B Political thriller

• Written by Bráulio Mantovani and José Padilha
• Directed by José Padilha

Captain Roberto Nascimento (Wagner Moura) strongly believes in killing "scumbags." And as an officer in Rio’s militaristic Special Police Operations Battalion (BOPE), he gets plenty of chances. This violent, gun-happy, rightwing cop is going to learn a lot over the course of this crime thriller–a huge box office hit in its native Brazil.

Nascimento is both the movie’s protagonist and its narrator. We see everything from his point of view. When Nascimento’s voice-over encourages the audience to hate someone, you have to wonder if the filmmakers feel the same way.

The street gangs and drug dealers don’t seem to bother him anywhere near as much as Diego Fraga (Irandhir Santos), a liberal professor who wants to address the root causes of street crime and opposes excessive violence. To make matters worse, Fraga is now married to Nascimento’s ex-wife and heavily influencing his semi-estranged son.

A prison riot changes both men’s fortunes for the better. Fraga goes into politics, and Nascimento is promoted into a powerful desk job. Once there, he can finally allow the police to wipe out the drug trade once and for all by whatever means he’s willing to use–and he’s willing to use all of them. The result? He unintentionally replaces one set of thugs with a new, better organized, and more violent group of criminals, and this time they carry badges.

José Padilha knows how to direct action scenes. The many gunfights, chases, and other physically exciting moments are fast-paced and entertaining in a well-done but conventionally Hollywood way.

Be warned: This is an extremely violent picture. Blood flows freely from gunshot wounds, fistfight wounds, and whatever other wounds Padilha could think of. Even the "good guys" commit shockingly violent acts on people unable to defend themselves, although the bad guys (no need for quotes) do far worse.

Although it’s not being advertised as such here in the States, Elite Squad is a sequel. The original Portuguese title even contains a 2. The film worked fine for me despite my never having seen the original.

It opens Friday at the 4-Star.

B Musical & political documentary

Directed by Suzanne Rostock

My mother was a big Harry Belefonte fan. She loved his singing voice. She very much approved of his political activism. And I suspect she found him very sexy. There were reasons for those tight pants and v-necked shirts.

Director Susanne Rostock clearly likes Belefonte, as well. Her biographical documentary, co-produced by Gina Belafonte and a company called Belafonte Enterprises, makes no attempt to show his warts. The picture celebrates the actor/singer’s talent, and even more, his activism.

Luckily, it’s a life worth celebrating. Born in Harlem and raised partly in Jamaica (the Caribbean Jamaica, not the one in Queens), Harry Belefonte started acting as a young adult. Then he discovered singing, and found fame and fortune with a singing style all his own. But as a black man in post-World War II America, he soon grew disgusted with the segregation that kept him down despite his success–and kept less successful African Americans further down still. He became an outspoken critic of racism and segregation, and soon became an important figure in the civil rights movement, working closely with Dr. Martin Luther King. He’s still an activist today, working to reform gang members and against a legal system all too eager to jail young people of color.

Rostock tells all this in her film–or more precisely, she allows Belefonte to tell it; the subject of this doc is also its narrator. Their picture encourages you to burn with anger at the world’s injustices, and admire those who worked and sacrificed to end those injustices.

But if you come into the theater because you love Belefonte’s music, you’ll be disappointed. You’ll hear bits and pieces of many a great song, but you won’t hear a single one from beginning to end. I understand this is primarily a political biography and not a concert movie, but let’s be honest here. American history is filled with heroes and heroines who devoted their lives to making this a better world, and many of them paid a far greater price for their ideals than did Belefonte. Yet Rostock chose to make this picture about Belefonte. Why? Because he’s a talented and famous singer. Giving us a few complete songs would have resulted in a longer film, but it would have also turned an interesting political polemic into a must-see movie.

I have one more complaint–this one technical. Much of the picture is taken up by old, pre-HD television clips, shot in the old 4×3 aspect ratio. Rather than pillarboxing these images (putting black bars on the side of the screen to maintain the original framing), Rostock chose to fill the entire screen with every shot. Sometimes, she crops the shots vertically–not an ideal choice but a workable one. But other times she stretches the image horizontally, distorting the picture and making everyone look fat—as you can see above.

Rostock and Belefonte have made a flawed documentary that’s still worth seeing. They could have made a much better one.

Sing Your Song opens Friday at the Roxie.

