Jumping the gun a bit, aren’t you, Matthew Weiner? Watching “The Grown-Ups,” the first Mad Men episode directed by Barbet Schroeder (Reversal of Fortune, Murder by Numbers), it’s actually pretty clear why the show didn’t save the Kennedy assassination for its season finale. Unlike the Cuban Missile Crisis, which ended season two and which provided a suitably paranoid backdrop for an episode of secret-spilling, with the Kennedy assassination, you’re essentially limited to having an entire episode of characters glued to their television sets (or in the case of Roger’s daughter’s wedding guests, reluctantly unglued). There are certain marks to hit—the announcement of Kennedy’s death, Ruby shooting Oswald—and since nothing else is going on in the world, it’s not exactly the best week for advancing the series’ drama. Yet it would be weird not to address it at all. Good on Weiner for getting it out of the way and—we hope—saving the season’s biggest fireworks for next week.

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Connoisseurs of the elusive so-bad-it’s-good genre: We have a new candidate. I don’t make that claim lightly, least of all when it means picking on a no-budget film that, as the more tactful Roger Ebert notes, is so obviously heartfelt in its intentions. Still, it’s not often one sees a Vietnam movie cast with actors who resemble extras from Baywatch. Or a Vietnam film that sometimes appears to have been shot in someone’s backyard (even though it was actually Vietnam). Or a military movie of any stripe that features a special appearance by Faye Dunaway (above) as an angry major. Less pathological but far, far more ambitious than the recent cult phenomenon The Room, 21 and a Wakeup (see review) offers all of the above and more.

Here’s a sampling. The film is set on a military base, but every character looks coiffed for the dance floor. Almost nothing about the set design suggests the early ’70s. Tom Sizemore—one of several other celebrities to appear inexplicably in bit parts—shows up to head-butt a girl. The main character—a star American surgeon played by Amy Acker—speaks perfect Vietnamese, though the subtitles briefly forget to turn off when she switches back to English. In the operating room, a nurse played by The Wonder Years‘ Danica McKellar summarily decides she’s got what it takes to be a doctor—though that epiphany doesn’t work out so well for her patient. A closing montage tells us what happened to all the major characters, noting that one of them “went on to become the top orthopedist for the NFL.” (I’m not sure how that reads, but it plays like something out of Animal House.)

Due to space constraints in my review, I didn’t mention the fact that the director is a Vietnam veteran. His clear sincerity only adds to the fascination (and makes me feel guilty about slagging his film in this way). 21 and a Wakeup appears to have to have been created through a perfect storm of passion, good intentions and tone-deafness. The film is getting a Chicago-area-only release beginning today. In the name of midnight movies everywhere, keep it in theaters.

This post contains mega-spoilers. Avoid—avoid!—if you haven’t seen this killer episode.

The next time someone puts together a special on Great Moments in Television, whoever it is had better reserve a choice spot for “Betty confronts Don.” The central scene of last night’s Mad Men cut to the heart of the show’s appeal on several levels: Don’s secret vulnerability, the shifting Betty-Don power dynamic, the notion that it’s impossible to escape your past. Normally, it would be the show’s m.o. to drop a bombshell and then ignore it for three or four episodes, which made the kitchen scene all the more shocking. For almost the first time in Betty’s presence, Don drops all artifice: He doesn’t make up any stories; he just crumbles. (Hamm’s performance is so textured, you almost wanted to hand him an Emmy on the spot.) Somehow Betty’s victory is tainted. Don’s explanation doesn’t invite forgiveness, exactly, but it paints him in a uniquely pathetic light. Even when she asks whether she should love him, his response is disarmingly frank: “I was surprised you ever loved me.”

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I should apologize to the Chicago film festival: After I predicted that last night’s surprise screening would be something completely uninteresting, it turned out to be Terry Gilliam’s The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus, featuring Heath Ledger’s final, uncompleted performance. The movie is slated for limited release on December 25. I saw it at Cannes and really didn’t care for it—it’s less aggressively off-putting than Gilliam’s last miasma, Tideland, but just as undisciplined—but I have to admit that that’s a pretty decent surprise. Good job, festival. I’ll try not to mention RocknRolla again.

