Martha Marcy May Marlene (USA) Directed by Sean Durkin  Written by Sean Durkin  Starring Elizabeth Olsen; Sarah Paulson; John Hawkes; Hugh Dancy; Brady Corbet; Louisa Krause; Julie Garner; Adma David Thompson; Maria Dizzle (Katie); Christopher Abbott (Max)

Twenty nine year old Sean Durkin writes and directs his first feature - a story about Martha (Elizabeth Olsen), a young woman who manages to escape an isolated cult farm in upstate New York, and is then haunted by her experiences as she attempts to re-adjust to everyday life.

The film caused a splash at Sundance, with awards going to the director and his twenty two year old lead, plaudits that prove to be deserving. Despite its low budget origins and limited locations, Durkin demonstrates a steady hand, and a cast containing the likes of John Hawkes (as cult leader Patrick); Hugh Dancy (as brother in law Ted); and Sarah Paulson (as older sister Lucy) are uniformly strong.

Younger sister of the famous twins, Mary-Kate and Ashley, Elizabeth Olsen gives the kind of breakout turn that comes along about once every year or two when an actor emerges from virtual obscurity to give a performance with the kind of breadth worthy of a quality veteran. It’s the kind of thoughtful, low key job marking the best work there is - behavior with invisible seams, on camera thought that never feels forced or contrived, emotion deriving from a true place as opposed to seeming divorced from on screen events.

Part of a producing team/company who made the indie Afterschool (2008), Durkin is also clearly a director on the rise. Broken into two sections - Martha’s experience at the cult told mostly in a series of flashbacks; and the initial days when she returns to real life, moving in with her sister and new husband into their expensive Connecticut vacation rental by the lake. Durkin manages to merge these two time frames - Martha in the present, beset with waking and sleeping dreams of the near past that intrude on her attempts at adjustment. Though this is a psychological drama, Durkin refuses the conventions of genre, and instead underplays the events, recognizing the emotion underneath the surface, but never punctuating Martha’s inner demons, or the domestic turmoil at play.

Paulson and Hawkes, two excellent actors who were both part of the cast of the late, great HBO series Deadwood, do their usual strong work. Though it’s difficult not to draw comparisons to famous real life types like Charles Manson, David Koresh, and Jim Jones, Hawkes seems to avoid the trap of impression, underplaying the role by straying from his soft spoken countenance only in several key moments, the power of his portrayal arising out of the very banal, methodical nature of his control. In a similar way, Paulson’s Lucy is a woman holding on to tremendous repressed guilt over not caring for her sister when their mother died, and the perfect life she and her seemingly not so kind new husband have precariously embarked upon becomes threatened by Martha’s strange, disruptive presence.

The inner workings of the cult feel nicely researched, with Patrick preying on the subjugated young women and exhorting militaristic like control over the men. These sections could have easily become didactic with a less skilled storyteller attempting to inform the audience all he/she knows about cults, but instead the scenes feel organic and grounded, and bits and pieces of life on the farm are delivered in a series of non-linear memories that never feel disjointed, confusing, or manipulative.

The camera loves the doe-eyed Olsen, and she rewards our interest by never forcing or pushing, but rather relaxes into her role, making even scenes with her sitting, or staring, or speaking one or two lines mean something. Yes, she is emotionally dulled, and in various stages of brainwashing throughout, but she remains compelling primarily because she is never “playing” at these various states. This ease also allows her personality to poke through in small ways, giving hints at what she may have been like previously.

In fact, all of Durkin’s characters are given the breadth to be actual human beings, and are not just one thing - particularly in the case of Lucy, who exhibits generosity toward, and concern for, her sister, but also demonstrates streaks of self-absorption and pettiness. One is left with the distinct impression of a woman with a less than intact interior life trying to piece it together. Martha’s presence seems to shine a flashlight on the tentative construct of who she has become, and several comments made by Martha wind up cutting to the heart of Lucy and Ted’s insecurities.

Durkin shows the same deftness with the dance that takes place between Martha’s dream and waking states, which are melded with her present and past life. Though there are obvious questions about Martha’s emotional fitness, the director doesn’t rely on showy camera tricks or visual effects to illustrate this concept - Images, Sisters, Three Women, or Repulsion this is not. Present, past, and dreams are played straight, and while Durkin often employs cuts that have us unsure of where we are as move to the other world, the transitions are handled smoothly and modestly, and have the effect of placing us alongside Martha as she bounces back and forth inside her head.

The title comes from Martha’s name (Martha); the name given to her by Patrick (Marcy May); and an alias used by the cult’s female residents when people from the outside call the farmhouse (Marlene), though metaphorically it could stand for the many facets of any human being/the multiple parts of self - what we tell ourselves; what we show the world; and how the world perceives us.

