Lost stories from covering three of Chicago’s biggest events
(the second time around)
Chicago, IL/2024
Sony A73
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I. Chicago Goes Racing (...again)
Chicago, IL/2024
Sony A73
Chicago, IL/2024
Sony A73
Chicago, IL/2024
Sony A73
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Chicago, IL/2024
Sony A73
Chicago, IL/2024
Sony A73
There was a bit of rain there for a moment. It left me stranded between Turns 3 and 4, on the wrong end of the 2.140-mile street course. I hid under a tree, leaning on a cold metal railing opposite a 10,000-pound concrete barrier. Whizzing hunks of American-made metal ripped through the latent rainwater, driving up dangerously opaque spray. Red lights flashed on the back of hovering cars, and I stayed for a moment, lost in a place I had been before.
Chicago, IL/2024
Sony A73
The first time around had been the thrill of a lifetime: standing next to a racecar at full speed, splattering as loudly as they roar; they make these noises akin to turbulent children, wails flapping against some unknown esophageal obstacle. When they’re about to crash, it’s hard to tell what’s happening at first — with earplugs in, they just soar over puddles, somehow ducking down at the last moment as they go in for the full tackle. And yet they still seem so small thundering up and down S Columbus Drive, the Chicago Skyline standing tall above. Whole teams of safety marshals are dedicated to safely excavating cars from toppled towers of tires, wrestling drivers from crumpled-up wrecks. The scene’s much more stressful the second time around.
Chicago, IL/2024
Sony A73
After sitting still for too long in a dripping poncho (borrowed trashbag), silently praying for the water to end, I trudged along the length of the track, under a bridge, then a length further. I walked all the way to a big room with every other photographer, photo editor, media member. They all sat in teams and shared assortments of tiny fruit snacks and Frito-Lay chips. On the big screen, weather maps cycled and commentators droned on. I rested my camera down on the black, felt conference table. It stared gloomily back at me. I would have to go back out in a while.
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Chicago, IL/2024
Sony A73
II. A Photographer’s Guide to Covering Lollapalooza
…; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.
Excerpt from “Musée des Beaux Arts”
W.H. Auden
Chicago, IL/2024
Kodak Tri-X 400
Yashica 635
Kodak Tri-X 400
Yashica 635
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S. Columbus Drive looks gorgeous when all those food stalls are out, a parade of people shuffling up and down the wide street. You get lost in that crowd, dragged along by everybody else. It’s a brutal assignment; four days thrown around in the rain and the dense heat of late summer is exhausting, especially if you happen to be moving apartments that weekend (both times).
To be a photographer in that mess is to willingly embark upon grueling, silent expeditions, briefly interrupted by spurts of cheering, music, glitter — and then you always need to head off somewhere else. The enormity of the place really begins to shrink after so many criss-crosses around the park. At the end of a very long day, you go home and question a lot of things, always making sure to charge your cameras and offload SD cards. Or else…
Chicago, IL/2024
Arista EDU Ultra 400
Nikon FE
Arista EDU Ultra 400
Nikon FE
Chicago, IL/2024
Arista EDU Ultra 400
Nikon FE
Arista EDU Ultra 400
Nikon FE
Chicago, IL/2024
Arista EDU Ultra 400
Nikon FE
Arista EDU Ultra 400
Nikon FE
Chicago, IL/2024
Kodak Tri-X 400
Yashica 635
Kodak Tri-X 400
Yashica 635
And then the next day, you take the train into the city again, and haggle with those same security guards, just shuffled to the different stages scattered across Grant Park. And after the final performance of the last day, you’ll walk back anonymously through the packed streets of the Loop, no applause for you.
You’ll take the silent train back, each jolt challenging any attempt at peace because working at a music festival dials up your ears to uncomfortable levels of sensitivity; every rattle of the monstrous, metal cars leaving long scratches along your battered ear canals, always a few more stations more left to go. And then you have to deal with the photos.
Chicago, IL/2024
Arista EDU Ultra 400
Nikon FE
Arista EDU Ultra 400
Nikon FE
Chicago, IL/2024
Arista EDU Ultra 400
Nikon FE
Arista EDU Ultra 400
Nikon FE
Chicago, IL/2024
Arista EDU Ultra 400
Nikon FE
Arista EDU Ultra 400
Nikon FE
Chicago, IL/2024
Arista EDU Ultra 400
Nikon FE
Arista EDU Ultra 400
Nikon FE
For most, it’s best to keep photography a light hobby. As a begrudging film student, I can speak to a certain cosmic charge that comes with every movie watched after a certain point. The first 200 are magical, grand experiences. But then, you’ve just seen too many movies and it becomes a part of your life and never goes away. It’s the same with photos; there will come a point where you can go no further, where the magic goes away, then disfigures into something else entirely.
What you’ll begin to realize after looking through thousands of identical photos is that after so long under the sun, the camera disappears and the frame becomes just you, immersed. Every error, slip, is still yours; the lens becomes this irrevocable part of you (or maybe the other way around). It’s the eyes. They don’t turn off. The whole world around you irrevocably becomes more sad, beautiful, terrible, lonely; at times, it makes you want to slow it all down, do things differently.
