IFS Pocketbook No. 2 (Fall 2018)

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IFS POCKETBOOK 2 The International Film Series is Boulder’s first arthouse cinema. Established in 1941, it now works with the Department of Cinema Studies & Moving Image Arts from an office in the Roser ATLAS building. Most films are screened in Muenzinger Auditorium.

FALL 2018



IKIRU 8/28


rbg 8/31-9/1

dark money 9/5



3100, RUN AND BECOME 9/11-12-13




zama 9/21








2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY 10/4


BISBEE ’17 10/10-11-12

how we grow & eating animals 10/14

djam 10/16

STUDIO 54 10/19-20

the man from hong kong 10/23





HAL 11/1-2







true stories 11/28

COCOTE 11/30






lawrence of arabia 12/8

dead man 12/9



The International Film Series is a seasonal calendar program devoted to movies that matter. We also sometimes let our hair down for pure fun. We screen over 100 movies every year. The I.F.S., having been established in 1941, is older than the Cannes Film Festival (which was founded in 1946), and screens most movies in the 400-seat Muenzinger Auditorium west of the Buffalo Plaza and Folsom Field. We sometimes use other venues on campus as needed. The campus location of Muenzinger Auditorium (or Room E050, as the folks in central scheduling refer to it) lies in a courtyard circled by the buildings for Muenzinger Psychology, Molecular, Cellular & Developmental Biology and Porter Biosciences. Our somewhat hidden location has helped to make us one of Boulder’s best-kept secrets. People who are serious about cinema eventually find us. The I.F.S. is powered by hardcore cinephiles, faculty, and students at C.U. Boulder. It has always been a non-commercial haven for those craving a sacred third space - away from home, away from work - a place for a community of people who believe in the big-screen experience where classic films are still shown on 35mm alongside new international and independent works via DCP projection. Special guests we have brought in the past, for FREE presentations include: William Burroughs, Werner Herzog, Les Blank, Terry Jones, Albert Maysles, D.A. Pennebaker, Charlie Kaufman, John Cameron Mitchell, Godfrey Reggio, Don Hertzfeldt, Alex Cox, Cory McAbee, T.J. Miller, Derek Cianfrance, and Pam Grier. This academic year will include a visit by Brian Trenchard-Smith (“the King of Ozploitation”), Mike Reiss (writer for The Simpsons), and Leon Vitali (who played Lord Bullingdon in Barry Lyndon and was Stanley Kubrick’s right-hand man from that moment on, as can be seen in the documentary Filmworker).

Pocketbook contributors Pablo Kjølseth - IFS Coördinator, Chief wrangler, misc. essays. A.O. Scott - NYT’s film critic. The distributor fom Bisbee ‘17 superimposed his review onto their poster - and it looks great, when it’s poster-size. We would have replicated it had that still been readable in the IFS pocketbook. But it wasn’t. So we didn’t. Walter Chaw - Writes movie reviews that are so damned three dimensional they kind of explode in your mind and then leave your guts in a quandary should you happen to disagree, which is hopefully only on rare occasion after you’ve had your smelling salts. Michael O’ Sullivan - Writes movie reviews for The Washington Post. We only used the first half of his review in this publication, due to space constraints, and we definitely owe him a beer (or two). Jackson Roth Dorfman - Is a student at C.U. Cinema Studies and worked the IFS last season. He’s too busy to work for us this fall but is still a sub who might be called upon as needed. He still attends IFS regularly.

Courtney Fellion - Is a C.U. Cinema Studies alumni who made the mistake of recently telling PK how she took a film class at C.U. that had saved her college relationship. PK then insisted she write an essay that he could print here in the IFS Pocketbook to flush out the details. Bruce Tesuya - Is a C.U. Cinema Studies student and IFS employee (catch him this Fall on any Friday working the front). He’s the reason we all got to see 5 beautiful 35mm film prints by Terrence Malick. John Adams - IFS Pocketbook layout. Travis Aaron Ripley - Has attended the IFS since the ‘90s but has now “left the building” to Silver City, NM. Our loss is their gain. This issue of the IFS Pocketbook is dedicated to Diana Vann and Michael Paige, for the liquid courage they provided during layout weekend.

WEDnesday-THURsday-friday, October 10-11-12, 7:30 PM

BOULDER Premiere

“Of the 25 films I screened at the last Sundance Film Festival, this was my favorite.” - P.Kjølseth

A.O. Scott

September 4, 2018

In Bisbee ‘17, Anti-Union Violence Haunts an Arizona Town Bisbee, Ariz., not far from the Mexican border, is a quiet former mining town, one of many such places scattered across the American West. Tombstone, site of the gunfight at the O.K. Corral and a popular tourist destination, is just up the road. Bisbee has a notably violent episode in its past as well, an event that is the subject of “Bisbee ’17,” Robert Greene’s clearsighted and gratifyingly complicated new documentary. Starting on July 12, 1917 — a few months after the United States entered World War I and in the midst of labor agitation across the mining industry — sheriff’s deputies rounded up around 1,200 people thought to be union activists, forced them into boxcars and transported them to the New Mexico desert. What came to be known as the Bisbee Deportation lingered at the margins of local memory, not forgotten but not much discussed either. As the centennial approached, a group of history-minded citizens organized a re-enactment, and Mr. Greene focuses on the preparations for that curious pageant. The nature of performance — the ways reality can be counterfeited and uncovered when people take on different identities — has preoccupied this filmmaker for a while. “Actress” (2014) and “Kate Plays Christine” (2016) both examine individual performers as they slip between selves, taking a sometimes voyeuristic interest in the psychological implications of acting. “Bisbee ’17” is more concerned with the ethical, political and social meanings of artifice, and in how past conflicts resonate in the present. Bisbee was pretty much a company town until the mines closed in the mid-70s, and some of the reenactors proudly stick to the company line. While some Bisbeeans see the sheriff as a villain — or as a tool of the copper bosses — others insist that he was responding, perhaps heavy-handedly, to a terrorist threat. Order needed to be maintained, and the militants of the Industrial Workers of the World (better known as Wobblies) were anarchists fomenting sabotage and sedition under the guise of workers’ rights.

