The Artist (Fr/BELG) Directed by Michael Hazanavicius Written Michael Hazanavicius  Starring Jean Dujardin; Berenice Bejo; John Goodman; James Cromwell; Penelope Anne Miller; Missi Pyle; Malcolm McDowell

A twelve million dollar French silent would not, at least on paper, seem like an obvious formula for success. The Artist, however, manages to defy convention and proves itself an entertaining, and deceptively simple homage to Hollywood’s great silent period, as well as movie-making in general.

Forty Four year old writer/director Michael Hazanavicius (OSS 117 Cairo, Nest of Spies; OSS 117: Lost in Rio) is a unique voice. Through a playful approach that is at once ironic and earnest in its depiction of this bygone era, the director treads a precarious tonal line with impressive adroitness. Taking place in the late 1920s and early 30s as the movies transition from silent to sound, the film is nominally a straight-forward tale about a silent film stars’ fall from grace and the rise of a young ingenue he encounters, but its stylistic handling elevates it in a multitude of ways, ultimately becoming a reflection on the art of film-making itself, and specifically, its ability to mirror reality.

Shot in an aspect ratio of 1:33 to reflect the style of the period, the box-like screen gives the actors center stage. Appealing leads Jean Dujardin as the famous George Valentin and (Hazanavicius’ wife) Berenice Bejo as would be actress Peppy Miller are terrific (both actors have worked for the director before), as is George’s Jack Russell Terrier (played by Uggie, the same dog from Water for Elephants), who has a number of scene stealing moments. The supporting cast includes John Goodman as producer Al Zimmer; James Cromwell as George’s chauffeur Clifton; and Penelope Anne Miller as George’s wife Doris.

What’s most interesting about the performances, particularly in the case of Dujardin and Bejo, is that they play their parts in a modern, emotionally true to life way, while still adopting the overly expressive pantomime of the time when performing in the movies within the movie. The film also includes a long list of out of movie bits and pieces that are clearly paying homage to silents (the stairs sequence; the dressing room mannequin gag), and some fanciful manipulation of sound that help create an interesting ongoing juxtaposition of several worlds.

While Hazavanicius to an extent distances the audience with an ongoing stream of style and a series of literal and figurative winks to the camera, he simultaneously endears by demonstrating his passion for the subject matter throughout. It is both these loving touches - the nods to silent melodrama and physical comedy, to period dress, to the archetypal, A Star is Born plot-line of a young, wide eyed innocent endeavoring to make it big in Hollywood, as well as the real emotions displayed by the leads, that ultimately separates this from mere spoof or satire and keeps us engaged.

Perhaps it’s that very lack of cynicism that punctuates the idea that the film is something different, but like some of the best stuff for kids it’s made all the more attractive because its creator addresses the time we live in and our own consciousness of film history, which means we are in on the joke all along. It’s a bit of benevolent trickery, and one that assists the film in its obvious aim at inclusiveness. While films in various genres endeavoring for wide commercial appeal most often show themselves to be lacking organic authorship, The Artist is open to those of various levels of film experience, accessible to an audience of many ages, without feeling canned or manipulative - or rather, feeling like that only in places where the filmmaker intends it to. One can appreciate the story from a more narrow perspective, and enjoy the fun, but for those with a little more cinematic savvy it never panders.

Because it endeavors to be loved and to share its appreciation for the subject matter it gently spoofs, The Artist opens itself up for criticism for being overly sappy or easy, and ultimately thin. In truth, there is much richness to be mined if one can muster up the imagination and playful spirit to be open to receive it.

The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo (USA) Directed by David Fincher Written by Steve Zaillian Starring Rooney Mara; Daniel Craig; Christopher Plummer; Robin Wright; Stellan Skarsgard; Joely Richardson; Goran Visnjic

This American adaptation of the late Stieg Larson’s first book (in his best selling trilogy) is fighting an uphill battle for at least three reasons - one, three Swedish films covering the books were released in 2009; two, in these same films, Noomi Rapace gave an unforgettable performance as the barely communicative, abused feminist avenger/hacker extraordinaire Lisbeth Salander; and three, though the film is set in Sweden and the exteriors were shot there, the mere fact that this 2011 version is in English means that the characters are not speaking the language native to the place where it is set.

