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+

Broken City (2013)

An ex-cop PI with a dirty past gets marooned in a FUBAR infidelity case among city elites that results in murder and corrupted land deals. Forget it, Jake, this isn’t sharp dagger classic “Chinatown.” It’s dull spoon thriller “Broken City” with Mark Wahlberg as the dick working for a NYC mayor (Russell Crowe) who’s up for reelection. Mayor’s demand: “Find my wife’s lover,” but he has more in play. Money. The plot is threadbare. Jake Gittes worked for his info. Suffered. Wahlberg’s hero *finds* the bad guy’s plans printed on giant poster board with bold font at a Dumpster. Good actors have saved worse, right? Not this. Crowe plays the mayor in a cartoon mashup of 1970s’ Lex Luther and Donald Trump, with spray-on can orange skin and a dippy toupee. Wahlberg? Autopilot. Director Albert Hughes smart, too a tone for Wahlberg, too brave for the sorry studio? C

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 Descendants (2011)

I will ramble on ... Alexander Payne’s awesome “The Descendants” pulls the rug out from our under feet in a quick minute as we open on a beautiful woman water skiing. Cut to black. A narrator tells us the woman – his wife -- lies in a coma following a boat crash. This story should be happy. We are in Hawaii, paradise to us in the mainland U.S.

But Matt King won’t have it. “Paradise can go fuck itself,” he says in a voice over. Bitter and angry, full of new-found reality.

Matt is an attorney whose plate runneth over: His wife is dying; he’s the title holder of a family trust worth millions of dollars, and his cousins want to cash in; he is now the sole parent of two daughters, but has never been much of a father. A final bomb: His teenage daughter reveals a shocker: “Mom has been cheating on you.”

In the hands of most film directors, this book-to-film story would be a downer, but Payne is a master of stories about men trying to cope with out-of-control lives (see “Sideways”) perfectly balanced on a wire of harsh drama and sharp comedy. This is his best film yet, and the hero is George Clooney, playing a man whose life is in shambles.

Every scene is perfectly written and plays between genres. After Matt is told of the infidelity, he takes off running in beach shoes to confront his wife’s best friend. The gag is hilarious. Yet Payne and his co-screenwriters, Nat Faxon and Jim Rash, follow it with a brutal scene as Matt tears into the friend with full-on rage and fear – “Did she love him?” There are three dozen such perfect scenes, quiet, wordless scenes, too.

Robert Forester plays Matt’s father-in-law, seemingly the stereotypical asshole always decrying the man his daughter married. But Payne is smarter than such a one-note joke. He shows an old man drowning in turmoil, too weakened to even cry, over his daughter, and his Alzheimer’s stricken wife. This attention to detail is set on every character, especially the daughters, played by Amara Miller a child not fully aware of her mother’s demise, and Shailene Woodley as a troubled teen who must now become a “mother” to her sister.

I’m way past my 200-word count, but it’s so rare to see a Hollywood film this mature, a product of make-believe and paradise that tells us such notions are mirages. There are no good answers, only temporary balms such as ice cream and Morgan Freeman’s soothing voice. A