a future film maker who may not have even known what to make of it, or even enjoyed it, but the experience of seeing something that is speaking in a language so singular and outside of the mainstream prepped their mind for great works of film art to come;  that the weird film they saw that day on a mandatory school outing changed his perceptions for the better somehow.  Of course, Le Havre does have a similarly young central character, Idrissa (Blondin Niguel), the African refugee who Wilms's character, Marcel Marx, helps to hide from the stereotypically trench-coated and fedora brimmed detective on the case, Monet (Jean-Pierre Darroussin).  Over the course of the narrative, Marx's wife, Arletty, is admitted to the hospital for an unknown illness.  The character of Arletty is a fascinating one, certainly the wiser of the two, quietly devoted to her somewhat childish husband, she requests that Kafka be read to her by friends who visit her bedside.  Marx also lovingly tends to her, all the while hiding Idrissa from the cops while mending an aging rock 'n' roll couple's relationship in order to arrange a benefit concert to raise enough money to covertly transport the boy by boat back to his family.  Le Havre seems joyfully, defiantly grounded in the lives of it's elderly subjects, marked most significantly by a lengthy sequence where Kaurismaki allows us to jam out with an elderly local rocker in a rather SNL-movie style climax, a benefit concert hailing "The Return of Little Bob."

Aki Kaurismaki and Little Bob at Cannes

Le Havre may turn out to be a bit too sweet, maybe even naive in its politics, for some viewers, but aesthetically the film is a success, evoking the mis-en-scene and melodramatic musical tone of the silent era (deliberately contrasting the blue collar rock of Little Bob).  Kaurismaki is also the director of 1989's Leningrad Cowboys Go America, and 2002's The Man Without a Past.

Up Next:  Panel Discussion - Art as Activism featuring Alex Kotlowitz, writer and producer of the Steve James documentary The Interrupters.

  

CIFF Diary: Day 2, pt. 3 - Growing Up with Tradition in the Modern World

10/8 - The Forgiveness of Blood is the new feature from the director of 2004's Maria Full of Grace, Joshua Marston.  Marston's skill as a director has also been honed through various television projects, and in his latest film (which has finished screening at the CIFF), he achieves some beautiful moments of direction through a limited number of locations, allowing us access to the small town day-to-day of modern, rural Albania.  The landscape of the film is established gorgeously, and the carefully paced way in which we come to know the members of the family at the heart of the film's conflict is one of the most well executed aspects.  Nik and Rudina are the brother and sister central to the drama, who have their lives changed when their father and uncle kick up old land disputes with one of their neighbors, a bitter and armed rival.  When the rival neighbor is killed, the father, who we spend much of the opening of the film with, delivering bread on his daily route in a rickety, horse-drawn cart, is forced to adhere to Albanian law and tradition, which keeps him in hiding and his family from going out into the community.

Rudina - The Forgiveness of Blood

I particularly loved the performance of the young actress who played Rudina, as we see her transform  from a teenager who can't contain her excitement about what she learned in school that day, as she rambles home with her father in the old cart, to the driver of the cart, having to make deals with shopkeepers that force her into a new realm of adulthood in the absence of her father.  Her brother, Nik, who has just begun courting a young girl at school, is really at the center of the narrative, and the consequences of the violence in the film ultimately land most squarely on him.  When the film has to deal with Nik being sequestered in his own home, although we empathize with his youthful plight, the film falters a bit in its pacing, while still leaving some seemingly crucial aspects unexplained.

The Forgiveness of Blood

 The Forgiveness of Blood is a film that is perhaps difficult to access for those not a bit familiar with Albanian tradition and law.  One of the terms that is used quite extensively, but never fully explained, is the concept of a "Besa," which would help the family become free of their exile.  Although I am not quite sure what a "Besa" is exactly, there are a number of concepts in the film that communicate across cultures, particularly when it comes to the serious consequences of land disputes, which, in Forgiveness, seem ridiculously small.  For Nik and Rudina their youth is initially shown to us in a very modern, positive context, and then contrasted by the harsh realities of traditions that they must adhere to, yet cannot possibly understand.  In this way, this small film evokes not only the sadness of the conflict over the borders of Albania, but also Israel, Northern Ireland, and any country still experiencing a violent, seemingly implacable conflict.

