Ida (2014)

Polish-made “Ida” is quiet, brief at 80 minutes, and shot in a square black and white format that predates widescreen thrills, with only two main characters, mostly in a car. But it’s powerful, and settles in slowly. Agata Trzebuchowska is Anna, a young woman living inside a nunnery, about to take the oath that will “marry” her to Christ. Before commitment, Anna visits her only living relative, an aunt (Agata Kulesza) who only just now has acknowledged the relation. Wanda, drunken, aloof, a Stalinist judge on her way down, tells Anna three truths: Her name is really Ida, her parents were murdered in World War II, and she is Jewish. The words rock Anna-now-Ida, who commits to finding the graves of her family to bless them. In the name of Christ. Shredding road-trip cliché, “Ida” is emotional and harsh, without judgment or cruelty. The ending is beautifully realized as Ida finds balance between the life she ought to have had, the life she was given, and the life she wants. Pawel Pawlikowski films his characters at the very bottom of the frame with a vast sky or ceiling looming above, as if the weight of the world is crushing everyone. A-

The Lunchbox (2014)

Now here’s a pure wake-up shot to my spoiled American self: A romantic comedy/drama from India that never sinks to Hollywood love clichés (love, sunset, no problems) and shows me lives and customs I never knew before. In Mumbai, there’s a whole industry of delivery men who collect lunch boxes from homes and bike the cargoes of food to the city’s vast web of office buildings, from wife’s kitchen to husband’s desk. We see that trade at the opening of “The Lunchbox,” which hinges on the joke that one woman’s (Nimrat Kaur) cooking efforts mistakenly land on the desk of a widower (Irrfan Khan) who longs for homemade food, for connection. Her actual husband? He’s too busy to notice her talent and likely philandering. Wife and widower bond through handwritten notes left in the food tins, each searching for emotion, and what better instigator than food? Writer/director Ritesh Batra never pushes expected romantic tropes, and layers her film with a stark realism of a city tripping over itself to quickly grow capitalist, but where being orphaned as a child carries social stigma into adulthood. The ending is perfection. A-

The Raid: Redemption (2012)

A fact Hollywood does not want you to know: American action films pale in comparison to their foreign counterparts, and “The Raid: Redemption” –- made in Indonesia -– is a prime example. The plot is bare bones but all the better for it: A skittish SWAT unit raids a high-rise slum apartment building to nail the drug lord who rules from a top floor. The cops must battle goons, killers, and drug-fueled tenants at every inch and on every floor. The daddy-to-be rookie officer (Iko Uwais) who finds himself leader of the unit has a secret up in the high-rise, and I guess that’s where that “Redemption” part comes in. Director /writer Gareth Evans, a Welsh transplant, has made a film that neatly excises all dialogue from the genre, and focuses on the most intense martial arts fight I have witnessed, including a three-way between Uwais, and two of the drug lord’s henchmen that may defy physical logic with its horrific beatings, but must be seen. (Really, see this. Now.) Logic and continuity errors pop up, but that does not diminish this film as a treat that kicks American ass. Pure adrenaline. B+

Rust and Bone (2012)

The moment “Rust and Bone” –- an erotic and harsh French drama from director Jacques Audiard (“The Prophet”) -- lost me: Marion Cotillard, who wowed Americans in “Inception” and is back in her native language, stands triumphantly upon prosthetic legs, holds her arms out Jesus-style, and smiles into the sun as Katy Perry’s “Firework” blares in her memory and our ears. Screech.

Cotillard is Stephanie, a screw-authority, sensual whale trainer whose life is derailed when one of her “pets” chomps off her legs. Seriously. Only in France. 

But hold tight. Stephanie is a secondary character to Ali (Matthias Schoenaerts), a single dad fucking and torching his life away, brawling for cash in a fight club. He dotes on his son when not angrily throwing him across a room. 

So, yes, Steph and Ali need each other. For redemption, for fuck-buddy sake, because these romances happen in movies, and fellow lost-soul hook-up drama “Silver Linings Playbook” was too happy.  