C Collection of television commercials

If you’re like me, you probably mute or fast-forward through TV commercials. So why on earth would you go to a movie theater and buy a ticket to watch an hour’s worth of advertising intended for the "telly?"

One reason is that these are, at least in theory, the best–the commercials that have won the elite British Arrow Awards. For another reason, they’re British. Whatever we think of English dentistry and cooking, every PBS fan knows that they make great television. And the British tradition of off-the-wall humor stretches back from Gilbert and Sullivan through Beyond the Fringe and Monty Python to Wallace and Gromit. (Am I hitting enough stereotypes here?)

British Arrow Awards 2011 will screen Thursday through next Sunday at the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts. I did not screen these in time for last week’s newsletter.

Unfortunately, surprisingly few of these commercials are funny–intentionally or otherwise. To get to the laughs, you have to sit through a lot of technical whiz-bang, supposedly heart-warming slices of life, and two poetic odes to Macdonalds.

But the funny ones are excellent. What starts as a romantic war epic turns into a heroic tale of bakery delivery trucks. Two commercials introduce us to the small village where everyone seems exceptionally devoted to making wonderful cider. Impressive computer animation show us an exceptionally bad-ass way to manufacture a car, and creates a whimsical fantasy world that was so impressive I can’t recall what it was selling.

But the funniest commercial was probably one of the cheapest–a lesson in how to make your own low-budget Doritos commercial. A man addresses the camera as he explains the importance of such elements as conflict, suspense, and rolling your R’s. The lesson cuts frequently to variations of a pathetically bad little film that only gets worse with each "improvement."

I even liked a couple of non-funny commercials. One was an inspirational tale about a paraplegic athlete–which turned out to be hawking Johnny Walker. Another, which was a true public service announcement, warned of the dangers of Christmas tree fires.

One smartphone ad tried to be funny with three offensively stereotypical dumb blondes. Perhaps I found it particularly offensive because one blonde was named Maya and another one Brittany–the names of my youngest daughter and future daughter-in-law.

The program starts with the Bronze award winners, followed by those who took home the Silver, and ending with the "Best Commercial of the Year," which was not the best one on the program. Oddly, the Bronze collection contained most of the truly entertaining commercials. Perhaps the Arrow judges don’t use my criteria.

All told, I’d estimate that you’ll find about 20 minutes of great entertainment in this hour-long collection. For the rest, you may long for the fast-forward button.

A drama/mystery

• Written and directed by Asghar Farhadi

One seldom finds clear heroes and villains in family turmoil. When marriages fail and people lose their temper, you’re most likely to find good people on both sides, angry and flawed, but trying to do the right thing.

Writer/director Asghar Farhadi understands that very well. He demonstrates how good people can turn against each other in this harrowing tale of divorce, family responsibilities, and courtroom drama.

The film’s Iranian origin makes it appear as a political film almost by default. After all, many in our government and media want war with Iran, and that generally involves discouraging us for thinking of Iranians as human beings. Besides, the Iranian government has developed a bad habit of oppressing filmmakers.

But any politics you find in A Separation come from your imagination. The government only appears in the form of family and criminal courts, and these seem to be reasonable and even humane. I don’t know if this reflects the reality of the Iran court system as Farhadi sees it, or if the government insisted on being portrayed this way.

The story begins in family court. Simin wants a divorce from her husband, Nader. She admits he’s a good man, but she wants to leave the country (why and where to is never explained), and he won’t leave with her because he’s responsible for his Alzheimer-inflicted father. He agrees to the divorce, but refuses to give up their 11-year-old daughter.

No longer willing to live with her husband, Simin moves in with her mother. But before she does, she arranges for another woman, Razieh, to come in daily to do housework and care for her senile father-in-law. But Razieh is clearly not up to the job. She’s very pregnant, tires easily, has a young daughter in tow, and is hiding the fact that she’s working from her own unemployed husband. She tries her best, but her work is a disaster waiting to happen.

Disaster happens. When it does, Nadar loses his temper, and Razieh suffers a miscarriage. Soon Razieh and her husband are accusing Nadar of "murdering" their unborn child, and he’s facing prison.

The film’s second half becomes a mystery, filled with difficult-to-answer questions. Did he know she was pregnant (not all that obvious in the devout Razieh’s black cheddar)? Did she really fall down the stairs? When did the fetus actually die?

