“Friday we shot two CV-22s (Ospreys). They fly like aliens dropping out of the sky. We also shot stealth fighters and low attack missile runs (50 feet off the deck) A10 Warthogs. They look so deadly and mean. We also shot in an army tank graveyard that has more tanks in it then all of Iraq.”
Nope, it’s not R. Lee Ermey’s rantings on the latest episode of Mail Call.
But wait:
“This is the largest military cooperation since Pearl Harbor…”
What?! Oh, heavens, wait, Pearl Harbor the Movie! Why, it’s just the bluster of that preeminent “film”-maker…that eater of pencil shavings, Michael Bay. What’s the occasion? Well, according to Empire Online (the Magazine About Movies For Guys Who Like to Think They Like Movies), the first week of filming has come to a satisfying close on Michael Bay’s Transformers. I seemed to have completely forgotten that this was a Bay film…an odd choice, it seems. Not just because Transformers never felt particularly fast (there seemed to be more ellipses than action sequences and much of each episode was spent chilling with the dinobots…those Autobots had some serious downtime….), but more importantly, has anyone ever seemed less inclined towards nostalgia than Michael Bay? And to be honest, what sort of target audience does a new, gleaming, shiny Transformers movie have beyond those children of the Eighties still convinced that their afternoon lineup was superior to any other generation’s? Certainly the film promises to be about as much fun as an action figure kept in the box in hopes that one day it will be a pricey collectible. Transformers may offer state of the art effects, but the big question is…will it feature “Weird” Al Yankovic’s indelible “Dare to Be Stupid” from the original, truly badass Transformers the Movie?
Shohei Imamura, until very recently one of the world's Greatest Living Directors, has now joined the even-more-esteemed ranks of the Greatest Dead Directors. He reeled out a lot of superb celluloid, and always had that increasingly rare knack for making movies that were formally rigorous and seamlessly innovative, without being self-impressed or pretentious at all. We'll keep the tribute accordingly to-the-point.
A friend's comment upon the death of John Entwistle remains relevent here: "Why couldn't it have been Roger Daltrey?"
On a lighter note, be sure to become friends with Reverse Shot on MySpace! : )
CAVITE: An Interview with Neill Dela Llana and Ian Gamazon
Given the terrific reviews in Los Angeles and New York, we decided now would be a great time to post our interview with Neill Dela Llana and Ian Gamazon, the filmmakers behind Cavite. Check it out at the new Reverse Shot. Perfect reading for Memorial Day weekend.
And we received a small mention in the Village Voice last week. (Not to get all CZ on detractors, but how can anyone who's seen the entirety of this film argue that it doesn't take into account issues of race and class?)
Also, a terrific comment on an earlier post from one of our readers who caught it at the Makor this past weekend. No question this is a tough film, but it's also immensely rewarding.
While some of the higher profile retrospectives are going on (MoMI’s Altman fest in Queens, Film Forum’s B-Noir double features, and BAM’s Sundance thing), possibly the most essential is continuing for one more week at Lincoln Center’s Walter Reade Theater. Attendance is crucial for the uninitiated for “Farewell: A Tribute to Elem Klimov and Larisa Shepitko,” which honors the astonishing Soviet “Thaw” husband and wife filmmakers whose lives were cut short far too young. Too young, perhaps, to accrue the following they deserved outside of their respective countries. Certainly, Klimov’s final film, Come and See (1985), one of cinema’s most wrenching depictions of war’s brutality, specifically the Germans wreaking havoc on a small Byelorussian peasant village, all filtered through the mouth-agape perspective of a young boy, has its passionate fans (see both our recent piece on the film in our new Shock symposium on the main site, and the film itself, showing one more time on the big screen, Monday May 29: 1 & 6.)
But even after having seen Klimov’s horrific masterpiece a few times, I still wasn’t prepared for the experience of Shepitko’s 1978 Golden Bear winner, The Ascent. Beyond harrowing, this overwhelming journey towards both death and a certain spiritual realization (hence the double-pronged title) for a pair of Byelorussian Soviet soldiers evading and then captured by Nazi forces, The Ascent utilizes some of the most dazzling framing and subjective photography I’ve ever seen, creating unbearable tension, agony, and, finally, for one character at least, solace. If you’ve seen Come and See, you’ll notice that some of Klimov’s pummeling aural and visual techniques, with their guttural, primal direct audience address, seem to have originated here. At times unbearably emotional, Shepitko’s vision is thoroughly dread-inducing and utterly uncompromising, a series of intense dramatic crescendos culminating in a moment of despair so attenuated that it almost transforms into something like enlightenment. Shepitko died in a car accident at age 41, and thus The Ascent, which seemed to be heralding her international breakout, was unexpectedly her final film. You still have a chance to catch The Ascent (showing Friday, May 26: 4 & 8:45, and Monday, May 29: 3:45 & 8:45), as well as all of the other treasures in the series, which I will surely try to continue attending.
