True Lies (1994)

I loved James Cameron’s “True Lies” when I saw it in a Philadelphia cinema 21 years ago with a friend. I cheered the openly tongue-in-cheek story and action as Arnold Schwarzenegger as a secret U.S. spy demolishes Middle Eastern terrorists in downtown Miami, the fanatics threatening to destroy the city with a stolen nuclear warhead. In a scene still spectacular Ahnuld flies a Harrier jet up against a skyscraper and kills a villain with a ride on a missile. But, damn, this is an ugly sexist film. See, I was a very naïve 20 year old in 1994. Now I cringe at the entire midsection which has Schwarzenegger’s Harry Tasker going rage as he suspects his dumb, hapless wife (Jamie Lee Curtis) of cheating on him; him, a guy who’s done nothing but lie to her for two decades. See, Cameron has our hero kidnap and then psychologically torture the woman until she admits in fact she has committed no sin against her husband. (If she had!?!) Cameron seems to know his writing is vile. Side characters offer admonishments, almost as sideline commentary. But it still smacks of, “Keep watching. Keep laughing!” Cameron’s worst film. _­C+

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 Hunger Games: Mockingjay, Part 1 and Gone Girl (both 2014)

Blockbuster films “The Hunger Games: Mockingjay, Part 1” and “Gone Girl” share little in common other than book source female authors, respectively, Suzanne Collins and Gillian Flynn. 

But, damn, these movies do show the difference of a bloated, ill-advised screen adaptation (that “Part 1” is a millstone) and another adaptation that takes the meat and bones of its source, cut the fat, and creates a raging animal that leaves one spooked, rattled, and –- most importantly –- wanting more. 

(Collins helped adapt her story, with others, Flynn takes sole credit.) 

If you’re smart enough to be on the Web, you know the basics of each film. “Mockingjay” comes from the third and final book in a wildly popular series about teen Katniss (Jennifer Lawrence) as she struggles against a fascist future America where lives of the poor are held as sport to the rich. War is brewing. 

“Girl” follows a He Said, She Said format as a once good marriage has turned toxic and maybe deadly. The wife has gone missing, and the husband has “killer” inscribed on his scumbag forehead. 

The novel “Mockingjay” clocks in under 400 pages, and as with all of Collins’ books, reads fast. No stops or fluff. Fewer pages means less work to cut from page to screen. But success breeds greed. 

After the great sequel “CatchingFire” –- with its devastating emotional punches, great action and characters, and a cliffhanger ending –- became a smash hit even over its predecessor, watching this new film is a surprisingly dull overlong drudge. 

It’s half a real movie with dozens of outtakes crammed in. It makes the mistake of sidelining Katniss for nearly two hours of weeping and thumb-twiddling as she lets the boys take over. Ouch. 

The “Games” books and films have excelled IMHO over the awful, inept, feminism-hating “Twilight” series because Katniss has no time for romance or weeping, because she is too busy being the protector of her family. Very little of her is here. The studio now just sees dollars, and a dark, thrilling dystopian tale of and for youth is stretched too thin. 

We get scenes repeated -– Katniss stands over war rubble and charred bodies no less than five time, and two of those in the same exact location, where she ransacks, twice now, her ruined home for supplies. 

As the focus was nearly entirely on or about Katniss in previous films, we know grow our side-character roster, and God bless Philip Seymour Hoffman -– I miss him dearly –- most of his scenes are unneeded, with no need to watch him talking to Katniss’ PR handler (Elizabeth Perkins). 

Near the end, Katniss stands in a control room watching from afar as men go into battle, and she watches and watches, and spends what might be 10 minutes repeating, “Are you there?,” to the evil dictator who also is watching the rescue from afar, President Snow (Donald Sutherland). Much more happens and I won’t spoil a drop for those unfamiliar with the book, but just sitting there knowing we have another two hours of film to watch in what should have been a tight, relentless, three-hour film exhausts me. 

“Part 1” wants to sell itself as drums of war, but that pounding is all cash registers clinking, a move the wealth-crazed, Ayn-Rand-loving villains of this tale might ironically approve. The heroes? Katniss, and the haunted veteran played by Woody Harrelson? They would mutter, “I don’t have time for this.” 

“Gone Girl” –- even at two and half hours –- knows the best always leave you wanting more, be it book, film, or food. Flynn’s book was a helluva read, bouncing back for 400-plus pages between man and wife as they delve into their disintegrating marriage, he speaking in the present day after the wife goes missing and police and media come calling and ravaging; her from the past, in diary entries, sliding from happiness to despair. 

