The versatile Steven Soderbergh has made films stretching across myriad genres, while embracing a wide range of production models, throughout a career that includes directing over twenty features, as well as producing and directing a host of other narratives, documentaries, and television.

If not for his connection with the Ocean films, Soderbergh’s career might be judged in a somewhat different light, but those grossly commercial efforts forever stamp him as one of the few directors in recent memory who have the ability to move fluidly between projects of diverse budgets and ambition, and the attendant criticism that goes with the implication of his having sold out. Sure, if you are McG, or Michael Bay, or Brett Ratner, there is no expectation that you will ever create anything of the slightest artistic import. If you are Steven Soderbergh, however, you clearly know better.

It is perhaps this very ability to move in whatever circles he chooses - call it power, or adaptability, or whatever one might deem it, that makes Soderbergh something of an enigma. What is hard to deny is that he is one of the top visual storytellers in cinema (who also shoots his own films), and his compositions are often startlingly original. The man who made Che; Out of Sight; Solaris; Traffic; The Limey; and Sex Lies and Videotape is an intelligent, thought provoking artist with deep pockets of skill at his disposal.

If it were not for the likes of The Ocean Series; and, for instance, Erin Brockovich, one might more easily compare Soderbergh to someone like Michael Winterbottom, another filmmaker who is nearly impossible to categorize or define. Unlike most auteur directors, who traditionally mine personal territory throughout their careers, both of these men continue to take chances, making films about a variety of subjects, and bouncing around with such alacrity that it is challenging to define the themes of their work. The difference, of course, is that Winterbottom (by choice or necessity) doesn’t make films with the kind of budgets at Soderbergh’s disposal.

As Soderbergh talks about taking a sabbatical from filmmaking, we get Contagion, a big, finely crafted, vaguely dystopic/apocalyptic pandemic drama about government health institutions and what might happen if an infectious disease spread throughout the world. The film hearkens to some of the recently made films about world politics like Syriana (Soderbergh was one of the producers) and Babel, and to some extent Soderbergh’s own, Traffic, films that cross language and cultural divides, and seem to point toward our ever flattening world.

Creating a cohesive film with such a sweeping scope is no small task. Contagion was made for sixty million dollars, a huge amount of money to be sure, but nothing close to what is now considered de rigeur for most films of this size, particularly those in the sci fi realm. The idea has been done before, most notably, in Outbreak (1995), but Soderbergh’s entry is masterfully executed, moving though several storylines with whirlwind speed, while managing to give a stratified view of an event over a period of time.

Normally, this type of film suffers from overdone special effects/CGI; sappy, moralizing speeches; maudlin, melodramatic family moments; actors playing technical people who awkwardly spout science to explain the story to an audience; clipped storylines that ultimately leave an audience unsatisfied, or all of the above. Here, Soderbergh (working from a Scott Z. Burns script) mostly manages to stay the course by keeping the pace brisk and judiciously choosing scenes and montage sequences that illuminate without hammering us over the head.

The cast is superb, an embarrassment of riches that includes Gwyneth Paltrow as Beth Emhoff, an American woman who gets sick while traveling to Hong Kong on business; Matt Damon, as her befuddled husband, Mitch; Laurence Fishburne as Doctor Ellis Cheever, a high ranking member of the CDC (Center for Disease Control); Kate Winslet, a CDC investigator working for Cheever; Jude Law as Alan Krumwiede, a blogger concerned with government cover up; and Marion Cotilliard as Dr. Leonora Orantes, a researcher for the World Health Organization.

It seems obvious that Burns and Soderbergh, et al, relied on their research, and consultant Dr. Ian Lipkin (head of the school of Public Health at Columbia), for the science feels right. Only a few stumbles (the janitor storyline; a cloyingly saccharine scene toward the end), mar what is an extremely well done procedural examining bureaucracy, the connectivity of the nations of the world, and personal morality in the face of widespread catastrophe.

