Dallas Buyers Club (2013)

Matthew McConaughey has been on a tear recently: “Lincoln Lawyer” and “Mud,” etc. (I have yet to see “Magic Mike.”) He dives into the true-story Fight the System AIDS drama “Dallas Buyers Club” with a live-wire nerve and swagger that is awesome to behold, it’s near terrifying. This guy burned many years in terrible, Xerox rom-coms. Now he’s killin’ it. 

Unrecognizably taunt and spoiling for a fight, McConaughy is Ron Woodroof, a swinging, swaggering, swearing Dallas country boy with a knack for liquor, threesomes with women, gambling, and generally burning life out before he hits 50. Then he learns he has HIV. In 1985. Back when no one knew what the fuck HIV or AIDS was and I (hating myself now) joined in on Rock Hudson jokes. 

Ron is a good ol’ boy, would vote GOP if he voted, and hates homosexuals. When word leaks on his health, family and friends bolt, tag him queer, and he has 30 days to live. 

But the man won’t die. Not yet. 

He blows off Big Pharma cell-killer-med AZT and finds better drugs over the border, and with the help of a waif transgendered woman (Jared Leto of “Requiem for a Dream”), he brings those meds to the U.S. And then he fights the protectors of profit. The FDA. 

Don’t think this an AIDS drama, mark this next to “Silkwood” or, dare I say, “Rocky.” Unlikely heroes. I understand much of the story here is fictionalized. Well, it’s damn fine, smart fictionalizing that rarely falters. 

(Jennifer Garner plays a doctor written so tidy bland, a hand-holder surrogate for old church-going ladies in the audience, I cringed every time her face appeared. Not a slam to the actress. I like her. But the writing.) 

This is McConaughey’s show as he bullies, taunts, rages, screams, cries, takes a pistol to his head, and just chars the screen black with his walk and burning eyes. Remarkable. Leto also nails his tragic, beautifully penned role, deteriorating into nothingness. 

(Both men deserve every award they have coming their way, although I pitch a preference to “12 Years a Slave.”)

The finale -– that we all know is coming, history -- might not punch the emotional button we need to leave weeping, but it comes close. A-

August: Osage County (2013)

Can’t go home again? In “August: Osage County,” you won’t want to go home. Taking his play to the screen, Tracy Letts’ family funeral corker blows fire with deep resentments, booze, pills, physical and emotional attack, drugs, incest, child rape attempts, and a suicide. Do not come for the entertainment. Come for drama largesse. We open on an Oklahoma couple well entrenched in the war that is marriage. Sam Sheppard is boozer poet Beverly, who sees caring for his cruel, dying wife (Meryl Streep) as a chore that infringes his boozing. Streep’s Viv has mouth cancer, much ironic as her mouth spews non-stop hate. So ironic. Bev hires an “Injun” –- their usage -– caregiver and then vanishes, forcing Viv to call in her grown daughters (including Julia Roberts as the oldest), and each arrives swinging in a one-upper game of FUBAR. Before car engines cool, tempers flare and brimstone flies. Look, the acting is amazing. Streep wows. Roberts fumes. Many scenes hit home, but it’s two hours of constant yelling as that Native American nurse (Misty Upham) silently looks on with flat eyes that say, “We lost our homes for these fools?,” and serves pie. Quite the stereotype throwback. B

Blue Jasmine and Philomena (both 2013)

In “Blue Jasmine” and “Philomena,” Best Actress Oscar nominees Cate Blanchett and Judi Dench respectively play very different women in life-altering upheavals. Tip of the hat to Ms. Blanchett as best of the duo. 

In Woody Allen’s pitch black satire/drama “Jasmine,” Blanchett is a NYC high-society Wall Street wife who sees her diamond dreams bust after hubby (Alec Baldwin) is jailed Madoff style by the FBI, and his womanizing ways uncovered. 

A high chip even among the 1 percent, Jasmine – not her given name – crashes to earth and the San Francisco apartment of her sister (Sally Hawkins), who bags groceries for a living and squeaks by with a mechanic boyfriend (Bobby Canavale) and a handyman ex-husband (Andrew Dice Clay) with a righteous -- and rightful -- ax to grind. 

Jasmine, on her way down, suffered a nervous breakdown and now drifts off, pops pills, and cries over the indignity of a paycheck. Allen – working on multiple levels – shows a woman who has lost her grasp of reality and yet has always been deep down delusional and a chronic liar, faking her way up to Park Avenue, and perfectly fine with the deceit and lies of Wall Street, as long as she herself remains untouched. 