With those points in mind, Director David Fincher does well evoking the basics of the book and Rooney Mara is excellent as Salander. In fact, it should be noted that the casting here is uniformly strong, with Daniel Craig as disgraced investigative journalist/owner of Millenium Magazine, Mikael Blomkvist; Robin Wright as his business partner/married lover Erika Berger; Christopher Plummer as elderly industrialist Henrik Vanger; and Stellan Skarsgard as his nephew Martin Vanger all perfect for their roles. The accents coming out of their mouths, however, are all over the map - with some like Mara employing what sounds like a reasonable Swedish accent, while others (Craig, etc.) sticking to their native British one. Regardless, films that choose to go this route always have issues with feeling inorganic, and this one is no different. As well-made as the film may be there is therefore something off about it, and for this reason alone no matter how much money is spent it will likely be impossible to live up to the admittedly flawed Swedish originals.

This is not to say that Fincher is not in full command of what we see. The look is nothing if not precise; the score (by Atticus Ross and Trent Reznor) impeccable; and if there is little in the way of innovative or at least extravagant camera movement or (with the exception of some computer screen shots) clever visuals/editing panache (ala The Social Network) it is still the work of a director at the top of his/her game. Perhaps what’s most surprising then is that the film is also devoid of the kind of atmospheric style Fincher has become known for in thrillers like Se7en and Zodiac. So while the material would have seemingly lent itself to a somewhat darker cinematic treatment, what we get is a kind of clean, non-showy handling that naturally features the story and lead characters. If the end result suffers from a bit of bloodlessness, Fincher to his credit refuses to push the action or suspense, choosing to let the story slowly unfold. Knowing the wealth of technology and skill at his disposal, there is humility involved in this approach, a simplification of methodology based on earned confidence.

Though Mara has the rather thankless task of following one of the more surprising turns by a relative unknown in recent memory, this should not (though likely inevitable does) diminish the quality of her efforts. She is very good as the vulnerable yet powerful Lisbeth, conveying volumes with small gestures and looks. Yes, it is a meaty role that any actress of age would give their eye teeth for, but there are a select number of young women who likely could have pulled it off. And as was the case with Rapace before her, it is difficult in hindsight to imagine a single one of them who might have done any better. Craig too is excellent as the smart, capable, and slightly rakish journalist, and only an actor with his rugged good looks and quiet gravitas could have commanded the role so completely.

Larsson’s source material is a strange phenomenon - an essentially pulp, roller coaster ride of a serial trading in sexual politics, but one with richly drawn characters and plotting that travels through the rungs of socio-political Swedish society. Blomqkvist is, of course, a version of the author himself, who was a crusader against some of same kind of institutionalized corruption outlined in his fiction. His interest in misogyny, power relationships in the workplace having to do with gender, and the physical and sexual exploitation of women were reportedly heavily influenced by a rape he witnessed as a teenager. Fincher treads carefully in this area, honoring the material by refusing to shy away from the more graphic elements, while refraining from voyeuristically fetishizing the events.

The script diverges in several places from the first book/original film entry, and ends in a place clearly designed to play on the central relationship and lead an audience into the next installment; and while there is an anti-climactic nature to the entire last third - no doubt influenced by the same, one can appreciate the lack of cacophonous build and denouement. Rather, we are left with several threads to help merge the first film with the second, of which the team of Fincher and screenwriter Steve Zaillian (and undoubtedly all of the actors) are already signed on for.

The question, of course, is not about the quality of the final product - from the top down it is completely professional and well composed, rather, if like most re-makes, it was the slightest bit necessary.

