About Schmidt (IMDB) (Netflix)
A rapid succession of life events (retirement, marriage of an only child and worse) cause Warren Schmidt (Jack Nicholson) to re-evaluate his life in this most solemn of comedies. Taking to the road in his RV, he comes to grips with loss, the looming horizon of mortality and in-laws---lots of in-laws, richly played by Kathy Bates, Dermot Mulroney and Howard Hesseman, plus Hope Davis as his daughter.

It's instructive that when Schmidt cries at the end, it's essentially an upbeat ending that Elisabeth Kubler-Ross would approve of. This movie walks a tonal tightrope that's realistic, touching and instructive, and Nicholson is on a streak of vulnerable performances that began with As Good As It Gets and The Pledge. Bates and Mulroney are here for comic relief (we can retire the waterbed jokes now, OK?), and Davis has a fairly brave role as the daughter who's trying to break free just when Dad needs her the most. One of the most sincere and effective films about Middle America in some time.

Intacto ("Intact") (IMDB) (Netflix)
Another Spanish flight of fantasy, featuring serious consequences. Max Von Sydow is a Holocaust survivor with incredible luck, and if that weren't annoying enough, can steal your own mojo from you. He's got some challengers for his top spot, though; they live among us and use up our precious karmic fluids for their own gain, knocking off the competition for the opportunity to "play" for the ultimate stakes with Max. It's as intriguing a premise as you've seen in a while, and almost as confusing, but hang in there, you might be rewarded.

For someone whose understanding of the vicissitudes of fate barely reaches "unlucky in love, lucky in parking," this was a challenge. You're continuously left to piece things together as you follow the story of people who survive plane crashes and attempt to run blindfolded across busy highways, and somehow use photographs of others to build up their ability to win at roulette, both the casino version and an insanely turbo-charged Russian variant. It's all very conceptual, but somehow I was drawn into this world, trying to puzzle through the rules of this world, and hooked by Von Sydow's gravitas and solemnity (his hit-man character in Three Days of the Condor has haunted me for almost thirty years). None of this is to suggest that the film's meaning is now clear, however, or that the payoff is overwhelmingly rewarding. For those who appreciate originality, have a tolerance for ambiguity and enjoy the process of solving the puzzle more than the result.

Daredevil (IMDB) (Netflix)
The latest comic book popcorn movie, but not the last (X-Men 2 opens in May, followed by Ang Lee's The Hulk, and the next Spiderman has just started filming). Daredevil (Ben Affleck) is one of the lesser-known superheroes, blinded at an early age by biotoxins that sharpen his remaining senses to such a pitch that they become both a blessing and a curse, and require a sensory deprivation chamber for him to get any sleep. It's hell on relationships. He also has the classic genre baggage of seeing one of his parents die before his eyes (so to speak), and a desire for "justice" that approaches obsession. There's also a love interest in Alias's Jennifer Garner, who has the martial arts bug in a big way, the evil Kingpin (played by Michael Clark Duncan, the deep-voiced XXXXL black dude from The Green Mile) and an eponymously tatooed assassin, Bullseye, performed by Russell Crowe manqué Colin Farrell.

You're seeing so many of these films today thanks mostly to risk-averse studios, but computer-generated imagery has gotten so sophisticated that just about anything a superhero could do on paper can now be believably rendered on the screen, and Daredevil uses all this technology to wonderful effect. The way the filmmakers depict Daredevil's "second sight" ability is the highlight of the film, which is much darker than its peers, featuring large doses of noncartoonish violence. Garner has one of the most grrrl-like roles since Linda Hamilton's Sarah Connor in Terminator 2, but the movie doesn't transcend the genre so much as burrow deep inside it, and the amount of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon-style swooping is excessive for a movie that reaches so hard for realism. Certainly not a failure, nor a standout. My money's on The Hulk.

