- Celebrating the Life of George E. Johnson, Sr. (1927-2026) (July 15, 2026)
Some lives become so woven into the fabric of our culture that we experience their influence long before we ever learn their name. For generations of Black Americans, George E. Johnson, Sr., was one of those people. I am one of the privileged many to have called him a friend. Founder of the Johnson Products Company with his late wife Joan, and one of the great architects of Black enterprise in America, George passed away on July 6th at the age of 99. His passing marks the end of an extraordinary life, but his legacy reaches far beyond the shelves where Afro Sheen and Ultra Sheen once stood. It lives in the confidence of generations of Black entrepreneurs, in the celebration of Black beauty, and in the cultural institutions that flourished because he believed they deserved to exist.
I look forward to celebrating George’s legacy with his loved ones and friends this week. The visitation for him will be held from 4pm to 8pm on Thursday, July 16th, at Leak and Sons Funeral Home, 7838 S. Cottage Grove Ave., followed the next day by his funeral at 11am at Trinity United Church of Christ, 400 W. 95th Street. The funeral service will be livestreamed at trinitychicago.org. In lieu of flowers, the family asks that donations be made to Chicago State University (http://www.csu.edu/) and/or The HistoryMakers (http://www.historymakers.org).
Chaz with Madeline Murphy Rabb and George E. Johnson, Sr., at the Palm Springs International Film Festival.
Even though we will be attending a Memorial Service, my memories of Mr. Johnson through the years, are of how lively, gentlemanly and sharp he was about business, human relationships and life itself! That includes earlier this year where we hosted him and his wife Madeline at the Palm Springs International Film Festival Gala in California. He was so pleased that he had finally published his memoir a year earlier (at age 97!). He said that the Lord whispered to him that it was time to tell his story. He connected with the writer Hilary Beard and the result was the entertaining book: Afro Sheen: How I Revolutionized an Industry with the Golden Rule, from Soul Train to Wall Street.
His book is an inspiration and a blueprint for making your dreams come true by having faith in yourself, in Black entrepreneurship and he emphasizes, by following the Golden Rule. It was his firm belief that we should treat others as we want to be treated. I sensed that his pleasure in telling his story was not to bring glory or attention to himself, but to encourage others to follow their dreams. And indeed, at the stops along his book tour that I attended, I noted that among the attendees were a good many successful men and women who attributed their success to encouragement (and seed money) from him.
It’s worth noting that several successful Black families in Chicago had the last name of Johnson, which at one time caused some confusion. There were the Ebony/Jet magazine publishers John and Eunice Johnson, and leading Cadillac dealer Al Johnson, among others. Yet George’s near-century of achievements will stand as a singular beacon of inspiration for generations to come.
George at his company on the South Side. Photo by Chicago Sun-Times via AP.
Born on June 16th, 1927, in Richton, Mississippi, George entered a world where opportunity for Black Americans was deliberately limited. When he was just two years old, his family joined the Great Migration, settling in Chicago in search of the promise that so many Black families hoped the North might offer. George learned the value of work early. He shined shoes as a boy and held whatever jobs he could find to help support his family. Financial realities forced him to leave high school before graduating, but they never diminished his curiosity or his ambition. Instead, they sharpened his instincts. He learned to recognize problems, to listen carefully, and to see opportunities where others saw none. And at his death, he had been awarded almost 10 honorary doctorate degrees from various universities.
After gaining experience working for the legendary entrepreneur Samuel B. Fuller, George struck out on his own. In 1954, he and his wife, Joan Henderson—whom he had met in high school—founded Johnson Products Company with $500. Part of that amount was a $250 loan that a bank gave him to “take his wife on a vacation.” (He had been turned down for a loan in that amount to start a business.)
It has all the ingredients of a classic American success story, but what made George remarkable was not simply that he started with very little. It was that he recognized an entire community whose needs had been overlooked. For years, Black consumers had largely been ignored by major manufacturers. Products formulated specifically for Black hair were limited, and advertising rarely reflected Black beauty with dignity or pride. George understood that serving this market meant more than selling shampoo or hair relaxers. It meant telling millions of people that they mattered.
His products—including Ultra Wave, Ultra Sheen, Afro Sheen, and later Classy Curl—addressed practical needs, but they also arrived at a pivotal cultural moment. As the Black Is Beautiful movement encouraged African Americans to embrace their natural features and reject decades of imposed standards, Johnson Products became part of a larger affirmation of identity. His advertisements didn’t ask Black Americans to aspire to someone else’s definition of beauty. George’s business grew into one of the most successful Black-owned companies in America, eventually dominating the Black hair care market. In 1971, it became the first Black-owned company listed on the American Stock Exchange. This resonated as far more than a financial achievement. For many Black Americans, it was proof that Black ownership could thrive on a national stage, that excellence and ambition were not exceptions but expectations, and that businesses rooted in serving Black communities could become institutions.