Meek’s Cutoff (USA) Directed by Kelly Reichardt  Written by Jonathan Raymond  Starring Michelle Williams; Paul Dano; Will Patton; Bruce Greenwood; Zoe Kazan; Neal Huff; Tommy Nelson; Rod Rondeaux

Based on a script from frequent collaborator Jonathan Raymond, Oregon native Kelly Reichardt’s fourth feature represents a departure of sorts, at least in the sense that it is a period piece - however, her austere, no nonsense aesthetic remains, making this a kind of foray into neo-realistic anti-Western territory. Based on actual events, the film tells the story of Stephen Meek (Bruce Greenwood), a man who led a party of settlers in 1845 along the largely untraveled Oregon trail, through the cascade Mountains, with mixed success at best.

Reichardt re-teams with the superb Michelle Williams (as Emily Tetherow), and it is a testament to her and the rest of the small, impressive cast that they participated in a project with such limited dialogue, though the talented Reichardt is obviously the draw. The ensemble reportedly stayed in a hotel that was some two hours from set, and the seamless work of Shirley Henderson, Paul Dano, Zoe Kazan, Will Patton et al, bring a quiet, understated authenticity to the proceedings.

At two million dollars, this is big budget according to Reichardt’s standards, but the director always manages to use her lack of resources as a strength, concentrating on the human beings enmeshed in the struggles she depicts. Shown in a 4:3 aspect ratio, meaning the picture is nearly square, one is forced to concentrate on the small group, their wagons, and animals, as opposed to the panoramic wide-screen ratios of more traditionally composed westerns, employed to encompass the lovely vistas and sweeping plains of the American west.

As always, Reichardt and Raymond are intent on telling stories without neat packaging. The film plays out with Beckett-like minimalism, the repeated shots of the monotonous journey serving as kind of life metaphor. We open with the party knowing they are lost, and throughout the film the group’s choices are obfuscated by the unknown, every decision loaded with possible dire consequences and benefits. Though the ending was reportedly influenced by budget considerations, there is an aptness to a conclusion open to multiple interpretations.

Based on a book by James Sallis, Drive also shares a number of similarities with the 1978 Walter Hill/Ryan O’Neal cult classic, The Driver. In both films the main character is a getaway driver, never referred to by name, whose silence is a prominent running theme. Like Hill’s actioner, Drive is strongest when it manages to remain grounded in a minimalistic approach that marks long passages of each film - however, both are also ultimately weakened by a series of plot excesses, and particularly in the case of Drive, over the top violence.

Danish Director Nicholas Winding Refn (the Pusher trilogy; Valhalla Rising; Bronson), 41, is no stranger to brutally violent films - in fact, his career to this point has been made up exclusively of work featuring violent protagonists. Gosling’s hand picked man impressively imbues the film with 80s flourishes, and, from the pink colored titles, to the electronic based soundtrack, to Gosling’s satin racing jacket and gloves, one cannot help but feel the overwhelming influence of films from that period - including Hill’s aforementioned fraternal twin; Friedkin’s 1985 cop drama, To Live and Die in L.A.; and particularly Michael Mann’s Miami Vice (84-90); Manhunter (1986), and Thief (1981).

Earlier in his career, Refn’s portrayed violence with far more restraint, making these well chosen/crafted scenes more disturbing, explosive, and realistic. His last two films, however, have seemed to take an increasing interest in revelling in all the blood and guts, ala Quentin Tarantino. What starts out as a moody, atmospheric neo-noir, compelling, even hinting at potential greatness for the first forty minutes, eventually devolves into utter cliche, becoming yet another cartoonish revenge action thriller.

Predictably, Gosling is the standout as the mysterious, soft spoken Driver (also referred to as ‘The Kid’), but there is some interesting casting going on - Albert Brooks, against type, as Bernie Rose, one half of a bad guy duo of sorts (in fact, the other half, Ron Perlman’s character Nino, seems in retrospect unnecessary); Christina Hendricks, underutilized as trashy Blanche; and Oscar Isaac as ex-con/other man Standard. Carey Mulligan is love interest Irene, and Bryan Cranston grizzled boss, Shannon, and their performances, like those of the rest of the cast are fine; unfortunately, the trod upon nature of the plot somehow eventually works to cast a shadow over the stronger elements of their individual turns.