The Future (USA) Directed by Miranda July  Written by Miranda July   Starring Miranda July; Hamish Linklater; David Warshofsky

There is by now a kind of fully established prototype for a cliched American independent film that seems always to contain a requisite qualifying degree of canned quirk quotient. As one would expect from something arising from the fecund mind of writer/director/actor July, her follow up to 2005s You Me and Everyone We Know, The Future, is certainly quirky, but it’s the kind of quirkiness that marks the film as innovative and truly off center as opposed to merely being another in a long line of the same. Though a film featuring a narrating cat named Paw-Paw (naturally voiced by July) is certainly open to criticism about being overly fey or cutsey, July helps fight this perception by creating lead characters who seem nearly frozen by some sort of depressive malaise that has them operating like hipster robots whose wiring has gone slightly haywire. July’s character, dance instructor Sophie, and her live-in partner, IT guy Jason (Hamish Linklater), become obsessed with concepts of time while considering rescuing an adult cat from a shelter. As they discuss the ramifications of becoming more serious about committing to one another long term, their reflections lead to contemplation about their own individual mortality, and then to focusing on the potential for an impending end of the world. Spurred on by these fatalistic musings, they agree to quit their less than fulfilling jobs to pursue what they posit might be a freer, more rewarding life. Sophie and Jason seem to have some unusual ideas about the nature of time itself, and what exactly they are after is never clearly defined, but their experimenting with dropping out leads them to some unexpected places as individuals and as a couple. Despite the distraction of some of the more fantastic elements of the dream/time-stop sequences, as well as the presence of the cat, there is something deeper at work here about the nature of our mundane existence, the pervasiveness of technology in our lives, as well as ideas about interacting with, and being of service to, the wider world around us. These ideas are related to reflections on our own self-image, and how we actually interact with those around us, particularly those we care most about. July’s background as a performance/installation artist comes into play because her take on narrative is that of an outsider. And there can be no mistaking the fact that this film is guided by a singular voice, which is imbued with some consciousness about the universal nature of artists attempting to communicate with the world. Despite the dark leanings of some of the material, a fitting score from Jon Brion serves to assist in defraying the relative lack of budget and create a whimsical tone. In the same way, it’s the juxtaposition of emotional truth and odd behavior and thought that ultimately makes The Future work.

Midnight in Paris (USA) Directed by Woody Allen  Written by Woody Allen  Starring Owen Wilson; Rachel McAdam; Michael Sheen; Marion Cotillard; Kathy Bates; Adrien Brody; Corey Stoll; Mimi Rogers; Kurt Fuller; Nina Arianda; Lea Seydoux

While Woody Allen’s latest roots itself firmly in another European city (the titular Paris), and also takes off on a fanciful flight back in time, the present day section is more of the same from the master. As screenwriter and would-be novelist Gil, Owen Wilson proves a weak Allen stand-in, and Rachel McAdam as Inez is given little to do as his one note, shrewish fiancee. The plot has the two of them tagging along with Inez’s equally loathsome parents (Kurt Fuller and Mimi Kennedy), while her father attends a business conference. Gil, who is struggling to finish his novel, has tired of his role as a Hollywood hack, and longs to fulfill his earlier dreams of becoming a real writer. Finding himself trapped in the company of soon-to-be in-laws who clearly dislike him, and later, Inez’s girlfriend Carol (Nina Arianda) and her obnoxiously didactic beau Paul (Michael Sheen), he longs to be left alone and gather his thoughts about his book. Mostly as an antidote to his distaste for those around him, Gil takes to walking the streets at night, which magically leads him to his repeated sojourns into the past. Set to a (surprise) jazz based period score, Allen waxes nostalgic for Cole Porter and a collection of other great art and artists of the turn of the century and twenties, finding time along the way to bemoan technology and the speed of modern day life, while eventually presenting (surprise) a young girl with a taste for old things as a potential panacea for all that ails his lead. He also further mines familiar territory with his attacks on intellectualism, right wing republicans, and pretension. While there is nothing wrong with the writing it all just feels very… familiar. Though situated in France, the objects of his character’s scorn are, naturally, American, because at this point Europeans are essential to the continuation of the veteran director’s singular career. None of this means that the film is without its charms, and there is some fun to be had with the various famous artists on display - particularly enjoyable are cameos by Kathy Bates as Gertrude Stein and Adrien Brody as Salvadore Dahli. Others we meet include Cole Porter (Yves Heck) himself;  Tolouse-Lautrec (Vincent Menjou Cortes); Ernest Hemingway (Corey Stoll); Pablo Picasso (Marcial de Fonzo Bo); Edgar Degas (Francis Rostain); Paul Gaguin (Olivier Rabourdin); Henri Matisse (Yves-Antoine Spoto); Luis Bunuel (Adrien de Van); F. Scott Fitzgerald  (Tom Hiddleston); and his wife Zelda (Alison Pill). Carla Bruni even shows up for no good reason (perhaps there was permit trouble?) as a present day (and stunningly attractive) tour guide. Marion Cotillard plays one of Gil’s love interests, and while charming as always, her character’s relationship with Gil, like the rest of the film, is at best, muddy.

