Reviews

Physically and emotionally traumatized veterans of the Iraq War tell their stories in this straightforward and poignant documentary. Each narrative seems eerily similar to the others—beginning with the initial lure of the Army or Marine recruiter's pitch (laced with half-truths), proceeding to the thorough mental indoctrination of basic training(essentially, psychological conditioning to master killing as a fundamental job skill), bottoming out with the paralyzing shock of actual warfare and bearing witness to death and destruction, and concluding with the return home carrying both physical and emotional scars for which the military and the government provide sporadic—if any—support. The veterans who tell their stories seem insightful, reflective, and articulate. They are not embittered or angry malcontents who feel cheated out of entitlements (although they'd have every right to be). They are simply compassionate human beings who realize that they have lost the lives they once knew and wonder why that's happened.

This is by far one of the most gruesome and disturbing films that I have ever seen, perhaps because the horrific events in this story actually happened. Based on the case of John Bunting, Australia's most notorious and prolific serial killer, "The Snowtown Murders" contains scenes that literally caused me to shield my eyes and scream in fright. I'm not sure what standards to apply to a film like this in evaluating whether it's "good" or not—but it is undeniably effective at conveying the inhuman brutality and base sadism behind these murders. The performances (especially those of Daniel Henshall as Bunting and Lucas Pittaway as his psychological victim/accomplice) are masterfully creepy, and the story WILL haunt you. A tip for most American viewers—the cast's Australian accents are quite thick, so I recommend viewing this one with the subtitles turned on for greater comprehension.

As told from the perspective of Latif Yahia, who was forced to serve as Uday Hussein's body double, it's impossible to tell how much of this horrific story is true and how much is embellished. Although we can safely infer that Uday was just as sadistic, monstrous, narcissistic and power- mad as this film portrays him, it's less clear whether Latif was actually as virtuous and heroic as he's made out to be. One thing is certain, however—Dominic Cooper's portrayal of both characters is an impressive feat, considering the challenge he faced. He must create two distinctly different characters whose physical resemblance is almost exact while simultaneously striving to make the two indistinguishable from each other. Although the film contains many compelling scenes of Uday's barbarism and macho excess (he kidnaps a 14 year-old girl for his pleasure, exacts revenge on his father's top aide for facilitating his father's infidelity, and rapes a bride on her wedding day), it's worth seeing for Cooper's performance alone.

Rarely does a film use its source material (in this case, two powerfully devastating short stories by Craig Davidson) and transform it into something new and equally formidable. That, however, is precisely what Jacques Audiard has done with "Rust and Bone," a moving and raw look at how two rather ordinary people respond to extraordinary circumstances. Stephanie, a whale trainer played by the brilliant Marion Cotillard, must face life as a double amputee after a freak accident. Alain—played by the painfully handsome Matthias Schoenaerts—is a single father who must juggle his need to support his son while eking out a living for himself as a security guard. Stephanie's and Alain's lives intersect in unexpected but perfectly plausible ways, and their story generates equal parts despair and inspiration. This is an emotionally difficult but ultimately life- affirming film. And I sincerely hope that it helps catapult Schoenaerts to fame in the US. He embodies an atypical combination of ruggedness and heartfelt emotion rarely seen on film.

This quiet film stealthily approaches some rather profound questions about growing up, finding an identity, maturing, and developing a sense of responsibility—and it just kind of leaves them there, unanswered. That's not to say the film is without merit. Mark Duplass is perfectly cast as Sam, the 30something "true adolescent" who finds himself without a job, a girlfriend, or a home. While crashing at his aunt's place, he gets recruited to chaperone his cousin and his cousin's best friend on a camping trip. A silly prank in the middle of the trip accidentally uncovers a delicate moment, which propels much of the subsequent action of the film even as its importance remains marginalized and only tangentially alluded to as the movie progresses toward an inconclusive resolution. "True Adolescents" is what I would call a "problem film"—but one I enjoyed nonetheless (even though I still can't decide whether I actually like Mark Duplass).

Here's the issue with "The Grey"—either you buy into the idea that this movie is in fact more than just a poorly executed tale of wilderness survival, that it is actually an existential consideration of the human condition and the significance we must extract from our struggle to defeat the absurd obstacles life throws in our way.

