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In 5 days· Oct 12
New Beverly Cinema, 7165 Beverly B…
The scariest thing about a true-crime story is the part where the credits tell you nobody was ever caught. Charles B. Pierce built a whole career in that gap, and both halves of this bill come from him. The Town That Dreaded Sundown reconstructs the Texarkana Moonlight Murders in a docudrama register so flat and matter-of-fact that the violence keeps arriving before you have braced for it, and the trombone scene has been quietly disturbing people for fifty years. The Evictors is the quieter one, a slow Louisiana property-dispute nightmare that is really about how a house remembers what happened in it. Pierce shot on location with local faces rather than a studio backlot, which is exactly why the films feel like somebody handed you a rumour instead of a script. Monday, October 12, 7:30pm and 9:30pm on Beverly Boulevard. Bring the person who reads the Wikipedia plot summary first anyway.
Coming Soon
6 days away
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In 7 days· Oct 14
New Beverly Cinema, 7165 Beverly B…
Two films about wanting somebody and being watched by somebody, made thirty-eight years apart, and the older one is somehow the more unsettling. Who Killed Teddy Bear? is a 1965 New York obsession picture that got itself effectively buried for decades, with Sal Mineo as a busboy making phone calls he should not be making, shot in a Times Square that no longer exists in any form. In the Cut is Jane Campion's, the one that was misread on arrival as a thriller when it is really about a woman deciding that risk is preferable to numbness, and it has aged into the respect it should have had immediately. Programmed together they stop being genre and start being an argument. Both on 35mm, Wednesday, October 14, at 7:30pm and 9:35pm on Beverly Boulevard. You will want to talk about it in the car afterwards, which is the entire reason to go with somebody.
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7 days away
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In 8 days· Oct 15
New Beverly Cinema, 7165 Beverly B…
Carole Lombard made exactly one horror film and almost nobody has seen it. In Supernatural she plays an heiress taken over by the spirit of an executed murderess, a 1933 Paramount picture that runs barely an hour, moves like a fever, and slipped so far out of circulation that for decades it travelled mostly as a rumour among people who collect this sort of thing. It is paired with Terror Aboard, another pre-Code Paramount rarity, in which a killer works his way through the passengers of a private yacht with a cheerfulness the Production Code would have struck out a year later. Neither turns up on a streaming menu. Both run on 35mm, which is most of the reason you can see them at all this year, and the reason the condition of the print becomes part of the evening. New Beverly Cinema, 7165 Beverly Blvd, on the fifteenth: first feature at 7:30, the second at 9:05.
Daily
11 days away
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Every day· Next Oct 19
New Beverly Cinema, 7165 Beverly B…
At some point you started calling every slasher death three minutes early, and somewhere along the way that stopped being a complaint and quietly became the pleasure. This one knows that about you. It drops a woman who understands exactly what film she is trapped inside into a summer-camp body count and lets her try to argue with the genre's rules from within them, which is a far harder trick than parody and lands much closer to grief than anyone expects going in. It played festivals before most people could see it at all, so a 35mm booking in Los Angeles in October is a genuinely narrow window rather than a re-release. The New Beverly crowd talks back at the screen on horror nights, and on this particular film that is not a nuisance, it is practically the correct format. Monday, October 19 at 7:30pm on Beverly Boulevard. Tell the friend who quotes final-girl theory at parties.
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17 days away
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The sets lean. Doorways narrow to points, windows are painted straight onto flats, shadows are brushed by hand onto the walls, and a hundred and six years on it still reads less like an old film than like somebody's actual nightmare, carefully transcribed. Conrad Veidt plays the somnambulist Cesare with a stillness that has been borrowed by every horror performance since, and the picture worked out most of what we now mean by a twist ending. The German crews who built those crooked walls were partly doing so because a collapsed postwar economy could not spare real timber or real light, which is how a budget shortfall hardened into the founding grammar of the genre. Watching it silent on a laptop is a wholly different act from sitting in a dark room while a musician plays to the picture in real time, choosing tempo against an audience they can hear breathing. Beverly Blvd, October 25, two in the afternoon.
Coming Soon
18 days away
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Forty minutes of scrolling, and you land on nothing — then go to bed having seen everything and witnessed none of it. Some Mondays the only cure is a dark room shared with strangers who made the same decision you did, which is that tonight was not going to be another night of the couch.
Two Canadian horror obscurities share this bill, both out of the tax-shelter years when Ontario money chased American drive-in dollars and produced something stranger than either country intended. A funeral parlor with a basement nobody discusses. A creature picture patient enough to make you wait a long time before it shows you the thing. Neither streams anywhere worth having. Both arrive as actual 35mm prints, which is the whole point here — this is the last continuous repertory revival house in Los Angeles, and the reels are real reels.
