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Meet the new neighbor. You might recognize him as the guy who killed your family with a machete. No, it’s not a summer horror flick; it happened in Rwanda earlier this decade, when prison overcrowding prompted the government to promote reconciliation between the Hutu patrolmen who carried out the 1994 genocide and the mothers and wives of their victims. That meant sending the murderers back to villages where they had lived and shed blood. My Neighbor, My Killer documents the phenomenon of the Gacaca court: a form of lawyerless tribunal designed to fix the prison issue by essentially telling the victims to get over it already. The painfully casual scenes where the genocide widows meekly air their grievances while their tormentors listlessly sip beer are particularly brutal. In such contexts, the killers’ debt assumes all the gravity of an unpaid rent check. No need to bring Kleenex; this film, to borrow an expression from Louis Menand, is too hard for tears.

At 3 p.m; also on Friday, June 19, at 11:30 a.m. at AFI Silver Theatre.