There's Philip Seymour Hoffman's The Count, who could well have come straight from the set of “Almost Famous” to take on this strident and dedicated rocker who leads a band of broadcasting misfits. Bill Nighy's Quentin runs the ship (and Nighy is priceless), wearing shades and a slick suit, as he tries to keep ultra cool order. Kenneth Branagh plays the lemon mouthed, square government minister Dormandy intent to find a loophole that will allow the government to legally close the pirate radio stations down once and for all. There are countless memorable moments, and a diverse cast of perfectly cast flawed individuals whose faults endear them to us. Great editing illustrates the juxtaposition between life onboard Radio Rock and life for the rest of the world who live their lives alongside those of their idols. It really rocks! Having lived in London when the pirate radio stations flourished in the 60s, I can easily relate to the subject matter, although the treatment is fanciful. But that's OK, we're talking about rock n'roll, sex and youth, and about having fun. The film tackles the fun part with zeal and the pirate boat bobbing on the North Sea generates enough heat to keep everyone warm.” – Urban Cinefile.

Working with affectionate mockery, the Coens take the cinder-block-synagogue banality of American Jewish life in 1967 and make it look as archly exotic as the loopy Scandinavian-American winterscape of "Fargo." The grotty tract homes dotted with tchotchkes, the loafing uncle (Richard Kind) who's filling a notebook with a brilliant/crazy physics manifesto, the 12-year-old son (Aaron Wolff) who listens to Jefferson Airplane — a magic pipeline to the outside world — on his transistor radio in Hebrew school: It's all presented like sociological science fiction. Yet there's a grand joke at the heart of "A Serious Man." It's that the Jews of the postwar era believed they'd achieved assimilation into the American mainstream, but in their habits and talk, in their unwieldy last names (which the Coens use as wicked punchlines), and in their compulsion to see consumerist America as a place that didn't make sense, they were assimilated everywhere but in their own heads. Larry's life is a series of catastrophes. His wife (Sari Lennick) plans to leave him for a sleazy widower (Fred Melamed); his son, on the eve of his bar mitzvah, is interested only in "F Troop;" and Larry's upcoming tenure hearing looks like a disaster. The driving question of "A Serious Man" is this: Are the problems that define Larry somehow karmic creations of his inability to deal with them? He's trying to be a mensch, but all the people around him seem happier by reducing their Jewish heritage to a kind of cultural version of obsessive-compulsive disorder. A–” – Entertainment Weekly.

Moore sees our abusive relationship with capitalism as a growing plague. His movie, a genuine and welcome rabble-rouser, lays out the history of how democracy got corrupted. Moore's enemies label him as a fat, fatuous irritant who leans toward the overblown, inflammatory and clownishly silly. What's with those crazy stunts like making a citizen's arrest on the board of AIG or hanging yellow crime-scene tape around the banks? To get our attention, that's what. Moore is a populist, not an academic. He knows how to wield a camera like a blunt instrument. He also knows how to put a human face on statistics as we watch banks foreclose on the homes of families who never read the fine print. Moore's fireball of a movie could change your life. It had me laughing with tears in my eyes." - Rolling Stone.

Then there is the poetry, which brings home the realization of how few films have ever dealt with poets and their work. Effectively establishing herself as an onscreen proxy for most viewers, Fanny early on confesses to Keats that “poems are a strain to work out,” but then volunteers to take lessons in poetry appreciation, which allows Keats to recommend an emotional, impressionistic reaction rather than an intellectual one. Although he makes a point of articulating his perplexed attitude about women, the slim, dreamily attractive Keats is clearly captivated by Fanny, who stands out by virtue of the direct gaze with which she meets all people and predicaments. All the same, she can scarcely throw off the constraints of family expectations and social norms, just as Keats feels unable and even unqualified to pursue a proper courtship with Fanny due to his poverty and lack of prospects. For these and other reasons, which initially include the fatal (and foreshadowing) illness of Keats’ brother Tom and persistently involve Brown’s interference and the poet’s periodic absences, the great romance blossoms very slowly. Even at its height, it is physically expressed only by gentle kissing and caressing; actual consummation is not in the cards, and Campion stringently avoids even so much as a grand clinch or music-swelled embrace, permitting the emotions to be expressed largely through letters and verse. Keats, who feels himself “dissolving” in his love for Fanny, also begins to dissipate physically from tuberculosis. Advised to move to a warmer climate, he decamps for Italy, where he succumbs. Rightly judging that, like the act of writing, endless coughing up of blood does not make for very edifying viewing, Campion conveys the climactic information as Fanny learns it, to palpably convulsive effect. With brown hair pulled tightly back and a tad more filled out than before, Cornish is made to look plainer than she actually is, which better emphasizes the importance of Fanny’s character for Keats. The majority of her performance’s success rests in her eyes, which are remarked upon by Brown for their amber hue and which, one senses, see and process so much. All of Campion’s films center upon strong, complicated women, and Cornish’s Fanny takes her place among the most memorable of them.” – Variety.

Tom Hollander, best known as one of the villains in "The Pirates of the Caribbean" series, plays Simon, an assistant British secretary of state who gets into trouble when he says, in a radio interview, that war (with an unnamed Middle Eastern country) "is unforeseeable." Hollander is very funny as Simon, who's no fool, just decent and concerned but hopeless in the face of the media spotlight. The movie follows a swarm of characters but mainly centers around Simon as he struggles to maintain his balance. Because he is against the war, he comes within the orbit of an American undersecretary (a dryly funny Mimi Kennedy) and a pacifist American general, played by James Gandolfini, who brings to the performance a complex, lived-in back story. At the same time, Simon has to appease his own government's apoplectic communications director (Peter Capaldi), by seeming to be onboard with the prime minister's war plans. A running joke is that half the people running the American government are in their early 20s. Anna Chlumsky, a former child actress ("My Girl"), has a nice role as the movie's locus of sanity - she plays a young assistant who authors an anti-war memo. Also worth watching is Zach Woods as Chad, who's both chilling and side-splitting as a sycophantic State Department staffer, virtually Dickensian in his combination of the lethal and the pathetic. "In the Loop" is uncompromising in its speed and audacity and, ultimately, in its point of view. Even among the saner characters, there seems to be hardly any deep awareness that war means human misery and actual people being dead. These functionaries are lost in the fog of government, incapable of seeing past their petty grievances and career concerns, as they contribute in tiny ways to the creation of a disaster.” – San Francisco Chronicle.

Early on, it's revealed that the revelers weren't merely drunk, they were drugged while cutting an antic swath through the Vegas night world. Oddly enough, that's just enough to anchor the pic in something like real-world logic, even as the plot takes ever more outlandish twists and turns. In fact, it's tempting to read "The Hangover" as a wild-and-crazy spin on a scenario that would have been entirely suitable for a deadly serious '40s film noir. The humor is unapologetically raunchy - a closing-credits photo montage includes some borderline NC-17 naughtiness - and sporadically brutal. Helmer Phillips sustains an overall tone of anything-goes swagger that he neatly subverts with steadily mounting desperation and ego-deflating humiliations. Throughout it all, however, Cooper, Helms and even Galifianakis (whose character comes closest to caricature) remain sufficiently disciplined to refrain from going too far over the top. Bartha does well in a thankless role, but he's simply not visible long enough to make as much impact. On the other hand, Ken Jeong makes the absolute most of his limited screen time as an effete antagonist whose mincing trash talk likely will be quoted extensively by the pic's fans. Lenser Lawrence Sher does an excellent job of subtly enhancing the sense of danger lying just below the comic surface. Other tech credits are fine. Jokey references to "Rain Man" and "A Beautiful Mind" are amusing, but not nearly as funny as the pic's self-aware reference to the cliched notion that there's nothing as hilarious as a pratfall by a fat man." - Variety.

