Marc Mohan

Telling Northrup’s story, McQueen gives a grand tour of the institutionalized sadism and astonishing inhumanity ubiquitous in the slave economy.

Gravity isn’t as ambitious as “2001,” but then, what is? It is, however, absolutely a worthy successor, a masterpiece of hard science fiction, and the movie to beat at this point for next year’s cinematography and visual effects Oscars.

While what's on screen is unsparing and clinically presented, the underlying, almost invisible humanity and artistry of the film inspire rather than depress.

Viewers looking for a propagandistic take will be disappointed, but even those who doubt the overall framework and existence of the so-called War on Terror should appreciate this thrilling tale of the hunt for the world's most wanted man.

Inside Out expands the possibilities of animation. It's also a hilarious ride that delights the eye, the mind and the heart.

As flawless as any film this year and rock-solid confirmation that Joel and Ethan Coen are the greatest filmmakers working in America (and perhaps anywhere else) today.

It's not a political film, but it's also not a bland recitation of homilies about the honor of serving one's country. It's a jokey road movie, in which three soldiers heading home from Iraq are forced into a cross-country van ride together.

Sissako, whose previous film, 2006's "Bamako," also tackled political issues with aplomb and complexity, doesn't need to craft an overwrought denunciation of ignorant fanaticism. The humanism with which he approaches both the perpetrators and the victims of the violence inherent in this petty, small-minded tyranny makes the strongest argument possible against the Boko Harams of the world.

The Act of Killing is exemplary as a history lesson, a character study and a powerful argument for confronting the past.

Despite the fact that its pace turns somnolent at times, and some of its themes feel somewhat clichéd nearly a half-century on, this revival offers a fantastic entry-point opportunity to one of cinema's singular figures.

As the relationship between Theodore and Samantha evolves, it hews too closely to the expected arc of a romantic drama. In a desire to show how such a pairing could produce the same joys, sorrows, jealousies and insecurities as a human-to-human one, the movie edges close to parody, which it doesn't want to be.

When a film like Stories We Tell comes along, you're reminded how powerful and universal even the most intimate and individual lives can be when captured with intelligence and perspective.

What's most endearing about "Taxi," as well as Panahi's earlier films made under repression, is the lack of righteous anger.

Just as austere and demanding as you'd expect a black-and-white film about a Polish nun to be. Don't let that scare you, though.

For a film that consists largely of a series of talking-head interviews, The Gatekeepers is a riveting a documentary.

With a level-gazed approach to its milieu, empathetic but clear-eyed, Winter's Bone practically makes up for 40 years of "Deliverance"-style hillbilly cartoons.

An unrelenting and important exposé of a system that, as depicted here, has no place in the modern world.

Exarchopoulos and Seydoux give their characters dimension and spark. Kechiche touches on issues of not only gender, age and sexuality, but also socioeconomic class. And if the movie doesn't quite seem to know when to end, it's because the director can't bear to say goodbye to these fascinating, fully-formed characters.

There’s plenty of fun to be had, but in the long term, American Hustle may be remembered more for its superficial pleasures than the depth of its impact. Kind of like the 1970s.

Because Whiplash is two characters in search of a plot, it ramps up the happenstance and improbability as it stumbles toward a final showdown between teacher and student that would be emotionally satisfying if it had the ring of truth.

It's hard to say what's more fascinating: The engaging explication of various paintings by the remarkably articulate docents, the behind-the-scenes looks at the preservation and restoration processes, or the boardroom discussions about the appropriateness of marketing efforts. Actually, that third one probably isn't the most fascinating, but I still wanted more of it.

Takes on the air of a heist film as the preparations proceed, and even knowing the outcome, tension still remains.

The octogenarian pianist Seymour Bernstein is the charming, inspirational subject of this appreciative, occasionally fawning documentary.

At over two hours, it might test the patience of some younger viewers (and some impatient older ones as well), but for anyone willing to take the time, it's an utter treat.

The first to take a big-picture view of just how the plans for postwar occupation went so far off track.

German director Christian Petzold's new movie is a testament to the way textured performances and a skillfully woven script can entice a remarkable suspension of disbelief.

The acting is flawless, the world feels utterly real, and the finale accomplishes the miracle of finding in the everyday world something profound.

Although the primary plot line turns out to be a letdown, there are aspects of The Machinist that redeem it. Bale's performance is one; another is the dull, metallic look of the picture.

The movie was solidly directed by Hollywood vet Lewis Milestone [All Quiet on the Western Front], but it's the performances by the two leads that takes it to another level. [23 Mar 2001]

A solid, twisting, well-acted mystery, but it strains credulity at times, and its ultimate revelations are unsurprising and, when you think back on the whole film, confusing. It also lacks a distinctive atmosphere, shot in an almost TV-style flatness.

The Grand Budapest Hotel shows Anderson engaging with the world outside his meticulously composed frames like never before.

The screenplay, which Ceylan and his wife Ebru based on short stories by Anton Chekhov, is wordy but insightful. The widescreen cinematography, capturing the natural wonders that make Cappadocia a popular tourist destination, is crisp in exterior shots and delicately shaded indoors. And the performances are never less than totally convincing.