I don't buy it.

Perhaps it's the choice of the villain in this film. Wolves already get a bad enough rap in our culture. Here they are cast as bloodthirsty predators who hunt humans for sport (but wait—maybe they're metaphors for humans…the only species that hunts for sport…nah, that doesn't work either). To confuse matters even more, some attacks that are filmed to look brutally deadly turn out to be anything but. And then there's the confusing matter of Liam Neeson's lost love. I don't begrudge a film its effective use of ambiguity, but when that ambiguity turns to obscurity and seems to unnecessarily complicate the plot and the protagonist's character development…well, then I take issue.

"The Grey" has actually turned up on a few critics' end-of-year "Best of" lists, so I took a chance and watched it in spite of the panning it had received from so many other critics. I rarely regret my cinematic choices, but "The Grey" is one that I do wish I had opted against.

Paul Rudd is excellent in this smart little quirk of a film that slyly but clearly portrays the ways in which we rely on mutually agreed-upon lies to make it through our lives. As the "idiot" brother Ned of the title, Rudd infiltrates the lives of his three sisters, each successful by her own definition: Natalie (Zooey Deschanel), the pansexual lesbian-ish sister in a loving monogamous relationship with Cindy (masterfully played by Rashida Jones); Liz (Emily Mortimer), the hyper-conscious and sensitive Mom committed to raising self-actualized kids; and Miranda (Elizabeth Banks, who bears a very spooky resemblance to Parker Posey in this film), the cutthroat journalist who writes for Vanity Fair. By sheer virtue of his almost child-like honesty, Ned manages to learn secrets about each one of his sisters—secrets that, once revealed, have very amusing but also very profound consequences. The script is intelligent, the performances are superb all around (including Adam Scott, T.J. Miller, and Shirley Knight in supporting roles), and the comedy is leavened by a very subtle wisdom that permeates the film. In some ways, this is a male version of a "chick flick," and I mean that in the best way possible.

I suppose any review of *Thor* ought to begin with the reviewer's expectations—if you're expecting a solid comic book/mythology movie with a strong sense of the comics ethos, a solid leading man who thoroughly inhabits all aspects of his character (from bathos to boorishness), a rather one-dimensional villain, and lots of rock 'em-sock 'em action encased in a simple, mediocre plot—then you will probably be satisfied with *Thor.* If you're expecting anything else, you can pass on this one. The best parts of the movie are Chris Hemsworth as Thor and Tom Hiddleston as Loki, Thor's adopted brother and the villain of this film (he's also the villain in *The Avengers,* a film that displays Hiddleston's acting talents to much greater effect). Ironically, the worst parts of the film are the two Oscar winners who inexplicably find themselves in a comic book movie trying to ACT all over the place. I'm talking about Anthony Hopkins as Odin, Thor's father and the chief god, and Natalie Portman, who is allegedly a scientist/researcher but who turns into a mushy, goofy middle school girl whenever Thor flashes her a smile. Despite these two casting mistakes, the film is an enjoyable diversion, and it works well—as long as you're not expecting it to be something other than what it claims to be.

Although this film might appear to be a slightly more sophisticated take on the deadly virus meme than, say, "Outbreak"—and featuring an A-list ensemble cast—it is actually something a bit more peculiar than that: it's a film in which the protagonist never actually appears. That protagonist is, of course, the virus itself.

Although every character's story revolves around the deadly outbreak— from the unfortunate Patient Zero (Gwyneth Paltrow) to the compassionate WHO doctor (Marion Cotillard) to the earnest CDC investigator (a disturbingly stiff Kate Winslet) to the muckraking blogger (Jude Law) who sees a conspiracy at work —the film tells the story of the virus: its insinuation into the world population, the havoc it wrecks on humanity, the race to find a vaccine, and the ultimate resolution. Steven Soderbergh creates an appropriate sense of chaotic detachment, mirroring what in all likelihood would actually happen in the event of such an outbreak, and he quite realistically depicts the almost bureaucratic way in which such a pandemic would be "managed," leaving us with a sense that a global viral outbreak would prove to be more than "just" a health crisis. What is most chilling about this film is its eerie verisimilitude and its uncanny portrayal of business-as-usual amidst the calamity of a global catastrophe.

