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As someone who doesn’t get out of town that often, the two September-October weeks of the Chicago International Film Festival (running October 4-17 this year) are usually the high point of my moviegoing year. Partly it’s the gambler’s game, the sometimes giddy (or is it only fraught?) calculation of deciding what to take a chance on and what not to and how to juggle two or three must-sees at different theaters on the same off-night Tuesday. Not being a guy with lots of disposable income, I have to make these choices count. On the other hand, it’s no fun always playing the safe, sure bets—films with critical imprimaturs decked out in the metal regalia of other, more prestigious fests: Golden Lions, Silver Bears, Palmes d’Or, etc. Sometimes there’s nothing to do but close your eyes and jump.
Finally—also indulgently, except memory jogs do matter: as ritual incantations, as ways of keeping the inner discourse alive—my own top CIFF films in order of preference from each of the last five years (obviously 2004 was astonishingly packed!):