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (BRIT) Directed by Tomas Alfredson  Written by Bridget O’Connor; Peter Straughan Starring Gary Oldman; Colin Firth; John Hurt; Ciaran Hinds; Toby Jones; Tom Hardy; Stephen Graham; David Dencik; Benedict Cumberbatch; Simon McBurney; Kathy Burke

Based on the well known 1974 spy novel by John Le Carre (who serves as one of the executive producers), Tinker Tailor is directed by 46 year old Swede Tomas Alfredson (Let the Right One In). With a bountiful cast consisting of some of Great Britain’s finest male actors, the film boasts a brilliantly rendered portrait of the early seventies, the monochromatic palette awash with greys, browns, and steely blues reminiscent of a gloomy London day that never ends.

Originally done in 1979 as a seven part BBC mini-series (famously starring Alec Guiness), this spy thriller has all the twists and turns one would expect - so many, in fact, that in lesser hands the plot may well have become a muddled mess. Alfredson is up to the challenge though, and much of the success is owed to an expert editing job that crisply and smoothly journeys between countries, story-lines, and time with alacrity and style, a monumentally challenging task given the sheer number of characters and intricacy of the plotting.

Gary Oldman (in what may be the finest performance of his career) handles the character of the taciturn, bespectacled George Smiley (who appears in no less than eight of Le Carre’s books) with pleasing understatement. Oldman has been known to love an actorly flourish or two, but here we never see him stray from the captivating stillness he establishes as the rather dour British intelligence (referred to as MI6 or The Circus) career man accustomed to serving as a mere a cog in a vast bureaucratic machine.

The plot if full of cold war intrigue involving double agents on either side, but what is most compelling is the keenly observed world laid out before us, and a cast that embodies characters immersed in and socialized to a life that is both mundane and exceptional - average men who go about their duties in the way an accountant or a postman might, except that in their profession kidnapping, blackmail, and assassinations are the norm. The global implications of their work, however, does not make them any less cynical or disappointed - in fact, perhaps moreso.

From images of Smiley swimming in a lake with his glasses still on; to the yellowed institutional corridors of The Circus headquarters; to the over-sized period recording devices placed in claustrophobic residences, Alfredson takes great pains to establish an environment that permeates throughout. One might compare the effectiveness of the look to a recent film like Fincher’s equally well designed Zodiac, or the British Red Riding trilogy, in terms of their evocation of the seventies; washed out worlds of opaque drudgery.

