In Michel Hazanavicius' idol-toppling GODARD MON AMOUR, an "untouchable" gets touched

It was probably a good idea to have a relatively "mainstream" French director like Michel Hazanavicius (of the OSS movies and the Oscar-winning The Artist) be the one to make a movie about that French filmmaking icon Jean-Luc Godard. I mean, what has Hazanavicius got to lose? Something like this could ruin in perpetuity the reputation and maybe even the career of a French ''art' filmmaker. But by giving us a kind of mini-biopic of only a few years in Godard's life (the time when he claimed as his girlfriend one, Anne Wiazemsky,

whose memoir of those years this movie is based on) and then turning the result into more of a comedy than anything else, Hazanavicius (shown at right) has provided us an entertainment that at least cursorily explores the man and his ideas, politics and filmmaking.

While the resulting movie has already inflamed the hearts and minds of those who hold up Godard as some kind of filmmaking god (which gives TrustMovies yet another reason to remain an atheist), GODARD MON AMOUR (Le redoubtable, in its original French title) is mostly a smart take-down of a man who has been idolized and lionized just a little too long and hard.

As played -- very well, too -- by the ubiquitous French actor Louis Garrel, above, our Jean-Luc is shown to be smart, talented, and onto some genuinely ground-breaking cinematic stuff. Unfortunately, he is also petty, pompous, jealous and something of an overall twat. His determination to "change" (because of the current political/social situation), without realizing that the result of this change would produce neither better nor more accessible movies, seems to be the point of this Wiazemsky/Hazanavicius collaboration. (Or perhaps that's just my own opinion of this guy's career.)

In the role of Anne, the lovely Stacy Martin (above) does more than a credible job of creating an intelligent and lively young woman, greatly enamored of her famous man, who over time begins to see the feet of clay and cracks in the facade. In the supporting cast, Hazanavicius regular, the gorgeous Bérénice Bejo (below, right), takes the role the grounded best friend, and a number of other good actors fill out the more minor roles.

But the movie belong mostly to Garrel and a little less so to Martin, and both actors come through with colors flying. Garrel, in particular has the look, the attitude and the coldly withholding quality said to be Godard hallmarks. You can easily imagine, in fact, that the man we see here will turn into the man whom we never see in the recent Faces Places documentary because he refuses to answer the door to Agnès Varda and JR.

There's plenty of humor to be found in the film -- from Garrel's performance in general to Jean-Luc's near-constantly breaking eye-glasses and most of all in the evolution of his film theory from something individually helmed to a kind of nitwit collectivism.

Bonus treat: we also get a nice, long, and very impressive look at M Garrel, naked and full-frontal, which, for all I know may have really sent poor M. Godard around the bend, jealousy-wise. As I say, there's lots of good fun to be had here, and just as with that documentary made a few years back about J.D. Salinger, the critical response seems much more to do with "How dare you sully the reputation of such a great man?!" than with the quality and worth of the actual movie itself.

From Cohen Media Group, in French with English subtitles and running a just-about-right 107 minutes, Godard Mon Amour opened two weeks ago in our cultural capitals and today hits South Florida and elsewhere at art theaters near you. In Miami, look for it at the Coral Gables Art Cinema, and in Palm Beach County at the Movies and Delray and the Movies of Lake Worth.

Discover the perfect marriage (a couple of 'em) in Laura Gabbert's doc, CITY OF GOLD

OK: the first of these marriages -- of the Los Angeles-based food critic Jonathan Gold to his wife Laurie Ochoa, his former editor -- seems to work wonderfully well both personally and professionally. But it's the second one -- Mr. Gold as a superlative food critic to his hometown and still favorite city, Los Angeles -- that is the proverbial marriage-made-in-heaven. Thanks to the work of filmmaker Laura Gabbert, shown below, we learn a lot about both of these couplings, while enjoying the experience immensely.

Ms Gabbert has the good sense to keep her documentary, CITY OF GOLD, focused heavily on her subject, and Mr Gold (shown above and below, in two of his haunts) proves an intelligent, thoughtful, warm and gracious host -- in the process almost convincing TrustMovies, a former born-and-raised Angeleno who used to hate this would-be city, that it might be pretty damned wonderful, after all. It certainly offers the most amazing array of tasty and varied restaurants that anyone could ask for -- even if you have to drive for hours to get to many of them. Lengthy drives, usually in heavy traffic, have become -- ever since the destruction of the city's fabulous public transportation system during the late 1940s and early 50s -- indigenous to Los Angeles.