One of the best films of the 1970s, Altman’s 3 Women has happily been rediscovered and appreciated over the past few years, thanks to a Film Forum revival, followed by a swift Criterion DVD release, complete with one of Altman’s trademark bumbling-insightful commentary tracks. This was a welcome vindication for all of us who had known for a long time that Altman’s ethereal, inexplicable, wondrous film was not just “like Persona” or “a Mulholland Drive precursor” but every bit as good in its own way.
My first experience with the film came via the Encore network, one unassuming night way back in the late Nineties. I had heard of the film thanks to reviews in the big ol Ebert and Kael volumes of my childhood, and I knew that it had never been made available on video in the U.S. So when I happened upon the film at about two a.m., in one of those rare letterboxed cable viewings, I wasn’t sure exactly what I watching. I had obviously missed the first half hour or so, so I thought perhaps I wasn’t clued into some unifying context…what I saw were just odd behavioral ticks and mannerisms, opaque camera tricks, and one fascinatingly deluded protagonist, played by Shelley Duvall at her most endearingly gawky. All of it backed by that gloomily tender, flute and oboe theme. It wasn’t until the film aired again the next morning (don’t you love when that happens?), and I scrambled to get a tape in the VCR, that I realized that those mannerisms and behavioral ticks were the film, and whatever contortions the plot took, whatever spiritual transference the two main characters (Duvall and Sissy Spacek) seemed to make, were all subordinate to those little gradations in movement and speech that separated them.
Now that I’ve seen the film numerous times, on screens large and small, I still don’t think of the big overarching picture (though it is impressive in its symbolic heft) but rather those terrifyingly hilarious moments: the barely audible whispers of the conspiratorial coworkers mocking Duvall’s oblivious (or is she?) Millie, the post-Carrie soaking of Spacek’s dress in bloody cocktail sauce which she then proceeds to sorrowfully scrape back into the bottle, the spitting, gurgling, laughing face of Dirty Gertie, the local saloon’s hideous wall decoration. If you haven’t seen the film, then none of this will make sense to read, and perhaps that’s all for the better. Just as I first watched it through bleary-eyed incredulity one late night, it’s best to go into the film cold. Altman’s mix of the metaphorical and the naturalistic has never been put to better use than in 3 Women, which this weekend will be playing at the Museum of the Moving Image in Queens….don’t miss it. Saturday, May 20, 1:30 p.m.
Sunday, May 21, 4:00 p.m.
Oh, cool, it's sailor cap-wearing douchebag Bono, backed by the ever-risible Arcade Fire (have so many musicians ever sounded quite so thin?), covering "Love Will Tear Us Apart"!
Can't wait to hear dude's insights on Leonard Cohen at Film Forum! Bono, truly you are rock's great ambassador; now get right to work on covering Ian Curtis' finale!
Oh, Anthony. Anthony, Anthony, Anthony. Could you please - just once - write a review that isn't so damn cute! I'm just smarting from all the giggles you tickle me with! Tee-hee! Week after week you just write the cutest little reviews, which make all films, good and bad, seem like teeny tiny turds, gasping for a breath of artistic validity as they fall to the bottom of the cultural toilet bowl. Lo, it was just this week, you so deftly put CAPOTE in its place while validating M:i:III with charm to spare!
"To be honest, I prefer the Hoffman of “M:i:III” to the Oscar winner of “Capote.” The role of Owen Davian, though underwritten, is more of a piece and less of a turn than his chirruping Truman Capote. Say what you like about Davian; he may sell dirty bombs to Middle Eastern regimes and torture an American female agent, but at least he doesn’t drag William Shawn along to watch."
Tee-hee!
What's more - your candor: "We are primed for Ethan’s retrieval of the Rabbit’s Foot, but all we get is his spectacular arrival, not the theft itself: out he hops with the booty in his paw, and that’s that. And the grand finale? A fistfight, after which somebody gets run over. Listen, if I want to see that kind of action, I don’t go to Shanghai. I don’t even go to the movies. I go to the South Bronx and stand outside a bar. "
Oh, naughty Anthony. South Bronx. Hrrrumphh, little boy, have you been fibbing to your mother and playing hookie...