George’s influence extended far beyond commerce long before corporate America recognized the value of investing in Black audiences. Johnson Products became the first national sponsor of “Soul Train,” helping transform what began as a local Chicago television program into one of the most influential cultural platforms in American history. Through music, dance, fashion, and joy, “Soul Train” introduced millions of viewers to Black artists and Black creativity on their own terms. He believed economic opportunity was inseparable from civil rights. While marches and legislation transformed America in visible ways, George understood that ownership, employment, access to capital, and economic independence were also instruments of freedom. Having experienced discrimination in securing financing himself, he later helped establish Independence Bank of Chicago, creating opportunities for Black families and entrepreneurs who had too often found traditional financial institutions unwilling to invest in their futures.
If there is a thread running through George’s remarkable life, it is that he consistently opened doors he had once been forced to knock on himself. He built products that affirmed identity. He created a company that created opportunity. He invested in culture before others recognized its value. And he built institutions that would continue serving communities long after he stepped away.
On a personal note, I had the great fortune of knowing not only George but all three of his wives (the middle of which has been left out of most tributes I’ve read). All three wives were smart, beautiful and accomplished. But it was Joan with whom George started their business and with whom he had four beautiful children: Eric, Joan, John and George E. Johnson, Jr. Joan was admired in the Black community. We shared confidences at the hair salon where we both were clients of the late Emory Jones.
Joan and George divorced after nearly four decades of marriage. But like a story from a fairytale, they later remarried in 1995, and remained so until her passing in 2019. Before they got back together, however, George was married briefly to Renée Derem, the founder of Chicago’s Sister-City relationship in Paris. I fondly recall spending time with the couple in both cities. Then in 2022, George married his third wife, my longtime friend, the very accomplished Madeline Murphy Rabb. Madeline is an artist, designer, and veteran art advisor who once served as the Executive Director of the Chicago Office of Fine Arts. In addition to being an artist and curator, she is a Silver and Bronze Medalist in the National Senior Games. I remember George being greatly impressed by Madeline’s beauty and athleticism, which she demonstrated through her competitive swimming captured in Luchina Fisher’s acclaimed documentary short, “Team Dream.” The film won our Ebert Award at the 2023 edition of the Ebertfest Film Festival. Madeline is also one of the kindest women around.
George E. Johnson, Sr., and Madeline Murphy Rabb. Photo courtesy of AFRO Media.
Together George and Madeline embraced a season of life that many people assume no longer exists in later years. They traveled, visited friends, and shared adventures. It is a beautiful reminder that life’s final chapters need not be defined by decline. They can also be marked by companionship, curiosity and gratitude. Just this past November, George was honored with the Edwin C. “Bill” Berry Civil Rights Award by the Chicago Urban League. And it was only weeks prior to his passing, according to his son Eric via AP News, that the Joan and George Johnson Program Room was dedicated to them at the recently opened Obama Presidential Center. President Barack Obama was in attendance for the dedication as was George, a crowning moment for a towering life.
When George took his final breath at the age of ninety-nine, Madeline was beside him, holding his hand. There is something quietly fitting about that image. A man who spent nearly a century building, creating, and giving was surrounded, in the end, by love. History will remember George as a pioneering businessman, a visionary entrepreneur, and one of the most consequential figures in the history of Black enterprise. Those titles are well deserved. Long before “Black excellence” became part of our everyday vocabulary, George was quietly living its meaning. His products filled store shelves. His vision expanded horizons. And his legacy will continue to grow in every entrepreneur bold enough to imagine a future that others cannot yet see.
- MUBI Fest 2026: Better Together (July 15, 2026)
MUBI Fest returned to Chicago for the third time this year with its most varied and robust line-up yet, further cementing it as an art powerhouse that thrives in creating films in conversation with cinema canon. That Chicago remains the only place in the United States to host this event is a testament to the Windy City as a premier destination not just for cinema but for the arts at large.