The arguments that split the town in 1917 divide it still, but within the bounds of civility. The people playing deputies and those playing their victims aren’t really enemies, and their collaboration can be taken as evidence of healing. Recreating a civic tragedy requires a common sense of purpose. But the attitudes that led to the deportation have hardly disappeared. Labor and capital have yet to end their struggle, and the abuse of police power is far from a dead issue. Many of the Bisbee deportees had Spanish or Slavic surnames, and their removal has an element of ethnic cleansing. “Deportation” is as loaded a word now as it was a century ago. Current politics hover over the movie, even though the people in it are reluctant to talk about their beliefs and affiliations. Instead, Mr. Greene’s sympathetic method — you can feel him quietly listening and observing, leaving plenty of silence for his subjects to fill — allows the viewer to discover unstated ironies and resonances. And also, most of all, to appreciate the humanity of both the re-enactors and the long-gone figures they are impersonating. Especially moving is the testimony of Fernando Serrano, a young man who grew up in Mexico and the United States and knew little about the deportation until he signed up for the re-enactment. His political awakening seems to happen before our eyes, as he connects his own life to past events. For others, the connection is more direct. Mel and Steve Ray are brothers who portray their own grandfather and great-uncle, one of whom was arrested by the other. Dressing up in old-fashioned costumes and parading through town looks like fun, and it’s fun to see the modern residents of Bisbee get into character and commit to the spirit of the spectacle. And even though “Bisbee ’17” depicts a wholesome and harmonious community undertaking, it is a profoundly haunted and haunting film. What we are witnessing is not the commemoration of a past disaster but its reanimation. Every important thing this movie is about is still alive.

Free Sneak Preview Sunday, October 21, at 7pm


Nick Houy editor not only of this film, but who also edited

LADYBIRD and THE NIGHT OF and many other titles

Martial Arts Fun and Dystopian Futures from Australia. by pk Tuesday & Wednesday 10/23&24 7:30 PM Over the summer I screen film prints from the C.U. Boulder Cinema Studies archive to check them out for quality control and also to train new projectionists. Due to a glitch, one 35mm reel labeled “Dragonflies” found its way into the booth. I had no idea what it was and had the projectionist toss it on. Whoever had labeled it “Dragonflies” had been lazy. The actual title was “The Dragon Flies” - an action-filled martial arts film that was the first Australian-Hong Kong co-production filmed in both nations. It’s directed by Brian Trenchard-Smith and stars Jimmy Wang Yu and George Lazenby as the villain. It’s tremendous fun and I immediately wanted to share it with IFS customers. I contacted Dan Halsted, a friend who helps program the Hollywood Theatre in Portland. He puts on an ongoing Kung Fu Theater program and is the proud owner of an impressive number of martial arts films (he and Quentin Tarantino, who is also a fan of B.T.S., sometimes trade prints with each other). Dan told me that he has a print of the same movie, except his version is known as “The Man from Hong Kong” - which is a slightly different edit. He also told me that Brian Trenchard-Smith is alive and well and living in Portland, and he put us in touch. Brain agreed to fly out to talk to film classes and screen The Man From Hong Kong on Tuesday, Oct. 23rd. (We’re actually screening our 35mm print of The Dragon Flies (‘75), but Brian prefers the other title, for reasons we’ll get into on the night of the show.) On Wednesday, Oct. 24th we’ll screen Dead End Drive-In (‘86). Here’s a recent capsule NYT’s review of that one: “Set in a futuristic 1995, this psycho-shocker is about a drive-in cinema where punks and other young misfits are held captive and fed a diet of drugs, music and cheeseburgers as the world outside crumbles. A mix of ’80s rebellion film and dystopian political parable — “The Road Warrior crossed with The Exterminating Angel” as The Los Angeles Times put it — the movie also touches on Australia’s history of racial tensions.” (-Erik Piepenburg, Deranged Down Under, NYT, Aug. 10, 2017).


by Walter Chaw Monday 10/29 7:30 PM There’s a moment in Boots Riley’s hyphenate debut Sorry to Bother You--it happens in the last third of the picture--that rang so pure and true to me I felt adrenalized, known, inspired. The best art does that: locates that juncture between expression and activism. I felt it during Get Out as I began to recognize the parties where I’d been the only minority guest and somehow also the guest of honor; I hope to feel it one day while watching something about the Asian-American experience. I’d always wondered about the black community coalescing around bootlegs of Seventies kung fu movies, but now I understand it as I find myself vibing to Janelle Monae’s and Childish Gambino’s energetic, pithy counterculture activism. Sorry to Bother You belongs to this moment of crisis. It’s a withering indictment of capitalism and the white ruling class in the United States as it’s metastasized into a machine that’s only ever interested in consuming its weakest, most underrepresented members. The running joke involves prison/work programs dressed up as a way for entire subsistence, formerly middleclass families to sell their lives to the proverbial “company store.” “WorryFree” promises freedom in endless toil. The sign over the entrance to Auschwitz and on the gate at Dachau promised something similar with “Arbeit Macht Frei” (“Work Sets You Free”). In this way, the for-profit prison system in the land of the free is presented for mockery and shame. The idea that the corporate structure in the United States is akin to a prison is raised, too. If films are an empathy machine, this one is the “uncomfortable recognition generator” piece of it. These past eighteen months have been sobering for a lot of my white friends. Sorry to Bother You is a summary of what, until Trump, was easy to sweep under the carpet. Cassius Green (Lakeith Stanfield) lives in his uncle’s (Terry Crews) garage with performance artist/activist Detroit (Tessa Thompson), drives a heap, and works as a telemarketer making blind calls and doing his best not to worry about the news that his uncle is on the verge of getting evicted. Too-old-for-that-shit Langston (Danny Glover) gives Cassius the secret to telephone-marketer success, advising the youngster to use his “white” voice--something that Cassius, talking in high register with ridiculous enthusiasm and calculated obsequiousness, parlays into an invitation into the “upstairs” of his office’s Upstairs/ Downstairs caste metaphor. His sudden financial and professional success alienates his co-workers, particularly union agitator Squeeze (Steven Yeun), as well as Detroit, who, herself, is in the middle of designing a protest marrying images of Africa with acts of humiliation

endured on stage at the hands of her progressive ally audience. It’s meaningful that Cassius doesn’t understand why Detroit is doing what she’s doing when he’s in the middle of pocketing vast amounts of cash for selling people into slavery--and it’s meaningful that we understand why he doesn’t understand. Cassius’s meteoric rise ends at a celebratory party at the estate of WorryFree’s Jeff Bezos/Steve Jobs CEO Steve Lift (Armie Hammer), where a viral meme of Cassius’s humiliation plays on a loop, where Cassius is asked to rap because he’s black, and where he’s ultimately offered an opportunity that literalizes his allegorical position in relationship to the 1%. Telling more would rob the film of its most provocative decisions; suffice to say that Sorry to Bother You is science-fiction used correctly in a sentence. It’s mad as hell and it’s not going to take it anymore.