How very Ayn Rand. 

That the lower end of America offers no more comfort seems to break Jasmine. (With all of Allen’s own contradictions, one wonders if he’s ever turned such a cutting knife on himself. I can’t say.) 

This is solid, darkly funny work from the man who gave us the sweet trippy “Midnight in Paris.” The man writes marvelous women, and truly scummy men –- Baldwin is wretchedly conceited, and I mean that as a compliment. 

Dench plays the title character in “Philomena,” a woman devout to God, but carrying a life of heartbreak after the Irish Catholic Church damned her for having an out of wedlock baby as a teenager, and giving -– selling for cash –- that baby 50 years ago. (If she aborted, then what?) 

Philomena desperately wants to see that grown son, and worries he is sick or homeless. An out-of-work journalist turned government PR hack (Steve Coogan, who co-wrote the screenplay) takes on Philomena as a snide expose to bust the Vatican, which as a left-wing atheist snob, he loathes. 

Philomena, for her part, is near a mirror of the sister in “Jasmine,” scrapping by, prone to junk TV and books. Not a 1 percenter. Conversely, one could easily see Jasmine hitch onto Coogan’s vulgarly rich writer. 

Director Stephen Fears sends the duo to America, where the son was taken decades ago and lets the old lady and the uppity writer needle each other movie style. The result is cute and fuzzy: Philomena talks endlessly, journo rolls his eyes; she won’t open the hotel door, he panics. 

But it’s a solid true-story that, yes, rips the church and GOP anti-everything conservatism -– justly so -– but also shows that life can be enriched by forgiveness more so than wealth or talent. Whether you go for God or not. Dench is amazing. Right and left busted, church faithful and not, as well. Fair game.

Jasmine: A- Philomena: B+

Back to the Future (1985)

I was 11 when “Back to the Future” hit theaters. Not yet in high school. (I got called “McFly!” A lot.) But I loved the story and acting, and knew this movie was whip smart. Watching it again with high school long past and looking at 1985 as movie hero Marty McFly looks at 1955, I’m blown away. “Future” is epic. You know the plot: Michael J. Fox -– then a TV star -– is Marty, a skate-boarding 1980s teen who gets zapped back 30 years in a time machine sports car (how genius!) built by an eccentric nut-job scientist (Christopher Lloyd). In 1955, McFly meets the teenagers (Lea Thompson as a hottie and Crispin Glover as an incredible nerd) who will be his parents, and puts his own existence in jeopardy when he crashes their meet-cute. Never mind sci-fi, Robert Zemekis’ film is one of the great comedies, with marvelous turns from the whole cast, especially Tom Wilson as an idiot bully. The script toys with time-travel like a kid in a Lego store and serves up Ronald Reagan jokes so great Ronal Reagan loved them. Fox –so young – defines movie stardom. A childhood favorite improved with age, I love it. A+

The Secret Life of Walter Mitty (1947)

I have not read the short story nor have I seen the new film from Ben Stiller of “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty.” But I did just check out the original cinematic take with Danny Kaye as the mother-heckled, day-dreaming hero whose flights of fancy get him in trouble, from running a car over a curb to getting caught up in a murder conspiracy plot that plays as a satirical stab at Hitchcock. That’s not a complaint, not with Kaye -– absolutely one of the most lovable and talented souls ever to grace the screen -- as the good guy and Boris Karloff as an evil doctor who tries to shove Kaye out a high-rise window. (Kaye is playing the anti-Cary Grant hero here, a scared wet-eyed puppy.) Story author James Thurber hated the film. Changes were made and blah blah blah. Sorry for him. Truly. Because it’s Danny Kaye, we have song and dance, and not to discount Thurber, I smiled huge. Sure, it’s corny, but it’s joyful, even if the finale feels random, missing. Watch it. Smile. B+

Kick Ass 2 (2013)