This is a movie that demonstrates the historical importance of newspapers in human affairs. Newspapers – those exquisitely inexpensive analogue objects you hold in your hands – often give movie characters information vital to the plot. In this case, Elliott reads that citizens in nearby Wallkill have denied organizers a permit to stage a proposed concert in their jurisdiction. In proud possession of HIS permit to stage a musical event, Elliott contacts mellow hippie entrepreneur Michael Lang of Woodstock Ventures, and the rest is history. Proving the dictum that the three most important things in real estate valuation are location, location and location, the hopelessly run down motel becomes the temporarily valuable epicenter of what the world now knows as Woodstock, eventually staged on the property of dairy farmer Max Yasgur (Eugene Levy) in nearby White Lake, NY. Liev Schreiber positively glows as cross-dressing ex-Marine Vilma, who treks  from Greenwich Village to upstate New York to provide security. Elliot is gay (the real Elliot Tiber was an active participant in the Stonewall riots of June 1969 that are a watershed in the history of gay rights), but hasn't found a way to break the news to his parents. But the snowball effect of Woodstock has a salutary and freeing influence on Max and his parents. Lee's “The Ice Storm,” remains his masterpiece to date. The phenomenally deft sense of observation he brought to the well-off American suburbs of the early 1970s is exercised here in re-visiting the transformative behavior of the 1960s. Man landed on the moon shortly before the Woodstock festival made headlines and history. There were daily body counts from Vietnam on the nightly news. And there was a body count on native soil when the Manson Family murders took place just a week before Woodstock. It was a time of contrasts, upheaval and hope. And the soundtrack still sounds mighty fine today. The closing credits inform us that the production took specific initiatives to reduce its carbon footprint. While unquestionably laudable, I can't help wondering how long it will be before such assertions seem as nostalgically quaint as tie-dye T-shirts and the belief that the march of money-grubbing war-mongering capitalism could be overcome by sufficient exposure to hallucinogens or meditation. Here's hoping the soundtrack to the coming confrontation with the effects of climate change truly rocks.” – SBS Film.

Director Marc Webb, working from Scott Neustadter and Michael H. Weber's witty script, stages each scene as a vivid snapshot memory, and his sense of play is boundless. The film leaps in a heartbeat from the furtive glances (and shared fixation on the Smiths) that ignite an office love affair to a rooftop-party reconciliation that plays out, via split screen, in two simultaneous versions (how the hero wants it to be and how it happens) to a morning-after-the-first-sex saunter that evolves, with joyful hilarity, into a musical number scored to ''You Make My Dreams.'' This has to be the first movie ever to give equal props to Morrissey and Hall & Oates. "(500) Days" is like a mood ring cued to the ups, downs, and confusions of modern love. It's a Gen-Y Annie Hall made by a new-style Wes Anderson who uses his cleverness for humanity instead of postmodern superiority. None of it would work, though, without such lived-in performances. Deschanel makes the lovely, sensuous Summer just precocious enough to know what she wants without coming out and saying it, and Gordon-Levitt, with his junior Springsteenian chin jut, lets you read every glimmer of hope, pain, lust, and befuddlement beneath his nervy facade. It's a feat of star acting, and it helps make "(500) Days" not just bitter or sweet but everything in between. A" - Entertainment Weekly.

Mendes unveils the depth of that pain in a heartbreaking scene where the foursome ends up at a sort-of pseudo-karaoke bar where people get up on-stage and dance to the song of their choice. As Tom tells Burt a devastating story about Munch's inability to conceive, she performs a slow solo dance set exquisitely to the Velvet Underground's haunting, little-known "Oh! Sweet Nuthin'." If you were in that bar and had no idea who this woman was, you might find her swaying movements kind of alluring, but we know it's an expression of sadness. The entire Montreal sequence certainly benefits from some incredibly moving writing and acting, but it's the cinematic poetry - the combination of words and images and music - that delivers an emotional wallop. It's the first time you realize how deeply the film gets under your skin. Like “Juno” or “Little Miss Sunshine,” “Away We Go” is a small film, the kind of gem that's easy to crush with hype or overpraise. But, the fact is that few movies deal with feelings this profound with as much restraint as Mendes and his crew display here. Everything about the movie is designed to sneak up on you emotionally, leaving you deeply touched, even though you'll never see it coming. And that's a good thing: it makes the film get better and better as it goes along, and continue improving the more you think about it.” – TV Guide.

Mr. Whittaker, a scruffy layabout, takes a much more generous view of his new daughter-in-law, but his wife and their two ugly-princess daughters outnumber him. Larita does her best to ingratiate herself, but the gloves soon come off, with the only question being whether Larita and John's love is strong enough to withstand the onslaught. What remains unmentioned for quite some time is the Whittakers' increasingly desperate financial straits. Keen to maintain appearances, Mrs. Whittaker holds on to every last scrap of 19th-century class prejudice, even as she's forced to sell some of her property to a neighbor. The free-spirited Larita is also annoying to the matriarch as a reminder of the fun she missed out on in her own life. The young enchantress spurs regretful nostalgia for spent youth in Mr. Whittaker, too. Firth's moving monologue about losing all the men under his command during the Great War and his self-description as a member of the "romantic lost generation" bring real dimension to his character and explain a lot about the family dynamics. Scott Thomas gets the lion's share of the savage quips, and sneers them impeccably, even as one eventually comes to understand, if not sympathize with, her reasons for ostracizing Larita. Set in slowly tattering luxury, the film boasts bright production values.” – Variety.

Both women are wealthy from their years getting money from rich men and Cheri has grown up surly, snappy and spoiled. He is, however, so handsome that Lea takes a keen liking to him when they begin sleeping together. Six years later they are still lovers, Lea maternally dictating the terms of the relationship and tending to his every desire, but when Charlotte announces that Cheri is to be married off to the 18 year-old daughter of another courtesan, her ordered world is sent into disarray, and she realizes that she is in love with him. While Cheri goes off on his honeymoon to Italy, Lea attempts to overcome her anguish and regain control. Frears commands a team of exceptional talent here. Tasty cameos from Bette Bourne, Harriet Walter, Gaye Brown and Anita Pallenberg (playing a Lea equivalent in 20 years’ time) liven up the drama when Lea and Cheri are apart from each other. Rupert Friend, a young English actor of growing stature, demonstrates considerable presence and charisma as the irresponsible Cheri. Friend should rise to the next level of stardom after this performance is seen. But the film belongs to Pfeiffer’s Lea as she struggles to hold onto dignity in the face of age and crumbling vanity. Still impossibly beautiful as she approaches 50, Pfeiffer has elegance to spare.” – Screen Daily.

Those who thought that “Brick” revealed a filmmaker with a great deadpan sense of humor will find their suspicions proved correct here. He has, it turns out, quite a sophisticated comic sensibility, with a flair for background action and running jokes. Johnson sets the tone early, with the lyrical, literally poetic introduction of the brothers as young orphans in a one-horse town, with Steven already writing "stories" for himself and Bloom. Here and in the rest of the first act, the film navigates masterfully between the whimsically amusing and the uproarious, with punchlines that are often funnier for being fleeting and subtle. As the movie settles into a rhythm the jokes get spaced farther apart, but the loose, jazzy tone remains. The ending is affecting and beautifully executed; the movie is funny and smart and a pleasure to watch. A movie this engaging, this rigorous, this alive is nothing to complain about.” – efilmcritic.