Ms Gabbert gives us only snippets of Gold's writing, but these are enough to make us want to go to the source and read more. She weaves history, tradition, diversity and all kinds of food and restaurants -- all of which are filtered through Mr Gold's lovely sensibility -- into the tale of a "critic" who ups the standard for criticism via... well, you'll see. And hear. His thoughts about just about everything seem well worth knowing. He calls one little place a "miracle of entry-level Capitalism" and he and his director have a good time making fun of the "anonymous restaurant critic" (below) -- an idea which he thoroughly pooh-poohs.

We come to understand how and why this critic chooses the restaurants he does -- often family run and what some of us might call a tad "low-end." The reason is because the owners and chefs are cooking for their community, rather than for critics or tourists or "haute cuisine-ists." It turns out that Gold never reviews a restaurant until he has frequented it several times (I believes he mentions that his record is 17 times prior to review). Clearly this is no rush-to-judgment kind of guy. He also, toward the end of this really excellent documentary, explains something that is epidemic to criticism and that he attempts to derail: the idea of "contempt prior to investigation." Gold appears to lack the former but works hard to accomplish the latter.

That last explains a lot about this man and his mission, I think. (He's as likely to cover someone's "taco trailer," above, as go to a sit-down restaurant.) So sit back and enjoy the many interviews with restaurants owners, chefs, and other critics (Ruth Reichl makes an appearance here, too), along with Gold's family and friends. Together all this becomes a genuinely new and revealing look at a place we often take for granted, its enormously diverse people, and the food they cook, eat and share.

City of Gold,  from Sundance Selects/IFC Films and running 96 minutes, after opening in New York and Los Angeles hits South Florida tomorrow in the Miami area at the O Cinema- Wynwood.

Christian Vincent's HAUTE CUISINE proves both food heaven and Frot heaven (Catherine variety)

Newly available via Netflix streaming, the succulent HAUTE CUISINE (Les saveurs du Palais) is even better than I imagined, while viewing it on a particularly crummy video link provided by The Weinstein Company (its distributor) in which the company logo was plastered over the subtitles, making them difficult to read. Once that was fixed, the movie came across our streaming facility so poorly that everything was blurred almost to non-recognition. One phone call to the tech department resulted in a helpful move of the logo away from the subtitles, but a second call about the blurred images proved no help at all. (This is perhaps not the best manner in which to present your film to critics.) Now, seeing it again in hi-def, with its incredibly delicious-looking cooking in sharp relief, I would call this film a must-see for the foodie audience. For the rest of us, thanks to the reasons detailed below, it's a whole lot more.

As directed and co-written (with Etienne Comar, from the book by the chef herself, Danièle Mazet-Delpeuch) by Christian Vincent (La séparation, La discrète), Haute Cuisine tells us of the woman who served as the first female chef for a French President (in this case, François Mitterrand). Though the names of both Mitterand and Delpeuch have been changed, this is clearly their story, and it's a good one: filled with the kind of feminism that has no ax to grind, save the simple demand that this chef (below) be allowed the right to do her job.

The film is organized as a flashback during the final days of this chef's later job, feeding a large group of workers on a post in the Antarctic, during which we're fed flashbacks of how Hortense, as the film names her, came to be employed at the palace and what then transpired. Running but 90 minutes, Haute Cuisine moves fast, too: M. Vincent is no piker in the pacing department.

The film is mostly about work. We learn almost nothing about the personal life of our chef. But so genuinely interesting is her job cooking for the President -- discovering what he wants and likes and then preparing it, sometimes surmounting sizable obstacles -- that there's no need for more. And thank the lord, this is no piece of food porn, as have been a number of recent films covering famous restaurants and/or chefs. Instead, we see and feel here a genuine love of food and French cooking by both the chef and the President. The movie is also too much fun for food porn, filled as it is with juicy characters and enough drama to easily carry us along.