But the legal questions still take a backseat to the emotional ones. It becomes a story of two married couples, each with problems aggravated by the incident and legal issues. Everyone is doing what they believe is right, and soon people are doubting their own words.

I said earlier that the film isn’t political, but it is about class differences. One family is middle class and relatively secular. The other poor and very religious. Without these differences, the conflict would never have happened. And once it has happened, class stereotypes effect everyone’s behavior.

Cinematographer Mahmoud Kalari uses a direct and intimate style here. He shot many scenes with a long lens, which tends to isolate characters from their surroundings–an important reflection on those characters’ emotional states. The camera is often handheld, adding to the tension.

Farhadi has given us a portrait of two families on the verge of breakdowns. By refusing to give us clear good and bad guys, he’s made a remarkable motion picture. This one will stick with you.

B+ Documentary

• Directed by Jennifer Fox

Chögyal Namkhai Norbu travels the world, teaching others the Tibetan Buddhism that has been his life’s work. Recognized when just an infant as the reincarnation of an important yogi, Chögyal started training early in life. As a young man, he escaped Chinese-controlled Tibet and settled in Italy, where he married a once-Catholic local, had two children, and settled down. (He’s a master, not a monk. As such, he was never expected to be celibate.)

His son, Yeshi Silvano Namkhai, was also recognized as the reincarnation of an important master–in fact, of Chögyal’s favorite uncle, who had died in a Chinese prison. As such, Yeshi also seemed fated to a life as a spiritual master.

But sometimes, the fruit does fall far from the tree. More Italian than Tibetan culturally, Yeshi set out to make a different life for himself. He built a career in technology, working for IBM. Yet, in some ways, his life was surprisingly like his father’s; he travelled a lot for his job, and didn’t see as much of his wife and children as he would have liked.

Slowly, over a period of many years, Yeshi came to embrace his heritage, his past life, and his father’s desires. He gives up his secular career to follow in his father’s footsteps.

Filmmaker Jennifer Fox started interviewing and videotaping father and son way back in 1988. Every few years, she’s returned to the Namkhais to check in on them and record how they were doing.

Fox is a classic cinema vérité documentarian. She points the camera at whoever looks interesting and records the events. Her camera gets close and intimate, allowing us to study the faces of people who have learned to ignore it. She also encourages her subjects to talk about their lives. Yeshi’s commentaries become a present-tense narration for the film, and we see most of the events through his eyes.

This is, of course, a story of Buddhist wisdom, but it’s more universal than that. It’s a story of diaspora, generational clashes, and returning to one’s roots. More than that, it’s a story of two individuals who love each other but can’t see eye to eye.

D Buddy drama

· Written by Glenn Porter

· Directed by Mark Pellington

The plot sounds like an updated, male-oriented version of The Big Chill and The Return of the Secaucus Seven, about people born in the 1960s rather than having come of age then. Four college buddies, all of them 44, rent a house by the beach so they can party together, take lots of drugs, and have a good time. Life has taken its toll, and they miss the carefree guys that they once were and thought they’d always be.

But I Melt With You is very different from those films of 30 years ago, and not just because the main characters are all men and of a different generation. This is a much darker picture, one that goes into a very different place. But also, unlike those two, I Melt fails almost completely. The picture gives us no reason to care about these four guys and the generation they may or may not represent. Worse, it gives us no insight into them, and doesn’t even succeed in making us believe that they could actually exist.

Richard (Thomas Jane) is the ringleader–if not the leader of the four than certainly the first among equals. He’s single, always has been single. I believe the others follow his lead because he’s an even bigger jerk than they are. Rob Lowe plays Jonathan, the divorced dad and crooked doctor; occasional moments of sensitivity make him a bit less of a jerk. Ron (Jeremy Piven) is married, has children, and takes his responsibilities seriously, but he can still act like a jerk. Tim (Christian McKay) is the nice, sensitive guy with a tragic past. He’s not a jerk. But then, he’s gay (or bi, I’m not sure), which in the world of dramatic film clichés, explains why he’s sensitive and not a jerk.

The guys start altering their consciousness as soon as they get together. They snort coke, smoke pot, drink alcohol, and take assorted pills courtesy of the good doctor. They run naked in the surf, go fishing, drive a red sports car way too fast while coked up, and invite some much younger adults over for a drug-laced party. (One of these young people is played by Sasha Grey, and yes, one of them sort of has sex with her.)