Lost in La Mancha (IMDB) (Netflix)
Cervantes's "Don Quixote" defeated legendary filmmaker Orson Welles, and you certainly haven't seen Terry Gilliam's attempt, "The Man Who Killed Don Quixote." This documentary, which starts out as a typical little "making of" film, explains what happened to the latter project, laying out a director's slow-motion nightmare in the same way that Hearts of Darkness revealed Francis Ford Coppola's near-Waterloo, Apocalypse Now. One of my few brushes with greatness involve trying (I suspect unsuccessfully) to take a leak while standing next to Gilliam, so I feel a bond of sorts with the animator for Monty Python and director of minor classics like Brazil, Time Bandits and the Fisher King. He also was responsible for the awful Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas (only one of two times I've walked out of theater) and the financially Cimino-esque Adventures of Baron Munchausen. Gilliam has a slightly overstated rep for biting off more than he can chew, which no doubt drew the documentarians. Nothing like a disaster to spice up reality.

"Lost" sits closer to the impressive Hearts of Darkness than HBO's drawn-out Project Greenlight; we're really inside the production, and in the head of Gilliam, who encouraged the filmmakers to keep shooting as things fell apart. There's little of the back-biting that marred Greenlight, but because "Lost" hasn't been released, there isn't that instructive opportunity to compare the finished film to the star-crossed production that preceded it (you see enough to appreciate that the story was right up Gilliam's stylistic alley, however, and to wish that it had been finished). On balance, it's an entertaining lesson on what a crapshoot movie-making is, and counter-intuitively, it somewhat rehabilitates Gilliam's reputation. His heartbreaking loss has resulted in a minor delight of a documentary.

The Quiet American (IMDB) (Netflix)
The world might really appreciate a quiet American just about now, but not necessarily Alden Pyle's (Brendan Fraser) variety, a member of the U.S. legation to Vietnam in 1952. He befriends gone-native journalist Thomas Fowler (Michael Caine), who has a Saigon mistress while the missus stays back in London, but it quickly gets awkward when Pyle declares his smitten-ness with Phuong (Do Thi Hai Yen). Pyle has other intentions as well, which ultimately challenge Fowler's role as an impartial journalist.

Based on the Graham Greene novel and filmed in Vietnam, this is a layered, textured story that taps the themes of loyalty and betrayal, objectivity and involvement, self-determination and external manipulation. Caine believes he's done his best work here, and it's difficult to disagree, and Fraser finally establishes his acting bona fides by blending the multiple facets of his complex character into an archetype of American dangerous idealism. The Year of Living Dangerously may have pushed the same buttons with more impact, but The Quiet American's restrained quality serves it and the audience well.

The Recruit (IMDB) (Netflix)
Welcome to yet another movie version of the CIA, where "nothing is as it seems," as recruiter, instructor and spymaster Al Pacino never tires of telling newbie Colin Farrell. Pay attention, you'll be seeing many more of these flicks in the coming years. Farrell is a recent MIT grad; a computer geek, tops in his class and able to maintain a three-day stubble for weeks on end, but he's obsessed with finding out what really happened to his father, who died under mysterious, maybe clandestine, circumstances. Pacino exploits that baggage, and blurs the line between training and real world so much that Farrell doesn't know which way is up, or who's good or bad.

It's a competent thriller that keeps the audience guessing, and the characters are engaging enough (Bridget Moynahan is a wonderful distraction) to want to see what happens to them, but it's formulaic in the extreme, with blatant foreshadowing that results in underwhelming payoffs, and a couple critical plot points that fold under a moment's reflection. Passable entertainment for those who choose to be in an uncritical frame of mind.

Morvern Callar (IMDB) (Netflix)
Your boyfriend has just a) finished his first novel and b) killed himself in your apartment. What do you do? My guess is that you wouldn't make any of Morven Callar's (Samantha Morton) choices, which are mostly inexplicable and off-putting.

Small, non-traditional films are often a crapshoot--there are the little gems that make you want to run out of the theater at the end to tell everyone that they just have to see it, and there are the ones that, well before the end, just make you want to run out. "Callar" is the latter kind, minimally plotted and featuring enigmatically motivated characters, a let's-just-roll-the-cameras-and-see-what-happens pacing, and a so-what point. It's also a bad sign when the character you most root for has died before the film starts.