R (DAN) Directed by Tobias Lindholm; Michael Noer  Written by Michael Noer; Tobias Lindholm  Starring Johan “Pilou” Phillip Asbaek (Rune); Dulfi Al-Jabouri (Rashid); Roland Moler

Set inside Horsens State Prison (closed in real life) in Denmark, R is made in the same general vein as Jacques Audiard’s superior French film, A Prophet. As in Audiard’s film the lead character, in this case Rune (Pilou Asbaek), is a young inmate serving a two year sentence (In Audiard’s film it was six), who arrives at the prison without contacts, and finds himself having to contend with a system dominated by several violent gangs. Despite the fact that he is there for a stabbing, Rune is immediately terrorized by the hulking Mason (Roland Moller), and is soon subjected to various forms of humiliation, and later, forced to carry out jobs for a supremacist gang. Isolated, friendless, and seemingly without hope, Rune attempts to ingratiate himself, scheming with Arab prisoner Rashid (Dulfi-Al Jabouri) to funnel drugs across the prison. Adhering to Dogma 95 aesthetics, Co-directors/writers Tobias Lindhold and Michael Noer paint a fittingly grim portrait, eschewing accoutrements by allowing handheld camerawork, and silences punctuated by violence and harsh noises, rather than soundtrack music and technical flourishes, to frame the environment. They reportedly cast a number of ex-cons and guards to play versions of themselves and the authenticity shows. Where Audiard veered from social realist conventions to create a more epic story, Noer and Linholm stick to a spare handling, concerned only with unveiling a series of procedural events directly involving their lead. If the film ultimately lacks some degree of resonance, it does well detailing an unforgiving, brutal, and dangerous world of barbaric politics in a style as coldly aseptic as the environment it depicts.

Alice Guy Blatche may have made the first narrative film in 1896, but for many years there was a dearth of female directors around the world. Though historically Hollywood was exclusively a male bastion when it came to directing, there were a few exceptions - Ida Lupino (The Bigamist; The Hitch-Hiker) and Dorothy Azner (Dance Girl Dance) to name a few. The controversial Leni Riefenstahl was making films in Germany in the 1930s; Maya Deren and Shirley Clarke made experimental films in the nineteen forties, fifties, and sixties; Agnes Varda made Cleo From 5 to 7 and others in the sixties, and Chantel Akerman, Margarethe von Trotta, Diane Kurys, Joan Micklin Silver, Barbara Kopple, Lina Wertmuller, Penelope Spheeris, and others, did the same in the seventies, but the landscape did not really begin to change for women until the 1980s.

Since that time a host of other women have created a wide range of independent and studio films around the world. Names like Lizzie Borden, Julie Dash, Allison Anders, Jane Campion, Gillian Armstrong, Danielle Thompson, Sally Potter, Catherine Bigelow, Leni Riefenstahl, Joan Micklin Silver, Antonia Bird, Agnieszka Holland, Patty Jenkins, Tamara Jenkins, Isabel Coixet, Lone Scherfig, Patricia Rozema, Andrea Arnold, Mira Nair, Catherine Breillat, Susanne Bier, Nicole Holofcener, Claire Denis, and Marleen Gorris have, in their own way, contributed to cinema, making seminal films, winning awards, their efforts, talent, and skill continuing to pave the way for their fellow female directors who followed.

The world of cinema is filled with fresh female voices from a host of countries. The following list represents twelve of the top female directors under the age of fifty years old. Among them are some of the finest directors working today.

1. Sarah Polley (age 32) Candien who began acting at age six and directed her first stunning feature, Away from Her (2007) at age twenty seven, Polley is coming out with her second feature, Take This Waltz, this year.

2.Anna Bolden (age 35) Part of the writing/directing/producing duo (with Ryan Fleck) behind the films Half Nelson (2006); Sugar (2009); and It’s Kind of a Funny Story (2010).

3.  Miranda July (age 37) July’s follow up to her debut feature Me You and Everyone You know (2005) is The Future, currently playing in theaters.

4. Sophia Coppola (age 40) After a less than stellar acting career that included a famously panned performance in her father’s Godfather III, Coppola directed her first feature The Virgin Suicides (1999) at age 28, and won critical acclaim with Lost in Translation (2003). Her other films include Marie Antoinette (2006) and Somewhere (2010).

5. Lynne Ramsey (age 42) Scottish native behind Ratcatcher (1999); Morvern Callar (2002) and her latest, We Need to Talk About Kevin (2011).

6. Cate Shortland (age 43) This Australian native has only made one feature, the critically acclaimed Somersault (2004) - the film that helped launch, or at least propel the careers of Abby Cornish and Sam Worthington. Since that time Shortland directed the TV Movie The Silence (2006), and is currently in post-production on Lore, a period piece set in Germany.