Like past year’s MUBI Fests, this year’s iteration anchored its programming around a theme, and I couldn’t help but be moved by the choice: Better Together. A MUBI release was often paired with a non-MUBI film that acted as a cinematic sibling. Some pairings came from the filmmakers themselves, such as “My Father’s Shadow” being programmed alongside “Monster,” as director Akinola Davis Jr. has cited Hirokazu Kore-eda as his favorite director. Others were rooted in thematic questions; “Why do the people we love the most drive us insane?” reads the descriptor for the 25th anniversary screening of Wes Anderson’s “The Royal Tenenbaums,” which was linked with a sneak peek screening of Karim Aïnouz’s “Rosebush Pruning.”
Per the programmers’ intentions, the connected films could both “reflect and refract,” “echo or complicate” each other, but the belief was that, at the end of the day, the films were better when viewed together. I have no problem seeing films as being in dialogue, but to say that two films could be greater than the sum of their parts was a bold statement; I was excited to put that theory to the test.
One facet worth mentioning is that there was a longer build-up to this year’s film programming with several other activations and events happening throughout the week. My favorite was a “Happy Dipping Sauce Hour.” Hosted at The Brewed coffee shop, the event offered free finger foods, signature dipping sauces, and specially themed drinks that highlighted the weekend line-up. Food and movie collaborations can often feel tacky, but there was a deep synergy in the offerings here. On a scorching Chicago day, for example, it was refreshing to sip a drink inspired by “The Substance,” which featured matcha, lime, mint, and sparkling water; it looked very much like the sickly green activator in Coralie Fargeat’s body-horror film of the same name.
The event was also a clever nod to one of the most anticipated film premieres of the festival: Jane Schoenbrun’s “Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma,” which might be the first film with the honor of using dipping sauces as an aphrodisiac (or at least, KFC’s honey mustard and buffalo). Music Box Theater audiences are always generous in their engagement, but there was something special about not being able to hear the present dialogue because people were laughing at a joke from three beats prior. If “I Saw the TV Glow” was about how queer people find solace, home, and safety in media, “Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma” is the next step in that idea, asking how to interrogate that media post-rebirth (or more personally in Schoenbrun’s case, post-transition). If “I Saw the TV Glow” was about how queer people find solace, home, and safety in media, “Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma” is the next step in that idea, asking how to interrogate that media post-rebirth (or more personally in Schoenbrun’s case, post-transition). It’s a haunting, beautiful, and hilarious film that felt special to experience with a group of moviegoers who were on board with Schoenbrun’s spasmodic wavelength.
The night continued with “Sleepaway Camp,” which feels both too on-the-nose (in the best way) and makes perfect sense to pair with Schoenbrun’s film. MUBI Fest made space to engage with it in its own right, thanks to drag performer Peaches Christ, her Midnight Mass co-host Michael Varrati, and star Felissa Rose, who did a Q&A before the film that explored it in the context of the queer slasher canon. It’s one of the many examples of the festival not being afraid to program projects that might be challenging, providing scaffolding to hold those conversations.
In addition to a live performance from the Current Joys and Delroy Edwards, day two of MUBI Fest featured two interactive experiences that elevated already stellar films. At the Salt Shed, attendees got to experience a scratch ‘n sniff edition of “The Substance,” accompanied by a punch card to scratch and smell when the corresponding number appeared on screen. The screening was a great way to keep audiences engaged, and only solidified how watching movies in a theater is a sacred act of community; I’ll never forget the moment we saw Dennis Quaid’s character chewing on shrimp up close, and I witnessed everyone methodically raise their cards to smell the scent.
I had somehow gone my whole life having never seen “Popstar: Never Stop Popping,” and I’ll forever cherish that my first experience of this masterpiece was in the context of a sing-along event. Attendees were gifted flags and light-up sticks and encouraged to sing all of Lonely Island’s outlandish lyrics with musical abandon. Witnessing the crowd, with their imperfect pitch and infectious enthusiasm ringing through the theater, I’m fully convinced I’ll never see a better concert.
I am grateful to MUBI Fest for giving me a new way to document time because I now will exclusively think about my life as “before I saw Rob Mazurek and The Mastermind quartet perform live” and “after I saw Rob Mazurek and The Mastermind quartet perform live” (should any reader come up with a snappier abbreviation, sound off below. I had seen and loved “The Mastermind” prior, but seeing it with Mazurek and his coterie (Victoria Vieira-Branco on vibraphone, Joey Sullivan on drums, and John Moran on Bass and Mazurek on the trumpet) made it feel like I was almost watching a different movie.