Vincent and his casting director Aurélie Guichard have brought together an exquisite cast, small roles to stars, then properly stepped aside and let the actors do their work. The real glory of the film, however rests in the performance of its star, Catherine Frot (above), a fine French actress we see far too little of here in the USA. For whatever reason, most of her movies don't make it to the States; the last time we saw her was in The Page Turner (2006) and Angel of Mine (2008). Ms Frot is an immense talent but she's not the showy kind. She does what's needed and makes every moment real. She's particularly gifted at playing intelligent, thoughtful characters; watching her, you always feel a deep interior life below the surface. And she can do everything from comedy -- high and low -- to dark drama equally well.

Frot is the movie, but huge help is provided by a couple of other actors: the charming little fellow who portrays the President, Jean d'Ormesson (above and below), an 88-year-old man making only his second acting appearance here. Short, slight and quite elfin-like but bristling with energy and charm, he and his scenes with Frot are the film's highlights -- along with those mouth-watering food preparations.

The only other actor with a role large enough to register strongly is that gorgeous young performer Arthur Dupont (shown below with Ms Frot), of One to Another (Chacun sa nuit) and Bus Palladium, playing Hortense's assistant and budding pastry chef. It's always fun to see actors run the gamut, and Dupont proves as sweet and cheerful here as he was dark and/or sexually transgressive in those earlier movies.

Haute Cuisine was still playing in theaters as recently as last week; what a nice surprise to find it already available on Netflix streaming.

Pablo Berger's Snow White bull fight opens: BLANCANIEVES proves a real Spainish silent film, and TM has a short Q&A with Berger

TrustMovies has seen BLANCANIEVES twice already (a third watch is not out of the question), so he stands by his earlier assessment of this rich-in-so-many-ways movie. The below is an extended version of what he published when the film opened last year's Spanish Cinema Now series from the FSLC. What we have here is a much more genuine "silent film" (if that's what you're looking for) than last year's Oscar-winning Best Picture.

In fact, Spain's entry into the Best Foreign Language Film "Oscar" race is the real thing, all right, succeeding both as an homage to "silents" and -- because of its ambition and insight, not to mention what movies are capable of technically these days -- a truly new creation all its own. (The fact that Blancanieves was not even short-listed for the "Oscar" says less about its quality than about the inability of the Academy to distinguish art from enjoyable, if self-reverential, kitsch -- particularly where certain other "silent films" are concerned.)

Retelling the Snow White fairy-tale while giving it a decidedly Spanish spin, writer/
director Pablo Berger (who, nearly a decade ago offered up his only other full-length feature,
the great Torremolinos 73), combines the customs of Spain (bullfighting, anyone?) with the story's own identifying objects (a wicked stepmother gloriously played by Maribel Verdú, above, who seems even better on that second viewing) into a Grimm stew of dark and delightful variations on the original (and already dark) fairy tale's themes.

Senor Berger, shown at right, has stocked his film with so many ideas, all at the service of his story, that his film -- if it were more in-your-face and he were not such a sleight-of-hand director -- becomes, if not exactly a critique then more a gentle reminder of things like Capitalism, child abuse, the Spanish heritage of everything from dance to bullfighting, the power of media and the utter gullibility of the populace, among its many subjects. The filmmaker also gives us "the other" in the form of those famous dwarfs, below, who here appear as a coalition/family of mini bullfighters. The way that Berger weaves together themes from the old story, along with those that are new and distinctly Spanish, is a treat.

By the way, you can indeed take the kids to see this film -- so long as they can read the subtitles. While the movie occasionally goes into "adult" areas (Wicked Stepmom's into S&M!), it does so fleetingly and "tastefully," as becomes a silent movie. And it is consistently suggestive rather than coarse in its visuals (the gorgeous black-and-white cinematography is by Kiko de la Rica of The Last Circus) -- never more so than in its amazingly beautiful, sad and mysterious final scene.

Here, Berger takes a magnificent leap, and what has heretofore been a lovely retelling of an old tale transforms into... oh, god, so many possibilities that I must see the film again to re-discover. (That's what I said before I saw the film a second time. Now that I have, damned if even more possibilities haven't opened up  -- which I ask the writer/director about in the Q&A below.)  You're going to have to open up a discussion with your kids about this final scene and what it means. But it'll be worth it. You'll all learn and grow and be made aware again (maybe for the first time for those kids) of what movies are only very occasionally capable.

Blancanieves, from Cohen Media Group and running 104 minutes, opens this Friday, March 29, in new York (and the Angelika Film Center and the Paris Theatre) and in the Los Angeles area (at Laemmle's Royal and Sundance Sunset Cinema. I believe there will be a further rollout, but these are the only playdates I could find, as of now....