“Kick Ass 2” is a shit sequel to a razor sharp comic book movie that fingered the caped avenger genre and reveled in and questioned its own grisly violence. Love it, hate it, “Kick Ass” did just that. No shock: It was directed by Matthew Vaughn of “Layer Cake” fame. This downer has some guy named Jeff Wadlow at the helm. Plot: Vigilante/hero-complex teens Kick Ass (Aaron Taylor-Johnson) and Hit Girl (Chloë Grace Moretz) do battle with the -– wait for it -- Mother Fucker, the now super villain son (Christopher Mintz-Plasse) of the NYC mob boss (Mark Strong) killed in film one. MF dons his mom’s S&M gear and dishes out murder and rape. Too much. In one scene, policemen are chomped to death by a lawn mower. Rape gets a joke. Vaughn skated the line of taste, turning hero fantasy into grim shocker. Wadlow’s delivery is a tired echo and oddly boring with action scenes so haphazardly shot as to bring on indifference. The sick thrills thus become merely sick. Jim Carrey’s role as a psycho-for-Jesus G.I. Joe is over before it finds air, and Mintz-Plasse’s trip in a “Mean Girls” spin relies on diarrhea gags. Dumb ass. D+

The World’s End (2013)

Planet Earth had it rough in 2013. Along with numerous sci-fi flicks, our home got smashed about in “This is the End” and “The World’s End,” widely different (despite titles) comedies that satirize cinematic apocalypse larks with onscreen man-bonding and plenty of drink and drugs. “World’s End” is the last in a comedy trilogy from director/writer Edgar Wright and stars Simon Pegg and Nick Frost, following “Shaun of the Dead” and “Hot Fuzz.” Here, we take a smart stab at alien-attack flicks and the goofy nostalgia films of old high school chums getting back together to party like the good ol’ days. Wright, Pegg, and Frost call bullshit. Not on aliens. Reunions. When you go back, you fail. Your town has changed, you have changed, and everyone else has, too. Pegg’s boozer doesn’t realize that, though, and watching the guy fret over beer more than humanity is riotous, and a smash at every other boozer film. As they have before, our trio up-end the genre they mock with laser sharp wit. Mainly: Whoever you be, never argue with a drunk Brit. Bonus points: An ex-Bond in a end-game cameo. Love the beard. A-

Her (2013)

“Her” is the perfect Spike Jonze film. It smashes story-telling ground with a keen eye on a misfit that takes an outlandish idea -– think mind travel in “Being John Malkovich” –- and makes it instantly accessible. Now. Beautiful. Dark. The story: Theodore (Joaquin Phoenix) is a writer for a website that provides “real” hand written letters for other couples, but he knows little about love himself. His marriage crashed, and when a date suggests a relationship, Theo bolts. Prone to online porn and games, Theo to his mild dismay falls in love with his newest gadget, an OS that’s therapist, camera, encyclopedia, and lover all in one. She names herself Samantha (voiced by Scarlett Johansson) and is everything Theo ever wanted in a woman: On when he needs her, off when he does not. The idea is ridiculous. Jonze lets us know that as Theo hides his burgeoning love until he succumbs truly, deeply to Sam’s charms. We fall and hurt with him. Yes, “Her” is about our IM/texting-mad world and the disappearing art of and yet longing for human touch, but it also is flat-out perfection for anyone ever in or out of love, and future curious. A

Despicable Me 2 (2013)

I dug “Despicable Me,” the animated jab at movie villainy played like a Mel Brooks classic made for grade schoolers. Its master stroke: Every movie fan knows it’s more fun to be the bad guy, so why not make a movie about him? There, egg-shaped Eastern European criminal mastermind Gru saw his plans to steal the moon sunk after taking in three orphaned girls with big, wet eyes. Watching him squirm to do anything right was a blast. In “Despicable Me 2,” Gru is back and he’s good from the start, so good, he’ll dress like a pink fairy to give his youngest girl a smile. When he’s recruited by a MI5-type group to take down a new villain, we have no doubt that Gru won’t dream a little Blofeld dream. That sucks the fun out of this story. The movie’s wonderfully done in eye-popping CGI with endlessly funny blink-and-you-miss-it sight gags, and Steve Carrel is a blast as Gru, but we are watching an after-thought. The main point of interest hangs on Gru finding love … or not. Go on, guess. B

Stand Up Guys (2013)