7. Lucretia Martel (age 45) Highly acclaimed Argentinian director responsible for The Headless Woman (2008); Holy Girl (2004); and The Swamp (2001).

8. Kelly Reichardt (age 46) Oregon native Reichardt has made two films with actress Michelle Williams, Meek’s Cutoff (2010) and Wendy and Lucy (2008). Her debut feature was titled Old Joy (2006).

9. Lisa Chodolenko (age 47) Openly gay director, who had a big bit in American theaters with last years The Kids Are All Right. Her work includes Laurel Canyon (2002); and High Art (1998).

10.Agnes Jaoui (age 47) Known mainly as an actor, Jaooui has made Parlez-moi de la pluie (2008); Look at Me (2004) The Taste of Others (2000)

11. Rebecca Miller (age 49) Daughter of famed playwrite Arthur, the former actor Miller’s output includes The Private Lives of Pippa Lee (2009); The Ballad of Jack and Rose (2005); Personal Velocity (2002); and Angela (1995);

12. Tamara Jenkins (age 49) After her debut The Slums of Beverly Hills (1998), it took Jenkins nine years to make a second film. The result was 2007s The Savages, which starred Phillip Seymour Hoffman and Laura Linney.

Margin Call (USA) Directed by J.C. Chandor Written by J.C. Chandor Starring Kevin Spacey; Stanley Tucci; Jeremy Irons; Paul Bettany; Simon Baker; Demi Moore; Zachary Quinto; Penn Badgley; Mary McDonnell

Margin Call comes to us at a time when protesters throughout the country are demonstrating their disgust and outrage over a financial/political system that has disregarded the needs and general well-being of the average working person.

If HBO’s Too Big to Fail was an attempt to portray the collapse/near collapse of multiple Wall Street investment firms and the governments role in attempting to prevent systemic wide failure; documentaries like Inside Job and I.O.U.A. to provide a more intellectual delineation; then Margin Call, like Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps, is a stab at focusing on players in a particular firm, in this case one that arrives at a realization prior to the actual fall, that their situation is dire, forcing them to make decisions about whether to disclose this information or try to survive at all costs.

Margin Call seems to assume a basic understanding on the part of the audience of what happened with the American economy, and makes little attempt to explain the mortgage/credit swab/de-regulation/derivative issues at the heart of the crisis, instead distilling the massive, multi-layered problem by referring to an unseen graph demonstrating that the company has exceeded the margins of acceptable risk. Were the film to have been released before the general public became aware of the basic details of what went wrong economically throughout the world, this lack of explanation might have been a major problem, but we know, we get it, so the film does us a favor by cutting to the proverbial chase.

We open with a scene with a group of professional head choppers storming into the trading floor of a large financial firm. The scene is reminiscent of recent offerings like Up in the Air and The Company Men. One of the employees to go is risk management head Eric Dale (Stanley Tucci), who after nineteen years of service is informed he will be given a severance package and summarily escorted by a security guard while he cleans out his desk and exits the building. On the way out Dale hands a zip drive to his underling Peter Sullivan (Zachary Quinto, one of the producers who brought the film to screen), a late twenties trader, who we later learn has an advanced engineering degree from MIT (Dale was also an engineer in a previous life). Sullivan investigates the contents of the drive, learning that Dale’s work (which he had yet to finish) essentially means the firm is on the verge of going under, information which sets off a series of events involving the highest branches of the company.

The cast is excellent, with Penn Badgley (as Seth); Paul Bettany (as Will Emerson); Kevin Spacey (as Sam Rogers); Demi Moore (as Sarah Robertson); Simon Baker (as Jared Cohen); and Jeremy Irons (as John Tuld), along with the aforementioned Quinto and Tucci, representing a chain of employees making anywhere from a lowly two hundred fifty k per year to, in Tuld’s case, eighty nine million. As represented by these individuals, the film smartly makes clear what is possible in this world, and there is an ongoing theme having to do with the idea that these men (and women) dedicate their lives to a pursuit that produces nothing of tangible substance.

The company has been compared to Lehman’s, and Irons’ characters’ name is evidently a combination of Lehman’s chief Dick Fuld and Merrill’s John Thain, surnames that seem as equally made up as the amalgamated version. It is certainly easy, though, to compare the actions of the fictional company to any number of the multi-billion dollar firms that, with the governments help, essentially cheated one another, and the public, out of billions of dollars in worthless assets. It is interesting to hear the executives up the chain talk about not understanding the very models that define their business, a nod towards one of the many interesting facets at the heart of the actual crisis.

