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Movie Reviews

Want to learn more about the films we’re screening at UICA?

Tune in to watch movie reviews by our very own Film Coordinator, Nick Hartman as well as cameos from local and regional film aficionados and cinema lovers.

Learn more about why we booked the film, why we think it’s important, and interesting facts about the filmmaking process.

Interested in participating in a review? Contact Nick at

Gimme Danger (2016)

Gimme Danger
Nick Hartman, UICA Film Coordinator

From the first time I heard The Stooges’ self-titled album, to the first viewing of Jim Jarmusch’s dry film, Coffee and Cigarette’s, I knew that Iggy Pop and Jim Jarmusch would have an indelible impact on my life.


Iggy Pop and Jim Jarmusch are both staples in the entertainment industry and are known for pushing boundaries. Iggy’s on-stage antics like carving an “X” into his chest before performances, encouraging the audience to tear down fences at concerts, and using vacuum cleaners as instruments has made him a legend. Jarmusch, has taken a quieter approach to “boundary pushing” by rejecting commercial storytelling by focusing on social misfits while highlighting moments that other filmmakers might take for granted


Gimme Danger is crafted carefully and is well thought out. We get to experience life with Iggy Pop and The Stooges as if we’re part of the band. The film does not rely on archival footage and the audience is encouraged to use their imagination to better understand the context of The Stooges’ world. 


Film Synopsis:

Emerging from Ann Arbor Michigan amidst a counter cultural revolution, The Stooges’ powerful and aggressive style of rock-n-roll blew a crater in the musical landscape of the late 1960s. Assaulting audiences with a blend of rock, blues, R&B, and free jazz, the band planted the seeds for what would be called punk and alternative rock in the decades that followed. Jim Jarmusch’s new film Gimme Danger chronicles the story of The Stooges, one of the greatest rock-n-roll bands of all time. Gimme Danger presents the context of the Stooges emergence musically, culturally, politically, historically, and relates their adventures and misadventures while charting their inspirations and the reasons behind their initial commercial challenges, as well as their long-lasting legacy.

Directed By: Jim Jarmusch  
Genre: Documentary | Art-House
Run Time: 108 Minutes
MPAA Rating: NR
Origin:  USA

Gimme Danger is screening in the UICA Movie Theater Nov 4, 2016 – Nov 17, 2016

A Man Called Ove (2016)

A Man Called Ove
Holly Garrison

annes Holm’s adaption of the internationally best-selling novel by Fredrik Backman has beckoned new life into the grumpy elder archetype in A Man Called Ove. This comedic drama follows the solitary life of Ove, a short-tempered, surly man who is stuck in the past and doesn’t look positively on the future.

We are introduced to Ove (Rolf Lassgård) bickering with a store cashier over the validity of a coupon for flowers. He immediately becomes outraged by not receiving the discount he expected and his sour nature is clear; Ove is not a man that will put up with nonsense. Ove is not just a bitter old man, but someone that has lost all lust for life after the passing of his wife. Ove’s days are limited and the film explores his torment: to make the most of what is left in life or to commit suicide and join Sonja, his wife, in death. 

The newly-widowed and unemployed Ove fills his day with tedious and comical rituals that surround his self-granted position of neighborhood monitor. His daily routine involves checking the stability of fences, chasing away feral cats, and ensuring that the car-free status of the community is upheld (usually accomplished by yelling at unwelcome drivers). Though it satisfies Ove to maintain order, he rarely does so with a smile. Ove returns to a tidy but quiet home haunted by past memories of Sonja. Her clothes still hang in the closet and her portrait sits on a shelf watching over him.

When not performing his neighborhood rounds, Ove visits the grave of his wife, venting aloud about the idiots he was forced to endure that day as he tidies her headstone. It is here that we see why the flower coupon was so important to him as he switches out the previous day’s shriveled bouquet for a fresh one. With each visit, Ove promises Sonja that he will be reunited with her soon.

Ove’s usual routine is upheaved when he is burdened with new neighbors, a chipper young couple with two young girls and another on the way. Ove resents their gregarious nature and initially shuns their kind gestures. The wife, Parvaneh (Bahar Pars), is a bold individual with whom Ove develops an unusual opposites-attract friendship. Parvaneh coaxes him out of the fortress he has built around himself and into a world where he can learn to find happiness in the company of others again.