This is a peculiar film indeed—that doesn't mean it's bad. It just means it's quite different from most films you might see. Most unusual is the fact that we get no "backstory" for the main story. The film opens with Martha/Marcy May/Marlene (Elizabeth Olsen in a tortured yet incredibly nuanced performance) escaping a cult in upstate New York to reunite with her estranged sister and her sister's husband. Flashbacks fill us in on what happened to Martha/Marcy May/Marlene while she was a cult member, yet we never learn how or why she became a member of the cult or why she stayed as long as she did.

The present action—Martha/Marcy May/Marlene's awkward attempts to reconnect with her family despite what her brother-in-law characterizes as her "insane" behavior—focuses mainly on what can only be described as the post-traumatic stress that Martha/Marcy May/Marlene is incapable of dealing with. Her time in the cult has rendered her inert and paranoid, and the film ends as abruptly as it began, with a bizarre traffic incident, the meaning of which seems to fade into oblivion along with Martha/Marcy May/Marlene's future.

Fans of quirky, introspective, and artsy films will have a lot to chew on after watching this one. If it's action or conventional storytelling you want, best look elsewhere.

Despite all the hand-wrenching and teeth-gnashing over the idea that it's just too darn soon to remake Spider-Man, this film proves that there's no time like the present. Andrew Garfield, who seems born to play the role of Peter Parker/Spider-Man, delivers a nuanced and multi- dimensional performance that will erase the memory of Tobey Maguire's Spider-Man from the minds of all but the most hardcore fans of the original. The fact that most American film-goers aren't very familiar with Garfield (if they do know him, they might have a vague memory of his performance in "The Social Network") seems to work in his favor—he doesn't need to shed the baggage of any earlier roles to convince the majority of the audience that he is indeed Peter Parker.

As for the plot, it's pretty standard comic book hero/action hero/monomyth hero action fare—but the plot isn't really the reason you go to see a movie like this. The supporting cast—Emma Stone, Denis Leary, martin Sheen, Sally Field, and Rhys Ifans— is top-notch, and the action sequences are artfully balanced by dialogue that develops the characters and adds insight into their relationships. The 3D effects are very well done and used judiciously so as not to overwhelm the film, and Marc Webb (what a great name for the director of Spider-Man) does a masterful job directing just his second feature film.

Be sure to stick around after the first round of credits—there's a teaser scene that hints (very obscurely) at the sequel.

This might come as a shock to some, but this is not really a movie about male strippers. Yes, two of the principal characters are male strippers, but—as Channing Tatum's character (Magic Mike himself) says at a crucial point in the film, "That's what I do—it's not who I am." Amid the bountiful buttcheeks and brawny pecs on display, there is a real story here about ambition, and goals, and loyalty, and commitment, and self-actualization. Yes, I used the term "self-actualization" in a review of "Magic Mike"; I told you you might be shocked.

At any rate, plenty of folks (like the pathetic woman who was sitting behind me in the theater, the one who clapped like a poorly trained seal, guffawed, and cackled any time the least bit of male skin appeared on screen) will go see this movie because of all the hype about the hot male bodies in various states of undress—and they will certainly enjoy the film on that very basic level. But let's be honest here, folks—this is a Stephen Soderbergh film—and Soderbergh does not use sex and titillation gratuitously. The plot is compelling, the film is well written and masterfully directed, and Channing Tatum proves that he is much, much more than a hot body and a pretty face. For his sake, here's hoping that "Magic Mike" can propel him along a career path similar to those of other handsome actors who managed to overcome "Movie Star" looks to prove that they were genuine actors. Like Brad Pitt.

Pedro Almodóvar continues to craft an impressive cinematic career by paying the best type of homage to Alfred Hitchcock—without blatantly copying Hitchcock, Almodóvar appropriates his style, his tone, and his penchant for terrifying subject matter and translates these elements into original, contemporary stories that Hitchcock himself would have surely told if he were alive today and living in Spain.