It’s a kick to see Al Pacino, Christopher Walken, and Alan Arkin play off each other in “Stand Up Guys,” a comedy about aging gangsters who can still -– as stated repeatedly -– kick ass or chew gun, and no one has any gum. That joke gets repeated. Our three acting gods make it work. Mostly. What they cannot save is the stick a needle in a hard cock joke, which De Niro already suffered through with Ben Stiller. And not even Brando in his prime could save the WT-holy-F gang rape victim bit which has the trio finding a bound, gagged, and naked assault victim in the trunk of a car they have stolen. Get her to the hospital? Is she traumatized? Injured? No. Our heroes take the lady out for dinner, find the perps, and layout violent justice, hooting and hollering along the way. Seriously. Really. Actor-turned-director Fisher Stevens is so busy making these guys woo-ha cwazzy that he never makes them dangerous, so much so that not even the notion of Walken’s assassin being forced to kill Pacino’s crook makes a slight dent. Irony: Despite the deluge of dick jokes, “Guys” has no balls. C+

American Hustle (2013)

Director David O. Russell (“Silver Linings Playbook”) opens his great 1970s-set conman comedy/drama “American Hustle” with the tagline, “Some of this actually happened,” which means we’re in for a blast of hellacious fun. Screw the facts. Entertain us. We open on a fat, slouching Christian Bale as he plasters a comb-over job atop his head until –- in his eyes -- he’s the suave lady-killer of his youth. It’s a laugh riot, a self-con from a sad sack unaware he’s done. Bale is Irving Rosenfeld, a NYC loan shark suffocating inside a mafia-heavy squeeze alongside his con-artist partner/mistress (Amy Adams), his metal-in-the-microwave wife (Jennifer Lawrence), a loon FBI agent (Bradley Cooper) with a bad perm, and a Jersey mayor (Jeremy Renner) who’s far too trusting and nice. That’s the gist. “Hustle” is too much a blast to spill more. Channeling early Scorsese with a wink-wink gleam, Russell nails the Me Decade with its big clothes, jewelry, and cars, with everyone wanting the gold ring promised to them by TV, and constantly checking their hair, even after a beat down. The acting is bonkers good, with Louis C.K. stealing thunder as an FBI boss obsessing a childhood ice fishing story. That man amazes. A

Frozen (2013)

Disney’s “Frozen” -– adapted from the Hans Christian Andersen’s book “The Snow Queen” -– is a solid piece of Disney Princess entertainment with catchy music. It might not stand aside instant-classic “Beauty and the Beast,” but it’s nice to see a throwback to that early 1990s era. Plot: A princess (Kristen Bell) vows to save the older sister (Idinia Menzel) she was once so close to as children after the latter unintentionally puts their perfect kingdom into a literal deep freeze. See, the sister/queen can create X-Men-style ice and snow with her hands, but has little control of the power. The townspeople seek vengeance, but our princess pleads forgiveness. Toss in a macho man, his BFF reindeer, and a singing snowman, and we have an adventure. Not all the pieces fit -- I love that little snowman (voiced by Jonathan Groff) with his ode to summer song, but he whiffs of tacked-on comedy relief. Ditto rock trolls. I dug, though, our female leads and the genre-tweaking dig at instant love and charming princes. The computer animation is flawless, naturally. But watching this old-school story, I longed for the nuance of hand-drawn animation. Flawless often can be … cold. B+

Jurassic Park (1993)

Twenty years on I still remember watching “Jurassic Park”: A college kid wowed back to age 5: Real dinosaurs chasing people! So it seemed. Even now, Steven Spielberg’s popcorn ride still rocks with “How’d they do that?’ dazzle, long before we overloaded on CGI. You know the plot: Two dinosaur diggers (Sam Neill and Laura Dern) are invited by a P.T. Barnum-type (Richard Attenborough) to see his latest joy ride-slash-money maker: A Pacific island holding a live dinosaur theme park, with the extinct beasts brought back via magical DNA tinkering. The scientists stare in wonder, as do we as moviegoers. Not impressed: A sharp geek (Jeff Goldblum) who dishes on chaos and dumps on the old man’s grab for big smiles and bigger dollars. Naturally, it all goes to hell when a storm and tech glitches set the “controlled” beasts free and they hunt and kill, as dino DNA dictates. That’s part of Spielberg’s genius here: These animals are never the bad guys. They merely are. The glint of power in a rich Scotsman’s eye is plenty danger. This is amazing fun, always will be, with Spielberg mastering that thing he does: Turning childhood wishful fantasies into unshakable adult nightmares. A+

The Thing from Another World (1951)