The cast is divine, the pain real-ish, but never serve up Perry in a serious film, and never cast firework Cotillard as a tortured, legless woman whose journey to redemption boils down to coveting a good orgasm. Disappointing. B-

The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel (2012)

Comedy-drama “The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel” follows seven derailed-by-life Brits who leave Queen and Country for Jaipur, India, and promises of a sunny paradise resort for “the old and beautiful.” What they get is a barely-functioning pile of bricks and mortar, geese in rooms, and a bouncy 20-ish manager (Dev Patel) who pops off witticisms such as, “Everything will be alright in the end, and if it’s not alright, it is not yet the end.” Film-geek goose bumps boom at the cast: Maggie Smith as a racist grouch, Judi Dench as a broke widow, Tom Wilkinson as a judge on a quest, and Bill Nighy and Penelope Wilton re-playing husband and wife as they did in “Shaun of the Dead.” Nothing as exciting as zombies here. We get stories of redemption, new love, and prejudices and xenophobia laid to rest, or revealed. All is alright in the end. Every Brit actor is naturally top notch, but Patel pulls a muscle to compete with his costars as the script has him running “Slumdog” style for his lady love. Nothing as exciting as that here either. My parents would love this film. B

Pina (2011)

Ignorance truly is bliss. I knew nothing of the documentary film “Pina,” or Pina Bausch, the avant-garde choreographer and subject of this brilliant movie/eulogy, when I entered the theater. What a wonderful education. Bausch was a German-born contemporary dance performer/ instructor/artist/feminist/chain-smoker who died weeks after agreeing to let director Wim Wenders (you know him, right?) make a 3D documentary of her work. She died and then the film died, but her dancers/followers/disciples resurrected the latter to honor the former. An Easter miracle. This is one of the films of 2011, documentary category and overall, shot in glorious big-screen 3D, which I sadly missed out on. 

Wenders starts his film on stages and dance studios within literal film frames, and then takes us out onto the streets, industrial parks, public swimming pools, EL trains, parks, and mountains of Pina’s home country, her dancers, young and old, performing works that touch on love, nature, water, and violence, the movement onscreen and the music so new and thrilling to these naïve eyes and ears, so energetic and beautiful, I was spell bound. He skips the boring this-than-that-happened of most bio-docs and lets Pina’s art speak for her as we watch men and women contort their bodies in unspeakable ways, out of tribute, love and joy. 

The best/most disturbing sequence has a pack of men picking/ jabbing/clutching a woman, it’s harrowing to behold, but amazing: Pina showing how sexist, condescending men openly treat women as a meat product or a car, an object to be bought. No heart. And yet Pina’s heart still beats damn strong. A must watch and listen. A

A Separation (2011)

“A Separation” follows two families in modern Iran, at war with and amongst each other, boxed in by iron-clad rules of a sick, empty theocracy. Writer/director Asghar Farhadi makes us a participant in his first, bold scene: A young, devoted married couple nonetheless seeks a divorce, spouting their arguments directly into the camera. Simin (Leila Hatami) wants to raise their daughter in a free nation, while Nader (Peyman Moaadi) insists they stay, to care for his Alzheimer’s stricken father. “He doesn’t know who you are,” she pleads. “But I do,” he says. Within a minute, Farhadi makes his cast fully universal, as he nails the staggering toll of Alzheimer’s on any family. Simin moves out, forcing Nader to hire a caretaker for his father. That hire will cost everyone involved greatly as deceits and fears abound. In brilliant, wordless cutaways, Farhadi uses the pained faces of two girls to show a nation of lost, exasperated adults so fully separated by religion, sex, class, economy, and have and have not, they and it will never move forward. American Christians, take note. Screenplay, cast, camera work, the very feel and noise of Tehran, and that finale ... all flawless. A

Cronos (1993)

