Avatar

By now it is a given that Avatar is a phenomenon unlike anything we've seen since...well, James Cameron's last film -- you know, that one with Kate, Leo, and the boat. Anything that I or any other critic out there writes about the film must now consider the context that we are witnessing the only legitimate challenger to Titanic's heretofore unprecedented box office success. Perhaps it is some sort of cosmic symmetry that it is made by the same man.

Now, to the film on its merits. Simply put, Avatar is everything it has been built up to be and more...and yet I cannot quite say it is an unmitigated masterpiece. This is the very definition of a "game changer," a movie that will forever change the face of filmmaking for years -- likely decades -- to come. The kind of technology James Cameron has developed at Peter Jackson's Weta Studios (which, if you haven't noticed, has set its own new standards for digital effects in this decade and cannot, in my estimation, be matched in the next) is truly groundbreaking, that word that often gets tossed around in the critical community but never actually applies...but it does in the case of Avatar. Funny, in a year where Robert Zemeckis once again tried and failed to generate any excitement about 3-D motion capture technology, Cameron comes back from his 12-year absence to perfect 3-D motion capture in a way no one ever quite thought possible. Everything is seamless, from the faces to the general weight and movement of the characters to -- if you can believe it -- even the eyes. The eyes, in fact, are the film's visual highlight -- which is saying something for a film that stretches the term "visual highlights" to unforeseen places.

All that...yet the film doesn't quite reach the highest echelon. The reason, strangely enough, lies in what is otherwise yet another of the film's strengths: its screenplay. Avatar's script, written by Cameron several years ago and presumably tweaked and perfected time and again in the years since, is actually a challenging science fiction piece teeming with fascinating ideas about love, acceptance, and the war between nature and humankind. It is not unlike The Matrix in its virtuoso thematic structure that further elevates its unparalleled visual prowess. Yet Cameron's story is plagued by that nagging predilection he has battled for decades as a writer: the filmmaker's tendency to choose simplified, over-the-top villainy and macho chest-thumping over the his more nuanced view of humanity.

The story is set in the year 2154, when a group of eager scientists -- along with the U.S. military -- are in the process of exploring Pandora, a distant planet that possesses mass quantities of a particular mineral (its name: "unobtanium," which, let's be honest, is a little too clever for its own good) that Earth desperately wants. The goal of the scientists, led by Dr. Grace Augustine (Sigourney Weaver), is to permeate the culture of Pandora's indigenous people, the Na'vi, through Augustine's "Avatar Project." Participants lie in hibernation chambers while their Avatars, which fully resemble the Na'vi people, attempt to integrate into the culture, learning about the Na'vi and teaching them about humans, in an attempt to peacefully co-exist. The military's objectives are less nuanced, as you might imagine; led by the ridiculously growling Col. Miles Quaritch (Stephen Lang), U.S. forces intend to occupy Pandora, forcefully impose our will upon the Na'vi, and bulldoze their planet -- which flourishes with beautiful forests and rare vegetation -- to use as we see fit.

The Na'vi are a lean, athletic people who stand ten feet tall, with beautiful blue skin and glowing eyes who have a psychic bond with nature and animals, speak in their own complex language (which Cameron, in a very Tolkien-esque move, devised himself), and are bound together through their sort-of Deity-slash-lifeforce, Eywa. They mean Earth no harm, and would rather be left entirely alone, but might be more accepting of the open-armed, open-minded approach Augustine and her team of scientists bring to their explorations. However, the military and its corporate backers wrest control away from the geeky scientist group, imposing a grave threat to which the Na'vi do not react kindly.

At the center of the story is Jake Sully (Sam Worthington), a wheelchair-bound former Marine whose heroic twin brother was killed in battle, and who enlists in Augustine's Avatar project by cutting a hush-hush deal with the military that he will "get his legs back" via spinal surgery in exchange for delivering crucial intel to the growling Col. Quaritch. Of course, once Jake experiences life on Pandora (where, through his Avatar, he can run, jump, and do everything he wishes he could as a human), his view of the Na'vi and their precious land changes. Not only does he acclimate to the unique culture, he also falls in love, with Neytiri (Zoe Saldana, in the most astonishing digital performance the cinema has ever seen), a beautiful Na'vi warrior who exposes Jake to a world he never knew.