*************

TM's recent talk with Blancanieves' writer/director Pablo Berger (shown just right of center, above) took place at the offices of Cohen Media Group, when the filmmaker was in town. Berger seems a very gentle and intelligent family man (he's married with kids -- I think he told me two), whose prematurely grey hair offsets his quite youthful and unlined face. In addition to being a filmmaker who doesn't film that often (two full-length movies and one short in 25 years!), he has a Ph.D. and has taught here in NYC as a professor of management, as well as having successive careers in a publicist and music producer. A kind of Spanish Renaissance man, he could undoubtedly handle a number of other jobs, too. But we're glad he's made his movies. If you're unfamiliar with his sensational Torremolinos 73, stick it on your must-see list for an amazingly funny, real, surprising look at Spain toward the end of the Franco regime. (The link above is to my talk with actor Javier Cámara about the film)

In person, Berger is gracious and accessible, and this little round-up would be longer than it is, had TM not forgotten, in one of his increasing senior moments, to bring his pocket recorder with him. So, instead, he scribbles away as Berger speaks. TM first explains to the filmmaker how much he loves Blancanieves, and particularly the way in which it sort of leaves, at the finale, the more regular world of storytelling, to becomes something quite else. He then tells Berger that he has watched the film twice and is still wondering about/musing on that strange ending. (I have taken the liberty of quoting as best as my notes would let me, below, even though I did not have my recorder. In the short conversation that follows, TM appears in boldface and Berger in standard type. )

Your ending seemed to includes ideas on everything from capitalism -- That sleazy character of the bullfight manager (played by José María Pou, above) to whom our heroine signs away her life, so why would not someone as famous as this lady bullfighter end up as an attraction in a carny show -- as a kind of Lola Montès? Boy, I wish Andrew Sarris could have seen this movie! -- to feminism: Does that tear indicate that the girl is saddened not to have found her prince, or sad because the prince turns out to be only the most handsome of the dwarfs? Or maybe she is realizing that this carny show, and only this, will be here new role/career in life?)

(Berger smiles.) You have understood things. But the meaning here is open to interpretation. It's up to you. To each viewer.

Hmmm...  Some viewers, I think -- and I am sometimes among them, though not so much here, with your film -- want more guidance.

I always feel that, in addition to everything else in the movie, there must be something mysterious to make it special: some sort of surprise. To me, movies are an act of love. A kind of time travel.  They include a thick layer of emotion, plus humor and surprise. They are like your children.

That's how many artists feel about their creations.

Really: I believe they are like your children because they have the same DNA!

(We laugh.)  Well put. I can hardly think of two films more dissimilar than Toremolinos 73 -- which shows us a slice of Spain toward the end of the Franco regime, in which you used, in addition to Javier Cámara and Candela Peña, that great actor Mads Mikkelsen -- 

He is a fine actor. And so very versatile.

-- and now Blancanieves. How did you come to this one?

I always loved fairy tales as a kid, so that led naturally to this film. My father was a ship's captain, and he was a great story-teller. He always told us stories that would begin in reality but then he always added his own fictional elements to them. All this inspired me.

Yes, and now you have inspired us. This may be a little soon to ask, since you don't make movies all that often: Do you have any idea -- movie-wise -- what you might do next?

Well, I have now two different scripts ready to go ahead.

What are they about, and which do you think you'll do first?

I don't want to go into detail about either of them, as everything is so uncertain at this point. But for me, the test always is this: Would you be happy if this one were your final film?

Wow. That notion certainly separates the men from the boys.

(We get the word from the publicist that our brief time is up, 
and so I thank Señor Berger for his time -- and his 
two very different and very fine films.)

Alice Rohrwacher's CORPO CELESTE views today's Italy by way of religion and family

Opening theatrically simultaneously with this year's Opens Roads festival of new Italian cinema, CORPO CELESTE, the first full-length narrative film from Alice Rohrwacher (sister of one of Italy's top actresses, Alba Rohrwacher), is exactly the kind of movie with which Open Roads often graces us. But this one quickly picked up its own theatrical release via Film Movement, an unusual distributor that spies quality films with immediacy for use in its DVD movie-of-the-month-club and occasional theatrical release. This one proves a good, if not great, film about Italy today and how the country's religion impacts its citizenry (and vice versa).