It says something that the idea of a worry-free (or WorryFree) existence in prison presents something of an attraction now in a late-capitalist state in which the next medical disaster will result in catastrophe for the majority of the population; in which most people are living paycheck-to-paycheck; in which massive personal debt seems the single unifying trait among Americans. We work ourselves

to death enriching others. Much is made in the film about sticking to scripts, following storylines, fitting into categories. In the end, it’s clear that all of it is designed for ease of storage and assimilation. Even its key visual “joke,” plays on African-American physiology (real and mythologized), lands in ways both visceral and subliminal. The movie sees you in the way that Charlie Kaufman movies see you. I thought a lot about the likes of The Manchurian Candidate, original and remake, and Network while watching Sorry to Bother You, and how those films (throw in Dr. Strangelove while we’re at it) seemed like hysterical paranoia until they became documentaries. The same fate is destined, I fear, for Riley’s film. It feels fresh for the directions it’s willing to go right now, yet that moment of shock has already passed for me into recognition of contemporary America. There’s a lovely Chinese curse that goes “May you live in interesting times.” One of the offshoots of that curse is that it’s no longer possible to suggest any atrocity “too outrageous.” That Sorry to Bother You has a minute or two of effective outrage attached to it speaks to its manifest feeling of horror. The speed with which its abominations are absorbed our new normal only reflects the precariousness of our current state. So watch Sorry to Bother You--and take someone who needs to watch it with you when you do. Once it’s over, use it as an opportunity to have a conversation about not how outlandish it is, but how outlandish it isn’t. Because, real talk here, everybody: if we don’t stop being surprised, we’re finished.

Walter Chaw’s film criticism can be found on the Canadian website Film Freak Central and in books already published (“Miracle Mile,” “The Oliver Stone Experience”) and pending (the next one tackles Walter Hill). His reviews are honest, devastating, and incisive. John Wenzel of The Denver Post adds this: “It wasn’t until Chaw was a freshman at the University of Colorado in Boulder that he realized film could be an intellectual pursuit, too. An early ’90s viewing of Francis Ford Coppola’s The Conversation cemented that. After earning his undergrad degree in English and anthropology, then a master’s from CU Denver in British romanticism, Chaw was energized intellectually but finding trouble doing something he loved. (Excerpt from: Walter Chaw’s big-screen view: The Business, and art, of the Alamo Drafthouse Denver)

Tu e s d a y 1 0 /3 0 7 : 3 0 P M It is only since 1991 that the United Kingdom has submitted films for Oscar consideration in the category of foreign-language film. Perhaps unsurprisingly, most of those works — which must have primarily non-English dialogue — feature, at least in part, the Welsh language (although some films have included Filipino, Urdu and a handful of tongues spoken far from the British Isles). For the 91st Academy Awards, the country’s official submission is the beautiful and unsettling parable of African womanhood I Am Not a Witch, the feature directorial debut of the Zambian-born filmmaker Rungano Nyoni, who moved to Cardiff with her family as a girl. It is a remarkable, strange and politically potent first film. Shot in and around Zambia’s capital of Lusaka using a cast of nonprofessional actors and featuring improvised dialogue in indigenous Zambian dialects — as well as a smattering of English — the film is, by Nyoni’s description, a fairy tale, although it was inspired by customs and practices that have been in place in Africa for centuries. The story it tells centers on Shula, an 8-year-old orphan who, having been accused of witchcraft, is banished to a rural “witch camp” where women many decades older than her perform menial labor, tethered to long white ribbons. If they cut their flimsy leashes, they have been told, they will turn into goats and be slaughtered and eaten. (Excerpt from Michael O’Sullivan’s review in The Washington Post.)

RANDOM THOUGHTS ON THE IMPORTANCE OF PROPER EXHIBITION: SPACE MATTERS by PK Russ Allen has been in the movie exhibition for a long time. He knows I’m an old-school celluloid geek who laments the soft darks of digital projection. He came into my office over the summer to tell me that I had to go check out Dolby’s answer to IMAX over at the AMC Flatirons. Specifically, he wanted me to check out any movie shot using Dolby Vision (which has been around since 2014) in the Dolby Cinema Theater which uses two projectors at once for HDR (High Dynamic Range). Dynamic range refers to “the range of reproducible tonal values within a photographic image from the deepest shadow detail to the brightest highlight detail. These tonal values originate as scene luminance values that are also known as scene brightness values that can be measured with a spot photometer, either in foot-lamberts or in camera T-stops, to establish a scene contrast ratio.” Russ went on to tell me that 70mm film was something like 16 foot lamberts. Did I care to guess what HDR was? I had no idea and shook my head. He said “32 foot lamberts”. He also added that the Dolby Cinema Theater at the AMC Flatirons had worked to eliminate light pollution in the auditorium so that the human iris would open up as much as possible to soak in all that sweet, sweet 32 foot lambert High Dynamic Range goodness, which offered twice the resolution of 70mm film. He dared me to go check it out and tell me the quality wasn’t as good as film. So I did. My impressions are as follows: $20?! Are you kidding me? Okay, this better be awesome. I enter the theater and have to admit that I liked the way the chairs were spaced out. They also came with all kinds of controls so you could tilt backwards along with full leg rest. Because I arrived early I had to endure all manner of insipid commercials, which seems like a bit of an insult after paying $20 but, hey, buy the ticket, take the ride. Then came the trailers. Then came the promo spots for Dolby Vision to show you how crappy regular digital projection is on a bisected screen that also revealed the improvement of Dolby Vision. And, yes, Dolby Vision looked spectacular but I had to laugh because here was proof positive of what we celluloid lovers have been saying for years: the initial digital conversion foisted on all the theaters was not an improvement over film when it comes to the dynamic range and density of the image itself. Then came another promo, the best of them all, because it was simply a solid black screen. So black, it looked like we were in a dark theater with a dead projector, but no... words

suddenly popped up on the screen that read: “Yes, the projectors are still on.” Well played! Okay, Russ, you got me. Dolby Vision has finally proved that digital can compete with the badass splendour of oldschool film. One problem: only crappy, mass-market or CGI-spectacledriven franchise “product” will hit this particular screen, which meant I had to endure the 128-minute-long dinosaur-roaring body massage that was Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom. 2001: A Space Odyssey Th u r s d a y 1 0 /4 7 : 3 0 P M

Also this summer I visited The Continental in Denver to see the all-photochemical 70mm restoration of 2001: A Space Odyssey. And, no joke, I wept at its grandeur and vibrating colors. I also almost wept at the travesty of having that beauty sapped of its full power thanks to one idiotically placed blaring green EXIT sign that overpowered the lower right-hand corner of the screen. Nowhere in the fire code does it say these EXIT signs have to be green. They could be red. Why, in a movie theater, is this not commonly the case? From what I can tell it’s pure laziness. And this brings me to the concept of a Cave Dark theater. My colleague David Gatten tells me that Duke University’s new Rubenstein Center for the Arts fulfills that and much more and is now the envy of film scholars and directors alike. Bloomington, Indiana, is another example of a place that understands the benefits of having a world-class dedicated screening room for movies and other events. Meanwhile, C.U.’s latest construction projects have it spending over $100 million on an Aerospace Engineering Sciences building, $53 million on a Center for Academic Success and Engagement, $97 million on the Williams Village East Residence Hall, and for all this titanic spending basically only gets one 250 seat screening venue (in the CASE building) with... rear projection (insert sad trombone sound here).