The conflicts are much more complex than one might imagine going into the defining blockbuster of its time. The love story between Jake and Neytiri is charming and compelling, much as Titanic's love story was. And embedded within the screenplay are rich ideas about valuing the environment, cherishing our natural resources, and caring for all people over corporate greed and military strong-arming. The script's challenging notes are hit with ease, and we get a sense that Cameron has been meticulously honing his ideas as the culture has evolved over the past two decades. It is strange, then, that his depiction of the film's villains, specifically the barking Col. Quaritch, is so flat, one-note, and distractingly overwrought. Sure, this is an epic whose story is told in broad, powerful strokes, but the characterizations of the film's villains becomes tedious at best and damaging at worst. Cameron's screenplay hiccups are not helped by Stephen Lang's performance as Quaritch, which goes beyond scenery-chewing and reaches a film-destroying level. In one of the biggest, most groundbreaking films of all time, its overall quality is markedly diminished by one of the worst screen performances in history. That's right -- no lie.

Even amid the lame portrayals and heinous acting from Lang, Avatar is an undeniably remarkable experience from beginning to end, from its extraordinary technical achievement to its compelling ideas to the good work from many of the other actors, from Weaver's tough-yet-sensitive scientist to Worthington's wounded hero and especially Saldana's Neytiri, who is a mind-boggling achievement in every capacity. Saldana should absolutely receive an Oscar nomination for her work...and should probably win, which would be the first time in history a motion capture performance won an Academy Award.

And not even Lang's acting can get in the way of Avatar's awe-inspiring third act, which demonstrates that Cameron is the world's foremost action director. He builds action and suspense in a way that stands head and shoulders above every other director in the business, and even integrates his writing skills into wordless action scenes, building three-act structures around his epic battles, taking each sequence to the next level, keeping us surprised and on the edge of our seat until the very end.

There is a lot to discuss about Avatar. Even this rambling review has barely scratched the surface. It is a grand, powerful epic, and a spectacular technical achievement, and the very definition of an Event Movie. You must see it, you must experience it, you must digest it, and you must savor the moment. Even as an imperfect film, Avatar is amazing.

The Real Hurt Locker

Earlier this year, The Hurt Locker took the film-loving world by storm with its brilliant, startling, edge-of-your-seat thrills and its eye-opening look into the hearts and psyches of the modern soldier. In an almost cosmic stroke of cinematic kismet, here, five months later, is a brilliant companion piece. The Messenger tells the story of what likely takes place after those soldiers in Hurt Locker return "home," even though nothing feels like home to them other than the battlefield. And in the beauty of its painstaking observation, The Messenger may well be the best film about the modern American soldier ever made.

No film has ever come close to capturing the powerful nuances of a soldier's wounded mindset like this film. That authenticity comes courtesy of Oren Moverman, a combat veteran of the Israeli army, who draws on his experience and observations to deliver a film that so carefully realizes its characters that it is nearly impossible to come away unmoved. Moverman previously wrote Jesus's Son, about a recovering addict who discovers new life, and co-wrote the beyond-brilliant revolutionary I'm Not There, often dismissed as "the Bob Dylan biopic," but is one of the most vivid filmic creations of recent years. The Messenger is oh-so-different than anything Moverman has done before, most likely because this is Moverman's directorial debut, and as the film unfolds we see the filmmaker's voice developing with each flickering frame.

Staff Sergeant Will Montgomery (Ben Foster) has just returned from Iraq. After being wounded on the battlefield, he's been sent home to serve out the last three months of his tour. He is assigned as a "messenger," the unfortunate soul who must pay a visit to deceased soldiers' Next of Kin and deliver the "regret to inform" speech. As one might suspect, there is a very spare, robotic standard speech that the messenger is supposed to deliver. The mission is to knock on the door, identify the "N.O.K.," and rattle off the spiel. No touching, no empathizing, no emotion. Do the job and walk away. Simple...right?

Of course it is not at all simple, yet The Messenger doesn't belabor that point, or overdramatize it. Will is not inclined to follow the script, nor does it come naturally for him to deliver the message and walk away unfazed. He is surely suppressing emotions, as many soldiers are, and he lives by a very methodical code, once again, like most soldiers do. Yet there is a crack of emotion that breaks through, a weary, uncertain crack in the armor that allows him to do something unheard of in his current line of duty: care.

Will's guide in his new job is Captain Tony Stone (Woody Harrelson, in another in his string of great 2009 roles, although this one might win him an Oscar), who knows the script and delivers it with perfection every time. Unlike Will, Tony has no battlefield experience to draw on, and he therefore might have an easier time compartmentalizing his emotions. His soldierly nature is pristine and unbreakable, but he allows himself to open up in the best and worst of ways in his journey with Will.