Ms Rohrwacher, shown at left, who wrote and directed the movie, tells the story of a 13-year-old youngster named Marta, who, though born in Italy, has lived in Switzerland for the past ten years, which comprises most of her life to date. Now, she and her mom and her big sister are back in Italy, living with mom's extended family, and Marta is not having a very good time.

Well, of course. Italy is going through a bad economic and political period, so turning to religion for any kind of intel-ligent comfort or outlet, as shown here at least, simply will not work. By making her protagonist a kind of immigrant -- which is certainly in keeping with one of the main themes of this year's Open Roads (and probably with much recent Italian cinema) -- the filmmaker sets up an interesting premise.

How different Marta (played quite believably by newcomer Yle Vianello, shown above) would probably be, had she spent her entire life in Italy. Would she question authority, particularly that found in religion, so fiercely? Probably not. Certainly none of the other of her classmates do, while the adults on view seem to take it as a necessary... well, not evil, exactly, but maybe a necessary drudgery. As one male family member tells Marta regarding the annoying Catechism she must practice for her upcoming Commun-ion, "Learn it now, and then you can forget it." Which is pretty much the attitude toward religion that everyone takes. But not Marta.

The local priest, bored nearly out of his skull and hoping for a transfer soon to a better parish, is at best unresponsive. As played by the fine actor, Salvatore Cantalupo (above, left), the moonlighting dressmaker in Gomorrah, and last seen in New York in two Open Roads movies: Whatsoeverly (click and scroll way down) and Lo spazio bianco (click and scroll way down again), the fellow is less a villain than simply part of an increasingly problemantic country where religion, as does so much else including television and the media, simply exists to keep the power structure in place and the populace complaining about it as little as possible.

The woman who teaches the Catechism and prepares the kids for their Communion is very well played by a new (and probably local) actress named Pasqualina Scuncia (shown above, center, from a rear view). The scene in which young Marta baits her teacher, together with the response Ms Scuncia gives, is terrible, resounding and sad. As is a later scene in which a litter of newborn kitten is dispensed with -- without a thought for life, caring or -- hey, what's that question Christians love to ask -- "What would Jesus (or better yet, St. Francis) do?" And this is the religion that gets so worked-up about abortion?

Corpo Celeste is a particularly ugly movie visually -- which is, I suspect, exactly what its filmmaker was after. The panoramas we see look desolate and uninviting, as do the characters when they are caught simply thinking or staring. This is an Italy on, if not its last legs, probably its penultimate. Ms Rohrwacher offers a religious critique via visuals and few words, as in the scene in which the Catechism class (below) imitates the blind man healed by their savior. Perhaps the loveliest shot in her film is that of Jesus on the cross, floating face-up in the sea (shown at bottom), that provides a few moments of surprising beauty.

So what makes the movie only good, rather than great? For me, its because everything we're going to learn from the film has been told us with the first ten or fifteen minutes. After that, despite all the further incidents, it's simply business as usual. Some have evidently found a grace note in what happens at the climax regarding another family member and Marta. Fine: You could see this as sweet and moving -- if not a little sentimental. It is certainly believable that someone who spent most of the time "downing" Marta would suddenly rise to her defense, should an "outsider" make a nasty comment.

Finally, Corpo Celeste strikes me as an almost typically bleak-and-real festival film that garners a lot of praise at various fests but doesn't strike a deep chord in general audiences. We shall see. Portions of The Catholic Church in Italy have denounced the movie as sacrilegious, while individual priests have defended it as an important critique of their institution. The filmmaker herself has been told that an organization that trains Catechism teachers has shown the film in its programs -- to better develop teaching skills. (We're hoping it's using the movie as a negative, rather than a positive, look at Catechism training.)

Corpo Celeste opens this Friday, June 8, in New York City at the FSLC's Elinor Bunin Munroe Film Center. A few more screenings will be coming up around the country over the next few weeks. Click here and scroll down to see all currently scheduled playdates, with cities and theaters. As usual with Film Movement, a DVD will appear, along with possible Netflix and other streaming, eventually.