All the trapped in, under, above, at fill-in-the-blank monster horror films we all love (“Alien”!) started with Howard Hawks’ “The Thing From Another World,” or, really, just titled, “The Thing.”  Heavy on the brain-hammer “THEY AREN’T LIKE US!” Commie scares, “Thing” focuses on a group of military hot-heads and science nerds trapped at the North Pole, stalked by a tallish alien humanoid (James Arness) whose flying saucer has crashed nearby. This must have been a blast to watch when it first hit theaters as director Christian Nyby (with Hawks) was smart enough to temper the Red Scare tactics with tongue in cheek humor, cracks at military logic, and a mixture of genuine scares and not a little romance. It makes the patriotism go down smooth, even if the set-up takes for damn ever and the butt of all jokes is the journo (Douglas Spencer) trying to get the story of the millennia out. OK, I liked that last part, especially his line, “Keep watching the skies,” years before the Red Scare hit: Sputnik. A-

Suspicion (1941)

Subpar Alfred Hitchock still outpaces 90 percent of anything made in Hollywood 70 years ago or now. But romance-thriller “Suspicion” is a stiff. I swear Hitchcock was bored making it, because I was bored watching it, and that’s a tall order since “Suspicion” stars Cary Grant and Joan Fontaine. Apologies to the master and stars. History says morality-cop conservative censors –- Hays Code –- killed this tale before film was set to camera. I believe it. Plot: Wealthy gal Fontaine falls in love with wealthy party boy lothario (Grant) who turns out not to be rich, but a gambling, lying, thieving heel who gets away with such deeds because he’s Cary fuckin’ Grant. When hubby’s best pal –- who is wealthy -- eventually (a long eventually) turns up dead, wifey fears for her own life. Cue scariest glass of milk ever. Cue ... nothing happens. Look, some scenes rock -- that glowing milk, the play of shadows as a bird cage -- but this is a slog, and a sexist drudge as it plasters a heroine who must learn to keep her trap shut and not doubt her crap-o hubs. Because he’s Cary Grant. B-

All is Lost (2013)

A perfect companion piece to the space-set “Gravity,” “All is Lost” also follows a lone person (Robert Redford as “Our Man,” no name) as he faces death on the vast Indian Ocean, his ultra-chic yacht sinking, every hope escaping his grasp, until suicide becomes not something to fear, but embrace. I don’t know why so many desperate lone survival tales are hitting the screen now -– think of “Life of Pi” or “Captain Phillips” -– but what a remarkable run. Here, Redford -– in a brilliantly paced, near wordless performance that wows with its refusal to go “big” –- awakens to the crash of his yacht against an adrift shipping container. His boat punctured and sinking, the man slowly and clumsily patches the gape. And just when hope is reachable, it crashes away as a violent storm hits, fresh water supplies disappear, and cargo ships –- ironically the man’s only salvation –- pass by like gods too busy to notice a believer. His technology and wits fleeting, Our Man must navigate the ocean by eye. J.C. Chandor’s (“Margin Call”) film is tense and methodical, stepping for every beat that “Gravity” rocketed past as he puts alongside Redford. Most deserved use of the “F” bomb ever. A

The Wolf of Wall Street (2013)

Forget “Great Gatsby” comparisons. Martin Scorsese’s “The Wolf of Wall Street” is the greatest black comedy satire since “Natural Born Killers.” Trade phones for guns, gold watches for scalps. This crazy F.U. gem is being crucified as overlong and obnoxious, a pointless drug- and sex-smeared stain of debauchery focusing on Wall Street brokers who strikes it rich fleecing common Americans on shit investments. People, that is the point. Scorsese playfully crashes and flames his epic movie as often as real-life Wall Street scum bag Jordan Belfort (a never more alive Leonardo DiCarpio) crashes and flames yachts and cars, snorts coke, screws whores, and rallies his team to make more money. I cheered. This is America. Scorsese, writer Terence Winter, and DiCaprio are daring us to hate this movie. Our hate is misplaced. They are revealing the strings of the soulless puppet masters who run our banks, buy our congressmen, and control our 401K futures. More so: Our nation’s wealth and the whole stock market is the ultimate con we all buy into. Again and again. Refocus your anger. Best character: Jonah Hill -- gold! -- as a fat Alfred E. Neuman geek who drives Belfort’s scam. Mad men. A

Saving Mr. Banks (2013)