Nik - The Forgiveness of Blood

Special thanks to Husni Ashiku, my Albanian screening partner on this one.  Thanks for a thoughtful day of movie-going, overall, but particularly for your insight on this film.  


Up Next:  Aki Kaurismaki's Le Havre

CIFF Diary: Day 2, pt. 2 - On Nipples, Gen Y, Narcissism, Serial Rape and Murder

10/8 - Barely 3 minutes had passed between the kind smile of Eduardo Nunes, giving an insightful Q&A for his beautiful first film Southwest, and the opening image of American Translation:  the back of a murdered head lying motionless in the dirt; a strangled male prostitute.  The murderer, we quickly discover, is Chris, (Pierre Perrier) the narcissistic, lap-dancing serial killer at the center of American Translation.  Chris soon hooks up with the Mallory to his Mickey when he finds Aurore (Lizzie Brochere), a French/American little rich girl with nothing to rebel against (we know this because she tells us that when you're a little rich girl you have nothing to rebel against) .  Bored by her father's business dealings one afternoon, Aurore steals away to the ladies room of a ritzy hotel that Chris has wandered into.  It' s love at first sight, and Chris follows Aurore into the ladies room, where, in a lengthy take of the two of them kissing for the first time, we get the first taste of the kind of languorous, dangerous young love that we are going to be way too close to for the next 90 or so minutes.

Aurore and Chris meet in American Translation

I think it is the intention of the directors, Pascal Arnold and Jena Marc-Barr (who also plays Lizzie's father) to put us uncomfortably close to the two, in an attempt to get us to feel as if we are swept up, as they are, in the amoral whirlwind of sex and violence that comes and goes through the course of the film.  Maybe I sat too close to the screen, but midway through their opening kiss scene, I was over living in the world of these two characters.  After a few more scenes, I had decided that most porn has less nipple exposure than American Translation.  Don't get me wrong.  Like most people, I love nipples...but nipples--like elbows and fingers and toes--are attached to people, and living so closely to these particular nipples was making me uncomfortable with nipples.

Aurore and Chris posture in American Translation

Chris and Aurore's journey is really one where Aurore goes along with all of Chris's pleasure-seeking routine in a completely affect-less manner, which includes picking up boy prostitutes, sometimes taking them home for a threesome, sometimes taking them to the woods, anally raping them, and strangling them to death.  The wide shots of Chris's van, as it travels the outskirts of Paris, to and fro, are a relief from the nauseating propinquity of the whole journey.  I kind of felt like wiping their hair out of my face when it was over.

Aurore and Chris get close in the van - American Translattion

American Translation is a very low budget independent feature that does manage to achieve a consistent aesthetic vision, and I do believe that the actors are very committed to the psychology of these characters, which is, intentionally, incredibly shallow.  American Translation puts me in a difficult place critically, and one that I think we find ourselves in often:  In the case of Pierre Perrier, the question becomes, when you dislike a character so much what kind of credit does that actor/director deserve for getting that character so right?  In the case of Aurore, who really has nothing going on--no interests, desires, skills, etc.--how much praise do we give her for diving into that puddle of psychological exploration?  In some ways, this critique might parallel the way in which Chris loves sex with guys, but is also compelled to murder that aspect of his sexuality.  With American Translation being part of the CIFF's OUTrageous programming that focuses on LGBT issues, the characterizations here might be problematic for some viewers, even though I'm not trying to make the argument that all gay film has to present positive gay role models, be overtly political, or be any one thing in particular.  Still, as I'm writing this on National Coming Out Day, and thinking of my partner Jen Salamone who is currently the director of the LGBT center at UM Flint, working to help college students deal with that always difficult issue of confronting sexual identity, seeing a film like American Translation, which could so easily be used as another piece of evidence for the misguided argument that homosexuality is synonymous with perversity and violence, is a bit disheartening.  Ultimately, although I want to give credit where credit is due in terms of the effectiveness of the overall aesthetic, I have a feeling the people who like the film might defend it for the same reasons it put me off.

