Room (2015)

I dug Emma Donoghue’s smash-hit book “Room,” The film, with a screenplay by Donoghue herself, is actually -– get this -– even better. Jack (Jacob Tremblay) is newly 5 and desperately curious about life, but his world is the interior of a backyard shed. He is a prisoner, as is his mother (Brie Larson), held by a man known as “Old Nick.” Ma was taken 7 years before off the street, and has since lived in solitude, her only companion a child by rape. Ma adores Jack, her salvation. But Ma’s soothing lies are unraveling, as is her sanity as Jack grows and Room seems to shrink. “Room” is horrifying in its depiction of the hovel, the effect of rape, malnutrition, isolation, and claustrophobia, before it really turns the screws after. Larson and Tremblay do a masterful job of telegraphing every pain and small joy, and its Donoghue’s dialogue that sells it. Sparse. Sharp. Smart. Even more so than the book, Donoghue and director Lenny Abrahamson know trauma stays with us, it cannot be fully shaken, it destroys families, splits parents. Easy answers? None. Larson and Tremblay deserve every accolade coming. Donoghue, too. A

Spotlight (2015)

“Spotlight” is a newsroom drama unlike anything since 1976’s “All the President’s Men,” and print journalists need an adrenaline shot of moral support, a reminder why the Fourth Estate is essential. We follow the investigative team of “The Boston Globe” -– led by Michael Keaton, with support from Rachel McAdams and Mark Ruffalo -– in 2001 as they uncover one, then a dozen, then 90 cases of child sexual abuse by the Catholic Church, an organization that uses the name of God to cover its depraved corruption. “Spotlight” shows the miserable decline of newsrooms, the low pay, and yet the dedication of reporters to corral the powerful. Also on display: The crushing, irreparable hurt of the abused, their faith stolen, and lapsed Christians who long to believe again, but find little cause to do so. The clincher: Director TomMcCarthy damns the same journalists for not acting sooner while playing “Spotlight” as even and dead-eyed serious as the best of investigative journalism. The lack of sensationalistic punches is a strength. A-

The Fault in Our Stars (2014)

YA-targeted “The Fault in Out Stars” opens with Shailene Woodley’s Hazel Grace Lancaster warning us that although she will tell us a story of romance, it will end in misery. No punches pulled. Someone will die. Hazel is 16 and has terminal thyroid cancer. She is loved by her parents (Laura Dern and Sam Tramwell), but too well-protected. Then Hazel meets cancer survivor Augustus (Ansel Elgort), and he cracks that shell with his charm. He knows Hazel is dying, but loves her too much to walk. Based on John Greene’s book, Josh Boone’s film tells a heart-wrenching story of romance and helpless parents. Dern stuns. Woodley (“Divergent” series) is perfect. But movie clichés crash. Twinkly lights. Magic hour glare. Curmudgeon thaws for our couple, not believably. And, damn it, the white privilege left me stunned. Every character lives in luxury, with every amenity. Emotion hits home, yes, but ever scene vibes Better Homes & Gardens slash Wired. No. B

The Theory of Everything (2014)

Stephen Hawking’s life defies bullshit terms such as inspirational. Fifty years he has lived with motor neuron disease, his body crumbling even as he stuns us with his thoughts on how we came to exist. What comes next. “The Theory of Everything” is not about theories, but Hawking’s marriage to Jane Wilde. That’s enough story. It does not require delusions and conspiracies as was done to genius John Nash in the overdone “A Beautiful Mind.” For this love -– as you know –- succumbs. The life and mind and demand of Hawking’s needs are too much to bear, and that is the hook of this story. Directed by James March (“Man on Wire”), “Theory” knows fantastical love cannot overcome reality. And Hawking is about reality. He believes God is a myth; Wilde holds that God is among us. Their marriage cannot survive, not when she falls for a kindly man of God, and he for a pragmatic nurse. “Theory” bypasses many of Hawking’s history-resetting thoughts, but the filming of such, would be impossible. No? As Hawking, Eddie Redmayne breaks out as a major young actor of our time, while as Jane, Felicity Jones plays at war with the soul. B+

The Skeleton Twins (2014)