But it’s not all fun and games. Every so often, they get serious and talk about all the ways in which their lives have gone wrong. In doing so, they never say anything I haven’t heard in a 100 better films, or anything that makes them truly unique individuals. Then they go back to being decadent, which never really looks like much fun.

I can’t discuss this film anymore without some mild spoilers. You have been warned.

Almost exactly halfway through the picture, tragedy strikes. I won’t say what happens. I will say that it caught me by surprise, and that it shouldn’t have. From there, I Melt With You takes a really weird turn that might have been shocking if it was believable. The place it goes to is very, very dark. But darkness doesn’t always promise depth. One gets the feeling that the filmmakers thought they were making something profound; they were self-deceived.

And then the whole thing ends with a car chase.

A Dramatic Comedy

Written and directed by Michel Hazanavicius

The question with which I opened my Hugo post applies even more to Michel Hazanavicius’ new silent film: Did I–and other cinephiles–love The Artist because it is a very good motion picture, or because the story, setting, and style are so close to any cinephile’s heart? I think I loved it for both reasons.

Here, for what may be the first time in decades, is a silent movie. Not just a dialog-free or dialog-lite feature, like Wall-E or Angels and Idiots, but a real silent movie, with intertitles in place of dialog, and a soundtrack that’s almost entirely music (sound effects are extremely rare and well-chosen). It’s even in black and white, and presented in the old 1.33×1 aspect ratio. And what’s it about? The death of silent movies.

The story manages to combine elements of Singin’ in the Rain and A Star is Born, an odd combination that Hazanavicius pulls off amazingly well. You really have no idea if this picture is going to have a wiz-bang happy ending or finish in tragedy, and that results in an unusual level of suspense.

I suspect that Hazanavicius thought consciously about those pictures when he wrote his screenplay. He also filled The Artist with plenty of other cinematic tributes. Douglas Fairbanks’ Mark of Zorro gets referenced. There are elements of John Gilbert’s late career. The dancing reminded me of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. And the dog from The Thin Man series (or at least a near-perfect duplicate) plays a major role.

Jean Dujardin stars as George Valentin, a movie star who looks like Gene Kelly wearing Douglas Fairbanks’ mustache. When we first meet him, at the premiere of his latest blockbuster (like I said, Singin’ in the Rain), he’s at the top of his game. He loves stepping out onto the stage after the picture to entertain his audience, dancing for them and even bringing his dog out to do tricks. It’s 1927–the year The Jazz Singer came out. You know he’s heading for a fall.

Sound destroyed many movie stars, but it also created many others. As George’s fame fades, Peppy Miller’s career skyrockets. Peppy (Bérénice Bejo) loves George, and while he likes her enough, and enjoys dancing and flirting with her, he doesn’t really take her seriously. In one scene, Bejo performs an exceptionally sweet, funny, and Chaplinesque routine with George’s coat that speaks volumes about her romantic fantasy.

Silence is at the core of The Artist. The very first intertitle, spoken by George’s character in a movie within the movie, has him exclaim that “I will not talk!” Soon afterwards, a large sign backstage instructs people to be “Silent.” And a cute gag early on tells us not to expect even sound effects. Hazanavicius tells most of the story visually, as any good silent film director would, and uses intertitles–most of which are dialog, not narration–sparingly. Ludovic Bource’s musical score does its job, and only becomes noticeable when the story requires it.

Hazanavicius fills the picture with funny bits that also help to illuminate the characters. George starts playing with his extremely well-trained dog when he needs to deal with people. His unhappy wife (Penelope Ann Miller) spends her time drawing bad teeth and devil horns on photos of her husband. And John Goodman, as the studio head, huffs and puffs and looks frustrated when faced with the reality that his stars can sometimes overrule him.

As befits a silent film, where accents are never an issue, the international cast all play Americans. This is a French film, shot in Hollywood for the logical reason that that was the most realistic location to use. This may be the first time that happened.

A black-and-white, narrow-screen, silent film not based on a comic book is a hard sell in today’s market, and I don’t know if The Artist will find the audience it deserves. Catch it before it disappears.

B+ Sex Comedy

• Written by Theresa Rebeck
• Directed by Amy Glazer

Charlie Barker (Stephen Barker Turner) is not a happy man, and wild sex with a young, gorgeous, horny, yet stupid sociopath will not improve anything. Seducing Charlie Barker starts as a comedy and grows serious, a trick few films successfully pull off. It helps here that, even in the early scenes, it’s a pretty serious comedy.