Born out of a midnight tape recorder session held by show creator Michael Bennett and a handful of Broadway background dancers in which they discuss their personal and professional experiences with a wine-fueled frankness, “Chorus Line,” as represented in the film, becomes a prime example of the transmutation of life into art. Because the characters in the play are based on real-life individuals and because many of these individuals are involved in the current casting process, the filmmakers draw pointed parallels between the historical and present day footage suggesting the sometimes odd permutations that a work of art assumes throughout its long history. Especially striking are a series of cuts between dialogue spoken on the original tapes and those same lines being sung by the auditioners. Since many of these contestants are in similar positions to those of the chorus members on the tapes, scuffling to work their way out of Broadway anonymity and earn their big break, these words take on a fresh resonance, some 35 years after the fact. Never is this continuity of purpose more clear than in the film's sentimental highlight. Auditioning for the part of Paul (a role based on Bennett himself), Jason Tam delivers a heart-stopping monologue that touches on the character's (and subject's) start in burlesque theater, his homosexuality, and his relationship with his parents. As Tam punctuates his lines with wholly credible crying jags, the filmmakers cut to Bob Avian—the original show's choreographer and a longtime associate of its creator—sitting at the audition table, a solitary tear coursing down his cheek. Michael Bennett died of AIDS-related lymphoma in 1987, but thanks to the lasting bit of popular art he had the vision to create, his experiences continue to communicate, spoken and sung by a new generation of devoted performers.” – Slant Magazine.

"Sugar" follows its title character's ups and downs with quiet empathy. Soto, a newcomer with natural charisma, doesn't say much and doesn't have to; his watchful eyes register cockiness, bafflement, disappointment, and the slow gathering of a larger pride. There are other characters - a fellow Dominican pitcher (Kelvin Leonardo Garcia) who becomes a rival, an easygoing American-born minor leaguer (Andre Holland) who tutors Sugar in the legend of Roberto Clemente, an Iowa girl (Ellary Porterfield) whose flirtation with the hero unsettles them both. The film is told resolutely from Sugar's point of view, though. It's life seen anxiously from beneath the brim of a baseball cap. The writer-directors are Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck, whose debut was 2006's acclaimed "Half Nelson," about a high school teacher (Ryan Gosling) strung out on crack and uncertainty. Their sophomore outing is a quieter affair, but the duo's storytelling confidence is growing; if "Sugar" isn't flashy, neither does it put a single step wrong as it follows the hero from Caribbean poverty to Corn Belt alienation and ultimately to New York City for a confrontation with his own hopes and expectations. It would have been easy to have turned the movie into a tract, but Boden and Fleck content themselves with smaller gestures. One shot of Sugar in an Iowa mall glancing at a shirt's "Made in the Dominican Republic" label says volumes. Of course the major-league sports machinery doesn't play fair by gifted, naïve Third World athletes; of course it spits out the majority and rewards the few. That's baseball, some would say; that's exploitation, others might respond. The movie only watches and worries and waits for Sugar to make his own choices, which he does in a manner both deeply satisfying and a little sad. In its unhurried fashion, "Sugar" can take its place with the best baseball movies. Where most focus on the grand slam, this one's about the life that surrounds the game and everything that comes after.” – Boston Globe.

Director John Crowley and Peter Harness' semiautobiographical screenplay have turned this into a character-driven study that is neither too sentimental nor too clinical as lives unfold and then exit from the small stage they've created. There are no long monologues about the meaning of life and the implications of death. Instead we see it in understated touches everywhere -- the ambulances that pull up in front of the house are in no hurry, knowing the curtain has already fallen. Young Edward, as it happens, is still adjusting to the realities of living among the elderly. A lonely child, he becomes intent on unlocking the mysteries of death and hopefully capturing evidence of an afterlife on the tape recorder he strategically places in the residents' room to record those last moments. Clarence, on the other hand, though he's been tossed about by life and hit hard by the loss of his much-loved wife, intends to wrestle with the indignities and inevitability of aging until the end. There is discontent and frustration in the air when this odd couple first encounter each other -- Clarence sure that he shouldn't be in a retirement home at all and Edward angry that there is yet another tenant moving in to what used to be his bedroom. They are both displaced and they are both outsiders, Clarence at the old-age house, Edward at school. Two blokes a bit too clever for the room. Almost without realizing it, they begin to set aside self-interest to help each other out, with Clarence teaching Edward card tricks so that he can survive the dreaded birthday party his mum (Anne-Marie Duff) has planned for him, which of course teaches him a great deal about growing up, and Edward devising a way to take Clarence on a trip to the grave of his wife. There is such an easy grace that develops between Clarence and Edward, with Caine giving young Milner (a standout in "Son of Rambow") plenty of space to hold the screen with him, and for the most part he does. The two become almost inseparable as they meander through the house and the English countryside toward an uncertain and still undefined future, all the while having the kind of conversations that make you wish they'd let you eavesdrop for a long time." - Los Angeles Times.

Joaquin Phoenix brings a tremendous weight of truth to his performance, as Leonard, a man in his 30s who suffers from some kind of treatable mental disorder, probably manic depression. He seems distracted and vulnerable, and at the same time has startling flashes of assurance and charm. He blossoms around women. These flashes are not explained, but we never question them. Phoenix ropes all these aspects into a convincing and unique characterization. If this turns out to be his last movie, as he keeps on threatening, he will be going out in a big way. In the aftermath of a painful breakup, Leonard lives in Brooklyn with his parents, working in the family dry cleaning business. The apartment is full of the accumulations of a lifetime. The walls are covered with pictures of stern, bearded ancestors. It's cozy, with an Old World Jewish aura, and a character mentions the smell of mothballs in the air. The sense of place in "Two Lovers" is strong.

In rapid succession two beautiful women enter Leonard's orbit. His parents fix him up with a daughter of a business associate, a young Jewish woman, Sandra (Vinessa Shaw), from the neighborhood. For some reason, she just likes him. No explanation. There's just something about him that speaks to her. Leonard is similarly attracted to Michelle (Gwyneth Paltrow), who lives in his building. She's a bad bet all around, an emotional wreck and a drug user, and she's involved with a married man. But Leonard sees the world in her.Watching "Two Lovers" is like life in the sense that you only get the tip of the iceberg, but you see enough to figure out all you need to know, and you're never in doubt that the iceberg is really there. Gray (who co-wrote the screenplay with Ric Menello) makes up for the time he lavishes on scenes by skipping days, sometimes weeks and sometimes months between scenes, so that there's always the sense of forward motion. The richness of the performances bespeaks a richness of directorial attention. Nothing is wasted. Every line and every shot conveys meaning. In Shaw's gaze, we see the extent to which Sandra loves and thoroughly understands Leonard. And in Paltrow's performance, we see Michelle's self-knowledge and self-dread, the complicated nature of someone who may be adorable and charming but who doubts her own worth, and probably for good reason. The style is spare. There's not much music, and when it's used, it's effective. In one key scene, Gray keeps Paltrow and Phoenix in a two-shot in which their faces are partly turned from the camera. He denies us, so we want to see more. The movie has only one flaw, a funny one: "Two Lovers" is another movie in which pants and underwear magically become permeable in the face of erotic desire. The standing-up, easily achieved sex interlude has become a movie cliche to rival the 555 phone exchange. But make no mistake. It's only February, and already "Two Lovers" is sure to go down as one of the best films of 2009." - San Fransico Chronicle.

Well, how does he find the person in the room holding the money -- every time? Rumors are common that he uses a hidden spotter, whispering into a mike hidden in his ear. When Troy tells him this, Buck invites two doctors onstage to peer into his ears, then turns his back to the room and covers his head with a black cloth. Does he still find the money? If he does, it can't because of psychic powers, can it? I firmly believe such illusions are never the result of psychic powers, but I am fascinated by them, anyway. The wisdom of this film, directed and written by Sean McGinly, is to never say. Troy practically lives with the man and doesn't have a clue. He's asked if Buck is gay, and he replies truthfully, "I don't know. I've never seen him with anybody." Colin Hanks is affecting as a man young enough and naive enough to be fascinated by whatever it is Buck represents. Emily Blunt is sweetly kind to him. No one else could have played Buck better than Malkovich. I love this guy. I've read one review of this film that complains we never meet the real Buck Howard. Of course we don't. There may be no real Buck Howard. But the film is funny and perceptive in the way it shows the humiliations for a man with Buck's tender vanity: The ladies singing onstage. The many who have no idea who he is. Being bumped off the news by Jerry Springer. Being bumped off Jay Leno for Tom Arnold. Distilled water." - Roger Ebert.