After delivering the best performance in Minority Report as one of the "pre-cogs," Morton does what little she can with the opaque material, but this adaptation from Alan Warner's novel likely suffers from the screenwriters being too faithful to a book consisting of extensive internal dialogue and exposition that, as the movie professionals say, "won't shoot." At least, not without wholesale re-conceptualization for the screen (fellow traveler Erica Lauf lauded The English Patient for working both as a novel and as movie, but only by being two very different treatments of the same story). I stopped trying to care about Morton's character after ten minutes, and felt sorry for Scotland, which is the geographical and cultural whipping boy of the film, again for no apparent reason.

Confessions of a Dangerous Mind (IMDB) (Netflix)
George Clooney's first directorial gig, based on the real-and-almost-certainly-imagined life of Chuck Barris, a songwriter (Palisades Park), game show producer (Dating Game, Newlywed Game and the Gong Show) and contract killer for the CIA. Or so he said in his autobiography, claiming an impressive/absurd 31 successful assignments. Making this dubious story shootable is a job for the equally dangerous screenwriting mind of Charlie Kaufman, whose Adaptation is still in theaters, and follows up the inventive Being John Malvovich.

When most actors try their hand at directing for the first time, they're pretty conservative, thinking "let's just get it in the can on time so I can do this again later when my acting fee drops." Clooney, who doesn't take a lot of risks with his own performances, goes the other way, letting his crew make some aggressive stylistic choices, and allowing the cast, well led by Sam Rockwell, to be outrageous enough to sell the material--but believable throughout its broad tonal range. Drew Barrymore is sweet as Barris's victimized girlfriend without being a doormat, and Julia Roberts makes a respectable femme fatale. In the moment of watching, the film works better as a dark comedy than the reflections of man repulsed by his low-brow success, but in the ensuing hours, burrows into the psyche. Your reaction to Kaufman's other work should be an accurate predictor of whether you'll enjoy "Confessions."

25th Hour (IMDB) (Netflix)
Tomorrow, drug dealer Monty Brogan (Edward Norton) goes up the river for seven years, but today he's saying goodbye to his friends, one of whom probably ratted him out--perhaps his girlfriend (Rosario Dawson). He's also more than a little doubtful of his longevity as an inmate. This is the first post-9/11 New York film, directed by Spike Lee, from David Benioff's adaptation of his novel. Who better to do it than Spike?

I haven't seen all of his films, but this is the best of what I have seen--less self-conscious and less confrontational, and the better for it. There aren't that many twists in the plot--this is pretty much about a guy who's going to prison in the morning and doing what most people would do in that situation--spend time with intimates, find someone to take care of his dog, have a meal with his Dad. So hold the action, go heavy on the subtext and characterization, watch out for the unmarked flashbacks, and add a couple of Spike Lee Joint side orders, which are wonderful monologues/montages by Norton and Brian Cox (as the father). These two sequences (the second in particular) lifted what would have been a very competent-but-unremarkable genre piece into something more mature, more profound, more...poignant, taking on a New Yorker's love/hate for the city, and even more affecting, the road that could easily have been taken. As the audience member behind me noted, it's "heavy," but not exactly a downer.

Talk to Her (IMDB) (Netflix)
Real men don't let a little thing like a coma come between them and their loved ones, at least not in the imagination of Pedro Almodóvar (All About My Mother, Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down!). Benigno and Marco each have someone in the vegetative way, but approach their circumstances differently, one seeing it as problem, the other, an opportunity (and what might that be...). This leads to, as the IBM manuals used to say, "unpredictable results."

Almodóvar's typical looseness with reality is more under control here, mostly contained in some plays- and a movie-within-a-movie pieces (the movie bit is also a good litmus test to see if your date has any prudish tendencies, but is mainly good clean--we hope--fun). Javier Cámara, as Benigno, does a really subtle job with a role that could come off the rails any time. And while Talk to Her works on the whole, there are a few too-convenient moments, and at least one missed opportunity (the second bullfight) that would have built in some tension and generated more affection for two of the characters. It's also too languid by half, making this relatively short 112-minute film play like 150. A Golden Globe nominee for best foreign film, however, so somebody likes this a lot, but for me, more work has been done with less concept in other films.

