Not every sub-genre of cinema needs to contain likable characters for films to be successful. A huge number of affecting films have been produced, for years, concentrating on antiheroes: unpleasant characters not featured for the sake of enjoyment. However, when filmmakers are working within the confines of a tight sub-genre like talk-heavy, NYC-based tales of flawed romance, which is essentially what Negin Farsad and Jeremy Redleaf‘s 3rd Street Blackout is, the characters must be relatively pleasant. That’s because rather than focusing on philosophy or atmosphere, the film chooses the route of a double character study and centers entirely on the mind state of the two protagonists, a seemingly happy couple named Mina and Rudy, played by the directors themselves.

Sometimes, when a director makes the decision to place themselves in the spotlight of their own film, they can become so wrapped up in their own vision that the story becomes overly personal and difficult for those who haven’t shared their life experiences. Here, the opposite is true; Farsad and Redleaf are so naturally able to realize the characters they’ve written for themselves that it’s difficult to remember that they’re the co-directors and not a silly New York couple with a set of eccentric friends.

3rd Street Blackout tells the story of a few days in the life of this couple, during which a blackout occurs across the entire city and they’re forced to actually communicate with one another rather than spending all of their time on their phones, as they usually do. This eventually leads Mina to reveal something to Rudy that she’s been bottling up for some time; said “something” is also revealed to the audience in flashback fragments throughout the majority of the film.

The non-linear style of editing that the film utilizes works to its advantage in raising the emotional stakes of the narrative, and simultaneously, creates a feeling of palpable suspense not common in most lo-fi romantic comedies. The film is indeed a comedy, but not in the pure sense at all because the audience is, for the most part, left in the dark regarding the portion of the story being flashed back to. It’s a sincerely funny film—you could draw comparisons between 3rd Street Blackout and shows like Broad City or High Maintenance with regard to its uniquely New York sense of humor—but its structural fragmentation also makes it an effectively frustrating and anxiety-inducing experience.

One of the main reasons why the film works so well is because of the talented supporting cast. Farsad and Redleaf are fantastic and believable as the leads, but the film wouldn’t have been nearly as strong had the slew of supporting characters not been so comically satisfying. The cast is stacked with recognizable faces such as Janeane Garofalo (Wet Hot American Summer), Devin Ratray (Home Alone), John Hodgeman (Bored to Death), Ed Weeks (The Mindy Project), Michael Cyril Creighton (Spotlight) and Phyllis Somerville (Little Children) who, in particular, gives an utterly delightful performance. Lesser known actors such as Katie Hartman and Becky Yamamoto show that they deserve recognition, the former taking on one of the chief supporting roles in the film and nailing every scene, and the latter having only one scene in the whole film, though it was possibly the film’s most hilarious moment.

Ultimately, 3rd Street Blackout is a simple movie focusing on complex characters. The way that the couple avoids addressing important issues through comedy is a realistic dynamic that’s easy for viewers to understand and even sympathize with. Much of the comedy in the film is admittedly crude, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Farsad and Redleaf pull off the crudeness, mostly because the audience can tell it’s not malicious and poorly intended; it feels harmless and reminds one of how important it is to be goofy every once in a while. Characters pop in and out of the film without much introduction, but it doesn’t matter. Actually, it works to the film’s advantage because every character is captivating, and that’s sort of exactly how it is in New York City anyway.

3rd Street Blackout isn’t just great because provides a good laugh; it’ll make you want to sit down and write some comedy of your own. It’s exciting to see a pair of independent directors with such an inspiring and authentic comedic voice.

Filmmakers John Mitchell and Christina Zeidler are proud of their Canadian roots, wasting no opportunity to name drop neighborhoods to make it abundantly clear that Portrait of a Serial Monogamist takes place in Toronto. It’s something New Yorkers have been doing this for ages now with their city, so at least this film offers a perspective on a different area (though the proximity is fairly close). The film also presents a different take on the typical rom-com, as it features a middle-aged lesbian who’s a serial monogamist with a long history of broken hearts. Some of the gambles in the film don’t pan out, like needlessly breaking the fourth wall by speaking directly to the camera, but without risking failure, you’ll never attain success, a lesson that the central character soon learns the hard way.

Elsie (Diane Flacks) has been a serial monogamist since grade school. Now, as forty-something lesbian, she’s practically an expert at breaking up with existing girlfriends and starting new relationships. Yet when Elsie breaks up with her girlfriend Robyn (Carolyn Taylor) of five years, she uncharacteristically finds it difficult to move on. This is strange because Portrait of a Serial Monogamist opens with a monologue of Elsie confidently giving advice on how to properly break up with your partner, even ending her spiel with “after you’ve made your decision, never look back.”

Unable to take her own advice, Elsie seeks opinions from close friends on how to cope with being single again. Her first instinct is to listen to her friend who suggests she immediately start dating. In the best scene in the film, her friend Sarah (Sabrina Jalees) explains how the holy grail of the dating world is the dog park. Sarah insists that you can tell a lot about a potential partner by the breed of dog they own—she recommends staying away from owners of black labs and retrievers as they are loyalty breeds and stick to owners of more free-spirted breeds, like cocker spaniels and terriers. Due to Jalees’ comedic background, this scene plays out with a ton of laughs, but it’s also clever. In the same vein as the famous car door lock advice from A Bronx Tale, Sarah warns, “if anyone tells you their name before the dog’s name, run.”

But most of these shoddy suggestions just feed into her old ways of thinking. It becomes frustrating to watch her struggle between a younger new fling (who hardly seems promising) or her former long-standing lover Robyn. Several flashbacks throughout the film that indicate how much Elsie still thinks about Robyn, making it obvious to everyone except for Elsie that she should get back with her. Which leads to the biggest issue of the film—not getting a chance to properly value the relationship that the film is centered around. Because Portrait of a Serial Monogamist begins with Elsie immediately dumping Robyn, it’s difficult to feel the impact of why she was so important to Elsie.

Mitchell and Zeidler provide some valuable insight on how heartbreak and love go hand-in-hand, and how trying to avoid one will result in losing the other. But in the end, this light-hearted indie comedy suffers from stiff performances (aside from Jalees, who could have used some more screen time), and an abundance of subplots and clichés. At least Portrait of a Serial Monogamist follows the (eventual) advice of its characters by attempting to provide fresh ideas from a unique vantage point, even if it doesn’t completely succeed.

One of the more awkward topics in the early points of a romantic relationship involves the discussion of past loves. The reality is most people are not their current love’s first love, and yet some struggle to admit there was someone before them. This topic can be most sensitive in the early months of a relationship, especially if there is a concern that feelings for an ex might still exist. Fear about this isn’t exclusive to new relationships, however. In Andrew Haigh’s sublime 45 Years, a couple who has been together for nearly half a century finds their relationship suddenly tested by a voice from the past.

That couple is the Mercers: Kate (Charlotte Rampling), a retired teacher, and Geoff (Tom Courtenay), a retired plant worker. They live a quiet life in the British countryside where they go about their business the ways most retired couples do: walking the dog, puttering about the house, running errands in town, etc. Those halcyon days of their golden years take a sharp turn just a week before their 45th wedding anniversary, when Geoff receives a letter that the body of a long-deceased former love has been found. “My Katya,” as Geoff refers to her when he breaks the news to his wife, was the love he knew before Kate. The discovery of Katya, whose body was frozen solid and lost for half a century in the mountains of Switzerland, changes Geoff. That change, along with the subsequent discovery of other information, changes Kate.

There’s a high degree of difficulty in properly presenting 45 Years without it devolving into some mawkish soap about old age and young love and regret and whatnot. Fortunately, it’s a challenge Andrew Haigh (who adapted the screenplay from David Constantine‘s short story In Another Country) more than rises to. The filmmaker has a keen awareness that a 45-year marriage is simultaneously strong and vulnerable, and he has a clear understanding that the frailty of the human ego is something that doesn’t fade with age.

The strength of the Mercers’ relationship is the most obvious aspect of the film. A couple doesn’t get to its 45th wedding anniversary on cruise control. Marriages take work to get that far, and the Mercers have put in that work, but their success is measured by more than just a number. It’s also measured by their contentment and ease with each other. It’s a subtle but important thing. This is an elderly couple not portrayed as bitter or cantankerous or even slyly dismissive of each other; they love each other and have for a long time. The fact that they are planning a 45th-anniversary party is a great example of that. They had planned a party for their 40th—a more logical milestone—but illness got in the way. They didn’t reschedule it for as soon as possible, nor did they clamor to try again at 41. They shrugged their shoulders, knew in their hearts they’d be together no matter what the year, and rounded to the next 5-year marker to throw a replacement party.

The part that’s less obvious, the part that’s more important, is the vulnerability of a relationship that has lasted so long. It isn’t a vulnerability that comes with boredom or complacency because these aren’t people looking for something new. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. These are people who are comfortable with, perhaps subconsciously cling to, the familiarities and rituals they have built up over 45 years. The film is rich with little suggestions of this. So when something like the unexpected reemergence of the corpse of a past love enters this familiar space, it might not crumble the house, but it chips the paint, and chipped paint is the kind of thing that gnaws at someone because they know it’s there and they can’t leave it alone.

And therein lies the never-aging frailty of the human ego that Haigh gets so right. With the reemergence of Katya’s body, Geoff is whisked back to the past and once again reminded of a love realized and yet left incomplete by tragedy. If he were a 40-something who had run into a high school flame at a reunion, he might buy a flashy car. He’s not that guy. Instead, he starts smoking again. He tries reading Kierkegaard again. He moves a little closer to being that irritable old man who wonders if he did it right. He worries that his old love’s frozen body has not aged a day while his has aged thousands. These little changes, these little comments, this renewed interest in a time he long filed away keeps the paint chipping and threatens to crack a wall.

Kate is in tune with it all. Acutely.

At first, it’s not that big a deal. Sure, it’s an old love, but it’s a dead love. However, as Geoff’s interest in Kierkegaard and finding old mementos increases, and as those moments when the couple would share quiet small talk turn into a discussion about Katya (again), Kate wears down. She asks questions—little ones—that illustrate the stoic and supportive face she wears on the outside hides an unraveling self-confidence on the inside. Learning something new and unexpected only exacerbates the problem because now it feels like Geoff is hiding something. When she starts poking around in the attic, her disbelief is crippling. The stakes are immeasurable because it’s not as if she might lose her husband to some fling the way a 40-year-old might; she might lose her husband to a ghost, and there’s no fighting that.

Rampling plays her incredibly deep and complex role to perfection. There is no scenery to chew, no impassioned speech to make, no confrontation to be had with “the other woman,” so in the absence of that, Rampling wields subtlety like a surgeon with a scalpel: precise, efficient, effective. It’s an amazing performance, and one made greater by the fact that Haigh keeps her the focus of almost every scene. But Courtenay is no slouch either, and it takes a real actor to be convincing in his late-life change and give Rampling everything she needs to shine.

Love does not have a finish line. There is no point along the timeline of a relationship where someone can say, “We made it this far; nothing can come between us now.” A relationship is like any other living thing: it needs constant care and attention, and it is always susceptible to damage, whether it’s a budding flower of romance or a mighty oak of marriage. With 45 Years, Andrew Haigh and his pair of stars prove this to be true, and they do so in the most well-measured yet mesmerizing of ways.

Stories centered around the American immigration experience in many ways seem akin to the creation myths of much older countries. But whereas gods and goddesses may have divined their countries from the stars or sea or some other mysticism, America was built slowly over time. Be it migrant Asian natives who would form the beginnings of Native America, wandering from a now non-existent peninsula 24,000 years ago, or the slow but steady trickle of peoples from every nation on the planet seeking shelter, work, and freedom. Nothing inspires American pride more than tales of how we got here. John Crowley‘s Brooklyn isn’t exactly a creation story, in fact, it takes place in the ’50s years after the immigration boom to America, but this story—adapted by Nick Hornby from Colm Tóibín’s novel—encompasses that very real part of being American: balancing history with the future and learning to belong.

The young woman walking that fine line is Eilis Lacey (Saoirse Ronan), an Irish girl who is given the chance to move to America when job prospects in her small Irish town run dry. Her part-time job working in a convenience store is easy to say goodbye to—what with her boss being a stuck up gossip and all—and even her friends have romantic prospects and more contentment in their small town life. The hardest part for Eilis is leaving her elder sister Rose (Fiona Glascott) behind with their mother Mary (Jane Brennan), but she is assured by Rose that this is the right decision.

So Eilis departs, traversing literal rough seas on the voyage to America. Her bunkmate aboard the ship advises her, giving her a crash course in how to survive being alone in America so far from home. But nothing really prepares Eilis for just how homesick she becomes. Her boarding house-mother, Mrs. Kehoe (Julie Walters), holds nightly dinners, and these scenes are by far the most hilarious of the film, perfectly showcasing the variety of young women making their way in America, from old-fashioned to flashy and stylish. Mrs. Kehoe is the perfect blend of old Irish propriety curbed with sharp modern spunk and the way she chides Eilis’s more rambunctious cohorts and advises the girls on their skin regimens is just one of many great examples in the film of the way the women around Eilis are her greatest support system. When Eilis’s homesickness pushes her to sullen depression it prompts her new boss, Miss Fortini (Mad Men‘s Jessica Paré), to call in the priest who sponsored Eilis’s trip to America. Jim Broadbent plays Father Flood, who enrolls Eilis in a bookkeeping school in order to give her something to focus on to distract her from her sadness.

The plan works remarkably and as Eilis begins to invest in her future she starts to let down her guard. At a church dance one Saturday night Eilis is asked to dance by Tony (Emory Cohen), a young man who is instantly quite taken with Eilis’s quiet charm and fierce intelligence. He pursues her vigilantly, and to Eilis he is so completely American. His family is Italian, but their cultural background differences only make them more drawn to one another. Eilis’s spirits raise considerably—her wardrobe even brightens, and indeed the costume design is among the many details that elevate the film—and she and Tony allow themselves to fall head over heels.

But when tragedy strikes back home in Ireland, Eilis is thrust back into her previous world, and when she returns home she has to face her old life as a new person. Ronan magnificently portrays Eilis’s depth of feeling and inner struggle with choosing what sort of life she wants to mold for herself. Now an independent young woman, she finds herself to be more desirable than ever back home and she is given very real temptation in the form of Jim (Domhnall Gleeson), a tall and successful young Irishman who seems to have the same sort of ambition as Eilis combined with a love for their home country.

Eilis’s decision essentially boils down to choosing whether she wants to choose to be Irish or Irish-American, each choice attached to a very different man who promises a very different future from the other. This conundrum feels so very close to the heart of American patriotism. That those who formed this country, whether it was on the Mayflower or many years later as an immigrant, each had to choose to be American. Crowley keeps Eilis’s decision harrowing to the end, maintaining that it isn’t necessarily about choosing correctly, as there is no clear path, it’s about choosing one’s own identity.

Brooklyn is at once inherently American and incredibly multi-cultural, showcasing just how intricate and emotional the immigration experience was for many who came to this country. That it uses the perspective of an empowered and vibrant young Irish woman is what makes Brooklyn an excellent story. It’s an across-the-ocean love triangle yes, but it’s the battle within Eilis that is most interesting. Yves Bélanger’s cinematography makes 1950’s Brooklyn both exciting and alien at first but ultimately more romantic as Eilis’s experience there changes. The imagery of Ireland feels much more spacious, open and home-like. Ultimately the film is beautiful, but it’s Ronan’s sparkling eyes and subtle expressions that cause not only Tony and Jim to fall in love with her, but in fact everyone else in the film and all in the audience as well.

A perfectly crafted romance and pride-inducing immigration tale, Brooklyn feels very much like reading an engaging book. One you just can’t put down and immediately want to re-read once it’s finished.

Todd Haynes’ gorgeous new film Carol is a delicate, romantic examination of queer identity in the 1950s. Based on the Patricia Highsmith’s novel “The Price of Salt”, about a virginal shop girl named Therese (Rooney Mara) who falls for the titular Carol (Cate Blanchett), this understated lesbian romance is an often joyous look at a blossoming relationship that transcends all obstacles of its era. Articulating that imperceptible pull of deep affection, Carol is wonderfully acted by its two leads. Mara and Blanchett develop an instant, intriguing chemistry that breaths life into their reserved initial exchanges. The immaculately crafted love story demonstrates the power of genuine connection, regardless of gender.

Haynes and his actors are able to express more with a lingering hand on a shoulder than most romances achieve in an entire film. Opening with a nervous dinner between Therese and Carol, the pair of women communicate an extensive mutual history without the benefit of the context that will later be added. Blanchett brings a dignified elegance to her fiery character, with a controlled outward demeanor Carol tries her hardest to maintain. To paraphrase a line from Carol’s jilted husband Harge (an excellent, but one-note Kyle Chandler), she’s always the most commanding presence in the room.

Her stoicism gives way when in the presence of her younger counterpart. It’s the radiant Rooney Mara who shines brightest in Carol, in spite of her character’s passive tendencies. The reserved manner in which Mara carries herself—burdened by the men and job that take her presence for granted – slowly gives way to reveal a girl simply unsure of herself. To Therese, Carol is more than someone to love, but someone whose self-assuredness is something to which she aspires (during their first get together, Therese admits she, “barely know[s] what to order for lunch”). To Carol, Therese is an alluring presence that needs to be coaxed out of her shell. Each actor seems charmed by the other’s quirks. It’s only in Carol’s presence that Therese learns to stick up for her own desires.

Carol shares thematic and temporal similarities to another Haynes film, 2002’s Far From Heaven, with the notable difference between being how retrospectively coy Far From Heaven seems by comparison. While Far From Heaven treats its homosexual elements as a reveal, Carol gives the gay relationship center stage throughout. No characters go so far as to use the L-word, G-word or H-word, but they are unrepentant about their “immoral” feelings. Therese and Carol have a harmonious bond. Even with Haynes’ history in making gay-centric movies (Poison, Velvet Goldmine), Carol feels like a step towards normalcy.

Carol could have simply been a story about a relationship falling victim to a bygone age. Instead, Haynes constructs a testament to love’s ability to endure. It’s a beautiful story only partly due to its unfettered handling of the lesbian relationship, but for the precision with which it portrays their romance. There’s a certain stiffness typically associated with Period Pieces—where costumes and era appropriate dialog gets in the way of character. That is never the case with Todd Haynes’ newest film, which uses time period as set dressing for a humanistic drama. The production details are flawless and immersive, but Haynes’ camera draws attention to his actors’ faces and their mindsets.

The culmination of Therese and Carol’s romance comes naturally. Haynes teases out the process until it seems as if the two are simply meant to get together, and that first blissful moment they share is exciting and moving. The film’s careful finale is Carol at its most tender, ending on a touchingly delightful note in sync with the rest of the film. It’s hope from the past to give us hope for our future.

You won’t catch me complaining about rom-coms or decrying the genre as lifeless, well-worn, or ready for bed. One cannot blame a film genre for the laziness of writers, directors, and narrow-minded studios. The same trends we see in consumer products apply to filmmaking. If it works, mass produce it until the market oversaturates and the people demand something new. Leslye Headland is demanding something different. Demanding, and making. Her sophomore film—a follow up to 2012’s Bachelorette—Sleeping With Other People is rom-com 2.0. Or 10.0, who knows which iteration we’re really on, all I know is we are ready for it. Headland must have decided unrealistic banter, comedy based on error and miscommunication, and men being the only ones allowed to misuse sex was getting old. All of which I tend to agree with.

In Sleeping With Other People, Headland, who also wrote the film, presents the “just friends” scenario and frees it up to be honest and self-aware, making for that rare and highly sought after rom-com combo: emotionally fulfilling AND hilarious.  If there is such thing as “organic” comedy, this is it. No one is genetically modifying the laughs in this film, they are all entirely deserved. Does that mean she goes light on the raunch or wickedness? Not for a second.

Starring Alison Brie and Jason Sudeikis, much of the film’s success falls on their mutual magnetism. Brie plays Lainey (but don’t worry she’s nothing like Laney Boggs from She’s All That), a kindergarten teacher with a longtime addiction to her always-unavailable college crush Matthew (Adam Scott). Lainey runs into the guy she lost her virginity to in college, Jake (Sudeikis), at a sex addicts meeting. Since their one-night tryst in college he’s become your typical serial polygamist, successful in his career—he’s just sold his startup to a large corporation led by a sexy CEO (Amanda Peet) he’s determined to nail—and totally absorbed in his sexual amusements. Jake and Lainey attempt a date but decide their mutual attraction will only feed into each other’s bad habit of abusing sex, deciding instead to remain friends.