"The Skin I Live In" focuses on Robert Ledgard (played by Antonio Banderas in what is undoubtedly the most sophisticated performance of his career), a plastic surgeon who has endured more than his share of tragedy—an unfaithful wife who suffers a horribly disfiguring accident, a traumatized daughter unable to cope with her family's misfortune and other indignities, and a childhood and family history of his own that is shrouded in mystery. As he himself slips into madness, Ledgard uses his skill as a surgeon to exact a most horrifying type of revenge on the man who seemingly damaged his daughter beyond repair—and then uses that revenge in a gruesome charade that satisfies his longing for the happiness that has long since left him.

In telling this contemporary Gothic tale, Almodóvar tackles a number of grand themes—power, love, delusion, desire—in a way that exploits our preconceptions of gender and identity. "The Skin I Live In" is a unique film. If you're already an Almodóvar fan, you'll surely enjoy it. If you're not, it will almost certainly turn you into one.

The themes that Martin Scorsese addresses in this film—the thin line between self-recrimination and nostalgia, the effects of advancing technology on thriving art forms, and the lasting effects of a father's love—would seem misguided in a typical children's film. "Hugo," however, a children's film directed by Scorsese—one of the greatest American film directors of all time ("Taxi Driver," "Goodfellas," "The Aviator," "Raging Bull," "The Departed")—is no typical children's film. Scorsese has made a children's film for adults who still experience the joys, wonders, mysteries, and painful epiphanies of childhood.

First of all, the "exotic" setting of a 1930s Parisian train station establishes the wistful tone. The film is beautiful to behold—the colors, the cinematography, the set design, and the art direction are all stunningly beautiful. The plot itself focuses on the titular hero, a young boy who lives in the rafters and bowels of the station and spends his time adjusting the station's numerous clocks, evading the menacing pursuit of the Station Inspector (played by an appropriately surly Sacha Baron Cohen), and searching for parts that animate the automaton left to him by his dead father (played by Jude Law in an unfortunately brief appearance). Through the course of his quest, Hugo encounters an elderly shopkeeper (Ben Kingsley in another masterful performance), the shopkeeper's god-daughter, and a film historian. Through these connections, Hugo begins to piece together not only the mystery of the automaton but also the impact of the beginnings of cinema as an art form.

The film is sumptuous, the plot is charming, the actors are magnificent—yet somehow the film amounts to far less than the sum of its parts. I found myself bored at many points during the film—the story seems to linger a bit too much, allowing the viewer to appreciate (almost excessively so) the aesthetic and nostalgic beauty of the film. Overall, I'm glad I've seen it, but "Hugo" is not a film that I plan on ever watching again.

This movie scores points for originality and the clever use of crude humor. For example, how hilariously disconcerting and squirm-inducing is it to hear Jennifer Aniston, whom we came to know and love as the sweet Rachel on "Friends," tell her befuddled male underling exactly what she wants to do with his schlong, grab his crotch, and behave like the horniest cougar on the Serengeti? VERY. Aniston plays one of the titular "Horrible Bosses," and her storyline masterfully turns the whole stereotypical sexual harassment scenario on its head. Colin Farrell (near unrecognizable a la Tom Cruise in "Tropic Thunder") plays another horrible boss, although he doesn't get nearly enough screen time. And Kevin Spacey, who never seems to do a bad job in anything, is the quintessential boss-from-hell. The high concept here is that Charlie Day, Jason Bateman, and Jason Sudeikis—as the unjustly abused underlings—will kill each other's bosses in a comically bizarre take on Hitchcock's "Strangers on a Train." They enlist the help of M*****f**ker Jones (Jamie Foxx) as their "kill mentor" and hijinks inevitable ensue. Funny enough, and definitely good for more than a few laughs. Don't miss the gag reel at the end of the movie.

Michael Shannon delivers an outstanding performance as Curtis, a working class Midwesterner overcome by a disturbing, foreboding sense of impending doom in "Take Shelter," a menacingly brilliant film in which every scene intensifies the mounting tension of Curtis' life. As horrific dreams disturb Curtis, we witness his devoted wife Samantha (played, in another astounding performance, by Jessica Chastain, who seems to be cornering the market on suffering middle-class wife roles) desperately trying to maintain some sense of normality in their lives by selling her wares at a swap meet and taking care of their young deaf daughter. Curtis witnesses coming storms that only he seems to see. He begins exhibiting bizarre behavior that threatens his relationship with his wife, jeopardizes his job, and undermines his credibility in the community. Writer-director Jeff Nichols masterfully weaves a complex tale of one man's apparent mental collapse and its consequences on those around him—but strong undercurrents of uncertainty permeate throughout this film. Is Curtis really losing his mind? Are his visions and dreams really omens of what is to come? Never before have I rooted so hard for a character's sanity. The tension mounts to an almost unbearable climax—only to yield to a truly remarkable final scene. See this movie—it is a powerful and majestic work of cinematic art.

