Mike Scott

The result is an unconventional film that exists in a class by itself to this point in 2016.

We get what is easily the most personal and intimate film of Cuarón's career to date. His Roma is a movie with a clear and distinct setting but one that boasts universal appeal. It's also built around a relatively small, narrowly focused story -- but one that deserves to be seen on as big a screen as possible.

There's something Shakespearean about it. From the case of mistaken identity (though willfully mistaken) to the formal, old-fashioned language to the tragic tone in which it is all swaddled, this is Shakespeare by way of the Deep South.

Opening a window into a wounded soul, it reminds us that beneath even the most brusque, hard-to-approach exterior often lies a human being bearing the scars of real, sometimes devastating human experiences. Also like "Moonlight," it is one of the best films of 2016, and one not to be missed.

Gravity, it turns out, is a great film, a technical and storytelling masterpiece that is buoyed by stunning visuals and which functions both as a ripping, tension-filled yarn and as a profound and life-affirming work of art.

The result is a ripped-from-the-Zeitgeist film that is razor-sharp, an astute and funny portrait of the early 2000s, with all its LOL's, its IMO's and its WTF's. Mostly its WTF's.

The result is a film that is at once sobering and thoughtful -- and, yes, uncomfortable, at times. But it's a necessary uncomfortable.

Amour is a far cry from the warm-and-fuzzy version of love that most people are probably looking for on Valentine's Day. This movie is more of a slap than a hug. But reality hurts sometimes - just like love does.

The U.S. government did torture prisoners of war in the name of its so-called war on terror and, by extension, in the name of all Americans. What Bigelow and Boal seem to be arguing is that such actions take a deep cosmic toll on the people responsible -- whether directly, in the case of Chastain's character, or indirectly, in the case of you and me.

It's the little moments in Farhadi's film that are its most important, speaking every bit as loudly as its big, narrative-driving moments.

Not only is the result edifying, but it's also rewarding. And it's a heck of a lot cheaper than a therapy session.

It is engaging, it is intense, it is beautifully shot and it thrusts viewers credibly into the horrifying action from the very first frame -- and doesn't relent until the very last. This being Nolan, he also overcomplicates what is essentially a fairly simple story.

In the end, Mr. Turner ends up being the best kind of period drama. That is, it is a transportive one, whisking audiences away to a distinct time and place, while also providing no small amount of insight about its subject.

Inside Out isn't just a movie. It's a doctoral dissertation on human psychology, with a bit of therapy on the side. Miraculously, it's fun, to boot.

La La Land is a film with strikingly broad appeal. Whether you're a "Star Wars" geek or a hopeless romantic, a jazz fan or somebody who complains they just don't make 'em like they used to anymore, you'll la-la love it.

Uncut Gems boasts a kinetic energy that, by the time the closing credits roll, will make you feel like you went to the gym rather than the movie theater.

Inside Llewyn Davis isn't as goofy as 2008's "Burn After Reading," nor as solemn as 2009's "A Serious Man," but it's an embraceable film just the same.

With Spotlight, we get a reminder of the vital importance of an independent, professional press to any community.

Positively soars.

Simply, this is a story that needs to be told, one that proves that sometimes the past shouldn't be relegated to the past. It also makes The Look of Silence an unassailably essential and necessary film.

A great storyteller, however, is one who can entertain an audience in the moment -- but who also gives them something to think about, something for them to take home with them when the story ends, which is exactly what Polley does in Stories We Tell.

The sheer depth of emotion at work in “Nickel Boys” — the palpable anguish, the infuriating injustice, the heartrending loss — more than compensates for any perceived stylistic flaws.

Agata Kulesza is pitch-perfect as the tortured aunt, weighed down by years of shame and sorrow. In a quieter but equally impactful role is newcomer Agata Trzebuchowska as Ida, a character defined by a quiet, rigid stoicism but who, with her cherubic face, engenders great empathy.

Lanthimos' wildly entertaining film arrives as a wickedly funny and masterfully assembled blast of fresh air.

Like "The Hurt Locker," Winter's Bone is a spare but riveting drama with a female director. It is built around a raw, revelatory performance by a young, little-known lead actor.

Merely from a film-study standpoint, it's an interesting exercise.

More than anything else, however, director Jacques Audiard's gritty, grab-you-by-the-shirtfront film is a mob movie -- a really, really good mob movie. Think "GoodFellas," but with Gauloises and accent aigu instead of plates of spaghetti and accent Pesci.

Like everyone else in Russell's cast, Lawrence appears to be having a blast in the role. It's downright contagious.

Whiplash is, at its core, about jazz -- that smoothest, mellowest of American art forms. But don't let that fool you. Writer-director Damien Chazelle's impressive sophomore effort is about as rock 'n' roll as a movie about jazz can possibly be.