Up Next:  The Forgiveness of Blood  

CIFF Diary: Day 2 - Birth and Death in a Day

10/8 - What immediately strikes one about Southwest is the captivating texture of the black and white cinematography, as the camera tracks carefully across a grove of dried weeds, revealing a horse and driver making their way to the town of Southwest; a poor, remote Brazilian village that is the singular location of Eduardo Nunes's inventive first film.  The texture and beauty of those images are a lot of what carries Southwest for it's first few acts, and although I was a bit concerned that it's aesthetic quality, combined with the magical-realist conceit of it's premise, were perhaps not going to be enough to lead us to a satisfactory conclusion, the film became truly transcendent in it's final movements, with an ending that is a stunning meditation on the place where the mysteries of death and memory converge with the light and sound of cinema.

The synopsis for Southwest in the festival guide lets us in on the unique narrative device of the film:  a female experiences her entire life in a single day, while those around her stay in their everyday plane of existence.  This is done through a subtle substitution of actresses along the way, each one coming off as remarkably consistent.  The film succeeds in this rather difficult exercise of character exploration primarily because of the time the director takes to build visual elements that resonate with greater force as the film follows its linear path.  Visually, the film felt firmly rooted in the tradition of Tarr and Tarkovsky, although the use of music tended to break from that tradition, at times seeming to leap out of nowhere from what was an otherwise entirely effective aural design.  

A special congratulations to Nunes, who attended the screening and answered questions afterward, informing us that it took ten years to raise the money for Southwest, his first film, and that the CIFF screening was happening before any of the actors or crew had even seen the film.  I hope as many eyes as possible fall on Southwest at the CIFF, as it is sure to offer something up for anyone who sees it, particularly if you like a bit of a meta-cinematic vibe. 

Up Next:  American Translation    

CIFF Diary: Day 1, pt. 2 - There's a killer on the loose?

10/7 - Billed as the first horror-slasher flick out of Israel, Aharon Keshales and Navot Papushado's Rabies may be one of the great sleeper films of the festival, and one that may even interest those who aren't fans of horror.  That doesn't mean you're not going to squeal and jump and maybe spit some coke through your nose, because Rabies employs some incredibly effective horror technique that doesn't play as a tired re-tread, but, in nearly every instance, had the Friday night audience jumping out of their seats.

The killer?

The beauty of Rabies is that it introduces itself unapologetic-ally as a classic slasher film homage, which, at least for me, is not an interesting proposition, given where we've been over the last decade with constant re-treads and reboots of horror franchises, but Rabies then manages to stay afloat through it's first act due to the quality of it's performances and genuine humor.  From there, the film transforms, almost imperceptibly, into something that transcends the trappings of the slasher/killer-on-the-loose genre.  Also, as you might imagine, the cultural roots of the film are important to how we read all of this, particularly because the film adheres so faithfully to American genre conventions throughout it's first third:  a killer in the woods, a young girl trapped in a deadly chamber, a pair of goofy, shady cops, a carload of tennis playing, horny teens who have to pull off the beaten path to take a leak...we've seen it all before.  But, eventually the film makes moves that highlight it's specific cultural identity in some interesting ways--for example, contrasting the Straw Dogs-esque device of the bear trap with a similar scene involving a land mine.  Both of the scenes involving these devices are equally, gleefully cringe inducing...but one of them significantly re-frames the film culturally from that point on.

The killer?

Usually I don't worry too much about "spoiling" on ECSTATIC, but with Rabies I will just say that the traditional trajectory of the horror film gets subverted in some very effective ways; sometimes a bit disturbing, often very funny.  And, I don't want to give the impression that the film has a "who-done-it?" structure;  Rabies spoils that aspect for itself as the face of the "killer-on-the-loose" is revealed very early on, in rather unceremonious fashion.  Ultimately, Rabies reads to me as a pretty potent political film, using the question of "Who is the real killer?" to reflect back on the violence of the country from which it was born.  It does this with gory, and sometimes perverse, abandon, but I think there is an intelligent wink behind this film that saves it from the frequent vulgarity and misogyny of so much current horror.  I think Rabies has bigger goals in regards to what it wants to provoke in it's audiences, and even though it is really good at providing scares it may also stick with you as one of the most effective pieces of social commentary at the fest. 