Populated with hunched shouldered, trench coated individuals who seemingly duck into dark doorways to escape the elements as much as their proverbial tails, one can feel Alfredson’s Scandanavian roots and notice the correlations between this and the superb mis-en-scene of his previous Let the Right One In, another bleak story delivered with the biting snap of a bone-jarring draft. Even as we observe the smoky office Christmas party interspersed throughout -  the holiday sweaters, libations, and festive music do little to thaw the icy tundra of moral compromise or hide the sinister roiling of duplicity bubbling underneath.

Bouncing from Moscow to London to Budapest, and fluidly weaving multiple languages into the mix, the film is truly an international thriller made for thinking adults, simultaneously plodding and compelling. Here, the machinations involved with the investigation of operation Witchcraft are not telegraphed and/or fully explained, which keeps one endeavoring to put together the puzzle. This approach works in the film’s favor and makes the few pure action sequences that much more meaningful and impactful.

John Hurt as section leader Control; Colin Firth as Bill; Toby Jones as Percy; David Dancik as Toby; and Ciaran Hinds as Roy round out the senior group who are all potentially involved in trading secrets to the Russians. Kathy Burke, Tom Hardy; Benedict Cumberbatch; and Stephen Graham are also a part of this exceptional cast. The script was written by Peter Straughan (The Debt; Men who stare at Goats) and his late wife Bridget O’Connor, who died of Cancer in September of 2010. The film is fittingly dedicated to her.

I Knew it Was You: John Cazale Directed by Richard Shepard

Perhaps no actor in the history of cinema has a better lifetime batting average than John Cazale. He acted in a mere five films, but each of them rank among the best of what was the finest decade of American film-making. Godfather 1 (1972); Godfather 2 (1974); The Conversation (1974); Dog Day Afternoon (1975), and The Deer Hunter (1978) have several things in common beyond their obvious excellence. Francis Ford Coppola directed three (of the four great films he made); and Al Pacino and Robert DeNiro appeared in two each (which included performances that were among their best). It is a good thing then that we hear from all three men in this solid documentary by Richard Shepard. Pacino, who was also Cazale’s partner on stage, plays the most prominent role on screen. We also hear from Meryl Street, the actor’s wife and co-star in The Deer Hunter (the two met while acting together in a play), a devoted, loving partner who valiantly stayed by her husband’s side through his sickness. An Italian American, Cazale was born in working class Revere, Massachusetts, and grew up in a suburb on Boston’s North Shore. He came to New York to be an actor and spent years on the stage, supporting himself during his early years with a number of part-time jobs, before breaking through in film at age 36. Cazale was the epitome of a character actor, and his iconic roles (Fredo in the Godfather films; Sal in Dog Day; Stan in The Deer Hunter) were all portraits of deeply flawed, highly vulnerable individuals whose actions often seemed motivated by fear. Unlike the characters he portrayed, Cazale the actor was truly fearless, never afraid of exposing a deeply human side of himself that many in his profession were and are afraid to let the world see. His colleagues describe him as a fantastic talent with deeply held convictions. The masterful technique at his disposal was the envy of all those who worked with him. Directors Coppola and Sydney Lumet, and his acting peers (Gene Hackman, Streep, DeNiro, and Pacino) speak about how he consistently made the other actors around him better, elevating the stakes by the force of his talent and dedication. Award winning playwright Israel Horowitz, who collaborated with the actor on multiple stage productions, relates anecdotes about Cazale, who is by and large described as an odd sort. A tireless perfectionist, Cazale could drive directors crazy with his relentless questions, but he was uniformly respected, and his fastidiousness always revolved around his pursuit of truth. It is sad to think of all the great roles Cazale would have enhanced, and the many films that would have been made better for his presence in them.

Young Adult (USA) Directed by Jason Reitman  Written by Diablo Cody  Starrring Charlize Theron; Patrick Wilson; Patton Oswalt; Elizabeth Reaser; Jill Eikenberry; Mary Beth Hurt

The Juno team of director Jason Reitman and writer Diablo Cody re-assemble for Young Adult, starring Charlize Theron as thirty seven year old divorced ghostwriter, Mavis, who steels away from her life in big city Minneapolis to return to her hometown (fictional Mercury) with hopes of re-kindling a relationship with her married high school boyfriend Buddy (Patrick Wilson).