OR
WTF. SERIOUSLY. HAVE YOU EVER BEEN TO THE BRONX?
"No."
ARE YOU JUST BEING CUTE?
"Yes."
WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF A FIGHT BROKE OUT IN A BAR YOU WERE HYPOTHETICALLY AT IN THE BRONX?
The Greatest Movie of the Decade [Century?] So Far
Wipe the sweat off of your middlebrow, because it's finally arrived.
Not even the stalwart members of Reverse Shot could deny the cinematic power of The DaVinci! Seductive, oozing with primordial angst, and iconoclastic in the manner of the very best of Bunuel, Ron Howard's late-career masterwork has fallen on cinema with the force of a hurricane. Simply put, nothing else matters. (Not even United 93, and that, as you know, wasn't a film, it was an experience.)
As the film opens, Tom Hanks arrives in the Louvre to investigate the murders of a monk, whose life emerges in a series of flashbacks. Monk Dave (Paul Bettany, reprising his Tom Edison from Dogville with his trademark queeny flare), an albino who wears hoods with more panache than Anakin Skywalker, discovers while trolling through the Louvre one day that there seems to be some odd inscription on the Mona Lisa. Naturally, he can't get to the front of the line because of the hustle-bustle of the nacho-munching American tourists, so he waits until after hours, when it's really dark and there are absolutely no security guards to watch over what is probably the world's most famous framed work of art. After he unscrews the glass covering, he reaches around to the back of the frame and finds a note taped there. "Look closer!" it reads, as Thomas Newman's already indelible Score for Woodpipe and Xylophone floats over the soundtrack like a plastic bag.
For those who have read Dan Brown's eloquent, Faulkner-esque novel, the rest won't come as much of a surprise. Dave is killed for being the monk who knew too much--that Jesus impregnated Mary with a child, who grew up to be....no no, I can't give it away, but let's just say he was one of the cast members in Cast Away. A first-rate production all the way, with a thrilling array of spills and chills, The DaVinci Code may just be the only movie ever made. Even the supporting cast is a delight: Ian McKellen is a blind old seer called The Rhinestone, who knows the real story behind The Last Supper ("They served pot roast and Matzoh!"); Audrey Tautou is an Amelie-invoking delight, even in one surpassingly cute moment, raising a spoon to the side of her face and gasping out an adorable French giggle; and as the savage Bennett Drosselmeyer, sent by the Opus Dei missionaries to assassinate Leonardo DaVinci (only to find that he's been dead for over fifty years), Charles Durning shows a stunning athletic prowess.
Basically, Ron Howard even outdoes The Missing here in sheer generic superfluousness...I mean, superlativeness. Breathlessly paced, ideologically shocking, and spiritually inquisitive, this might be the rebirth of the Summer Blockbuster. At least until Cars.
Sorry for the delay folks, but as you'll see when you go to our main page at Reverse Shot, we've been pretty busy. Not only are we very excited about our new Spring issue--featuring symposium pieces on everything from A Woman Under the Influence to Killer of Sheep to Eyes Wide Shut, reviews of scores of new films and DVDs, and exclusive interviews with Terry Zwigoff and Nicole Holofcener--we're thrilled to present our new look.
In addition to the design,for which we thank our new friends at Dtek Digital Media, we are also pleased to encourage you to check back for more frequent updates of new releases, interviews, and thoughts on DVDs, as they come down the pipeline. For now, though dig into "Reverse Shock" to find out what really alarms us Reverse Shotters. And as always, let us know what you think.
We just had our first screenings in Yellow Springs and Dayton (home turf for the filmmakers) and response has been excellent. Currently scheduled dates below. We'll update with new engagements weekly.
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Tuesday, May 16 7:00 pm
Wednesday, May 17 7:00 pm Wexner Center for the Arts
The Ohio State University
1871 North High Street
Columbus, Ohio 43210-1393
Mon. May 22 through Thur. May 25 The Balboa Theater
3630 Balboa Street at 38th Ave.
San Francisco, CA
BREAKING NEWS: REVERSE SHOT ACQUIRES "A LION IN THE HOUSE"
In the category of putting our money where our mouths are:
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REVERSE SHOT ACQUIRES AWARD-WINNING DOCUMENTARY A LION IN THE HOUSE.