“The Skeleton Twins” has Sundance Winner embedded in its DNA: Dissatisfied white people moan, weep, break, and then manage to pull themselves together whilst living in a stunning home set among more stunning locales, here rural New York. It bleeds White People Problems. Yet it works. Hat tip to the leads. Former “SNL” cast mates Kristen Wiig and Bill Hader play estranged twins reunited through attempted suicide. In LA, Hader’s heartbroken gay Milo slits his wrists. He is found before dying, and the hospital call to sister Maggie (Wiig) stops her from gobbling pills. Sister brings brother home, where they attempt to patch their shattered relationship, and here’s where “Skeleton” soars: Hader and Wiig vibe shockingly true sibling love, inside jokes, bitterness, and parent-inflicted pain. It echoes in every smirk, lip-synch romp, and cruel taunt. I was awed how good these actors bounce off each other. And I know twins, my brothers are identical. Sadly estranged. That vibe is impossible to duplicate. Wiig and Hader got me. Whatever screenplay director/co-writer Craig Johnson started with, and it’s smart despite the whole WPP slant that can be tiring, it fires crisply by its words being spoken by these actors. B+

Life Itself (2014) and Dead Poets Society (1989)

Watching “Dead Poets Society” –- the Peter Weir-directed classic with Robin Williams as a liberal teacher at a strict conservative boy’s school -- and “Life Itself” – a documentary about Roger Ebert’s impact on film and family -- back to back is crushing, and ironic. 

These films are oddly, wildly, surprisingly linked. Both men were and remain major film-world touchstones in my life, Williams as performer and Ebert as critic and writer. They died far too soon, Williams from suicide after a life of depression, addiction, and finally disease, and Ebert after a long, public and astoundingly courageous battle cancer. 

Also note this: Ebert hated “Dead Poets,” and I had no idea until I Googled his review after “Dead” was watched, before “Life” was viewed. 

I wondered what made a guy tick who would hate that film, and then learned just that as “Life” –- directed by Steve James –- lays out not just Ebert’s bio details, but his way of thinking, what he wanted from a film, or life, or finally love at age 50 when he married. And, damn it, to hear Ebert’s words spoken aloud, and his one film, “Beyond the Valley of the Dolls,” detailed to the extreme, the man was a poet, genius, demanding, argumentative, and cold, too.

Especially to fellow critic and TV partner, Gene Siskel, another man taken too soon. I digress because I still wrap my head around these two films seen so close together. (Pure timing, but what timing.) “Society” – in my book -- is a classic not from my youth when it came out, but even now. 

(I know current college students who are fans, teary eyed as they talk about it.) 

Williams is John Keaton, a 40-ish English teacher who arrives at his New England alma mater prep high school, taking over for one of the ancient teachers who has died. All of the teachers are ancient, guardians of the white master class that was once American capitalism. This is the 1950s. Keating insists his students destroy the intro of their poetry textbooks, and not to learn poetry, but to experience it, live it. 

Keating further proclaims the glory of Carpe Diem -– Seize the Day -– to his charges. His energy of course rattles the boys -– among them Ethan Hawke, Robert Sean Leonard, and Josh Charles –- and they take that energy to every waking decision, bucking their strict unloving parents obsessed with tradition, money, and name. 

None of these boys had ever *thought* to question their elders. Now they are. One to a tragic end. But is that Keating’s fault? Weir certainly stacks the deck: Keating is a saint, yes, a flat angelic saint, even if we as the audience love him and boo the cruel, unsparing fathers (Kurtwood Smith among them). 

So, yes, “Poets” may be simple -– Ebert hated its simple approach –- but need every coming of age story be complicated? It’s a simply tale, beautifully told. I love the students sneaking out in winter and the finale that once left the viewer bursting with pride, but now carries a devastating coda: Out inspirations, our captains, all die, some of them because life’s hardships can even overwhelm them. How do we carry on? 

As with Keating’s roar to seize the day and break free, Ebert went by his own instinct and his own drum and could never be pinned down. This is the man who famously trashed Lynch’s “Blue Velvet” in the face of universal praise. Respect had to be paid. Debate was out. Ebert was a master of argument. “Life” is based on the short-story memoir by Ebert. 