Guillermo del Toro’s debut “Cronos” is a dark beauty: A vampire tale about a grandpa-granddaughter love straight from “Heidi,” but this old man licks snotty blood off bathroom floors and the girl can swing a skull-smashing club. This is nasty violent and funny as hell, a precursor to del Toro’s later genius work. We start in 1590s Spain as a watchmaker produces a device that gives eternal life, in all its eternal damnation. We jump to present day as an antiques seller (Federico Luppi) finds the mechanism – a gold-plated, egg-shaped spider -- inside a sculpture. The device turns the old man into Dracula, and freaks out young Aurora (Tamara Shanath). Meanwhile, a dapper thug (Ron Perlman of del Toro’s “Hellboy”) is hunting the device for his Howard Hughes-like uncle. Del Toro provides sick-minded visuals: Grandpa rips embalmer’s stitches from his mouth, and wears a taped-on suit backward. There are mind-blowing punches at religion: Risen grandpa –- full of wounds -– repeatedly declares his name, “I am Jesus. Jesus Gris!” Even the dialogue bleeds. A

The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest (2010)

“The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest” finishes the so-called Millennium Trilogy not with a blast or a happy or even a grim conclusion. It is not what I hoped for in a Swiss-language series that started with a killer thriller (“The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo”) followed by a middling-by-comparison second-part bridge story (“The Girl Who Played With Fire”).

This deficit is not the fault of director Daniel Alfredson or his writers, though. It is apparent from Web stories that source book author and leftist-journalist Stieg Larson planned a 10-part series on his Superman alter-ego, a left-wing magazine editor named Mikael Blomkvist (Michael Nyqvist), and his punk/hacker lover-cum-daughter figure Lisbeth Salander (Noomi Rapace), a goth girl who would make Robert Smith cower. Alas, Larson died.

“Nest” brings the events of the first film full circle. “Tattoo” focused on a young woman who was brutalized by her father and brother, and a woefully corrupt government. As set up in “Fire,” it is Lisbeth who suffers a similar fate. Alas, in a twist that takes much of the sting – pardon the pun – out of Lisbeth, our heroine spends nearly the entire film hospitalized and then incarcerated, away from Mikael. It is he (again, Stieg) who must save Lisbeth’s life, and, I suppose by some weird symbolic effort, that of all women, against the Men Who Hate Women. (The original title of the first book/film. This third book’s Swedish title was “The Air Castle That Exploded.” I don’t know what it means.)

Love it or hate it, it’s been a hell of ride in a single year. I can’t recall another series of films that put one woman through such a hellish trip of beatings, rapes, near deaths and torture. Yet, they introduced a kick-ass, no-shit heroine. Lisbeth, as played by Rapace, has a singular fury and obsession normally reserved for Eastwood or Stallone of some French European hit man too cool for school. Alfredson improves on his direction here, the wheels don’t grind as much here.

A major sore spot opens up here. Larson has a killer lead heroine, hands down. But his other women are absolute doormats. It's Mikael's co-editor/fuck buddy (Lena Endre). Erika always has been the sicko male-fantasy doormat woman, always available and always willing and always forgiving, but here she goes over the top. Or under the bottom, so to speak. Mikael is an ass to her from frame one, and Erika runs back to him. Again and again. I hated this in Book 1, and it showed ugly bright here in silver screen film.

As with “Fire,” “Nest” is not bad, it has nasty, evil grandpops running about doing bad deeds, but it’s just lacking a true finale. A third-act confrontation between Lisbeth and her evil Bond-villain brother brings back a bit of the revenge kick from “Tattoo,” but this third supposed series closer remains just another bridge. One that with Larson’s death and no more books leads nowhere. So, a downgrade from thee second film. B-

The Girl Who Played With Fire (2010)

In most trilogies, the middle film is always awkward. Background info is required from the first entry, and the ending is wide open and bleak. Such is “The Girl Who Played With Fire,” which follows "The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo.” If you don't know the grisly past, you'll be lost. And it ends with a literal gaping hole in the head for a coming third chapter, which also has “Girl” in the title. (A fourth film should be called, “The Girl Who Screamed, ‘I’m a Damn Woman’”)

The pyro-player is punk/hacker Lisbeth Salander (Noomi Rapace), who is wanted by police for the slaying of two journalists, even as she hunts for the first man to ruin her life. This is her father, who she set on fire in a flashback in film one. Figuring into her life again is editor Mikael Blomkvist (Michael Nyqvist), employer of the slain journalists.