At thirty four, Reitman continues to cement his position as one of Hollywood’s best, and Cody again provides a witty script with a bevy of pop culture and cool/nerd girl references that make her quick witted, fast- talking, snarky brand of humor sing. While Ellen Page brought a knowing, hipster irony as the female lead in Juno, here our hero is much less self-aware. In fact, Mavis is a thoroughly misanthropic, non-introspective, nasty, shallow, and largely unlikable character, which is partly what makes the film as a whole, and specifically Theron’s performance, so much fun. To buttress the events on screen, we hear Mavis’ voice in narration as she attempts to write the last installment of the young adult novel series she has been responsible for (but alas, doesn’t bear her name), that serves as a parallel for her disintegrating life.

Though Cody by now has a well-deserved reputation as a writer who loves a good wise-ass comment, some of the best moments in Young Adult can be found in places where Reitman/Cody settle for Mavis’ faces and eye rolls as opposed to one liners. Like a petulant tween, Mavis is disgusted by all things family, small town, and quaint - except, of course, when it comes to the torch she carries for Buddy. The way she justifies this seeming contradiction to herself is by deciding that she is rescuing Buddy from his loving wife, nice home, ad sales job, and new born baby, and that their getting back together will aid him in escaping what she deems his doomed, small time existence. While the blonde Mavis totes a Pomeranian in a bag, and is clearly a bit of a princess, Theron et. al. never allow the character to veer into Paris Hilton caricature.

While there have been countless films made about people suffering from arrested development returning to their home towns, many of them involving an organized reunion or major event (wedding, funeral), Reitman/Cody avoid much of the conventional genre build up. The self-medicating Mavis is entirely too narcissistic and unactualized to realize what she is actually after, and her myopic focus keeps her from much socializing with the commoners. Hearing she was in town, her mom Hedda (Jill Elkenberry) has to physically track her down to see her, and the one friend she makes, the physically and emotionally damaged Matt (Patton Oswalt), must endure an attitude directed at him bordering somewhere between weary condescension and outright disdain.

While the excellent Theron is obviously physically stunning, she is around the same age as the character, and naturally her age has begun to show in places on her face. This is a good thing. And whether it’s the beauty treatments Mavis undergoes, the extensions in her hair, the application of make-up, or the careful selection of outfits, one sees the calculation and work it takes her character to maintain her looks. For Mavis, image concerns and petty spats rule the day - she is at thirty seven, but as one character states, she is still a “psychotic prom queen bitch.”

There is an overall breeziness to the mostly comical events, though Mavis’ compulsive hair picking is far from a light detail, and it is merely an outward manifestation of the serious anxiety/depression that plagues her. Not much is said about her divorce, but Mavis’ father (Richard Belkins) matter-of-factly states at one point, “I like him,” and “he’s a nice guy,” in reference to her ex, and one gets the impression that it was Mavis who opted out of the marriage in some way. There are telling moments too, like when Mavis rather plainly states, “I’m an alcoholic,” and her parents (mom Hedda is played by Jill Elkeberry) think she is joking, or when she asks Buddy’s understanding wife Beth (a special needs teacher) what the faces of certain emotions look like on the chart she uses for her kids, and then says words to the effect of, “what about when they don’t feel any?”

As the ex-stripper Cody (the former Brooke Busey) is a successful, divorced (though now re-married and a mother), thirty three year old female writer who moved from a small town in Minnesota (she was from Chicago) to the big city it’s impossible not to draw comparisons between her and the character. In ways stated and not, there are themes at work here about the nature of fame and success, and how the superficial trappings of the same do not always bring personal contentment or satisfaction.