Although movies often borrow the emotional power of great music, "The Soloist" boasts its own rich dynamics and contrasting tonalities. Mr. Foxx's musician provides the passion. Nathaniel cuts a bizarre figure as he plays a two-stringed violin in a downtown park near a statue of his beloved Beethoven. Still, his garish clothes barely hint at the florid disorder of his mind, which makes itself known through enthralling soliloquies that sound like the spiritual equivalent of a racing engine and a slipping clutch. By contrast, Mr. Downey's columnist provides a bracing coolness, at least at first. Equipped with the actor's characteristically clipped vocal rhythms, Steve tries to resist taking on responsibility for his subject's tumultuous life. It's hard to imagine these roles played by anyone else, even though Mr. Foxx played another passionate musician, Ray Charles, not long ago. The co-stars are both virtuosos, and their styles combine to create a harmony of friendship that cannot fix the unfixable, or redeem the irredeemable, but gradually grows into mutual help and a kind of love. Seamus McGarvey, who shot Joe Wright's previous film, "Atonement," has done superb work in sequence after sequence, including some downward-looking helicopter shots that juxtapose the eerie sprawl of Los Angeles with the spacious grandeur of a Beethoven symphony. Mr. Wright and his colleagues have made a movie with a spaciousness of its own, a brave willingness to explore such mysteries of the mind and heart as the torture that madness can inflict, and the rapture that music can confer. Bravo to all concerned." - Wall Street Journal.

Turns out, they are quite good at this cleaning, and the sisters find it surprisingly rewarding. For Norah, the work lets her into someone else's life in ways that help her start to make sense of her own and that of the mother she and Rose lost growing up. For Rose, it's something else again. As she tries to explain during a dreadful baby shower, surrounded by the condescending faces of girls she knew in high school, she and Norah come into people's lives when something terrible has happened and "make it better." But then Rose has been trying to "make it better" ever since her mother died.The empty space left by her death is central to the film and the family, as powerful a force as anything else life throws at them. The movie is made up of so many singular and simple pleasures, ones that Jeffs and screenwriter Megan Holley infuse with such pure grace that you want to hold on to even the most ordinary ones. But let's start with Adams. Something extraordinary happens when you watch her face, stripped of makeup, tiny worry lines appearing between the freckles. Everything about Rose is faded, as if she, like the rest of her life, has been through the wash one too many times. We are that close, and she is that tired. The daily affirmations she uses to get through another day are never enough. Where Adams' Rose keeps it together by sheer will, determined to "figure it out," whatever it is that day, Blunt's Norah, with her bohemian clothes, her weed and her heavy charcoal smudge of eyes, is mostly content in the role of sarcastic but unreliable sibling. There is something wonderfully easy about the actresses' relationship on screen -- Adams' steel and Blunt's slouch perfect counterpoints. But then this is a film where everyone contributes to pay the rent. Alan Arkin, as Rose and Norah's father, and soon Oscar's main companion, is engaging as always as the willful but wise grandfather, with a string of get-rich-quick schemes souring on him. Despite the hard times everywhere, "Sunshine Cleaning," is never overly sentimental. Thanks to Holley's screenplay, there are themes aplenty running through "Sunshine Cleaning," such as how a family copes with the tragedies of the past and new ones in the making and the way older sisters think they are required to look after things. It is a story with economic lessons everywhere, a fitting eulogy for the culture of greed and a reminder that hard work -- not miracles -- will save you. When it all comes together, you are left with a tableau of hope, humor and a truth-telling reality that is a salve for the recessionary soul." - Los Angelos Times.

The unshowy honesty that Cantet displays feels particularly novel when he's focused on Bégaudeau, a dedicated teacher who is, nevertheless, no hero; he's got his own weaknesses of ego that his students immediately identify and prey on, like the natural savages that adolescents are, provoking him to speak with an anger that will not do in PC times. Indeed, the movie's refusal to grade the prof's performance can feel at times almost disconcerting to those of us so steeped in traditional American classroombased dramas and their comforting conventions. We like to know from the outset that, say, Meryl Streep and Richard Dreyfuss are guaranteed to inspire as music teachers in "Music of the Heart" and "Mr. Holland's Opus;" that Edward James Olmos will turn his classroom of losers into calculus whizzes in "Stand and Deliver;" and that the white slum kids who give Sidney Poitier such a hard time early on in "To Sir, With Love" will also live up to the title in the end. Idealistic educators with unconventional methods (keep a journal! Declaim poetry! Throw out the curriculum!) are how we like to love them — and if the students are colorfully diverse, so much the better. For every cushy prep-school gig wangled by Williams in "Dead Poets Society" and Kevin Kline in "The Emperor's Club," five more onscreen classrooms will be filled with society’s multiethnic, sullen outcasts, resistant to learning. Bégaudeau doesn't solve crises for his kids — or for his colleagues, many of whom have worked at the school longer and have the cynicism to show for it. (The faculty interactions are equally precise, as are the delicate parent-teacher meetings, with real parents playing themselves.) The teacher, trained in pedagogy, is particularly challenged by a sassing provocateur of a girl, and by a quick-to-anger African boy. The students, meanwhile, create their own rich society, intricate, viable, and self-contained within the classroom walls. For once, they're not adjuncts with colorful biographies created primarily to make the teacher — and the star playing that teacher — look even more noble. I make no claims for student autonomy being a particularly French character trait. But I do claim that the absence of ''star power'' turns out to be the secret of this goldstar movie's success. And that "The Class" — winner of the Palme d'Or at the 2008 Cannes Film Festival — is in a class by itself. A." - Entertainment Weekly.

Penn does an imitation of Milk's Lawn Guyland Jewish whine that's a bit more fey than that of the actual public Harvey Milk. But the theatricality of Penn's acting works as a brilliant projection of Milk's playful intellectual spirit — his fighter's joy. Milk is a fascinating film — more docudrama than biopic — because, as staged by Van Sant, from Dustin Lance Black's deft screenplay, it immerses us in the political process. Milk, a Bay Area camera-store proprietor, doesn't choose politics; it chooses him when he sees that even in San Francisco, gays are treated like third-class citizens. Once he gets elected supervisor, the movie is devoted to his attempt to defeat Proposition 6, a statewide measure to ban gay teachers that Milk seizes on as a key issue of civil freedom. With Miss America runner-up–turned–antigay crusader Anita Bryant as his foil of intolerance, Milk isn't just fighting for ''rights.'' He's leading a cultural crusade. The movie shows you what a shrewd politico he is (he uses beer boycotts, dog-poop laws, anything that works), and it's creepy to see him forge a rickety alliance with Dan White (Josh Brolin), the conservative Catholic supervisor who, like Milk, gets elected thanks to a new district-divided voter map. Brolin makes White a dim politician and hooded soul in a world changing too fast for him to handle. As a study of a political moment, ‘Milk’ is memorable. As a story of Milk's personal life, however, it leaves something to be desired. James Franco is sharp as the boyfriend who ditches him, but from the moment Diego Luna shows up in the underwritten role of Milk's flakiest lover, you feel that the film is leaving out as much as it shows. But that's a forgivable flaw in the rare liberal message-movie manifesto that lingers in the mind as well as the heart. A-“ – Entertainment Weekly.