Every new experience is a new battlefield for Will and Tony. Make no mistake: showing up at the door of a stranger and handing them the worst news of their life is an extraordinary war, albeit not of the conventional variety. And each new assignment unveils something completely unexpected. The emotions of each "regret to inform" sequence are as potent as any typical battle sequence, and Moverman allows us to feel each and every wound. What we discover is that we can never truly understand anyone's story, and all we can do is show the smallest bit of empathy, and allow grieving souls to express their pain. It is not "soldierly," strictly speaking, for Moverman to suggest that we can have compassion, but it is undeniably true.

Will eventually becomes drawn to one of his subjects, a newly-widowed mother (Samantha Morton) who handles the bad news with a great deal more dignity than one might expect. Her story is profoundly complex, as is Will's, and perhaps the complications and obstacles in each of their lives can bring them together, not out of flowery love or emotional grandstanding, but simple, painful need. That is the unexpected wallop of The Messenger: the stories that break us apart and bring us together are all driven by need. We need love, companionship, solace, and comfort. There are different battles along the way, each of which comes with a new set of scars...but need very often directs our course. And if there is anything that can help us begin to empathize with others, it is that simple fact.

It's small, but it sure is Mammoth

You won't easily find Mammoth. It recently opened in New York City for a limited run. There is currently no upcoming DVD release date, but in the coming months, you might find it at Blockbuster or on Netflix. For the masses, your best chance to view the film is if you have cable -- you should be able to view it On Demand for less than the price of a typical megaplex ticket.

My advice: do whatever it takes.

Mammoth is the story of parents who are separated from their children. Some of them are rich Americans who feel disconnected from their own reality. Some of them are poor foreigners who are forced away from their reality by the pain of necessity. Their stories are the same, and yet totally different. And this film is the complex dissection of their similarities and differences, their consistensies and contradictions.

Gael Garcia Bernal and Michelle Williams play Leo and Ellen, who live in New York with their only daughter. Leo is the mastermind behind a massively successful online gaming website and Ellen is an ever-on-the-clock ER doctor. Their daughter is more or less raised by Gloria (Marife Necesito), her live-in nanny, who herself has two sons living without her...in their home in the Philippines. Gloria left her children by necessity; Leo and Ellen do it by choice. Yet there are complexities in the stories of the two American parents. Sure, Ellen could choose to stay home since her husband clearly makes millions through his gaming site, but she works in a demanding profession and touches every aspect of human emotion almost every night on the job. She wants to feel that joy, that pain, that life. Leo goes on a trip to Thailand to make a huge business deal and abandons his business meetings to have an "authentic experience." He meets a local prostitute and pays her not for sex, but to simply be his companion, and then to promise she will not ever sell her body again. He wants to touch something he feels is out of reach; he wants to feel "real" people in "real" circumstances with "real" pain. He wants to buy reality.

Complexities abound at every turn. Leo and Ellen clearly love their daughter and one another, but have been conditioned -- be it via their upbringing or education or the tempting pull of American hubris -- to be controlled by their ultra-modern, ultra-hip, ultra-rich lifestyle, which dictates they stay entirely focused on their work, which in turn dictates they disconnect from the family they love, and thus from the world around them. Gloria talks to her sons on the phone and tells them she is working for them...but also tells them she will not see them until they are fully grown. Her separation provides them with some money but deprives them of the ever-important parental presence. And the Thai prostitute, Cookie (Rum Srinikornchot), accepts Leo's offer but knows she will not, cannot follow through -- she has her own family to support, and no matter how Leo tries to fully experience life though Cookie's eyes, he will never be able to understand how differently his culture values life, people, and possessions than Cookie's culture. Or Gloria's culture. Or any number of other cultures. The differences abound from one culture to the next, from one person to the next...and yet we are all human and we are all striving to achieve the same things. The same, yet different. That is the defining beauty of Mammoth.

Lukas Moodysson, the Swedish filmmaker whose previous films include Together and Lilya 4-Ever, is the writer and director of Mammoth, and his first English-language picture is one of his most complex and subtle. The film is a globe-spanning narrative, not unlike Babel, but what separates Mammoth -- indeed, what elevates it above other similar-themed pictures -- is that it doesn't depend on grand catastrophes to link its characters, doesn't use melodrama and startling events as a dramatic crutch. The characters are drawn, their lives set in motion, and the stories that unfold are entirely dependent on the believable, at times seemingly insignificant choices each character makes. And from these choices, these decisions, these indications of each character's fears, desires, and limitations, we see how big the world is...and how small.