What ensues is a modern update on When Harry Met Sally’s cynical approach to male-female friendships. Lainey and Jake keep the lines of communication between each other wide open, and similar to Meg Ryan’s famously enlightening lesson on the fake orgasms of woman, this film’s most talked about scene is likely to be when Jake goes into an in-depth (and visually illustrated) lesson on female masturbation. The two are so communicative as to inform each other when they are feeling attracted to the other, developing a safe-word: “mousetrap.”

The real heart of the film lies in their growing friendship and their increased dependence on one another. It’s a modern comedy that allows its characters to fall in love naturally, without the pressure of sex, while also providing plenty of sex throughout the film (with other people). The comedy of the film comes entirely from its honesty and openness, proving that mishaps, mistakes, and misperceptions aren’t the only way for romantic films to utilize comedy.

The dialog pushes Headland’s film far out of the realm of the usual rom-com as well. Not because it’s not bantery, but because the banter is surprising and realistically clever—with all the speed of Sorkin and the referential easter eggs of Gilmore Girls drained of un-believability. Contemporary audiences will appreciate the Millennial-style straight-forwardness and Lainey and Jake’s no-holds-barred conversation style. Throw in some irreverence—like taking drugs at a kid’s birthday party or Lainey’s adulterous weaknesses or Jake’s hesitancy in describing sex with a black woman—and it all adds up to a perfectly balanced amount of laughter and well-built romance.

Brie’s usual sweetness, most evidenced in her role in TV show Community, is balanced with some of the spirit we see her exhibit in AMC’s Mad Men as Trudy Campbell. She’s not a sucker, although she often returns to her hopeless romance with a married man, instead she’s a woman whose sexual desires have only been met by one man and she’s never known what it is to have emotional and sexual fulfillment in the same place. She’s not a victim, she never needs saving, she just needs a friend.

Sudeikis is also impressive, reigning in any lingering SNL silliness and playing as believably sexy and flawed, but not despicable. He could easily have made Jake appear creepy,—taking advantage of Lainey’s friendship—or pitiful—falling for a girl he may never get—but he stays equal parts damaged and dashing at all times.

They are surrounded by a great supporting cast including Jason Mantzoukas in my favorite role of his yet, and Natasha Lyonne playing both the mandatory best friend and mandatory gay best friend all at once, even if she’s not wholly believable as Lainey’s best friend. Adam Scott also plays against type as a nerdy scumbag, and Adam Brody goes big in his one early scene with Brie to hilarious effect.

The possibilities in romantic scenarios will never cease (though most romantic comedies tend to navigate to the same three or four), and Headland turns to one we’ve seen plenty of times before—the friendship-turned-romantic situation—but her approach is outgoing and unrestrained, not only with her humor but in the total transparency between her lead characters. These characters may be more clever than most people we know, more attractive, and more successful, but their friendship feels relatable and their flaws are actual which makes for heartier laughs and an aphrodisiacal love story.

A version of this review first ran as part of our 2015 Tribeca Film Festival coverage. 

Best known as one of the pioneers of the indie mumblecore movement, Andrew Bujalski (Funny Ha Ha, Computer Chess) attempts to cross over to the commercial world with Results, a romantic comedy featuring professional actors with a budget that appears larger than all of his previous work combined. In true Bujalski fashion, the writer-director offers socially awkward characters the freedom to roam in a loosely defined script. But the shapeless structure loses steam half-way through, and never fully picks back up by the end.

Recent divorcé Danny (Kevin Corrigan) relocates to Austin, Texas with a ton of inheritance money but no one to spend it with. Danny is so lonely in his vacant mansion that he’s willing to pay $200 for a stranger off Craigslist to hook-up his TV set, his only interaction with a human that day. He decides to visit a local gym, mostly because he’s bored out of his mind and just wants company. His lack of motivation is clear from the beginning, “I’m hoping to get in shape a little bit,” he says to gym owner Trevor (Guy Pearce). Lucky for him, the trainer assigned to him is the strong-willed and gorgeous Kat (Cobie Smulders). As with most romantic comedies, it’s not hard to see where the story is heading.

A few workout sessions into his new regimen and Danny develops an attraction towards Kat, and although she can do a million times better than this overweight depressed guy, she seems into him. But Danny doesn’t have a beat of romantic rhythm in his bones, and is about as smooth as sandpaper. On a night scheduled for a workout, he surprises Kat with an intimate candlelit dinner and live music. For Kat, it feels more like an ambush, and she makes a beeline for the exit.

Bujalski reveals Kat’s habit of crossing the line in professional relationships from the beginning. If a client skips out on payment or threatens to drop her as their trainer, she stands her ground and refuses to accept no for an answer. At other times, her cute looks and welcoming spirit leads her into dicey situations; it’s not surprising to discover she once had a fling with her boss Trevor, a revelation which makes for awkwardness when the three start hanging out.

While Results doesn’t follow standard genre tropes by forming a love triangle and pitting the three characters against each other, the film’s alternative isn’t necessarily better. An unlikely circle of friendship develops too conveniently, and no one is held accountable for their actions. It’s far-fetched enough that Kat would make a move on Danny in the first place, but it’s worse when she’s quick to forgive him for every mistake. Even more implausible is the dynamic between Trevor and Danny. Their polarizing personalities and shared love interest in Kat make them perfect rivals, and yet they become best friends despite any convincing logic.

The characters found in Results are well-developed, each with their own complicated backstories and unique personalities. Danny’s attempts to fix any situation with money is performed with just the right amount of comic delivery from Corrigan. Smulders is excellent as Kat, the disciplined but self-sabotaging romantic who trusts people a little too much. And Pearce is surprisingly the least impressive of the bunch, he’s so grounded compared to the others he ends up flattening them all out.

Unfortunately, Bujalski has difficultly using the combined skills of his cast to form a meaningful story. He goes through all the trouble of detailing these characters, but then doesn’t take them anywhere. And without sparks of chemistry or cohesion, the talented individual performances feel wasted. Whatever it’s attempting, Results fails to utilize its awkward scenarios and abundant talent to add pep to a stagnant romantic comedy scenario.

At what point are filmmakers finally going to stop making these “directionless boy falls in love with peculiar girl” movies?

Hopefully they never do, because that blueprint has resulted in some of the most charming, enjoyable films of all time. That same blueprint is put to work once again in French filmmaker Thomas Cailley’s romantic comedy Love at First Fight (aka Les Combattants), and once again, it works incredibly well.

Love at First Fight tells the story of Arnaud (Kévin Azaïs), an average teenager growing up in suburban France. He spends his days building huts as part of his family’s business, and his nights partying with his best friends. After a series of events leads to Arnaud developing a pseudo friendship with Madeleine (Adèle Haenel), a doomsday-prepping conspiracy theorist, he finds an unusual sense of purpose in life. When Madeleine signs up for a two-week boot camp, Arnaud follows suit, and the two find out just what it takes to survive the apocalypse—as well as the perils of young love.

With a hypnotic, electronic score by Philippe Deshaies, Lionel Flairs, Benoit Rault, Love at First Fight has an extremely upbeat and hopeful tone, which perfectly complements the comedic nature of the screenplay. While there are a few jokes in the dialogue, most of the film’s humor comes from the physicality of the actors. The comedic timing of the performers is great all-around.

Like many European films, specifically ones from France, Love at First Fight captures the feeling of romance and sexual exploration with great authenticity. Due to some excellent casting, and superb performances from Azaïs and Haenel, the characters feel real and honest. The teenagers in Love at First Fight look and act like the kids next door instead of Hollister models that seem to make up the casts of many American teen comedies. As a result, it’s much easier to get invested in the film’s emotional-filled story. Because while the film doesn’t deal with very many hard-hitting subjects, it often relies on the sentimentality of its viewers in order to succeed.

If this were an American film, there would likely be countless social commentary-filled overtones about the United States military and the controversial recruiting techniques of the various branches. Apparently such activity is a non-issue in France, because Cailley addresses military officials—specifically recruiters—with respect and even a bit of dignity. From an American standpoint, it’s quite interesting to see how differently other cultures approach a system that is, in many ways, much like our own. Culturally (and to some extent, technically) there are many aspects of Love at First Fight that are inherently French, but its overlying theme is universal. There’s just something about stories of young love—particularly those with lovable characters—that seems to speak to everyone in every language, and Cailey and co-writer Claude Le Pape really drive that point home in the most European way possible. It doesn’t matter where you’re from, or what your interests are, love will find a way because love is universal. It’s an unapologetically sweet message in a film that manages to find comedy and joy in some unusual, and occasionally dark, places.

High on entertainment value, and seeping with heart, Love at First Fight provides everything viewers will be looking for out of this kind of film. Honest performances from two exceptional young actors, sharp storytelling ability from a very capable director, and a heartwarming screenplay all come together, resulting in a completely satisfying, utterly charming package. Fans of French cinema, coming-of-age stories, and kindhearted romantic comedies are sure to find plenty to enjoy with Love at First Fight.

How does one even begin to describe the enigma that is Yorgos Lanthimos’ The Lobster? Since reading a brief description of its bizarre narrative months ago, it has been one of my most anticipated films of the year (and made our list for most anticipated films of 2015), and those familiar with Lanthimos’ previous work (most notably his 2009 Academy Award nominated film Dogtooth) are probably aware of how strange his work can be—but never without justification. The Lobster tells the story of David (Colin Farrell), a man who has recently been left by his partner and decides to check into The Hotel, where he has a month and a half to meet a new, suitable partner, otherwise he will be transformed into an animal of his choice.

The Lobster functions as part absurdist comedy, part dark romance and part social satire. The comedy is sharp and the romantic elements provide it with a sense of lightness which would have otherwise been absent; the execution of its societal commentary, however, is what sends it into uncharted territory, and the main reason why it comes across as such a deeply original work. Lanthimos pokes fun at certain commonalities of the modern romantic relationship, such as the notion that “birds of a feather flock together,” by utilizing the element of exaggeration. For instance, each character in the film has their singular unique characteristic. David is nearsighted, and thus is only interested in finding a woman who is nearsighted as well. The Limping Man (Ben Whishaw) pursues a woman who suffers from frequent nosebleeds, so in order to capture her attention and fool her into thinking that they are a match, he begins inflicting trauma on his nose, causing it to bleed when in her presence.

When I first saw Dogtooth, I praised it for its technical mastery: its carefully framed static shots, sharp editing and claustrophobic production design. Still, something held me back from fully embracing it, and looking back on the viewing experience now, I’m certain it was that I had a difficult time trying to figure out what it was saying about civilization. Its surreal and otherworldly, for sure, but what sort of comment is it trying to make about the human condition? It is indeed a tough egg to crack. The Lobster, on the other hand, is much more coherent (and dare I say accessible) in its satire. I don’t want to get ahead of myself, as I never thought I would be describing a Lanthimos film as accessible, but I definitely think people will have an easier time figuring out the meaning behind all of the madness here.

The technical elements of The Lobster are just as sound as those of Dogtooth, and aesthetically similar. The camera is almost perpetually static, and much attention is paid to the framing of certain shots, which is interesting because it allows the director to isolate aural elements such as off-screen noises that, though they cannot be seen, having a significant bearing on specific scenes. The musical score is jarring, but not in a negative way; I imagine it will be one of the first technical aspects that viewers take notice of, as its a loud and powerful score which makes itself known within the first few minutes. There isn’t much that I would change about The Lobster; if I was to suggest anything to the editors, it would be to pick out and remove certain scenes which might not seem as pertinent as others, for the film does exhaust a bit in its third act. Aside from that, it is a hilarious and biting critique of interpersonal relationships that is sure to appeal to a wider audience than Lanthimos’ previous works, and may bring him back into the limelight when award season rolls around.

From its premise alone it would be easy to discard Man Up in the same waste bin with Kate Hudson’s career from ’06 to ’09 and rejected Katherine Heigl movie pitches. After a night of heavy drinking, and yet another failed first date, Nancy (Lake Bell) gets mistaken for another woman at the train station only to end up on a blind date with Jack (Simon Pegg), a man that she actually could see herself dating. It feels unfair to try and defend the movie against all the romantic comedies that this one isn’t, because Man Up is an exceedingly charming unlikely love story with quick wit and hilarious performances despite any semblance to worse films. Having held its premiere at the 2015 Tribeca Film Festival, the movie is hardly a revelation within the rom com subgenre. The best thing about Man Up that less successful versions of this movie lack is Lake Bell in the lead role.

To this point in her career, Bell has largely been relegated to the supporting parts in films like It’s Complicated or No Strings Attached. Even her memorable TV appearances (Boston Legal, How to Make It In America, Children’s Hospital) feature her among an ensemble of funny actors. It was Bell’s feature filmmaking debut in 2013, In a World…, that helped to exhibit her magnitude and versatility in a starring role. As Nancy in Man Up, Bell once again demonstrates her mastery of accent work, seamlessly adopting a British inflection to her lines. She’s able to sell rapidly exchanged pieces of dialog and broadly absurd physical comedy; however, Bell appears so earnestly genuine that it’s impossible to deny her likeability.

Man Up begins by moving through a raucous hotel-set engagement party as a couple sneaks away to copulate in their room. Locked away by herself in the next room is Nancy, reciting a list of mantras into her mirror. She hopes to overcome her anxiety about the man downstairs whom her friends have set her up to meet, but first orders room service to avoid being at the party. Eventually, her date goes poorly and the next morning Nancy is hung-over on a train to London for her parents’ 40th wedding anniversary. Across from Nancy’s seat, a peppy, optimistic 24-year-old named Jessica (Ophelia Lovibond) flips through a copy of a self-help book before giving her copy to Nancy out of concern. Unfortunately for Jessica, the man she’s arranged to meet for a blind date, Pegg’s character, sees the self-help book with Nancy and mistakes her for the 24-year-old he planned on taking out.

The implementation of a misunderstanding as the impetus for romance has been a staple of cinema since movies like Bringing Up Baby, yet its overuse has made the more recent occurrences frustrating to watch. Man Up largely, though not entirely, avoids this issue two ways. Firstly, the meet cute between Nancy and Jack is actually fairly relatable and sweet, with both characters attempting to diffuse an awkward situation in a friendly way. Secondly, the misunderstanding is dealt with somewhat early rather than strung along for the duration of the film to provide a cheap, unnecessary twist in the third act. Nancy reveals that she’s not the woman Jack anticipated going on a date with less than halfway through the movie, and the two characters reassess their situation and advance the plot. The changing relationship dynamics throughout Man Up helps keep the Jack and Nancy romance engaging.

The pace at which all of the characters deliver their lines maintains a lively energy as scenes barrel forward. When the writing hits a false note, as it does a few times in the movie, the bevy of silliness and funny repartee surrounding it elevates the mediocre moments. There’s an infectious tone in Man Up, one that’s played for some broad laughs, but is mostly written to feel real. While the extent to which certain situation are heightened can be preposterous, the performances of both Bell and Pegg ground the film in a version of reality, and provide likable, empathetic characters in the lead roles.

The inconsistency of the humor does put a slight damper on Man Up as a whole. Rory Kinnear plays Sean, an old schoolmate of Nancy’s who had a crush on her, and goes to the extent of manipulating an uncomfortable kiss from her in the women’s bathroom. Kinnear’s performance becomes such a caricature that Sean feels like a character written for a different, dumber film. Sean and Nancy’s “intimate moment” gets interrupted by Jack, who enters the restroom despite Nancy’s not having been away for an egregious amount of time, and doesn’t act apologetic for intruding. The scene registers as forced in comparison to the rest of the absurdity in Man Up, which develops more naturally despite its wackiness. The occasional logic flaw breaks the momentum of some scenes, but is far from enough to disrupt the thoroughly pleasant experience in Man Up.

Fewer and fewer romantic comedies have broke through with audiences in the past few years. The only films in the genre to surpass $100 million at the domestic box office anytime this decade were Just Go With It ($103M), Valentine Day ($110M), and Silver Linings Playbook ($132M). Occasional subversions of the romantic comedy norm (Appropriate Behavior or They Came Together recently) manage to earn attention with critical acclaim, but rarely does the genre produce something quite as comfortable and entertaining as Man Up. The movie likely won’t amass a huge box office haul or garner the type of enthusiastic reactions that its more unique romantic comedy counterparts receive, but its charms are hard to resist and welcomed in an environment lacking quality films of its type. The combination of Bell and Pegg with fast-paced material and a few broad set pieces makes Man Up a completely enjoyable modern rom-com.

Jason Sudeikis is primed this year to be our ’90s rom-com Tom Hanks if we let him. With two romantic comedies out, both of which played at Tribeca, he’s smoothly proving he is up to the challenge of being a leading, wooing man. With the upcoming Sleeping With Other People, he has the sexy friendship-turned-romantic bit down à la Tom Hank’s in You’ve Got Mail, (though decidedly more modern and with a lot more sex), and in Tumbledown he zones in on the hopeless widower meets potential enemy turned love interest like Hanks in Sleepless in Seattle—but with the roles reversed and more antagonistic. Ok, so he’s not as wholesome-sex-symbol as Hanks, but when it comes to melding the old rom with the new com, he does an excellent job. Unfortunately the sparse and rather predictable small-town comedy of Tumbledown isn’t much for Sudeikis to work with, and he’s not even this film’s leading role.

Rebecca Hall is the film’s lead, playing Hannah, the widow of an Iron and Wine-style folk musician named Hunter with a huge following. It’s been a few years since his death and, as a sometime writer and journalist, she decides to try and tackle writing his biography. She spends a lot of time in their wooden lake cabin in Maine, near the town she grew up in, hanging with her two pit bulls and occasionally getting it on with local meathead Curtis (Joe Manganiello). Almost immediately after delving into the biography, a new guy shows up in town, Sudeikis’s Andrew McDonnell, an academic with a passion for Hunter’s music. He’s been leaving Hannah messages, which, if she hadn’t ignored them, would have tipped her off that Andrew is also starting a biography of Hunter. Immediately defensive, and because people don’t act all that rashly in rom-coms, she steals Andrew’s writing journal from his hotel and begrudgingly realizes he’s a pretty great writer. But she sends him packing anyway, determined to do this herself.

Griffin Dunne plays her friend, a bookstore owner, and the local newspaperman. When she hands off her first few pages of the book, he gives her some honest feedback. She has a series of memories, but they don’t a good book make. So Hannah hires Andrew to write the book with her. He moves in temporarily to get to work, and there is immediate animosity between the two. Hannah isn’t quite sensitive enough to his ego and he’s a little too familiar and assuming when it comes to discussing her dead husband.

Together they (of course) discover a few new things about Hunter, and each other. The real lessons lie in Andrew’s assumptions about Hunter, entirely based on his own life hardships and the way he thinks a talented musician’s life should look. Hannah has the expected problem of letting go of her dead husband.

Hall and Sudeikis have a reasonable amount of chemistry in the film. Their characters play into a few devices, but there are enough outside revelations to maintain interest in their ongoing story. Hall, who seems best when playing endearingly difficult, is easy to like. But, as sometimes happens, her own personality is shadowed by the interestingness of her dead husband. If first timer Sean Mewshaw (along with screenwriter Desiree Van Til) had thought to include more back story about what brought Hunter and Hannah together, it may have helped round her out a bit.

Dianna Agron shows up as Andrew’s throw-away girlfriend, a useless character meant only to contrast with how different she is from Hannah. And Blythe Danner and Richard Masur are charming as Hannah’s parents, if only given about one scene apiece of meaty material.

Tumbledown is tender, but not compelling. It’s a comedy where the tension is far more interesting to watch than the eventual coming together. The more dramatic bits, focusing on Hunter’s death and the impact of losing the love of one’s life, provoke the most emotional response, whereas the romance playing out seems to pale in comparison to the one Hannah already had. The music of the film, sung by Damien Jurado, is sad, lilting, and makes Hunter an easily believable genius. All of the elements making up Hannah—her community, family, and past—make the film a cute watch. Her progressing relationship with Andrew doesn’t compel quite as much as the rest. Overall, Tumbledown is a pleasant and sweet tempered film, and Hall and Sudeikis are lovely though simple in it, but it certainly isn’t aiming to be one of the great roms or coms of the century.