Then, when someone attempts to steal Walt's prized car, the coiled Korean War vet reaches for his weapon. (A different Eastwood in a different movie might have rasped ''Do you feel lucky?'') But in the aftermath of his rage — as if breaking and entering were the only way to open the old man's emotional door — this twisted, post-9/11 version of Dirty Harry warily develops a relationship with the strangers next door. The connection leads to — well, to a shocking spiritual salvation, in fact. And to gang warfare. And to a movie at once understated and radical, deceptively unremarkable in presentation and ballsy in its earnestness. Don't let the star's overly familiar squint fool you: This is subtle, perceptive stuff. Eastwood has devoted his recent work to refracting the image of American men in decline. His movies, pared and sinewy in both production and performance style (with the exception of the 2008 showpiece Changeling), meditate on compromises and losses, and even (most memorably in Million Dollar Baby) on serious questions of religious faith. Gran Torino, though, grafts those signature late-career preoccupations onto a story that's got the energy of a gangly youth, right down to the naturalistic performances by the mostly nonprofessional Hmong cast. The inquisitive script is by newcomer Nick Schenk, from a story by Schenk and fellow first-timer Dave Johannson — two talents lucky to dodge the indie virus that would surely have hit them had they aimed their script toward Sundance cred, tidy and full of lessons. Hey, punks: Do ya think many Sundance smoothies would dare set Dirty Harry among the Hmong? Well, do ya? A–." - Entertainment Weekly.

The movie burns through the fakery of wrestling in a touching way, by letting us see how the trumped-up 'enemies' in the ring actually love and support each other. And they're not just sham warriors. Randy slices his forehead open with a fragment of razor to make sure he's putting on a bloody good show. In one gruesome bout, he gets lacerated by barbed wire and a staple gun. Is such a scene needed? Let's just say it expresses the cutting edge of Randy's pain-freak authenticity. When he's not in the ring, Randy is basically a polite, saddened middle-aged man who lives in a New Jersey trailer park and works part-time in a supermarket. Aronofsky, working from a script by Robert Siegel, brings us piercingly close to the life of a relic: the visits to the tanning salon, the courteous way that Randy treats even the people who make fun of him, the two-decade-old fan paraphernalia he brings to a pathetically underattended 'legend signing.' We see how scared he is — an insecure dude who never got over his given name, Robin. He's a loner, almost completely isolated, yet he tries to reconnect to life through two women: Cassidy (Marisa Tomei), a stripper who has taken a liking to him (but still makes him pay for his lap dances), and Stephanie (Evan Rachel Wood), his furious estranged daughter, who now wants nothing to do with him. The movie lets us see how Randy was a bad father whose selfishness has broken his own heart. He's a man who has lost nearly everything. Yet he can still reach for grace: Standing up on the ropes, preparing to do his theatrical pounce, he looks triumphant, tearful, and ready to enter heaven. A" - Entertainment Weekly.

‘The Reader’ is a deeply novelistic movie, full of undercurrents and messages, particularly about the way young people have to distance themselves from the authority figures of their youth in order to create their own identities, even though by the time they make their breaks, it's already too late to clear off all the imprinting those authority figures left on them. But Kross and Winslet's intense performances and Daldry's deliberately placid control of tone make the material work as a love (and hate) story as well as a metaphor. Passion can't be meticulously, thoughtfully crafted, but everything that can be is beautifully done here.” – The Onion.

'Doubt' serves as a political allegory that goes beyond its tale's particular time and place: A Bronx school, circa 1964, run by a strong-willed and rigid doctrinarian nun. The target of accusations is a seemingly compassionate and liberal priest, Father Flynn (Philip Seymour Hoffman), at St. Nichols, a school largely populated by Irish and Italian pupils. Things change when Sister James (Amy Adams), a sincere but naive woman, thinks that the school's outsider, the place's first African-American student, Donald Miller, may be getting extra personal attention from Flynn as an altar boy. Without thinking much about the consequences of her words or deeds, Sister James shares her suspicions with Sister Aloysius, who's more than willing to pursue investigation and persecution, which soon become zealous obsessions. When father Flynn denies the accusations and tries to defend his integrity, ferocious battles of personality, wits and morality ensue to the very bitter end. Not keeping rumors to herself, Sister Aloysius informs the boy's devoted but troubled mother (Viola Davis) of the sexual allegations, only to find out much more than she had ever anticipated bout Donald's emotional and family problems at home. Representing the dramatic climax of the narrative, this scene is so well scripted and acted that it may grant Viola Davis a Supporting Actress Oscar nomination, despite the relatively small size of her part. From that point on, the drama's various battles spiral out of control and out of any proportion to the rumors that had started them in the first place, again illustrating how a piece of gossip, a minor suspicion, or an innuendo can lead to tragic and even fatal results." - Brian Gibbons.

There's a big house in the country, surrounded by high walls. It looks stark and modern to be a farmhouse. Army officials come and go. They fill rooms with smoke as they debate policy and procedures. Bruno can see the farm fields from his bedroom window. He asks his parents why the farmers are wearing striped pajamas. They give him one of those evasive answers that only drives a smart kid to find out for himself. At the farm, behind barbed wire, he meets a boy about his age. They make friends. They visit as often as they can. The other boy doesn't understand what's going on any more than Bruno does. The actors speak with crisp British accents, which I think is actually more effective than having them speaking with German accents, or in subtitles. It dramatizes the way the German professional class internalized Hitler's rule and treated it as business as usual. Charts, graphs, titles, positions, uniforms, promotions, performance evaluations. How can ordinary professional people proceed in this orderly routine when their business is evil? Easier than we think, I believe. I still obsess about those few Enron executives who knew the entire company was a Ponzi scheme. I can't forget the Oregon railroader who had his pension stolen. The laughter of Enron soldiers who joked about killing grandmothers with their phony California 'energy crisis.' Whenever loyalty to the enterprise becomes more important than simple morality, you will find evil functioning smoothly. There has not again been evil on the scale of 1939-1945. But there has been smaller-scale genocide. Mass murder. Wars generated by lies and propaganda. The Wall Street crash stripped people of their savings, their pensions, their homes, their jobs, their hopes of providing for their families. It happened because a bureaucracy and its status symbols became more important than what it was allegedly doing. Have I left my subject? I don't think so. 'The Boy in the Striped Pajamas' is not only about Germany during the war, although the story it tells is heartbreaking in more than one way. It is about a value system that survives like a virus. Do I think the people responsible for our economic crisis were Nazis? Certainly not. But instead of collecting hundreds of millions of dollars in rewards for denying to themselves what they were doing, I wish they had been forced to flee to Paraguay in submarines." - Roger Ebert.

Best and most unexpected of all, the film dares to mix the bitter with the sweet. It understands that life-altering situations like weddings not only bring out the worst in human behavior but also the finest. Because of Demme's long-standing interest in music, all kinds of musical performances run through this film like a river, suffusing it with joy at the moments it needs it most. Everything starts with the script by Jenny Lumet. Her story is as much a multiple character study as a conventional drama, and it focuses on Kym (Hathaway), that vulnerable, troubled young woman, nine months and counting in rehab, an arch, sarcastic, compulsive talker who has trouble recognizing where her own needs end and other people's boundaries begin. With her chopped hair, constant smoking and wraith-from-hell demeanor, Kym calls on aspects of Hathaway, best known for considerably lighter fare, that simply have not been seen before, and the actress rises to the challenge beautifully, making Kym simultaneously empathetic and outrageous. It's not just that Kym has been an addict, she's done things while under the influence that even she cannot forgive herself for. Yet far from being contrite, Kym is quick to condemn everyone else. Determined to get the consideration she needs to feel whole, she lashes out at what she calls 'the Salem witch trials' atmosphere in her family. Kym wants desperately to fit in, to be a normal person, but she doesn't know how to get there without pushing to be the center of attention, a place her sister Rachel feels should be hers on this day of all days, especially as regards a father Rachel feels has always come down on Kym's side. Everyone in 'Rachel Getting Married' is right by their own lights, and nowhere does this dynamic play out with greater impact than in Kym's scenes with her divorced mother Abby, played with great effect by Debra Winger. It takes quite a bit to coax Winger in front of the camera these days, and this part elicits a performance from her that, though small, won't easily be forgotten." - Los Angeles Times.