Quentin Tarantino bought the building in December 2007 to stop it becoming something else, and has kept one promise since: double features, on film, for as long as he is around to pay for them. The tradition itself goes back to May 1978.
First feature at 7:30, second at 9:35. 7165 Beverly Boulevard.
Coming Soon
20 days away
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Halfway through the second film someone in the row behind you will stop breathing properly, and you will hear it, because nobody in this building is looking at a phone. That is what a Wednesday in a revival house buys: an audience that came to be frightened together instead of alone on a couch with all the lights on.
Two Spanish filmmakers, six years apart, both convinced that the most frightening thing in a house is a mother who is certain. One is about a woman guarding her children from daylight. The other is about a woman who returns to the building that raised her and begins counting. Neither needs a drop of blood. Both were made by directors who understood that dread is really a question of how long you are willing to hold a shot before cutting.
Worth knowing the lineage: Guillermo del Toro produced the second picture, and its director later graduated to enormous disaster films — but this is the one where he learned how to make an audience wait.
Both screen on 35mm, house policy since 2014. First film 7:30, second at 9:45. 7165 Beverly Boulevard, Los Angeles.
Coming Soon
21 days away
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Fulci stopped pretending he cared whether a plot closed. He cared whether an image would follow you home, and The Beyond is where that became the whole method: a Louisiana hotel built over one of the seven gateways to hell, set pieces that flatly contradict each other, and a closing shot so bleak it lands like a door shutting from the outside. Then Pieces, a Spanish production whose tagline promised it was exactly what you think it is, which remains the most honest marketing of its decade, cut with the logic of a bad dream and scored like a daytime serial. These are not good films in the sense that phrase usually carries, and the crowd that turns up knows precisely what it came for, because half the pleasure is a full room laughing and flinching in all the wrong places at once. Both on 35mm, two nights before Halloween at the New Beverly on Beverly Blvd. Get there for 7:30 if you want both.
Happening Now
7
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Film students talk about fog the way sommeliers talk about soil, and this is the double bill that explains why. Two Japanese masterpieces run back to back, and both use weather as a moral condition. Kurosawa moved Macbeth into feudal Japan and shot the forest until it stopped being scenery and started being fate, and the ending remains the most alarming thing anybody has ever accomplished with archery. Mizoguchi's Ugetsu follows two peasants who leave their wives to chase money and glory during a civil war and find something considerably worse, filmed in long unbroken takes that drift like somebody remembering rather than somebody watching. Seeing them in one sitting, on 35mm, in a room where several hundred people gasp at the same frame, is a completely different event from queueing them at home and pausing for snacks. Wednesday, October 7, first film 7:30pm and the second 9:50pm, on Beverly Boulevard. Go alone if you have to.
This Happened
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Somebody in your life keeps insisting the seventies were better and you have never once had the ammunition to argue back. Here is your evening. Grizzly is the one where a fifteen-foot bear works its way through a national park while the studio lawyers presumably explained the difference between this and a shark, and it commits to the bit with a sincerity nobody would risk now. Then the night gets genuinely strange. The Manitou is about a woman who grows a tumour on her neck that turns out to be a reincarnating four-hundred-year-old medicine man, and it ends, with total confidence, in outer space. Both screen on 35mm, which means the print carries scratches, the reel changes are audible, and the crowd cheers the splices instead of wincing at them. Monday, October 5 on Beverly Boulevard, first film at 7:30pm and the second at 9:30pm. Nobody streams these. That is rather the point of the room.
While you are lookingDifferent scene, same night out.
Coming Soon
12 Gathering
10 days away
12
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Endurance is a love language for some people. Not the gym kind - the kind where you sit in the same seat for twelve hours because leaving would mean you were not really in it. Orange County's only nonprofit theater has been running this particular act of devotion for nine years now, and the deal is simple and slightly insane: the first film goes up in the late afternoon and the last one lets out at four in the morning, and the lineup stays classified until the frame hits the screen. You do not get to pick. You find out with everyone else, in the dark, at two in the morning, when a title card appears and half the room loses its mind because somebody recognizes it. That shared blind trust is the whole event. The regulars know the geography of it: the upper tiers get in early to claim seats and there is pizza at dinnertime, which by hour six stops being a perk and starts being medical. Sunday, October 18, doors 3:30pm, first film 4pm, at 305 E 4th St, Santa Ana. Thirty dollars general.