Chicago, IL/2024
Arista EDU Ultra 400
Nikon FE
Arista EDU Ultra 400
Nikon FE
Chicago, IL/2024
Kodak Tri-X 400
Yashica 635
Kodak Tri-X 400
Yashica 635
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Chicago, IL/2024
Kodak Tri-X 400
Yashica 635
Kodak Tri-X 400
Yashica 635
III. The Trouble with Epics
“The Magician takes the ordinary something and makes it do something extraordinary. Now you're looking for the secret, but you won't find it, because of course you're not really looking. You don't really want to know…”
Michael Caine as Cutter in Christopher Nolan’s The Prestige (2006)
As a graduating film student, I feel I have to offer at least one piece of film criticism — a shameless offer at the 11th hour to the gods of cinema for safe passage in the (what I can only imagine will be) troubling times to come. In the last two years, I’ve been incredibly fortunate to be a member of the press for the 59th and 60th runnings of the Chicago International Film Festival. I hate to report that I watched fewer films the second time around (I really don’t want to say a number, but it is one less than three). It’s not that I’m unprofessional — I swear — the films choose themselves this time. The first movie was almost poetically gifted to me a la Twitter; a-ha, there it was, a 1:17 trailer practically zipping, screaming out of the screen.
I’m a huge fan of trailers, but they’re a double-edged sword. While majestic, they lie, often. So I had to see the film for myself. Secretly, I was rooting for it. I was in dire need of something that defied the current film landscape that's drifted into streaming calamity, dulling the status quo to content, lowering our expectations of filmmakers to near-cataclysmic lows. I was looking for a film that could cut through a slog that was just as much mine as it was the world's.
I was a bit too excited walking into AMC NEWCITY, hoping to finagle a ticket — one whose existence had only been hinted at when I came to pick up my press pass the day before (The black lanyards and black/orange design were the same, although my second one looks a lot cooler).
At 11 a.m. on the dot, I walked into the empty circular lobby, scanning desperately for a familiar face. I waited for a little bit, poking around in abandoned corners. A few minutes later, I walked out with a physically printed ticket to the 35mm Chicago premiere of The Brutalist (2024) at the Music Box Theater. I tucked the thin slip of paper into the cheap, plastic sleeve that held my press pass, ogling it a few times as I took the 95th/Dan Ryan train down to Jackson. I walked into my Intro to TV Production class pretty late. The professor really didn’t care.
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I walked out of the cafe with a coffee in my hand and looked across the street at the long line of people that hugged the side of the theater, excited conversations spilling down a block or two further. We were all taking on a hefty movie, a decent chunk over three hours. I sat down at a table in the crisp autumn air, the Cold settling in for the year.
After slowly drinking my coffee, I walked across the street and pushed straight through the crowded doorway to hand my ticket to a stressed bunch of people to scan.
I watch too many movies on my computer nowadays, so I forget the thrill of walking in and seeing it all as you take the temperature of the room, rapidly scan the rows for an empty seat (or 12). I got in early enough to choose a spot off to the right, but with a damn good view, then waited as the chattering crowd filed in. To my chagrin, the seats on either side of me filled quickly, and then we all watched as the seats of the massive hall settled. The lights darkened, and a brief introduction was offered. Brady Corbet, co-writer and director, then spoke a few words. Applause.
Darkness finally wins over the steep, looming walls as the curtains shuffle away. I took my jacket off, the film about to begin. And if you look up in the Music Box, at the right exact moment, the stars begin to twinkle, someone above tuning in to watch as well.
In the Cinema, 1913
W.H. Auden
IV. (cont.)
“…You want to be fooled. But you wouldn't clap yet. Because making something disappear isn't enough; you have to bring it back.”
Michael Caine as Cutter in Christopher Nolan’s The Prestige (2006)
And I walked out of the theater furious, enraged almost. Betrayed comes to mind, a bitter emptiness that sloshes around inside of you as you walk home. For me, the film was a disappointment. My taste is my own, and you have to watch the movie to see for yourself but the film speaks to the worst qualities of its title. When the intermission hits, and that buzz is there, know that three and a half hours is a lot of time in life that you won’t ever get back.
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I’m Indian, that’s how I found the second movie. After living in this American city and going to an American film school, being immersed in stories written for other people had lowered me into such a deep fog that, after a while, I couldn’t tell where I came from. (I don’t know), Maybe it was my Dad, or a stray forward in a family group chat, but luckily I’d been given a heads up on the film All We Imagine As Light, a film by director Payal Kapadia. I didn’t know what it was about, but the name made it through.
A quick Google search later, and I found myself walking down the strange alleyway to the Gene Siskel Film Center. A few people milled around the bright white lobby as I queued in the one-person line to the box office. I didn’t even have time to nervously shuffle in place before I was called up to the window by someone wearing glasses. I showed my pass, another ticket printed. It was far too early in the morning (11 a.m.), but any time the universe asks you to watch a movie before noon, it’s usually a good idea to listen.
I sat closer to the front, miles of space between me and the sparse crowd. As the presenter stood up to speak, I was reminded of the only other film I'd seen in this hallowed theater — another movie with a good trailer that disappointed me in the end. As I tried my hardest to shake the bad thoughts out of my mind, the screen turned black. You always kind of know in the first few moments of a film, not necessarily if it’s going to be good or bad, but if it’s going to be for you or not. This movie spoke to me before I even had a chance to think. And then you smile because you know you’re in for a good time.
At around the halfway point of the movie, Kapadia constructs one of the most stunning sequences of modern Mumbai; not simply aesthetic excursion, but a genuine cinematic offering to the infinitely churning city of millions of people who come from everywhere. And at no point does the film boast or show off — at no point does Kapadia lose the real-life spirit of those people she draws from. The simplicity makes it too real, the stark reality snaps you out of the fog; in an instant, the world collapses in on you in a vacant movie theater.
And when you walk out of the theater, the sky’s different and the people are all new. You round the corner, desperately trying to hold on to a figure or two as you hurtle down the long road ahead.
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Chicago, IL/2024
Kodak Tri-X 400
Yashica 635
Kodak Tri-X 400
Yashica 635
****
Special thanks to NASCAR, Lollapalooza and the Chicago International Film Festival(, again.)
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This piece was originally published in 14 East Magazine on May 23, 2025. All photos by Varun Khushalani.