Kelly Reichardt’s slow-burn heist film is already understated, with Mazurek’s score giving the film a jolt of energy just when you think the temperature has been turned too low, but hearing it live only made the silences deeper and the cacophony more vociferous. This was paired with a screening of Steven Soderbergh’s “Ocean’s Eleven,” and if “The Mastermind” was ever going to feel like an “Oceans” film, it would be thanks to Mazurek and his team performing the score live. Truly, the glee I felt witnessing the score in the theater rivaled only that of when a heist gets successfully pulled off.
For Mazurek, playing at the Music Box Theater felt like a homecoming. “I moved to Chicago in 1983, and, soon after, ‘84-85, found the Music Box,” he told RogerEbert.com, “The Music Box opened my world up to foreign film, the great American canon of film.” The sound was tightly integrated into the experience, and for Mazurek, performing meant opportunities to add flourishes in real time. “The overall shape and timings for the thing were spot on. We used a little more improvisation in this performance, but in subtle ways. For the second solo trumpet section, when Josh O’Connor’s Mooney gets on the bus, I had John hit a few tones on the bass just for a slight variation. And of course, for the end credits we hit it a little harder and floated a melody that was composed for the film but was not used.”
As energizing as Mazurek’s score is, there are long stretches in Reichardt’s films when the film is also silent. For Mazurek and his team, not just watching the film but actively participating in it unlocked a new appreciation for a film he told me he’s seen “at least one hundred times.” “The silence in this film was as important and strong as the soundtrack itself. Nothing was trying to make you feel a certain way. It just was … the quartet and I were mesmerized by her painterly shots, sublime pacing, and ability to slow down and take in the beauty of Chris Blauvelt’s amazing cinematography. I can tell you one thing: we weren’t smoking between scenes!,” he shared.
I was already a fan of Alex Russell’s “Lurker” and crowned it the #1 film of the year on my personal top ten, and was delighted to hear that a special 35mm screening at the Gene Siskel Film Center acted as the closing film for the festival. In the year since its release, its musings on the relationship between love and obsession, the ways people will hollow themselves out for a taste of the spotlight, and its interrogation of the toxic power dynamics within male friendship circles seem only more pertinent in our parasocial age.
Speaking with me before the film’s Q&A, Russell waxed poetic about “Popstar: Never Stop Popping,” which “Lurker” was paired with. There are some surface-level connections: both films are about the entourages that surround pop stars, but Russell found a deeper, more tender thread of DNA. “A lot of Lonely Island comedy is about two deadpan guys singing to each other about these excuses they have to not hang out with each other. Their work revolves around guys who don’t know how to talk to each other; that very much speaks to ‘Lurker.’”
As much as “Lurker” may be a cautionary tale about fandom, in the year since its release, Russell touchingly reflects on the beauty of pursuing passion and being unapologetic about what you enjoy. “I think it actually is really cool to be a fan and to openly love things and express your appreciation for things because as much as it’s shown in movies that people don’t appreciate that, it is appreciated,” he shared.
He also offers an interesting thought that as much as our parasocial age is primed to want to know the ins and outs of the people we’re obsessed with, there’s still beauty in mystique. “As you get older, you realize everyone is a person, and there’s something nice about the mystique that you can have between yourself and somebody you’re a fan of. Your view of them is not going to get better than it is as a teen with a poster on your wall. It’s kind of like having a crush. That in itself is something to cherish, and even sort of the yearning for familiarity with someone that you project so much can only ruin things.”
The Q&A post-screening was also among the best I’ve seen, thanks to Russell’s humor and willingness to be present with those who had come out for the screening. When given the cue to wrap, Russell advocated for more time, saying, “The film is streaming on two separate platforms. I feel like if you guys came out for this, then you want to talk, and I want to talk because I came to Chicago for this.” I’d like to think we all left the screening with a deeper awareness of how to be better fans of the people around us.
As I anticipate what a future version of MUBI Fest could be, I’m grateful for another lesson the festival imparted: that viewings don’t exist in a vacuum, and that writing about them should, in some form, acknowledge the context in which you watched them. So often, when reviewing, I strive for objectivity, but attending MUBI Fest made me consider that maybe there’s space in criticism to acknowledge the many factors that go into watching a film. What makes each viewing of a film so special is that it is either implicitly or explicitly engaging with not just what’s going on in my own life, but the things I may have seen before.
There’s a power in acknowledging that, and now I attend each viewing with a certain excited curiosity: how might what I see not just be evaluated on its own merits, but be speaking to what I saw the night before? I leave MUBI Fest not just more cultured but also more attuned to the wondrous commonalities that may exist across cinema as a whole.