Rolf Lassgård’s depiction of Ove is complex and convincing; the depth he brings to the character shows how intricate the emotions of the familiar angry old man can be once his past is understood. The additional characters that complement Ove are an impressive bunch. Each individual is uniquely and skillfully portrayed to create an immersive world with authentic inhabitants. Visually, the film has a compelling use of color that provides commentary on Ove’s mental state; his world seems a little brighter in his flashbacks when Sonja was still at his side. The cinematography is simple and pleasing, working as an appropriate counterpart for the narrative to be expressed as effectively as possible.

A Man Called Ove masterfully juxtaposes the bleak moments of Ove’s isolation with the tender memories he clings to of his marriage; the film beautifully encapsulates the tragedy of loss and the empowerment of companionship. Despite the emotional nature of the narrative, its successfully delivers as an immensely funny comedy. In short, A Man Called Ove is the perfect balance of hilarious, heartwarming, and cathartically melancholy. I suggest you bring a tissue or two.

A Man Called Ove is screening in the UICA Movie Theater November 11 - 22, 2016. 

Phantasm (1979): Remastered

Nick Hartman, UICA Film Coordinator


Everyone knows of Freddy Krueger and Jason Voorhees but not many about the "Tall Man" who happens to have come before both. Phantasm isn’t just a blockbuster-blood-bath featuring terrorized teens, it’s a horrific, surrealist fantasy that takes you on a journey of reality vs. imagination with it’s use of non-linear editing, a spine tingling soundtrack, and mind-bending imagery. 

Released in 1979, Phantasm was ultimately a flop at the box office, but as soon as it hit home video, it became an immediate cult classic and has a large number of dedicated fans. Hollywood director JJ Abrams (Star Wars: The Force Awakens) happens to be one of those fanatics and now, 37 years later, he’s collaborated with Phantasm’s director Don Coscarelli to give fans (and a new generation of horror enthusiasts) the chance to see it on the big screen with a new 4K restoration and 5.1 soundtrack.

If this one doesn’t scare you, you’re already dead…

Phantasm Synopsis:
When Mike witnesses some sinister creatures stealing corpses from the local cemetery, he and his older brother Jody explore the mausoleum, where they find that the mortician (Angus Scrimm), a towering, emaciated figure with superhuman strength, has somehow bridged the gap between Earth and the afterworld and needs fresh corpses. Mike and Jody's allies die off one by one, until only they are left to defend humankind against the nefarious "Tall Man" and his army of cloaked creatures.

Phantasm is playing in the UICA Movie Theater for ONE NIGHT ONLY on October 26, 2016.

The Alchemist Cookbook (2016)

The Alchemist Cookbook  
by Josh Spanninga

Joel Potrykus’s third feature length film The Alchemist Cookbook finds the Grand Rapids-based director solidifying his reputation as micro-budget auteur, while delving into some of the darkest subject matter of his career. The movie follows Sean (Ty Hickson) as he stays holed up in his trailer in the backwoods of Allegan, Michigan. Isolated, he obsessively pursues his studies of alchemy to turn lead to gold and amass his own fortune. As his medication runs out desperation and paranoia kick in, causing Sean to turn to black magic to reach his goals. But instead of discovering the wealth he desires Sean stumbles across an ancient evil far more sinister than he bargained for.

If this sounds anything like a standard, conventional horror film, I can assure you it most certainly is not. The Alchemist Cookbook is a strange sort of hybrid. The first half of the film can more accurately be described as a paranoid drama with a generous dose of dark humor; the second half remains firmly planted in the horror genre, albeit Potrykus’s own offbeat version of it.


The film opens with Sean standing in front of his ramshackle trailer in the woods, working on his generator. As he pulls the cord and the generator roars to life a hip hop track from Detroit rapper Esham kicks in and sets the movie into motion. We’re quickly introduced to Sean’s life’s work as he slices at batteries and cooks vials of colorful liquids in his makeshift stovetop-lab. It’s obvious from the get-go he is deeply embroiled in his alchemic endeavors, but how he got here, well, that’s hard to tell.