Thirty seven year old writer/director J.C. Chandor previously worked in real estate, and his father was employed by Merrill Lynch for forty years. He certainly seems to get the patois and milieu right. Chandor’s approach is interesting - he doesn’t demonize the individuals as other films of the type have had a tendency to do - if there is viciousness, it emerges more as a kind of chilly ambivalence, an acceptance that each decision, each strategic move, merely represents business as usual. Even a character like Sam, one we’ve seen before from Kevin Spacey, seems to be motivated more by his unspoken anger over being passed by for promotion in favor a younger man than by some deeply felt moral outrage. He, and several of the characters, including Sarah, and Eric, appear as upset about their warnings being ignored by those above them, than by the sickness infecting the entire system.

The proceedings are played out with impressive restraint, especially considering the pedigree of the cast, and the obvious temptation for a first time director to let the veterans ‘act’ (only Spacey is indulged with several showy moments, including an entirely unnecessary mini- subplot). There is more than a little resemblance to a film like Glengarry Glen Ross (which was based on the Mamet play), which also had an ensemble cast of excellent male actors, and at times showed the limits imposed by its origins. Though Margin Call was not derived from an existing work, its relative low budget (reported at 3.5 million) shows in the films’ lack of scope, a quality that (like Glengarry) results in a somehwat claustrophobic vibe (the action mainly takes place in the building), but in the end might work in its favor, as does the compressed time frame of events.

Though the Glengarry comparison (further highlighted by the presence of Spacey) is impossible to ignore, here, the boss/wolf bears little resemblance to Alec Baldwin’s uber male Blake, and there is no screaming, yelling, and/or threatening. Irons plays his role as a genteel, laid back commander who has been through the wars, refusing to let anyone see him sweat as he loses hundreds of millions of dollars overnight. Here, the death blows come with smiles and offers of coffee, and are explained in the most reasonable, logical way possible. Here, one gets one’s throat cut without out ever seeing the knife.

Melancholia (FR/GE/DAN/SWE)  Directed by Lars Von Trier Written by Lars Von Trier Starring Kirsten Dunst; Charlotte Gainsborough; Kiefer Sutherland; Alexander Skarsgard; John Hurt; Brady Corbet; Charlotte Rampling; Cameron Spurr; Stellna Skasgard; Udo Kier; Jesper Christensen

Fifty five year old Lars Von Trier’s latest is perhaps less shocking and controversial than his previous, Antichrist, but make no mistake, it is no less strange.

Gone is the low grade, naturally lit video from his Dogma-ish days; gone too are the undressed, chalk-lined studio sets of Dogville and Manderlay (though a third in the supposed Land of Opportunities trilogy was supposed to follow). Stylistically, the ten million-dollar plus Melancholia is closest to its immediate predecessor, because although the same epic/nasty fairytale feeling is no longer present, there is a kind of dark, other-wordly romanticism to this film as well, where people behave as if engulfed by some invisible fog (comparisons to Resnais’ Last Year In Marienbad (1961) would not be unfounded). Von Trier attempts to break the spell, and perhaps ground the film in the present by using a lot of shaky handhelds, but this only serves to further contribute to this bizarre, though compelling, mix.

In fact, shot with high end Phantom and Alexa digital cameras, the film begins with a gorgeously designed super slow-mo credit sequence (from Cinematographer Manual Alberto Claro), set to Wagner’s Tristan and Isolde, that includes lead Justine (Kirsten Dunst) in her wedding dress, visible electricity shooting from her fingertips, the ground collapsing between a mother and son’s feet, and muscular horses pulled by some imaginary force. It’s like some kind of dark work of fine art, classic rock album cover, or high end Elle shoot come to life.

The sequence is a prelude of things to come as in short order Justine will speak about her severe depression, describing the feeling (to paraphrase) as being akin to moving in molasses. Horses will play a prominent role in the film as well, and we will also discover that a planet named Melancholia is hurtling toward earth and may or may not pass our planet by. Privy to the strange events in the open, we as audience know that it will hit its mark, and so we also know that whether they believe it or not the characters are shortly facing the end of civilization.

Post credit sequence we cut to bride Justine (in her dress) and her new, tuxedo clad husband Michael (Alexander Skarsgard), who, two hours late for their own reception, pull up in the back of a limo with a driver who has a lot of difficulty parking. From the start, there is something odd about the way all of these people behave (not to mention the lack of explanation as to why children in the same family have completely different accents), even when they are supposedly acting normally. It is often difficult to determine where the line between bad writing/acting/directing and genius intersects with any artist who creates highly stylized work, though this has not prevented the lead actresses in Von Trier’s last two films from winning acting awards at Cannes. Judging Von Trier, however, through the prism of standard narrative filmmaking is basically impossible, in the same way that doing so with David Lynch is. One must instead digest the piece as a whole, allowing for rules only as they exist within the framework of the altered universe of the individual piece itself.