Shot by Reitman’s go to DP Eric Steelberg (Juno; 500 Days of Summer; Up in the Air), the naturalistic visuals paint a portrait of small town America dominated by the mediocrity of bland suburban dwellings and corporate chains. While there is a degree of personal change or discovery enmeshed in Mavis’ story, thankfully the writer and director refuse to sell out the theme. The film contains some well constrained satire about the uniformity of this world, and of everyday working/middle class existence in general, while recognizing the importance of the basic connections and stability most human beings ultimately seek. These truths exist simultaneously whether Mavis ultimately “gets it” or not.

Beginners (USA) Directed by MIke Mills  Written by Mike Mills  Starring Ewan McGregor; Christopher Plummer; Melanie Laurent; Goran Visnic; Mary Paige Keller; Mary Page Keller; Keegan Boos

Occasionally, one comes across a film that seems to make its case with so little obvious effort that it serves as a reminder that film is still a vital art form in this country. It is easy to be cynical about an industry obsessed with action flicks, animation, and all things 3D and CGI - one that is also turning out fewer and fewer films, but spending more and more on the array of fluff and popcorn movies that do get produced. Beginners comes from writer/director MIke Mills, and is a follow up to his first feature, Thumbsucker (2005). The director reports that the story is based on his experience with his real life father, a man who came out of the closet late in life. Ewan McGregor plays Mills stand-in Oliver, a thirty eight year old graphic designer with commitment issues who is grieving the loss of his father, Hal (Christopher Plummer). Told largely in flashbacks, the story fluidly alternates between Hal’s final few years as he adjusts to his newly gay lifestyle; memories from Oliver’s childhood (young Oliver is played by Keegan Boos) with his quirky Mom Georgia (Mary Page Keller); as well as Oliver’s newly formed relationship with French actress Anna (Melanie Laurent) that takes place in present time. Mills does a nice job balancing the time lines, delving into ideas of identity and how our formative experiences and relationships shape our later life. Laurent is gorgeous, and both she and McGregor manage to evoke the feeling of two adults who have been unable to stick with anyone in the past, but see the other as representing a shot (last?) at lasting love. Mills understands subtlety, and none of the characters feel stock - instead, the interconnections and emotions on display are nuanced and complicated, neither one thing or the other, but rather fraught with all of the personal fears and conflict each individual brings to the table, and the complications that inevitably arise between people who love one another, but share a (and/or suffer from their own) troubled past. Octogenarian Plummer, who continues to work prolifically, is in excellent form. However, Jack Russell Terrier Cosmo, who plays Hal’s former dog Arthur, does his level best to steal the show. His thoughts are seen in sub-titles, mirroring another recent film, Miranda July’s The Future, where a cat speaks in narration.

Super 8 (USA) Directed by J.J. Adams  Written by J.J. Adams  Starring Elle Fanning; Joel Courtney; Kyle Chandler; Noah Emmerich; Gabriel Basso; Zach Mills; Jessica Tuck; Joel Mckinnon Miller; Ron Eldard; Ryan Lee; Riley Griffiths

Super 8 doesn’t try to hide it’s genuflection at the altar of eighties Speilberg. From the opening frame it’s like The Goonies meets Close Encounters of the Third Kind with a dash of Jaws and ET thrown in for good measure. Writer/Director J.J. Adams, an unabashed Spielberg fan, brought the project to the man himself, and the two wound up producing it together. The replication of the time period (summer 1979) is exceptionally done. And for awhile an audience could almost believe that this just might be something the populist, iconic director may have created himself. That is, until the CGI effects show up, and virtually obliterate the many strong elements to previously recommend it. Sure, the kids talk is a little canned and over-sylized, and a few of their performances leave something to be desired, but one can forgive weaker turns from young people in lieu of strong cinematography, story, and sense of place, and when it’s not indulging in overblown action sequences Super 8 has it all in spades. The leads are well cast, with Elle Fanning as Alice Dainard, Joel Courtney as Joe Lamb, and Kyle Chandler as Deputy Jackson Lamb especially hitting the mark. The more melodramatic aspects of Alice’s family story as it relates to Joe’s are a little muddled and stretched thin, although ultimately these kind of details pale in comparison to the overreaching bigness of the aforementioned sequences involving fire, massive shooting guns and tanks, train crashes, car chases, and huge objects hurtling through the air. One thing Speilberg seemed to understand during the period being homaged is that character and story take supreme precedence, and the effects exist only at their service. The frustrating thing about Super 8 is not that it fails to capture the time period and essence of that particular sub-genre of eighties Spielberg, but rather that it does it so exceedingly well, with locations, design, tone, and the interaction with the kids so ably conceived that initially it’s like enjoying an old friend for the first time again. That’s why when the busy, overlong CGId clamor begins to take over, and ultimately to overwhelm and diminish what might have been a solid - even special - story about a group of kids who want to make a movie, it’s all the more disappointing.