The point is, nothing. The London universe Leigh creates (employing his trademark improv techniques to unite his ensemble, many of whom make their film debuts) isn't so much a reality as a hope, and an invitation to find joy and grace in everyday moments. It's a wish all the more endearing coming from a filmmaker best known for drabber dramas of family dysfunction and British miserablism like 'Vera Drake' and 'Secrets & Lies.' And that grace is made manifest by Hawkins' sparkling performance in a role the filmmaker created specifically for her twiggy charms. Hawkins imbues Poppy with an innate effervescence that plays off beautifully against adversity. Leigh, meanwhile, cushions those adversities with bright texture and jolly music, concluding with an image of realistic contentment — in a rowboat, on a lake — that's hard to beat at a time when we really need it. A–" - Entertainment Weekly.

In this documentary collaboration with 'Borat' director Larry Charles, Maher travels across America, as well as to Jerusalem and the Vatican and the Netherlands, grilling people about their religious faith. He talks to wealthy ministers in lizard-skin shoes, egomaniacal rabbis, a fellow who attempts to get gay men 'back in touch' with the straight Christian inside, a guy who plays Jesus at an evangelical theme park, and his own mother (who was Jewish — though the comedian was raised Catholic). Does Maher take cheap shots? More than you can count. (Some of them, I have to say, are hilarious.) If you believe, as I do, that religion has been the prime civilizing force in our world, then 'Religulous' may on some level be indefensible. But that's why I'm glad Maher made it. He's scathing, but also curious, and as mischievous an interrogator as Sacha Baron Cohen's Borat. Talking to a melting pot of the faithful, Maher worms his way into the niggling contradictions of our cherished belief systems. There's a ticklish, childlike logical glee to his view that Christianity, Judaism, and Islam are fairy tales for adults. 'Religulous' isn't an attack upon God but on the vain, deluded things human beings say and do in His name. The movie is funny as...well, hell. It's also galvanizingly topical, since Maher’s view is that anyone who is powerful enough to have his or her finger on the nuclear button should not be overly eager for the Rapture. 'Religulous' emerges as the first movie jape of the Sarah Palin era. It's a film that's destined to make a lot of people mad, but Maher, for all his showy atheistic 'doubt,' isn't just trying to crucify religion — he truly wants to know what makes it tick. He leaves no stone tablet unturned. A–" - Entertainment Weekly.

The motivations of the characters are never straightforward and no one in 'Appaloosa' fits neatly into a clean stereotype. Virgil is a straight-shooter but, despite his ability with a gun, he's not the most intelligent marshal in the Old West and he's not the most confident of men when away from his job. He also has a strict code about not breaking the law and will not circumvent it. Everett has his own set of rules, but they aren't as rigid. Virgil might only view Everett as a companion; Everett considers the older man more than that - perhaps a mentor or even a friend. Allie isn't a traditional damsel in distress. One gets the opinion that, regardless of the situation, she'll land on her feet. With her, there are no double-standards, and Virgil understands what she represents when he promises to be there for her for as long as she needs him. The film is well cast, with all of the actors being chosen for their ability to fit into the period costumes and settings without seeming out of place. One has no difficulty accepting Harris as the square-jawed marshal. Mortensen is his usual low-key self, providing an individual who is at once both heroic and humble. Zellweger impresses not only because she's feisty but because the actress doesn't mind getting a little dirty (literally). In the dusty town of Appaloosa, she doesn't always look like she's fresh from a bath and a visit to a hairdresser. Jeremy Irons recalls Richard Harris from 'Unforgiven.' Westerns often take themselves seriously, and there's a refreshing vein of understated humor running throughout the production. It's neither forced nor unnatural and it keeps things from becoming too somber, even when the bullets start flying. 'Appaloosa' remains a valid reason to be thankful that, while Westerns may no longer be as victorious at the box office as their gunslinger protagonists, they are not dead. As long as there are productions like these, the specter of Boot Hill will remain at bay." - James Berardinelli.

When Lady Spencer, Georgiana's mother, says her affair with Grey is the talk of London, why should she be surprised? Every conversation in this film takes place in the presence of at least two servants. I deeply enjoyed the film. I imagine the behavior of the characters will seem exceedingly odd to some viewers. Well, it is. William is a right proper bastard without normal feelings - a monster. How do you make love with the fifth Duke of Devonshire? You close your eyes and think of the sixth Duke of Devonshire. Georgiana puts up with more than we can imagine. When we see her tender and playful in the company of Earl Grey, it is a refreshing change. We do not see William and Bess bedding each other, and just as well. We hear them. This is not one of those delightful movies based on a Jane Austen novel. It is about hard realists, constrained in a stifling system and using whatever weapons they can command. It is rather fascinating on that level, although I would have loved to learn more about what the Whigs at that formal dinner really thought about Charles Fox's vision of the rights of man and the abolition of the slave trade." - Roger Ebert.

The 'heist' is actually Petit's team tensely prepping to stealthily enter the World Trade Center on Aug. 7, 1974, with doubts held by the crew's French members about some of the seemingly shady Yanks in their circle. The film is structured in a movie-within-a-movie fashion, with the action of that day hurtling forward in segments, as Petit's background and previous high-wire stunts is told chronologically. A child who refused to acknowledge physical limits, Petit loved the wire from an early age, and the superb and ample archive footage and photos of his walks across the towers of Notre Dame and the Sydney Bridge towers suggest a dizzying combination of athleticism, poetry, public performance and showbiz that can only be compared with the wild motorcycle stunts of Evel Knievel. Like Knievel, Petit is his own best publicist and raconteur, spinning out thoughts with such joie de vivre that had Marsh conceived his film as a single talking-head shot of Petit alone, that would have been enough. Impressive from an archival standpoint is the electrifying yet pastoral color footage of Petit training for the Twin Tower walk with partner Annie Allix, longtime friend Jean-Louis Blondeau and Jean-Francois Heckel. Planning was profoundly important, shown in images of Petit's models of the tower roofs and rehearsals to re-create the effect of high winds whipping the wire. The group of unlikely characters who assisted in Gotham, plus the semi-comic suspense and absurd accidents that happened in the Twin Towers are elements worthy of a Billy Wilder movie. The fact that Petit and his team were able to get their load of equipment and tools to the top floor simply by asking to be taken there by the freight elevator operator is just one sign that the gods must have been in their corner. Petit's final walk is stunning enough, but the aftermath is unexpectedly emotional and overwhelming as human drama. The immediate effect on Petit of sudden, post-WTC notoriety mixes erotic comedy and personal loss that seems possible to be conveyed by only the best screenwriters." - Variety.

The new movie version of 'Brideshead Revisited' stays relatively true to Waugh's plot, and Julian Jarrold has directed it lavishly. Sebastian Flyte, the troubled, indulgent rich kid who still carries a teddy bear, and whose guilt about his homosexual leanings turns him into a drunk, is now a flamboyant, hair-tossing delinquent played by Ben Whishaw with a pout so petulant he makes Jonathan Rhys Meyers look like a smiley-face button. Charles, the middle-class, mildly reptilian painter played by Irons with such close-to-the-vest anguish, has become, in the person of Matthew Goode, a sprightly good fellow, charmingly at ease in his skin. Even Charles' atheism, so pivotal to the plot, now seems less a rigid stance on his part than a benign philosophical shrug. Charles falls for Julia (Hayley Atwell), Sebastian's sister, and that's a big problem, since Sebastian gets jealous easily, and he comes from a clan of passionate Catholics. The performer who is completely at home with the gravity of it all is Emma Thompson, who portrays the family matriarch, Lady Marchmain, as a woman so defined by faith that she's a beatific monster. The only life that matters to her is the afterlife, and Thompson, rolling her vowels like marbles, finds a radiance in that view, even as Lady Marchmain squashes her children's happiness in this life." - Entertainment Weekly.