Tonight is the Chicago International Film Festival’s annual surprise screening, and I’m on the fence about whether to show up. I’m still annoyed about last year’s mystery film turning out to be RocknRolla when the rumor mill suggested it would be Quantum of Solace. (In fairness, festival organizers denied these rumors—but of course, they denied every title we threw at them.) Will this year’s movie be a genuine hot-ticket item, as the press release promises? Or will it be another boatload of crap that the festival is too ashamed to show in any other guise?

Assuming last year is an accurate indication—and it may not be—here are my three hunches about tonight’s film.

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Like the programming itself, the awards for this year’s Chicago International Film Festival are a mix of no-brainers and say-whats—although it does seem a bit odd to split all the major prizes among three titles. The winner of the Golden Hugo, best supporting actress (Jossie Harris Thacker) and best screenplay, writer-director Tiny Mabry’s Mississippi Damned was seen by Hank but not by me, and you can find his take in our roundup. I remain among the doubters on Andrea Arnold’s Fish Tank, a generic coming-of-age drama that the jury awarded the Silver Hugo “for its aesthetic boldness.” (As opposed to its performances? It’s an actors’ film—and indeed, Michael Fassbender won a prize for supporting performance.) I do like Vincere, the story of Mussolini’s unacknowledged first wife, and giving best director to a master like Marco Bellocchio seems like a laudable choice. And you’d need only eyes to see what a great performance best-actress winner Giovanna Mezzogiorno gives.

See the full list of CIFF winners; as the festival winds down, check for CIFF schedule updates.

Get ready for those rush lines. The Chicago International Film Festival opens tonight, and our coverage—which we’re pretty sure wins this year’s award for most films actually viewed by a Chicago publication—can be found here. (Anything with a byline was watched.) As always, the movies range in quality from the sublime to the give-me-an-effin’-break, so go uninformed at your own peril. If you’re looking for a first-weekend choice, I’ll go to bat again for Henri-Georges Clouzot’s Inferno, a remarkable documentary that sifts through fragments of Clouzot’s unfinished 1964 superproduction. I also admire About Elly, Hipsters, Vincere, The House of the Devil and Cropsey, and my colleagues recommend many other titles in our guide. On Monday, the festival will show Lars von Trier’s infamous Molotov cocktail Antichrist. We’ve interviewed him to celebrate the occasion.

If you’ve been following the various channels that qualify as “movie buzz,” you may be wondering: What the hell is Paranormal Activity? I feel a little guilty participating in the hype just by writing this, but there’s no way around that. Pushed as a Blair Witch Project–like phenomenon at midnight screenings around the country last week (and introduced with a video of Harry Knowles, at least at the Music Box showing), the movie is a similar lo-fi shocker that suggests nothing so much as a mumblecore version of Blair Witch.

I’ll have more to say in a formal review, but I’d like to talk about a local issue for a second. Keen observers will note that the movie was quietly removed from the Chicago International Film Festival lineup after its program went to press. (It was even listed in a supposedly updated press packet that the festival distributed last Tuesday, which means the movie was canceled at the last minute.) Feature film programmer Mimi Plauché tells me the separation was mutually agreed upon, and that it was made prior to Paramount’s decision to give the film a quasi-release this weekend, with three midnight showings on Thursday, Friday and Saturday at the AMC River East. Whatever the motivations of both parties, this weekend’s showings would have seriously stolen the thunder of the festival’s planned October 10 screening.

This release is so under-the-radar that Paramount didn’t announce it—in what may or may not be a canny marketing move—until yesterday, too late for us to run a review in our print edition. Our local rep even threatened to bar us from future press screenings if we publish our review online on Thursday, which—given that there is a de facto Thursday-night screening, that the film has screened for the public on several occasions and that it has been reviewed by many outlets already—runs afoul of past standards in Chicago. (UPDATE: We’ve been asked to note that similar language is used on invitations to every Paramount screening. But the Chicago Film Critics’ Association’s policy, honored by the studios, is that midnight screenings mean it’s fair game to post reviews earlier that day.) Not to bore you with our difficulties, but there is a point when viral marketing jumps the shark. Without passing judgment on the film, which deserves to be seen separately from the way it’s being advertised, be advised that those getting psyched for Paranormal Activity would be wise to distinguish between actual buzz and clever, corporate-orchestrated hype.

