The latest episode of this ongoing masterpiece of reality TV -- which every seven years revisits a group of English people first interviewed as 7-year-olds in 1964 -- is every bit as enthralling as the earlier ones.

A spare, exquisitely realized masterpiece about faith, redemption and boxing that beautifully illustrates his longtime philosophy that "less is more."

That the story has largely gone untold is a shame, and Kennedy (daughter of Sen. Robert F. Kennedy) has done a service to the country in reminding us.

The film’s slightly confusing ending doesn’t spell anything out, but that’s all right: We’re left sitting in the dark shivering, reassured there are still some directors who can leave us well and truly creeped out.

Kinnear brings heart and nuance to a character in the terrible position of being asked to evict the mother of his son’s best friend. It’s a no-win situation in which no one is the bad guy — a gentle, intelligent oasis in this summer of heated name-calling.

Ruefully funny, beautifully acted comedy of manners.

Lynch's first G-rated feature, turns out to be one of the year's best films...a wonderful surprise.

As much a study of prehistoric art as archaeology, this documentary brings in experts to speculate about the mysterious artists who made these paintings, some quite elaborate and others intriguingly abstract.

How to Survive a Plague, while a shaggier-structured documentary than many, is a heart-wrenching portrait of one of the saddest, most heroic chapters in American history.

Tremendously affecting on several levels, In the Bedroom is must-see viewing for anyone who complains Hollywood doesn't make movies for grownups.

For those who do not have a room in the house devoted to Elvis memorabilia, or care a lick about the guy, “EPiC” is still an energizing experience. To my mind, there’s nothing better than observing the greatest artists of all time do what they do best — unvarnished.

Petzold raises questions of honor and builds the romance with an absolutely rigorous lack of sentiment, moving Barbara to a sweeping finish as emotionally satisfying as any this year.

If there's an awkward moment, it's the scene in which the monks take part in a sort of Last Supper, drinking wine while Tchaikovsky's "Swan Lake" plays in the background. You keep waiting for Natalie Portman to twirl into the room.

This flick is fast and ferocious, his (Sidney Lumet) sharpest and best since "Prince of the City" (1980) - and surely one of the year's finest.

A sentimental, whimsical autobiography.

With Japan facing a new nuclear crisis, this beautifully composed and acted heart-wrencher -- couldn't be more timely.

This superb documentary about the Catholic Church's worst pedophile scandal is in many ways far scarier than any fiction.

The climactic shootout, which goes on for 15 minutes and has an astronomical body count, is a masterpiece of its kind.

There’s an exhilarating sadness to it all that amounts to cinematic poetry.

Mainly, though, this is Nanjiani’s show. Bits of his smart, cross-culturally incisive stand-up are sprinkled throughout, in performances alongside his fellow comics (one of whom is Aidy Bryant of “SNL”).

A blue-chip Oscar contender that's also a rousing popcorn movie, Ben Affleck's Argo offers plenty of nail-biting thrills as well as funnier scenes than you'd ever imagine possible in the grim context of the Iran hostage crisis.

Atriumph on almost every level. It is breathtakingly stylish, wonderfully acted and its three interrelated tales of the "war" on drugs are brilliantly structured to form a cohesive, powerful whole.

Isn't quite as accessible or as deeply moving as his masterpiece, "All About My Mother." It's a tad too self-consciously a work of art for that. But it's still a must-see for anyone who's halfway serious about film.

A thought-provoking documentary that would go well on a double bill with Richard Linklater's fictional "Fast Food Nation."

Even for a French drama, Summer Hours is so slow as to be practically still.

It's a sharply written, unforgettably directed character study with brilliant performances by Joaquin Phoenix, Philip Seymour Hoffman and Amy Adams - far more intimate but no less intense than director Paul Thomas Anderson's Oscar-winning last film, "There Will Be Blood.''

A haunting, superbly made film. But it's also an unrelentingly sad and depressing experience.

So terrifically entertaining, it would be a shame if it didn't inspire a companion piece on New York.