Should Some Works Stay On the Page...?

Make no mistake: I am not a proponent of comparing film adaptations to their literary inspirations. It is a foolish task from top to bottom. A book is a book and a film is a film, and whether one is based on the other doesn't much matter; both can exist on their own, and stand alone as individual pieces of art, to be parsed and evaluated on their own merits.

It is with that in mind that I posit this seemingly contradictory argument: The Road should have never been adapted into a film.

Directed by the very talented John Hillcoat, who dealt with similarly raw, spare material in his great 2006 film, The Proposition, The Road is based on the already-legendary Cormac McCarthy novel of the same name -- you know, the novel that won the Pultizer Prize and is widely recognized as the best book of the last decade. Prestige never went into my belief that the book shouldn't have been adapted. Pulitzer Prize winners have been brilliantly adapted before and they will be brilliantly adapted again. I am even willing to admit that Hillcoat is the perfect filmmaker for this adaptation and that he does as well with this adaptation as anyone ever could have. But based on results, the film doesn't work.

Why? Very simply, I didn't buy it. The atmosphere feels forced and the characters seem like they are acting their hearts out without creating believable characters. Viggo Mortensen plays a father and young Kodi-Smit McPhee plays his son. This two-person family unit roams a post-apocalyptic America, trying to survive amid harsh, spare, hopeless circumstances. How the world became so ashen is not discussed and is not necessary; the heart of this story is how this father and son rely on one another to survive, most of the time coming up against danger after danger, from spontaneous brush fires to cannibalistic cultists, and occasionally coming upon a breakthrough, as when they discover an abandoned underground shelter stocked with non-perishables of all sorts. That underground shelter is a glorious discovery in the profoundly dirty world of this film. No one is better than Hillcoat at creating nasty, barren muck on the screen, and if nothing else can be said for The Road, it is this: Spam has never looked so appetizing.

Mortensen is a wonderful actor, and he musters all his hope-slash-cynicism to play a man on his last legs, living in a world on its last legs, and attempting to find any last shred of hope that his son might be able to build a future on. As the son, McPhee is bright-eyed and engaging. Charlize Theron and Robert Duvall are solid in extended cameos. But these characters feel less like living, breathing human beings and more like pawns on the Apocalypse Game Board, literary creations that don't feel three-dimensional on the big screen.

Of the story and its visualization, Hillcoat and screenwriter Joe Penhall do what they can, but it is difficult to realize catastrophic apocalypse in a believable way -- too difficult, in the final analysis, for this filmmaking team to fully pull off. The emotion occasionally hits hard but mainly feels like by-the-numbers survivalist storytelling. And the canvas, which is especially important to a film like this, feels staged and unreal in my view. Where The Proposition felt vividly, powerfully real, The Road feels like lots of ash and wreckage was placed on a soundstage, even if most of it actually wasn't.

No, I don't think anyone should be stopped from optioning novels for the big screen -- ever. But for some reason, The Road seems like a story best left in the imagination, where the enormity of its disastrous scope and the power of its intimate story can play out without any stagey trapping.

Nelson Mandela Can't Possibly Be This Boring

Invictus fails, very simply, because it is an ill-conceived bore. I am not taking issue with traditional sports films or traditional political biopics -- both have the ability to entertain and inspire in very special ways. But not this film, which is an uneasy mis-mash of both genres, made with some skill but absolutely no verve by Clint Eastwood, who very plainly had no clue how to make this screenplay interesting.

It has been an interesting decade for Eastwood, who remains and will always remain one of the top three (really, top two, alongside Lord Scorsese) most revered American directors. In the 2000s, Eastwood started with a limp old-guy dramedy, Space Cowboys, and an interesting thriller, Blood Work. He then proceeded to go on the longest string of critical and Academy acclaim of his storied career, hitting a directorial high with Mystic River and then coming out of nowhere to win Best Picture and Best Director for Million Dollar Baby (Mystic might have done the same, but fell victim to the Lord of the Rings juggernaut). He followed that up with his WWII double-dip, Flags of Our Fathers and Letters from Iwo Jima, then an old-fashioned melodrama in Changeling and a modern-day Dirty Harry flick in Gran Torino. In terms of accolades, the decade has been a success. But look again at the majority of Eastwood's work this decade and most of it comes up limp -- way limp. Mystic and Baby both hold up, as does Iwo Jima on a lesser scale. And he got the good Jolie performance in Changeling, even if the film itself was an embarrassing soap opera. After that, Flags of Our Fathers is such a colossal miscalculation it's mind-boggling, and Gran Torino is a simplified, overwrought, unintentionally hilarious disaster. Invictus falls into the latter category, a well-meaning docudrama that gets lost in an expository boondoggle and can't even manage to be as entertaining as a History Channel special on the same subject.