It’s as if director Refn and screenwriter Hossein Amini didn’t trust that the style, pace, and the budding relationship of their leads could sustain for an hour and a half and felt the audience needed distractions aplenty as the film progresses. Though we start out with an edgy, restrained piece of cinema that seems to be easing into its story at a pleasingly leisurely pace, we are suddenly forced into an amped up roller-coaster ride that, unlike the previously referred to Thief, doesn’t feel at all earned. The third act is thusly filled with answering questions to a plot no one cares about, forgetting all about what was interesting in the first place.

Early on, though presented with a hackneyed set up, we as audience are willing to take the ride because the tone is so well attenuated, and there is mystery involving the people we meet. However, just as the intrigue is mounting, further character development is abruptly halted by a series of clumsily handled Charles Bronson moments, where a man who doesn’t carry a gun becomes an avenging angel of the highest order. There are plot details galore, including a tacked on ‘twist’, and all that wonderful subtly dominating most of first half of the film simply dissipates in a puff of smoke.

The real magic here is Gosling, and (for the first half anyway) an overall moodiness recalling an under-appreciated sub genre of films. What could have been a spare neo-noir with a slick retro vibe, instead becomes another hyper-violent, over-plotted action flick.

Crazy Stupid Love (USA) Directed by Glenn Ficara; John Requa   Written by Dan Fogelman  Starring Steve Carrell; Julianne Moore; Ryan Gosling; Analeigh Tipton; Jonah Bobo; Marisa Tomei; Kevin Bacon; John Carroll Lynch; Beth Littleford; Liza Lapira; Josh Groban; Liza Laira

Without Judd Apatow there probably would be no Crazy, Stupid Love. The go to comedy guy re-imagined what R rated comedies should be, and Crazy follows the same basic formula he established in genre melding films like Knocked Up, delving into real life issues in a humorous way.

Directed (but not written by) Glenn Ficara and John Requa, the writing team behind I Love You Phillip Morris (which they also directed) and Bad Santa, Crazy is a romantic comedy of sorts, in the same way that 500 Days of Summer was - a kind of anti-romantic comedy perhaps, but at it’s heart (as the title would imply) this one is about men and women and the way we relate to one another. From a script by Dan Fogelman (Cars 2; Fred Claus) there is nothing new or trenchant happening here, and it is the quality of the acting, and some assured direction, that keeps the film from landing on the wrong side of another multi-character story about love bearing a number of similarities to this one, Love Actually. Like it’s British counterpart (and later films like Valentine’s Day and the upcoming New Years Eve) there are a number of inter-related characters facing relationship/love dilemmas, and no small amount of treacliness and self-satisfaction. Crazy, Stupid Love is a little too filled with coincidences; a little too ironic; and a little too reliant on cliche’d ground covered in many other places, but particularly given the current dire straights of the Hollywood product, there is also much to recommend it.

Playing boring forty four year old father/husband/suburban accountant, Cal, this is probably Steve Carrell’s best dramatic performance. His half-articulated mumbles and trailing thoughts being notably effective as he portrays an average Joe beaten down by his mundane (though privileged) life. Despite his best efforts, Carrell is still not in the same universe as Julianne Moore in the way that a competent actor like Emma Stone, as Hannah, is not residing in the same district as Ryan Gosling, playing Lothario extraordinaire, Jacob. There are nice supporting turns from an underutilized Kevin Bacon and Marisa Tomei, but regardless of the order of the billing and/or screen time it’s mostly Gosling and Moore’s show.

What separates Crazy, Stupid, Love from the insipid romantic comedies that Hollywood continues to spit out on a regular basis is that it does, ala Apatow, take some chances with tone. The set up is nothing special (to say the least) as Carrell emerges as the Eliza Doolittle to Goslings’s Professor Higgins. The very nature of the storyline thus dictates that there will be learning in the end for all concerned, and the film dutifully follows that path, failing ultimately to veer from the accepted chartered genre course. It’s the amusing stops along the way that count here, however, and the film does contain a number of funny bits.