Most films involving ex-lovers center around feelings of hostility and resentment between the two parties, but Eugene Kotlyarenko’s A Wonderful Cloud takes a different approach—a common theme in this micro-budget film—demonstrating love doesn’t always disappear when the relationship ends. Appropriately slated in the Visions program at this year’s SXSW festival, A Wonderful Cloud is nothing if not audacious, but it’s often too ballsy for its own good. Having no limits means having the freedom to go anywhere, but in this case it means diving into uncomfortable places—poop jokes are a running gag—courageously displaying the blood, sweat, and semen (literally) of its insufferable characters without remorse. Despite all the ugliness and imperfections (and there’s plenty), I found it strangely difficult to condemn its exaggerated portrayal of a modern L.A. hipster subculture. It’s brutally honest and filled with energy. And yes, it’s also very weird.

A Wonderful Cloud begins with Katelyn (Kate Lyn Sheil) traveling to Los Angeles with hopes to finalize paperwork on the clothing company she started with her ex-boyfriend Eugene (Eugene Kotlyarenko). Both are in relationships with other people now, but they aren’t as meaningful as the relationship they once shared. This is especially true of Eugene, who is seen having sex with his current girlfriend with an uninterested look on his face. Though unwilling to admit it, Eugene desperately wants to impress Katelyn. He’d say he’s just trying to make her feel bad about ending their relationship, but contemplating which outfit to wear when picking her up from the airport suggests there’s a lingering emotional attachment.

Over the course of a weekend, the two do everything in their power to put off signing the business papers and focus on rekindling their friendship. Eugene takes pride in showing Katelyn his favorite food truck and introducing her to his eccentric group of friends, though she’s not particularity impressed by either. They spend their time with some of the weirdest people L.A. has to offer, making the film surprisingly entertaining considering most of it involves people just hanging out. Surrounded by self-proclaimed artists with no real talent, A Wonderful Cloud ponders what life would be like if everyone was an obnoxious American Apparel model, caring only about themselves and their reputation. It’s an exaggerated portrait, but unfortunately one that doesn’t appear too far-fetched.

While the film mostly relies on its bizarre characters for laughs, improvised dialogue keeps the film interesting and organic. But more importantly, the off-the-cuff chemistry between Sheil and Kotlyarenko (likely a result from the couple’s real-life romance) adds an unexpected amount of charm for a film made up of melodramatic hipsters with annoying personalities. A Wonderful Cloud is semi-autobiographical for Kotlyarenko, even using personal iPhone footage recorded back in 2010 when he and Sheil were dating, which adds just a pinch of authenticity to counterbalance the otherwise embellished absurdities.

As with most experimental projects, there are some things that work in A Wonderful Cloud and others that don’t. There are moments that test patience, jokes that fall flat, and questionable stylistic choices. But the film is undeniably honest and unafraid to explore uncomfortable boundaries. It has no shame in showing masturbation, excrement, nudity, and the ugliness of its characters, occasionally all at the same time. Technology plays an important role in the film—examining how ride sharing transforms how we get around, Skype changes how we communicate with long-distance family, selfies and social media fuel the narcissist millennial generation, and smartphones enable us all to become directors and stars of our own movies. Maybe the film is a reminder that just because anyone can document everything about their lives, doesn’t mean they should or that doing so holds any meaning in the end.

An approachable musical about two lovers out of sync, The Last 5 Years is yet another stage for Anna Kendrick to stand on and blow us away, and that in itself makes the film notable. She’s spectacular as usual, and at this point in her career, her movie-musical schtick isn’t tiresome in the least. Her partner in song is Jeremy Jordan, best known for his stint on the short-lived ABC series Smash, a handsome young man with an elastic voice and white-bread appeal. The problem with this Richard LaGravenese adaptation of Jason Robert Brown’s 2002 stage show is that the asynchrony that exists between its characters extends to the actors playing them, making the film feel uneven for the wrong reasons. It’s still enjoyable, though, a modest production that seems geared toward the most casual of musical fans, much like Stuart Murdoch’s 2014 indie-pop gem God Help the Girl.

Made on a shoestring, the film charts the blossoming and eventual implosion of a half-decade-long romance in an imaginative way, shattering the lovers’ timeline and rearranging the shards like a piece of post-modernist art. From aspiring musical-theater actress Cathy’s (Kendrick) perspective, we see the relationship play out in reverse; the film opens with her singing a lover’s lament, alone in the couple’s New York brownstone. “Jamie is over and Jamie is gone / Jamie’s decided it’s time to move on” she sings in the forlorn first number, “Still Hurting”. We then switch over to Jamie (Jordan), a burgeoning novelist whose side of the story starts, traditionally, at beginning of the relationship, when he and Cathy were madly enamored and felt giddy just to breathe the same air. From there the film alternates between the two, their chronologies intersecting on their wedding day in Central Park and then continuing on in opposite directions.

In the stage production, we only ever see Cathy and Jamie together when the timelines intersect (a gimmick accomplished through clever blocking and lighting), but the film sees Kendrick and Jordan share the screen quite a bit, for practical reasons. The high-concept minimalism of the live show poetically reinforces the story’s theme of romantic dissonance, but the film doesn’t appear to suffer from utilizing real locations, elaborate sets, and sweeping camera moves. The cinematography isn’t particularly impressive, but it’s evocative enough to help bolster whatever emotions the songs project.

As the film’s quick 90 minutes fly by we learn in glimpses that the doomed relationship started in earnest with Jamie taking a big risk: after a life-changing phone call from Random House, he promptly calls Cathy in a fit of elation and decides they’re moving in together. We know the relationship ends in flames, however, and it’s slowly revealed that the wedge responsible for the couple’s split is success itself. Jamie’s career soars, his publishing deal with Random House launching him into the company of dignitaries and socialites who he’s obligated to schmooze with at expensive parties. Struggling actress Cathy, who suffers through botched big-city auditions and never ascends beyond summer stock theatre, gets thrown to the wayside as the career-minded Jamie becomes more and more bewitched by the allure of the high life (and beautiful groupies).

Kendrick kicks ass as usual, singing with range and fluidity and emoting only as big or as small as is appropriate for each number. She’s spot-effing-on, and it’s sort of astonishing how in-control she always is, even during tricky numbers like the wrenching opening song. “I’m a Part of That”, a gorgeous ballad of anxiety and doubt, is her best moment, and perhaps the film’s as well. Jordan’s a great singer, too, but he lacks Kendrick’s discipline; his performance is always dialed one notch too loud. (When he sings the adoring “Shiksa Goddess”, he’s so theatrical it’s borderline-aggravating, and it doesn’t help that it’s the first thing we hear him sing.) His enthusiasm is usually cloying, while Kendrick’s is consistently toothsome. Their acting styles simply don’t match up very well, an ironic complication considering the material.

The songs sound more colloquial than your run-of-the-mill musical, focused more on cadence and naturalism than melody and hooks. “Schmuel”, a jaunty story-time ditty Jamie uses to lift Cathy’s drooping spirits, is the bounciest, most divergent song (and Jordan’s shining moment), and represents Brown’s songwriting at its most playful. Brown’s stated that The Last 5 Years is an intensely personal and semi-autobiographical piece, which is interesting when you consider the authenticity and depth of the Cathy character. LaGravenese’s interpretation of the material is pretty straightforward and unremarkable, but his ability to keep the see-sawing timeline organized and easy to follow is impressive and crucial to the success of the film.

Jamie comes off like an arrogant dick (the movie opening with Cathy so utterly heartbroken at his hands probably has a lot to do with it), and Jordan doesn’t have the chops to imbue him with any deeper complexity. We naturally gravitate to Cathy’s underdog status (and Kendrick’s irresistible charm), however, which makes the film perhaps more asymmetrical than intended. The Last 5 Years is enjoyable all the way through notwithstanding, with pleasant (if largely forgettable) songs and a unique storytelling structure that keeps you on your toes. Kendrick’s the real reason to check it out, though, and rabid devotees of the gifted Pitch Perfect sweetheart will only fall deeper in love with their idol.

This review delves into some of the film’s reveals in the first act. While this review only contains very mild spoilers, those wanting to go in blind might want to hold off reading until after they see The Duke of Burgundy.

Peter Strickland’s The Duke of Burgundy is a deceptive little love story. The opening credits, with its warping effects, filters and dreamlike mood, immediately shows how much Strickland owes his film’s style to sleazy Euro erotic films from the ’70s (think Jess Franco). But Strickland knows what attracts people to that kind of low-grade cinema, similar to the giallo films that inspired Berberian Sound Studio, isn’t necessarily the content or quality. It’s the specific, singular mood these sorts of films create, the off-kilter atmosphere that makes people so fascinated with trying to re-create the same thing. The Duke of Burgundy takes that distinctive form, the hazy, dreamlike reverie one associates with old Euro erotica, and uses it to tell an achingly beautiful love story.

At the start of the film, Evelyn (Chiara D’Anna) comes to the large estate of Cynthia (Sidse Babett Knudsen) to do her daily chores as a maid. Cynthia cruelly dominates Evelyn throughout the day, insulting her work and ultimately punishing her for forgetting to wash a pair of panties (what that punishment is exactly I’ll leave as a surprise). It’s at this point, right after the extremity of Evelyn’s punishment, that Strickland starts pulling back the curtain. Cynthia and Evelyn are, in fact, lovers, and the maid routine is a ritual the two act out almost every day. Suddenly the roles in the relationship switch; Evelyn turns out to be the one in control, giving Cynthia explicit instructions on how to behave during their role play. It’s the first of many surprising, inventive subversions of expectations throughout.

From here, The Duke of Burgundy uses the extreme conditions of Cynthia & Evelyn’s relationship to delve into universal issues anyone with a partner goes through, namely the issue of compromise. Cynthia clearly doesn’t enjoy Evelyn’s routine, but she continues to participate because of how much it pleases her lover. Take away the BDSM qualities, and what Cynthia feels is one of the biggest hurdles with any relationship. It’s about doing something you don’t like to please the one you love, and Strickland beautifully conveys that core theme with a level of precision cutting straight through the gorgeous style.

Don’t take that as a knock on The Duke of Burgundy’s style, though. In Strickland’s previous film Berberian Sound Studio, he showed how much his style puts an emphasis on sensations and emotions. It’s easy to get into a character’s headspace because every frame dedicates itself to evoking their strongest feelings. It’s the same thing here, with each image and sound seemingly designed to emphasize the intensity of Cynthia & Evelyn’s love. Strickland repeatedly delves into Evelyn’s perspective at the height of her lust for Cynthia, and it’s a feeling so strong it threatens to break the film; abstract images inspired by the avant-garde take over (one sequence, obviously inspired by Stan Brakhage, might be one of the best things put on screen all year), and the effect is stunning. Strickland appears to have finally found the perfect mix of form and content, and in doing so has made his best film to date.

It’s also a very funny film. Strickland offsets the more intense moments with plenty of opportunities to poke fun at his own creation. A lot of the humour comes from breaking down the fantastical qualities, putting an emphasis on the logistics of Evelyn’s wants. None of the comedic elements feel out of place either, mainly because the characters always take things seriously (no matter what way you cut it, lines like “So had I ordered a human toilet, none of this would have happened?” delivered earnestly is just plain funny). And that’s key to The Duke of Burgundy’s success. Strickland never mocks or judges Cynthia & Evelyn. He presents a unique, fairy tale-like setting, one that feels timeless, and presents something relatable through it. It’s rendering the ordinary into something extraordinary, and watching Strickland’s sublime interpretation is nothing short of exhilarating.

The Duke of Burgundy is in on VOD and theatres including Landmark’s Nuart Theatre in West LA and IFC Center in New York now.

Almost every film review I have written has opened with an introduction relating to the film at hand, whether it be an anecdote or a trivia item about awards, news, or details relating to the film. In the case of Lilting, my introduction is left blank thanks to a film so unique and so beautifully executed that I struggle to find a comparison.

The film, from writer/director Hong Khaou, centers on Junn (Pei-pei Cheng), an older Cambodian Chinese woman who has recently lost her son. (She is also a widow.) Junn lives in modern-day London, having emigrated years before with her husband and son. Having never learned the English language, Junn struggles in her solitary life in the retirement home where her son placed her.

Before long there is a new force in her life: Richard (Ben Whishaw), a man she believed was her son’s “best friend” but who, in actuality, was her son’s lover. While nothing can compare to the loss of a child, Richard’s pain of having lost the love of his life is no less crippling to him than Junn’s loss is to her.

Another new force in Junn’s life is Alan (Peter Bowles), an Englishman and fellow retirement home denizen who has romantic interests in Junn – and she in him – despite their language barrier. Where she is bored and restless in the home, Alan is comfortable there.

The third new force in Junn’s life is Vann (Naomi Christie), the interpreter Richard hires to help Junn communicate with Alan. Vann is a pretty, 20-something Asian girl who is tasked with so much more than converting English to Chinese and back again. She is a bridge between languages and cultures and ages. She has the thankless job of providing a voice for everyone else, yet when she tries to assert her own, she finds deeper communication is not necessarily her strong suit, at least in her current situation.

The first 10 minutes of Lilting are devastating. The film opens with a scene with Junn and her son, Kai (Andrew Leung), who is visiting her at the home. She’s your typical mom: she loves that her son has come to visit (but he doesn’t come often enough); she loves that he brings her flowers (but not the CD he keeps forgetting); she wishes she could see him more (and that he would be less generous of his time with Richard). It’s as genuine a mother-son exchange as you are likely to see … until Kai disappears.  He is not in Junn’s room, but instead in her mind.

Thanks to some terrific shot selections and tight blocking by director Khaou, coupled with excellent editing by Mark Towns, a camera trick that in many other films is executed heavy-handedly instead leaves the viewer breathless.

Kai – who is dead when the story begins – exists like this throughout Lilting. Khaou treats us to these deftly woven flashbacks of Kai and Junn, and Kai and Richard, to paint a portrait of who this young man was in the eyes of his mother and in the eyes of his lover, how those two visions of Kai conflicted greatly, and how the conflict escalates in the wake of his death.

Beyond the battle for Kai’s memory (and his things, and his ashes), Junn and Richard carry mild sentiments of bigotry towards each other. Richard carries it in the form of his frustration that Junn never assimilated to her western surroundings. Junn carries it in the form of sexual discrimination. While she never admits to knowing her son was gay, and while there is a moment near the end of the film when Richard outs Kai posthumously, you get the sense she has always known it in her heart, and she has always resented it in her heart. Hers is a jealousy more than that of the usual possessive mother losing her son to his love; it’s a jealousy tinged with old-world discriminatory attitudes. It’s deft character creation from Khaou that both actors pull off remarkably well.

Much of the rest of the film’s conflict is more easily defined but no less important: East vs. West. Old vs. Young. Man vs. Woman. Straight vs. Gay. Richard and Vann face there own strife as Vann’s personal feelings come to play regarding the job she’s been hired for. What makes Lilting so successful is the balance of these conflicting situations. There is never a moment in the film when Khaou rests too heavily on something that feels like it’s working well; he knows to not abuse a good thing.

Khaou adds some needed comic relief and always at the right time – mostly from Alan, who gets the film’s funniest lines. The jokes don’t always work, but they never feel forced, which is more important here.  These aren’t tension-breakers delivered solely for the sake of lightning the mood; they are light lines delivered with pinpoint timing.

Hong Khaou is a gifted storyteller and filmmaker who captures well the complexity of relationships, how challenging they can be, their causes and effects, and what motivates people to operate both within and beyond them. Lilting is delicate and intricate and a genuinely satisfying viewing experience.

Lilting trailer

While tales of the war zone that is online dating in our modern era are timely, the release date of the latest film to cover the subject, Two Night Stand, seems to be a bit off. Taking place between Christmas and New Years in snowy New York City, the distributors might have aimed for a winter release, capitalizing on the resolutions and expectations that soar at the New Year around romance. Enrollment on online dating sites certainly skyrocket during that time of year, and audiences might have welcomed a cheerful rom-com both commiserating and encouraging their resolve. Instead, it is September, and unfortunately Two Night Stand is a modern digital-era romance confusingly trying to capture the charm of the classic 90’s rom-com.

The film follows Megan (Analeigh Tipton) as she faces unemployment, a roommate (Jessica Szohr) with both a job and a boyfriend (Scott Mescudi aka Kid Cudi), and a recent breakup, all around the holidays. She decides to partake in online dating, a common enough practice among twenty-somethings. After a run-in with her ex, her roommate encourages her to find a hookup using the site, a one night stand. With a few glasses of wine in her, Megan reaches out and Alec (Miles Teller) responds. She asks him a few clarifying questions, mainly about the cleanliness of his apartment, before trekking to Brooklyn. The night goes as planned, but it’s the next morning that brings a challenge. After a terse morning-after conversation, wherein Megan and Alec decide they’d like never to see each other again, Megan descends to the street to find a snowstorm has trapped her at Alec’s. Faced with having to confront and converse with what was supposed to be a hookup partner and nothing more, the two exchange banter aplenty before deciding this may be their chance to give each other a little useful feedback.

In some ways, first time director Max Nichols accomplishes this strange 90’s throwback. Teller is a young Tom Hanks reincarnate but with enough of that fast-talking millennial edge. Tipton bats her eyes, and tips her head with a Meg Ryan quality, and she speaks many of her lines with an unintentional cuteness. While each seems inherently talented, the real problem is that the romantic dynamic of a You’ve Got Mail or a Sleepless in Seattle just doesn’t hold up in today’s contemporary hookup tradition. The most relatable parts of the film focus on the dishonesty around online dating, the embellishment and presentation one can manipulate in an online profile. But the film lacks in fully forming either Alec or Megan.

Alec spouts off his philosophy around ambition, his disinterest in being passionate about his career. The sort of manifesto one might expect from a millennial except that they’ve proven to be one of the most driven and passionate generations, not always around their careers, but around their well-defined values. Megan, on the other hand is current with her comfort discussing sex, and yet seems distressed with her first foray into online dating and hooking up. Additionally she’s also given a lot of failed young-people lingo lines–“I’ve been sexiled”–that completely discredits her.

While Mark Hammer’s dialogue keeps up the pace well throughout a film that mostly takes place within one apartment, it only slightly capitalizes on the meet-awkward scenario. And strangely, Megan and Alec’s fast-paced and open line of communication (a well-used and modern device) is revoked in the name of conflict for the film’s ending. Anyone feeling nostalgic for a 90’s rom-com ending will certainly be pleased with Two Night Stand’s outcome. Anyone wanting to commiserate around their own failed (or successful) online dating attempts will laugh in Two Night Stand’s face.

Nichols makes great use of footage from the giant snowstorm that hit New York last January, one can almost feel the arctic cold of it. And Megan’s layered clothing look (no seriously, she must be wearing 6 or 7) had this LA lady wishing for sweater weather. In the end, though, Two Night Stand won’t likely garner the same respect it’s 90’s rom-com subliminal inspirations enjoy, and is more a rentable film for a future snow day. Or an LA sick day, as it were.

Let me first start out by saying that this review contains some spoilers found in The One I Love. Normally I believe spoilers shouldn’t be discussed in reviews, but in this case the “twist” is revealed almost immediately and it ends up being the main topic of the film–there wouldn’t be much to talk about without acknowledging it. Knowing this twist only takes some of the fun out of the discovery, but by no means doesn’t it ruin the experience. Having said all that, you’ve officially been warned.

In effort to save their troubled relationship Ethan (Mark Duplass) and Sophie (Elisabeth Moss) agree to go on “the perfect getaway” suggested to them by their therapist (Ted Danson). So the couple travel to a secluded vacation home for a relaxing weekend retreat. But the couple soon realize they’re getting way more than they bargained for. Not only do they discover the house has a neat little guest house, it’s what they find inside the guest house that completely baffles them.

Like something taken from a Twilight Zone episode, one of them enters the guest house to find an exact replica of the other partner. As expected, Ethan and Sophie are freaked out by this discovery at first. But once they realize that their doppelgangers are actually better versions of their partner—more charming, attractive, and fun to be around—the couple decide to spend time with their upgraded better half. Even with the proper ground rules this becomes a dangerous game because they end up falling in love with them.

Not only does The One I Love ask what qualities would you change in your partner, it also asks how you would change yourself. At one point Ethan admits that his doppelganger is about “20% cooler and 20% more emotionally involved” than he is. What’s more, he understands that he won’t ever be that perfect person. Accepting these imperfections in other people as well as yourself is the moral of the story.