New York, New York, May 9, 2006 – Online film journal Reverse Shot announced today its first foray into theatrical distribution with the acquisition of Steven Bognar and Julia Reichert’s critically acclaimed documentary A Lion in the House. The film saw its world premiere in the Documentary Competition at the 2006 Sundance Film Festival and has since gone on to share the Best Documentary Prize at the Nashville Film Festival and earn Special Jury Prizes at both the Full Frame Documentary Film Festival and the Cleveland International Film Festival and win the Audience Award at Hot Docs. It will see television broadcast on PBS’ Independent Lens in late June.
Offering a sense of scope and an unflinching humanity comparable to Hoop Dreams, A Lion in the House is a remarkable journey that provides an unprecedented look at the struggles with cancer of five young people and their families over a six-year period. Filmmakers Steven Bognar (Personal Belongings) and Julia Reichert (Seeing Red, Union Maids) bring audiences face to face with the uncertainty of the entire cancer experience and its rippling effects on family, community, and professional caregivers.
“My familial connection to the filmmakers aside, I think if 2006 sees the release of a better documentary than A Lion in the House then it will be a watershed year for the form. Though on paper the film may sound like rough viewing, watching it with an audience at Sundance was truly an illuminating and inspiring experience,” said Reverse Shot co-editor Jeff Reichert.
"We've long hoped and believed that this film would be a powerful theatrical experience. The response at Sundance and festivals around the country has validated that hope and we are very excited to be working with Reverse Shot to make this a reality. We are proud that the film works with such force as a collective movie-going experience and so are the families in the film, who have been traveling with us to festivals around the country," said Steven Bognar and Julia Reichert.
The deal was negotiated by Neal Block and Jeff Reichert of Reverse Shot with the filmmakers and Jan Rofekamp and Diana Holtzberg of Films Transit International, Inc. Films Transit is selling the film worldwide. A Lion in the House is a co-production of the filmmakers and ITVS, the Independent Television Service.
Reverse Shot has already scheduled engagements in ten markets including New York, Boston, San Francisco and Seattle with plans to add between 10 and 20 more before and after the June broadcast.
“We’re going to take our time, and really seek out ideal screening environments. Venues are interested in making each Lion showing a true event, and we’re excited by the initial response,” said Reverse Shot’s Head of Business Affairs, Neal Block.
“The reason we began Reverse Shot was to help bring audiences to just this kind of movie. To be able to start bringing this movie to audiences is merely an extension of that mission. Our main focus will be to continue fostering great writing, but when the opportunity arises, we’d like to be able to showcase great films as well,” said Reverse Shot co-editor Michael Koresky.
Reverse Shot (www.reverseshot.com) was founded in 2003 as an outlet for the next generation of film writers. Currently run by Block, Koresky, and Reichert, Reverse Shot, with a rotating cast of 30 writers, publishes new issues quarterly, handles weekly reviewing duties for indieWIRE, and maintains the popular ReverseBlog (blogs.indiewire.com/Reverseshot).
Julia Reichert is a two-time Academy Award Nominee for Best Feature Documentary, for Seeing Red and Union Maids. These films and two others, Growing Up Female and Methadone – An American Way of Dealing, all screened nationally in the U.S. on PBS. Reichert wrote, produced, and directed the feature film Emma & Elvis (which screened at numerous international film festivals), and produced (with Steven Bognar) The Dream Catcher, a feature film directed by Ed Radtke.
Steven Bognar’s first feature documentary Personal Belongings premiered at the Sundance Film Festival, and went on to screen in 27 other festivals, including IDFA, San Francisco, Gen Art, and Atlanta, where it won the audience award. Steven Bognar’s documentary short Picture Day also premiered at Sundance, screened at 19 other film festivals, including IDFA, DoubleTake and the British Short Film Festival. Gravel, his experimental narrative short, played many festivals after its Sundance premiere and can be seen on the Sundance Channel. Bognar has worked for 12 years as a media arts educator in schools, teaching media literacy to thousands of kids.