The story of Walt Disney’s struggle to make the 1964 classic “Mary Poppins” has often been told during the past 50 years. Author P.L. Travers fought Disney on every word during production and loathed the movie (the latter is outright squashed). This cleaned-up squabble is the basis for “Saving Mr. Banks” which shows how Travers (real name Helen Goff, played by Emma Thompson) was won over by Disney’s (Tom Hanks) charm, and explores why the children’s book author was so harsh -- mainly her haunting Outback youth. This is a Disney film, though, and from the opening logos, it works to make the audience smile and cry, damn the facts. It succeed, mostly. But “Banks” is grossly off point. Walt himself woos Travers with his own uneasy childhood tale, but it’s for naught. Yes, Walt had it hard, many do, but Travers’ parents were non-functioning adults riddled by alcoholism and mental illness that reached the act of suicide. (Worst offense: Mistaking dad’s drunken fatherly doting and kindness for actual doting and kindness.) No talk from a nice old guy or spoonful of sugar can remedy that. Still, the happy tunes and sunny spirit are difficult to resist. Disney magic, that. B-

Turbo (2013)

“Turbo” must have started from a resentful marketing meeting at Dreamworks, one where all the writers, animators, and ad guys took a resentful look at Pixar’s much-celebrated filmography and figured, “Let’s mash some shit up.” So “Turbo” is a “A Bug’s Life” crossed with “Cars,” the tale of a lonely garden snail (Ryan Reynolds, in voice, not a costume, silly) who dreams the life of a race car driver before an accident – he’s doused with nitrogen oxide from a hot rod -- makes him as fast as a lightning bolt. And it’s off to the races for him, his Debbie Downer brother (Paul Giamatti) on his tail, literal and figurative. Along the way, our snail boys meet up with two Hispanic taco vendor brothers (Michael Pena and Luis Guzman) who share a mirrored relationship, one dreaming big, the other always ready to down every hope. Let it be clear: I love that a major animated film stars American immigrant characters, but, really, taco vendors? Taco vendors?!? OK. Breathe. My nephew loved it. Does my Debbie Downer take matter? Well, yeah. The animation and voice talent (Giamatti!!) hit big, but this tale is as predictable as left turn, left turn… B

Stoker (2013)

Director Park Chan-wook (2003’s “Oldboy”) makes his American debut with “Stoker,” a gorgeous, nasty domestic drama turned serial killer thriller that takes Hitchock’s “Shadow of a Doubt” and cranks up the violence and perversion to skin-crawling affect. As with the 1943 classic tale, a girl (Mia Wasikowska) suspects her romantic/handsome/suave Uncle Charlie (Matthew Goode) of murderous deeds after her father mysteriously dies and the uncle -– father’s brother -– moves into to help comfort the mother (Nicole Kidman). The line “We don’t have to be friends, we’re family,” sums up the story: There is no love here. This familial lot is as creepy and somber as the house they reside in. That is a double edged sword. Park and writer (and openly gay actor) Wentmorth Miller start in crazy town and stay, banging you in the head with a frying pan from frame one. Hitchcock served a fine dinner first, then took to swinging. Such is life. Hitchcock would dig the dark path of our central heroine. Wasikowska (“Alice in Wonderland”) owns the film, against the cool Goode and Kidman, who cooks up an acting storm from a role blankly stamped “frigid.” Watch it twice. Squirm. B+

We Steal Secrets: The Story of Wikileaks (2013)

Timing can make or break a film. The documentary “We Steal Secrets: The Story of Wikileaks” is superior in every way to “Fifth Estate,” the overcooked dramatization of anarchist/hacker “journalist” Julian Assange. I saw the fictional film before this, a reversal of their respective cinema rollouts. This is akin to fresh air. Director/writer Alex Gibney compiles deft footage of an uncooperative Assange and his empire of nerds to portray a group of rebels out to crash all-powerful, secret-obsessed corporations and governments. But with fame comes power, and corruption. Assange falls to paranoia and his own secrets, damn the costs. As well, we see painful chat-room quotes from Private Bradley/Chelsea Manning, whose story also figures heavily here. His tale is a film onto itself, a true whistleblower hero to Assange’s loud bullhorn. As talking heads, U.S. spy chiefs and military honchos alternately damn and dismiss Assange and Manning as blips on the NSA’s endless, all-powerful eye of Sauron. Gibney lets us decide who is more trustworthy, even if there are no “good guys,” and he -- thankfully -– does not need hyperbolic lines or fake CGI desk-burning to let us know this is not history, but a new, never-to-end struggle of truth. A-