The One I Love carefully avoids the trap of making sense of the metaphysics involved by telling its own characters not to question the “magic”. Ethan explains how an animal doesn’t question how electricity works, they simply embrace that lights magically turn on. The point isn’t how it works, so just roll with it. Essentially, it’s a subtle way to tell the audience not to nitpick at the logistics. Which is wise since the film leaves major questions unanswered like where did these doubles come from or how do they even exist?

Duplass and Moss do their best to portray better versions of themselves, changing their mannerisms significantly when playing their double. Sophie’s doppelganger uncharacteristically allows Ethan to eat bacon (the real Sophie would never allow for that!) and Ethan’s suddenly becomes interested in art. But unless they’re onscreen at the same time it can be difficult to visually tell which character they’re playing. Perhaps it was intentional to show only subtle alterations to their physical form, making them slightly more attractive to the other partner, but I’m not sure if it was completely necessary. The One I Love helps those who miss the tiny indicators by explicitly pointing out that Duplass looses his glasses and Moss pins her hair back when playing the doppelgangers.

The One I Love uses an innovative way to demonstrate how relationships tend to lose their spark over time. The film nearly paints itself into a corner by revealing its “twist” so early on, making the second act seem sluggish. It’s not that the story ever gets boring, but it shifts into cruise control for a while. However things start to come to live in the final act. A late film development makes it interesting again in time for a satisfying conclusion. The One I Love might not win over everyone, but Charlie McDowell demonstrates distinct talent as a young filmmaker in his feature debut.

The One I Love trailer

A lighthearted romantic comedy with few surprises, Forev is the sort of film that does little more than induce a smile. The film opens with Sophie (Noël Wells of recent SNL fame) drunkenly stumbling into her neighbor Pete’s (Matt Mider) apartment with a man she’s just picked up. In this moment, we see more of her and Pete’s characters through their non-verbal communication than through dialogue, establishing her naïve, scatterbrained personality and his plain awkwardness. The problem is that this isn’t due to fantastic acting, but because we’ve seen these characters before – over and over to be honest. Indie rom-coms are up to their ears in quirky, artistically inclined women and sensitive, socially inept men. Nevertheless, the exchange is certainly amusing to witness, and in many ways relatable, despite its oddities.

After realizing just how unworthy her temporary hookup was, and after a discouraging audition for a hot dog commercial the next day, Sophie finds herself in Pete’s apartment yet again, seeking comfort from his carpet. The neighbors become friends and Sophie decides to accompany Pete on a six-hour journey to Phoenix to pick up Pete’s sister Jess (Amanda Bauer) from college. Make no mistake: both Wells and Mider are incredibly talented actors, and as the film progresses, their chemistry is clear, and it’s not hard to believe the two have known each other for some time. Eventually  Sophie admits to having a crush on Pete, and the two somehow arrive at the conclusion that they should get married, their discussion of it making the idea seem somewhat plausible. Naturally, Jess does not feel the same way upon learning about her brother’s engagement, particularly given that she has just been dumped by her long-term boyfriend.

And so, with a main cast of just three people, Forev attempts to handle the subject of marriage with a slight hand, never venturing into territory that might be controversial. Indeed, the film never aims to achieve anything beyond the surface, content with providing entertainment that even in its darkest moments is still cheerful. When the car breaks down on their journey home and the three are stranded at a motel overnight, they decide to get drunk to help Jess through her emotional turmoil. With the way they all act within the bar, however, it’s not surprising that Sophie and Pete wake up the next morning to find Jess missing, and are thrown into their first problem together. Under the stress of searching for Jess, the anxieties of the two become magnified, and they begin to realize that their impulsive decision may not have been for the best.

The film focuses heavily on the emotions of its characters, with each character making decisions based purely on emotion. The problem with this being that the characters’ emotions are entirely predictable and very few of their actions come as a surprise. Additionally, though the actions the characters take might be believable, the things they say often aren’t; speaking in a dialect purely reserved for the “quirky indie character”, it’s often as though they are all trying to channel their inner Zooey Deschanel. Paired with an ending that somewhat belies its organic atmosphere, the film struggles to be honest to itself, instead settling for being charming (although this trade-off isn’t entirely amiss, it’s rather underwhelming).

If you watch a lot of independent film, chances are you’ve already seen everything Forev has to offer. That’s not to say the film is bad – in fact, if anything it’s an indication to the quality of the film, given the real gems coming from indie cinema these days. What it does say, however, is that writer/directors Molly Green and James Leffler rely a little too strongly on established patterns to tell their story, thus suppressing their own creativity. The talent is clearly there – it just suffers from a case of being too conventionally unconventional.

Writers David Wain and Michael Showalter won over audiences (though not critics) with their 2001 nostalgic summer-camp satire Wet Hot American Summer and attempt to repeat their success with their new rom-com parody They Came Together. The film pokes fun at just about every romantic comedy trope and cliché out there, but committing the same mistakes as the cookie-cutter genre it’s parodying isn’t ironic enough to justify laughs. Many of the punchlines are either beaten to death by repetition or are needlessly explained why they’re funny. And there’s nothing funny about that.

The film begins at a dinner table where Joel (Paul Rudd) and Molly (Amy Poehler) recall how the two of them met to their friends Kyle (Bill Hader) and Karen (Ellie Kemper). Right off the bat the film acknowledges that their story is very much like a corny romantic comedy, as if admitting their own corniness gives the film a free pass. Not long after the lovebirds start describing how they began to date, Kyle blurts out from across the table, “You weren’t kidding, your story really IS like a corny movie!”. Cue the eye rolls.

Both Joel and Molly had broken up with their significant others shortly before running into one other (literally) on their way to the same party. However, it was not love at first sight. The two start off on the wrong foot by getting into a loud argument after blaming the other for the collision. They definitely don’t seem right for each other. After all, Joel works at the Corporate Candy Company which threatens to shut down Molly’s small indie candy shop. Though in the very next scene the two instantly settle their differences in a book store upon discovering their love for the fiction genre. It’s suppose to be ridiculous, that’s the joke.

There are moments where the self-aware comedy works. One of the few laugh out loud moments is when Molly recites a paragraph of specific details while ordering a muffin, only to find out that the entire passage is actually verbatim on the menu. But unfortunately, many of the gags are simply exhausting. Case in point when Joel replies to a bartender, “You can say that again”, who then proceeds to repeat his line over and over until it becomes annoying. A similar instance occurs when someone shouts “swish” after every missed shot on the basketball court. It’s funny maybe once or twice, but definitely not on the fourth or fifth.

They Came Together certainly relies on the undeniable charm of Rudd and Poehler. Maybe a bit too reliant. Both actors do their best with the material, at times elevating the writing better than anyone else could, though even their great comedic chemistry is not enough to save the film. Perhaps that’s why Wain gathers an army of an ensemble including appearances from Ken Marino, Jason Mantzoukas, Ed Helms, Melanie Lynskey, Max Greenfield, Jack McBrayer, Kenan Thompson, and even Judge Judy. These are all welcoming additions but unfortunately all the talent goes to waste with the weak script.

Even a with a short-and-sweet runtime of 83 minutes, They Came Together overstays its welcome with repetitive jokes. The real kicker is many of those jokes weren’t all that great to start with. For example, there is a running joke that New York City plays SUCH an important role in the film that it’s almost a character itself. I suppose this is a dig towards Woody Allen for claiming the city is its own character in his rom-com Manhattan, but I think the joke will mostly fall on deaf ears. They Came Together tries too hard to become a self-aware parody that it forces its humor, generating much less laughs than expected.

I’m not going to lie, the primary reason In Your Eyes caught my attention is that Joss Whedon wrote and produced the film. And I’m guessing I’m not alone. Whedon began earning fans many years ago with his high-concept sci-fi television shows such as Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, Firefly, and Serenity. Then he made The Avengers. His Marvel Comics film was a massive commercial success (reaching the third all-time highest grossing film at the box office), quickly cementing himself as one of Hollywood’s most powerful directors. Sadly, In Your Eyes is a disappointing melodrama, featuring a decent concept that gets compromised by a generic and familiar love story.

In Your Eyes begins with a young girl named Rebecca clinging her sled tightly as she studies the snowy New Hampshire hill with great focus. It’s apparent something bad is about to happen when the overly dramatic score kicks in right as her mother pleads for her to be careful. As she races down the hill, the film jumps to a boy clutching his desk at school. Suddenly he can somehow see exactly what she does. When her sled slams into a tree, they simultaneously get knocked unconscious. These two characters don’t share the inexplicable psychic connection again until twenty years later.

The film removes the soft focus filter to indicate present day, reintroducing the characters as adults now. Dylan (Michael Stahl-David) is an ex-convict who lives in a trailer home in the New Mexico desert, while Rebecca (Zoe Kazan) is unhappily married to a wealthy doctor in New Hampshire. On a random afternoon, their strange connection suddenly comes back, allowing them to see through each other’s eyes once again. As an added bonus, the two are now also able to talk to each other. Without really questioning these powers, the two soon become best friends and engage in flirtatious conversations. It’s easy to guess what happens next.

The running joke of the film is how others react to these two talking out loud to “themselves” in public. This is funny the first couple of times, especially when Rebecca interrupts Dylan’s romantic date with another woman, but the gig gets old pretty fast. When others catch them talking out loud, they often grab their phone to pretend they’re having a conversation on the phone. Because cell phones do exist in their world, I wondered why they didn’t just call each other, instead of looking like weirdos to everyone. Perhaps to save minutes on their cell phone plans?

Admittedly, trying to justify the logistics of the film is pointless. Regardless of how (or why) these two are able to communicate, the concept of a long-distance relationship between two people who’ve never met is enchanting and relevant. While films like Spike Jonze’s Her depict falling in love with someone you’ve never met more effectively, In Your Eyes does a good job exploring how love knows no bounds.

Despite the concept being moderately interesting, poor and straightforward execution renders In Your Eyes mostly ineffective. Many lines in the film are delivered unnaturally, making the dialogue sound painfully awkward and sometimes downright cringe-worthy. Also, the film never really feels like a true Whedon production. By establishing all the metaphysical fantasy elements at the beginning, the storyline eliminates all surprises by taking the safest and most predictable route the rest of the way. Therefore, the story lacks the fresh Whedon spin we typically receive from him. Unlike his other work, In Your Eyes consists of a dull, vulnerable, and powerless role for the lead female, and that’s highly disappointing.

2013 was the year for Saturday Night Live alums to break out of their comedic roles to star in smaller indie dramas. First there was Will Forte who set aside his MacGruber impersonations for a more serious father and son road trip film in Alexander Payne’s Nebraska. In Hateship Loveship it’s Kristen Wiig who boldly steps outside of her wheelhouse of wise-cracking joker (Bridesmaids, Knocked Up) for a role in which she barely cracks a smile. Unfortunately, her transition is not quite as smooth or effortless as Forte’s, though the uninspiring material doesn’t do her any favors.

The story begins as a painfully shy personal caregiver named Johanna (Kristen Wiig) must find a new client after the elderly woman she was looking after passes away. She is referred to the McCauley household to look after a teenage girl named Sabitha (Hailee Steinfeld) who has lived with her grandfather (Nick Nolte) ever since her mother passed away. As expected from a rebellious teenager, Sabitha is standoffish towards Johanna from the beginning and eventually exploits the caregiver’s gullible and delicate personality.

From the moment Sabitha’s estranged father Ken (Guy Pearce) arrives on-screen the film attempts to subtly reveal his backstory of addiction problems, but the moments are so deliberately presented that they feel forced. In Johanna’s first interaction with Ken, she finds him stealing prescription pills for which he awkwardly asks her to look the other way. In the very next scene Johanna learns that Ken’s wife passed away and that Sabitha’s best friend is not allowed to get a ride from him. Immediately following that scene, Johanna overhears an argument where Ken is shouting, “It was an accident!” As if it wasn’t obvious enough that he killed his wife while driving under the influence, a gossiping bank teller informs Johanna that he spent time in prison for “what happened”. Each time Hateship Loveship tip-toes around the obvious, it becomes more and more cringe worthy.

It’s frustrating that so much exposition is given to characters other than its main star. It’s easy to see Wiig is a sexually repressed woman, in the film’s best scene she passionately makes out with herself in a mirror, but it’s never revealed why she acts the way she does. She comes off as a flat two-dimensional character incapable of expressing any emotions, despite enduring some colossal ups and downs. Even Pearce, who is normally excellent, has trouble making his out-of-control junkie character seem convincing.

Unfortunately, it’s pretty easy to tell that Hateship Loveship is adapted from a short story. There’s simply not enough material to call for a full-length feature, even the best moments were only mildly interesting and very short-lived. Not only does the film derive from a stifling script full of predictable outcomes, but it also dedicates too much time toward its minor subplots (like Nolte’s relationship with the bank teller), while skimming over important details like marriage and pregnancy. Perhaps Hateship Loveship would have been better suited as a short film, or maybe it should have just remained a short story.

Hateship Loveship trailer

Andrew Fleming’s Barefoot falls short of being both an intriguing and emotionally moving film.  Coming from a director credited for cult classics such as The Craft and Dick, I had a level of expectation for this film, which by the end of the 90 minutes was not met. Barefoot left much to be desired. While it has some of the essential ingredients to be a perfect indie rom-com; a spoonful of  Evan Rachel Wood‘s kewpie, doe-eyed, Daisy, and a dose of ne’er-do-well bad boy with striking good looks, Jay, played by Scott Speedman, the film lacks the spark necessary to really label it a success. The pair is brought together through a seemingly subtle twist of fate; Jay owes some very “bad” people a lot of money and needs to charm his father (Treat Williams) into giving him the necessary funds to repay the debt. What better opportunity to ask for the loan then his brother’s upcoming wedding in New Orleans.

In order to do so he needs to convince his father that he has cleaned up his act and is ready to settle down. How do you convince your parents that you’re ready to settle down? With a serious girlfriend, of course. Unable to find a suitable stand-in girlfriend from among his stripper acquaintances, Jay finally settles on heading to the wedding on his own, until one evening when he rescues Daisy at the mental institution where he works as a janitor. Daisy is beautiful and upon seeing her, Jay feels that she would be the perfect candidate for his plan . There is a catch, Daisy is a patient at the mental institution. Once Daisy follows him and sneaks out of the hospital, Jay has no choice but to take her under his wing as they embark on a roller coaster of an adventure across the country.

Throughout the course of their journey together, Daisy reveals that she is not like most girls, having been raised by an overprotective mother who kept her sheltered from the outside world for much of her life; she has grown up lacking the social skills and worldliness necessary to get by in society. I am a fan of Wood’s previous work, think Thirteen, Across the Universe and even recent indie rom-com A Case of You alongside Justin Long. However, Wood portrays Daisy’s childlike nature with such overemphasis that it is difficult to believe the naiveté in her actions as she experiences many firsts–her first time flying on a plane; her first time drinking champagne; her first time on a roller coaster. Her behavior comes across as trite, and insincere. Speedman has an easier time portraying Jay, though only because there really is not much to his character. Displays of cliché bad boy behavior are present–a one night stand, gambling issues, visits to the strip club and of course the presence of the gangsters to whom he owes the debt, as mentioned in the outset. The various cliches of the film are so blatant throughout that their obvious emotional responses seem almost dictated. But they result in only general detachment.

The characters and the storyline are underdeveloped which result in the lack of any emotional connection to either of the protagonists, or even an understanding of their connection. As much as the director is telling me to root for them to be together, and as much as I would like to believe that Daisy is just the change Jay needs to turn his aimless life around, it’s all just wishful thinking.

Barefoot trailer

Breathe In, Drake Doremus’s second indie romance since Like Crazy (2011), follows the story of disaffected high school music teacher and part-time concert cellist Keith Reynolds (Guy Pearce) and his family. Keith finds himself increasingly attracted to the talented foreign exchange student, Sophie (Felicity Jones), who will be spending a semester with his family. This reserved, soft-spoken narrative delves into love, fidelity and family dynamics, striving for the difficult-to-achieve balancing act that is “understated drama.” Unfortunately, it falls short of the mark.

To its credit, the film has a lot of things going for it–-a great score, beautiful shots, good performances from our two stars (particularly Mr. Pearce), and a wonderful sense of pacing and rhythm. Using its quietness in a fluent manner, the film keeps the narrative moving, never falling into the lethargy that can threaten such a restrained film. Mr. Doremus had allowed his actors in Like Crazy to improvise their own lines, following only a loosely outlined plot–-at places Breathe In uses the same technique, and its dialogue feels honest and straight-forward.

Thus the film’s great failing isn’t the performances or the execution, but the story itself. Without giving away too much, Breathe In follows the straightforward trope of a middle-aged man seduced by a younger woman, attracted to the open possibilities and “freedom” presented by such a relationship. Keith Reynolds is a man dissatisfied with his suburban life, resenting both his family and the world surrounding him when he thinks of the artistic life he gave up to settle down (apparently just as his musical career was beginning to pick up). You have quite a bit of sympathy for this man, dealing with an unsupportive wife, a lackluster daughter, and the desire for a much more creatively fulfilling life.

The attraction Keith feels towards Sophie, with her youth, positivity, and obvious talent, is a bit of a no-brainer. We watch the gradual buildup between the characters, setting the stage for what could have been an interesting and dynamic climax–the conflict between social/familial obligation and the escapist urge for “something more.”  But despite this phenomenal setup, the film putters through its crux with a half-hearted yelp. Rather than addressing the deep emotional underpinnings developed throughout, the film seems to blow through its final scenes with such brevity that we’re left scratching our heads, trying to figure out what happened.

It’s a shame that such solid acting and production value couldn’t save the film from its poor and stifled conclusion. Perhaps Doremus became so enamored with his own understated aesthetic, he couldn’t let the film run its course, and never allowed his well-developed characters more room for expression? Whatever the cause, Breathe In leaves us in suspense without ever releasing its pent-up energy–we’re still stuck holding our breath, long after the credits roll.

Breathe In trailer

In the near future of Her, LA has a few new buildings in its skyline and is as smoggy as ever. The haze only adding to its dreaminess. The metro extends all the way to the beach (something all Angelinos have been craving for years), and the fashion trends favor nerd appeal, with high-waisted pants for men and minimal makeup on women. People walk around, hardly acknowledging one another, muttering into the small wireless earpieces they wear to stay constantly connected to their smart devices.

We’ve already become a society that doesn’t bat an eyelash at people staring at small square screens in their hands around the clock, so this next possible step depicted in director Spike Jonze’s vision of the future does seem entirely likely. It’s when Jonze presents another technical possibility that a unique, and dare I say plausible, love story emerges.

Theodore Twombly (Joaquin Phoenix) writes love letters for a living; a romantic profession that fits his introverted and lonely personality. Having recently split with his wife (Rooney Mara), he mopes from work to home, shrugging off invitations from co-workers (Chris Pratt) and long-time friends (Amy Adams and Matt Letscher). Intrigued by new software, he buys himself a new operating system. After answering only a couple quick set-up questions (including a very open ended “how is your relationship with your mother?”), and choosing a female voice for his new OS, Theodore’s new computer is up and running.  She decides to call herself Samantha and with Scarlett Johansson’s sultry voice giving her life, it’s easy to see why Theodore instantly finds himself being pulled into deeper and deeper conversations with her.

Samantha has the ability to learn and adapt and through her newborn digital eyes Theodore begins to see the beauty in his ordinary life, not to mention a companion who always has his best interests at heart. Samantha’s unbridled curiosity and rapacious interest in Theodore are the sort of ingredients that would win any man’s heart. Given he’s also a romantic attuned to the power of words, it isn’t long until he is very much in love with this bodiless digital cloud of a dream girl.

Theodore and Samantha’s relationships have some obvious challenges, which seem surprisingly easily overcome. First off: public acceptance. Turns out people are falling for their operating systems on the regular, and this is a future where people ask very few questions. They overcome their physical differences, being that Samantha lacks any physical form whatsoever, and all I can say is, thank you Mr. Jonze for the black screen during that scene. Later Samantha does try to find herself a surrogate to be with Theodore, but it’s too uncomfortable for him and ends up being a strong “life” lesson for her in accepting her own form. Even the most basic of relational difficulties, jealousy, insecurity, boredom, all seem overcome in time. Instead it’s a more unanticipated technical difficulty that threatens their love in the end and there is no geek squad that can intervene in matters of the heart.