No matter what one feels about Von Trier as a public figure or a filmmaker (his many criticisms of The United States despite never having visited; his depiction of sexuality; his use of religious iconography; recent Nazi comments at Cannes, etc.), this polarizing artist has the ability to both confound and astound. There are times in Melancholia when the actors actions seem absurd, the entire enterprise nearly laughable, and yet there are at least as many others where the power and talent of this singular artist are revealed to be of the highest possible quality.

Kristen Dunst as advertising copywriter Justine has never been better playing a woman suffering severe, debilitating depression. Though critical response to her work varies, Dunst has always embodied a kind of dulled, passive persona akin to a surfer girl on opiates. Here it works perfectly, unveiling a character with a kind of disaffected aversion to life itself. In a role originally offered to Penelope Cruz (whose conversation with Von Trier reportedly led to him writing the script), Dunst might have redirected her career with what is obviously her finest work to date.

Broken into two parts, with Part One (titled Justine) basically involving the wedding - a strange, lavish, all night affair at the palacial residence of sister Claire (Antichrist lead Charlotte Gainsborough) and husband John (Kiefer Sutherland), who has flipped the bill for the entire event (filmed in Sweden, we are not told where we are supposed to be). Part Two (titled Claire) naturally centers on Claire, her husband, and son Leo (Cameron Spurr) -  Claire’s attempts to assist Justine with a depression that leaves her barely able to function, and also deal with the impending possibility of the approaching end of the world.

During the wedding, bad behavior abounds, and it becomes obvious that the mother of the bride, Gaby (Charlotte Rampling) is seriously unstable herself. The source of much of her bitterness and vitriol, ex-husband/father-of-the-bride, Dexter (John Hurt), is no prize either. Justine’s new husband Michael seems like a simple schmuck, in whom Justine appears to be not very interested, or at least not nearly as much as she should be. Obnoxious boss Jack (Stellan Skarsgard) offers Justine a promotion at the wedding, and then immediately demands she deliver a tag line for a company ad campaign before the night (yes, her wedding night) is up. All around Justine are people trying to decide her happiness, and dictate her future, for her.

The events at the wedding have a kind of random quality to them that could be seen as mirroring mental illness (everyone seems in varying degrees, off), but as the film continues it becomes easier to directly connect behavior to Von Trier’s obviously negative view of the human condition, as well as his longstanding battle with his own clinical depression. The story evidently arose out his experiences in therapy, and ideas about depressed people being better able to handle the apocalypse, and the through line to the Justine’s character, is impossible to ignore.

Gainsborough is, as always, excellent, matching Dunst in intensity, her extreme devotion to her sister complicated and exacerbated by myriad forces - her concern and intense love for her son, the pressures of an overbearing, fastidious husband, and an increasing fear verging on panic that all of their lives are in imminent danger. At one point she exclaims to Justine, “sometimes I really hate you,” and the line has the feeling of emotional truth that has not always been easy to decipher in Von Trier’s work. No one could miss the searing pain demonstrated by Dunst, however, particularly when she is so devastated (basically catatonic) that she cannot get into a bath, or eat her dinner. She is an oppressive force to all around her, and on some level knows it, but is helpless under a power greater than herself.

As the film pushes toward its conclusion in part two, Von Trier is able to further elucidate (if one can use that word) his world view (or at least his view filtered through his personal depression) by way of his doppelganger Justine. Predicting doom with the assurance of someone possessed with psychic powers, she espouses a kind of nihilistic, cynical, angry, and altogether dire view of human kind. This bleak outlook extends to her inability to feel empathy for her sister’s grave fear and final desire to make the best of the worst of situations.

The metaphor of the approaching planet Melancholia is, of course, a stand-in for the all encompassing, all ascendant domination of mental illness - an affliction with the power to wipe out one’s own individual humanity. And still, when the hour approaches, there is a nod toward that very humanity, as if even Von Trier couldn’t help himself in admitting to the gap of sunlight threatening to poke it’s head through the darkness.

The Descendants (USA) Directed by Alexander Payne  Written by Alexander Payne; Nat Faxon; Jim Rash Starring George Clooney; Shailene Woodley; Amara Miller; Nick Kraues; Beau Bridges; Robert Forster; Judie Greer; Matthew Lillard; Patricia Hastie

Throughout the filmography of Director/Co-Writer, Alexander Payne, there are identifiable recurring themes running though the work. Infidelity, death, aging, loneliness, middle-aged men in crisis who haven’t lived up to their own expectations of themselves, and a variety of other big ideas are woven into the tapestry of everyman social satires with scenes chock full of awkwardness and embarrassment. Payne is a skilled craftsman when it comes to creating films depicting various sub strata of (specifically midwestern American) life, giving his unyielding, cutting, though never fully misanthropic view of the people who populate this world.