Here’s the thing about “Life Itself” – it’s no lightweight love letter about a film critic served up to please like-minded film critics and fanatics. Geeks such as myself. 

Early on Ebert -– in a hospital bed and clearly weeks away from succumbing –- acknowledges he is dying to the camera, alone, and then later before his wife, Chazz, who refuses to believe this “scene” played out live in a hospital room, cameras on. She insists Roger can fight on. He knows he cannot. 

That’s one of the beautiful, shocking emotionally scalding punches in this movie, Ebert upfront says this is *his* film and though he won’t live to see it, he will tell it as he sees fit. He shuts James down. James complies. 

The hospital scenes are grueling, Ebert’s brief return home a clash of wills as he refuses to attempt stairs, and his last typed public words –- “I can’t” –- are heartbreaking. Those are words he seemed never to utter before, a fat kid from suburban Illinois who was no arm chair critic, but a man who loved film, and got into the business, and helped champion the likes of Scorsese, and as the “Raging Bull” director tells, once dissuaded him from suicide with a phone call. 

More so, “Life” is about Ebert’s finding of familial love, marrying into a large family of children and grandchildren, and seeing Roger out of the theater and walking a grade schooler around London, wow, that’s life. Perfect.

Dead: A- Life: A

Closed Circuit (2013)

The successful conspiracy flick rests on the audience unsure of who to trust or how deep the conspirators –- be they Big Brother or Big Corp. -– lay buried. Endings are key. From “Conversation” to “Most Wanted Man,” if I’m not shaken paranoid, then what’s the point? There’s none in “Closed Circuit,” a meek flick about London spies putting two attorneys (Eric Bana and Rebecca Hall) through hell as they represent the Muslim suspect of a shop bombing. Upfront: The villains are ploddingly obvious, with Jim Broadbent all ham as a John Mitchell type with an ugly beard, and another Famous Name as a mentor who -– of course -– turns traitor. Zero suspense. And that’s surprising as Stephen Knight (“Dirty Pretty Things”) wrote the screenplay. I wanted a dark tale that left me breathless, but when our heroes meet in secret at a football match, surrounded by cameras, I was laughing. More so, the heroes are dumb. Who doesn’t question the sudden suicide of a pal working on a top secret case? No one here has seen a movie. And that’s the problem, the likely studio-mandated fix-it ender is so happy, it feels like every movie we’ve seen. C-

Transcendence (2014)

A week after seeing Wally Pfister’s “Transcendence,” the flick barely registers in my brain. I vaguely recall the finale as insulting, and unfathomably boring, everything proceeding a slog lacking any remote urgency. That’s an unexpected turn for director Pfister, who served as DP on all of Chris Nolan’s films, including “Inception.” Johnny Depp is Will, an AI genius obsessed with loading a person’s consciousness to the Cloud because, I mean, that’s safe. When fate deals Will a blow, his scientist wife (Rebecca Hall) uploads hubs to a supercomputer lest she lose him forever. Will 2.0 takes his new environment too well, becoming a HAL high on Orwell: Watcher of all, raiser of dead, and controller of the Cloud, and clouds. The folks at Infowars might shake in fear. I yawned. See, Depp -– appearing like a ghostly sleep-deprived Max Headroom -- mumbles his lines and gets halfway creepy, but never dangerous. This film desperately needs danger. Skip HAL. Will becomes a lovesick Speak N’ Spell. I won’t spill the end, but know this: It defies logic in such a leap that it left me fuming. Artificial intelligence has never been slower. D+

Boyhood (2014)