It’s hard to keep a straight face during Chen Kaige’s The Promise, but it’s not for lack of trying. The once heralded director of the Palme d’Or winning Farewell My Concubine is yet again trumped by Zhang Yimou. My, how that must sting. Both Fifth Generation Chinese filmmakers—that first class of film-school students after China’s cultural revolution—Zhang and Chen have seemingly been neck and neck career-wise, even from the start. Chen’s auspicious beginnings were outdone by Zhang (Yellow Earth now looks jaundiced next to Red Sorghum, and Farewell My Concubine’s grandiose melodramatics were made frankly irrelevant by the following year’s lacerating, raw cultural history of China, To Live, from Zhang), and even as these two most famous of China’s “serious” export directors have moved towards more and more desperate mainstream acceptance, they remain on alarmingly similar missions. Chen’s sentimental teacher-pupil hokum Together seems especially muted when compared to Zhang’s lovely heart-on-its-sleeve reminiscence The Road Home and certainly next to the wonderful, neorealist schoolhouse drama Not One Less.
Chen Kaige certainly doesn’t seem to lack for ambition, yet so many of his projects come off as foolhardy, as if he’s trying hard to fit into a role he wasn’t born to play. Now, with Zhang Yimou’s odd mid-career turnaround into a mightily impressive action filmmaker and choreographer (Hero is one of the most visually stunning films of the decade, and House of Flying Daggers, whatever its flaws, manages to maintain its silly love-action parable from beginning to end with palpable tension, romance, and catharsis), Chen has followed suit with his own gravity-defying middlebrow martial-arts opus. The result is something you want to embrace for its stabs at sheer earnestness, its yearning for primal emotion and image, and its reach for myth. Sadly, it’s incoherent at best, and a noxious, pandering bit of Asian-export exoticism at worst. For anyone who tries to recoup the film as a pure-hearted myth (or, per a certain someone’s predictable glowing review: a Pop Art masterpiece…and “salvific”…LOL), I defy them to explain how its central love triangle (between a slave, a very anachronistically costumed hipster princess, and a general) plays out in any recognizably emotional or human context. It’s an endless cascade of slapdash effects and screwy visual metaphors; new action set pieces spring up like jack-in-the-boxes every few minutes, with no emotional or physical grounding. Here Chen has all the storytelling capabilities and respect for spatial coherence of a doodling toddler.
Apparently, this Promise is a severely truncated version of the original, much longer one shown in China. This may account for its nonsensical, rushed feel and overall crudeness, but it’s no excuse for the general weariness of the endeavor. Critics, like FX Feeney, who have compared it to Ford and Hawks obviously have no sense of aesthetics or film history, and that same aforementioned critic who writes (ahem), that “with The Promise, Chen Kaige joins cinema’s archetypal visionaries from Murnau to Kurosawa, Bertolucci to Boorman,” has obviously stopped watching movies as we know them. In the most hilarious sequence, which comes near the beginning, and with one fell swoop slaughters the entire film, the slave (Jang Dong-Kun, whose wide-eyed innocence shtick grows old even faster than Cecilia Cheung’s pathetic haughty princess routine) literally outruns a pack of wild, trampling bulls. With its pasty, pre-Young Sherlock Holmes digital effects gloss, the scene has no sense of composition or scale. It’s just a frenetic whirlwind of movement. The bulls look like bundles of pixels; Jang Dong-Kun looks like Speedy Gonzalez. Which would be fine if this were a children’s film, and not a “master” director’s disingenuous stab at big-budget credibility.
We live in a cinema culture that can often unduly punish great filmmakers for making bad, unexpected, or somewhat uneven films. It’s almost as if we expect each new work of a major (or even emerging) filmmaker to stand as “great” in its own right rather than acknowledging the continually negotiated dialogue that is a filmmaking career. And given that most anticipated new films screen in that worst of contexts, the festival, with all the attendant buzz, buyers, hype, snap judgments, distractions, etc., it’s sometimes amazing that any films make it out alive. It seems silly that there was that bitten-nail few months when it looked like a now-acclaimed, obviously masterful, important, and bizarre film like demonlover might not find U.S release, but given the initial notices, at the time that scenario seemed all too likely. And yes, sometimes a Tsai Ming-liang can drop a real stinker (a bad example as he hasn’t yet), but that doesn’t mean we critics shouldn’t try to foster a culture where said stinker can’t find screen space, even if only for a little while.