It's easy to see why the offended parties, including Arthur's long-suffering wife (the brilliant Juliet Stevenson), couldn't stay angry with him for long. Broadbent strikes the perfect balance between infuriating old sod and endearing ‘little boy lost.' He also benefits from a finely crafted script. Arthur's inbred reluctance to show any emotion means that even the vaguest gesture of compassion has a devastating effect. Tucker's direction is similarly toned down, getting in close to the actors and conveying their unspoken feelings without becoming bogged down in syrupy sentiment. Arthur's blinkered approach to fatherhood raises a good few laughs as well, like forcing Blake to test out his self-made 'waterproof' tent on a compulsory camping trip. Clichés are in evidence, but there can be no doubting the film's sincerity. And for all the heartbreak, you will be left with good memories." - BBCi films.

All of this seems impossible, but Roger Spottiswoode's 'The Children of Huang Shi' is based on fact; there was a real George Hogg. After he stars in an embarrassing public demonstration of the usefulness of flea powder, Hogg travels by mule to a nearby city where Madame Wang runs a business dealing in seed, grains and perhaps other things. He convinces her they are in business together: She gives him the seeds and shares in the harvest. The scenes of Hogg making the orphanage into a functioning community transform the film from an unlikely adventure into an absorbing life story. Thrown out of their orphanage, Hogg and the orphans make an exhausting 500-mile trek across snow-covered mountains to find refuge. 'The Children of Huang Shi' tells an engrossing story of a remarkable man. The photography is awesome, especially scenes set in the Gobi Desert, which they travel across." - Roger Ebert.

Working from a novel by Elinor Lipman, Hunt prioritizes consistency of tone and appropriateness of scale, even while maneuvering through vertiginous mood swings. The film often is extremely funny, but the comedy always remains rooted in sharply and warmly observed reality. To be sure, there's a least one instance of casting as a kind of sight gag - Salman Rushdie cameos as a bemused obstetrician - but even this isn't played for big yucks. Indeed, "Then She Found Me" is a low-key comedy in which characters always seem just one misstep away from full-out tragedy. Hunt effectively deglamorizes herself as Alice, often appearing positively gaunt as the schoolteacher steels herself for life's next curveball. At the same time, she conveys nimble intelligence and self-deprecating humor, winning attributes that solidify her claim on audience sympathies. As a filmmaker, Hunt makes wise choices with a consistency that bespeaks of skill and sensitivity. Better still, she avoids predictability." - Variety.

In one scene, Herzog enlists in a survival camp where white-out blizzard conditions are simulated by having participants wear plastic buckets over their heads. Elsewhere, Herzog meets up with the film's producer/composer Henry Kaiser, an arctic diving enthusiast whose home-video footage of the icy Ross Sea sparked Herzog's interest in making 'Encounters.' Kaiser serves as Herzog's conduit into Antarctica's elite scientific community, including cell biologist Sam Bowser, whose love of 1950s sci-fi disaster movies extends to screening a DVD of 'Them!' for his bemused colleagues. Frequently there is the sense that, after decades of filming frontier societies, from the jungles of the Amazon to the Australian outback, Herzog has arrived at a true final frontier, and that the only logical place left for him to take his camera next is outer space. As it is, there are many moments in which Herzog transforms the strange and wondrous sights and sounds of Antarctica into the landscape of an alien planet. Lensed in crisp high-definition video by a two-man crew consisting of Herzog and Peter Zeitlinger, the film offers one arresting visual marvel after another and should render contrite all who say there is nothing left for movies to show us that we haven't seen before." - Variety.

Masterfully blending action and emotion against some of the most arresting terrain on Earth, 'Mongol' is an exciting and awe-inspiring tale of survival and triumph, and a love story for the ages." - Showtime.

Eileen is a 93 year old British flirt, whose soft-manner is juxtaposed perfectly with her tour-de-force performance of The Clash's 'Should I Stay or Should I Go.' Fred Knittle is an 81 year old former chorus member, strapped with an oxygen tank, who returns for one last show to perform Coldplay's 'Fix You' with close friend Bob Salvini, whose health has deteriorated rapidly. Stan and Dora are a perfect pair who just can't seem to wrap themselves around the rhythm and lyrics of James Brown's 'I Feel Good,' at least not at the same time. In fact, not a face that appears onscreen is without energy or charisma, and as the film unfolds the audience is both entertained and touched by the Chorus. Unfortunately, it's not all smiles and laughs for the film, as any group consisting mostly of people over the age of 80 will likely see a high turnover rate, as human beings can only survive so long. As the doc goes on, in fact, two of the chorus members we've been following so closely pass within a week of each other, and it brings home the reality of the situation that, for many, this chorus is their passion, and may be the last passion they get to fulfill in their lives. While the message of living your life to the fullest thrives, and the message "it's never too late" exists right next to it, there's also that additional connection that time is short, for all of us, so do what you love. See this film, seek it out. The full chorale performances of Dylan's 'Forever Young' and Knittle's rendition of 'Fix You' will rock your soul, while The Ramones' 'I Want to Be Sedated' and the Talking Head's 'Road to Nowhere' take on a whole new life and significance. Most importantly, however, seek out the Young@Heart Chorus when they're touring and catch a show. They will change your life." - Film Threat.

Tarek teaches him African drumming, and Walter begins frequenting the club where Tarek plays. Eventually the two join a drum circle in Central Park, Walter's tweeds contrasting with all the T-shirts and bandanas. It's a world Walter has never known, and his transformation is gradual but definitive -- Jenkins awakens his character's soul. When Tarek is arrested and thrown into a corporate-run alien detention center, Walter becomes the only conduit between Tarek and the outside world, as well as Tarek's only chance for freedom. Walter's once-tenuous commitment to the real world now reaches the point of no return. At this moment in the film, as Tarek disappears into the maw of Homeland Security and his mother Mouna (Hiam Abbass) arrives to find her son, the dynamics of the film shift and it becomes a bit less absorbing, mostly because Walter has already made his transformation. Luckily, Jenkins has hooked us early and reels us in like fish." - Variety.

Without doing anything so divisive as taking sides, 'The Counterfeiters' pays sympathetic attention to those who play their cards to win even when the rules are terrible, not least because the remarkable Markovics is so riveting as an unsaintly survivor. The movie is based on a memoir by Adolf Burger about his own involvement with the Nazis' real counterfeiting effort, Operation Bernhard. Played in the movie by August Diehl, Burger is an idealistic left-wing activist who, unwilling to abet his captors, attempted sabotage by gumming up the mechanics of the process — a noble gesture, yes, but one that put his coworkers' lives at serious risk. In contrast, Sally (based on Salomon Smolianoff, who died in Argentina in the 1960s, an art forger to the end) refused to allow the Nazis the pleasure of causing him to feel any shame at being alive — a criminal code of honor that saved the hides of those around him. Detaching character values of 'good' and 'bad' from the stories of those who did and didn't survive is newer territory for Holocaust movies than it is for Holocaust literature. That may be, in part, because words allow for meditations on ambiguity while images stimulate our moviegoing instincts for immediate identification. Markovics, though, inhabits his not-nice character with such conviction, and with such little regard for what we think of Sally's choices, that we're freed to consider him as a man, not just a victim — an authentic gift in a fascinating story of faking it. A–" - Entertainment Weekly.