Filmed during a 12-year period, Richard Linklater’s “Boyhood” follows a Texan child (Ellar Coltrane) from 6 to 18, from mishaps with pencil sharpeners to flirtations with marijuana and leaving for college. This has never been done before, not with one child, growing, maturing, faltering, and excelling in one motion. Stunt? No. The beauty of Linklater’s astounding film is how small it remains, this is not Gandhi, nor is there was or revolt. Mason plays Wii, watches movies, gets a car, a crappy job, and leaves for college. Mom (Patricia Arquette) struggles to better herself, for herself and her children (the director’s daughter, Lorelei Linklater, plays Mason’s sister), while dad (Ethan Hawke) takes decades to mature. Mistakes are made as mom remarries, and sees those relationships unravel fast, while dad quite can’t nail child interaction. Mason photographs. If there’s any “enemy” here, it is alcohol. Addiction, as empty escape. Linklater has Mason realize that trap on his own, observing, tasting for himself, observing, realizing. Coltrane’s performance is so natural, you buy him as Mason, unsure of where fiction and reality divide, and one cannot help but get swept up in Linklater’s ode to ordinary family life, drama, and love. A

P.S.  I'll revisit this film again and again, as I feel I will react to as I did “Tree of Life.” It is that good. That mind and soul altering. 

Snowpiercer (2014)

Bong Joon-ho’s “Snowpiercer” is a gonzo action-thriller that marries “Runaway Train” to “1984,” with Captain America himself Chris Evans as a last-car rebel inside a train that holds the last of humanity, circling a world sunk into permanent freeze after scientists pulled a major FUBAR trying to undo climate change. The train is wealth-segregated, “Great Gatsby” upfront, stragglers in back. When two back-car children are taken at gunpoint, Evans fights his way to the engine. To God. Bong’s film is a train onto itself, gleefully barreling off the tracks, belching smoke, ash, and noise, slashing through drama/action/satire and horror, no scene more bizarre or tense than a bright yellow elementary classroom. This film is bloody fun, if not too daft for anyone’s good, but note that everyone in the forward cars is white and police brutality is common, and our rulers know that war is necessary to thin the populace. Post-Ferguson, this movie is scarily now. As the train’s governess, Tilda Swinton riffs and looks like – no shit -- Thelma from Scooby Doo, possessed by a demon, high on meth. In fur. The end is perfectly WTF indescribable. A-

Seconds (1966)

John Frankenheimer serves another perfect thriller with “Seconds” after “Manchurian Candidate” and “Train.” This is a “Twilight Zone”-like sci-fi-horror about that foolish notion we all wonder: What if I zagged left not right? Moved there not here? You get it. What if’s never end. This is the hell-pit answer. John Randolph is banker Arthur -– bored empty nester pissed at the capitalist lie he swallowed from birth –- who finds himself with a crazy proposition: He can fake his death and get a new identity in the form of Rock Hudson. Newly renamed, Antiochus joins a hippie commune. Sex. Freedom. Is liberalism as much a mirage as white-shirt conservatism? Beautifully played with a barrage of warped lenses – the cinematography is by James Wong Howe of “Sweet Smell of Success” fame -- this movie is a true deep shocker that left me breathless long after the credits. As a man with a new body and voice who cannot shake old gestures and hesitations, Randolph and Hudson pop brilliant, actors who could have shared a Best Actor Oscar. Frankenheimer is my favorite director and this is another hit in a series of paranoid-heavy movies that crack men’s psyches open, baring dark truths. A+

Divergent (2014)

Dystopian future youth dramas are getting as much cinema attention as comic book movies, so watching “Divergent” will give you nothing no one has not seen in “Hunger Games” -– good films -– and “Host” –- terrible, awful flick. “Divergent” takes place in a post-war Chicago where humanity has been divided up into factions according to dominant virtue -– smart, giving, war-like, servant, you get the idea. To have multiple virtues, being divergent, is a mark of death under the city’s queen bee (Kate Winslet, all cold). Our heroine is Beatrice (Shailene Woodley, star of near every movie this year), who is from a servant family, but cops multiple traits, mostly warrior. This makes her No. 1 target, assuming she can survive the hand-to-hand and gun/knife combat training of her new war tribe. Does she? Of course, she does. This is film 1 in a series. Woodley is great in the role, going from young and unsure to a survivor of tragedy, so she more than makes up for the ehh side-characters and an odd lack of true horror. I might be playing unfair as no one here carries the menace of Donald Sutherland leering at Jennifer Lawrence. B

Begin Again (2014)