If nothing else, this is a cinematic high-wire act.

A movie with undeniable melancholy underpinnings, but Bertuccelli wisely avoids overdoing the drama to nurse cheap tears from her audience.

Even with its flaws, the whole exercise makes for an affecting and effective film.

I keep finding myself wanting to compare it to 1964's "Dr. Strangelove," Stanley Kubrick's Cold War comic masterpiece -- which, as any movie buff will tell you, is exceptionally high praise. In this case, it's also warranted.

A meticulously shot and sharply written character study, it plays like a blend of the Coen brothers and Quentin Tarantino, borrowing its subtle philosophical core from the former and its sudden bursts of violence and blood-spattering vitriol from the latter. It's also a great film, an entertaining and thoughtful examination of one woman's journey into darkness, as well as a study of the corrosive nature of anger and hate when left unchecked.

There are moments of depth there as well, as Anderson touches on themes of friendship and loyalty. More than anything else, though, The Grand Budapest Hotel is just a fun ride -- a wild, wonderful ride seemingly plucked out of Anderson's dream journal.

A memorable emotional journey -- and reminds us once more why Granik is such an intriguing filmmaker to watch.

One of the chief reasons that director Tom Hooper's richly produced film works so well is because it operates on so many different levels. The King's Speech is all about layers, and Hooper keeps it humming on several at once.

A thoroughly uplifting bit of cinema.

It is strange. It is stylish. It is at once daring, funny, beautiful and surreal.

Imagine Norman Rockwell had he been more of a realist than a nostalgist.

No one should mistake Scott’s Napoleon as an overtly political film. It’s true ambitions are to entertain and inform, in that order.

This being a period drama, all the expected visual grandeur is present and accounted for, from Yves Belanger's vibrant cinematography to Odile Dicks-Mireaux's period-authentic costumes to Francois Seguin's production design.

From the first line of its deep, rapid-fire dialog all the way through to its trippy ending -- which is guaranteed prompt discussion on the drive home -- Inarritu has crafted a film that begs to be rewatched, with the promise of each repeated viewing bringing something new.

As mesmerizing as the acting often is, Wolfe’s film is imbued with a certain staginess. Even if you didn’t know coming in that it was based on a stage play, you’d realize it fairly quickly.

This is the kind of movie that will take different people on different journeys. The one common thread is that, for most people who take the time to truly consider it, that journey will be a thoughtful and meaningful one.

What plays out is something like CSPAN 1865. That is, it's dense, talky stuff at times -- particularly at its start, as the film takes a good 15 minutes to gain traction -- but also highly rewarding and instructive.

As is the case with "Amy," there's probably no way any of us could ever truly understand Brando, who often seemed to be living on a different planet than that occupied by the rest of us. But with its anguished first-person voice -- and its permeating sense of sadness -- Listen to Me Marlon comes as close as one imagines is possible.

Chaz Ebert says that Roger would have loved Life Itself. I'll take her word for it. She knew him far better than I did. Clearly. But I'll add this: I love it, too.

A wonderfully weird love story that plays like an adult fairy tale, it's a fantastical delight -- and the kind of movie that deserves all the accolades it will most certainly receive this award season.

Pitt and Hill are fantastic individually, and hilarious when together -- and on a surprisingly engaging script by Aaron Sorkin ("Social Network") and Steve Zaillian ("Schindler's List").

In someone else's hands, Room easily could have become a horror movie. Instead, we get an emotional roller coaster ride -- at turns touching, harrowing, crushing and flat-out beautiful...Along the way, Abrahamson's Room becomes an immensely rewarding film, and the kind of movie that promises to stick with audiences long after the closing credits roll.

A thoroughly and unmistakably modern film so rooted in the now that it's bound to be remembered as a cinematic landmark.

The Red Turtle -- without saying a word -- offers much more than the standard animated film. It offers food for thought, cause for contemplation, and an appreciation for the beauty of being.

It’s Buckles’ first film, and it’s an exceptional debut. Blending archival footage, singular animation and a wealth of interviews, he delivers a vital document that is at once intimate, honest, engaging and indelible.

It is a thoughtful film, a serious one, and one that is sneakily affecting.

Sharp, brisk and highly entertaining.

A subtly innovative blend of cars, guns, music and old-school cool, it's also one of those increasingly rare creatures in Hollywood: an undeniably original movie.

Beasts of the Southern Wild is not only a wonderful story -- a portrait of intestinal fortitude in the face of enormous change -- but it's our story, forged in our own shared recent history and dripping with flood, sweat and tears.

A dazzling, stirring capper to a once-in-a-generation movie franchise.

All in all, Nichols ends up with a richly drawn, and at times disturbing, portrait of one man's descent into madness.