I don't often encounter films that leave me genuinely baffled, but "The Tree of Life" is that rare film for which my only honest response is "huh?" I suspect that the flaw lies in my lack of cinematic sophistication. Although I consider myself a film geek and I can usually figure out the subtleties of artsy films, the film grammar and narrative style of this film elude me. I liked what I understood of the conventional portions of the film, which focus on the problematic and often discomfiting relationship between a young boy (played as an adult by Sean Penn) and his demanding, relentlessly strict 1950s-era father (played by Brad Pitt). Jessica Chastain is luminous as the wife and mother, and the film itself is a masterpiece of stunningly beautiful cinematography. But please don't ask me what the story means or how the various pieces of the film tie together, because I haven't a clue.

Woody Allen's "Midnight in Paris" is a sweet and charming examination of romance—not only romance of the heart but also romance for the past. Owen Wilson plays Gil, a hack Hollywood screenwriter who longs to write serious literature. He and his fiancée, played by Rachel McAdams, are visiting Paris to spend some time with her parents before they get married. Gil obviously adores Paris—as does Allen, who shoots it as lovingly as he shoots his own beloved Manhattan—and wonders whether he and his fiancée should move there permanently. As he escapes his insufferable soon-to-be in-laws, Gil stumbles upon the Paris of the past he has romanticized so thoroughly and encounters F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Gertrude Stein, Picasso, and a host of other literary and artistic figures. He falls for the lovely Adriana, played by Marion Cotillard, and he is ultimately forced to reconcile his romances with his reality. Allen's script is, as we have come to expect, witty and insightful and intelligent, and the film itself will win you over with its charm and its honesty.

Considering all the praise that's been heaped upon it—not to mention Oscar nominations and other awards—"The Help" left me feeling rather ambivalent. Yes, it features some "very important" themes and it begs to be called a "movie about issues" (namely, racism and women's rights). And yes, the actors deliver fine performances—Viola Davis, Octavia Spencer, Jessica Chastain, Emma Stone, and Allison Janney are outstanding, as is Bryce Dallas Howard, who plays the delightfully detestable antagonist (probably the best role of her career—certainly better than anything she did in that "Twilight: Eclipse" nonsense). But something about this film just lay flat. The moments that were meant to stir up emotions failed to do so, the plot just kind of meandered with no real suspense or uncertainty, and a main plot device (one of the black maids extracts revenge on a racist former employer by baking a pie that contains a decidedly unsavory and rather putrid ingredient and savoring the racist's enjoyment of it) is almost vulgarly offensive enough to distract the viewer's attention from the alleged moral indignation he/she is meant to feel for the unjust treatment the maid has received. Ultimately, the film is a disappointment, despite the strong performances of its cast, and I'll be thoroughly perplexed if it wins any Oscars at all.

A sweet and touching film, "Beginners" tells the story of Oliver Fields (Ewan MacGregor), a man in his late 30s who learns that his recently widowed 75 year-old father (Christopher Plummer) has terminal cancer—and is gay. The movie focuses on Oliver's attempts to understand these revelations as he navigates a new relationship with a complicated French actress Anna (Mélanie Laurent) and an even more complicated Jack Russell terrier named Arthur, whom Oliver inherits after his father's death and who refuses to leave Oliver's side. Ultimately, this becomes a film about opportunities for love that we seize and that we squander and the myriad lingering effects of our responses to these opportunities. "Beginners" is a small film with a big heart and a profound understanding of emotions.