“Fire” lacks the spark that drove “Tattoo.” It smells of a TV police drama with dot connections galore, and sports an oddly placed body-builder villain from 007. Rapace as Lisbeth is one hell of a heroine -- silent, deadly and calculating. It’s not remotely a bad film, there just may have been no place to go but down. B

Run Lola Run (1999)

Recall the adrenaline shot in “Pulp Fiction”? Where Uma Thurman shot up awake, crazy eyes and screams? The whole film jumped. That’s “Run Lola Run,” an 80-minute rush about a red-haired German punk (Franka Potente) who has exactly 20 minutes to find 100,000 Deutsche Mark, or her Z-Level mobster boyfriend (Moritz Bleibtreu) likely gets capped. Out the door she goes, over to poppa’s bank to get the money and – FAIL. She dies. As she bleeds out, she screams, “No!” And fate listens: Her quest -- and the movie -- begins again. And again. Director Tom Tykwer’s film is a blast. It tosses the rules for fun: Lola repeatedly passes the bum who caused all this mess, and as she passes other no-names – a bike thief, an old woman, and an office drone – we see their three cracks at fate. Before the whole gimmick becomes redundant, the film shuts down, heart still pounding as fast as Lola’s feet hit the pavement. A-

Hero (2004)

Yimou Zhang's "Hero" is about nothing less than the story behind the idea and the man who would become founder and first emperor of China, some 2,000 years ago. It also is one lush, gorgeous film from frame one: Landscapes recall Monet paintings and David Lean films, warriors clash in palaces decorated with huge flowing banners. Yet, I was unmoved. Bored. How many times can a person watch fantasy-laden martial arts warriors chase after each other, swords clanging, legs reaching like ballerinas, over lakes and tree tops ala "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon"? Too many, for me. I'm long past the gimmick. Jet Li stars as Nameless, a prefect who gains audience with the King of Qin to tell how he slew three assassins out to kill the ruler. But is Nameless there just to tell stories? The answer is very "Rushamon." Li is so stoic heroic, he's lifeless, and Ziyi Zhang is wasted in a ho-hum role. Yes, this film has beauty and colors galore, but it lacks blood – both in passion and violence – and skims the heart and brain much like its heroes skim lakes. Always over. Never diving in. B-

El secreto de sus ojos (The Secret in their Eyes) (2010)

From Argentina comes “El secreto de sus ojos,” an Oscar-winning crime drama about a retired federal agent (Ricardo Darín) unable to let a decades-old bungled rape/murder case slip from his mind. It’s also, and this seriously works wonders, a story of unrealized love. The detective has turned novelist, but has no ending for his book on this one crime, so he seeks out his former supervisor (Soledad Villamil) then the widower (Pablo Rago) of the victim and, finally, the killer (Javier Godino). It’s no shock that everyone in this film has a secret, the title says it all. But director Juan José Campanella deftly lays the cards on the table one by one with skill, never drawing a joker. I loved the details: A crap typewriter with a bum “A,” the use of photographs, how quickly a man can sober up when faced with a choice of heroism or cowardice, and the meaning of justice to a devastated romantic. A-

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (2010)

“The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo” is a two-and-half-hour, subtitled serial killer thriller from Sweden that ought to carry an NC-17 rating. It is a dark, grisly, great film. Based on the popular book and boasting the original European on-screen title of “Men Who Hate Women,” this is the most disturbing and deep crime film I have seen in ages. Director Niels Arden Oplev pulls no punches in depictions of murder, hangings, rapes and crime scene photography. This puts the word “horror” back in the genre, a reminder that films about killers and mass death must not glamorize crime. Even a young girl kills here.