What does it take to build a world-class screening venue? A proper front with a big marquee and a grand entrance where box office stations are clearly marked. A comfortable and dark interior that dampens both light and sound pollution. Comfortable chairs that keep in mind all body types and that don’t treat the students like economy fliers stuck on some cut-rate airline. Proper auditorium seating. A large projection booth with 35mm reel-to-reel projectors alongside stateof-the-art DCP that can handle 4Kand 3-D - all placed well above the heads of anyone sitting in the auditorium and behind proper optical glass. Corridors of access that prevent light from spilling in from the main entrance, and use only dim red lights for floor, stairs, and exits. Easy wheelchair access and several options for anyone with disabilities. Free and covered parking that is close to the theater. Other things to consider are keeping the floorspace below the screen properly cleared and equipped to handle live musical events and/or special SKYPE sessions with filmmakers and/or artists and/or professors who would like to drop in for virtual Q&As. Bottom line: a world-class dedicated movie venue would also be a truly “world-class learning space.” As of now, those last four words are getting plenty of lip service from C.U., but I have yet to see C.U. deliver anything other than yet another drab classroom designed only for live lectures augmented by laptop PowerPoint presentations. It’s enough to drive me crazier than Jack Nicholson as he is subjected to Nurse Ratched’s steely passive-aggressive tyranny. At least the IFS has been able to carve out a niche for itself here on the C.U. campus, one where we can still screen 35mm films on reel-to-reel projectors in Muenzinger Auditorium. This semester alone we’ve got fourteen 35mm prints screening as part of our Fall lineup, and they include 2001: A Space Odyssey and One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest, to name but a few. That latter print, btw, is coming to us courtesy of the Academy Film Archive - which means it’s rare and beautiful - and it might very well be the last time Boulderite’s will see it on celluloid. ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO’S NEST Tuesday 1 1 /1 6 7:30 PM

True Stories, by Jackson Roth Dorfman Wednesday 11/28 7:30 PM There are over fifty sets of twins placed inconspicuously throughout the background of True Stories, which serve no purpose other than to give an air of eccentricity . This is a prime example of director David Byrne’s approach to art from his music, books, and films to his bike racks and powerpoint presentations. He became famous through the band Talking Heads who produced somewhat unclassifiable music. While it contained elements of old country music, afro-beat, latin pop, avant-garde, punk, and rock, it was undeniable that they had formed a unique voice. The eccentric lyrics, erratic rhythms, and nervous, awkward presentation exuded a personality that pushed them into immense popularity, peaking with their 1984 Stop Making Sense tour and film. After this, Byrne started pursuing more individual artistic endeavors, the first major project being True Stories , a plotless ode to a fictional Texas town, framed by new Talking Heads songs. This followed a similar model as the band, taking elements from other sources, but injecting their own eccentric personality into it. David Byrne is a fan of classical musicals (he named Fred Astaire’s dances in the number “I Left My Hat in Haiti” in The Royal Wedding as the inspiration for the “Psycho Killer” performance in Stop Making Sense. And although Byrne didn’t specifically identify it, the “Sunday Jumps” number featured Astaire dancing with a hat rack in a suspiciously similar fashion to Byrne’s love song to a floor lamp in “This Must be the Place.”) Thus, incorporated and subverted many musical tropes in True Stories . Probably the most abundant trait of classical musicals (and of classical Hollywood in general) is the plot largely centering on a man and a woman falling in love. Byrne points out the absurdity of this societal expectation by placing it within the abstract world of his Virgil, Texas. Many musical numbers function very differently from those found in traditional musicals, as they intend to describe the community rather than individuals. Music is a tool to bring people together in this film, shown beautifully in the “Wild Wild Life” number. Byrne was also a fan of Kubrick, even hiring Pablo Ferro, the title designer from Dr. Strangelove to do the opening credits of Stop Making Sense . Byrne designed shots in a similar fashion, from using eerily symmetrical compositions to having extreme attention to detail. This has a similar effects as that of most Kubrick films, presenting a

detached and absurd view of his world. Byrne, starring as the unnamed tourist of the town, constantly breaks the fourth wall. This, along with the lack of cohesive plot, continually reminds the audience they are watching a film. This goes back to the techniques of playwright Bertolt Brecht, who didn’t want the audience to empathize with the characters so they could approach the subject matter more critically. Unfortunately, True Stories never achieved the same popularity as Talking Heads. The songs were also released as an album of the same name, which was one of their least popular and critically panned albums. Simply but, movie audiences have more specific expectations than music listeners; requiring a plot, central character, etc. Byrne, like usual, defied these expectations to produce his own vision, and the movie has since fallen into obscurity. Luckily, it has recently gotten a restoration from Criterion and screenings have slowly been popping up, letting us all enjoy this unique gem in the glorious 35mm that was always intended.

Jack Dorfman is an undergraduate pursuing a BFA in Film Production and a minor in Technology, Arts, and Media. From living in Colorado all his life, he has become an avid skier, biker, and hiker. Between classes, he undertakes freelance film projects, works at the International Film

We Are All Delphine by Courtney Fellion One of the best things I did for myself as a 19-year-old film student was enroll in Jim Palmer’s honors course on “Jungian Film and Literature.” Tracing the theories of psychoanalysis darling and near-mystic Carl Jung, Jim’s class functioned more like a group therapy session than a typical college film course. We were required to take Myers-Briggs test early in the course to determine our personality types. My family lineage is peppered with mental illness, and this was the first time that I was given permission to explore personality types and their subsequent neuroses. We then applied Jung’s writings on archetypes to characters in cinema. Some films were almost direct adaptations of Jung’s basic theories, such as Ingmar Bergman’s Wild Strawberries, while others, such as JeanJacques Beineix’s Diva, portrayed these ideas in a more abstract and symbolic way. Then we watched Éric Rohmer’s Le Rayon vert (The Green Ray). It was an epiphany. I immediately felt a connection with the main character, Delphine, who prefers shadows to sunshine and walking alone at dusk to crowded dinner tables. She is superstitious to a fault — reading playing cards in the streets like her own personal tarot. She keeps a sparse diet and is almost translucent. And she is pushed by those around her to keep pace with them, as though her social aberrance is the wilting leaves of a parched plant. I had never seen an introverted character depicted in film like this before, and I later learned that Rohmer employed an all-female film crew to capture the largely improvised dialogue. One of the film’s finest achievements is how it forces us to identify with a character in spite of (and because of) her flaws. We feel frustrated by her inability to perform socially because it reminds us of the struggle to maintain our own masks. At the end of the film, I felt exhausted by Delphine’s plight — her search for authentic human connections and fateful encounters. Watching her character dissolve into tears throughout the film, I realized that I too would have to make changes in my life to step outside my own introversion. As a friend once remarked, “we are all Delphine.” I re-watched the film recently and I could not remember whether Delphine finally sees the green ray at the end — that mythical red herring that signals her release from a life of interiority. The version we watched in Jim’s class was likely on VHS

due to the film’s limited distribution, so perhaps the green ray had looked more bluish-gray with all that video grain. The only thing that I did remember from that final scene was the way that the characters clung to one another, as though bracing through a storm, while keeping their gazes fixed on the horizon. I don’t know if it really matters to me whether Delphine sees the green ray or not. The characters look towards the ocean as the audience gazes into the frame. Whether the green ray appears or not, looking is an act of faith. Wild Strawberries Wednesd a y 1 2 /5 7:30 P M