The story is very prestigious, and along with Eastwood's name being attached to the project, it is one of the chief reasons this film has become Oscar bait. After spending two-and-a-half decades in prison, Nelson Mandela emerges to be elected president of South Africa, and facing the seemingly impossible task of uniting people of all colors and creeds, attempts to inspire South Africa's national rugby team, the Springboks, into winning the World Cup. The true-life story is indeed a wonderful, inspiring tale. One would think it would translate into a much more interesting film than Invictus ends up being.

Morgan Freeman plays Mandela, in a cosmic matching of actor and role that should be an automatic Oscar winner, and it is a testament to how underwhelming the film is that Freeman will be nominated but not win the Oscar. His performance is solid and workmanlike, but not extraordinary. The screenplay, by Anthony Peckham (who must feel more at ease writing rollicking action-comedy, since his work on Sherlock Holmes is more successful), simply does not allow for a fully engaging portrayal by anyone, even a great actor like Freeman playing a legendary character like Mandela. Matt Damon pumped himself up to play the Springboks' captain, Francois Pienaar, but left his charisma in the weight room. Once again, a workmanlike performance that barely registers on the scale of engaging human emotion.

Peckham's screenplay attempts to blend the South African political upheaval with the drama of the struggling rugby team, but the story never gels into anything other than a TV Movie of the Week. As a director, most of the blame must fall on Eastwood, who fails to add any clarity or shape to the already weak material, and who seriously has no business directing a sports movie. On the basis of Invictus' rugby scenes, I feel confident in stating that Eastwood doesn't seem to understand rugby and, further, he doesn't know how to film on-the-field action. There is no compelling drama in the film until the final moments of the "Big Game," but that's only because, even as poorly as Eastwood and Co. has explained the intricacies of the game, almost everyone can get excited about "One Last Shot."

Invictus is a disheartening missed opportunity given its wonderful true-to-life inspiration, and it ends Eastwood's topsy-turvy decade with a glaring thud.

Happy Holidays

As usual, it has been a very hectic time period, both at home and at the movies. Updates are coming...lots of new reviews, including Avatar, Up in the Air, It's Complicated, The Messenger, Nine, Invictus, Me and Orson Welles, The Road, and more...

...We will also be looking at the widening spread of Top Ten lists, looking at the consistencies and contradictions...and eventually we will unleash our own Top Tens, both for the year and for the -- gulp -- decade, if you can believe it...

...And this very exciting time of year gives birth to another very exciting time: Oscar Time. Wanted to get some early prediction charts posted before the year's end, but that might have to wait until the first of the year...either way, charts are on the way soon. For an early preview, if I had to pick now, I would guess that Up in the Air, Up, Avatar, Precious, The Hurt Locker, Inglourious Basterds, An Education, Invictus, Nine, and A Serious Man will be the Best Picture nominees in the Academy's newly-minted 10-nominee system. Movies like The Last Station and A Single Man could build momentum and wind up on the list as well. Charts to follow soon...

...The Holiday Box Office is over-the-top nuts, with Avatar continuing to chug along, on its way to being the year's top grosser, Sherlock Holmes continuing Robert Downey Jr.'s recent hot streak, and Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel adding one more sign of the apocalypse...

...And then, of course, there are the movies. Ah, the movies. Go see them. After all the top ten talk, the Oscar buzz, the box-office analysis, and the awards campaigning, the movies are still there, waiting to be seen. The movies are what this is all about.

See Avatar, because love it, hate it, or not too crazy about it, you must experience it.

Try to seek out The Messenger, as difficult as it might be to do so...it is a remarkable experience.

And see Up in the Air...because barring some random, out-of-the-blue miracle, it is the best film of 2009.

And see everything else that strikes your fancy, because it's the movies...and let's face it, when you are in love with the movies, at this time of year, even the turds are kinda wonderful.

The Princess and the Frog

The Princess and the Frog is Disney's return to the traditional hand-drawn 2-D format that they made famous, and it is a welcome throwback to some of the wonderful Disney animated classics. Not an overwhelmingly great movie, but a sumptuous, lovely animated experience.