An unemployed actor with talent but little sense of how to manage a career, Charlie depends financially on his wife Stella (Daphne Zuniga), who hates her high-pay, high-pressure behind-the-scenes job on a TV talk show. The two are planning to adopt a Chinese orphan, and Stella wants Charlie to kiss the asses needed to revive his career. I have no idea if this film is at all autobiographical, but if it is, I suspect that Stella is a stand-in for screenwriter Theresa Rebeck.

Then Charlie meets Clea (newcomer Heather Gordon, in a performance that would make her a star if the movie gets decent exposure). Before you can say “My place or yours,” they’re banging away like hopefuls auditioning for the sexual Olympics.

Clea is obviously bad news from the start. Stunningly beautiful in an artificial, Hollywood way, she’s a motormouth with very serious entitlement issues. She’s the type of person who brags that she doesn’t drink, asks for a vodka, then acts offended when people don’t take her sobriety seriously.

I’m not giving anything away by telling you that Charlie pays for his adultery to the point of homelessness. You’re told as much at the very beginning of the movie.

Director Amy Glazer handles the actors well and keeps the film well-paced, although at times the movie feels like a stage play (Rebeck first wrote it as one, called The Scene). This is a writer’s and actors’ movie, and Glazer wisely avoids fancy flashes of auteurism.

A ruthless but beautiful woman can make a man do anything except break bad habits. Clea lacks the brains necessary for a film noir femme fatale; she’s not going to lead Charlie into a murder. But we can still enjoy watching her mess up his life.

I saw Seducing Charlie Barker on a screener DVD before it screened at the 2010 San Francisco International Film Festival.

And so we come to Hugo, Martin Scorsese’s family-friendly fantasy adventure that turns into an entertaining lesson on the importance of film preservation. Could this be a movie that appeals more to critics and cinephiles than do the general public? I suspect it is.

I called Hugo a fantasy after some consideration. Most people define a movie (or novel) as fantasy if it violates the laws of physics. Hugo merely violates the laws of probability. But its general magical tone makes it feel like a fantasy to me.

Fourteen-year-old Asa Butterfield plays the title character, an orphan living by his wits in a large Paris train station circa 1930. He keeps the clocks running, steals food, and tries to stay unnoticed. Typical of young protagonists in Hollywood family fare, Hugo must contend with a comically inept authority figure (Sacha Baron Cohen as the station master) and a grumpy old man whose heart will inevitably melt (Ben Kingsley as a toy seller). And he is helped by a girl of approximately his age (Chloë Grace Moretz).

In other words, this Scorsese film bears little resemblance to Taxi Driver or Good Fellas. But then, neither does The Last Waltz, The Aviator, or The Last Temptation of Christ. People associate Scorsese with violent contemporary urban dramas–probably because those dominate his best work. But he’s made plenty of other types of films, as well.

Nevertheless, Hugo is his first family film, and his first in 3D. He uses the technology brilliantly to draw the audience into the universe of the story. Train tracks disappearing into the distance, labyrinth hallways and staircases, and individual snowflakes floating through the sky put you into the environment in a way that a flat movie could not.

And what an environment Scorsese creates and brings to life with his signature moving camera shots. The giant train station, with its cafes and stores and musicians, is a world onto itself. The people who work there form a community, and some even fall in love. It doesn’t seem like a bad place to live and work –even for an orphan stealing croissants and milk.

But Hugo is not a great Scorsese film, or a great children’s movie. It’s slow at times, and often predictable. The humor and the sentimentality sometimes conflict–especially when Cohen’s evil station master falls in love. I give it a B.

But Scorsese has a message for the children and parents coming to see Hugo. He wants to can teach them about the importance of film restoration and preservation.

The rest of this post contains some mild spoilers. I do not believe that reading them will hurt your enjoyment of the film, but you really hate even the mildest of spoilers, stop reading now.

Kingsley’s grumpy old man, who owns a small toy stall in the station, turns out to be an actual historical figure–Georges Méliès, the magician-turned-filmmaker who invented special effects and, arguably, narrative cinema. By the time we meet him in the movie, long after his studio died, he is forgotten and bitter–and won’t even allow his goddaughter to go to the movies.