I love “Once,” the Dublin-set debut from John Carney that sucked the whimsical romance out of the meet-cute genre and gave us one of the best musical soundtracks in many a year. In “Begin Again” –- once called “Can a Song Save Your Life?,” a better title -– Carney hits the USA with Brit Keira Knightley in tow to play music with Mark Ruffalo. Once again, so to speak, Carney avoids the easy romantic lines and lets adults be adults, ones who exist by song: Creating them, listening to them, savoring them. Knightly is the cheated-on girlfriend of a rising pop star, and Ruffalo is on the skids of a broken marriage and dying music career. Then he hears Knightley sing and realizes a new reason to thrive. I’ll stop there. As with “Once,” music is key to every scene, but never breaks from reality. This is a good, smart film as much about New York as the couple at story’s center. Carney only over reaches when trying to make his leads seem ultra-hip independents when they share guilty pleasure songs while walking the Big Apple. Her embarrassed choice: “As Time Goes By.” Seriously, who doesn’t love to hear Dooley Wilson’s voice? B+

About Time (2014)

Writer/director Richard Curtis (“Love Actually”) gives the time travel genre a romantic jolt with “About Time,” a comedy drama that would leave a Terminator wet eyed. On his 21^st birthday, gawky Tim (Domhnall Gleeson) learns from his dad (Bill Nighy) that the men in his family can time travel. How so? Never explained. (What about the women, eh?) What is important is that Tim cannot pop Hitler or meet Van Gogh. He only can travel within his own lifetime. Indifferent to wealth or fame, Tim wants to fall in love. That he does with art geek Mary (Rachel McAdams), who shares a first name with Tim’s mother, a factoid our boy awkwardly share every time they meet. I do mean “every time” as Tim replays meeting Mary on repeat until it’s perfect, a fantasy every human likely plays out in their mind. In a move that’s on the sleeve and quite welcome for it, Curtis tips that fantasy is wasteful: Enjoy the moment, be it awkward, soggy, messy, or glorious. Perfectly ordinary, Gleeson and McAdams are a delight together. Some of the funniest bits are the side roads, especially Tim feeding a forgetful VIP actor his lines from off stage. A-

Lisa (1962)

“Lisa” is a movie I watched and wondered, I’d like to read the book; I bet it’s better and bolder. Not to trivialize this drama set in post-World War II 1947 about an Auschwitz survivor seeking entry into Palestine, that is, what we now call Israel. Dolores Hart is Lisa, and her passage is set by a Dutch inspector (Steven Boyd) who comes to love her, yes, but is more driven by his failed actions during the war to save his fiancée from the Nazis. This is all vital, especially Lisa’s grim suffering at the hands of Nazi doctors, but it’s also played way heavy-handed with dialogue smothered by Hollywood orchestra music that feels misplaced. And as great as Ms. Hart -– now a nun -– is, Boyd is played so square-jawed stiff, you just want to pop coins off the guy. A sea of horror lurks at every step, political, religious, sexual, but, every time it comes a boil, someone -– studio, director, test audience? –- slams the lid shut, cues up the music, and wants us to concentrate on pretty faces and scenery. There’s much missing. B

Veronica Mars (2014)

I went into “Veronica Mars” with not just a blank canvas, but a mistaken impression. I thought the cult hit TV show with Kristen Bell (“Frozen”) followed a high school journalist with a Scooby Doo bent. My error. Bell’s Mars is, in fact, an ex-private investigator who worked as a teen for her father (Enrico Colantoni) who dug dirt in a tiny California town. Now 10 years on, Veronica has ditched the PI life and the West Coast for law and New York City. On the cusp of a big interview, she gets called back home to help an ex (Jason Dohring) accused of murder. Of course Veronica is reluctant to return, but we know she will and we know she will stay, but forget the “we knows.” Writer/director Rob Thomas serves us great characters, a rare small town that vibes authentic, and a slash at the misery of high school reunions. Yes, a reunion coincides with the murder. Far too much? Thomas knows and has fun. The dialogue is playful -- Colantoni has the best lines -- without getting high on its own smoke, a la “Juno.” Not enough to get me on the show, but solid entertainment. B+

Three Days to Kill (2014)