Like his three previous films, The Descendants is based on a novel - this one by Kaui Hart Hemmings (who has a cameo in the film), but the departure for Payne is that for the first time he strays from his home state setting of Nebraska (the book and film are set firmly in Honalulu, and Kauai, Hawaii). The story focuses on Matt King (George Clooney), an attorney with a size-able trust fund he doesn’t use, who is mostly of Caucasian ancestry, but also distantly related to a native 19th century island princess. When Matt’s wife Elizabeth (Joanie in the novel), played by Patrice Hastie, is involved in a freak boating accident that sends her into a coma, he is forced to juggle a lucrative pending land sale for his enormous extended family (he is the trustee and the decision is his), while playing sole parent to his two troubled daughters, seventeen year old Alex (Shailene Woodley), and ten year old and Scottie (Amara Miller).

Clooney is Clooney, and despite the movie star looks manages to give off the air of a boring, middle aged man who has settled, perhaps too willingly, into his life of quiet desperation. While his wife’s coma, and the the news that follows that she will not recover, are obviously the inciting events dominating the film, what winds up motivating much of the action is the revelation that she had been unfaithful, and his subsequent quest to track down his wife’s lover. The pressure he is under is compounded by the imminent day of decision regarding the sale of the family’s vast private, undeveloped land, a deal most of his relatives have ravenously pursued since (as many of them are not in the same financial position as Matt) it will dramatically improve their lives.

Perhaps the strongest aspect of The Descendants is the examination of a well-off family that was clearly imploding before the tragedy. We hear about Matt’s wife’s trouble with drinking, and her pursuit of dare devil activities; Alex’s problems with drugs and penchant for older men; and Scottie’s emotional issues (those these are less well defined). Matt has been neglecting his family for some time, immersed in his work, emotionally checked out, and feeling powerless to contend with the domineering, erratic females who surround him.

Hawaii is ably photographed by Payne regular Phedon Papamichael, and we are privy to an array of beautiful scenes of nature - ocean, beach, rain, lush greens. Native Hawaiian music dominates the score, and there are obvious ideas here about the importance of respecting unsullied lands, and native culture, as well as clear efforts made to represent the island in an authentic way, though no real time is spend with any full blooded native people, who wind up merely as backdrop as the tale of these “Haolies” unfolds. If possible, the film feels like it gets the details right and at the same time misses out on some kind of important essence of the spirituality that is so important to the island.

It is not that this is anything less than a quality Hollywood film - something there is definitely not enough of nowadays, and many scenes involving Matt interacting with his daughters; Alex’s dopey friend, Sid (Nick Krause); and in-laws, Scott (an excellent Robert Forster) and Altzheimer’s sufferer Alice (Barbara Southern) are spot on, as is Matt and Alex’s entire search for closure in seeking out the man who cuckolded Matt. There is something very James L. Brooksian about the film - nothing subversive or particularly new to be found (Citizen Ruth it ain’t), but a nice story coupled with solid performances.

The Descendants also brings to mind a film like Up in the Air, made by a director, Jason Reitman, who might be a younger version of Payne. The difference being that the wider social issue in that film (namely, the employment crisis) felt more connected to both real life and the main narrative, and thusly less tacked on (though ironically it was). Here, the land sale plotline unfortunately feels too often like a device that isn’t completely integrated in the family drama/comedy we see unfold. The real emotion in the piece lies there, manifested most acutely by several excellent scenes involving Clooney and eldest daughter Alex (Woodley is the surprise and consistently good throughout) that feel particularly raw.

Though undoubtedly the film feels lived-in - no small feat, and a mark of a strong, experienced director in control of his material, there is ultimately some connection missed between the two story-lines that renders the final product a bit flat. With that said, Descendants will likely get plenty of recognition come awards season.

Like Crazy (USA) Directed by Drake Doremus  Written by Drake Doremus; Ben York Jones  Starring Felicity Jones; Anton Yelchin; Jennifer Lawrence; Alex Kingston; Oliver Muirhead; Charlie Brewerly

In three years, twenty eight year old director/co-writer Doremus has somehow made three feature films, including his latest, Like Crazy, which won the grand jury prize at the 2011 Sundance film festival.