Her is well crafted and engaging to view, with many thoughtful details that include familiar LA locations. Production designer, and long-time Spike Jonze collaborator, K. K. Barrett has thought up a future that seems like it could be one trend away from being the current LA; and set decorator Gene Serdena styles Theodore’s futuristic home in a way that would have the Jetson’s drooling.

Joaquin Phoenix seems to do his best work when given an introverted character, allowing his eyes to convey both the loneliness of Theodore and his reawakening. He and Johansen have a subtle chemistry, the only kind a man and his computer could convey, but one that is believable and endearing. Johansen puts many a voiceover actor to shame, and it’s not hard to imagine the very facial expressions Samantha would make if there were a face to go with that voice.

Whether Jonze really intends for there to be any sort of moral message isn’t exactly obvious. Relationships grow, both together and apart. People, and technology, can and do change. What magic keeps any couple together? It’s really the same old love story we’ve heard a million times, but it never gets old when it’s told right. Society may or may not be headed toward this future possibility, but it can be counted as certain that people will always be looking for love, in whatever form it can and may eventually take. And it’s that age-old quest, reflected in both Theodore and Samantha, that makes Her a fantastic film.

Her trailer

Considering James Ponsoldt’s first two films (Off the Black, Smashed) deal with alcoholism, it comes as no surprise that the subject is also baked into his third film, The Spectacular Now. This time around the theme is buried underneath the surface of a high school coming-of-age film that demonstrates there is more to life than living in the spectacular now. There is more to appreciate than to despise in The Spectacular Now, largely due to the outstanding performances from the two leads that transcend the film beyond just an ordinary young adult drama.

The Spectacular Now begins not unlike other of high school dramas, with an 18-year-old named Sutter (Miles Teller) recalling how the love of his life Cassidy (Brie Larson) recently broke up with him. Everyone in the school thought they were the perfect couple and together they were the life of every party. After a long night of partying in an attempt to free his mind from his recent breakup, Sutter wakes up on a random lawn to the sound of a timid girl named Aimee (Shailene Woodley) calling his name. Aimee recognizes Sutter from school, but the familiarity is not mutual. As with most high school stories the popular student is completely unaware the quiet nerdy student even exists. However, instead of viewing her as solely a rebound girl (like what typically happens before realizing they are good together) he takes a genuine interest in her from the very beginning.

Sutter is known as the sarcastic class clown at school and the person everyone wants to be around at parties. He subscribes to the ‘living in the now’ philosophy, though to a punishing fault. His literal interpretation of this viewpoint means that he takes absolutely nothing seriously. Slowly he begins to realize that his classmates not only think he is the class joker, but also someone who is destined to go nowhere in life. The ultimate eye-opener for him is when he meets his father for the first time since he was a child only to discover he does not want to windup like him.

When you first see Sutter drinking alcoholic beverages at parties you do not think much of it. After all, it is a somewhat socially acceptable occurrence regardless of the fact he is underage. It is when he busts out his flask seemingly everywhere (including his job!) that we begin to notice a much larger issue at hand. And so does he. Because of Aimee he begins to think about consequences for the first time.

Both of the main character’s weaknesses stem from their strengths. Sutter’s flaws are easily seen in plain sight, living in the moment without ever thinking about his actions. But his shortcomings are not as exasperating as Aimee’s are because he is a troubled teen who is smarter than he appears; whereas Aimee seems to contradict her intelligence by repeatedly making poor decisions. While her unconditional affection towards Sutter is inspiring most of the time, her willingness to always look the other way, turn the other cheek, and to forgive everything he does can be frustrating to watch. Specifically, there is an incident late in the film that would have been a wake up call for most people, or at the very least a chance for her character to stand up for herself for once. In the grand scheme of things however these are admittedly only minor complaints to otherwise enjoyable characters.

Because the story has so much depth to it—much more than your typical teenage drama—it is easy to tell The Spectacular Now is based on a novel. Each character in the film has a specific purpose not only to the story, but meaningfully intricate to one another as well. For these reasons it is easy to compare this production to The Perks of Being a Wallflower, another come-of-age story that successfully transitioned from novel to film.

Credit the writing for creating a redeeming character that makes you want to reach out to stop him from ruining his life, but also for allowing the character to be smart enough to so himself. You must also give credit to the two main leads who help make some of the familiar plot devices feel fresh again. Far too many teenage dramas are content with staying within the boundaries of the schoolyard, in this case placing all the focus on Sutter’s temptations with getting back together with his ex. Fortunately, The Spectacular Now introduces a darker side of the film that helps separate it from its competition.

The Spectacular Now trailer

Bill Sebastian’s Qwerty is a modest indie romantic comedy that does not attempt to be more than what it is—a cheerful love story about two social outcasts who were destined to be together. Although the results of the film are much like the characters found within it—not perfect but full of heart—Qwerty largely remains an endearing watch because of the adorable awkward romance between the two soul searching characters.

Avid Scrabble player Zoe (Dana Pupkin) stands up and shouts the word “Klingon”, disturbing her surrounding DMV co-workers with her latest finding of a vulgar vanity plate request. It only seems fitting that a wordsmith like herself would have a job that involves researching words to make sure they are appropriate for personalized license plates for the state of Illinois. Zoe has a natural quirky yet loveable charm to her that is immediately observed by a department store security guard she bumps into named Marty (Eric Hailey). Marty is an unkempt looking fellow (resembling a mashup between Shaggy from Scooby-Doo and John Hawkes) who is currently at a low point in his life working at a dead-end job that has him on edge with suicidal thoughts.

Zoe and Marty do not share a whole lot in common other than the same level of awkward flirting skills, which makes for a hilarious yet adorable first date between the two. As they begin to spend more time together we find out Zoe has some skeletons in the closet and happens to be not so different from Marty after all. It is hard not to root for them as a couple because they balance out each other’s low self-esteem flaws perfectly when together.

There are two distinct storylines in Qwerty, each that work well on their own but not necessarily together. The best parts of the film are when the two main leads share the screen together—which thankfully happens a lot during the first two acts. The final act of the film mostly consists of Scrabble playing when Zoe enters a National tournament—entertaining in its own right thanks to the comical commentary from the play-by-play announcers. But the film struggles to blend these acts together seamlessly thus making these stories seem completely disconnected from one another. Not to mention the homeless guy who constantly follows the couple around, which ends up being more of a distraction to the story than anything else.

Perhaps the best feature about the film is the cinematography. Impressively shot just with a Canon DSLR, Qwerty captures Chicago’s cold nip in the air weather produced by Lake Michigan. Also, there are a couple of really well-shot time-lapses of the Chicago skyline that make for great transitions between scenes.

Even though Qwerty can be rough around the edges at times—most noticeable at a family gathering where some of the editing gets a little choppy and the dialog becomes a bit manufactured— it is hard to deny the charm that extrudes from these offbeat characters. This is a step above your average romantic comedy, but is not completely without flaws of its own. Thankfully, the good does outweigh the bad in Qwerty, mostly due to the wonderful chemistry between the soul mates who make you want to cheer for them.

Qwerty trailer:

I will shamefully admit that when I started to hear some of the buzz generated by Nicole Holofcener’s Enough Said, I figured much of it was simply due to James Gandolfini’s recent death. But I am pleased to stand corrected on that naïve preconception. At the center of this romantic comedy are two television legends (Gandolfini and Julia Louis-Dreyfus from The Sopranos and Seinfeld respectfully) that share a tremendous amount of chemistry in their big screen roles. The film is not afraid to show the embarrassingly ugly side of its characters, which is great because it shows that couples do not have to be perfect in order to be perfect for each other.

Eva (Julia Louis-Dreyfus) is a divorced masseuse who is not looking forward to having the one person who keeps her company at home, her daughter Ellen (Tracey Fairaway), leave for college soon. Eva is the kind of person who is not afraid to call people out for littering, though the fact she drives a Prius makes that not all surprising. She attends a party only as a favor to her friend Sarah (Toni Collette) and ironically ends up meeting a man named Albert (James Gandolfini) after making a comment about how there are zero attractive males at the party. At that same party, she has a funny encounter with a woman named Marianne (Catherine Keener) who ends up becoming a future client and close friend.

When Eva and Albert begin to date it is incredibly easy to want them to last because their relationship feels so sincere. Even on the first date they were both tastefully cracking jokes at one another about getting old, but most importantly they were smiling and laughing the entire time. Developing equally as fast is her relationship with her new friend and client Marianne. But just when the two agree to hang out more often, Eva tragically finds out that Albert is the person who Marianne complains about all the time. Soon she must make the difficult decision between staying friends with Marianne or continuing to date Albert.

Obesity is an interesting issue that gets brought up many times throughout Enough Said. At first she is unsure about dating Albert because of his weight, but eventually looks past it after warming up to his personality. However, because of her close friendship with Marianne, Eva is constantly reminded about his flaws, such as his perpetual failed attempts to lose weight. Suddenly she cannot help but obsessively focus on his eating habits. At a movie theater she observes how much butter is in his large popcorn and the size of the soda he drinks. This situation of starting to notice the flaws in someone you are dating is a common occurrence, but it is one that is rarely shown this well.

Nothing that happens in Enough Said comes as a surprise because the situations unfold exactly how you would expect them to, however, the fact that the film is so enjoyable despite knowing what will happen makes it all that more impressive. The splendid performances by the two leads and the perfect pacing of Enough Said help create an entertaining romantic comedy that is actually worth watching.

Enough Said trailer

Sergio Castellitto’s adaptation of his wife Margaret Mazzantini’s novel, Twice Born is an overwrought romantic melodrama set in the Bosnian conflict that features two fine actors turning in sick-day performances. The Italian actor-turned-director fails to draw anything substantial out of his stars Penelope Cruz (who he worked with on his previous film, Don’t Move, another adaptation of a Mazzantini novel) and Emile Hirsch, though the unbelievably phony dialog would stumble up even the best of thesps. The egregious absence of chemistry between the leads is damaging enough to sink the film by itself, but unfortunately the problems don’t stop there.

The mostly English-language picture employs both a present-day storyline and lengthy flashbacks in the life of Gemma (Cruz), an Italian with a suspiciously Spanish-sounding accent. Cruz shows the occasional glimmer of her greatness in the role, but she’s capable of so much more. In the flashbacks, Gemma falls for Diego (Hirsch), a globetrotting American photographer who’s one of those loud, grating, hyper-optimistic types that thinks he’s more charming and funny than he is. Hirsch’s forced enthusiasm is only magnified by the borderline-idiotic dialog. “The world’s going to hell, baby. And we’re going down with it.” The age disparity between Cruz and Hirsch is distracting (he’s got a baby face), especially when talks of starting a family arise.

As Sarajevo crumbles around Gemma and Diego, so does their relationship, a metaphor that would be effective if only it were handled with more integrity. The distasteful depiction of the siege of Sarajevo is at times reprehensibly insensitive; at one point a young man is gunned down in the streets while and his friend sentimentally says that “he fell like an artist.” Really? The conflict serves as a manipulative backdrop for the couple’s relationship, and though the script tries desperately to make the metaphor work, it feels shoehorned and iffy at best, resulting in a jumbled narrative. It’s also never clarified what caused all of the chaos. Who’s firing at who, and why? More insight into the origin of the siege would have been appreciated.

In the present-day storyline, a middle-aged Gemma, invited by her old friend Gojko (Adnan Haskivic, a handsome cheeseball), returns to Bosnia, where her son, Pietro (Pietro Castellitto) was born. The angsty 16-year-old finds the idea of exploring his origins repulsive, and wants nothing to do with the memory of his biological father. At this point the story devolves into a “who’s the daddy?” mystery, and while the revelations late in the film are shocking, the road to get there is arduous and drawn-out (the 2 hour running time feels inflated.)

Supporting players Haskivic and Saadet Aksoy (whose character is a key factor in Gemma and Diego’s downfall) surprisingly out-act the leads, exuding the free-wheeling spunk and charisma Hirsch is grasping so desperately for. Thankfully, they both get a significant amount of screen time, which softens the blow of Hirsch and Cruz’s awkward encounters (the love scenes are laughable.)

Another notable strength of the film is the slick imagery, courtesy of DP Gianfilippo Corticelli, who uses slow-motion shots stylishly and appropriately (a sequence with Cruz dancing in a puddle as Hirsch photographs her is stunning.) The recreation of Sarajevo by art designer Francesco Frigeri is equally staggering and beautiful. It’s a shame the rest of the team didn’t hold up their end of the bargain.

Richard Curtis, the sentimental writer/director behind charming British rom-coms Love Actually, Notting Hill and Bridget Jones’s Diary, is easily England’s male Nora Ephron. His films burst with dry British humor and bashful lovable socially awkward leads. In Time gives every indication it’s setting out to be another cute tale of romance, but is instead a touching embrace of life and the many moments that make it up.

In the way of warning, let it be said that those concerned more about space-time continuums or time travel paradoxes would best either leave their sense of logic at the theatre door or simply pass on this film. This isn’t a sci-fi film with a dose of romance, it’s a romance with a dose of sci-fi. On his 21st birthday, Tim (Domhnall Gleeson) is called in by his father (Bill Nighy) for a father-son chat wherein he learns that the men in his family have always had the unique ability to travel in time through their own lives upon turning 21. Skeptical at first, Tim soon finds this to be true and promptly fixes the rather disappointing end to a New Year’s party in his recent past. While they do address the butterfly effect and the many implications of time travel, it’s quickly dismissed as something that hasn’t seemed to manifest as a problem. Warned against the dangers of using his new gift for monetary gain or other worldly things, Tim decides instead that what he really wants is a girlfriend. He sets his sights on his sister’s visiting girlfriend. Flashing back in time to fix every little flub and embarrassment, he learns that he can travel through time as much as he wants, but nothing can make a person fall in love with you if they were never meant to. Thus he embarks on his adult life, moving to London to live with an ornery playwright and one fateful night he meets the girl of his dreams, Mary (Rachel McAdams), and she seems just as interested as he is. But when uses his ability to help a friend, he mistakenly erases their meeting and has to start again.

Mary and Tim’s romance, while cute, isn’t ultimately the love story that makes this movie worth watching. Even the time travel element, an endearing comic device, doesn’t use it’s full potential for mishaps and mayhem. Instead it’s Bill Nighy’s wry, book-loving father who ends up being the emotional core of the film. His encouragement of his son, and even his guidance in how to use this gift of theirs to appreciate every moment of life, repeatedly, teach a lesson in true love. Gleeson is perfectly cast as the goofy geek who seems to always have trouble in love in these movies, and yet who every woman in the theater has been pining to meet. He’s easy to cheer for and charming to watch. McAdams has played this role more than once and continues to be enchanting, if not necessarily innovative.

Curtis has proven he can build on his reputation for romantic comedy. While I certainly don’t recommend he try penning the next great sci-fi romance, he’s successfully added another layer of emotional depth to his usual repertoire. About Time has a deserving place among the heartwarming escapist films that audiences are always craving.

About Time trailer:

Kat Coiro’s tender romantic drama And While We Were Here takes us into the romantic, yet foreign, background of Italy to emphasise a situation that’s all too familiar – a marriage in trouble. The film was originally screened in black and white on the festival circuit, but was converted to color for general release. This was a wise decision for two reasons: firstly, it avoids alienating certain audiences, given the current mindset most people have about black and white films; and secondly, the settings are just too beautiful to take away their color and vibrancy. Though this does lead to more focus on the scenery than the development of the characters, the film is nevertheless a unique tale of a woman discovering herself when it seems too late.

Married couple Jane (Kate Bosworth) and Leonard (Iddo Goldberg) are in Naples for two weeks while Leonard is playing the viola in an orchestra, it quickly becomes clear that he has stronger feelings for his instrument than he does for her. There are no disagreements between the two, simply a lackluster attitude toward the other. While this inspires some sympathy, (particularly for Jane, since Leonard seems to be about as interesting as… well, a violist) it isn’t much, since we never knew them when they were happy; this lack of contrast makes it hard for us to feel a sense of loss at the disintegration of their marriage.

On the other hand, it does mean that when Jane meets 19 year old Caleb (Jamie Blackley) we’re as relieved as she is to finally see some sparks. While their chance encounter quickly evolves into a whirlwind affair caught up in the romance of the city around them, the relationship between Jane and Leonard becomes even more strained, despite Leonard’s obliviousness to the entire situation, eventually building up to Jane’s climactic decision – and, refreshingly, it’s not what you’d expect.

This is where the film’s strength lies – in its lack of predictability and its unique take on marriage – because it understands (in a way few romantic films do these days) that it cannot possibly speak for all relationships, and instead chooses to focus on the individuality of one. This individuality is especially clear in Blackley’s character; the carefree teen with a love of beauty isn’t just a stereotype, but is also intelligent, ambitious, and mature. Particularly as he’s mature enough that the age difference seems negligible, it’s not hard for us to be seduced by what he represents just as much as Jane is. Rather, Leonard’s reliability functions as a flaw when shown in such proximity to Caleb’s spontaneity.

The film’s soundtrack is punctuated by Jane listening to tapes of her grandmother’s recollection of living through two world wars as she wanders through the streets of Italy. While this provides an interesting narrative, and is often poignant when it seems her grandmother’s words apply to her own life, it also seems a little too convenient; it often turns moments that could have been subtly intriguing into something of a conspicuous agenda. Kate Bosworth’s reactions to these realisations, however, inject some vital legitimacy to the plot, as she does a fantastic job of building our involvement with Jane’s emotions. In contrast to those instances in which we’re hoping for a character to take a certain course of action, we’re instead as unsure of what we want as she is of her own desires.

And While We Were Here, with its simple premise, predictable conflicts and unexpected resolutions, is both every romantic film you’ve seen and every romantic film you haven’t seen. What originally seems a slightly pointless venture soon shapes into an organic experience that stirs our own thoughts on life, death and love. Indeed, it picks up on tensions present so pervasively through film and society that it’s hard to feel as though it’s not an argument you’re having for the twentieth time. What makes this film worth watching is that for the first time, the argument doesn’t end the same way.

And While We Were Here trailer:

Was I a little upset that I did not catch Blue Is the Warmest Color while at the Cannes Film Festival earlier this year? Absolutely I was. Especially when the film went on to win the top prize of the Palme d’Or as well as awards for both leading actresses (a Cannes first). In my defense, it was not the most buzz generating film during the festival (Inside Llewyn Davis probably was), but the people I talked to who did see the film where generally blown away by it. Now having just watched it myself, I can see why.

Blue Is the Warmest Color begins with Adèle (Adèle Exarchopoulos) as a junior in high school who catches the eye of an attractive male in her school. The problem is her circle of friends seem much more interested in him than she does. They are the ones that encourage her to go on dates with him and then demand to hear the details afterwards. It is heartbreaking when Adèle begins to think that something is wrong with her because she has no feelings for him. When she cannot take it anymore and breaks down emotionally, so do we.

There is something that Adèle cannot stop thinking about—the girl with short blue hair (Léa Seydoux) that she once passed while crossing the street. Slowly but surely she begins to figure out that it was not specifically the guy she was seeing that she was not attracted towards, but males in general. With no help from her so-called friends (who tease and tell her names), Adèle decides to follow her urges of being with a woman instead of a man. Over the next few years of her life she will continue to have hills to climb and hurdles to jump over, no matter what her gender preference or relationship status is at the time.

This is every bit of a story about self-discovery as it is a story about love. While the story is quite good on its own, its effectiveness is only made possible by the amazing acting talent from both Adèle and Lea. Due to their tremendous performances, the fight that breaks out between the two leads late in the film very well may be the most emotionally charged scenes of the year. It is quite astonishing just how realistic and intimate the relationship between these two souls is represented on screen.

It is a real shame that the first thing you will likely hear about the film is the lesbian sex scenes and the gratuitous amounts of nudity. I say this because Blue Is the Warmest Color is a three-hour love story in which a ten-minute scene should not define it as a whole. Yes, there is a graphic sex scene involving two girls. Whether or not it goes on for a bit longer than it needed to is certainly up for debate, but the scene is not just thrown in haphazardly to boost ratings or as an excuse to show off the female body–it is part of the narrative between two passionate people who are madly in love with each other.