That’s three quarters of the film, until Flynn and director David Fincher don’t just turn the car around, they crash it wheels up in icy muck, and watch it -– and us -– sink and freeze. Part of the genius in “Girl” is the casting, with American sweetheart Ben Affleck as the husband and relative unknown actress Rosamund Pike (“Jack Reacher”) as the wife. 

Affleck’s Nick Dunne is a former NYC journalist turned bar owner, back in his Missouri sticks childhood home with a dead mom, a senile father, and a twin sister, and many dark secrets. His shirt always untucked, blue jeans under a gut, and a blank face, he is cold and aloof, so much to the point that the police starting wrinkling their eyebrows. Hard. Especially after the diary of the wife, Amy, is uncovered. Its most recent pages purging tales of abuse. 

Amy was raised a New Yorker and the child of parents who mined their daughter’s youth for books, children’s book that always seemed one step ahead of their own girl, one punch above perfect. “Amazing Amy” the book series was called. How can anyone stand to strive to be amazing, to live up to fiction? I will stop there. 

Fincher again has made a cold, daring film that cuts right to the dark pit of the soul, that little black ball rolled up deep inside, found in “The Game” and “Fight Club.” 

Flynn adapted her own book, gutting sections, condensing others, and adding new ribbons of dark blood toward the end. Spoilers? Harsh drama and part sick satire, “Gone” is a nasty trip through marriage and media, and personality, how people –- all of us -- perform in public, for one’s spouse or family, and even to ourselves, striving to meet expectation or get that life –- that perfect life -– we know we saw on TV, or dream about, or read about once. 

Like that book series. It’s toxic. (How harmful was a show like “Leave It to Beaver” to read, struggling American families?) There are great moments of crushing satire and criticism of the media that bounce the film along and ring true in our age where white wealthy women disappearing is national news, but not so for anyone of color, or low income. 

Tyler Perry plays the part of a sleaze lawyer who comes to Nick’s “rescue,” and he brings a dynamic, comedic charge to the film that saves it from going too dark, and he’s in a magical feat, our way into the film. 

This is a film to watch and talk about over booze and food, not read about. See it for no other reason than Affleck -- a successful director and new Batman -- crushing his role as an ugly man impossible to hate. He is a marvel to behold, as is the amazing Pike.

Yes, “Mockingjay” will make tons more money and get more press, but “Gone” is the film that stays the course. Unwavering.

Mockingjay: B- Gone: A-

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+

Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner (1967)

It amazes me “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner” was ever needed. But so goes American history. It opens with a 1960s pop song playing as a giddy couple make its way from an airport to the girl’s childhood home, where she will introduce him to Mom and Dad. The couple is mixed race, her white (Katharine Houghton) and him black (Sidney Poitier). The taxi driver smirks. The parents (Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracey) are open liberals, but just how so? We find out in one long evening. Yes, it’s coy now, post-Loving vs. Virginia, but not too easy. Poitier’s fiancé puts a burden to the parents: Accept me and our whirlwind romance now or I call it off. Can anyone demand that? His doctor character is such a saint, it near smothers debate. The screenwriters intently did this to fully play the race card, but does it serve character? What if he were a reporter at Tracey’s old man’s paper? The dialogue is still sharp and Tracey –- then dying of cancer -- is powerful. Hepburn, too. Her crying is contagious. A-

The Sugarland Express (1974)

I marvel at Steven Spielberg’s debut theatrical film: “The Sugarland Express,” a fictionalized take on an outlaw Texas couple (William Atherton and Goldie Hawn) on the run from hundreds of Texas cops as they seek their stolen toddler, now in state custody to an old couple out of GOP Weekly. Dad (Atherton) is just in early release from prison when Mom (Hawn) breaks him out comedy-like to get their boy, high-jacking an elderly couple’s car. She knows she’ll hold her baby. He knows they’ll die first, but he’s too in love to say “No.” Even the cop they take hostage feels bad for the duo. Forty years on, Spielberg’s film vibes with wonders – dig the scenes where we follow a tense screaming match via radio from inside a car, the camera roving about like a passenger, and the way he mixes in equal parts America’s outlaw romance and right-wing NRA types who shoot first and keep shooting. This is still timely. Hawn is so fantastically in the moment, and Atherton -– he found fame playing assholes in “Die Hard” and “Ghostbusters” –- is pure American Guy, stuck between choosing life and his blonde, and, well, there is no choice. Wife. A

Nebraska (2013)