If there's a voice of wisdom and hope in Kapadia's film, it comes from 89-year-old crooner Tony Bennett, whose duet with Winehouse on "Body and Soul" was reportedly her last studio recording before her death. "Life teaches you how to live it," Bennett tells Kapadia's camera in what ends up being one of the film's ultimate morals. "If you can live long enough."

It's a career-making performance that relies as much on charm as on acting ability -- and Mulligan has both.

While those aforementioned blockbusters offer a welcome dose of escapism, The Rider traffics in something considerably more affecting: authenticity.

A sweet, thoughtfully composed story, and a darn fine film, to boot.

All of the pieces fall into place by the third act -- or most of them, anyway. But Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy is such a cold, unemotional film that getting there is a chore, muting the payoff.

If you appreciate historical melodrama, you could do worse than Vincere.

This film is undoubtedly a piece of art, as much so as a Picasso painting, one that invites viewers to immerse themselves, scratch their heads and consider it.

A film that is beautiful, harrowing, heartbreaking -- and necessary.

Fred Rogers dared to make a case that all children are precious and that there might be more productive ways to entertain and educate them than with popguns and pies in the face. More importantly, he decided to do something about it.

Fruitvale Station is only the first in a string of civil-rights minded movies set to hit theaters this year -- contributing to what could be the most racially conscious award season in recent memory.

A thoroughly endearing journey, and one of the most enjoyable and touching movies to land in theaters so far this year.

Feels startlingly real and inherently relevant, a shining, sterling example of cinema at its most powerful and urgent.

The film is chilled by characters that never really come alive or generate any deep sympathy.

Like everything else associated with it, the drama of Graduation is decidedly low-key. While that occasionally costs it a sense of forward momentum, it doesn't hold the film back from its ultimate goals. In fact, it contributes to it in some ways.

Not only is it a searing on-the-ground, in-the-fray portrait of the heart of Egypt's ongoing revolution, but it is also a stirring tribute to the indomitable spirit of those who are risking, and in many cases giving, their lives to keep it alive.

At times humorous, at times poignant, but always absorbing.

Not only does it deliver a powerful message, but it is wrapped in an immensely entertaining package.

How do you know when a romantic comedy just isn't working? Key indicators are that your audience doesn't get goose bumps in the inevitable third-act reunion. They don't get misty-eyed. In short, they don't really care.

A documentary that is equal parts sweet science, brutal art and masterful filmmaking.

A simple story about a difficult man, and it's an impressive debut from writer-director Scott Cooper.

A refreshingly original take on the comic book adaptation.

It's not a perfect film. There's still room for Cianfrance to grow as a storyteller. But it is entirely rewarding -- and I, for one, can't wait to see where he takes us next.

Even though it's right there in the title, "fantastic" might be a touch hyperbolic in describing director Wes Anderson's stop-motion adaptation of Roald Dahl's The Fantastic Mr. Fox, but only by a whisker.

It's also a British comedy, with that singularly British way of being clever and deliriously juvenile all at once, a combination that makes for scathing, laugh-out-loud, big-screen satire.

Extraordinarily engaging but surprisingly sobering.

A crowd-pleaser, through and through.

This kind of cinematic delight is a rarity, a warm and masterfully crafted reminder of why we love to go to the movies in the first place.

Even if the obligatory third-act twist arrives with all the subtlety of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, Drag Me to Hell otherwise steers mostly clear of predictability.

In addition to being the most accessible and purely enjoyable of Lee's film in years, it's also one of his most important.

Under the Skin is, in short, a film that does just that: gets under one's skin, shining a light on what it means to be human -- even if what we end up seeing is something less than comforting.

This is a film that could -- and should -- catch on. Just be careful nobody follows you home from the theater.

What we end up with is a rare treat: a midbudget movie for grown-ups — no capes, no magic wands, no kid’s stuff. In other words: pure Linklater.

127 Hours -- just like "Slumdog Millionaire" -- is a masterful slice of four-star cinema, featuring an irresistible performance by James Franco, breathtaking cinematography, and the kind of deep, searching soul that is absent from so much of what comes out of Hollywood.

A beautifully uncomplicated story, really -- about the love between daddies and their little girls.

This is the kind of movie that almost begs for a second viewing, which, admittedly, isn't always a good thing. In the case of The Lobster, however, it is. It's a very good thing -- good and weird and wonderful.

It's one heck of a fun ride, a pure popcorn spectacle that doesn't require a knowledge of the Star Trek mythology to make it enjoyable.

This isn’t your run-of-the-mill character study. It is a smartly conceived and beautifully executed meditation on the co-existing pain and pleasure, complexity and fragility of human existence.

An unflinchingly ugly -- but downright mesmerizing -- tale that plumbs the depths of human immorality and, along the way, offers a dash of subtle commentary on just how far we, as a 312 million-member nuclear family, might have lost our way.