The result is a gripping film which, despite the annoying rugrat, demonstrates how part of leaving childhood behind is learning how and when to lie, and to do it well.

What makes the Dardennes' films so powerful is their refusal to judge, positively or negatively, their characters.

The thrilling cinematic joyride that, among other improbable feats, puts Michael Keaton, as Thomson, smack in the middle of the Oscar race for best actor.

The Missing Picture feels akin to last year's great documentary, "The Act of Killing."

Spielberg manages to give us a Lincoln for our times, inspiringly heroic but demonstrably human.

The pacing is perfect, and the action, mostly filmed in a studio, is never less than utterly believable. The director’s first feature, “Margin Call,” was full of rapid-fire dialogue, and he shows off considerable range by following it up with this film.

Anyone who shares Ebert's love of movies and who followed his career will be exceptionally moved by Life Itself, but anyone who appreciates a well-lived life should be touched as well.

It's similar to 2011's "The Loneliest Planet," which examined a similar dynamic between a couple backpacking in the Caucasus Mountains. But Force Majeure (which, as a legal term, refers to unforeseeable events or "acts of God") is sharper and smarter, combining precision-strike storytelling, directorial art, and impressive, often invisible visual effects, including that avalanche scene.

Baker's previous films "Take Out" and "Starlet" have focused on populations generally treated with disdain by mainstream society -- illegal immigrants and porn performers, respectively. With Tangerine he continues to prove that by depicting these characters in all their flaws and majesty, movies can inspire awareness of our shared humanity. And make us laugh.

Boosted by award-caliber performances and a perfectly struck tone, it becomes one of the more moving dramas of the year and an early, dark-horse award-season contender.

Even the tiny roles in this Rockwell-meets-Breughel panorama are perfectly, although almost cruelly, cast.

Rock Hudson and Lauren Bacall are the nominal stars, but the show is stolen by Robert Stack and Oscar-winning Dorothy Malone as a pair of seriously dysfunctional siblings, heirs to a Texas oil fortune. The tale of betrayal, misguided affection and sexual anxiety plays out in shiny Technicolor against an all-too-symbolic backdrop of oil derricks. [13 Jul 2001]

If film's rapturous reception is due in part to the rarity of filmmaking this skillful within the horror genre, it's hard to begrudge this near-masterpiece of unease any of the praise it's gotten.

Ultimately, the story can be seen as the collision of two equally uncompromising belief systems, each its own form of fundamentalism. That neither benefits from the encounter should come as no surprise to anyone with the slightest knowledge of human history.

Sorrentino’s storytelling sometimes seems deliberately obscure, and his film can be as indulgent as the society it chronicles. But as this existential odyssey draws to a close, it sews itself up with the aplomb that only a confident, controlled filmmaker can marshal.

The period details are spotless, kindling memories of those days of yellow ribbons and nightly news updates on the fate of the American hostages.

A keenly observed, typically high-quality family drama of the sort only the French seem capable of making anymore.

Difficult to sit through, Our Daily Bread is nonetheless an important record, invaluable for those with the courage to watch it.

Avoiding the hyperbole and condescension that sometimes make it easy for ideological foes to dismiss the likes of Oliver Stone or Michael Moore, Costa-Gavras relies on the sterling performances of his actors (including Irene Papas as Montand's widow), and was rewarded with a pair of Oscar nominations.

Ultimately, though, it's hard not to feel like Hou is saying more explicitly and expansively in nearly two hours what Lamorisse managed to convey in only one-fourth as much film.

As unpleasant as so many of its going-on are, Wake in Fright works both as an early instance of "Ozploitation" cinema and as a harsh critique of Australian colonialism and the absurdity of trying to bring so-called civilization to this vast arid wilderness.

If Song of the Sea had had the promotional muscle of Disney or Dreamworks behind it, it may have won this year's Oscar for Best Animated Feature instead of merely being nominated. It certainly would have deserved it.

Akin is German-born but of Turkish heritage, and his films have often been concerned with the particular clashes and conflicts between those cultures. This film, though, does so in a much more oblique way than 2004's "Head-On."

With evocative performances, especially from the two women, and a nicely modulated sense of nostalgia, Ilo Ilo marks the emergence of a promising new cinematic voice.

Perhaps the most beautiful film to hit Portland movie screens this year.

The film's final scene, which manages to recontextualize everything we've seen so far with a brilliant simplicity that, if further proof were needed, establishes Farhadi as one of the best storytellers in cinema today.

Director Bent Hamer ("Factotum") keeps things drily amusing throughout.

As storytelling, it's extremely effective.

The longer it goes on, the more you're swept up into the jet stream of good feeling.

This combination of fatalism, nostalgia and willfully naive optimism captures something essential in the Russian soul.

Nguyen reportedly worked on War Witch for a decade, and it shows in both the immediacy and authenticity of his tale, and the meticulous craft with which it's told.

While the third act inevitably bogs down a bit in gunplay and chases, there are more than enough moments of visual wonder and storytelling surprise to make it worth the trip.

