The 55th Chicago International Film Festival: Round 2
Isadora’s Children (Damien Manivel)
Of all the films I got to see at CIFF, “Isadora’s Children” was my favorite. I went into Damien Manivel’s meditative, hypnotic dance film completely blind as to what it was about. In some ways, the film never told me, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. It follows four modern women who become immersed in the life of the early 20th century French dancer Isadora Duncan. Without giving away the unexpected (yet entirely welcome) turns the film takes, I will say that the story is a remembrance of an insurmountable tragedy Duncan suffered during her life and how her loss was translated into a dance movement so beautiful it continues to astonish a century later. I cannot guarantee every viewer will be touched by this film the way I was, but if my recommendation counts for anything, let it steer you towards Manivel’s film.
The Girl On the Third Floor (Travis Stevens)
To the film’s credit, it promises to be a horror film driven by ideas, and the viewer gets a sense it wants to be. It stabs at being more than just a conventional haunted-house flick, but by the end, it feels like every other gore-fest, albeit with a surprisingly great performance from Phil Brooks, most popularly known as the former WWE Superstar C.M. Punk. Brooks was an enormously gifted in-ring entertainer, and his experience translates well to screen. There’s a classic manipulativeness to his performance. The viewer wishes the film were as unpredictable as he is.
The Painted Bird (Vaclav Marhoul)
The most relentlessly disturbing and depressing WWII film since Elem Klimov’s “Come and See”. Anybody who has read Jerzy Kosinski’s troubled masterpiece of the same name will know to expect unshakable moments of depravity, but like the novel, “The Painted Bird” is full of moments of grace. Marhoul’s film, for all of its painful and shocking imagery, is never grotesque or out-of-line; it is a film that manages to pay tribute to the innocence of youth even as it shows the viewer the utter annihilation of a young boy’s humanity. The black-and-white cinematography by Vladimír Smutný is immense and unforgettable, and the lack of any musical score forces the viewer into the madness depicted on-screen. It is a hard film to recommend, but it is an undeniable, colossally moving experience.
Hala (Minhal Baig)
One of my favorite films of the festival, “Hala” is the story of a young Muslim woman in her last year of high school. The titular character (played by an incredibly moving Geraldine Viswanathan) navigates young love, literature, disapproving parents, and the maddening pursuit of experience with quiet intensity. The film’s power is rooted in discovery and change, and I felt every triumph and punch writer/director Minhal Baig had to give. You must keep an eye out for this truly gifted writer/director.
Nefta Football Club (Yves Piat)
The only short film I saw at CIFF, and it’s a visually gorgeous, naturally funny bite of storytelling. Yves Piat gives viewers a bizarrely original story about two brothers in Tunisia who come across a donkey wearing a nice set of headphones on the border of Algeria. The exact reason why the donkey is rocking out to some tunes is the reason you should watch it; it’s genuinely clever. It’s over before you know it, but it packs a pure, uncynical punchline that’ll send you away wishing more movies thought this way. If you like shorts, you’ll like this.
Forman vs. Forman (Helena Třeštíková, Jakub Hejna)
A documentary about a legendary director who is often overlooked and underappreciated in the story of film. Czech filmmaker Milos Forman won the Best Director Oscar for two immortal movies (“One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” and “Amadeus”), but his creative journey hasn’t been the focus of many film scholars (probably because we, as a filmgoing society, have become more and more disillusioned with the Academy Awards). Forman deserved to win on both occasions, and this immersive dive into his life—from his devastating upbringing to his daringly subversive youth—gives viewers a beautiful glance at what it takes to prevail as an artist in a world that, frankly, doesn’t care if you sink or swim. It is a brief documentary constructed as a memoir, allowing rare footage of Forman from the past and present to speak for him. The wise voice of this recently departed master is worth any film lover’s time.