As was the case with their previous effort, I Love You Phillip Morris, Ficara and Requa, along with British cinematographer Andrew Dunn (Precious; Gosford Park; The Madness of King George), do well with the visuals, elevating the film from the usual flat style typical of comedic fare. In this way the film compares favorably to something like Soderbergh’s The Informant, and at least points to the work of the great PT Anderson, and Alexander Payne, auteur directors with a firm command over the look and tone of their material. Make no mistake, Crazy, Stupid, Love is hardly comparable to any of the films made by those two directors, but there is an obvious attempt here to treat the characters and the look as something more than disposable elements, and with only two films under their belts this directing duo could certainly be considered in the company of someone like Jason Reitman, who is also producing reasonable adult fair for the masses.

There are times when the alchemy of the serious and ridiculous feels strained. Until Funny People, Apatow usually defaulted to his his roots, grounding his characters as human beings, but ultimately leaning toward the comedic moment. In the same way that Funny People tread a precarious line between drama and comedy, Crazy tries to bounce from sincerity to near parody, and that tension is felt throughout. While, theoretically, this creates a more complex bag, it also highlights some very obvious plot construction. There is nothing wrong with sticking to the basic conventions of a particular genre, but there is an inherent problem with a genre as stale as the romantic comedy. When nothing (the twist notwithstanding) is done to push the envelope with plot we’re left with good dialogue, solid visuals, and some excellent actors who are hampered by the complete lack of originality vis-a-vis the storyline.

There is also something disquieting when one invests in characters as real, live people, and they then behave in erratic ways that simply don’t seem entirely true to life. Sometimes going for that easy laugh comes at the expense of the film as a whole, and resorting to some cloying lowest common denominator moments reduces what might have been a special film to something less than that. Though there is an attempt to make this feel like an ensemble piece, the other sub plots (the unrequited love of the babysitter Jessica (Analeigh Tipton) and preternaturally wise son, Robbie (Jonah Bobo), et al) are mostly given short shrift.

Still, while we know exactly where we are going the entire time, there is something to be said for at least using the right ingredients in the stew. Post viewing, one may not be left pondering Crazy, Stupid, Love, but it is undoubtedly a well done diversion.

The Adjustment Bureau (USA) Directed by George Nolfi   Written by George Nolfi  Starring Matt Damon; Emily Blunt; John Slattery; Terrence Stamp

Screenwriter George Nolti contributed to one of the atrocious Ocean’s sequels and to The Bourne Ultimatum, and here teams with one of the stars of those two films, Matt Damon, as the writer and director of this fantasy thriller. Based (loosely) on a short story, The Adjustment Team, by the estimable Sci Fi novelist Phillip K. Dick (whose work has been made into films like Blade Runner; Minority Report; Total Recall; and A Scanner Darkly, among others), The Adjustment Bureau’s basic premise is that a celestial group is responsible for dictating the fate of the human race. When life events arise that may alter a complex predetermined course they are called in to make adjustments. Damon is politician David Norris, who meets a young woman, Elise Sallas (Emily Blunt), and instantly feels a strong connection to her. The problem is they is not supposed to wind up together, and the film is about Norris’s attempt to alter he and Elise’s individual and dual destinies. The scenes with Blunt and Damon are witty and charming, worthy of a solid romantic comedy (is there such a thing?). Usually in films of the type the characters and dialogue become lost in the wash of technical details and CGI effects (the budget here was only 50 million), but as a writer Nolfi is clearly concerned with the words, and despite the ’science,’ he stays focused on Damon and Blunt. As good an actor as Anthony Mackie (as Bureau guy Harry Mitchell) is the film lags in some of the sections that have him teaching Norris about what his group does. One can’t help recall the extended sections of expository dialogue in Inception with characters essentially narrating the movie as we go, and there are moments when the whole thing frankly seems a bit silly. Thankfully, however, the film rests with Damon and Blunt, and surprisingly, given the genre, there is real romance here. While the on screen chemistry may not exactly remind anyone of the steamy connection of say a Burton and Taylor, there is a believable something between David and Elisa that makes the stakes seem high, and aids in the film’s timeless feel. Shot by the talented John Toll, the visuals are a plus.