The overall thrust of the story -- that downtrodden folks in desperate circumstances have the capacity for goodness -- is one too rarely seen.

An action film without a completely empty head, and these days, that's as rare as Excalibur itself.

Here's a movie that's jam-packed with bizarre sci-fi concepts, political allegory, a fascinating international cast and some truly over the top set pieces. But for just about everything maniacally cool in the movie, there's a flaw, sometimes a near-fatal one.

The halting dialogue, full of awkward pauses and restarts, seems improvised in the way that only carefully scripted material can.

With a self-plagiarizing premise, lifeless performances and a clunky-to-say-the-least screenplay, this star-studded flop is one of 2010's most egregious wastes of cinematic talent.

It may not be the most memorable saga put on film, but as far as Miike is concerned, it doesn't have to be.

Cianfrance is the real deal, and anyone who can persuade talented Hollywood stars to enact nonironic, intelligent, ambitious drama should be encouraged, especially when the result is something like this.

There's fun to be had in the re-creation of indelible screen moments, including several with Scarlett Johansson as Janet Leigh and James D'Arcy as Anthony Perkins.

20 Feet From Stardom spends time as well with Claudia Lennear, Táta Vega and Lisa Fischer. None of the three ever found much success as a solo artist, but you probably can't listen to a classic-rock radio station for a half-hour without hearing one of them backing up Joe Cocker, David Bowie, Tina Turner or the Rolling Stones.

The film works as well as it does thanks to Kimberly Roberts' magnetic screen presence.

Turns out this is a thoughtful, well-acted film that manages to view this most inconceivable of travesties through the eyes of child without being childish itself.

Without a more coherent perspective, the movie remains a collection of genuinely scary scenes and not much more.

It's a fascinating instance of a filmmaker working with self-imposed rules, but never forgetting that those restrictions are only worthwhile to the extent that they serve character and story. It's a ride well worth taking.

The performances, especially that of Regina Casé in the lead role, inject potent, lived-in humanity to the movie's flat political allegory.

In the fine tradition of well-made thrillers, it's enough that it all feels solid at the moment, and the final revelations are unexpected and seemingly inevitable.

With this amoral business environment, it's not a question of if there will be another Enron, but when.

It's visually appealing, but embodies the movie's (and Frances') problem: wanting to be taken seriously without putting in the real work required to prove you're actually serious.

An alternately harrowing and poetic take on the fatal 1982 hunger strike of Irish Republican Army prisoner Bobby Sands, Hunger is also one of the most impressive feature directing debuts in years.

As with many Iranian films, reality and fiction collide (the lead actor really is a pizza deliveryman), and the moral of the story is a surprisingly blunt critique of the growing inequality of wealth in the slowly Westernizing nation.

Social critique isn't the main concern of director James Ponsoldt ("Smashed"). What he does is take us inside an unexpected, but not unrealistic, high school relationship and provide a splendid stage for two young and very promising actors.

A mental workout of the most invigorating sort.

As numbing as the drumbeat of downbeat documentaries can be, as hard as it is to even be shocked at the depravities committed in our name, a film like this remains important, both as an indictment of the present day and as a warning to future generations that the ends don't always justify the means.

The film verges on hagiography as one interviewee after another testifies to Dominique's positive influence on his nation, but in this case the cynical notion that there must be another side to the story is easy to tamp down.

The movie runs the risk of coming off as misogynistic tripe, especially considering it was written by two men and directed by another. Somehow it avoids that fate, rising to the level of a serviceable YA fantasy about the way mortality gives meaning to life.

Kaurismäki is a master of expressive stillness for whom inaction often speaks louder than words, and the performances he elicits are perfectly pitched, including young Miguel's.

My Summer of Love, with its lush, sunlit landscapes, may occupy the opposite end of the visual spectrum, but it reinforces the sense that this director knows his way around the range of human emotion as well.

The characters are flat, too: Richard Gere plays your typical desperate, embittered war reporter; Terrence Howard is your typical cameraman/sidekick/narrator; and Jesse Eisenberg rounds out the standard-issue trio as your typical nervous rookie, in over his head.

Political machinations, emotional revelations, and a few well-choreographed fight scenes ensue, but Hou focuses less on the satisfactions of plot and action than on crafting, if not quite bringing to life, his auteurist vision of the past (both historical and cinematic).

The pace of this Oscar nominee may be a bit contemplative for audiences seeking "Yojimbo"-style action, but it's surely a more realistic and moving look at life in 19th-century Japan.

The pressure cooker atmosphere builds for almost too long, but when the resolution finally occurs, the sense of relief is that much more palpable.

Upstream Color culminates in a wordless final act that is among the most transcendent passages of pure cinema in memory.

The well-chosen supporting cast — Anthony Edwards as a test subject, Jim Gaffigan as one of Milgram's confederates, and especially Winona Ryder as Milgram's wife — help tremendously to keep The Experimenter humming along as entertainment rather than dry docudrama.

It wallows in misery so much that the two-hour experience ends up being about as much fun as a real divorce.

Historical resonances aside, Coming Home functions well as an impeccably crafted, compellingly acted tale.