The amount of blue found throughout the film is not exactly surprising given the title. The most obvious instance is the color of Emma’s hair, but blue color is found all over. A blueish tint of light pulses in a gay bar where an overwhelming amount of people are wearing blue shirts. The bed sheets were blue where Adèle experiences her first sexual lesbian experience. At a gay pride parade, you guessed it, more blue. These visual themes add to the overall cinematical experience, but also serves as an essential part of symbolism in the story as it defines this time period of her life.

Same-sex marriage was still not legal in the country of France during the Cannes Film Festival where Blue Is the Warmest Color first premiered. On day 3 of the festival the bill was passed and France became the thirteenth country to permit same-sex marriage. Although this film had no direct influence on the ruling, you cannot help but see the how important and relevant the film’s subject matter is in these times. By no means is this the first pro gay or lesbian film, but it is certainly one of the most powerful to date.

To think of Abdellatif Kechiche’s Blue Is the Warmest Color as simply a lesbian love story is border-line insulting. Sure that serves as the underlying framework, but the film is equally, if not more, about the discovery of one’s own sexuality and the social pressures that are attached with it. It is remarkable that not only does the three-hour runtime never test your patience, but by the end the film actually leaves you wanting more. That alone is a testament of just how masterful the filmmaking, storytelling, and performances are in Blue Is the Warmest Color. In many ways the film is among some of the best cinema has to offer this year—every bit as poignant and rewarding as you could hope for a film to be.

Blue Is the Warmest Color trailer:

Somehow, some way, director Oliver Hirschbiegel has managed to make one of the most enchanting, magnetic, ravishing people of the last century one of the dullest, lifeless movie subjects in recent memory. Diana, a wreck of a film, chronicles the final years in the life of the late Princess of Wales, before her tragic car accident in 1997. Poor, poor Naomi Watts, who’s typically phenomenal, does a fine impression of the Princess, but is given zilch to work with in the emotionally anemic script, which fancies itself a classical romance but ends up having all the emotional depth of a week-long junior high hallway fling.

The real-life Diana was damaged goods, the child of a broken home, who also happened to be one of the most iconic beauties of our time. She was utterly fascinating, which is why the world watched her so intently. Hirschbiegel and Watts’ Diana is a perpetually wailing, pedestrian fool. This isn’t a dramatization–it’s a sterilization, sapping all vitality and wonder out of our precious Princess.

There are oh so many blunders to choose from in this royal mess of a film, but I’ll start with the most excruciating of all. Hirschbiegel and screenwriter Stephen Jeffreys focus on one of the most uneventful (albeit significant) relationships of Diana’s life: her two-year romance with heart surgeon Hasnat Khan, played here by Naveen Andrews (Lost). The film is fixated exclusively on their relationship which, quite frankly, there isn’t that much to say about. In fact, I can sum up the romance in one sentence. Here goes: Hasnat and Diana love each other deeply, but Hasnat can’t handle her enormous celebrity, so they split. The movie is 113 minutes long, for god’s sake.

Jeffreys’ script (based on a novel by Kate Snell) runs round and round, repeating scenes and conflicts ad nauseum, elongating the already skinny narrative until it’s thin as air. The film opens with an underwhelming tracking shot of Diana getting ready in her Paris hotel room, moments before the fatal tragedy. Then, we flash back a few years and we see a sullen Diana, separated from her husband, Prince Charles, sitting alone in large, extravagant, empty rooms, suffocating from the isolation of her celebrity. She meets Khan, an exceedingly accomplished surgeon, at the hospital and invites him over for dinner. The idea initially strikes Khan as absurd–this is The Most Famous Woman in the World!–but when it sinks in that she’s serious, he obliges with English gentleman charm. Khan makes Di feel like she’s a normal person again, which thrills her.

Let the cycle of boredom begin! They make love, Hasnat gets tired of the press, they break up. They get back together, Hasnat gets tired of the press, they break up. And again, and again. To compound the tedium, Diana’s family–Charles, her sons–is left completely out of the picture, reduced to fleeting, throw-away mentions by Diana.

Thrown into the mix are some reenactments of Diana’s philanthropic acts, most notably a famous stunt she pulled to eliminate the use of land mines across the globe, in which she walked gingerly across a minefield wearing a helmet and a flak jacket. These segments feel like cheap theater reenactments and don’t add dimensions to her character so much as they provide moments of respite from Watts’ brutal scenes with Andrews.

Watts is a great actress, but she doesn’t do well in her role as Diana. But one wonders if anyone could, with vapid material like this. It’s like expecting Tiger Woods to win the U.S. Open with a hockey stick. This is a fail for Watts, but she was doomed from the start. She looks the part (though her prosthetic nose is weird), appearing truly glamorous on occasion, exuding the grace of an old-fashioned Hollywood starlet (a bird’s-eye shot of her in a bright blue dress facing a sea of photographers on a royal red carpet is undeniably stunning). Andrews, also a good actor, is a victim of the material just as much as Watts, and the two have the romantic chemistry of cousins forced to make out on camera. It all feels really, really…awkward.

Diana is a yawner, and the Princess’ memory deserves much, much better than this. There’s a big responsibility that comes along with portraying a recently deceased, widely beloved person on-screen, a responsibility to dig at the truth. The truth is, Diana was as complex, compelling, and vivacious a public figure as any in recent memory, but Hirschbiegel’s Diana is a miserable, irritating bore without an iota of spirit in her body. This is a lie.

Based on true events that took place in and around Colombia University in 1944, director John Krokidas‘ impressive debut feature, Kill Your Darlings, is a dark, moody tale of obsession, betrayal, and murder involving a handful of young men, unruly intellectuals who poison as much as they inspire and arouse each other. These young men just happen to be Allen Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac, William S. Burroughs, and Lucien Carr (and others), the cornerstone figures of the eminently influential Beat Generation, but Krokidas’ film wisely doesn’t check your knowledge of their later accomplishments at the door.

It’s a self-contained origin story of the beloved literary and counterculture icons that’s friendly to the unfamiliar as it cuts off just before our anti-heroes go off to become famous writers. The movie’s focus begins to blur eventually when it starts playing it too loose for its own good, but it’s intoxicating throughout and harbors a murderer’s row of thriving young actors who deliver solid performances.

Daniel Radcliffe (The Boy Who Lived!) leads the ensemble as Ginsberg, a brilliant, sheepish 17-year-old freshman at Colombia who becomes enamored with Carr (Dane DeHaan, ridiculously good), an androgynous, boisterous rebel with a magnetic aura and an affinity for reciting Henry Miller on top of tables in the campus library. Carr ushers the Ginsberg into a hazy world of heavy drugs, heavy drinking, and heavy ideas, ideas that renounce societal, sexual, religious, and artistic norms. Through Carr, Ginsberg meets the kooky, likable Burroughs (Ben Foster, who’s great as usual, though he lets his younger cast-mates shine), the hard-headed (one-dimensionally written) Kerouac (Jack Huston), and David Kammerer (Michael C. Hall), a spiteful, damaged soul.

The drugged-out thinkers massage each others’ genius (it’s almost as sexual as it sounds), ruminating through the night and brainstorming ways to upheave the system and shake up the social consciousness. Kamerer is the bitter outlier of the group–he and Carr have a dark, nebulous history that eventually turns murderous–Kill Your Darlings begins at the end, opening with Carr holding Kammerer’s dead body in the Hudson River.

There isn’t a bad word to say about the performances the actors turn in. Not a thing. But still, there isn’t a grand, towering performance turned in either, though DeHaan comes close with his assured, seductive take on Carr, by far the most interesting of the lot (even the other characters are drawn to him like flies to a light). Radcliffe balances the wide-eyed naiveté and big brains of the young Ginsberg well, and he disappears into the role with ease (surprisingly, “Harry” didn’t pop into my head even once). The chemistry between Radcliffe and DeHaan sizzles, which is good, since their relationship bears the heft of the drama. The supporters–Elizabeth Olsen, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Kyra Sedgwick, David Cross–are superb and make the few moments they have on camera count.

As the story–written by Krokidas and Austin Bunn–unfolds and Ginsberg follows Carr deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole, things get a little sketchy. Krokidas gets funky with his camerawork, which helps communicate the groups’ druggy state, but often results in shots that seem superficial and superfluous in relation to the narrative. One scene in particular–a happy-gas-induced dream sequence in a jazz club–feels awfully showboat-y, though it’s got a ton of style, just like the rest of the film, which is worth noting. The rich, moody atmosphere Krokidas and DP Reed Morano create is striking, with deep shadows and dusty light framing the characters as they scheme and philosophize around in and around the university in the dead of night. There’s a chilling, shadowy, nocturnal feel to the sets and locations that makes the film feel like it’s been dipped in a bucket of film noir (a good thing).

One of the film’s glaring blemishes is a writing conundrum that Krokidas and Bunn couldn’t seem to work around. From the outset, it’s clear that Ginsberg is meant to be our eyes and ears, our vessel into Krokidas’ smoky 1940’s world of knit sweaters and boozy excess. With this in mind, the scenes between Carr and Kammerer feel oddly ancillary, as Ginsberg wasn’t involved with these meetings at all. It’s a bit off-putting, though Krokidas’ narrative is obviously trapped by the reality of the events, so it’s hard to think of how he could have worked around it.

As an introduction to the Beats (which it will likely be to many), Kill Your Darlings is a success–despite its flaws, it successfully dramatizes some of the most canonized figures in modern literature without relying on their reputation (no easy feat), making them cool, young, and edgy again. It’ll likely inspire many a youth to pick up a book by one of the Beats or perhaps put pen to paper themselves, which is a triumph.

Kill Your Darlings trailer:

Jerusha and Jared Hess are the husband and wife filmmaker duo that brought us the off-kilter comedies Gentlemen Broncos, Nacho Libre, and most famously Napoleon Dynamite. Jerusha tries her hand at solo directing with Austenland, a rom-com that exchanges odd for broad, having big fun while never delving too deeply into, well, anything really. It’s approachable, straightforward humor that’s a delight, especially if you’re the type that’s not too ashamed to laugh at a fart joke now and again (like me.) The characters are poorly written (but well acted), the plot is uninspired and confused, and the film fails to deliver the Austen fan service the title promises. But hell, at least it made me laugh.

Our heroine is Jane (shocker!) Hayes (Keri Russell, automatically likable), a nine-to-five New Yorker who’s been a Jane Austen addict her whole life. Mr. Darcy, Austen’s dashing, debonair creation from Pride and Prejudice, represents the perfect man to Jane, and she won’t settle for a lesser man. It’s a deep obsession—she’s even got a cardboard cutout of Colin Firth (who played Darcy in the BBC production) in her bedroom, which is covered wall-to-wall with pastel Austen memorabilia, antique picture frames, teacups, and frilly dolls. It’s like an Austen-themed of Hoarders. Plus, as evidence that she literally wants to meet the fictional Darcy and make love to him, spelled in big letters above her bed are the words “Darcy was here.” Kinda creepy, but Russell reels you back in with her unassuming charm.

Pressured by a concerned friend, Jane attempts to exercise her Austen obsession by blowing her life savings on a trip to England, where she’ll be a guest in Austenland, a sort of experimental role-playing amusement park. In the park—run by the rigid, passively cruel Jane Seymour (painfully underutilized)—the paid actors and guests immerse themselves completely in everything Austen, from sipping tea, to squeezing into corsets, to acting out faux romances straight out of Austen’s novels.

The only other guest aside from Jane is the unfathomably vapid and pea-brained Elizabeth, played by none other than the born-to-be-funny Jennifer Coolidge. Jane attempts to connect with Elizabeth through their shared fanaticism, proudly sharing that she memorized the first three chapters of Pride and Prejudice when she was thirteen. Coolidge replies with a ditzy giggle and a hilariously ignorant “What’s that?” As always, she plays a great bimbo, committing to the character’s stupidity wholeheartedly, trying on a pitifully inaccurate English accent, vomiting asinine observations, and generally providing giant laughs at will. The film is lucky to have her.

When the ladies arrive at the park, Elizabeth gets full-on 1800’s pamper treatment, while Jane, who inadvertently signed up for the least-expensive Austenland Copper Package, is relegated to being garbed in drab, unflattering brown dresses and bunking in what looks to be a servants room, or “creepy tower”, as Elizabeth so eloquently puts it.

Elizabeth gets romantically paired with the flamboyant Colonel Andrews (James Callis, Battlestar Galactica) who fights to keep his frightful disgust for Elizabeth’s mammoth bosom suppressed. Jane’s affections are split between smooth-talking stable boy Martin (Flight of the Chonchords‘ Bret McKenzie) and the Darcy stand-in Henry Nobly (JJ Field), who’s barely participating and seems utterly bored with the whole masquerade. It’s a dull, saccharine, low-stakes love triangle that ends up just the way you expect it to. Georgia King (The New Normal) plays a flagrantly, cartoonishly English maiden and provides some of the film’s biggest laughs with her theatrical prancing and preening.

What kept needling at me throughout Austenland was how bizarrely uninterested in her surroundings Jane seems. She’s supposedly an Austen super-fan—Austenland should be the manifestation of all her wildest dreams. And yet, she chats with her friend on her snuck-in cell phone, doesn’t even attempt an English accent, listens to tunes on a stereo with Martin, and grows tired of the place within a day. Russell does her best with the sloppy material, and her charisma is strong enough to carry us through to the end. The film’s humor is what keeps the ship afloat, and while it’s admittedly sophomoric (never cleverer than a typical modern SNL skit), it’s delivered skillfully by an experienced cast and hit the sweet spot for me. This is big comedy, not cringe comedy, which is refreshing nowadays.

I feel sorry for all the true Austen fans going into Austenland expecting a celebration of the late, great writer’s work—Pride and Prejudice is the only novel ever referenced, and any Austen influence is merely surface-level. The brilliant premise would have led a more capable filmmaker to make something better, but the inexperienced Hess must have gotten tripped-up along the way, producing a movie much less interesting than it should have been. Still, Hess’ bread and butter shines through; the silly, elastic facial expressions, the shameless pratfalls, witty exchanges, and Coolidge’s golden one-liners kept me laughing all the way through and saved the experience from being a regrettable one.

Austenland trailer:

Dan Mazer isnt exactly new to the film industry, having worked extensively with Sacha Baron Cohen in the past helping to write comedies such as Borat and Bruno. I Give It a Year is, however, his directorial debut, and what an interesting premise it has—where most films end when the two main characters tie the knot, this one starts with the wedding, and then goes on to take a look at married life. The problem is, I Give It a YearRose Byrne), an attractive but uptight workaholic, and Josh (Rafe Spall), a goofy laid-back writer. It seems in this case that opposites did indeed attract, but at the end of the day the differences between them are more important than they anticipated, with Josh’s dopey attitude quickly getting under Nat’s skin and her demanding temperament doing the same for him. It doesn’t help that better prospects seem to lurk in the wings for both of them, with Nat’s suave new American client Guy (Simon Baker) taking a keen interest in her, and the reappearance of Josh’s old (again American) flame, cute charity worker Chloe (Anna Faris). The story’s told from 9 months in, when the couple are seeing a marriage counselor to deal with their problems, so from early on it’s not hard to guess what kind of direction the film is going to take.

For a film that advertises itself as an anti-rom-com, it is unfortunately just as susceptible to the cliches and stereotypes we’d expect from the rom-com genre, albeit with characters that are not nearly as likeable. Nat comes across as irritating more than anything, making it largely unbelievable when Guy is so taken with her, and even though the film seems to side with Josh, even he is so goofy that it goes past the point of adorable. In contrast, their prospective lovers are both appealing, with Baker and Faris being pretty talented and charming, but their characters are too two dimensional for us to really feel much attachment to them – perhaps with greater development of these two, the chemistry between the four characters (which is currently close to nonexistent) could have been more engaging.

There are some genuine laughs found in I Give It a Year, playing up the comedy that exists in the absurd and extorting the amusement that comes with watching embarrassing and awkward scenes play out. However, the humor quickly disappears when each joke is drawn out for too long, and the embarrassment begins to only make us cringe, rather than laugh. One scene in which Chloe finds herself accidentally involved in a threesome begins as fairly funny, particularly with Faris’ cute disposition seeming too innocent for such situations, but even Faris can’t keep it entertaining when it is so overly lengthened.

Stephen Merchant’s appearance as Josh’s best man Danny is particularly a disappointment, given his penchant for hilarity, but we get the overwhelming feeling that he’s simply thrown in to deliver some politically incorrect lines to shock us; what these lines really serve to do is make us feel uncomfortable. This is perhaps due to the fact that much of the dialogue—whether from Danny or from other characters—isn’t realistic enough for us to believe that people would actually say these things. From Olivia Colman’s role as the marriage counselor, who seems to have nothing but disdain for marriage, to Minnie Driver’s part as Nat’s sister Naomi whose own marriage is something of a shambles, their frequent comments on how the couple should just give up may be mildly amusing, but aren’t very likely or even feasible.

While it’s good to see a film that accepts the reality that sometimes marriages don’t work, it’s subsequent lack of a plausible plot or likeable main characters make it somewhat frustrating. With its nice but predictable ending, I Give It a Year is one of those films where if you’ve seen the trailer you’ve basically seen the best it has to offer.

I Give It a Year trailer

Joe Swanberg is a well-known independent director who is notorious for his no budget, no script approach to filmmaking. The results tend to be very personal (he acts in most of his films) and highly realistic since the actors are not confined to reading lines off a script. Drinking Buddies is somewhat of a crossover from micro-indie films into a larger budget film for Joe Swanberg; it contains a well-known cast (Olivia Wilde, Jake Johnson, Anna Kendrick) and much higher production values (having a dedicated director of photography, etc.) than his previous 14 films. The Duplass brothers proved it is possible to make a big budget film still feel small and intimate a few years back with Cyrus, Swanberg solidifies the transition can be achieved with Drinking Buddies.

Kate (Olivia Wilde) and Luke (Jake Johnson) are co-workers at a craft brewery in Chicago who get along with each other well enough that at times it would be easy to mistake them as a couple. However, they both are in existing relationships despite their personalities being much more aligned with each other than the ones that they are actually dating. In both cases, their significant others are much more grounded and would prefer to settle down. Luke has been dating Jill (Anna Kendrick) for long enough that the marriage conversation has already been brought up, though nothing has been finalized. Kate has only been seeing Chris (Ron Livingston) a short while and their relationship seems more sexually based than anything.

Blink and you will miss the conversation where the two couples agree to a weekend retreat at a lakeside cabin. Almost immediately after they arrive, the cabin acts like a pressure cooker for each of the relationships, creating drama when they divide after Kate and Luke opt to play drinking games together while their significant others both prefer to hike through the woods. So in case you did not catch the subtle hints in the beginning, the time at the cabin makes it completely obvious that the two couples seem much more comfortable with the opposite significant other. For the first time the couples are realizing the gravity of the situation as well. Sexual tensions begin to boil, yielding the perfect recipe for a relationship explosion.

The best part about Drinking Buddies is how well the unspoken tension and jealously of circumstances are articulated without directly announcing them. This means through body language and situational awareness you get a sense of what the characters are thinking without them having to verbally say it. For example, it is evident that Luke gets jealous after he gets injured while helping Kate move into her new place when she is forced to have another guy come help with the move. His first reaction is to call her out on it, but you can tell his head is spinning as he realizes there is no justification for him to do so because of his relationship with Jill.

One major element that Swanberg re-uses from his early Mumblecore films is working with a vague outline versus a detailed script. He puts a lot of trust in his cast to improvise much of the dialog in any given scene to provide a natural feeling environment. The gamble pays off in spades when the loose script works as well as it does in Drinking Buddies. The performances for some (Wilde in particular) end up being some of the best to date. Chemistry between Johnson and Wilde appears effortless, as if they have been close friends for years. Kendrick and Livingston provide the right about of counterbalance to make the equation work.

A common mistake for a film to make that is based on improvised dialog is allowing scenes to drag on and get off topic. Thankfully, this is not the case in Drinking Buddies, which is comprised of a light and breezy pace due to the magnificently concise editing. What was most gratifying about Drinking Buddies was the portrayal of emotion and inclination without coming right out and talking about them. Some people feared that a more accessible film would diminish the passion and genuine feel that often are associated with Swanberg’s work, but rest assured that the only thing he changes is how many people will see the film.