Like Crazy is an intimate portrait of young love, and the two leads, Anton Yelchin as Jacob, and Brit Felicity Jones as Anna, give truthful, open performances in a spare story that manages to refrain from devolving into soap, sap, or simplicity. While the plot is hardly perfect, with a major device that does not always feel entirely organic, and a few details that seem a bit convenient or writerly (the complete omission of any of Jacob’s friends or family; the lack of reference to his affording a cool loft and work space; Anna’s quick professional ascension in a difficult industry; Jacob’s obvious ability to move to London at any time), any failings are ultimately redeemed by a fittingly downplayed tone, with emotion arising out of small, improvisational feeling moments as opposed to big, arching scenes full of angst.

Shooting on the DSLR Canon 7D, Doremus relies heavily on jump cuts, still photography, and odd angles to create a series of prettily composed montages demonstrating time pass. While an over reliance on montage almost always signals a less then fully fleshed out plot/script, here the device actually manages not to seem overly stale, and keenly captures elements of the exhilaration of burgeoning love without coming off as excessively cloying or manipulative (cliched shots of bumper cars and the Santa Monica Pier notwithstanding).

Jacob, a somewhat stoic/reserved, curly haired furniture design major, and Anna, a pretty, sensitive, super eloquent English major meet in their senior year and begin a love affair that forms the basis for the film. The two are are initially happy, immersed in the rapture of newly being together, but Anna’s forced looming departure, and subsequent visa issues throw a monkey wrench into their bliss. The film documents their attempts at navigating a long distance relationship as they begin their careers in cities on opposite sides of the Ocean.

The devil is in the details and it is here that Doremus and company should be applauded. The design and visuals are top notch, utilizing the lightweight, portable camera to give urgency to the exterior shots, and getting the look of the interior spaces just right. We are throughout treated to some wonderfully tender cinematic moments, lit with care, and feeling fully workshopped and fresh - looks, gestures, sighs, and touches between two people in the hypnotic throes of what one can only assume is first love for them both.

In the way that this time of life is confusing and mysterious for most, we as audience are not allowed all the biographical details about either Jacob or Anna, and they continuously struggle to get across to one another the strength (though at times complicated nature) of their feelings, choosing gestures, notes, texts, and gifts to express what cannot always be adequately verbalized. The longing ache of attachment that borders tentatively on obsession is evocatively portrayed (differently for each character) through a roller coaster of connections, separations, and re-connections that have an audience unsure of how it will all resolve.

While the stakes are relatively small - simply the love and future of two likable, attractive young people, this very smallness winds up a strength. Where obstacles are usually presented in films of the type  - disapproving parents, infidelity, disease - here the couple faces a selection of more ordinary, messy difficulties. Yes, there is the ever present construct of the visa issue, but time, distance, youth, jealousy, and the subsequent natural slipping away of what was once firmly in their grasp, namely that precious commodity of true romantic love, combine to add up to what mostly feels reminiscent of real life couplings, and the confusion, fear, and desperation their love brings about are all touchingly portrayed.

Like Crazy includes nice supporting turns from the lovely Jennifer Lawrence as Sam (who gets much accomplished with little dialogue); Charlie Brewerly as Simon; Finola Hughes as Liz; and Alex Kingston and Oliver Muirhead as Anna’s parents, but the film naturally resides in the moments between Jones (an actress to watch) and Yelchin. Based on (or inspired by) Doremus’ real life relationship with his ex wife, comparison to films like 500 Hundred Days of Summer; Before Sunrise/Sunset; and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind are not unwarranted. A knowing, sensitive look at first love that will ring true for all who, for better or worse, have been there.

Buck (USA) Directed by Cindy Meehl

Buck is the story of Buck Brannaman, the man who both advised Nicholas Evans while researching his book The Horse Whisperer, became the model for Evans’ lead character, and then served as a consultant on, and double for Robert Redford, on his film of the same name. Buck refers to himself as a horseman, but regardless of what one calls him, Buck is a fittingly quiet, leisurely profile of a man who suffered horrendous abuse as a child, but went on to become an expert in his field. Brannaman grew up in the American Northwest, a child performer who, as “Buckshot” practiced rope tricks with his brother, “Smokie,” as part of a famous duo called The Idaho Cowboys, under the tutelage of their vicious father, Ace, who beat the boys mercilessly from the time they were small. There is a wonderful Zen-like message here about the treatment of human beings and animals alike, and who better to understand about the evils of disciplining animals through maltreatment than a human being who was maltreated himself. First time Director Cindy Meehl met Brannaman at one of the many horse clinics (some 1500 and counting) he conducts that take him away from his family for nine months out of the year. Meehl is clearly not after digging into the story with an investigative eye, and there is little attention paid, for instance, to Buck’s brother Smokie, a strange omission given their shared past. An interesting side note is that the brother runs a horseman business of his own, bringing into question whether this omission was financially related, which also calls into question exactly who was controlling the content here. There is also, oddly, no talk of Brannaman’s other two daughters, and we see only wife Mary, and daughter Reata, who rides horses and is described as being just like her father. Still, we do hear from the foster mother and father who took Buck and his brother in, childhood friends, work colleagues, and others, who express a similar awe regarding his inspiring life story and ability to connect, tame, and train horses without resorting to cruel and aggressive treatment. Given to understatement, Buck is soft spoken on camera, but the action with him working with the horses, doing what he does so well, speaks volumes.