Courtney Fellion is an educator, archivist and arts organizer based in Oakland, CA. She is a registrar at Atthowe Fine Art Services and an adjunct film professor at San Francisco State University, where she teaches a course on “Cinematheque Management.” She is editor of the Canyon Cinemazine, a small press art publication about experimental film and video. She is also co-founder/organizer of Häxän Festival for occult and esoteric film and media art, which is now entering its fourth year. She graduated with honors from CU Boulder in 2008 and completed her thesis under Dr. Melinda Barlow.



writer for The Simpsons


Leon Vitali

who played Lord Bullingdon in Barry Lyndon and was Stanley Kubrick’s right-hand man from that moment on, as can be seen in the documentary Filmworker

Watching Foreign Movies Makes You Smarter by PK “We could learn about others by reading foreign books and watching foreign movies and TV stations.” (Carolyn Bninski, Daily Camera; Guest opinion, Sep. 23, ‘18: “America exceptional? Facts tell different story.”) Last Labor Day Weekend I was sitting in a theater next to Chris Pearce, a colleague, as we waited for the next movie to begin. We were attending the Telluride Film Festival where I’d been blown away by a UK feature by a Greek director (The Favourite, by Yorgos Lanthimos) and a Japanese movie by Hirokazu Koreeda (Shoplifters had recently won the Palme d’Or). Chris leaned over and told me that somewhere he’d read an interesting study conducted by people from Harvard or Duke called the Duncker Candle Problem wherein they found that people exposed to foreign movies showed improved creativity in solving a problem involving a candle, a pack of matches, and a box of tacks. This led to a discussion about people who are “fixed” vs “flexible” and me responding that “If Dylan was fixed he’d never gone electric. If Led Zeppelin stuck to only ripping off the blues and didn’t go rip off some other cultures too, we’d never have Kashmir. If Rock Hudson only made Rock Hudson movies, we’d never have Seconds. Latter being a complete box office failure while simultaneously being one of the best films ever made.” With that in mind, let me ask you a question,“Where would the U.S.A. be right now if, instead of people with fixed views granting high ratings over the years to Fox News, The Apprentice, or The Kardashians, a good chunk of that population instead watched Al Jazeera, FilmStruck, and Anthony Bourdain’s Parts Unknown?” We’ll never have the answer to that, of course, but my guess is that the world’s misery index could have been cut in half. Instead, here we are with Trump and a military budget pointing north of $681 billion dollars. Which is good, as Carolyn points out, for “the weapons manufacturers and Wall Street” but pretty horrible for “the people” as a whole, who might have benefitted from “domestic social and jobs programs, health care, housing, environmental protection and infrastructure.” With that in mind, come flex your brain muscles at the IFS - because the problems we need to solve will require more than a candle, a pack of matches, and a box of tacks.

Random Thoughts on the Scourge of Gadget-Addicts

by PK

“For many of us, media — by which I mean use of any device with a screen — is the oxygen we breathe. We need it everywhere. We can’t work, play, or relax without it. Actually, it turns out that after two decades of the Internet and a decade of smartphones, we can’t even think without it... Those who received 16 or more texts during a 30minute lecture scored a full letter grade lower on a post-lecture exam than those who received half as many texts. Millennials are driven to distraction by their technological addictions. It’s affecting their grades, their performance on the job, and their ability to be present in personal relationships. But they’re so-called “digital natives,” born and raised in the Internet era, so they don’t even recognize it as a problem. It’s just life. Texting is living...Don’t get me wrong — grown-ups these days can’t concentrate, either. A Canadian study showed that while the average human attention span was twelve seconds in 2000, nearly 20 years of Internet influence has pushed that down to eight seconds. We are all losing our ability to sustain concentration. We’re letting our focus slip, and we’ve all gone voluntarily down this path.” (Matthew Hennessey, National Review.) “Grace (an 8th grader in France) and her classmate Zoélinh say they take their phones to school even though they are not allowed to use them there. ‘In theory I could leave it at home and pick it up after school, but I’d be missing something,’ Zoélinh said. ‘I would not feel good at all.’ Grace added, half joking, ‘We’d be depressed.’ Both said they felt a void when their phones were not close by. During an interview in a cafe, both girls restrained themselves from doing much texting, but kept touching their phones. (Alissa J. Rubin and Elian Peltier, Sep. 20, ‘18 NYT). “If you’re a mark of social media, if you’re being manipulated by it, one of the ways to tell is if there’s a certain kind of personality quality that overtakes you,” he says. “It’s been called the snowflake quality. People criticize liberal college kids who have it, but it’s exactly the same thing you see in Trump. It’s this kind of highly reactive, thinskinned, outraged single-mindedness.” (Jaron Lanier, NYT, “Soothsayer Sees Tech’s Dark Side.”) Here at the IFS we’ve been waging war against gadget addicts since the day I was hired here over 21 years ago. It is not a problem isolated to young people. I have seen elder folks forget to turn off their

phones during a film. I have also, once, seen and heard a senior not just allow the cell phone to ring, they also answered the call during the movie and he then proceeded to converse with the caller. Obviously we told that person to stop it, and that person did. Sometimes they do not, and then altercations ensue. One such altercation occurred last Spring during our screening of Badlands. A gadget addict turned on their laptop in the back row. I asked them to turn it off. They bristled and said “you know what? You’re making me nervous and I’m not bothering anyone back here so why don’t you leave?” There were four people working that night. Myself. Adam (the projectionist). Abby and Raine (who were both cashiering and acting as ushers). I told Raine to go tell the gadget addict to either turn offtheir laptop or take it outside. I then joined the projectionist in the booth and presumed that this would be the end of it. It was not. Raine came into the projection booth to tell me that the addict refused to turn it off. To recount the details of the next hour would take three or four pages of tedious play-by-play, so I’ll jump-cut to the last scene: In the foyer to the main entrance of Muenzinger, the gadget addict turned to face me and asked me what my name was, to which I replied “Pablo Kjolseth, the director of the IFS.” Here I extended my hand to them and asked “what’s your name?” They practically screamed in my face to say that there was no way in hell they’d tell me their name, or that they’d touch me, or that I could touch them, and then suddenly like some nightmarish musical a small group of the adidict’s friends swarmed between us as they started flapping their arms in the air like some bizarre SNL skit while yelling “We’re de-escalating the situation! We’re de-escalating the situation!” (Fun fact, my poker buddies now use this same arm-flapping move when I use strong language to react to a bad hand.) Losing my cool, I tell the gadget addict’s enablers that while they are certainly welcome to come back to the IFS I’ll be calling security the next time their incredibly rude friend drops by. The last thing I heard the addict say before they scuttled away was “On what charge?!”.... Good question. I called the O.I.E.C. the next day to ask how that could have been better handled. They told me. I decided to share that information