The plot follows newly disgraced left-wing journalist Mikael Blomkvist (Michael Nyqvist) as he bolts from Stockholm for a one-shot gig at helping an elderly billionaire solve the case of his murdered niece. The girl went missing 40-odd years ago, and the dying man suspects none and all of his family. Meanwhile, a young punk hacker named Lisbeth (Noomi Rapace) who was hired to investigate Mikael continues to follow him, fascinated by the man’s mettle, even as she is horribly violated by her parole officer. Lisbeth is no wallflower. She is as powerful as the fire-spewing dragon inked on her back, and has a devastating past only hinted at, leaving me desperately curious: Who is this woman? She is the mystery here, fascinating to watch. (Rapace rules the film in a star-making act.)

“Dragon” is the rare thriller that focuses on character flaws, gifts, demons, nightmares, shortcomings, and they way these people bounce off and well, kill, each other. No cartoon teenagers, or whacked out masked killers here, nor heroic SWAT teams knocking doors down, nor are miracle heroics involved. It’s more similar to “Zodiac” (2007) with its depiction of investigative tactics, paperwork and the grinding brain work required in criminal cases. Mikael is a regular guy scared for his life. It’s Lisbeth who has the active hero role. (Update/August 2010: Lisbeth is much more the active heroine here at the climax than the book, a rather odd sex fantasy book for men that left me cold.)

A major gripe: Having “Girl” in the American book title and the onscreen subtitle translation implies a certain sexism. If this were about a 20-something man, this would not be the “The Boy with the Dragon Tattoo.” A silly move. I daresay Lisbeth is the most complex female snoop I have seen on screen since Jodie Foster starred in “The Silence of the Lambs.” There’s an American remake in the works by David Fincher of “Se7en” and “Zodiac” fame. He is the only American director alive that can pull off a re-do of this material. This “Dragon” will be a major trick to top though. A

Waltz with Brashir (2008)

Picasso’s “Guernica” has come to life. The Israeli animated documentary film “Waltz with Brashir” is the first cartoon (too light a word I know, I can’t think of another) that has left me absolutely speechless with horror and sadness over man’s constant desire to kill because his God is better than the other guy’s God.

“Waltz” is told from the perspective of writer/director Ari Folman, a veteran of the Israeli Army, who fought and killed in a 1982 war with neighbor Lebanon. While there, Folman witnessed a massacre of hundreds of Muslim men, women and children by vengeful Christian militants and his own troops, but doesn’t recall it.

That’s the peg of this film: Recalling the seemingly unforgettable. It’s a disturbing, beautifully told and painted tale with a hard “R.” As fellow veterans and then Folman speak of their memories, we see war action rendered in vivid, bloody detail, with chucks of almost expressionist imagery filling the screen. Blood, too.

Is the film accurate? I don’t know. It makes no bones about the tit-for-tat violence that religious zealots of all stripes visit upon each other, and even suggests that Israel’s war crimes can be compared a certain 20th century war demon.

That Folman fades to live action in the finale to show real unfathomable carnage – bullet-riddled, desecrated women and children and old men in piles – is a shock almost unbearable too watch. With “Presopolis,” the animated film genre has made some mind-bending strides in recent years. This is one of the best. A

Madeo (2010)

My jaw hit the seat no fewer than 30 times in “Madeo,” a South Korean flick that combines drama, mystery, comedy and a sick incest vibe into a film that would make Hitchcock dizzy. The gist: Hye-Ja Kim plays Mother (the title of the film, naturally) who dotes far too deeply on her mentally challenged son, Yoon Du-joon (Bin Won). The film starts as a comedy, fears into mystery and then dives into a violent thriller that out gores Lynch at his bloodiest. See, Yoon is accused of bashing in the skull of a local school girl, who happens to fuck for even a bowl of rice, and momma knows her boy is innocent. And she will burn earth, heaven and God, even her own soul, to prove it. This is wild, high-wire, no-net filmmaking from Joon-ho Bong (“The Host“), and just got a small release stateside. I loved/hated/feared and pitied Mother, who’s never named, but remains the most fascinating female movie character I’ve seen in many months. A total mind-screw. Do not ever watch with your mother. A