Coming Soon
12 days away
5
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In 13 days· Oct 20
Free (RSVP)
Skylight Books, 1818 N Vermont Ave…
If you have ever stayed up past one in the morning because the host said something about a film you had never heard of and now you had to see it, you already belong to this. The two people who do that to you on Turner Classic Movies will be in a bookstore in Los Feliz, in a room with about forty chairs, talking about the place where old Hollywood meets actual murder - the real crimes the studios buried, and the pictures that kept circling them anyway. Malone wrote the book; Mankiewicz sits across from her, and anyone who has heard the two of them together knows it turns into argument quickly and affectionately. This is the crossover night: the classic-film people who can date a print by its title cards, sitting next to the true-crime people who know the Bugsy Siegel address by heart, discovering they have been the same audience all along. The store keeps a surprisingly deep film-criticism section a few feet from where they will be sitting. Go look at it before it starts. Free, RSVP, Tuesday evening.
Coming Soon
23 days away
5
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Oct 31 – Nov 1, 2026
$16
Camille's at The Bellwether, 3335 …
Halloween in Los Angeles sorts everyone into two camps by about nine p.m. One camp wants a haunted maze and a scream. The other just wants to dance somewhere good, in a costume, without queueing behind a thousand people in the same store-bought outfit.
Brijean is Brijean Murphy on congas and voice with Doug Stuart producing — she has played percussion behind Mitski, Poolside and Toro y Moi, and the project is what happens when a percussionist gets to lead. Disco, nineties house, a real hand on the drums rather than a loop. Colloboh plays too. It is billed as a DJ set, which in their hands means the percussion still shows up.
Camille's is the smaller room at The Bellwether, west of downtown, and it is the correct size for this: a real dancefloor instead of a spectacle.
Saturday, October 31. Nine p.m. Costumes obviously. The good Halloween party is always the one somebody had to tell you about.
Coming Soon
36 days away
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Some music you have only ever listened to alone. Headphones, late, usually on a night when something had gone wrong and you needed a room built by someone who understood without asking. It never occurred to you that several thousand other people were doing exactly the same thing.
Olafur Arnalds writes for piano and strings and then runs it through electronics, which on paper sounds like a compromise and in practice sounds like weather. He built a pair of self-playing pianos, driven by software he wrote, that respond to what he plays live — so the instrument answers him on stage, and no two nights resolve the same way.
The Wiltern is a 1931 art deco theatre with a painted ceiling. People go quiet in it without being asked, which is the correct and rare condition for this.
Friday, November 13. Seven p.m. 3790 Wilshire Boulevard. The private thing turns out to have been a shared one the whole time.
Weekly
60 days away
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Every Monday· Next Dec 7
Marciano Art Foundation, 4357 Wils…
Simeon ten Holt wrote a piece with no fixed length. The players decide in the room how many times to repeat each section and when to move on, so Canto Ostinato can run ninety minutes or five hours and no two performances share a shape, because the musicians are listening to the audience as closely as to each other. Four of them here, two pianos and two sets of mallets, inside a former Scottish Rite Masonic temple on Wilshire with Tacita Dean's FILM running through the space: a silent 35mm work made for a vertical screen, all grain and hand-worked frames, the opposite of a projection you can let slide past you. Repetition is the only thing either artist asks of you, and both of them mean it kindly. Tickets surface roughly a month ahead through the series and the museum. Marciano Art Foundation, 4357 Wilshire Blvd, on December 7 and again on the 14th.
Coming Soon
64 days away
5
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Near the end of the movie, Sam stands on the observation deck of the Empire State Building and the camera holds on his face for three full seconds before Meg Ryan appears. In those three seconds, the orchestra carries everything the character cannot say. You've heard it through speakers a dozen times. You've never heard it performed by a live symphony while the film plays on a screen overlooking the San Diego bay.
The San Diego Symphony performs the complete score of Sleepless in Seattle at The Rady Shell at Jacobs Park — Marc Shaiman's arrangements, the Nat King Cole needle-drops, the Jimmy Durante moment that lands harder than it has any right to. The orchestra sits between you and the screen, and the score exists in the room as a physical thing, vibrating in the air, rather than a signal compressed into a speaker. Every romantic movie you've ever watched alone on a couch prepared you for exactly this feeling, and none of them prepared you for how different it is when you can see the violinist's face.
One performance only: Friday, December 11, 2026 at 7:30 PM. The Rady Shell at Jacobs Park, 1245 Seventh Ave, San Diego. Tickets via the San Diego Symphony box office.
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