the next day with the crowd of people who showed up to see Days of Heaven. That, in turn, resulted in an email by a perturbed customer who had been in attendance both nights. This person was also a Postdoctoral researcher at the CU Department of Physics/JILA. Instead of having a conversation with me, they sent an email to my supervisor, two weeks before my yearly performance evaluation, accusing me of “shockingly aggressive and unprofessional” behavior. This Postdoctoral researcher also claimed that “from what I gather (the addict) put (the laptop) away when asked to do so by a member of the film series staff.” This was a false statement on two grounds, since the addict did not turn off their laptop when asked by me the first time, and they did not turn off the laptop when asked by Raine the 2nd time. I’d say it was odd that the researcher didn’t mention the names of my staff they supposedly talked to, because no one on my staff spoke to them. Why this person would libel me in defense of a some one who wouldn’t turn off their laptop when twice asked to do so in a movie venue is almost beyond me. Almost. Folks: I’m getting tired. I’m getting tired of trying to keep the sacred space sacred. I’ve only got a few more years in me, and I’m still doing the best I can, but I’m feeling outnumbered by the gadget addicts, their enablers, and their defenders. And yet, creating a quiet sanctuary free from the distraction of glowing gadgets is something that I feel is more important than ever before. Why? Because finding a quiet/dark place to watch a good movie is now near impossible. The multiplex? Don’t make me laugh. They desecrate their spaces with a stream of loud ads and do everything in their power to sell you popcorn and sugar drinks and anything else from used cars to military recruitment before the show. And then they follow that up with 20 minutes of trailers. And then you, the customer, have to endure being surrounded by people slurping sugary drinks, chomping open-mouthed on popcorn or wrestling with wrinkly cellophane packages as they attack various boxed candies while flicking on their phones to post something on FaceBook. This is not an “us” vs “them” issue. We are all gadget addicts at this point. Me included. I have six email address and answer over 100 emails a day. It’s not healthy. Sitting in a dark and quiet theater for a couple hours where my only focus is on the movie screen? That’s therapy. For me. For you. For the gadget addict in all of us.

MAILBAG Pablo, I’ve been going to the IFS since the 90’s and in Boulder for 28 years. When I was in grad school and teaching the IFS saved me from killing numerous CU students with my bare hands. I am moving to Silver City, New Mexico....god bless the IFS. My top IFS: 1. Andrei Rublev on the big screen.....started snowing just lightly on the walk home. Wow. 2. High and Low. I just like the Kurosawa noirs. 3. 5 Obstructions. Leth is cool, also, lives in Haiti and is a sports commentator for Danish tv. 4. the second showing of American Astronaut... (summer I think) but everyone was excited as hell to see it again. I was “going” to the IFS in the early 2000’s while in grad school......because there were a lot of screenings and I was spent from hustling around all day in coursework, bullshit, and teaching..... I didn’t even really look at the schedule much. I just went. It was the thing at the end of the day... IFS. All week screenings, mostly. I liked that....just sit down where I couldn’t see the clock.... on the north side aisle....and just see what we were seeing. I had seen Solaris and saw that Rublev was “really long”....so I hesitated....but I went, paid my ticket, and sat down anyway. Just awesome. The bell.

American Astronaut came at a time when I was teaching media studies and there wasn’t much to be jumped up about. US invasions of sovereign nations, media blackouts, clear channel, conglomeration, university professors getting “censored” at U of Texas.....rape scandal at CU.....there were FOX news vans on campus like everyday. Ward Churchill. AA made me believe a little bit again. You also let my JOUR 1001 class in to see The Agronomist and something else for free. I asked them to write it up..... I had a beer with Cory when he did the Ahab Club thing at Shine downtown.... where he sung along to his iPod and click tracks. It was cool. I’d seen BNS a few times but that was a legion solo performance. I enjoyed sharing some emails with Alex about sci fi writer Michael Moorcock’s opposition to Vietnam and his stewardship of new worlds.....when he was here for Bill, the Galactic Hero. Those are good people to know like you do. You done good here, Pablo. infinite thanks my man, Travis Aaron Ripley


POST MORTEM Terrance Malick Series by Bruce Tetsuya

BADLANDS Before the IFS’ special Malick event, I had only seen Badlands once, my senior year of high school. Admittedly, I wasn’t a huge fan on my initial watch. Badlands was extremely violent, and in light of the extreme gun violence plaguing the country, I wrote it off, thinking the film simply didn’t hold up well over the years. It was only during my experience in the IFS this past March, when I realized Badlands wasn’t glorifying the violence at all. The movie revealed itself to be extremely self aware, and satirized the very violence I had originally thought it was glorifying. By the time the credits rolled, I was ecstatic, knowing Malick’s intentions with the film were genuine, and being able to see the inklings of what his style and recurring themes would become in his later works.

DAYS OF HEAVEN Being able to see Days of Heaven on a screen bigger than my old laptop was some serious wish fulfillment. In all my years of watching and absorbing films, I’ve never gotten chills from a single shot before. Sure, entire sequences in the context of their respective films have given me goosebumps. But without words, without any explanation… just the shot of the men standing in front of the house at dusk, with the locusts rising out of the field around their silhouettes… Simply awe-inspiring.

THE THIN RED LINE I’d seen this film only once before the IFS event, and it had such a profound impact on me, I had no real desire to see it again for a while after that. All I knew was that it was one of the greatest films I’d ever seen, and the village raid sequence was actually the first time I had ever cried during a film (to my recollection). Hans Zimmer’s masterpiece, Journey to the Line, along with Malick’s trademark sweeping camera, and the brutally real performances of all the actors on screen was just overwhelming. Being Japanese-American, it’s always difficult to watch WWII films, where the Japanese are portrayed as one dimensional monsters. The Thin Red Line was a revelatory experience for me, because not only did it humanize the “enemy”, but it actually gave them a voice. It’s still one of my favorite films of all time, and I just about lost my mind when I learned that Malick is working on a new WWII film, Radegund, to be released in late 2018.

THE NEW WORLD Going into the IFS screening for The New World, I actually couldn’t recall too much of the film, despite having seen it only the year before. The film is gorgeous, as to be expected by Malick, and his soon to be frequent collaborator, Emmanuel Lubezki (this was their first time as a director / cinematographer duo). However, this time around, I felt the movie dragged on at times, as well as contained several questionable editing choices. Just odd or jarring cuts, which to me, starts Malick’s straying from a more traditional structuring, and his experimentation with jump cuts, and a more improvisational feel from the actors. This style is perfected in his next film, The Tree of Life, but is taken even further with his existential trilogy (To the Wonder in 2012, Knight of Cups in 2015, and Song to Song in 2017).