Had anyone but Meryl Streep played Margaret Thatcher in this film, I imagine that "The Iron Lady" would be about half as interesting as it actually is. Streep's majestic performance is yet another example of her uncanny ability to inhabit a role so completely and so profoundly that it becomes nearly impossible to distinguish between actor and character. Streep nails Thatcher's voice, her tone, her mannerisms, her deportment, every nuance of her identity. Her performance is so remarkable that she actually manages to make Thatcher likable in a number of scenes. Jim Broadbent is equally impressive as Thatcher's loyal and supportive husband Denis, and the rest of the cast is solid as well. But the real attraction here is Streep—this is a tour de force performance, and it will be difficult indeed to deny her a third Oscar.

I admit that I'm a huge "Planet of the Apes" fan. As a child, I loved all of the original films, and I even "went Ape for a day" when movie theaters showed all 5 original Apes films back-to-back in one day back in the mid-1970s. I'm also a fan of the Tim Burton "Planet of the Apes" film (which is far more faithful to the source novel than the others). So it was with a sense of trepidation that I viewed this latest "re-imagining." As it turns out, my fears were for naught. This film, which pretty much reconceptualizes "Conquest of the Planet of the Apes" (the 4th film in the original franchise), is a smart, exciting, and surprisingly sophisticated take on how humanity could engineer its own demise at the hands of another species. James Franco is solid in the lead as a researcher with a strong sense of ethics and a passion to develop a cure for Alzheimer's, a disease that plagues his father, played by the always brilliant John Lithgow. The real star of this film, however, is Andy Serkis, who gives life to Caesar, the chimpanzee who is torn between his love for humanity and his duty to his species—and whose performance is surely worthy of an Oscar nomination. Don't worry if this all sounds a bit hokey—it plays a lot better than it sounds. Add a star if you're a die-hard "Apes" fan.

If you don't mind the use of cutesy coincidences to drive a plot, this entertaining film just might charm your socks off. True to its title, this movie examines the various crazy, stupid, and downright inexplicable aspects of love—and the love in this film flows freely: love lost between an endearing shlub (Steve Carrell) and his wife of 25 years (the always amazing Julianne Moore); love-as-lust as practiced by a hot young lothario (Ryan Gosling, perfectly cast); love avoided by an idealistic young lawyer-to-be (Emma Stone, in another role as the thinking man's hot chick); and unrequited love as only teenagers can experience it (Carrell's 13 year-old son, who just knows that his 17 year-old babysitter is his "soulmate" and said babysitter, who has a mad crush on Carrell). The plot here isn't the point anyway—except for one pitch-perfect scene in which Gosling and Stone lie in bed together and experience the true intimacy of really getting to know—and "click" with—another person. The plot twists might be a bit contrived, but this film has its heart in the right place. If this film doesn't make you smile, then you've probably never felt your pulse quicken or experienced butterflies in your stomach when you lay eyes on the object of your affection.

Smart action thrillers are rare. Rarer still is a smart action thriller that features a complex yet comprehensible (and credible) plot, characters you care about, and vivid, crisp directing. "Point Blank" is one of these rarities. It utilizes many elements of classic action films—an innocent "good guy" who unwittingly becomes caught up in a dangerous plot, a woman in jeopardy, corrupt cops, and unexpected twists. The film avoids cliché, however, and it moves along at lightning speed (total running time is about 80 minutes). The French setting is an added bonus, and the acting and editing are very well done. Subtract a star if subtitles annoy you.

Kevin Smith's "Red State" ruthlessly satirizes just about every form of extremism that you can identify in contemporary American culture—religious fanaticism, governmental bureaucracy, political hypocrisy, sexual obsession, and homophobia, to name a few—and it does so in decidedly perceptive and entertaining fashion. Ironically, Smith himself has taken his cinematic style (well-known by his beloved fans) to similar extremes—the violence here is brutal and abundant, the hypocrisy is rampant, the fanaticism is unapologetically self-righteous—and the result is an all-too-plausible story of what could very well happen when a religious zealot is so thoroughly convinced that he alone understands what "God" wants, the government is so thoroughly convinced that it knows precisely how to handle religious zealots/domestic terrorists, and some horny teenagers get in the way. The script is intelligent, the directing is sharp and effective, and the performances—especially John Goodman, Melissa Leo, and Michael Parks—are outstanding. Don't miss this one.