The audience does get small insights into Sean’s history. Early on we see a picture of what can be presumed is his family; later we see a stack of letters requesting court appearances, and pill bottles filled with unspecified medication. While these clues are laid out in plain sight it’s up to the audience to piece these bits of information together and come up with their own version of Sean’s murky backstory. It’s a brilliant method of storytelling that invites the audience to interact with the film and inspect each and every detail in an effort to make sense of what’s going on. It also ensures that the viewer will find new things to mull over with each subsequent viewing.

Potrykus further eschews conventional storytelling for a good portion of the movie by having the camera follow Sean around in menial, and seemingly random day-to-day activities. While the movie certainly plays out in linear fashion, these scenes feel like less a way to progress the plot, and more of a way to give intimate glimpses into Sean’s character and broken psyche. Left alone in the woods Sean dances on fallen trees, splashes carelessly through puddles, and stops to gaze at the sunset over a small lake. In contrast, when his cousin Cortez (portrayed hilariously by Amari Cheatom) shows up with supplies, Sean is markedly withdrawn, reserved, and jumps at the chance to chastise Cortez for any discrepancies between his grocery list and the supplies Cortez brought to the woods. It is through his actions we can surmise Sean has become accustomed to isolation, and prefers to interact with the outside world as little as possible. He prefers to live in a pleasantly anarchic world untainted by societal pressures and rules.

Cortez, on the other hand, is a loud-mouthed, wanna-be gangsta whose interests include monogrammed jackets, bling, and the Schwarzenegger/Belushibuddy-cop classic Red Heat. In many ways Cortez attempts to be Sean’s lifeline to civilized society; not only does he bring Sean food and supplies, he also brings mixtapes, movies, and plenty of conversation. He also brings comedic relief to the film in his off-the-cuff remarks and antics (including an unforgettable scene that involves cat food, dares, and macho pride). Of course, as the film progresses into darker territory, so do the characters of both Sean and Cortez. 

When the time does come to scare the audience Potrykus isn’t lazy about it. He doesn’t resort to jump scares, CGI creatures, or other such crutches horror movies rely upon so much as of late. Instead, Potrykus prefers to employ psychological scare tactics of films such as Rosemary’s Baby, The Blair Witch Project, or House of the Devil, all films that arguably leave the scariest moments up to the audience’s imagination. Off-screen sound is utilized in ways that will send shivers down your spine. A shadowy figure may sway behind a tree, but it’s just enough out of sight so we can’t make out many features. Potrykus effectively hints at the terror that’s present, and again allows the audience to fill in the rest of the spooky details themselves.

While I have enjoyed many aspects of Potrykus’s past projects, I found The Alchemist Cookbook to be his most cohesive, enjoyable film yet. It is undeniably a Potrykus production brimming with familiar themes of paranoia, delusions, and isolation, all served with a generous dose of junk food and biting dark humor. From the eclectic soundtrack (blasted almost exclusively from Sean’s boombox) to the tight script and brilliant cinematography, every aspect of the film converges to bring to fruition a wholly unique vision and mood. In short, The Alchemist Cookbook is a film that takes conventional horror ideas and turns them on their head. It may not appeal to everyone, but those of us who are willing to let Potrykus guide us through his twisted dark fantasies are on a surefire path to find cinematic gold.  

The Alchemist Cookbook is screening in the UICA Movie Theater Oct 14, 2016 – Oct 27, 2016.


The Innocents (2016)

The Innocents
by Mitch F. Anderson

From its opening scene, Anne Fontaine’s The Innocents establishes itself as a film about a difficult topic, one that has remained relevant throughout our history and one that will likely remain relevant for generations to come; the reckoning of one’s beliefs and devotions in the face of a society that has seemingly rejected them. In The Innocents’ opening moments, a convent of nuns in 1945 Poland gathers to practice their hymnals. As they sing, a prolonged scream is heard from somewhere within the convent walls. As the screaming continues and grows even more pained and animalistic, the singing also continues, despite the visible discomfort of several of the nuns. It is a powerful, impressive metaphor, one whose placement at the very beginning of the film would seem almost too easy if the rest of the film’s dynamic portrayal of faith and devotion in relation to personal shame and societal pressure didn’t extend beyond simply “looking the other way”.