British Director Ken Loach

The marvelous British social realist filmmaker Ken Loach has a channel, Ken Loach Films, on YouTube at   http://www.youtube.com/user/KenLoachFilms. Loach and his producing partner Rebecca O’Brien, through their Sixteen Films, provide an opportunity to view trailers, clips of Loach speaking in public, interviews, and a host of rare, hard to find older films that include documentaries Ken Loach: The Flickering Flame (1996); Carry on Ken; and television narratives from the BBC’s Wednesday Play series like Cathy Come Home (1966); The Big Flame (1969); and other TV offerings like The Gamekeeper (1980).

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Henri Langlois: Phantom of the Cinema (FR) Directed by Jacques Richard

Following a 1970 documentary entitled Henri Langlois, this French production’s title refers to a man who was not an actor, director, or producer, but whom nevertheless looms as one of the most influential figures in cinema history. Born in 1914, Langlois was a theater owner, a film studies professor, a preservationist, archivist, and museum curator who, for forty years, did his level best to save films from disappearing, educate anyone who was interested in the history of film, screen the best in world cinema to theater audiences, and provide a designed space for the public to experience the many film treasures he acquired throughout his lifetime. He was far ahead of his time when it came to rescuing nitrate celluloid and in collecting not just books and the physical films themselves, but telegrams, costumes, scripts, production drawings, photos, and the like. Starting in 1934, Langlois went about securing and then exhibiting his curated films, screening them wherever and whenever he could throughout the war. He engaged in a kind of battle of wills with the Nazis, protecting American and Russian films they wished to destroy and eventually recovering thousands of seized films, managing to save Blue Angel by trading the German occupiers a meaningless documentary. Langlois opened his museum and began showing films daily in 1948, and The Cinematheque became a home away from home for most of the new wave directors, including Chabrol, Rivette, Godard, and Truffuat, most of whom (along with filmmakers like Rohmer, Berri, Pialat, Garrel, and a host of various individuals involved with Langlois and French film in general) are shown here. The new wavers considered Langlois teacher and father, the man who helped instruct them and nurture their beginnings, schooling them on Dreyer, Murnau, Vigo, Keaton, Chaplin et al, and aiding them in developing the auteur theory espoused in Cahiers and adopted as a rallying cry for the groundbreaking movement. The iconoclastic Langlois was consistently in conflict with the state, who contributed meagerly to his efforts, and were constantly demanding accountability and bureaucratic control. When he was ousted in the late sixties, the new wave directors took to the streets, and the media, leading protests in his defense that eventually led to his return. Langlois was married to Mary Meerson, and had one adopted child. Meerson became his partner in crime, working by his side, and selling art to keep the cinematheque going. Though at its height the Cinematheque had some seventy five employees and sixty thousand films, Langlois died penniless in 1977, all of the utilities in his home turned off, but although his museum was later shut down, his legacy lives on. At one point in the film he says during an interview, “if you feed people crap, they lose their taste buds.” Langlois began when the critical view of the art form was vastly different than it is now. Perhaps as much as anyone, he helped shape how we view cinema, influencing critics, cinephiles, and filmmakers the world over by shaping and enriching our understanding of how to classify and appreciate a history of work.

Any list - particularly one involving television with its massive viewership and serial nature, is open to debate. For every group of Mad Men devotees there are no doubt an equally massive number of passionate fans of Family Guy, NCIS, The Walking Dead, Game of Thrones, or True Blood. This is, therefore, a subjective list of the best in narrative (as in it doesn’t include reality or talk programming of any kind) television currently on the air.

1. Mad Men (AMC)

Four seasons in, the best thing on TV. Already but a few pegs below The Wire and The Sopranos, and on par with Deadwood, as one of the best shows of the past decade.

2. Dexter (SHO)

Going into season six, Dexter may well have slipped some, but remains intriguing due to its signature color drenched cinematography and a gripping lead performance from Michael C. Hall, elements that help make this serial killer/police show one of the best on the air.