Those of you wondering what film you’d be seeing on October 8, wonder no longer: The Chicago International Film Festival will open with Katherine Dieckmann’s Motherhood, starring Uma Thurman, about a single day in the life of a mother in New York. Thurman will also receive a Career Achievement Award that evening (at the age of 39, no less). The festival promises that “no other movie has dedicated itself in quite this way to probing exactly what it takes to be a mother, with both wry humor and an acute sense of authenticity.” More after the full lineup is announced tonight.

Just to give you some local flavor (or flavour, as it’s spelled in Canada): The theater above is the Cineplex Odeon Varsity, and it’s where we do things around here. I’ve seen 19 movies at the Varsity this festival alone, out of a total of 34 and counting. And you thought you had trouble distinguishing between A Single Man and A Serious Man.

To wrap this year’s fest, it seemed appropriate to revisit the resolutions I made at the outset. Alas, depending on how you count, I’m only batting .300, which in this context kind of stinks. Maybe there’s a more euphemistic-sounding hockey metaphor? In any case:

1. Make sure to catch both sure-to-be-bonkers Werner Herzog movies. I wouldn’t have missed them for the world, and you can read about them here.

2. Start shouting at someone while waiting in line for the press screening of Michael Moore’s Capitalism: A Love Story. I failed on this one, mainly because I had priority status (thanks, press office!) and didn’t have to wait in line, but also because Capitalism turns out to be rather tepid by Moore standards. But another documentary, The Art of the Steal, proved to be a real flash point, albeit less for its filmmaking than for the way that it gets you exercised about what’s happening with the Barnes collection.

3. Challenge a renowned film critic—or better yet, a group of renowned critics—to a Molson’s-drinking contest. I did the usual amount of boozing this year, but I kind of forgot about this item, to be honest.

4. Cut down on egg salad sandwiches at the Bloor Street Diner. Resistance is futile, it seems, although I mixed it up by eating a lot of turkey clubs as well. Also, I must apologize for confusing the apostrophe-deprived Tim Hortons with Timothy’s World Coffee, which strikes me as slightly more sleek but similarly mediocre. I found a solid pizza place on Yonge Street, so it’s all good.

5. Attend another luncheon where pulled-lamb poutine is served. I didn’t see any lamb poutine when I dropped by the shindig where I found it last year, but the Serious Man party one-upped it with the best gefilte fish I’ve ever tasted. (The entire menu consisted of upscale variations on Jewish cuisine.) As a belated, corollary resolution, I was determined to find out which movie threw a better party, Antichrist or Survival of the Dead. Both events were disappointing—though not as disappointing as Survival of the Dead.

6. Start a Twitter fight over a much-maligned film that I like (or a much-loved film that I hate). I’m in under the wire on this one, as a colleague who unfortunately has his tweets protected just launched into a defense of Werner Herzog’s My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done. He’s probably in the minority on that movie, so it doesn’t really qualify as a “much-loved film that I hate,” but I’ll take what I can get.

7. See my third Coen brothers film at Toronto in as many years. Saw it and enjoyed it immensely.

9. Hang out in the lobby when a screening of Enter the Void lets out. I didn’t have time, alas. But I did attend a screening of this festival’s world-premiere scandal, Harmony Korine’s Trash Humpers, which follows a group of masked deviants who resemble the cast of a Texas Chain Saw Massacre sequel as they engage in mostly harmless mischief. (As promised, trash cans are violated, early and often.) This hideous, VHS-shot chronicle of juvenilia is the provocation that Korine was born to make, assuming Korine was born to make a film, a question to which I have no answer.

10. Take a break and spend some time in Toronto’s High Park. I’m on my way as soon as this blog post is online—I hope.

Thanks for reading, see you next September, etc. Au revoir, Toronto—it seemed like you were visited by an unusually high number of French-speaking journalists this year.

UPDATE, September 21: Oy. I just realized I left out Resolution No. 8, “Catch the midnight showing of George A. Romero’s Survival of the Dead.” Chalk it up to festival fatigue. I was there, I blogged it and I have no interest in ever seeing the movie again. That does improve my batting average, however, bringing it to .400.

UPDATE, September 22: My wrap piece is now online.