The film’s plot concerns members of the convent asking for the help of Mathilde (Lou de Laage), a French Red Cross surgeon assisting Polish victims of the Holocaust. When Mathilde visits the convent, she makes a horrifying discovery: several of the sisters are in the late stages of pregnancy following an invasion by Soviet soldiers and their subsequent rapes of the sisters at the end of the War, and are increasingly unable to hide their pregnancies from the outside world. When the convent’s Reverend Mother (Agata Kulezsa) is confronted by Mathilde, an avowed atheist, about the situation, she tells her that the shame and scandal that would come with revealing the sisters’ circumstances and seeking help or justice would be overwhelming for the convent and damage its moral fiber beyond repair, reluctantly agreeing to arrange foster care for the infants once Mathilde helps deliver them in secret. Mathilde must also grapple with the affections of a fellow physician and whether or not to alert him the the nuns’ predicament, her own emotional awakening in the face of the nuns’ continued devotion, and the continued presence of the Soviet Army, keeping a close eye on the French’s aid effort and posing a threat to Mathilde should her plan be discovered.


There is no weak link in the film’s cast, with all actors giving performances that sidestep what these characters would be and how they would behave in a more simplistic, straightforward film. de Laâge, a French actress who between this and last year’s fantastic Breathe seems poised for an international breakout, embodies Mathilde with a multilayered sense of humanity minus any pluckiness or hotheaded confrontation, an embodiment of the long-held doctor’s creed to “first do no harm”. Kulezsa, a remarkable actress previously seen in 2014’s Ida, gives the Reverend Mother a true sense of weight and inner turmoil about the situation presented to her, raising her above simple “hero” or “villain” caricatures that dot most pop culture depictions. The lived-in dynamics she displays with the assorted actresses playing the convent’s sisters convey a deeper truth, and make the film’s underlying question of faith all the more difficult to examine: why wouldn’t a group of devout women assume that a horrible event like this was something their God wanted to happen to them?

Most impressively with material of this stature, Fontaine achieves a true blending of emotion and tone; though never a “light” watch, The Innocents invests the chilly weight its settings and circumstances deserve, matched by Fontaine’s Wintery frames that are enough the give the viewer a shiver, yet resists the trap of cold, expressionless misery that more often than not plays as dull to the viewer in films such as this. These characters have moments of true joy, and moments of utter tragedy and defeat. By its surprisingly powerful final scene, in which the film’s already multi-faceted title earns yet another dimension, Fontaine has proven herself a master of tone, and a keen observer of one of life’s basic truths; tragedy cannot exist without hope, and hope cannot exist without tragedy.

The Innocents is screening in the UICA Movie Theater August 26th – September 8th. 

Men & Chicken (2016)

Men & Chicken
by Ryan Gimarc

You can’t really be prepared for Men & Chicken. Or at least, I wasn’t. If you’re expecting a frolicking three-stooges-style physical comedy, you’ll get a few more emotional beats than you had anticipated. If you’re expecting a smart, Lanthimos-style cut of a metaphor about society, you aren’t wrong; but there’s just a lot more hitting each other with stuffed foxes, too. 

Brothers Gabriel (David Dencik) and Elias (Mads Mikkelsen) are both a little odd (Elias far moreso), and it all begins to make more sense after the death of their father. In the traditional “videotape from the grave” format, the boys’ father tells them that he is not their real father, and that their true parentage can be found on the small Island of Ork, in the giant, rundown home of a formerly disgraced scientist. Just like that, Gabriel and Elias find themselves on the front porch of their father’s house, being beaten mercilessly at the hands of their three half-brothers (Nikolaj Lie Kaas, Soren Malling, and Nicolas Bro). Over the rest of the runtime, the five new-found siblings learn what it’s like to live when more people like themselves, in a blend of physical violence, haunted house-type titillation, and outrageous character beats. 

For the most part, the film hums along as would be expected, even if a few of the character beats seemingly come out of nowhere. Much of the narrative feels like the inner pieces of a puzzle, wherein it’s difficult to clarify in the moment, but where Men & Chicken finishes during its third act is really a clear picture the closer we get to the closing credits. There are secrets in the house which are understood right as our two main characters arrive: they aren’t allowed upstairs, they aren’t allowed downstairs, they’ll surely go in the cage at some point. Hooks like these aren’t innovative, but at least they still give the film a sense of direction, if not any more purpose. 