Carlitos (Adrián Alonso), who is 9, hasn't seen his mother in four years. She lives in L.A., where she works as a housekeeper and sends him $300 a month; after his grandmother dies, he heads north to reconnect with her. Carlitos has a sweet pup's face, but he's a wily little tyke who makes it across the border in no time, then bounces around amid the culture of illegals, working as a dishwasher, picking hothouse tomatoes, drifting with a shifty grouch of a migrant worker (the terrific Eugenio Derbez) who keeps them both a step ahead of the feds. As Carlitos' mom, Kate del Castillo catches the bottled-up desperation and hope of a life that teeters between opportunity and slavery. 'Under the Same Moon''s politics sneak up on you. The film says that the U.S. immigrant situation is untenable, but then it forces us to ask: What should be done? That's a good enough ''argument'' to find in a movie with an ending so touching it could make Lou Dobbs cry. A–" - Entertainment Weekly.

Tomas' pained grimaces contrast with the demeanor of his cheerful bride-to-be as she talks through detailed solutions for erectile dysfunction depicted on a website. Later, his mother Cathy gamely changes his catheter in a scene that caused many in the Toronto audience to avert their gaze. After the wedding, Tomas and Brie (sometimes accompanied by Cathy) travel to various antiwar demonstrations, where he shares his experiences. A meeting with similarly paralyzed Bobby Muller, leader of Veterans for America, suggests Tomas got short shrift on treatment and follow-up therapy. Tomas agrees, declaring, 'The army's goal is to get you in -- afterwards they don't so much care.' When Brie moves out after a little more than a year of marriage, the helmers don't devote much time to a post-mortem; she literally vanishes from the film. Tomas, meanwhile, finds new confidence with things he can do himself. Clips show how politicians from both sides of the aisle parroted administration talking points in order to sell the war. The final scene on Capital Hill, where Tomas meets West Virginia's Democratic Senator Robert Byrd, brings the two tracks of the film together naturally and meaningfully." - Variety.

Taking the social secretary designation to heart, she tries to help her new friend Delysia navigate a love life and career, both of which are complicated by the three men in Delysias orbit; devoted pianist Michael (Mr. Pace), intimidating nightclub owner Nick (Mr. Strong), and impressionable junior impresario Phil (Mr. Payne). Miss Pettigrew herself is blushingly drawn to the gallant Joe (Mr. Hinds), a successful designer who is tenuously engaged to haughty fashion maven Edythe (Ms. Henderson) the one person who senses that the new social secretary may be out of her element, and schemes to undermine her. Over the next 24 hours, Guinevere and Delysia will empower each other to discover their romantic destinies." - IMDB.

Tamara Jenkins, who wrote and directed, displayed a hard-won appreciation for family craziness as a gift to artists (if not to children) in her sharp, semiautobiographical 1998 feature debut, ‘Slums of Beverly Hills.’ And nine years more of life's banana peels have only honed her sense of the everyday absurd. Jon, who has cocooned himself in college academia, preaches the gospel of Bertolt Brecht's theater of social realism to his students and can't commit to his Polish girlfriend. Wendy, paying the rent as a temp office worker while she writes plays (about awful families), regularly applies for writing grants that she doesn't get. She also carries on a long, dull affair with a married guy. She tells lies. At one point she steals painkillers from the medicine cabinet of a dead woman. ‘The Savages’ — a movie-title family name with adjectival overtones as Jon and Wendy wrestle with guilt — begins in a Disneyfied Arizona senior-citizen community where Lenny has been living for many years in a house owned by his longtime girlfriend. As spry old gals tap-dance to the song ‘'I Don't Want to Play in Your Yard,' Jenkins bathes the screen in fake, shiny colors that fade to leaden gray in Buffalo. The end of life, her wise movie consoles, is no easy dance for either the aging or their children, but sometimes a savage wit can do wonders. A” – Entertainment Weekly.

Though the plot is always moving forward, McDonagh knows when to ease off the pedal and lavish time on a scene, or take a moment to satirize the travel experience. In the course of their sightseeing, the hit men run into Americans who either: 1) are enormously, spectacularly obese, 2) get apoplectic if people are smoking around them or 3) keep apologizing for being American. As anyone who has traveled abroad in recent years can testify, McDonagh's not making this stuff up. Half the fun of 'In Bruges' is in how it unfolds, and so talk about the story is best left to a minimum. The guys are in a lovely medieval city around Christmastime, taking in the sites and experiencing civilization at its best, while internally absorbing the contrast between the environment and their function in it. They're waiting for a call from their boss, maybe to do another job. McDonagh is gifted enough that even minor characters are vivid in the moment. Every conversation is not just an opportunity to move the story along but to do something new that surprises or delights. When Ralph Fiennes shows up as the boss, he's not the usual Fiennes. He's a cockney, contained in manner, clipped in speech, but always spilling over into rage. It all comes through, the character's nonstop sense of aggrievement, the limits of thinking, and his specific and sincerely held notions of personal honor. These shadings, dimensions and notions are slipped in under the radar, just as a consequence of McDonagh's telling the truth, moment to moment." - San Francisco Chronicle.

'Diving Bell' has taken pains to retain the fearlessly sarcastic tone of the author, who gleefully compares early attempts by therapists to bundle him into a wheelchair to 'movie gangsters struggling to fit the slain informer's body into the trunk of their car.' Given the comic fearlessness of Bauby's savage, exasperated comments about what's happening to him and the formidable way Amalric delivers the lines, feelings of morose helplessness don't stand a chance. It was screenwriter Harwood's astute idea to imagine that, in the words of the script, 'The camera is Jean-Dominique Bauby.' A major part of the film is shot from the paralyzed man's point of view, with Amalric creating intimacy by providing a running commentary of his thoughts that only viewers can hear. Initially Bauby doesn't know where he is or what's happened to him. A no-nonsense doctor tells him he's at the naval hospital in Berck-sur-Mer near Normandy and informs him of his condition, which he can barely believe. Told of the efforts made to bring him back to life, we hear him scream inside his head, 'This is life?' Perhaps the most unexpected thing about 'Diving Bell' is that this constant repetition of spoken letters, which sounds tedious in the abstract, becomes, because of the use of the supremely melodic French language, an almost sensual pleasure. Finally finished with his pages, Bauby anxiously blinks the question, "Does that make a book?" Indeed it does, and a most unexpected film as well." LA Times.

Like a previous adaptation of McEwan's work, 'Enduring Love,' the story is impossible to categorise, although both probe the mindset of remorse. The uncertainty of how events will unfold is also riveting. Wright plays it up with beautifully composed scenes tipped slightly off-kilter - figures looming out of velvet darkness, or a face caught in peripheral vision. The effect is haunting as are the fractured pieces of the past, which slowly build to one last shocking revelation. It's a tenuous conclusion, but there's no denying the film's raw power. Flourishes of 'hyper-reality' are grounded by sterling performances from Knightley (defined by a strong and elegantly poised backbone), Romola Garai as the 18-year-old Briony and, above all, James McAvoy. He exudes the essence of humanity in a truly soulful picture." - BBC films.

Vanessa is dying to have a kid, and after the deal is sealed, Juno, who keeps Paulie at a distance, makes periodic visits to the house to show the Lorings ultrasound photos and such. But 40ish Mark, a successful music composer for commercials who’s still frustrated over his failed bid for rock stardom, begins getting a funny look in his eye when Juno’s around. When he finally gets too close for comfort, it begins to throw his marriage and the adoption entirely up for grabs. Under Reitman’s fleet direction, the film races along at a pacey clip, propelled by catchy songs, many of them by Kimya Dawson. Juno is not only a smarty-pants, but also genuinely smart and self-possessed, even if her condition occasionally threatens her composure. The film’s ace in the hole is Page, whose great promise indicated in ‘Hard Candy’ is more than confirmed by her winning performance here. The lovely young thespian handles the reams of dialogue with poise and aplomb.” – Variety.