Taking a cue from 2007's awesomely clever Enchanted, in which the animated princess was "cursed" to the live-action world and became her own independent self, Frog takes a familar idea and twists it. Rather than retelling the traditional "Frog Prince" story, in which the cursed Prince returns to human form after being kissed, here the opposite is true: swanky Prince Naveen (voice of Bruno Campos) is turned into a frog after an unwise encounter with an evil conjurer New Orleans black magic, and when he solicits a kiss from the beautiful Tiana (Anika Noni Rose), she transforms into a frog as well. The two newly-minted amphibians embark on one of those tried-and-true Disney animal adventures, where they meet colorful characters, sing songs, and fall in love.

The twists don't stop with simply the premise, however. Tiana is actually not a princess at all, but a poor waitress who is saving her money to open a restaurant. Also, there are no evil female villains to counteract the positive force of the central heroine, another atypical story shift, especially for a Disney princess film. Sure, Tiana has an upper-class dim-witted best friend, but she is more of an air-headed supporter, not a villain. This film's bad guy is the witch doctor, Facilier (voiced by Keith David), who mingles with the "other side" and is a nearly unstoppable force of evil. That being the case, the film's plot must jump through labyrinthine hoops to explain precisely how the frog spell works and how it can be undone, a task that requires

The story heavily extols the virtues of hard work and sacrifice, so much so that Tiana literally states the film's moral more than a handful of times. It becomes mildly tiring after a while, especially since, for a film so desperately trying to break free from understood notions of "Princess Films," its story toes the line of on-the-nose messaging. But the film is still a lush, colorful, fun experience, stocked with several decently entertaining songs and couple of great ones (anything sung by Rose, a Broadway actress who was relegated to the third wheel in Dreamgirls, is a brilliant knockout). The Princess and the Frog is not brilliant, not flawless, not a world-changer, but it is a welcome return to Disney's time-honored traditional animated canon, and sets the bar high for future installments.

Avatar Lives Up to the Hype...

More later...

Brothers

By the end of Brothers, we have been put through the ringer of human emotion, from love to fear to uncertainty to rage, and we have questioned the bonds of family and the merits of war. But that's nothing new. The most interesting segments of Jim Sheridan's new film invite fresher, more interesting questions. How does one learn to cope with committing unspeakable atrocities? Can a family that was already fractured use tragedy to piece itself back together? When faced with two equally dangerous companionship options, how should a grieving woman respond? And most interestingly of all, can an innocent person bring his/herself to continue loving a monster? Interesting questions all...and Brothers fails to answer any of them.

Not that I'm against open-ended conflicts and difficult questions; to the contrary, some of our most interesting films possess both qualities. Brothers is interesting, too, but it refuses to give us anything -- not merely because it wants to leave loose ends hanging, but because it's too bashful to dig deeper. Life is fraught with impossible hardships and situations that don't have easy answers...or complex answers, for that matter. But somehow we find a way to survive. No, there aren't any "answers," but there are many courses to navigate through the wilderness. Those courses are the stuff of great drama. Brothers stops short of choosing a course...it ends at the beginning.

If you've seen the trailer, you know the premise. If you have not seen the trailer, skip this section and jump to the end of the spoilers. Sam Cahill (Tobey Maguire) is a responsible family man and decorated armed forces Captain who is about to head out on another deployment, leaving his loyal wife Grace (Natalie Portman) and two young daughters behind. Sam's brother, Tommy (Jake Gyllenhaal), is the exact opposite, an aimless, drunken troublemaker who has just been released from jail. When Sam is said to have died on the battlefield, Tommy steps in as Grace's helpmate, warming to the kids and building a new family dynamic in the process. But then...Sam returns. Alive. And he is...different.

The formerly centered Army captain has been through hell -- we know, since we witness his tortured journey. But the battle sequences distract from the natural flow of the family scenes, which are designed to set up complicated dynamics that the film can't pay off, possibly because the war material takes up too much screen time. As a result, Brothers becomes the most unfortunate of cinematic products: the film where the trailer reveals everything. We've seen this issue arise before, but never has the film in question been so potentially strong. I'm not sure who made the final decisions on what material was included in the film's trailer, whether it was Sheridan or producer Mike DeLuca or someone else, but there needed to be some responsible dissent in the room. It would have been a problem no matter what, but it's especially glaring with the knowledge that the film fails to push past the dramatic high points of the trailer in any significant way. I'm not asking for surprises, but I am asking that filmmakers understand the path their stories should take.