And so while director Anders Thomas Jonsen’s comedy is a bit imbalanced, there’s a smidge more context that nearly gets lost around the edges. Gabriel and Elias are both introduced during the opening moments of the film in their element, which is to say alone and with little connection to the world around them. Gabriel sits at the edge of his dying father’s bed, looking comfortably alone and downtrodden, while Elias goes on what we learn is one in a procession of failed dates. The process of finding, meeting, and “bonding” with their half-brothers give them a feeling of relevancy, a theme reflected in the town itself, as the mayor of the Island of Ork struggles to (literally) keep the island on the map.

Men & Chicken doesn’t quite have the consistent tone necessary to be characterized as a fever dream, but sometimes it comes pretty darn close. Nevertheless, the film is unlike anything else you’ll see this year, with a comfortably bizarre Mads Mikkelsen leading a truly bizarre comedy. 

Men & Chicken is screening in the UICA Movie Theater Jun 10, 2016 – Jun 23, 2016.

The Lobster (2016)

By: Ryan J Gimarc

Just a handful of films into his directorial career, it’s important to note that Yorgos Lanthimos refuses to do anything halfway. In his 2009 film Dogtooth, the featured children live in an environment with nearly zero contact with the outside world, an accentuated and bewildering version of overparenting. In this newest (and much funnier) film, The Lobster, a larger-than-normal Colin Farrell butts heads with this same uncompromising logic. When checking into a hotel, he is asked if he is gay or straight, as there is no room for anything else. He is asked for his shoe size, and like with the movie itself, there are no half measures. In this world, you’re either single, or in a relationship. Would that it were so simple.

David (Colin Farrell) is newly single after his wife departs with another man, and is therefore sent to this unnamed hotel. Upon check-in, he’s told the rules of the lodge (even though he already has some awareness of it thanks to his brother). Here, he has 45 days to find a new partner. Should he fail to do so, he will be swiftly turned into an animal. In this world, the animals are as segmented by species as the humans are by their relationship status. One of the hotel directors informs him that if he is turned into a penguin, he can’t possibly live with a wolf, or a camel with a hippoppotamus. “That would be absurd. Think about it” she says, as deadpan as very nearly every character in the film, save the charming John C. Reilly as Lisping Man and Ben Whishaw as Limping Man (both also residents of the hotel). Should it not work out, David chooses a lobster. They live long, they’re blue-blooded, they stay fertile, and they live by the sea. Fair enough.

Certainly this can feel a bit on the nose. Lanthimos’ story begs for essays about the societal expectations of cohabitation and pairing, and also those which come with living alone. This facile interpretation isn’t wrong, and that reading of The Lobster is often what makes much of the film so bleakly funny (along with a few one-off slights, like that about electronic music). However, much of the commentary is far more nuanced, giving color to a world, which is otherwise quite cold and rigid. As Farrell tries to traverse two worlds, that of those coupling in the hotel and the world of the literal singles-only club he finds later in the film, he finds neither to be desirable in a way that’s both understandable and a bit melancholy.

In the end, it’s actually hard to believe how emotional a film The Lobster becomes. Farrell never breaks his deadpan, even when an eventual romance takes over the central premise in a move taking full advantage of Rachel Weisz’s immense talent. However, their pint-size rebellion against the inertia of the cruel world Lanthimos paints around them is somehow warm and tender, a development which I can’t guarantee the director was actually aiming for. As a whole, The Lobster serves plenty of metaphor alongside beautiful production design and a swath of great performances--one of the best films to be released so far as we near the halfway point of 2016.

 The Lobster is screening in the UICA Movie Theater Jun 3, 2016 – Jun 30, 2016


April and the Extraordinary World (2016)

by Patrick Feutz

The first animated film adaptation of the works of graphic novelist Jacques Tardi may lose the distinction of being his first film adaptation at all to Luc Besson’s live-action The Extraordinary Adventures of Adele Blanc-Sec in 2010, but co-directors Christian Desmares’ and Franck Ekinci’s April and the Extraordinary World more than makes up for the missed opportunity to call itself first by remaining remarkably loyal to the look and feel of Tardi’s work - and likely meeting Tardi’s approval, considering he’s credited as Graphic Creator for the film - rendering his steam swept, stopped-watch vision of an alternate early 20th century in a crisper, cleaner detail, all the better to goggle at Tardi’s mechanical contraptions born of boilers, bicycle chains, and blimps. It’s hard not to wonder what other marvels of stunted technology wait further down the gondola line past the twin Eiffel Towers central station, but the eyefuls of grubby industrialist cityscape delivered by the animation team are already a joy to behold as the eponymous heroine and others chase each other across a gaslamp fantasy Paris.