Nicholas Nickleby (IMDB) (Netflix)
This Charles Dickens classic has been remade more often than Enron's financial results, from Victorian theatrical productions to a 1903 silent film to a nine-hour Broadway play. And why not, it's got all the elements of a great populist yarn: evil financiers, abused street urchins, beleagured families and heroic youths railing against oppression. The Nicklebys, minus the recently deceased father, unwittingly put themselves at the mercy of Uncle Ralph (Christopher Plummer), whose unctuous manner poorly masks his exploitive tendencies, and even blood relatives aren't safe. Nicholas (Charlie Hunnam) ends up teaching at Mr. Squeers's abusive school for unwashed boys, and Sis (Romola Garai) gets fixed up with one of Ralph's leering investors.

A host of other character actors, including Jim Broadbent, Edward Fox, Tom Courtney, Nathan Lane and Juliet Stevenson, fill in the supporting roles with relish and wit--there's no subordination to the leads here and they make the most of their screen time. There's also no grayscaling in the personas; you're either bad person or a good one, and character development is nil over the two-plus hours. No matter, this story is about bad guys getting their comeuppance, and us enjoying it. Some of the logic of the ending escapes me, but by that time I had been well won over by the humor, heart and warmth.

Adaptation (IMDB) (Netflix)
Every writer has a story about being blocked—the humorist Robert Benchley supposedly started one such day by typing "The" on a fresh sheet of paper, stopped, went to a bar and drank himself stupid, returned to the typewriter that evening newly inspired and continued with "hell with it." Then he went to bed. Screenwriter Charlie Kaufman (a real person who wrote Being John Malkovich and the upcoming Confessions of a Dangerous Mind) has to adapt "The Orchid Thief" by Susan Orlean (a real author, played by Meryl Streep, and Chris Cooper is the real-life orchid obsessive John LaRoche). Played by Nicholas Cage, Charlie is a successful but self-conscious wreck on his best days who can't get a handle on how to approach the screenplay. Adding to his misery is twin brother Donald, who decides to also take up Charlie's profession, but blithely foregoing the angst of realizing how hard this stuff is to do.

It may be a common premise and seemingly too self-referential, but the Kaufman boys (the real ones--correction, Charlie's real, Donald isn't, but shares screenwriting credits, which is a clue for what's in store) sail from humorous reality for more absurd shores, spinning into a recursive loop that tickles the brain and tweaks the screenwriting game, including real-life guru Robert McKee. The fun comes from being in on the joke, and is essential for appreciating the third act. Director Spike Jonze is a clear match for this kind of conceptual material because he can do it without being campy, and Cage's innate intensity serves him well, especially when he's playing Charlie. Lots of fun.

Catch Me If You Can (IMDB) (Netflix)
Based on the true story of a hall-of-fame paper hanger and trickster Frank Abagnale, who kited millions of dollars in checks around the world in the 60s, courtesy of Pan American Airways. Leonardo DiCaprio has the lead, and Tom Hanks is the obsessive, humorless G-man just one step behind the con game curve.

This has more substance than the breezy romp it's positioned to be, maybe by being mostly true, and because Christopher Walken resonates as Abagnale's down-on-his-luck dad who is the oak tree to Leo's more successful acorn. DiCaprio is fine, but as with Gangs of New York, someone else–Hanks this time–has the more interesting role and exploits it most effectively, combining his rubber face, jerky body language, a Boston accent and heavy black glasses to great effect, carrying the comic relief load while typifying the narrow dedication of the ideal civil servant. Great post-holiday fare.

Chicago (IMDB) (Netflix)
Two-timing murderous dames, wondrous gams, mouthpieces and mealtickets, thrown together in a musical tribute to ambition and amorality. Rene Zellweger is a chorus girl manqué who gets exploited by her boy on the side, but not for long, and ends up in prison with a bunch of other leggy women who were severely provoked while premenstrual. Catherine Zeta-Jones is one of Zellweger's rivals for sympathetic publicity, and Richard Gere is the never-lose lawyer with more chutzpah than a Jewish cat with all nine lives.