3. Curb Your Enthusiasm (HBO)

Misanthropic Larry David brings his innovative black comedy back for an eighth season (Seinfeld only ran for nine) and it shows no signs of slowing down.

4. Boardwalk Empire (HBO)

Great start to a sweeping series that hints at the possibilities of becoming an all time great. One hopes only that, ala Deadwood, budget considerations don’t force a premature end.

5. Breaking Bad (AMC)

Bryan Cranston heads a solid cast as Walter White, the ex-science teacher turned cancer survivor/big time meth dealer/manufacturer. Three seasons in, the show continues to prove itself to be a singular series without legitimate comparison.

6. Men of a Certain Age (TBS)

Ray Romano’s first series following Raymond is an insightful, tonally complex look at middle aged men and their problems. Smart, understated, and well acted.

7. Friday Night Lights (NBC via DIR TV)

Yes, it’s nearly over, but Friday is technically still alive. It will be missed.

8. Nurse Jackie (SHO)

The brilliant Edie Falco heads a marvelous cast of a show that revels in the minutiae of one morally compromised woman.

9. Weeds (SHO)

Last season (six) was not a high point in the shows history as, with the advent of the Mexican criminal plot, it began to devolve into the absurd. While the jury is still out after a few mediocre first few episodes of season seven, Weeds has been a long time quality mainstay.

10. Louie (FX)

Like Seinfeld with less set dressing than season one and way, way, way more depression. From the brilliant comedic mind of Louie C.K., something of an anti-show. It’s at times, shockingly honest, in a really refreshing (though sobering) way. Like Men of a Certain Age minus any of the good times and/or friendly banter or comeraderie, or Curb except meaner and a lot lonelier and more misanthropic.

Ten More Good Ones (in no particular order)

Episodes (SHO) Matt Leblanc (that’s right, Joey) stars as a version of himself. Surprisingly good first season.

Californication (SHO) While it dropped off some during a wildly uneven fourth season, threatening to become a kind of parody of itself, the show survives thanks to consistently profane and clever writing; David Duchovony’s mostly likable miscreant writer Hank Moody; a quality supporting cast (Evan Handler; Natascha McElhone; Pamela Adlon); fun guest stars, and a high insider Hollywood quotient.

The Office (NBC) It has become de rigueur to bash this show in recent seasons, but it’s still one of the best things on TV. Will be interesting to see where the show goes following the Michael Scott departure.

The Sarah Silverman Show (COM CENTR) Absurd, but consistently funny stuff from the twisted mind of one of the best comics out there.

It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia (FOX) Perhaps television’s most irreverent half hour keeps chugging along as it heads into it’s seventh season.

Modern Family (ABC) Disappointing fall-off after a stellar season one. This year might be make it or break it.

Parenthood (ABC) Though there are times when one wishes this family drama would take more chances, it is network television and this is about as good as it gets right now in terms of narrative drama heading into next season.

Life and Times of Tim (HBO) Critically (and critically) neglected animated series.

How To Make it in America (HBO) Another one the critics seem to have missed. An energetic show about two NYC hustlers trying to earn a buck.

The Ricky Gervais Show (HBO) Arose out of the podcast run by Gervais and his British Office partner Stephen Merchant, revolving around their animated discussions with idiot (savant?) Karl Pilkington.

The Trip (UK) Directed by Michael Winterbottom   Starring Steve Coogan; Rob Brydon; Claire Keelan; Rebecca Johnson; Kerry Shale; Margo Stilley

There are several moments in Michael Winterbottom’s latest that recall sections of Iranian filmmaker Abbas Kiarostami’s brilliant The Wind Will Carry Us (1999). Steve Coogan, playing a version of himself, is forced to travel long distances from the inns and hotels where he is staying in order to get phone reception, and we see him set against vast natural backdrops as he attempts to connect to the people in his life; there are also numerous long lensed static shots of a vehicle trolling along through the Northern English countryside that also remind us of similarly composed frames as Kiarostami’s erstwhile director and crew traverse the desert in search of their film.