Flashing back to the eve of the Franco-Prussian War, we witness the halting point of history as we know it, with Napoleon III getting unceremoniously blown up during a disastrous visit to Gustave Franklin, a scientist whom the emperor charged to provide with an invincibility serum for his soldiers. Fast forward to 1931, then again to 1941, and we see the continuation of a dominant French Empire, a mechanized civilization operating in a blasted landscape under the command of Napoleon V. A better substitute for the Third Reich? Sure. But only insofar as it hasn’t decided to obliterate any one race of people in its desperate attempt to win the “Energy Wars” in which it’s been pitted, thanks to the mysterious disappearances of notable scientists throughout the decades, all of whom would have contributed to the development of newer, better technologies. If there’s anyone to remind us that France’s military pursuits were at one time on par with, or even greater than, the suicidal insanity of the Kaiser’s or the Fuhrer’s, many of his readers would be quick to point to Tardi, who’s well known for his pacifistic views and fixation on the horrors of World War I. So instead of genocide, Tardi offers a government that hunts down and conscripts what scientists remain to its cause, allowing for zero experimentation outside of the arms race. Hardly a model for sustainability, but disturbingly relevant in a world that still wavers on climate change and argues against funding for NASA.

It’s against this backdrop that we join the young April, granddaughter to Gustave Franklin and scientist in her own right, who was orphaned in 1931 when her researcher parents vanished in a freak electrical storm running from the police. With only her sick, talking cat Darwin for company, she seeks to recreate Gustave’s serum in time to heal her feline friend. Thanks to the intervention of bumbling police inspector Pizoni, who’s hell-bent on restoring his reputation after his pursuit of April’s parents ended in calamity, and aided by two-timing snitch Julius, she finds herself drawn deeper into the mystery of the world’s disappearing scientists as she runs from one gloriously over-engineered locale to another in an attempt to uncover the fate of her parents.

Throughout its many set pieces and interludes, April carries an air of self-satisfaction that never comes across as smugness, acting like a corrective to the bombast typical of North American animated features. Here there’s no impression that Desmares and Ekinci are trying to impress. Instead, April’s production team embody the essence of the tinkerer in his attic workroom, producing gadgets out of thin air as much for his own amusement as for ours. No amount of peril can squash the collective twinkle in their eyes as they strive to find the wry humor in their depictions of rampant consumerism and the physical comedy inherent to Tardi’s fantasy world’s goofily intricate machines. By eschewing the soap box, April avoids drawing too much attention to any one aspect of its being, be that its whimsical wonder at invention, its mature comprehension of subtext, its environmentalist angle, or its childish sense of adventure.

Far be it for some aspects to fly too far under the radar, though. The greater conflict to reveal itself amounts to a primal battle of the sexes, and April herself is a female role model for the ages. While some people busy themselves petitioning Disney about every princess under the sun, April is present and accounted for, a scrappy intellectual defined entirely by the quality of her mind. Even Julius, who dismisses her at first for being plain, and thus unworthy of his attention, is won over in the end, but his attraction to her takes a distant third place to April’s concern for her family and the world at large. Given the charm instilled by Tardi’s creation, she doesn’t come across as too proud, but selfless. The same could be said for April and the Extraordinary World in general, a film that embodies a lot of great ideas without being a brat about it.

April and the Extraordinary World is screening in the UICA Movie Theater May 20 - June 09, 2016

Creative Control (2015)

by Ryan J Gimarc

Creative Control is the cinematic equivalent of your cool best friend who knows just how cool they actually are. From a snappy title that just falls off your tongue, to the Helvetica-like typeface of the opening and closing credits, Benjamin Dickinson’s tribute to keeping your s--t together in the incredibly-near future feels familiar and comfortable, simply because of how comfortably put together it all is. 

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Life (2015)

by Nick Hartman

Life directed by Anton Crobijn has been given mixed reviews – both positive and negative. While some critics are saying it’s a humdrum film with dull performances that leave viewers frustrated, others are saying it’s charming, beautifully written and directed, and that the acting is excellent.