**END OF SPOILERS**

The acting is universally flawless. Maguire must chart a course from straight-laced soldier to battered soul to paranoid rage-a-holic, and he never misses a beat. He gets to unleash in one of the great movie meltdowns of recent years and unburden his soul is quieter, subtler moments. Gyllenhaal is a pitch-perfect "black sheep," a lost soul who we soon discover can dig deep to become a better person. Portman is wondrous as the would-be widow, who has what is possibly the film's most complex emotional quandary, but who is most hurt by the film's lack of guts to go to even more difficult territory. The filmmakers lock her into a solely reactionary state, when in reality the story should hinge on her character's decisive actions.

The revelation of the film is young Bailee Madison, a 10-year-old who has appeared previously in kid's TV and family films like Bridge to Terabithia, and who delivers the best child performance I have ever seen. As the Cahills' eldest daughter, she is a complete revelation, hitting emotional highs and quiet subtleties most seasoned thespians can't easily reach. Her work alone is reason enough to see the film.

But for all its glowing positives, Brothers' screenplay can't quite make it to the story's natural, rough-and-tumble emotional implications, as if writer David Benioff was reticent to explore the most challenging territory. Sheridan, one of the great directors of complicated family dynamics, is the right choice for this film, but for whatever reason -- be it the stifling of the material or the steep degree of difficulty this story represents -- his work seems a little awkward, as if it was hard to avoid melodrama and each scene was staged so specifically that it ultimately feels unnatural. A great shame, because this movie features some of the most powerful acting of the year, and presents what may be the year's most interesting and painful story conflict. But with material like this, it's all about taking risks, and Brothers fails to abandon the safety net.

Fantastic Mr. Anderson

I've been a fan of Wes Anderson since he debuted with Bottle Rocket in 1996. His talent is singular and unique, and his attention to quirky detail is unparalleled. Time and again, from Rushmore to The Royal Tenenbaums, from The Life Aquatic to The Darjeeling Limited, his work is continually touched with a hint of oddball magic. Some of his films are better than others, but they all range from nearly-great to totally great, finding unexpectedly touching humanity in the midst of a rigidly quirky framework.

All that said, I approached Anderson's latest, Fantastic Mr. Fox, with some trepidation. Sure, the stop-motion animation technique is a fun throwback, especially for a filmmaker like Anderson. But how, I wondered, could the film be anything other than a silly, animated lark of a picture? The film would easily be zany, weird, and fun...but can a goofy animated movie truly be a great film?

Yes.

Fantastic Mr. Fox proved all of my fearful suspicions incorrect. It is a truly wonderful film experience, and another in the extending line of dark, mature, challenging family films. Up continued Pixar's string of beautiful animated films that demand more from their young viewers, Where the Wild Things Are zeroed in on the unique emotional turbulence of childhood and invited kid audiences to identify, and now Fantastic Mr. Fox brings the dark world of classic storybooks to modern movie audiences. Children have long been the most disrespected of all film audiences, always talked down to and presented not much other than lame pratfalls and mild gross-out humor. But kids are not mindless creatures; they can think and feel just like everyone else. One can only hope that these beautifully challenging kid films become a mainstay on each studio's yearly roster.

This film is based on Roald Dahl's classic children's book, and Dahl has been a well-tapped source for interesting family films for several years now. The story here: crafty Mr. Fox (voiced by a pitch-perfect George Clooney) has a history as a wily, irresponsible thief, but has settled into a rut as a family man. Tired of his hum-drum life, he sets out to find a new home for his family by burrowing beneath the farms and factories of three infamously dangerous businessmen and swiping some valuable loot (turkeys, chickens, cider) in the process. The story is lofty fun in itself, but Anderson infuses his own unique charm into the film, somehow finding a way to make a movie that is completely, unmistakably his own, yet also make it entertaining and relatable to children. The trick is to not cheapen the material; Anderson still crafts characters who deal with hidden pain and insecurity, mask their feelings through surface quirks, and often hurt one another along their road to personal solace. Sometimes the characters are a little too biting both for kids and adults, a likely result of Anderson tapping Noah Baumbach (The Squid and the Whale, Margot at the Wedding) as his co-writer. Original writing partner Owen Wilson might have been a better fit for this story, but Anderson's dry charm overcomes any of the film's very minor setbacks.

Never has a film format been tailor-made for any one filmmaker quite like stop-motion animation fits Wes Anderson. Even his live-action films sometimes operate like stop-motion animation. Sure, the movements are fluid, but the environment and tone befit the mode of traditionally oddball stop-motion films of old. In Fantastic Mr. Fox, the filmmaker allows a few of his jokes to skew slightly sillier than normal, but stays true to his typically dry, awkward, skewed view of reality, and the stop-motion format fits the material seamlessly.