- KVIFF 2026: Fruit Gathering, Incinerator, 3 Weeks After (July 14, 2026)
My final dispatch of KVIFF features some heavy hitters. There’s the Crystal Globe winner, the festival’s top prize. There are also two coming-of-age stories about how kind the world can be and how unflinchingly harsh it actually is. Each work is led by a lonely, misunderstood protagonist whose mental health is at stake. They’re all deeply beautiful films to look at too, featuring some of the best photography and sense of place and mood of the festival.
There’s a foreboding, dreamlike quality to “Fruit Gathering,” writer/director Aung Phyoe’s feature directorial debut, which won the Crystal Globe. The queer film’s imaginative feeling doesn’t offer unwavering bliss, but a stoppage in time, in life, and in romance.
Set in Yangon, Myanmar, the film concerns San Kyi (a spontaneous Nandar Myat Aung), a seamstress at an overcrowded garment factory who becomes emotionally entangled with a new hire: Theint (an observant Nandar Myint Lwin). The pair forms a fast bond that borders on parasitic. San Kyi envisions Theint as her ticket toward independence, away from her domineering mother and her ill grandmother. Conversely, to Theint, San Kyi’s steady presence suggests a financial lifeline and a kind ear to be used when necessary and discarded when convenient.
Phyoe harvests great rewards from this dynamic when he narrows his focus on San Kyi and Thient’s turbulent relationship. Eloquently composed shots of a sensorial Yangon that stretch on for an eternity are juxtaposed with San Kyi’s stolen glances of Theint; patient pans across intimately small rooms and sensual tilts down lithe bodies run counter to the cavernous sterile confines of factory life. Cinematographer Thaid Dhi’s visual acumen heightens the Sirkian tension between San Kyi’s desires and Thient’s limits, allowing the film to stretch beyond this romance to explore further themes.
Unfortunately, “Fruit Gathering” moves with less assuredness outside of its central relationship. Phyoe gestures to the necessity of worker solidarity under exploitative conditions, showing how San Kyi’s reticence to sign a petition is emblematic of why unionization efforts struggle to gain momentum. But he can’t do more than finger-wag. Similarly, Phyoe attempts to contrast the urban and the rural through dream sequences that at once elucidate San Kyi’s painful past and her ideal future of picking mangos with Thient. By never fully embracing a Thoreauvian fantasy, Phyoe wrestles through several complexities about where and how queerness can thrive.
Consequently, when “Fruit Gathering” aims for the intimate, Phyoe’s vision finds clarity in the collision of obsession and care. And while he does waver in translating the broader themes that interest him, he remains committed enough to this beautifully shot, longingly acted queer romance to plant its seeds deep within one’s memory.
Told with similarly deliberate pacing, Shuntaro Uchida’s visually evocative coming-of-age film “Incinerator,” an adaptation of Kaori Ekuni’s same-titled short story, takes place over an endless summer experienced by a reserved nine-year-old, Kozue (Karin). The young girl has a shaky family life: her father Kenji (Takuma Nagao) is a ne’er-do-well musician bordering on an alcoholic; her mother Yoko (Akiko Kikuchi) works heavy hours in a bookstore to support the family; her grandmother is ill in the hospital. Kozue’s only place to let off steam is the incinerator located at the back of her school. While the crucible was installed to burn disused papers, Kozue placed objects in it that she connected with bad memories.
Her world is brightened, however, when Jinta (Taikia Shinozuka), an equally reserved university student, visits her school to perform a shadowplay. While the vibrant mix of lush colored backgrounds and black silhouettes excites Kozue, she’s equally enthralled by an attentive Jinta. She develops a crush on him. Their unrequited friendship—Jinta, of course, treats her as a little sister—gives Kozue greater confidence to express herself.
Though “Incinerator” runs at 97 minutes, it’s certainly not a brisk watch. That’s intentional. Uchida and his editor, Takaki Yokohama, rely on long takes whose meditative expressions recall how children experience the world, not in a blinding rush but as a seemingly never-ending desire to finally grow up. Uchida, nevertheless, never speeds up Kozue’s clock, so to speak. In fact, as the film continues, he and Yokohama almost appear to elongate their takes, as though to visually tell Kozue to literally slow down. In that way, “Incinerator” often recalls Chie Hayakawa’s “Renoir,” a film similarly concerned with giving a young girl cinematic space to live, grieve, and grow.
Uchida and his cinematographer Shin Yonekura also craft immersive pastoral scenes, such as a motorbike ride between Jinta and Kozue out to nowhere, to suggest the slower pace necessary for Kozue’s survival into adulthood. Karin shoulders this distant character with a similarly assured process, suggesting Kozue’s myriad disappointments without relying on loud dialogue. Instead, every emotion—from petulance to sadness—arises from Karin’s slightly bent posture and her dynamic face: giving a performance, ironically, that feels far beyond her years.