Bobcat Goldthwait's GOD BLESS AMERICA proves the cultural vigilante's wet-dream

If you thought Bobcat Goldthwait's earlier films -- Sleeping Dogs Lie and The World's Greatest Dad -- were transgressive, wait till you get a load of GOD BLESS AMERICA, his latest combination of smackdown and provocation. Up yours, America, would seem to be the message here, and there are going to be a lot of Americans who welcome and agree with it. It is not, I think, the problematic America of decades past at which Bobcat is directing his middle finger, not the America that simultaneously held such promise and despair, but today's USA, which promises only more despair -- no matter which crappy politicians the wealthy and corporate manage to grease into office. Ah, but Mr. Goldthwait, pictured below, has just the remedy we need.

A very good friend of mine with whom I attended the press screening -- he's an intelligent, cranky, 70-year-old with relatively high standards -- announced to me as the end credits finished rolling, "I have never seen a movie that was more about me."  That my friend is also a mild-mannered picture of civility, while the me of the movie is a rampaging, murderous vigilante is, well, something that should give us all pause. The movie itself will give us shocking, gut-busting laughs, as its "hero," fed up with the increasing stupidity and incivility of the modern world takes it upon himself (with a little unasked-for help from a local high-school girl) to, as the movie's priceless tag line puts it, "take out the trash, one jerk at a time."

The thing I like best about Bobcat as a filmmaker is that he lets the chips fall where they may. If he tackles a problem, he really wrestles with it. With each new film, he's grown more disciplined until, in this one, he's decided to take no prisoners. His filmmaking skill may still remain below his talent as a provocateur, and that's just fine. We already have plenty of skilled movie-makers. We don't have nearly as many hypocrisy-puncturers and balls-to-the-wall social critics like Mr. Goldthwait. 

My cranky but civil friend remarked on the filmmaker's occasional lack of continuity (something my longtime companion is also skilled at noting, while I am not), but let's talk about what's really good about this film -- in addition to its premise and execution. That would start with its well-chosen leading man: Joel Murray (above, and bro of Bill), who proves an inspired choice for the role of Frank. He gets exactly right the sense of "otherness" that eventually engulfs and then appears to becalm those of us who will identify with Frank. Really, though, this calm only masks our anger at the world around us, where black is now white, good evil, corporations humans and so much else touted as true that is patently false. And all of it as uncivil as can be -- from our schools to the workplace to television entertainment (below).

Murray goes from very believable, quiet sadness to depression, into fantasy and from there into action -- without missing a step along the way, And we're with him too, and much further along in his crazy, violent endeavor than we might expect.

As his partner in crime, Roxy, an "outsider" high-school student who has her own reasons for going on the rampage with Frank, Tara Lynne Barr is a good foil for Murray's gravity and odd grace. Her character is nowhere near as strong as his, however, but the act-ress is charged with enough energy and charm to carry us along.

Other than our two vigilantes, most of the rest of the cast are the victims (save the notably uninterested medical professional, above) -- and a scurvier, clueless, more entitled bunch of scumbags would be hard to find. Which of course makes us not care for them while they're with us and mourn them not at all when they're gone. As the film moves along, it becomes clearer what Frank's rationale really is. I'll use only one scene -- in the movie theater -- for emphasis so as not to spoil anything else.

It is not the political view of the other guy (or gal) that the filmmaker and his hero disdain unto death. No, it's the lack of civility these people bring to the table (and everywhere else they go). In that movie theater, a group of rowdy, thoughtless teens won't shut up during the movie. One young woman in their party desists and suggests that her companions tone it down. She is spared, and they are "offed." Another patron in the theater, although he made no noise and was not rude, decides to use his cell phone camera to record the carnage: bye-bye. Priorities, people!

There's a weird morality at work here. Or course, we root for the vigilantes, even though we know they've gone too far. But there is also a great release, a catharsis of sorts, to be found in what's going on.  This is most profoundly true during the American Idol-like satire in which a fat, talent-free contestant (below) is unmercifully mocked by all. What happens to him -- and why and with whose help -- may be Bobcat's most vicious, yet saddest, comment on the depths to which we can sink.

God Bless America is funny, all right, but it succeeds best as a nasty, no-holds-barred satire, the edge of which cuts us all. The film opens this Friday, May 11, in a dozen major cities across the country, with many more to come in the weeks that follow. (In New York City, it's playing at the Landmark Sunshine Cinema.)   Click here to see all currently scheduled playdates, with cities and theaters.