As with any Wes Anderson picture, Fantastic Mr. Fox is a matter of taste. Anderson's style is not for everyone, and will likely turn off several moviegoers. But that would have been the case no matter what, whether the film was animated or live-action, whether it was rated PG or R. For this critic, I loved every second of the film, which represents a Wes Anderson movie that I could share with my kids, who loved it every bit as much as I did. Fantastic Mr. Fox is wonderful fun, and represents Anderson's best film since The Royal Tenenbaums.

Color Me Blind-sided

Very simply, I liked The Blind Side. The film's continuing box-office success is not surprising; the movie is a likable, easy-to-watch movie that can make the whole family feel good. Sure, that last line sounds like standard quote-whoring, but that's the kind of movie this is. It's the rare movie that proves the standard advertising one-liners true.

Lots of buzz has surrounded Sandra Bullock's performance, and it's all true. The real-life Leigh-Anne Tuohy must exude a lot of spunk, but Bullock turns her into a mythic screen creation, one of those great movie-star performances that every star wishes they had the oppotunity to sink their teeth into. For Bullock, this is one of her career highs, and to her credit she doesn't settle for just the "big, sassy" moments that we see in the trailer. She works the material to reach much quieter, more observant beats that one wouldn't expect after watching the trailer 300 times, bringing more depth to a traditional show-off role as a result.

The story is familiar: an upper class Tennessee family takes in a poor, uneducated, 350-pound kid from the inner city whose past is painful but whose size and protective instincts make him a natural football player. Over time, the young man learns the values of love and family, and strives to improve both as an athlete and a student, eventually becoming one of the High School football's best players. We've seen these inspirational stories before, but this one is true: based on Michael Lewis' nonfiction book, and inspired by the story of Michael Oher, who now starts for the Baltimore Ravens. The film shifts the story's focus to Oher's adoptive mother, Leigh-Anne Tuohy, in so doing retaining a lovable hero but also elevating a fascinating heroine to the forefront, and telling an unconventional mother-son story that really works.

The Blind Side was written for the screen and directed by John Lee Hancock, who has developed a career that has been consistently solid. His work isn't world-changing and is often conventionally heart-tugging, but he can always deliver an enjoyable experience. This film fits into that mold perfectly -- imperfect, conventional filmmaking, but infused with great acting and true-to-life inspiration that truly inspires.

A "Saga," Indeed...

It wouldn't be enough to just call the movie New Moon. No, that would be putting too much trust in the audience. Instead, let's treat them like morons who wouldn't be able to recognize some of Hollywood's hottest young stars -- not to mention the legions of fans who have already read the books -- by inserting the lame pre-title, The Twilight Saga in smaller font above the real title. I point this annoying fact out because by putting that line above the title, it shows who the real "above the title" star of this movie franchise is: the franchise itself.

Not the actors, who might have talent, but it's obscured by a mythic story that dictates they must not act, but simply brood. Kristen Stewart is a very talented young actress and has been proving it for years. But she is a moody hornball in author Stephenie Meyer's world. Robert Pattinson has become a heartthrob sensation since the original Twilight bowed last November, but this movie series will kill his future if he can't break free from the jaw-biting, sparkly-faced oddity of his characterization. Taylor Lautner worked out a bunch and ate a lot of protein in order to turn himself into this year's most sought-after young hunk...and if he works hard, maybe next year he can be the year's most improved young hunk actor. But probably not, because this franchise wants to turn all young talents into elevated soap opera stars.

Chris Weitz seems like a nice guy, but he is not a good action director. His best work remains 2002's About a Boy, where he worked with his brother, Paul, to create more visual flair in an earthbound film about real people than he's been able to muster himself in the disappointing double-feature that is The Golden Compass and New Moon. Weitz is not a special effects director, but somehow studios keep thinking he is, and that betrayal of reality fits right into this film's purposeful abandonment of logic and humanity. Humanity in this film is just another costume change.

I liked the original Twilight. Sure, it was melodramatic, but the actors had some freedom to do good work, and director Catherine Hardwicke had a true passion to bring the material to cinematic life. It wasn't perfect, but it worked. Then the "Franchise" took over...Hardwicke got the boot (because quality means nothing), the production of New Moon was rushed as if it were a Saw flick (the third film, Eclipse, will debut six months from now), and the melodrama became an unstoppable machine of brooding unreality. As a result, the moronically titled The Twilight Saga: New Moon is an insufferable mess of emotional vomit.