Miroslav Terzić’s brutal and unsettling psychological drama “3 Weeks After” has one of the strongest openings of the year. It begins on a static frame showing an apartment complex where one flat is engulfed in flames. The sound of the raging fire fills the frame with equal intensity. A downtrodden teenager, Tzotza (Jovan Ginić), enters the shot to observe the blaze before walking away, followed on a track through his tranquil neighborhood, now filled not with crackling sounds but with the natural ambiance of birds tweeting. He meets up with his friend Darija (Andjela Alavirević), who is surprised but happy that he’s taking this school trip.
See, something happened three weeks prior that’s rendered Tzotza a social outcast. The two incompetent teachers—Milica (Tihana Lazović) and Markuš (Branislav Trifunović)—whisper about its consequences: new articles and cold calls from reporters dominate their phones. His classmates, united in their vitriol, mercilessly tease him. The situation becomes more unstable when Milica (Klara Karaulić), a vapid popular girl with a clearly rich father, sneaks her sadistic boyfriend Miloš (Andrija Marković) onto the Serbian class’ Bulgaria-bound bus. During the short sojourn, we will discover the truth: Tzotza’s best friend, Andrija, died by suicide three weeks ago. The question that looms over the trip is who’s to blame.
For a time, Terzić’s film is acutely controlled. The aforementioned sound evocatively flips between the character’s interior perception of the world and the exterior reality, while cinematographer Damjan Radovanović’s evocative compositions, which often utilize negative space on barren fields and in mammoth caves to visualize Tzotza’s aloneness, provide a visual counterbalance. He juxtaposes those wide spaces with cramped hallways whose perspective can often feel ghostly. LP Duo’s thrumming score modulates between brooding, shaking, and overwhelming ecstasy, particularly during an animalistic, red-drenched party scene that recalls Gaspar Noé’s “Climax.” But mostly, it’s Ginić’s close-to-the-vest performance—which sees his swollen face drained of all life—that keeps this work grounded as Tzotza endures near-homocidal abuse from Miloš and his gang that only intensifies once the class’s bus breaks down, stranding them in an empty hotel.
It’s a shame then that Terzić dispenses with that hard-fought control in the film’s final minutes. It’s as though the director and his fellow screenwriters—Vladimir Arsenijević and Bojan Vuletić—thought they needed to end with a bang to make the moody trip worth it. Terzić and his DP therefore reach for visual profundity to balance the film’s hellish turn, composing shots of sleeping teenage bodies into a decadent, painterly scene. And while the final push-in toward Ginić certainly holds a haunting quality, an edge has been lost in the film’s bluntness, making “3 Weeks After” a terrifying, albeit flawed, commentary on bullying and violence.
- KVIFF 2026: Wrap-up and Awards (July 14, 2026)
It felt good to be back. It’s been a couple of years since I’ve attended the Karlovy Vary International Film Festival (after going three straight times, last year, I had to cancel at the last second due to a personal emergency). But walking through the Neo-Renaissance Mill Colonnade, being in the Viennese-Bohemian Municipal Theatre, wandering the cobblestone roads that lead one down toward candy-colored villas that delightfully match the lush mountainous forest and the winding canals that hold the channels of the Teplá river—restored part of me. This year was the 60th anniversary of KVIFF, giving the always self-deprecating festival a celebratory mood.
The opening night, in fact, saw a highly produced song and dance number that witnessed several Czech singers perform covers of film music in a medley that included a stream of images of several figures, memories, guests, and movies that are intertwined with KVIFF’s long history. That night, Maggie Gyllenhaal and Jesse Eisenberg both received the President’s Award, while Dustin Hoffman was bestowed the Crystal Globe. The evening was heightened by the opening night film, Juan Cabral and Santiago Franco’s “The Match,” being a crowd-pleasing tip of the cap to the World Cup (many festival attendees tried to balance their movie watching with catching games at the local bars).
In the days that followed, more honorees and a bevy of films took their bows. Three-time Academy Award-winning cinematographer Robert Richardson, known for his work with Oliver Stone, Quentin Tarantino, and Martin Scorsese, not only took home a Crystal Globe. But he also witnessed the world premiere of Jana Hojdova’s raw documentary about him: “Robert Richardson: The White Devil.” During the festival, he sat down with RogerEbert.com to discuss the film and his career.