Up next:  Southwest   

CIFF Diary: Day 1 - It's the End of the World as We Know It (and I feel...like Lars Von Trier hates us)

10/7 -  I can't say I was particularly energized after the 4  1/2 hour trip from Michigan, but I'm sorry to report that the second half of the first film of my CIFF journey, Lars Von Trier's Melancholia, nearly put me to sleep.  Until, of course, Von Trier spitefully, almost comically, cranked up the volume on the film score to "11" in a seemingly deliberate attempt to wake  up the entire packed house of the AMC River East 21, in what seemed like a nearly unprecedented bit of technical tomfoolery. So, was it the car ride, or was it the movie?  Damning a film for being "slow" is not really my thing, but, dammit, the second "tych" of Von Trier's new "diptych"  is a slog that makes you wonder if the rather remarkable achievements of the first half were even worth it.

Kirsten Dunst in Melancholia

Allow me to backtrack:  the opening of Melancholia may stand as one of the most sumptuous and breathtaking moments of the entire CIFF, but the film as a whole may simultaneously stand as one of the most hated.  Of course, Von Trier's contempt for humanity has been a much talked about subject as of late, but forget his Cannes ramblings about the Nazi party--the real contempt may be found right in his latest film.  The aspects of Melancholia that are successful range form the spot-on performances of Kirsten Dunst, Keifer Sutherland (maybe his best performance?), and Alexander Skarsgard to the breathtaking opening montage, which evokes the stylistic imagery of advertising culture, a world that Dunst's character, we later learn, is employed in.  The supporting cast is fantastic, featuring Von Trier regular Stellan Skarsgard, Charlotte Rampling, John Hurt, and, in a particularly hilarious turn, Udo Kier.  The problem with Melancholia is that within the first 90 minutes or so of the film there lies a perfectly fine new Von Trier entry--gorgeous visually and playfully subversive in it's depiction of a filthy rich wedding reception that, character by character, reveals with elegant pacing the dysfunction underneath the dressed-up surfaces, evoking, in it's finest moments, the Renoir masterwork The Rules of the Game.  And, oh yeah, the world might end due to a planet called Melancholia that is headed right for us.

Melancholia (the planet) in Melancholia (the movie).

Then, we get to part II:  "Claire."  Claire is the wound-tight sister to Dunst's character, Justine, and is played by Charlotte Gainsbourg, who was also featured in Von Trier's last film, Antichrist, and who is very good in both pictures.  Unfortunately, she gets featured in the half of the film that doesn't work, and that also begins to reveal Von Trier's truly snide ugliness as a filmmaker.  I won't say cynicism, because I don't think cynicism is necessarily a bad thing, and there may be those that read Von Trier's finale in Melancholia as a compassionate gesture in the face of hopelessness by Justine.  Also, Von Trier may be playing some Godard-ian games with pacing, which is a major issue for a good forty minutes of the film, but if that's the case, as with a few of the lesser Godard experiments, I don't want to play.  Melancholia is one of those rare examples of a film that has such tremendous tension between what is unforgettable about it and what is entirely resentful, and often just sloppy, that I've kind of been living in critical limbo with it since the screening.  It certainly has tended to eclipse other films in conversation, although I think the picture that followed on my opening night, although much smaller in scope, may have been more successful in what it set out to achieve...

Up next:  Rabies

A Trailer a Day

Headed out for Chicago!

Here's a trailer for each day of the fest.  Tonight at midnight, it's the film that's being billed as the first horror film out of Israel, Rabies (dir., Aharon Keshales, Navot Papushado):

10/8 - Martha Marcy May Marlene (dir. Sean Durkin), starring Elizabeth Olsen:

 10/9 - Tyrannosaur (dir. Paddy Considine)

10/10 - Day is Done (dir., Thomas Imbach)

10/11 - L.A. Raeven:  Behind the Image (dir., Lisa Boerstra)

10/12 - Smuggler (dir. Katsuhito Ishii)

10/13 - Kinyarwanda (dir, Alrick Brown)

10/14 - Bonsai (dir., Christian Jiminez)

10/15 - Here (dir., Braden King)

10/16 - Natural Selection (dir., Robbie Pickering)

10/17 - Valley of the Forgotten (dir., Maria Raduan)

10/18 - Target (dir., Alexander Zeldovich)

And, as for 10/19...will the Surprise Event be worth the extra night???