While its recent predessor Moulin Rouge was groundbreaking but exhausting, Chicago is more conventional but lighter on its feet. To use the reviewer's cliche, it "crackles," with snappy 1930s patter, aggressive editing, endless black lingerie and no apologies for the outrageous behavior of its lead characters. Zellweger is as far from "you had me at 'hello'" as she can get and Zeta-Jones is bitchy to the core. Gere really sells it, and has to, because in reader Sara Schneider's eyes, he's strayed too far from his old bad-boy persona (those Buddhists will do that to you). Musical fans might quibble about some of the vocal performances (which are by the actors), but this is a musical that works for people who think they don't like musicals. Like me.

Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers (IMDB) (Netflix)
When director/producer Peter Jackson and his cohorts were pitching Lord of the Rings, their initial funder insisted that the trilogy be done as two movies, to reduce cost and risk. Jackson gulped and soldiered on, eventually shedding that vulgarian, but was convinced that Hollywood would only pay for two films (quick, name a non-animated fantasy flick that had done big business in the previous decade). During his quest for financing, after he aired a video presentation of the concept to New Line Cinema, the suit in charge said, "I don't get it." Hearts sank. "It's a trilogy. Why aren't there three movies?" And there was much rejoicing throughout Middle Earth, and in the glands of literate adolescents everywhere.

For a Part Two, this ranks up there with the second Godfather film. Trilogy aficionado and discerning cinephile Alan Asper found it "amazing," and though I never made it past The Hobbit and lack the details that would have filled in much of the backstory, I have to agree that this is a terrific movie. It helps to start with quality material that provides all the elements: good vs. evil, pure-of-heart romance, truly scary bad-beings and heroes who will sacrifice for the greater good, plus a top-shelf battle scene. Viggo Mortensen couldn't be more heroic as Aragon, and the pacing gives the audience time to breath without dragging out the proceedings, making this three-hour epic play like two hours. The CGI rendering farms rose to the task as well, with a digitized character, Gollum, who interacts unusually well with the human actors (the scenes were shot with an actor, who was later replaced by the digital version) and is unconventionally creepy.

Worth pretty much every one of the gazillion pennies it'll ring up, and a film that George Lucas should study frame-by-frame and line-by-line if he wants Star Wars: Episode Three to avoid embarrassing comparisons.

Santa Clause 2 (IMDB) (Netflix)
A sequel, with two Tim Allen characters, for better or worse. Santa discovers he's subject to a "Mrs." clause, meaning he's got to get married by Christmas Eve, or no more Santa, Christmas or happy children. Plus, his teenage son is acting out at school, so he's got some work to do, and creates an ersatz Santa to hold down the North Pole fort while he's back in the real world. Unfortunately, the clone has some misguided ideas of his own and begins to wreak havoc with the

The niece and nephew liked it, but can't explain why (the critic genes, such as they are, seem not have jumped any branches or are laying dormant). Mom thought they could have done more with it, which is true: there's not much sense of jeopardy given that half of the retail industry's economy is on the line, and it's pretty easy to see where most of this is headed. Yet it's done over $125 million at the box office, making the exhibitors, the studio and Santa very happy.

Gangs of New York (IMDB) (Netflix)
An epic struggle between two men – each a relentless, irrestible force – that may end tragically for both. And that's just the relationship between director Martin Scorsese and Harvey Weinstein, the head of Miramax Studios. Scorsese grew up in the New York gangs, and has been trying to make this film for 30 years. To do it, he had to go to Italy and build a 1.5 square mile re-creation of New York's tempestuous Five Points district from the mid-19th century, requiring a financial backer with equal brass, which Weinstein, the bête noir of the movie business, has in spades. Both men are control freaks and perfectionists, and each apparently met his match in the other.