Of course Hugo will make Méliès happy again, and help bring about a resurgence of interest in his work. Late the movie, Méliès tells the boy that "Happy endings only happen in the movies." Of course, this is a movie, and Scorsese and screenwriter John Logan provide everyone (even the station agent) with a very happy ending.

As is shown in the movie, the real Méliès was awarded a government honor in 1931. But I doubt the details were as joyful as they are here.

I enjoyed Hugo. I’d like to believe that children coming out of the theater will ask to see Méliès’ work and other silent films, and will learn the value of film restoration.

But I doubt it.

B- Documentary

· Written and Presented by Robert X. Cringely

· Directed by Paul Sen

Even an Apple cynic like myself must admit that Steve Jobs drastically changed the world we live in, and mostly for the better. I’m writing this on a Windows computer, I have a Creative Zen music player, and my smartphone is powered by Android. Yet I doubt that any of these would be in existence today without innovations for which Jobs played a significant role.

He was also a charismatic leader and public figure, who held people in thrall with his product announcements and presentations.

But does that mean you would enjoy watching a 16-year-old, 70-minute, videotaped interview, visually consisting of one continuous close-up of his face?

Surprisingly, the answer is Yes. That charisma, combined with the simple fact that Jobs had some interesting things to say back in 1995, make this a reasonably interesting and informative film. But it could have been much better.

In those long-ago days of the first Clinton administration, technology journalist Robert X. Cringely interviewed Jobs for the PBS series Triumph of the Nerds. Aside from a small portion used in the final cut, the interview was believed lost. Then someone found a VHS copy, and the rest is, if not history, than at least movie distribution.

There’s no filmmaking craftsmanship whatsoever in The Lost Interview. After a brief, new introduction by Cringely, the camera stays on Jobs as he talks. Occasionally an unseen Cringely asks a question. Every so often, the image freezes and Cringely (the 2011 version) provides a little narration to help bring us over to the next part of the interview. Since the image was transferred from VHS, it looks horrible.

But 1995 was a great moment to capture Jobs in amber (or at least videotape). He had been fired from Apple a decade earlier, soon after his triumph with the Mac. Apple was on the skids, and Jobs’ second startup, NeXT, had failed to set the world on fire. The following year, Apple would buy NeXT, and Jobs would triumphantly return to the company he’d co-founded, leading it to greater successes.

Jobs talks about how he first became interested in technology, about the Apple I computers that he and Steve Wozniak built by hand, and the astonishing success that followed the release of the Apple II. He remembers first seeing a graphic user interface at Xerox PARC and realizing that that will be the future of computing. His only complaint about Microsoft (the truly big giant in the industry in 1995) “is that they just have no taste." He predicts, accurately, that the Web will change everything, but assumes that Apple’s days as an important company are over.

He’s at his best early on, when he describes how he and Wozniak–then teenage buddies–slowly and almost accidentally turned their hobby into one of the most important and successful businesses in history. He also does well when he discusses how companies (including Apple) go wrong. Companies, especially successful ones, become driven by marketing, or by process (which he doesn’t really explain that well). Either way, they forget about improving their content, which is–after all–what it’s all about. Not surprisingly, he has nothing nice to say about John Sculley, the PepsiCo Vice President who became president of Apple and fired Jobs ("I hired the wrong person").

I’ve never been a Jobs fan–or an Apple fan. I don’t trust charisma (except in performing artists, where you don’t have to trust it). And I don’t like Apple’s "walled garden" approach to technology, where the company that makes the box gets to decide what you can do with it. That’s limiting and it leads to vertical monopolies. Nevertheless, I found the interview interesting and informative, at least most of the time.

But there’s a limit to how much time you can watch a single close-up, and the Lost Interview begins to where out its welcome well before it’s through. With a little extra work–perhaps inserting illustrative photos over the course of the interview–Cringely and his team could have made an invaluable documentary, capturing an important figure at a career low point that would soon end. Instead, they merely give us a record of in interesting conversation.

Steve Jobs: The Lost Interview will play for two days—this coming Wednesday and Thursday—in selected theaters around the country. Locally, it will be play at the Opera Plaza (San Francisco), the Shattuck (Berkeley), and the Aquarius (Palo Alto). The Aquarius will host the film’s only seven-day run.

Note: This post has been altered since I originally wrote it. I removed an unnecessary paragraph that contained an inaccuracy.