THE TREE OF LIFE It was all leading to this. Not only the IFS event, but in my opinion, cinema as a whole. The Tree of Life is the culmination of the innovations in cinematography, scale, and direction before it. This film could only ever exist as a film, and to me, that’s the true purpose of cinema. To tell a story or illustrate a feeling that can’t be told any other way. The Tree of Life takes advantage of every single fathomable facet of the cinematic medium and dials it to the max. Perhaps the most special part, even more than the gorgeous 35mm print we got, was my family being able to visit Boulder for the day, celebrating my mother’s birthday, and seeing them experience the film for the first time. This is a film about motherhood, childhood, love, grief, memory, creation, destruction, religion, time, and existence itself. This film is everything to me. I was shocked to learn that Malick is recutting the film and adding 30 extra minutes of unused footage, to be released at the Venice Film Festival. This new director’s cut will also be coming to Criterion (finally) in August 2018, if you want to own the film for yourself. Thank you to everyone who came out, even if it was to see just one of the five films. I hope you were able to find beauty and inspiration in the films of Terrence Malick.

Bruce Tetsuya is a senior at the University of Boulder, studying Film Production in the BFA / Honors program. Bruce has won several awards for writing and directing short films, but is planning on switching gears toward feature length films within the next two years

ROBBY MÜLLER by Alex Cox I originally wanted Steve Fierberg to shoot Repo Man. He had just shot a film for Paul Morrisey, on the streets of New York, called 40 Deuce. It was all hand-held, shakey-cam, many years before the United Airlines commercials and subsequent filmed drama made that a cinematographic style. Michael Nesmith, our executive producer, didn’t like that shakey look and told me to think of someone else. This made me sad, but Peter McCarthy, a very wise producer, said we should look at this as a blessing. Now we could ask for anyone we wanted… We both agreed that the best-looking film we’d seen of late was The American Friend, shot by Robby Müller. So we proposed Robby to Nesmith, and the Nes agreed. Robby was with us in Los Angeles for six weeks – July and August, shooting mainly downtown. There was a lot of pollution in the air, and it was hot. Robby never complained about the weather, or the air. His demeanor was always benign. I had anticipated a frenetic, fast-cut, bibbety-bim-bambim visual aspect, punctuated by long takes. Robby instead went for the classical. Almost all the film is shot on a tripod, or a dolly. Most of the shots are two-shots: Robby saved the closeups for the two most important scenes – Otto’s ride with the nuclear scientist, and the finale. As Tracey Walter sighed, “two-shots make movies, close-ups make stars.” But his scene beside the burning bin, in a two shot with Emilio, is near perfect. Robby’s instinct was to put the camera where it favoured both actors, light it, and let the actors do their work. Robby looked out for his and his crew’s interests, as well. In one scene, the repo men attacked the Rodriguez brothers with baseball bats. Plastic bats were offered, but one actor ended up with a wooden bat. After the first take, Robby beckoned me aside and whispered, “Just now I felt the wind of a wooden baseball bat pass by my face. I will not shoot this scene again until all the actors have plastic bats.” It was a bit of a struggle to convince the actor in question to switch from wood to plastic, but Robby was right to protest. While we were shooting Repo Man, Robby recommended Harry Dean Stanton to Wim Wenders, who was preparing to shoot Paris, Texas. Our six-week shoot wrapped, and Robby had a two-week break before starting that film. I dropped him at LAX, and driving back along the 10 Freeway, I saw a Volkswagen bug veer off the road and mount the concrete berm, just like the end of The American Friend…



The Fall 2018 IFS program has several “In Memoriam” screenings for filmmakers who died recently. They include screenwriter Shinobu Hashimoto (IKIRU on 8/28), director Milos Forman (One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest on 11/6, Amadeus on 11/7), editor Anne V. Coates (Lawrence Of Arabia on 12/8), and cinematographer Robby Müller on 12/9). Many other people in the biz recently shuffled off our mortal coil too, of course, and what follows is a random sample that I happened to come across while reading NYT’s obits since the release of IFS POCKETBOOK #1. The first obit will be a bit of a cheat, because the date of death is Friday, Dec. 29th of 2017. But it was published in the Jan1, 2018, NYT’s with the following headline: Dan Talbot, Whose Theaters Screened A Trove of Art-House Films, Dies at 91. New Yorker Films was founded in 1965 after the Talbots saw a movie they loved at the New York Film Festival. By the mid-1970s, the couple were devoting themselves full time to distribution, Ms. Talbot recalled. New Yorker Films’s hundreds of credits included Aguirre, the Wrath of God (1972), Tampopo (1985), The Boys of St. Vincent (1992) and My Dinner With Andre (1981). The company ceased operations in 2009 but was later revived under new owners. DEBORAH CARRINGTON, who broke into Hollywood by answering an ad for dwarf actors, and later performed stunt work and costume-specific roles in Hollywood blockbusters and campy horror movies, died on March 23 at her parents home in Pleasanton, Calif. She was 58... Ms. Carrington said she had faced prejudicial attitudes as a dwarf during her time in Hollywood. In an interview with the trade publication Back Stage West, she recalled once being overheated in a costume and a director telling her, ‘I know you guys have different body temperature than us tall people. She tried to support dwarfs in Hollywood, insisting that they received credit for their work, since many costume-specific parts often went uncredited. She would also confront writers and directors about clichéd and cheap jokes about her height.”

MILOS FORMAN, the director of One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest (‘75) and Amadeus (‘84) died on April 13 at 86. “In his memoir, Mr. Forman said the producers of Cuckoo’s Nest, Michael Douglas and Saul Zaentz, sought him out because ‘I seemed to be in their price range.’ In fact they had made a prudent match between filmmaker and material, the Kesey novel. Jack Nicholson was the movie’s star. But Mr. Forman - who liked to coax star performances out of lesser-known actors - did exactly that with Louise Fletcher, who won an Oscar for her portrayal of the dictatorial Nurse Ratched.”

R. LEE ERMEY, the foulmouthed drill instructor in Kubrick’s Full Metal Jacket (1987) passed away on April 15 at 74. “Much of the torrent of vicious language he unleashed in Full Metal Jacket was recalled from his days in boot camp and his 30 months as a Marine Corps drill instructor during the Vietnam War.

NELSON PEREIRA DOS SANTOS, a Brazilian director, died on April 21 at 89. He is probably best known to IFS customers as the man behind How Tasty Was My Little Frenchman (1971). “It’s a dark comedy in which Portuguese sailors dump Frenchman overboard and he winds up on an island off Brazil populated by cannibals. A commentary on what Europeans did to native South Americans, it did not amuse a certain film festival in France.”


