Pauline Kael famously stated that great films are rarely perfect films. Do we ever wonder about the opposite? Are perfect films rarely great films? As the ultimate easy swallow, The Descendants, the latest release from Sideways writer/director Alexander Payne, has been practically pieced together by magical gold statuettes in the advanced laboratory of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. It’s been, why, since

One can’t help wondering about the name of the monstrous sphere, Melancholia. We are used to our planets bearing the names of, say, mythological gods—Pluto, Saturn, Neptune, Juno—not those of human moods or conditions. Could it be that Melancholia, blue in color as it happens, is in fact an illusion, a nightmare depiction of what deep depression is like? Could the deep, steady, rumbling sound be that of our shattered subconscious

Another Happy Day is all but stolen by Ezra Miller, who, with this and We Need to Talk About Kevin, is on the verge of indie It Guy status. Elliott has enough issues for two or three characters: Above and beyond the usual teenage angst, misanthropy and self-destructiveness, his Tourette's has him constantly on the verge of an uncontrollable rage, and he spends half his time in the bathroom, either half-comatose from popping Grandpa's pain

I don’t think I’ve seen anything lately quite like the ending of the 2011 Sundance Jury Prize winner Like Crazy. Spending time watching the rise and disintegration of a marriage, I wondered, is there really a moment when a romance ends? When the present becomes irretrievably the past? If so, then we’ve already passed it, and tied no cloth around a tree to mark where we left the main road. The choices these two young people make –

Mozart’s elder sister had French director René Féret wonder: what if Maria Anna Walburga Ignatia, affectionately called Nannerl, been as gifted a musician as her younger brother, Wolfgang Amadeus? A product of her time—second half of the eighteenth century—she grew up on music as did her entire family, goaded by the formidable Leopold Mozart. She played the harpsichord, the piano, and almost certainly the violin. She probably sang. Mozart’s letters

With rum-soaked deadpan bemusement, Johnny Depp plays Kemp, a new reporter at the worst newspaper in Puerto Rico. Kemp is a talented writer and a talented drinker at a newspaper short of the former and full of the latter. His adventures in Puerto Rico range from drinking to cockfighting to bowling to drinking. He pools his poor pay for a crummy apartment with a pair of oddball newsmen (Michael Rispoli and

Don’t expect the Ides of March to overturn the established wisdom regarding politics, i.e., anyone entering that world do so at their own peril--this is still the dirtiest game in town. The optimistic hopey-changey Hollywood message died with “Mr. Smith goes to Washington.” Nowadays, disillusionment and a hardening of both heartstrings and arteries are bound to occur. But despite not delivering anything new, the film carries

Why are art films becoming horror films? Perhaps art film directors are finding that the most effective way to relate to our frazzled age is to mask it in the aesthetics of terror. Last year’s apocalyptic ballet movie, Darren Aronofsky’s Black Swan, heralded this new trend--that movie might as well have had zombie dancers. This year it’s Take Shelter, Jeff Nichols' story of mental illness, marriage, and prophecies of doom. Shelter stars

As I watched The Texas Killing Fields, I had one question running through my mind: why don’t they make more films like this? I don’t mean this in the Terrence Malick random acts of genius sort of way, as in “why can’t every filmmaker take seven years in post-production to create a high-minded masterpiece?” I mean it in a “whatever happened to the if it’s Friday, it-must-be-a-new-police-procedural movie” sort of way.

Steve McQueen's second feature reprises his collaboration with Hunger star Michael Fassbender and the effect is no less spellbinding. This time, instead of starving for a cause, Fassbender plays a man at the mercy of his urges rather than in control of them: a sex addict. In the frenetic world of New York City it's easy for Fassbender's Brandon to keep his private life a secret. When a vat of pornography is discovered on his work computer