Our Idiot Brother (USA) Directed by Jesse Peretz  Written by Evgenia Pretz; David Schisgall  Starring Paul Rudd; Zooey Deschanel; Emily Mortimer; Elizabeth Banks; Rashida Jones; Adam Scott; Steve Coogan; Hugh Dancy; Shirley Knight; Kathryn Hahn; T.J. Miller; Matthew Mindler

Jesse Peretz worked with lead Paul Rudd in the less than successful The Chateau (2001) before the latter became one of the go to guys for big budget comedies. Peretz also made the little seen The Ex (2006), starring Zach Braff and Amanda Peet. With Our Idiot Brother, the director takes a step forward, getting quality performances from an excellent cast, and doing something rare these days - creating a comedy containing characters that at least resemble actual human beings.

Too often the state of movie comedy seems to demand that we settle for either gross out stuff for the high school set, or absurdist parodies that often have a number of funny moments, but ultimately suffer from believability issues owing mostly to a lack of plausible character and plot development. Our Idiot Brother is not to be confused with more nuanced, darker offbeat recent offerings like Greenberg or Cyrus, and it doesn’t have the laugh out loud high points of films like Step Brothers and Get Him to the Greek, but it does manage to remain in a realistic realm while providing a number of laughs.

The basic family set up resembles PT Anderson’s Punch Drunk Love, with an emotionally repressed man-child belittled and steamrolled by strong, aggressive female siblings. The ‘joke’ (ala countless dumb guy comedies) is that heavily bearded organic farmer Ned actually has a lot of down home wisdom and life experience that his three emotionally confused sisters (Zooey Deschanel; Emily Mortimer; Elizabeth Banks) could learn from, if only they could stop judging him and shut up a second that is. We know where this will end, though somehow that doesn’t completely detract from the fun to be had getting there. Sticking strictly to genre conventions is always limiting, though Peretz et al do a reasonable job of creating enough nuances to keep things flowing.

At the open, Ned sells a small amount of weed to a uniformed cop, which winds him up in jail for eight months. The scene verges on the implausible, and immediately one is left wishing the screenwriters (a duo that includes the director’s sister Evgenia) had simply made him a part time weed dealer instead of pussyfooting around it. Rudd does a good job breathing life into a mostly stock character, though the opening arrest and his subsequent incarceration is only the first of several plot points - including his interactions with his p.o.; his walk-in on brother-in-law Dylan (played by a wasted Steve Coogan) -  that stretch the believability of Ned’s naivete to ridiculous proportions.

Deschanel and a dark-haired Banks (who has appeared in five films with Rudd), in particular, do well bringing their own unique energy to the mix, and a nice supporting cast includes Coogan; Adam Scott; and Hugh Dancy. Kathryn Hahn and TJ Miller too are particularly effective as Ned’s fellow hippie ex Janet and her new boyfriend Billy. Our Idiot Brother is a basically well constructed, well-cast entry, though one can’t help but wish those involved had been able to push the envelope a little more and stray off the beaten path.