Kevin Costner goes a long way in selling “Three Days to Kill,” a Luc Besson-produced action/“comedy” about a dying CIA assassin named Ethan who goes home to Paris to see his estranged family – Connie Nielsen as wife, and Hailee Steinfeld as teen daughter – before he kicks. As it happens, the CIA has one last job for Ethan: Kill two bad guys known as The Albino and The Wolf, who are neither an albino nor a wolf. Golden carrot: Way-too young CIA handler Vivi (Amber Heard) has a magic cure that can keep our man alive. Costner acts aces, truly. But “Kill” made my skin crawl. I’ll say it: Besson shines a creep perv voyeur for teen girls here and with “Taken” and his so-long-ago “Leon.” He fixates on girls who cannot walk outside without falling victim to rape, not without “daddy” to save them. Steinfeld’s teen gets the treatment here. Besson’s fantasy? The take on grad-school-age Vivi as some 1980s Euro-fantasy dominatrix smells of a gross dream of middle-aged men with script approval. Nielsen’s wife has nothing to do but forgive her man, repeatedly. Blame director McG? No. This hangs on Besson. Dickless. D+

Locke (2014)

“Locke” is a movie-making stunt that wins its dare. Writer-director Steven Knight (he penned “Eastern Promises”) has fashioned a real-time thriller that follows a construction engineer –- played by Tom Hardy -– fighting to keep all he owns and loves as he drives 90 minutes from Birmingham to London to witness the premature birth of his third child. No guns involved. The damage is emotional. The pending child is the product of a one-night stand. The mother is frantic. Hardy’s Ivan Locke -– we only see him inside his BMW, interacting by phone –- declares himself in control and refuses panic. But he must inform his wife of his transgression, assure his two sons all is well, and track the status of his massive work project -– a skyscraper concrete pouring -– that costs untold millions. Tense and without a wasted second, “Locke” booms loud on Hardy’s fierce performance as a man whose hubris is as destructive as negligence, a trait worn by his dead father who produced Ivan out of wedlock. Knight traps us tight inside that BMW with Locke as his life shreds as the minutes tick by, the most valiant action righting one’s life errors. However futile. Seemingly small, “Locke” is epic. A

The Monuments Men (2014)

The Allied movement to save masterpiece artworks from Nazi theft or torch in the closing days of World War II already inspired 1964 classic “The Train.” That superb movie churned on tense action, ditched talk to the curb, and let the audience decide if a man’s life –- or that of an entire village -– was worth the price of a Renoir. Paint on canvas, or culture? George Clooney’s “The Monuments Men” takes the American view of the same mission with a deep love of square WWII dramas, and gives us a definitive answer that, yes, art is worth dying for. It’s spoken. Aloud. Repeatedly. Clooney directs and stars along with Matt Damon, Bill Murray, and Cate Blanchett, among others, and all are solid. Watch war-weary Murray listen to a home-made record from his daughter and try not to get goose bumps. But, man, we don’t much of a look at the art that these men and women are spending their lives on. The why. If you want to see the art at the dramatic center, hit the Web, Clooney’s camera is shy. My love of “Train” may be biased. Marvelous ending with Clooney’s real pop. B

The Secret Life of Walter Mitty (2013)

Remember Ben Stiller who made “Reality Bites”? A sharp comedy/ drama that made you pay attention, and plan to immediately buy the soundtrack? He’s been gone for years, stuck in a loop of juvenile fare. Behold, a near miracle. Stiller takes the 1947 Danny Kaye hit “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty,” and turns it on its heads with a fully new spin about a day-dreaming man who became lost on his way to adulthood after the death of his father. Here, Walter cares for his mother, pays his bills, and works at “Life” magazine, but he’s watching life. Not living it. He hasn’t put himself first. Then the loss of a key photograph under his care sends Walter on a worldwide trip to find its creator, Sean Penn, in a very Sean Penn role. “Mitty” is epic in every sense of the word. Romantic, too. And vibrating with great music. As Walter’s daydreams give way to real adventure, the film soars, never grander than when our hero rides a skateboard. It may cross the line into obviousness (the “Life” motto pounces loud like scripture), but the Stiller has re-found his path. The cinematography astounds. Shirley MacLaine as the mom sparkles. B+