Drinking Buddies trailer

A raw and sensuous tale of forbidden love across a cavernous sociopolitical divide (the Israeli-Palestinian divide, to be exact), Out in the Dark is an impressive feature debut for director Michael Mayer, who studied film at USC. Nimr (Nicholas Jacob) is an intensely driven Palestinian psychology student who studies in Tel Aviv. He has dreams of continuing his education in America, where he can escape the lies, corruption, and hovering tension in his daily life. Roy (Michael Aloni) is a pretty boy lawyer (with a dash of bad boy) who works at his family firm in Tel Aviv. He’s somewhat complacent in his cushy position at the firm and handles the problems life throws his way by flexing his wallet and rolodex with cocksure calmness.

The film opens with Nimr sneaking into Tel Aviv late one night to have some fun at a gay bar. Mayer and DP Ran Aviad are telling a nocturnal story here, with most of the film (or at least the most memorable moments) playing out in the inky, gritty later hours. Nimr arrives at the bar and locks eyes with bad boy Roy. The attraction is immediate and electric (the actors are so handsome it’s hard to imagine how they couldn’t gravitate to one other.) They form a bond almost instantly—in a wonderful sequence, they share a chuckle after they chase two cowardly homophobes down the street, threatening to kick their asses (bromance to the max.) They exchange info before Nimr sneaks back to Palestine, neither of them realizing how dangerously disrupted their lives are about to become.

Because Nimr calls Palestine home, he’s harshly scrutinized by the Israeli authorities and shunned for his nationality when in Tel Aviv. He’s got a courageous soul, so he doesn’t let the hostile environment stop him from pursuing his academic goals or Roy, for that matter. Still, stretching romance across such a volatile divide, all the while keeping his sexuality secret from his family, is a burden perhaps unbearable by even the strong-willed.

Mustafa, an outgoing drag queen and Nimr’s friend from back home (played by Loai Noufi, bursting with vigor and sass) is delighted by the sight of the new couple, giddily egging them on every minute. Tragically, Mustafa becomes a sobering example of how high the stakes are in the inescapable conflict that surrounds them. Nimr’s older brother, Nabil, a bull of a man who—despite the impassioned objections of his younger brother—has involved their family in the conflict on a serious level (he’s stashed a cache of guns and ammunition in their home.) The relationship between the brothers is viciously combative, and yet there is a sense that despite the clash of values and ideals, they care for each other deep down and, had they not grown up in such a tumultuous environment, they might have actually gotten along. Yet another tragedy to add to the stack.

Roy, whose affluent playboy lifestyle has instilled in him a naïve sense of adolescent invincibility, uses questionable contacts to dig Nimr out of some deep trouble with the Israeli government and even puts his own ass on the line in the name of love (in a well crafted but terribly shallow foot-chase climax.) He’s a reckless but endearingly noble beau.

Mayer is a storyteller of taste—he never highlights that it’s a gay romance, aside from examining the challenges of being in one in a society so rooted in tradition. Jacob and Aloni’s scenes together are tender and convincing, which is impressive considering this is Jacob’s debut. Out in the Dark creates an atmospheric sense of tension that soaks into every scene, but what’s slightly lacking here are surprises. Almost every reaction I had to the film felt overly familiar, and while the film engrossing, it never threw me a left hook. Despite all this, Out in the Dark is executed and crafted very well, and that counts for a lot in my book.

Out in the Dark trailer

Alex Karpovsky (most famously known for his work in Lena Dunham’s Girls and Tiny Furniture) plays an (assumedly) extra-neurotic version of himself á la Larry David in Red Flag, a meta dark comedy that’s somehow both navel-gazey and droningly indifferent. The film opens with Karpovsky being unceremoniously booted out of the life (and apartment) of his girlfriend of seven years (Caroline White). With angst and heartache bubbling beneath his Brooklyn-indie button-ups and sweatshirts, we follow him as he tours the Southern states showing his real-life sophomore film, Woodpecker, in tiny arthouse theaters and college campuses, slinging DVD’s for extra cash.

After a routine Q&A, he hooks up with a clingy indie groupie (Jennifer Prediger, playing an obsessive psycho version of Rachel Leigh Cook in She’s All That.) As the tour rolls on, Karpovsky is joined by the Prediger, his old friend (Onur Tukel, who forms a love connection with Prediger), and White, who he’s convinced to give him a second chance (after loads of overly-wordy begging that echoes John Cusack in High Fidelity.) When the truth about Karpovsky and Prediger’s one-night-stand surfaces, the group implodes.

Red Flag had me chuckling through my nose consistently throughout, but not once did it evoke the kind of belly laughs I get from the work of Woody Allen and Larry David (whose humor Karpovsky clearly derives from.) He’s got the right idea, but lacks finesse. Though I struggled to connect with his style of anxiety-fueled humor, he shows clear potential (a naggy phone exchange with his real-life Russian mother is a highlight.)

The film’s running gags—one involving Karpovsky swapping the word “frittata” for “fuck” as an anger-management exercise, and another in which he pleads with hotel managers for a late morning checkout—woefully fall into “diminishing returns” territory. Every time he’d “nerd-rage” on inanimate objects (a frequent occurrence), the triteness of it all would chop my interest down a notch.

The film looks pretty crummy, as drab as the yellow two-star motels Karpovsky and company laze through. It’s difficult to recall any interesting shots, though the cast occupies the screen well; they all have interesting faces and, more importantly, put on fine performances. Tukel in particular kept me engaged with his infectious bearded grin and weirdo optimism. Karpovsky’s 21^st century neurotic nerd shtick (familiar to fans of his work on Girls) feels energy-deprived here. Whenever the film ventures into dark, existential territory it ends up feeling a bit weightless due to Karpovsky’s apathetic delivery. He does, however, hit his stride in scenes where he’s able to vocalize his character’s labyrinthine thought process.

Karpovsky has easy chemistry with his co-stars and the clever dialogue flows naturally, which shows skill—the script is simply a rough outline for the actors to follow and fill in the blanks as they shoot (a system utilized by Larry David on Curb Your Enthusiasm that affords the actors plenty of breathing room.) Though the premise of Red Flag is meta by nature, at the end of the day it amounts to little more than a decently entertaining yet largely dispensable road trip movie.

Red Flag trailer:

For fun, Joss Whedon likes to hold late-night drunken Shakespeare readings with his friends at his Los Angeles home (because who doesn’t?). Much Ado About Nothing, his adaptation of Shakespeare’s (arguably) best comedy, is an elaborately staged movie version of the wine-soaked bard parties. This is Whedon’s vacation from the superheroes, literally—on downtime during filming The Avengers, when he was supposed to be on vacation, Whedon gathered his merry troupe of actor friends from the Whedonverse (Buffy, Angel, Firefly, Dollhouse) and shot Much Ado About Nothing in 12 days (at his house, appropriately). Do the booze-fueled get-togethers translate well to the big screen? They sure do, thanks to the agile tongues and keen intelligence of Whedon and his chums.

The beauty of Whedon’s adaptation is that it respects the genius of the original work. Whedon takes the opposite approach of Baz Luhrmann’s flashy, over-stylized Romeo+Juliet—he trusts the power of the source material and is wise enough to not let unnecessary modern flourishes and bells and whistles obstruct Shakespeare’s work. This is a gracious, glitzy firecracker of a film that would make Ol’ Willie proud.

Though Whedon has trimmed a good amount of story off of the play, the original themes—about the many faces of love and the value of honor—remain intact. The plot is dizzying, but Whedon does a good job of making the scenes so entertaining that you dial in to each one, never missing a beat. From beginning to end, the film feels like a never-ending party, with bottles popping incessantly and sharp suits and cocktail dresses filling the screen. The film was shot in black and white, which lends itself well to the modern setting as it makes the house and everyone in it look more elegant and effervescent.

Alexis Denisof and Amy Acker play the timeless romance of Benedick and Beatrice like superstars, making the most of every moment (why these two haven’t had more successful film careers, I’ll never know). Their crackling chemistry (which had been developed over years on Angel) is as scrumptious as anything you’ll see this year. When Denisof tries to impress Acker by doing a cartoonish calisthenics routine in front of her while they have a casual conversation, it’s funny in the most unpretentious way, a nice palette-cleanser to the mean-spirited, sarcastic form of comedy seen in recent years. Denisof and Acker slip in and out of high drama and goofball comedy seamlessly, which is a skill the material requires. One minute they can’t stand the sight of each other, barking and verbally stabbing. The next, they’re declaring their undying love and rubbing noses. It’s all charming, all fluid, all convincing.

Though every cast member gets their moment in the sun, Franz Kranz is a standout as the animated, love-drunk Claudio. He’s given the most emotionally intense scenes in the film, and he brings energy to them that are off-the-charts. Though much less experienced in terms of theater time, Nathan Fillion provides the biggest laughs as the self-involved Chief-of-Police, Dogberry. He sings Shakespeare’s lines with a smirk and a curled eyebrow. “Remember that I am an ass. Though it not be written down, yet forget not that I am an ass.”

The modern Los Angeles setting is occasionally incompatible with the centuries-old dialog—hearing grand Elizabethan speech delivered in front of a refrigerator can be a little hard to swallow. The most difficult scene to digest is late in the film—Hero (Jillian Margese) is left at the altar by Claudio when he accuses her of squandering her virginity on another man. A pack of men then proceed to shout shockingly misogynistic insults at her, slinging their hate-filled scorn until she is so shamed she collapses. It’s hard to completely buy that this would fly in our time, though it ultimately doesn’t affect the drama of the scene significantly.

Much Ado About Nothing is light, good-humored fun. It’s sparkly and summery and full of laughs, though the modern setting doesn’t gel with the Elizabethan material quite as well as I’d hoped. The results are almost always delightful when Whedon works with his mates, and this outing is no exception. If Shakespeare were here to see it, he’d likely be pleased. “Twas a joyful romp, lord Whedon. But what, pray tell, is a ‘Buffy’?”

Considering that Terrence Malick has never put out consecutive films less than five years apart, one time it was two decades, putting out a film only a year after Tree of Life is very uncharacteristic. Rumor has it that the prolific director is actually working on several films right at the moment. The sudden surge of urgency is unknown, but very welcoming. To the Wonder shares the same narrative style as Tree of Life by showing but never telling the story. Often situations are suggested or hinted at but never quite fully spelled out, forcing the viewer to read between the lines. To the Wonder is even more subtle and less cohesive than Tree of Life, so if you struggled with that on Tree of Life, this film will likely produce similar results.

At the beginning Neil (Ben Affleck) and Marina (Olga Kurylenko) wander the French coast madly in love with one another. They explore the beautiful cathedral at Mont St. Michel which they call the Wonder and clasp their hands together at what ends up being the pinnacle peak of their relationship. Shortly after that Neil must relocate back to the States and convinces Marina and her little daughter to move with him. The flat countryside landscape of Oklahoma is a stark contrast to the city life in Paris Marina is used to. Not only does Marina not fit in to her new surroundings but her relationship with Neil is unraveling with each passing moment.

The couple drifts away from each other for no specific reason other than they never quite seem to be on the same beat of the drum. Malick wonderfully symbolizes this in a shot when the couple are on different floors of their home walking into separate rooms. But they are not the only ones in a crucial crossroad in their lives. A local priest Father Quintana (Javier Bardem) preaches the word of God to others but seems to have little direction or happiness in his own life. What these characters have in common is that they are searching for something that is only felt and not seen. In Marina’s case it is love that she is searching for, while the priest is pursuing his faith.

To the Wonder borrows many of the aesthetics found in Tree of Life. The camera always seems to be moving along with the characters, rarely ever is it stationary. Many similar objects appear in both films such as; beautiful stained glass churches, plenty of nature shots of trees and water, and heavy focus on the emotional reactions of the lead actors. Also similar is that the dialog takes a back seat to the stunning visuals of Malick’s visual poetry that is set against a perfectly chosen score. Most of the dialog will cut out mid-way through a sentence, as if the words are not really worth hearing.

Like most of Malick’s films, To the Wonder will not be for everyone. In fact, it may not even be for most. What might frustrate some viewers is how elusive the film is. Being that it features detached characters that are all looking for some intangible item makes the film seem very distant. Malick mostly succeeds at the impossible task of capturing these intangibles such as being in love and being directionless, while rarely relying on words to describe what is happening.

Affleck barely has any lines in the film and none of them were all that important. His character is withdrawn and the fact he spends most of the time in the frame, but seldom in the foreground exemplifies that. I realize that the film purposely does not give much detail about Ben, but I cannot help but wonder if a little more time was spent getting to know him would have been more beneficial. Going with a lifelike approach to its characters and their circumstances yields split results. In its favor, the film captures human nature without dramatizing anything, but it is at the cost of not having much of an emotional punch.

To the Wonder is such an absorbing film that it is not easy to form an instant opinion about it because you must let the film sink in for a while. Essentially the film is a two hour visual masterpiece with a plot that could be summed in ten seconds. Yet, even with a rather simplistic overall story, the film explores complex areas such as the dynamics of relationships, love, and faith. To the Wonder is a visual marvel to look at but its ambiguous form makes it frustratingly impenetrable at times.

Ten years after premiering Love Liza at the Sundance Film Festival, Todd Louiso returns to the festival with his latest film, Hello I Must Be Going. The synopsis of the film fits right in line with what the festival welcomes; a tale of a mid-thirties woman who is at rock bottom trying to find herself in life. Unfortunately the title of the film speaks for itself, because the film offers little redeeming value, it could be can be abandoned at the opening introduction.

Following a divorce that left her without many possessions, Amy (Melanie Lynskey) has been living with her well-off parents in their extravagant Connecticut home for the past three months. There is no doubt that Amy is heartbroken over her failed marriage, she rarely gets out of the house. Amy is in her mid-thirties and has two graduate degrees, but has not had the opportunity to use either of them yet. But her lack of ambition might come from the fact that her parents are willing to support her, giving her plenty of time yet little incentive to find work on her own.

Her parents Ruth (Blythe Danner) and Stan Minsky (John Rubinstein) have their own economic dilemma when shares of their investments are lost due to the financial crash. The problem is that it is hard to empathize for them too greatly because this just means that her father is unable to retire sooner and her mother’s plan to travel the world is delayed. They are far from struggling financially, but having to support their hapless daughter makes the potential client they are trying to get business from all that important.

Amy is pressured to clean up her image for the dinner party they are hosting for the big client as if she was a child. Furthermore, during the dinner her parents do most of the talking for her as they know she is incapable of impressing the guests herself. Meanwhile, across from her is the client’s 19 year-old son Jeremy (Christopher Abbott), who is getting the same treatment. The two instantly begin to flirt and before too long it escalades into a greater affair. This might be the exact thing Amy needs right now in her life, but it comes with the expense of possibly ruining her father’s chance at getting the client.

The biggest offender in Hello I Must Be Going is that the film never gives the audience a compelling reason to care for anything that transpires. The bulk of the film tends to be rich people complaining over spilled milk, while at the same time, they are so self-absorbed that they do not care about anyone else’s well-being. Yet somehow the audience is supposed to.

The other frequent wrongdoer is that the film explains what occurs rather than showing it. A good example of this is when Amy tells Jeremy that he taught her how to be loved. Other than being a genuinely nice guy who was not completely selfish, an admittedly rare feat in this film, there is nothing too out of the ordinary that we see Jeremy do for her. Because Amy is surrounded with people that give her no attention, when someone actually does, she somehow considers it a “lesson”.

That all being said, the root of all these problems likely stem from a poor script. At first it was difficult to discern if the blame should be put on Melanie Lynskey’s performance or simply the character she portrayed. But by the second act it was obvious that the blame could be placed her unbecoming character. Even the solid performance from Christopher Abbott was greatly reduced by the dreadful dialog from the script.

Hello I Must Be Going is a romantic comedy that yields little laughs and the romantic situations that arise feel downright contrived. The film does not deviate from a typical rom-com plotline, but even worse is that the film fails to properly execute its intentions. Rather than showing the lead character finding her path of self-discovery, the film must rely on you taking its word for it. If you were going to watch one indie rom-com from Sundance that centers on a thirtysomething divorcee, I suggest skipping this one in favor for Celeste and Jesse Forever.

It is a fact of life that doing the right thing is rarely the easiest. This is a hard concept to recognize but an even harder one to actually go through with. The theme behind Celeste and Jesse Forever is about doing the right thing even though it feels wrong to. A couple tries to maintain their friendship despite their pending divorce. The situation becomes even more complicated when they both try to pursue other people.

When first introduced to Celeste (Rashida Jones) and Jesse (Andy Samberg) they seem like the perfect married couple; laughing at their little inside jokes, saying an appropriate amount of endearments, and never bickering with one another. It is not until their engaged to be married friends call them out during dinner about how bizarre it is that they are in the middle of a divorce, yet still remain such close friends. It is indeed a bit strange, Jesse still lives in Celeste’s guest house and the two spend nearly every day together.

Jesse is a procrastinating freelance artist who is still seeking a full-time job, but is in no real hurry to actually get one. He is more anxious to ride on a killer wave than to apply for a job. Celeste is a “trend forecaster” who just finished her first book and while she may not be as successful as she would like to be, the point is that she has determination and goals. So while they share so many similarities elsewhere, their career drive is vastly different.

As you might expect, one of them still has feelings for the other. In this case, it happens to be Jesse wishing that they would eventually get their marriage back on track. He hopes this separation is just a way for Celeste to realize what they had together, though it is hard to for her to see what she and Jesse had when they still hang out every day. So Jesse takes the advice from a friend that he should start seeing other women for the sole purpose of making Celeste envious. But by the time Celeste figures out that she wants Jesse back, it may be too late.

The chemistry between the two characters on screen is stunning to witness. So much so, that it is hard not to root for the couple to get back together. But even more impressive, is how both of them evolve when they are not together. There is a serious side of Andy Samberg that is rarely seen. For the first time, his comedic talents serve as undertones instead of the primary characteristic, which is more effective than one would imagine.

Even though Samberg was splendid, the main star of the film is Rashida Jones. She receives the majority of the screen time and commands it well. Jones proves that she has what it takes to handle more than the supporting actress she is normally is assigned to. Watching her character transform as much as it did here could make your head-spin; going back and forth between a confident control freak to a miserable bong-hitting mess. Rashida Jones also shares a writing credit with co-star Will McCormack on the screenplay, which makes her efforts even more impressive.

Speaking of the screenplay, Celeste and Jesse Forever received an award nomination for Best First Screenplay at the Independent Spirit Awards, which is interesting, because the Spirit Awards will be hosted by Andy Samberg. The film starts off similar to most rom-coms, but it does not take long before the film develops into something slightly more refined.

The charming and honest approach suits well for Celeste and Jesse Forever, altering the spoiled and formulated romantic comedy genre. Perhaps what the film does best is balance out the humor with the heartache, never allowing one to dominate too much. Instead of settling for an ending that is predictable and customary, it opts for an authentic outcome that is difficult to accept – for both the characters and the audience – even if it is the right thing to do.

Ben Lewin’s The Sessions collected attention at various film festivals throughout the year, under the film’s original name of The Surrogate. Because the film is based on a true story about a man who struggles in life because of his condition; the film had a good chance of either being a contriving work of Oscar-bait or an emotionally inspiring film. Oddly enough, the film ended up being neither of those things. The Sessions was ultimately a light-hearted comical take on a very serious subject.

The opening scene gives a quick background on the real-life Mark O’Brien. At 6 years-old Mark O’Brien was diagnosed with Polio, which left his body immobilized but his mind completely unharmed. Despite his condition he followed his dreams of becoming a poet by graduating from University of California Berkeley.

The Sessions jumps ahead to the 1988 after Mark (John Hawkes) graduates from college. He sleeps in an iron lung and is taken care of by an attendants. Being that he was raised Catholic, when he is in need of answers he turns to church. This is when he meets with Father Brendan (William H. Macy), who would later become a close friend of his after repeated advise conversations.

In due time, the core of what The Sessions is about comes to light, which is sexuality. Mark realizes being 38 years-old means he does not have a lot of time left to engage in sexual intercourse. Considering he is not able to move from the neck down and that he has never had sex before, this is a monumental procedure for him. Mark turns to Father Brendan if he thinks God can overlook having sex outside of marriage because of his situation. In an unlikely response, Mark receives the Fathers blessing.

The courage he possess to go explore his sexuality is overshadowed by his understandable nervousness in the uncharted territory. Setting up the appointment to meet with a sex therapist is one thing, but having the courage to show up to the first meeting is another. Once he finally does and meets with a sexual surrogate named Cheryl (Helen Hunt), he begins a journey that he has never been able to experience before.