Harvey Keitel also appeared for his third visit to a festival that’s become a second home to him. In his speech, he said, “I’m one of you,” to the KVIFF crowd. During that day, in fact, I saw Keitel wandering the streets with two very tall, very muscular bodyguards (you can’t take any chances; the KVIFF attendees are understandably obsessed with him). By closing night, Jeffrey Wright had arrived to accept his President’s Award, an honor that became a full-circle moment when the festival announced it would screen “Basquiat,” the actor’s breakout role and the one that first brought him and Christopher Walken to Karlovy Vary nearly three decades ago. Wright also spoke with RogerEbert.com about the importance of “Basquiat” to his career. “I still do feel the influence of that experience,” explained Wright.
On the final night, Kevin Bacon and Kyra Sedgwick, who arrived with their film “Family Movie,” were also acknowledged. Actress Magda Vášáryová received her Crystal Globe, as did Juliette Binoche. I’ve rarely been affected by seeing a star, but I admittedly melted when I saw Binoche arrive before the ceremony. I’m sometimes reminded that light bends differently around some people.
And while the stars certainly provided KVIFF with added panache, the quality of the lineup assembled by Executive Director Kryštof Mucha, Artistic Director Karel Och, and the programming team is always surprising in its variety and scale. On top of seizing the biggest highlights of Sundance, Berlinale, and Cannes, the festival’s own premieres, drawn mostly from Central Europe, never fail to spotlight new voices and festival favorites. Many of the best works that played, in fact, balanced local filmmaking talent with creators from outside the continent.
In the Promixa competition, whose jury consisted of Estrella Araiza, Devika Girish, Dirk Decker, Marija Kavtaradze, Jakub Felcman—Isabelle Tollenaere’s intimate immigrant drama “Paris Paris” and Giovanni C. Lorusso’s Cambodia-set environmentalist slow-burn thriller “Homo Sive Natura” were personal favorites of mine. The section’s top prize, nevertheless, was awarded to the youthful Czech screwball comedy “Lover, Not a Fighter.” The Jury Award went to Shuntaro Uchida’s rich coming-of-age drama “Incernator,” and the Director prize was given to Efthimis Kosemund-Sanidis for “A Whole Person Almost.” Anna Domček and Šimon Domček’s “33 Steps” took home a special mention.
In the Crystal Globe competition, juried by Eskil Vogt, Pavel Rejholec, Amanda Nell Eu, Justin Chang, Nadia Turincev, my personal favorite was Petar Valchanov and Kristina Grozeva’s bleak tragicomedy “Black Money for White Nights.” And while that film was surprisingly shut out by the jury, that doesn’t mean any obviously puzzling decisions were made in what they did choose. They awarded Best Actor to Ghassan Saad for “Pipes” and Best Actress to Anna Schinz for the social issue drama “A Happy Family.” Mad Mengel’s tragicomedy “The Guest” felt like it could’ve easily swept the category, garnering a Best Director prize and the Special Jury prize. But the Crystal Globe ultimately went to Aung Phyoe’s intense queer romance “Fruit Gathering,” a film that hails from Myanmar (it’s the first picture from the country to appear in the main competition).
Not to be forgotten, Helena Třeštíková’s documentary “Bára – Diary of a Rockstar” also took home the Pravo audience award.
Because of the packed lineup, more than any other year at KVIFF, I felt time slipping away. I didn’t get around to many films in the Out of the Past section (though I did manage to catch Kaneto Shindō’s grim post-war melodrama “Children of Hiroshima”) and the Imagina section proved to be just out of my reach as well. I barely had enough time to do my yearly hike; this time, it was to the Diana Observational Tower, which I had to save for my last day.
Hiking through the Slavkov forest is one of my favorite things to do at the festival, if only because the higher you go into the hills, the less you hear the partying and crowds that tend to fill the town. Amid the towering trees, there is a humbling experience that always manages to re-energize me. And when I reached the summit, which allowed me to climb the steps of the Diana—there’s a gondola that’ll take you up the hill if you have limited mobility—I was once again amazed by how, from high, Karlovy Vary simply looks like a storybook: a picturesque small town with vivid architecture, nestled in a sea of verdant trees. It’s impossible not to be grateful that your human eyes can take in a panoramic view that always manages to put things in perspective, a quality the best movies also possess.
As I climbed back down toward the rush of the festival, I hoped it wouldn’t be another two years before I knew this feeling again.