The Trip started as a three hour/six part series for the BBC, and has been edited down to feature length for a theatrical release. That it takes a meta approach is unsurprising given the players involved (Winterbottom; Coogan; and Welsh comedian Rob Brydon) collaborated onTristam Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story (2005), a meta film if ever there was one. Like Kiarostami, Winterbottom is interested in, among other things, the relationship between filmmaker and audience and the way we perceive reality as it relates to the making of narrative/documentary, often blurring the line between the two. Winterbottom is nearly unpinnable when it comes to categorizing him as a director, seemingly intentionally navigating his career in such a manner that he has always been impossible to pidgeonhole. He continues to be highly respected by his peers and legitimate critics, however, and there is no dearth of top talent looking to work for and with him.

On the surface, The Trip’s premise of Coogan being hired by a publication (The Observer) to write about top shelf restaurants in Northern England, and bringing his friend Brydon along when his American girlfriend Mischa (Margo Stilley) and he take a break, sounds, frankly, like a snooze-fest. Structurally, the film bears some similarities to another famous for having two main characters who do nothing but talk, Louis Malle’s My Dinner With Andre. While Wallace Shawn and Andre Gregory similarly waxed poetic on subjects such as philosophy and art, among other intellectual matters, Coogan and Brydon are comedians and thus their conversations are more entertaining, albeit perhaps less substantial in content (a fact not helped by brevity that one can assume is the result of having to conform to the less than two hour run time).

The best thing about The Trip, beyond the laughs, is that Winterbottom imposes little overt commentary into the proceedings. Reportedly wholly improvised, Coogan and Brydon are allowed to be alternatingly funny, boring, annoying, selfish, and their opposites. Coogan’s character (one we’ve seen before) is a self-involved womanizer who looks down on Brydon’s career. Brydon comes off as an easygoing sort who concedes that Coogan is more famous and successful, but is simultaneously proud of his own accomplishments and relishes simply having the opportunity to make people laugh. Brydon longs to return home to his wife and child. Coogan misses his girlfriend (or recent ex), and would like to get back together with her, but seems more obsessed by legitimizing his career, and working with top directors (his American agent tells him it’s a good time to be Steve Coogan).

There are some excruciating moments with Brydon doing terrible impressions of American actors like Al Pacino, but the dueling Michael Caines and James Bonds are funny, and the sparring that goes on between the two is consistently amusing, even if it does eventually get trying. Coogan and Brydon annoy and entertain one another, seemingly in equal doses, and we as an audience feel much the same. The strength of their interaction is, in fact, that we imagine ourselves along for the ride, enjoying the fun, while dreading the claustrophobia that comes along with it.

The Trip itself consists of nothing more, really, than Coogan and Brydon driving in a Range Rover and making pit stops at various high end restaurants where they are served expensive multi course meals. Shots of the chefs preparing the food and waiters in designer suits serving them are infused with table conversation between the two as they comment on what they are eating, about comedy, their personal lives, poetry, literature, geography, and various other subjects. The pair also visit various landmarks, including a home of Samuel Coleridge, and Bolton Abbey. Brydon spouts poetry and does impressions non-stop (many of which bring about eye rolling and pleas for him to stop from Coogan); Coogan vomits geographical factoids and rambles on ceaselessly about himself and his career.

Yes, the minutiae and bickering gets tiresome at times, but the idea is that we have two forty-something men aging in vastly different ways. Brydon settled and satisfied, in love with his wife and baby, happy to be nothing more than a funny man. Coogan, divorced, smoking pot, chasing women, and feeling insecure as to his place in the business as a legitimate actor. He dreams about working with Wes and P.T. Anderson and The Coen Brothers, longing to be respected as a dramatic actor, while failing perhaps to grasp all the gifts he is presented with. At one point, Brydon compares him to Don Quixote.

Ultimately, The Trip is probably not enough of one thing or another - not a real food and travel guide; not a true comedy; not weighty enough to be actual drama; not satirical enough to be an actual mockumentary, but like it’s director it is satisfied with being difficult to categorize, content with merely existing as itself.