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Entertainment (2015)

by Josh Spanninga

In the past few years Rick Alverson has made a career out of subverting audience’s expectations and creating uncomfortable, confrontational films that experiment and defy conventional narratives. His latest film, Entertainment, finds Alverson managing to do all of this in what can be described as his most mature, well-rounded film yet. 

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The Assassin (2015)

by Ryan J. Gimarc

Much of The Assassin, Hou Hsiao-Hsien’s latest film derived from Tang Dynasty legend, operates not unlike the film’s title card. In deep cuts of red, the Chinese symbol depicting the film’s title lays atop the serenity of a pond, the crimson of the title laying on top of the orange hues of daybreak, the water reflecting the seemingly endless sky. Every part of the shot has been carefully captured into the relatively skinny 1:33 frame, and we hold this for no less than forty seconds. To say that The Assassin unfolds slowly is bit of a red herring—like Hou’s films often are, this movie is deliberate and stately, as though the characters are not just performing for the camera but for the director himself. I suppose, in a way, they are. 

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BAD*SS Women in Film

by Nick Hartman

I'm excited to announce November's line up of films and here’s why. When booking films for UICA, I simply look for the best independent cinema that I can get my hands on. It’s not often that I curate the films we show in the UICA Movie Theater based on a theme, but November is a different story. This month, we’re honoring leading ladies by celebrating BAD*SS Women in Film. 

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Drunk Stoned Brilliant Dead (2015)

by Joshua Brunsting

It’s safe to say that there are few, if any, moments in this nation’s history more formative than the start of the 1970s. Stuck in the middle of a seemingly never-ending and unwinnable war, a revolution was being waged in the culture, finding younger and younger voices speaking out in new, aggressively antagonistic and boundary pushing ways.

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Queen of Earth (2015)

by Josh Spanninga

Alex Ross Perry, writer/director of last year’s Listen Up Phillip further cements his status as up-and-coming-director-to-take-note-of with his latest release Queen of Earth. Both films use heavy sardonic dialogue and wit to cut to the bone, but while Listen Up Phillip did so in a darkly humorous way, Queen of Earth strives (and succeeds) to create an atmosphere far more unnerving. 

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The Look of Silence (2014)

by Ryan J. Gimarc

It’s not an overstatement to say that where the U.S. had slavery and northern Europe had the Holocaust, Indonesia had the anti-communist purge of the mid-1960s. These events have a significant and obvious impact on current Indonesian society, and in Joshua Oppenheimer’s latest film about the mass killings, The Look of Silence, one word is omnipresent in conversations about the country’s dark history: wound.

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Affliction (1997)

by Victoria Mullen and Deb Havens

Nothing shrieks “isolation” like a miserably bleak, winter landscape. Set in a fictitious small town in New Hampshire, Paul Schrader’s Affliction offers absolutely no warmth or respite for sheriff Wade Whitehouse (Nick Nolte) and those who people his life. Here is a cautionary tale of how one’s devastating childhood can destroy one’s future.

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Tom at the Farm (2013)

by Ryan Gimarc

We join Tom (Xavier Dolan) as he visits the farmhouse of his now-deceased boyfriend Guillaume in rural Quebec. After an initially shocking and awkward introduction with Guillaume’s mother, Agate (Lise Roy), Tom is welcomed into the household, albeit with a specific veil of secrecy: Guillaume’s brother, Francis (Pierre-Yves Cardinal), has ensured that Agate holds no suspicions about Guillaume’s sexual orientation, and that Agate is under the impression Tom is simply a coworker and close friend. Introductions aside, Francis begins a routine of physical and psychological battery on Tom, putting him in a place somewhere between a prisoner and a convert, and in the process opens himself and his past up to the emotionally loaded Tom. 

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A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence (2015)

by Josh Spanninga

A Pigeon Sat on a Branch Reflecting on Existence is the final film in Swedish director Roy Andersson’s self-proclaimed “living” trilogy (preceded by Songs from the Second Floor and You, The Living). The films fit together nicely as a trilogy not in the sense that they follow the same narrative, but that they all feature Andersson’s dark sense of humor played out through absurd and grotesque situations, all seeking to answer the question of what it means to be human. 

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