- “Ride or Die”: Two Best Friends, Too Many Lies, and a Good Reason to Get a Fake Passport (July 14, 2026)
“Ride or Die” arrives on Prime Video this week, and its title is accurate in multiple ways. Calling someone your “ride or die” means they’ve got your back no matter what: you need to bury a body, they’ve got the shovel; you need a getaway driver, they’ve already filled up the gas tank. Adding another layer to this story, Octavia Spencer and Hannah Waddingham go on a comedic “Thelma & Louise” inspired adventure, where they either keep running or get permanently extinguished.
That 1991 classic isn’t the only foremother for “Ride or Die.” This eight-episode action-comedy caper proudly blooms from its family tree. A sort of Miss Marple meets “How Stella Got Her Groove Back” in Spencer’s Debbie, an antique-hunting woman-behind-the-man who’s been underestimated but turns out to be sharper than her doubters. She’s paired with the assassin chic of a “La Femme Nikita” with a “Black Widow” infusion in Waddingham’s Judith. A deceptively sensitive woman who isn’t just posing as a forensic accountant, she excels at finance too. Not only do we get the open-road, no-more-apologizing fury of “Thelma & Louise”(with lots of much-needed apologizing), but there are whispers of the “Killing Eve” brand of psychological gamesmanship, and a full-blown French detective version of Lupin. Oh, hello.
Octavia Spencer in “Ride or Die”- Courtesy of Dušan Martinček/Prime
This show is the offspring of an entire fictional lineage of ungovernable women. That’s a lot for one series to hold. Mostly, it carries the weight. Created by Tessa Coates alongside showrunner Matt Miller and director Peyton Reed, of “Ant-Man” fame, the premise is primed for shenanigans: Debbie (Spencer) thinks she knows everything about her lifelong best friend Judith (Waddingham). She’s probably right except for one tiny detail: Judith is an international assassin. After Debbie’s husband crosses an unforgiving criminal organization, and one of Judith’s past hits goes sideways, the two get catapulted into a frantic chase across Europe, pursued by cops, killers, and lies.
But the heart of the matter is a test of what two besties will do to protect one another—no matter what. It’s also about the second life that begins around fifty, when women finally shed the things that have been holding them back, others’ expectations, unrewarded compromises, and what they thought they wanted but don’t. Debbie and Judith blow up each other’s lives. Their disasters are mutual; their resolutions might be the same.
Waddingham and Spencer live up to their lore. Beyond the action-hero swagger and big feminine energy, they convey depth, often with conflicting emotions, in single expressions. Waddingham holds guilt, hope, and tenderness with contrasting ruthlessness. Spencer shimmers with swallowed rage, devastation, and unearned confidence. More than anything, their chemistry is the catalyst for the show, which sparks like a Roman candle, but yes, possibly burns for too long. However, when they’re up against the villainous Ana (Sylvia Hoeks) or playing love games with Ed Skrein—a delight—and Jacky Ido—the Lupin analog I mentioned, you can’t help but smile.
Hannah Waddingham in “Ride or Die” – Courtesy of Dušan Martinček/Prime
Hoeks gives Waddingham a mirror with none of the warmth but clinging to the same desires in the most misguided ways. She’s a great foil for the leads. Bill Nighy does what needs to be done, giving them all fits as the source of Judith’s daddy issues (wait for it, that doesn’t mean what you think it means). And if I had my wish, the mother-daughter pairing of Cathy Tyson and Savannah Steyn would have their own spinoff. The quietly not-quite-confident Sam (Calam Lynch) rounds out a cast that makes this midlife catastrophe well worth the trip.
What’s most refreshing is “Ride or Die” doesn’t ask these women to be precious or repeat the current psychological thrills. It lets them be ridiculous, needy, and dangerous on the way to realizing who they want to be. A Season 2 seems highly probable, given the ratio of assassins to loose ends, a surprising reveal, and the closing cliffhanger. Seems like Debbie and Judith are just getting started. I guess finding out your best friend is a killer for hire is the perfect excuse for an extended girl trip.
As I mentioned, “Ride or Die” is more like one long movie caper than a series. I probably could have done with fewer episodes. The pacing is good, but at times the plotting feels self-indulgent, especially with all eight episodes releasing on July 15. It might have worked better if they dropped two episodes a week—like a K-drama. I may not be texting “you must watch” alerts to my friends, but I enjoyed this. Of course, two besties versus an assassin guild with high-speed action and comedic twists is hard to resist, so don’t. Give in to “Ride or Die” and get your fake passport stamped with heists, second chances, and a friendship that never says die.
Entire series screened for review. Premieres on Prime Video on July 15.