The story allows Scorsese to explore all his favorite themes: religion, gangs, crime, violence and the immigrant experience. Leonardo DiCaprio's Irish immigrant father is killed by Bill the Butcher (Daniel Day-Lewis) when Leo is just a tot, and sixteen years later he's out to settle the score, just as the Civil War is heating up, bringing about a new and unwelcome concept in citizenship: conscription. Leo befriends Cameron Diaz, a pickpocket and Bill's old girlfriend, at the point of a knife (the interesting part is who's holding it) and worms his way into the Butcher's inner circle.

It's a part of American history that's largely unexplored and needs telling, especially in the movies, and if effort and intentions guaranteed perfection, this would be one of the best films ever made. It's not, but you have to admire the scope of it, the noble ambition. Day-Lewis is already being talked up for an Oscar (no argument here) and the set should get best supporting actor. DiCaprio doesn't have the juicy part to balance off his co-star, but holds his own in the performance, as does Diaz. Some connective tissue, however, seems to have been lost in the editing, which might be a surprise given the two hour and forty-five minute length. Gangs of New York may have over-reached, but by forcefully exposing one of our darkest periods, serves a larger purpose than mere spectacle. Vegetarians might want to pass.

Personal Velocity (IMDB) (Netflix)
Three character studies of women in transition, each written and directed by Rebecca Miller. Delia, a former high school trollop and an impressively dislikeable human being, escapes from her abusive husband. Greta has settled in her life in more ways than one, but is then confronted with sudden success. Paula is newly pregnant, almost becomes the victim of a fatal accident, and picks up a hitchhiker in need of care. The title refers to our unique arcs of development, and how they're a combination of timing, circumstance and latent desire.

Miller is depressingly multi-talented, also being an actor, a sculptor and a writer of the short stories that formed the film. The narration has a certain literary quality, and quickly fills in the expository gaps and backstories — necessary given the ground that needs covering. The male characters, well, now I know how it feels not to share the writer's gender, but there are so many of them. While none of these stories is worth a full movie, they all stand on their own, and each has something to say that's in danger of being missed in the swarm of over-hyped holiday films. As loyal reader Janet Borggren observed, exactly the opposite of the new Lord of the Rings movie; I'm sure the other three people in the theater would have agreed.

Star Trek: Nemesis (IMDB) (Netflix)
The latest, and if you believe the promos, the last Star Trek film. The Next Generation crew is aging nicely (couldn't say that about Kirk and company), and Riker is about to finally assume command of his own vessel. But wait, there's trouble on Romulus, which is all of a sudden missing a Senate, and a new player has emerged, who wants something very dear to Captain Picard. We're also introduced to the Remans, the Romulans' red-headed step-children, who have notions of upward mobility.

This installment has its own ambitions–it's darker, more thoughtful, less glib–but they're not fully realized. Picard and Data each are confronted with questions about their identity and what it means to be unique, and there's a nature/nuture thread, but it doesn't really explain the bad guy's motivation. The action generated a host of "why don't they just...?" reactions, and frankly, I was hoping we were past the days of weapons of mass destruction that took seven agonizing minutes to deploy. Picard's Patrick Stewart seems to have recognized these holes and taken his performance in as somber and introspective direction as possible; a heroic effort to counter-balance the script at the same time he's saving humanity.

As with the recent Bond film, Nemesis upholds the tradition without raising it to a new level.

Evelyn (IMDB) (Netflix)
Based on the true story about a landmark legal case in 1950s Ireland. Pierce Brosnan is the hard-drinking, irregularly employed father of three children, whose mother abandons them. Da runs afoul of the family-unfriendly child welfare laws and loses the kids, setting up his struggle to get them back.

It's a good thing everything's incredibly Irish, or this could be unwatchable. You've seen each moment before in countless movies of its ilk, from the drinking dad to the good nun, bad nun characters to the dramatic courtroom finale, but I was chuckling and empathizing even while ticking off the entire genre checklist in my head. Maybe it's the scenery, the lilt or the relentless heart that gives it that slipping-into-an-old-pair-of-sneakers feel. Loyal reader and Eire-phile Mary Murphy enjoyed it, and I, like a coed meeting her first Frenchman, was charmed within an inch of surrender. Yet, when the lights came on, I went home alone, knowing it was the right thing to do, but wondering what might have been.

A winner for the sentimentality-inclined.