A Matter of Size (2009)

The Israeli-Hebrew comedy smash “A Matter of Size” borrows, steals and mimeographs from the “The Full Monty” to tell the story of obese chef Herzl (Itzik Cohen) and his bid to become a sumo wrestler and woo the plus-size girl of his dreams. First up is the instant punch line: Scottish blue collars dancing in “Monty,” sumo wrestling in the Holy Land here. There’s the awkward scene where manly guys shove and grip each other while nearly naked. There’s the gay toughie. There’s the guy with the bad marriage, etc. Even the rom-com are verbatim. Yet, “Size” wins on the merit of its charismatic leads and the cool factor that –- get this Hollywood -– overweight people can be happy, fall in love and have sex. The latter scenes are treated with a loving humor and are undeniably sweet. It’s not just girth here that’s large. B

Insomnia (1997 and 2002)

“Insomnia” was first made as a Swedish/Norwegian crime noir in 1997 with Stellan Skarsgard, and then remade in 2002 as an American thriller with Al Pacino. Remakes suck, right? Well, in a rare miracle, maybe a one-time miracle, the remake is as nearly strong as its predecessor. Both will keep you up at night.

The 1997 film is bleak, moody and has an ambivalent ending that sticks to the inside of your brain. It also packs a powerful example of low-key, but excellent acting from Skarsgard. The 2002 version is equally stark yet takes us deeper into the cracks behind Pacino’s protagonist, and presents a more formidable opponent.

Both versions have the same set up: The murder of a teenage girl in a small burg near the Article Circle (Norway in 1997; Alaska in 2002) demands the experience of a big-city homicide investigator (Skarsgard; Pacino). Each town is experiencing what is known as midnight sun, therefore it is blazing daylight 24/7. The lack of darkness wrecks havoc on each detective’s already damaged psyche, and all senses crumble. Fast. A fatal FUBAR shooting during a stakeout empowers the respective murderer above the policeman and derails the investigation.

1997: Skarsgard plays Jonas Engstrom, a man with no apparent emotional attachment. When he speaks to a high school classroom about the need to bring forth information about the murder, he does so blandly. The only certainly in life, he tells the students, is that they will never see their dead classmate again. He shoots a dog point blank with a pistol. He shoots his partner. It gets worse. Engstrom also has eyes and hands for young girls. The man is repugnant, immoral, and the killer (Bjorn Floberg) quickly sniffs that trait out. As the investigation further crumbles and sleep alludes Engstrom, he becomes more cut off emotionally, stone silent, his pupils and his psyche shrink into nothing. Yet he’s still obsessed with the case, solving it to prove he can, to snag a better job, or to bring the killer to justice, or maybe all three. Director/co-writer Erik Skoldbjaerg creates a powerful and disturbing film, exploring the moral lines men cross, knowingly or unwittingly. A

2002: Christopher Nolan directs Pacino as lead detective Will Dormer and Martin Donovan as his partner, Hap Eckhart. Dormer is no junkie for young girls, but he is a shady, “F” the rules veteran cop about to barbecued by I.A. back in L.A. When Eckhart dishes that he’s going to sell Dormer to the bosses, their friendship shatters. On the stakeout for the killer, Dormer shoots Eckhart. By mistake? No. Just before firing, Dormer changes guns. That’s the murky ice pool that Nolan and screenwriter Hillary Seitz pushes us into. Pacino is all jitters, off-kilter senses and dropping eyelids. As in “Memento,” where the protagonist had no memory, Nolan plays with flashbacks, senses and truths. Images of past and present sins haunt Dormer like a killer. And Pacino looks hunted. Robin Williams, creepy as hell in a fine performance, plays the killer and game master. The definitive ending, good as it is, doesn’t forge inside the head as does the original’s murky question mark. And Hilary Swank's young cop is under-written, and a bit eager college girl for my taste. But, wow, a great film in its own right. A-