I was very worried about Laurent Cantet’s highly odd Vers le sud after Toronto ’05 for those very reasons, so I was quite excited to receive word that it had found U.S. distribution. Veering almost completely off-course (and off-continent—the action takes place in 1980s Haiti) from his tightly coiled and contained previous features, Human Resources and Time Out, Vers le sud feels flabby, unsure, perhaps even a bit superficial, at first. Set in a beachside resort where older rich white woman from the U.S. bathe in the sun and frolic with young Haitian men, the exchange of leisure for labor marks the most immediate point of departure from Cantet’s earlier films. Except that it doesn’t really: we’re still in a world of labors and commodities, rules and regulations—he’s just moved his core inquiry into a realm circumscribed by pleasure (or perhaps it’s pleasure that’s circumscribed by the aforementioned). In short: a tourist industry of a very sexual variety and with a host of troubling colonial implications at play.
Central to the plot is a love triangle which finds Charlotte Rampling and Karen Young squaring off for the affections local stud Legba (Ménothy Cesar), and their waltzes of passive aggression are my favorite parts of the film. Young, a veteran of various television shows, delivers a highly specific performance that runs the gamut from insufferably pouty, to winsomely charming, to painfully, almost unbelievably awkward, providing a nice foil to the reliably steely Rampling. The bulk of the film is so focused on this immediately personal interaction, that it’s easy to wonder if the very serious minded director of Human Resources headed south himself. Except that again, what we’re looking at is “work”—just of a different variety.
Later in the film, Cantet leaves the confines of the resort to tour us through the more ravaged sections of Port-au-Prince to mixed results—its here that the spare economy of the earlier portions breaks down, and the film becomes more obviously politicized, even as it perhaps begins to flounder a bit. The context is important, if the delivery is slapdash (reminds me a bit of that whole Draft Riot business in Gangs of New York), and I’m sure Vers le sud is going to take more than a few hits for it. Even so, it’s a very flawed, wonderfully photographed movie that I still like very much—perhaps not a feather in its creator’s cap, but I can’t imagine it’s not a step off to some equally fascinating place for one of our most fascinating filmmakers.
When last we left our saga, Steve from Akron was eagerly anticipating a complimentary DVD of Ang Lee's Brokeback Mountain.....
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From: Stephen *****
Sent: Friday, April 28, 2006 3:03 PM
To: Neal Block
Subject: RE: Worlds Fastest Indian
Hi Neal, Well I want to thank you for the chance to see the Movie Brokeback Mountain. My wife and I just could not get passed the kissing scene. The first encounter in the tent was bad enough, at least it was in the dark. The mountain country was great. I thought it seemed to start slow but that did not bother me as much as the above. My wife would have watched more but she could not stand me making my comments. She will finish it when I am not around. I am sorry about it but it is just not my type of movie.
Now the good part I did love the Worlds Fastest Indian. I am going again with my son Thanks for letting me know that it was playing in Montrose when it comes out on DVD I will get it. Thanks Steve.
From: Neal Block
Sent: Friday, April 28, 2006 3:18 PM
To: 'Stephen *****'
Subject: RE: Worlds Fastest Indian
Steve,
I’m really glad you took the time to watch the film and write back. I agree that it’s not for everyone, but at least you were open to the idea of watching it. People have their perceptions and limitations, but that becomes much worse when there’s a refusal to check out the other side.
Thanks to everyone who showed up last night for our festival-closing presentation at Makor. However, for those of you who did not make it to see Julia Reichert and Steven Bognar’s A Lion in the House, luckily for you there will be more chances. Last night was my first experience with the film, and let me put it bluntly: Simply, my life will never be the same.
Every critic who is gushing about the “honest” realism of United 93 should be forced to watch A Lion in the House. Its pain is unfiltered, devoid of propaganda, and likely to provide a much needed wakeup call to those who bluster about “steeling” themselves for Greengrass’s bullshit, politically suspect trauma of reenactment.
One of the most cleansing, emotional, honest, unsparing, devastating, cathartic experiences I’ve ever had in a theater, A Lion in the House simply must be seen. Following five cancer-infected children and their parents over the course of many years as they deal with the ups and downs, tragedies and hopes, wins and losses, this momentous work of human empathy demands to be seen. You will simply not be the same person coming out as you were going in. More eloquent words from my co-editor here than I can muster at this point: I’m still walking around in a daze. Spread the word. There are no excuses: The film will continue showing at Makor in a special run. Don’t make the mistake of not seeing it.
Sun, May 21 & 28, 2006, 3:30pm
Sun, Jun 4, 2006, 5:00pm
Sun, Jun 11, 2006, 3:30pm
Mon, Jun 12, 2006, 7:00pm
Steinhardt Building, 35 West 67th Street Click for TICKET INFO