MICHAEL ANDERSON, a British director, died April 25 at 98. He is best known for Around The World In 80 Days (1956) and Logan’s Run (1976). Logan’s Run, “about a dystopian, youth-obsessed society, was among Mr. Anderson’s best-known films. Starring Michael York, Jenny Agutter, Farrah Fawcett and Mr. Ustinov, it did well at the box office and has long been a favorite of science fiction devotees.

ERMANNO OLMI, a neorealist Italian director, died May 5, at 86. “He was best known for The Tree Of Wooden Clogs (1978), a three-hour epic about 19th-century Lobardian peasant life; he wrote, filmed with a hand-held 35-milimeter camera and edited the movie.” It won a Palme d’Or at Cannes. “The cinema is life,” Mr. Olmi once said, “and life is the cinema for me.”

ANNE V. COATES, “an English surgical nurse who forsook her calling to perform surgery on some of the best-known motion pictures of the 20th century, earning an Academy Award for film editing in 1963,” died on May 8 at 92. In Lawrence Of Arabia (‘62) there is a scene where Lawrence “leans over to light the cigarette of a British diplomat (played by Claude Rains), then stares transfixed at the still-lighted match between his fingers. Lawrence blows out the match, and in the instant he does, the action cuts from the smoldering flame to a panorama of the sunrise over burning desert sands. In that single cut - born when Ms. Coates looked into Mr. O’Toole’s eyes and chose to splice two discrete bits of film together - is contained the passage of time, a journey through space and a delicious visual pun: a literal ‘match’ cut.” In a 2005 interview she said “Women are mostly mothers and directors are mostly children, so the two go very well together.”

JERRY MAREN, a lead Munchkin leader of the Lollipop Guild in The Wizard Of Oz (1939) died on May 24 at 98. “Referring to a 1967 television interview in which (Judy Garland) told Jack Paar that the Munchkins ‘all got smashed every night’ and had to be ‘picked up in butterfly nets,’ Mr. Maren wrote: ‘Judy was telling it according to her pills and booze that day. She left behind a legacy of untruths about us.”

HARLAN ELLISON, the pugnacious and prolific writer who authored over 1,700 short stories and articles and about 100 books, dozens of screenplays and TV scripts, died on May 27th at 84. Born in Cleveland, Ellison was bullied at school for his Jewish heritage and short stature, an experience that “made him feel like an outsider and fueled his anger.” He was expelled from Ohio State University for punching an English professor who belittled his writing. For the next 20 years he would send that professor a copy of everything he published.

NICK MEGLIN, a top editor at Mad magazine, died on June 2 at 52. I grew up on Mad magazines as a kid and their movie parodies fed my cinephelia. “And, because movie parodies were one of Mad’s signature features, he took staffers to movie theaters to watch films. There, in the dark, they giggled at the lines and scenes they would mock in future issues.”

ROBBY MÜLLER, the Dutch cinematographer who worked often with Jim Jarmusch and Wim Wenders, died on July 3 at 78. “In Dead Man (‘95) Mr. Jarmusch’s hypnotic black-and-white western, an accountant (Johnny Depp) flees a 19th-century frontier town after killing a man (and being wounded himself). Mr Müller’s cinematography shimmers with the clarity of characters’ faces, the grittiness of minute details of the town’s metal works and the landscapes Mr. Depp’s character crosses with a Native American named Nobody... In Repo Man (‘84), Alex Cox’s offbeat satire set in the world of the auto repossesion business in Los Angeles, Mr. Müller’s photography earned praise from The Boston Globe film critic Jay Carr, who said Mr Müller was ‘one of the few cameramen able to capture on color film the alienation and uneasiness that the better nor directors captured in black and white.” TAB HUNTER, a teenage idol in the 1950s, died on July 11 at 86. “It was not until 50 years after Battle Cry (1955), when he wrote his autobiography, that he publicly discussed his homosexuality; his love affair with the actor Anthony Perkins; the rage and wrath of his parish priest when, as a 14-year-old boy, he haltingly confessed what had happened in the dark of a movie theater; and years of being ‘painfully isolated, stranded between the casual homophobia of most ‘normal’ people and the flagrantly gay Hollywood subculture - where I was even less comfortable and less accepted.’” SHINOBU HASHIMOTO, the screenwriter whose work with director Akira Kurosawa produced an unparalleled string of Japanese masterworks, helping the nation breakthrough on the international circuit, died in his home on July 19 at 100. “Of the writers in Kurosawa’s stable, Mr. Hashimoto was among the longest-serving, contributing to eight screenplays from 1950 to 1970. Their other pictures together include Throne Of Blood (1957), a reworking of Macbeth set in feudal Japan; The Hidden Fortress (1958), an adventure film about a princess escorted in disguise through enemy territory; and “Dodes’ka-den (1970), about the residents of a Tokyo slum.”

DOUGLAS GRINDSTAFF, the “Emmy Awardwinning sound editor who was pivotal in the creation of the indelible whistles, beeps and hums in the original STAR TREK television series, died on July 23 in Peoria, Ariz. He was 87... There was the whoosh of the automatic doors opening on the spaceship’s bridge, the coos of the furry Tribbles in one of the show’s most famous episodes, and the unsettling wail of sirens when it was time to shift to red alert - not to mention the growl of the cartoonish reptilian alien Gorn (pieced together, using in part, the sound of vomiting) and the high-pitched tinkling of a transporter beam.”

MIRIAM NELSON, a choreographer and dancer whose career spanned seven decades, died on Aug. 12 at 98. “Ms. Nelson’s onscreen appearances included LADY IN THE DARK (1944), a straight acting role as Edward G. Robinson’s secretary in DOUBLE INDEMNITY (1944) and versatile dance work in DUFFY’S TAVERN (1945).”

BURT REYNOLDS, America’s favorite hunk of beefcake from the late ‘70s and early ‘80s, died on Sep. 6 at 82. Before his career took off when he became a regular on the talk-show circuit of the early ‘70s, “Mr. Reynolds, who was part Cherokee, was cast so often as a smoldering Indian, including an Iroquois police detective on the short-lived 1966 ABC series HAWK, that he liked to say that the only Native American he never played was Pocahontas.”

















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Those seeking free evening parking are advised to try the meters along University Avenue west of Macky Auditorium (the meters are free after 7:00PM). There are also a few meters along Colorado Avenue east of Folsom Stadium (free after 5:00PM). The closest and most convenient parking is Pay Lot 360 next to the Duane Physics tower, across from the buffalo statue ($1/hr after 5:00PM). Those seeking covered parking during inclement weather conditions are advised to park either in the Euclid Auto Park or the Folsom Garage (adjoining the CU Champion Center). Please call us at 303-492-4494 if you need any special assistance with wheelchair access or instructions for nearby handicap access. IFS gives free admission to anyone assisting those in wheelchairs or with other special needs. You can pay for parking by calling Parkmobile at 877-727-5951. Lot 360 is in zone #6325 (East Duane).






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