Breaking Bad (AMC) Renewed for one more (16 episode) season this past August, Breaking Bad wrapped its fourth earlier this month, and it was as good as any of the ones previous. Vince Gilligan’s marvelous story about high school science teacher/cancer patient Walter White’s (Bryan Cranston) descent into the dirty business of meth dealing has managed to grow into a wider reaching drama about organized crime, money laundering, and federal law enforcement, while managing to keep us tightly invested in the main characters, including Walter’s former high school student/current partner Jesse (Aaron Paul); ex-wife Skyler (Anna Gunn); brother in law/DEA Agent Hank (Dean Norris); and bad guy boss Gus (Giancarlo Esposito). Rather than straining to keep the drama alive, Gilligan et al have, ala The Sopranos, shrewdly kept the story exciting without ruining the plausibility and sense of realism they worked so hard to create in the first place. Though there are some wildly violent action sequences in season four, the drama is always well plotted, never random and over the top, a feat that should not go unrecognized. Though AMC is reportedly having money trouble with the expensive cast of Mad Men and their costly new show Walking Dead draining their coffers, it is good news to know that Breaking Bad will get an extra long final season, with a break in between that should allow Gilligan and staff to come up with a fitting conclusion to one of the best shows ever on the airwaves.

Beats, Rhymes, and Life: The Travels of a tribe Called Quest (USA) Directed by Michael Rapaport

The title comes from A Tribe Called Quest’s 1996 Grammy Award nominated fourth album. Director Michael Rapaport, better known for his acting talents, examines the history of one of hip hop’s most beloved and respected acts. Consisting of founding members Q-Tip (Jonathan Davis/Kamaal Fareed) aka The Abstract; Phife Dawg (Malik Taylor); DJ Ali Shaheed Muhammed; and originally (and then only occasionally) Jarobi White (who is now a chef), the group’s origins date back to when the foursome were teenagers in New York City in the late 80s. Tribe, who brought us classics like Award Tour; Bonita Applebum; Can I kick It?; Buggin Out; and Scenario, was part of a kind of collective that originally consisted of a collaboration with the Jungle Brothers (who they knew in high school) and De La Soul, which they called Native Tongues. Though Native Tongues didn’t actually create much with all of these three groups together, the basic idea took root, and a host of variations throughout the years would include repeated pairings with artists like Pharcyde; The Roots; Monie Love; Queen Latifah; The Leaders of the New School; and Black Sheep, among many others. In fact, the way these groups shared their talents and ideas, and worked on/influenced one another’s projects, helped create the basis for a new style of socially conscious, afro-centric, funk/jazz/soul hybrid sometimes called New School. We hear from a long list of hip hop luminaries, including Common; Marry J. Blige; Mos Def; Adam Horowitz; Talib Kweli; and Pharrell Williams, all of whom cite Quest’s influence on the art form. It is always a bit disturbing to find the subject of a documentary listed in the producing credits, but this never feels like a puff piece, mostly because Rapaport doesn’t shy away from detailing the longstanding friction between the now 40-somethings Q-Tip and Phife Dawg, a fractured relationship that comes to serve as a kind of ongoing storyline propelling the film forward. While unity and brotherhood are certainly legitimate elements of the overall panorama, so to is aging, ego, control, and artistic integrity. Rapaport obviously unabashedly loves the music, but thankfully it doesn’t seem to keep him from painting a pleasingly complex portrait. Tribe as an entity is an interesting amalgam, with the DJing, multi-instrument playing, prolific, perfectionist producer Q-Tip, a member of the nation of Islam, and the sports obsessed, diabetic street kid Phife Dawg, serving as the most obvious contrast in personality and style. While plenty of artistic accolades have come their way over the years, in the end this is a story about a group of real life friends with a shared personal and professional history. The group officially disbanded in 1998 after only five albums, and master sampler Q-Tip went on to pursue a solo producing and performing career (a fact that still rankles Phife), but they have (despite some serious acrimony) gotten together for several tours since then. Their place in music history might be cemented, but mirroring real life, their ongoing and evolving personal and professional relationships don’t come wrapped up neatly with a bow on top. “Yo, Microphone check, one two what is this. The five foot assassin with the roughneck business.” Indeed.