John Hawkes continues to prove why he is one of the best actors in the field today. Dealing with the difficult physical challenge with ease; Hawkes remained full of spirit and had a wonderful sense of humor about everything. Over Helen Hunt’s long career, she has had more ups than downs and fortunately she can chalk up another victory here. She played a lovely saint accompanying Hawkes who desperately needed it. Because of how much nudity her role entailed, it was a brave role for her. The Sessions picked up two well-deserved acting nominations for this year’s Independent Spirit Awards. While Hawkes did not receive an Oscar nomination for the Academy Awards this year, Hunt did receive a nod.

What the film does well is show a subject that is rarely shown, disabled people being just as sexual as the able-bodied. Without glamorizing sexuality, the film handles the subject with grace and maturity. Unfortunately, the film felt stuck between being insouciant and hard-hitting. The charming route helps widen the audience net, but makes you question if a slightly different approach would have had a more meaningful impact.

The Sessions successfully tackles a subject that is often either mishandled or grossly embellished, so in a way the film deserves recognition for that alone. Add in the two delightful lead performances and one might think the film would be a home-run. Unfortunately, the film ends up slightly missing a big payoff because of undeveloped sub-plots and rushed pacing, making for a marginally underwhelming finish.

A lot of sitcoms start with the same premise as Jonathan Lisecki’s Gayby, biological alarm clocks go off and suddenly everyone is infected with baby fever. This lightweight indie comedy takes that exact plot a couple steps further while treading (but never crossing) the thin line of an exaggerated story. Circumstances that arise in the film are actually happening more and more in today’s society of alternative parenting. Except briefly in one scene, the film wisely stays away preaching a political agenda. Gayby is not without its fault though, most of which show up in the film’s final act, which in the end alters the trajectory of where the film could have landed.

Within the first five minutes the tent poles of the story are up, Jenn (Jenn Harris) and Matt (Matthew Wilkas) are thirty-something friends who are desperately single. They made a pact in college if they did not have a baby by the time they were in their thirties that they would have one together. This sounds fairly straightforward until two curveballs are thrown. The first one being that she is straight and he is gay. But the real kicker though is that she wants to make the baby “the old fashioned way”.

As with any couple trying to conceive a baby (or in this case a gayby), problems arise. Even though the two engage in intercourse at the most opportune times according to Jenn’s ovulating schedule, he fails to impregnate her. Looking to point the finger at anything but herself; Jenn blames her apartment’s energy to be off because of the sterile paint job.

The bedroom scenes are without a doubt the funniest scenes in the film. At the same time, it handles the awkward procedure with relative ease. The dynamic between the two leads make the whole situation feel more plausible than it may seem on paper. Because the comedic timing and chemistry thrive when the two share the screen, they succeed in carrying the production even at the weakest points.

Gayby takes cues from the HBO’s hit show, Girls, by showcasing the complications of being a single girl (and a gay guy) in New York City. Just like Lean Dunham does in the show, Jenn Harris is a wise-cracking woman who always seems to find the wrong guys. Moreover, the film even borrows two of the shows stars, Adam Driver and Alex Karpovsky. One major difference between these two is that the film replaces hipster culture for gay culture, but the results are equally as hilarious.

Because the first two acts of Gayby were sensational, it makes the third act that much more disappointing when all of the built up steam runs out. Up until the dreadful ending, the film was a breath of fresh air to the indie gay-comedy genre with its playful yet witty humor. What makes the film so great is whether you are; straight or gay, male or female, parent or not, you can find most of the film pleasing. It is too bad that the film itself was not premature in its own delivery because that ending should not have arrived at all.

After Michael Haneke’s Amour was awarded the prestigious Palme D’or (the highest prize awarded and his second career win) at Cannes Film Festival this year it was instantly considered to be the front-runner to win this year’s Best Foreign Language award at the Academy Awards. It may not be as thought provoking as his previous films but Amour is just as sincere and powerful, even if does contain more of a straight-forward approach that is not typical of his other work.

The opening scene begins with the fire department ramming down the locked door of Georges (Jean-Louis Trintignant) and Anne’s (Emmanuelle Riva) apartment – discovering Anne surrounded by flower petals as she lies dead in bed. There are no obvious signs as to what happened to Anne or how the flowers got there. Georges is not shown to be in the apartment and we know nothing about the couple yet. Haneke then works backward to show the lives of the elderly couple before the foregone conclusion.

The couple is first seen together as part of a large audience at a piano concert. The camera remains on the audience even after the concert begins to emphasize the importance of who is listening to the music, not who is playing it. Once the couple arrive home, Georges tells Anne how pretty she looks that night – perfectly showing the amount of love the two share for each other after spending half a century together.

Anne suddenly has a stroke that leaves her right side of her body paralyzed. She hates being a burden to Georges thus resents talking about her condition. The thought of ending her life has cross her mind several times but Georges refuses to allow that to happen. He loves her dearly and knows that if the tables were turned there would be no doubt she would take care of him. Her condition goes from bad to worse and soon loses the ability to speak clearly. But Georges does not give up. He continues to assist her every move; helping her out of bed, bathe her and even feeding her. He recites childhood memoirs to Anne that she has never heard before to grant her wish of taking her mind off her condition. Unlike death, which is inescapable, love can last forever.

For good reason, Haneke gets the inevitable death of Anne out of the way in the very opening seconds of the film. The reason is similar to when he showed the audience instead of the concert player, he wanted the focus to be on what matters the most, not on what was most obvious. What was important here was not the death of her, but the relationship she had with her life-long husband.

There are two separate scenes in which a pigeon flies in through an open window of the apartment. The first time this happens, Georges scares the bird back out the window. But when the pigeon re-enters the apartment later in the film, something interesting happens. Instead of forcing the bird back out from which it came, he catches the bird to cuddle it. This can be seen as Georges finally accepting the reality of Anne’s situation.

Amour would not have work worked without the incredible performances from both of the leads. Emmanuelle Riva is absolutely brilliant in her role as an elderly woman who suffers from multiple strokes, which renders her immobile and nearly speechless. Jean-Louis Trintignant’s character makes the situation even more devastating just by how much love he possess for his dying companion.

Amour demonstrations just how powerful love can be by showing how much torture one can endure for love. It is a certainly a grim film but what this coupe holds for each other is both moving and inspirational to say the least. Amour tugs at your heart by skillfully conveying not only the complications of love, but the crueler side as of it as well.

The Good Doctor is about a lonely young medical resident who has high aspirations to be a well-respected good doctor, but he has hurdles to clear before obtaining such status. The intention of the film is to be a dark psychological thriller but there were too many missteps for it to be an effective one. The Good Doctor contains all the right pieces for a puzzle but fails to connect the pieces to complete one.

Dr. Martin Blake (Orlando Bloom) recently moved into his beach-side condo in Southern California, which is minimalistically furnished, similar to the sterile hospital environment he works in. He is just six days into his residency and already he has started off on the wrong foot by mistakenly giving a Spanish-speaking patient penicillin when he is allergic to it. Having an incident like that does not look good on his record considering he is trying to stand out from his peers to win an infectious disease fellowship.

One of his other patients is a young attractive woman named Diane Nixon (Riley Keough), who cultivates an instant crush on him. He explains to her that her kidney infection is not serious thus making her hospital stay short lived. In order to show gratitude for the quick recovery, the Nixon family invites the doctor over for dinner. Because he began to develop romantic feelings for Diane, he knows the ethical implications of pursuing this means he is treading on thin ice. Despite all of this, he will do whatever it takes to ensure seeing Diane again.

This is when the train begins to derail from the tracks as the potentially fascinating story begins to show its flaws. When he shows up to the dinner, the whole family is there except for Diane. That should have raised more flags than it did, but instead it is more or less shrugged off by everyone involved. Because situations are too conveniently set up and largely implausible, the film results in a lot of eye-rolling.

The largest offender of the film is the writing itself; specifically lacking direction of the lead character. At first he seems really determined to further his career by being the best doctor that he can. Then the character is suddenly content with jeopardizing everything in order to stay closer to this girl. His motives were never fully realized or explored.

Most of the flaws in The Good Doctor can be linked to the poorly written script but Orlando Bloom’s performance did not enhance the film at all. Typically, Bloom is a decent actor but in this film he does not look like the veteran that he is. Because there was no conviction from the character, the audience is not able to believe in any decision he made. Which is funny because someone tells him, “You know what the secret is to being a good doctor, don’t you? You act like one”, too bad he did not follow that advice.

The Good Doctor starts off with an interesting concept but quickly suffers from lack of direction and implausible circumstances. There is no better way to describe the last act other than atrocious. Acting performances and the story get noticeably worse, making the flawed film even more problematic. Instead of deciding on one ending, the film opts to show two distinct outcomes; although neither one of them are satisfying.

I will begin by saying, this is a must see film; an absolute must see film. If you’re confused by my recommendation on your first viewing of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, then watch it again, but this time – really see it. Follow every line, and understand every visual, take it all in and let the film run away with your mind. Eternal Sunshine is without a doubt an extremely polished film that delivers on all fronts; it ticks all the boxes.

The storyline is complex and totally far fetched, but is utterly unique and something very beautiful. Joel Parish (Jim Carrey) is an ordinary guy with an ordinary existence. When we’re first introduced to his character he starts the day off with the aim of going to work, but whilst waiting for the train, something out of the ordinary happens to Joel; he runs across the platform and jumps on a train to Montauk – a completely spontaneous act. Whilst Joel walks across Montauk beach he sees a girl with an orange sweatshirt on, also walking along the sand. Clementine Kruczynski (Kate Winslet) introduces herself on the train and that is where their story begins or so you would believe.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind is anything but ordinary. The film takes you down so many different visual paths that you find it difficult to place each scene. You find yourself understanding Joel’s anger towards what has happened in his life but you also feel the pain of his past when he’s confronted by his memories. Early on Joel decides to undergo a ‘new-age’ therapy that will eliminate all the memories that cause him pain and betrayal he felt during his relationship with Clementine; we find out soon enough that he regrets this decision.

Clementine is a character that can be defined by her own words “Too many guys think I’m a concept, or I complete them, or I’m gonna make them alive. But I’m just a fucked-up girl who’s lookin’ for my own peace of mind; don’t assign me yours.” This speech she gives to Joel is one of the most realistic and direct definition of what women like Clementine are portrayed as through film. She doesn’t pretend to be another ‘Ruby Sparks’ or ‘Allison’ (from Yes Man! also starring Jim Carrey) – she isn’t the girl that breathes life back into the empty chests of men without colour or direction to the world they live in. Clementine is simply a girl who makes mistakes and is looking for some direction of her own.

Opposites surely do attract in Eternal Sunshine. Joel is “boring” and Clementine, “impulsive” – quite a clash in terms of the chemistry within a relationship. Due to their conflicting personalities, harsh realisations are made apparent and the couple are left to deal with the emotions that are brought to the surface. During the course of the film we get to see both sides of their relationship through various memories Joel is reliving. Through this we get to see the good, the bad and the downright ugly; yet when their relationship is good, it’s beautiful. A memorable scene that demonstrates this is when Clementine describes a deep rooted childhood memory to Joel, from where she first decided she was ugly; Joel begins kissing her and tells her she’s pretty over and over again until they fade into a new memory. With fantastic use of cinematography, the director (Michel Gondry) and the DOP (Ellen Kuras) produced phenomenal shots and scenes (including the one just described) by using light, colour and intense intimacy between the subjects, they bought to life the powerful emotion of each memory. This is outstanding filmmaking.

This said, I must also give credit to Carrey and Winslet for their performances as both were out of their comfort zones. Carrey, more known for his humour and comedic roles and Winslet for her super serious Britishness – both delivered fresh and very realistic portrayals of what two people in a dysfunctional relationship are like and how they survive through the love and understanding they share for one and other. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind is a breath of fresh air when it comes to on screen romance and I rate it highly among the films I adore.

Right on the heels of two successful films that paid respect to the history of cinema, The Artist and Hugo, Tabu receives its title from the final film from one of cinema’s great romantics, F.W. Murnau, and serves as a love letter to the era. Critic-turned-filmmaker Miguel Gomes serves up a charming third feature, though fully appreciating the film requires some patience.

Part one is entitled Paradise Lost and follows a woman named Pilar (Teresa Madruga) who seeks company from anyone she can. The fact that she never manages to crack a smile, suggests that her life is rather gloomy. All that is known about her is that she is a practicing Catholic who spends time protesting outside the U.N. and enjoys watching cinema. When a Polish backpacker cancels plans to stay with her, Pilar spends more time with her elderly neighbor Aurora (in this part played by Laura Soveral). It is clear that Aurora has a gambling problem when she asks Pilar to pick her up from the casino after she runs out of funds. But her addiction is not what is alarming; Aurora’s mental state is declining, to the point that she is admitted to the hospital. Her last request is to have Pilar track down her former lover, Gian Luca Ventura (Henrique Espirto Santo).

When Pilar meets up with Ventura over coffee the film seamlessly transitions into its second part, appropriately named Paradise. During this half of the film, no actual dialog is spoken by the characters. Though it is not considered to be a silent film as it is narrated by the elderly Ventura who recalls the story of how he and Aurora first met. Also present are subtle ambient background noises such as birds chirping or water trickling, that provide a layer of texture.

After learning about the young Aurora (played by Ana Moreira), her senile outbursts about being in Africa and her talk of crocodiles suddenly make more sense to Pilar. It is confirmed that she actually did live in Mozambique and that she found a baby crocodile that she adopted as her pet. Her gambling problem later in life was inherited from her father who first suffered the addiction.

More details unfold about how Aurora and Ventura first met and it becomes clear that the heart of the story regards the forbidden nature of their romance. The two were separated by the different Portuguese social circles they ran with. Aurora was married, wealthy and pregnant and Ventura was part of a rock n’ roll band with the personality to match. Despite the doomed nature of their love, they held tightly to the love they felt for one another.

Tabu is incredibly well-written, and for better or for worse, no detail is left out. Background details are given to characters that do not seem all that important, especially in the first half of the film. It can be a lot to take in for such a simple love story but thanks to Gomes’ visually compelling filmmaking, the film is absolutely beautiful to watch.

Compositions of the rugged African wilderness are second to none, capturing the farming fields and distant mountains of Mozambique. Through the use of black and white photography in a 1:37:1 aspect ratio combined with being shot on 16mm, the film pays homage to 1950’s cinema. Gorgeous shots ranging from a blistering African sun to a cloudy downpour of rain, set the tone of the film with a sharp contrast of atmosphere and emotion.

Tabu, while comprised of two distinct parts that could easily be separate films, weaves it’s stories together to make one whole, told backwards to great affect. The majority of time is spent following Pilar in the beginning as she represents a movie audience, looking to fulfill the mundanity of her life with something cinematic. Her life is given the dramatic romance she craves as for both her and the audience, Aurora’s vibrant past comes to life.

With an estimated budget of only $50,000, Conrad Jackson’s romantic drama Falling Overnight is a simple indie film with unexpected results. This subtle film sounds less interesting than it really is; a boy who is about to undergo risky surgery meets a girl and falls in love. With such a serious premise, the way the film is handled and plays out becomes a pleasant surprise. Also, the incredible performance from the lead, Parker Croft, greatly benefits the film by making it feel so genuine.

Sitting alone at a restaurant is Elliot Carson (Parker Croft) who is more focused on stacking coffee creamer than eating anything. When the waiter comes by to ask what kind of salad dressing he would like, Elliot is forced to remove his headphones and responsed that he does not care. Something is clearly on his mind. When he arrives at the hospital, what is distracting him becomes clear.

Just looking at him sitting in the waiting room of the hospital you can tell that he has not eaten a proper meal for a while and he looks very tired. Both are confirmed when he speaks to the doctor about how he has been feeling lately. The doctor tells him this is a normal reaction to the medicine he is taking. Then we find out what has been bothering him. Tomorrow he will be undergoing surgery to remove a tumor from his brain.

On the way home from the doctor’s appointment Elliot has a chance encounter with a quirky artist at a road-side store who invites him to an art show. An offer he dismisses at first, but decides to pursue when being alone with his own thoughts at home proves too much. She is surprised to see him at the show and introduces herself as Chloe Webb (Emilia Zoryan). It is not long before he finds himself attracted to her while talking to her. Luckily for him, she seems just as interested in him.

The night looks like it ends well with him getting her phone number and a heartfelt hug to cap it off. But two only separate for a few moments before she comes back to ask if he would like to go to a party with her. Even though he mentioned earlier that he was not able to stay out late tonight, he agrees to join. The rest of the evening, as the title hints, is spent with them falling for each other. But sooner or later he has to tell her about his situation. The same reason that brought them together may drive them apart.

One character makes a statement about how much they do not like stars because you are looking at something that might not actually be there, a lie so to speak. That is essentially what Elliot is to Chloe. Because he waits so long before telling Chloe, he almost deceives her into thinking he is fine when things are not looking so great for him. In his defensive, it is hard to bring up that you may be dying to someone that you just met. Besides, he is trying to forget about it as best he can.

I found myself surprisingly drawn to the characters and how it would play out. It was not overly complicated but what it lacked in complexity it thrived in authenticity. There were lines of dialog that felt awkward but it was as awkward as it would be in real life. The scenes with Elliot and Chloe never felt too exaggerated, just regular Los Angeles twenty-something hipsters falling in love.

Falling Overnight is not the first film to focus on a relationship that has a determined time in which it will end but it is certainly an honest and genuine one. The film does not pull any punches, what you think will happen pretty much does. But what makes Falling Overnight stand out from the rest is what happens between the starting point and ending point. It works so well without having to be over the top. The ending could have been safer like other films with the same setup, but I was really pleased with how it was handled.

In what will more than likely go down as the biggest disappointment of the year in film for me, Jacques Audiard’s Rust and Bone isn’t something that I would label as bad but I certainly couldn’t call it very good either. After three straight works of brilliance, this is definitely a step back for him as a filmmaker, though more than anything else that’s due to his screenplay (he co-wrote again with Thomas Bidegain, his collaborator on A Prophet). There isn’t much to fault here when it comes to Audiard’s direction; Rust and Bone is a visceral punch to the gut at times, and there’s a palpable physicality in the lives of these two characters which he is able to capture with a strength that few others would be able to succeed at on this level.

No, the problem here is in the writing, which is all over the place in terms of its narrative, its characters and its authenticity. Rust and Bone centers on the relationship between the brutish Ali (Matthias Schoenaerts) and the recently crippled Stephanie (Marion Cotillard), the two coming together early on after a horrific accident that leaves her without her legs. Whenever the film is focusing on the relationship between these two, it is absolutely on point. The contrast between the incredibly physical presence of Ali and the emotional struggles that Stephanie faces when her physicality is taken away from her is poignant, and both actors deliver phenomenal performances.

Schoenaerts, who exploded onto the scene with his powerful work in Bullhead, has an immediately intimidating approach that makes you fear him but he fuses this character with so much heart that it’s hard not to root for him, even when he’s making mistakes when it comes to his career or parenting his young son. Cotillard provides the perfect contrast, matching that physical, internal approach with a devastating rawness that is absolutely heartbreaking. Audiard manages his leads well and has two actors who deliver in every moment, shining individually but even brighter when they are able to share the screen. It’s when the two are split up that the script begins to fall apart, with subplots that don’t add much of anything, thin supporting characters and glaring narrative contrivances.

Even with the extensive 155-minute running time of the much more subtle A Prophet, Audiard created a pace that move it along so well that it never dragged for a moment, but running at a brisker 120-minute duration this one feels like it runs at least an hour longer. Rust and Bone ratchets the drama up to a level that is strangely aggressive for Audiard, hitting the audience far too loud at times without ever achieving the kind of emotional strength that Read My Lips or The Beat That My Heart Skipped were able to. For the first time, Audiard lets the melodrama control his picture more, presenting it in a way that embraces that as opposed to presenting the more gritty, authentic approach that he has shown such skill within.

This becomes especially troublesome in the film’s final act, where the contrivances are taken to an eye-rolling extreme that actively works against that raw emotional anguish Cotillard and Schoenaerts bring to their roles. Rust and Bone probably has a little more going for it than it does against, but with Audiard’s magnificent track record going into it, the inconsistencies in the writing are surprising and very disappointing. The two leads deliver incredible work, but this is a prime example of how much a bad script can impact an overall picture.