Pan's Labyrinth (2006)

I can't say enough about "Pan's Labyrinth" ("El Laberinto del fauno") ... it's one of my all-time favorites, and not just because I caught a late-night show in NYC upon its initial release. (Is there a better city in the world to see a film then walk out into the night? Hell, no.)

Written and directed by the brilliant Guillermo del Toro, it follows Ofelia (Ivana Baquero) the child of a dead tailor and a hugely pregnant, horribly ill mother (Ariadna Gil) now married to a sadistic fascist colonel (Sergi Lopez) in the Spanish army circa 1940s. The country still is under mass civil war and disorder; violent death is every where.

Ofelia comes to live with the colonel ("He's not my father") at a house in the middle of the rural woods. Behind this house is an ancient labyrinth. To all adults, it's a simple maze with pretty stone workmanship. To Ofelia, it is the portal to her real birth world, where she is the princess of a God-like king and queen, her parents.

Her only contact, the only way into this heaven, is a mysterious tree-like faun. The faun tells Ofelia she must prove herself worthy to him to regain her throne, under her parents. She must take a key from a fat, disgusting frog, then take that key and enter the dining hall of a demon and open a cabinet to take a knife. Then she must let her new brother (the prince) bleed by the knife.

Del Toro's film is so complex and layered, so rich with strong religious and "Alice in Wonderland" overtones, one can watch the film a dozen time and pick up on new themes, messages and feelings. Indeed, as Spain and likewise Ofelia's new family's house/army base sinks further into savage violence, so does the girl's secret world.

Is the faun becoming a sadist, like the colonel, or is he testing Ofelia's good will, her Christ-like love? The most important question at the end of the film: Did Ofelia imagine her world of fauns, demons, a king and queen? I change my mind every time as the blood-soaked FUBAR ending is wonderfully, eternally debatable. Right now, this instant, I think all is lost, this is a film of doom.

I never waver, though, on how much I love this film -- its look, the intricate plot, the magic, the demon in that dining hall with eyes in his palms and skin melting off his twig body, and the rivers of blood. I love the film's refusal to be sentimental, to paint violence with an uncensored brush that is shocking to watch even after a dozen views. This is an adults-only film in the clothes of a child.

From the very opening scene, del Toro promises a grim but fantastic journey, and he delivers. Baquero gives one of the best child performances I can remember. Lopez is pure fhk'n evil as the depraved colonel hell bent on dying violently, and as the faun and the saggy-skinned monster, Doug Jones should have gotten some type of Oscar. What kind, I can't say. A+

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (2007)

"The Diving Bell and the Butterfly" is the true story of the late "Elle" editor Jean-Dominique Bauby, who suffered a catastrophic health crisis that left him completely paralyzed from head to toe, except for his eye lids. His mind is left in perfect form. A witty, brilliant, womanizing star of French culture circa 1990s, Bauby is reduced to a captive of his own body. He can think clearly, joke, cry and ruminate on his unimaginable sentence from God inside his head. Just as the film comes within a hair of being a downer, Bauby snaps out of his self-loathing funk and decides to author a book about his life. He communicates by blinking "yes" or "no" to a series of letters read to him from his nurse, and then an assistant.

Directed by Julian Schnabel and starring Mathieu Amalric ("Quantum of Solace") this is a fantastic film, deeply felt and wonderfully acted. Amalric's left eye becomes the focal point of his performance. Daring stuff. It works. The film captures the view of Bauby from bed, from light flashes and hallucinations to bored hours watching TV and having people stare you in the face, all bleeding across his eye. Schnabel brings the audience into the mind trap of this man, and for two hours, lets us feel his pain. A