Alexander Payne has made many drama/comedies with characters stuck in shit situations that skate the line of full-on farce. In “Nebraska,” Payne goes back home to tell a story about an old guy who won’t go out happy or content, but in a mess. Similarities to “About Schmidt” end here. Woody Grant (Bruce Dern, just damn amazing) is on the edge of dementia, brought about by age, hastened by booze. Woody reads a scam advertisement letter and thinks he’s won a $1 million and no one not his wife (June Squibb) or son (Will Forte, long past “SNL”) can convince his otherwise. The son decides a car trip to “collect” the faux prize will cure pop, with a stop in Walt’s dying hometown as a balm. Payne’s tale -- written by Bob Nelson -– plays at the great losses Nebraska and much of America has suffered, with cars lasting decades a thing of the past, and days of families building their homes by hand a faint memory. The movie is great in those moments, especially in stark black-and-white. But Payne introduces too many dull hick stereotypes too often, and one gets the sense that his American mourning comes with a wink. B+

Last Vegas (2013)

The pitch for “Last Vegas” must have sounded thusly, “It’s the ‘Hangover,’ but with old people!” But PG-13, of course. Impossible to hate, difficult to love, “Last” stars Michael Douglas, Morgan Freeman, Kevin Kline, and Robert De Niro as life-long pals raised in a sunny, racially-harmonic 1950s Brooklyn straight out of Quebec that reunite decades later after the hot-shot playboy millionaire –- that’s Douglas -– finally decides to marry. The bride is 31 years old. Naturally, the pals fret. So Vegas, lots of booze and gambling, lots of fighting with automatic car doors and cell phones, and lots of wide-eyed stares at the shiny world. Then the quartet throw a raucous bachelor party that attracts the MTV crowd with one big ick moment: A college-aged girl tosses her naked body at Kline’s married horn dog, just hours after she tells him he looks exactly like her granddad. He demurs, but for oral sex, and comes out the hero. The incest remark goes unnoticed. The only reason to watch “Last” -- much like “Stand Up Guys” -– is to see great actors slightly tweak characters they played long ago in far better movies. It’s barely enough. B-

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-

Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice (1969)

Relatively tame now, when “Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice” debuted, it caused a shit storm of controversy that caught flak from the religious right because it dared dived into the then-taboo subjects of free-love,  open marriage, and recreational drug use, and did so as a comedy satire with a take it or leave it judgment card at the end. I daresay few of these critics even saw the film, but panned it eyes closed. In truth, this is an often hilarious blast at both the conservative and liberal divide, with the left actually taking the bigger punch as married Bob and Carol (Robert Culp and Natalie Wood) each take on lovers and suck longtime pals Ted and Alice (Elliott Gould and Dyan Cannon) into their “don’t think, just feel” bed-hopping circle. There’s no LOL scenes of slapstick comedy, just the constantly awkward chortling of watching fools run themselves sideways because they’re afraid to not do so, to not get angry, and to not babble on amok about “honesty” as it were alien. Gould standouts as one very hopeless dope who cannot win, ever. B+

Before Midnight (2013)

During a summer heavy on superheroes and angry robots, “Before Midnight” is a miracle dose of meds against overindulgence. This is the third chapter in the “Before” series -– “Before Sunrise” came in 1995, “Before Sunset” nine years later -– that follows American writer Jesse (Ethan Hawke) and a French activist Celine (Julie Delpy). In 1995, they met on a train; in 2004, they fell in love; and here they as parents and a couple face head on and bite into each other over the hurdles and sacrifices of love and commitment. That they do this while vacationing in splendid Greece is called on even by the couple, as they also comment on the prior films as books as pretentious talkers. The film is all talk, loving and harsh, with actual adults using adult words about the things that matter -– career wars, regretted missed moments of parenting –- and it’s a sad commentary that such a film is rare. The dialogue pulsates as if every man and woman on screen barely knows what they will say next. Electric. Delpy, Hawke, and director Richard Linklater have collaborated on all three films, creating a treasured trilogy of films about all of us. Amazing. A

The Philadelphia Story (1940)

I need to get this out: “The Philadelphia Story” opens on a gag of a man shoving a woman to the ground, and the joke she got “socked” runs throughout. That shit is not funny. Not then or now, or ever. That said, I do dearly love this deserved classic, the writing, banter, delivery, and cast: Katharine Hepburn, James Stewart, Cary Grant, Ruth Hussey, and the child actress Virginia Weildler, can you top that? Plot: Philly society divorcee Tracy (Hepburn) is up for marriage No. 2, but her ex (Cary Grant) hangs close because Tracy’s family loves the guy unconditionally, and in an elaborate plot he has two gossip mag reporters (Stewart and Hussey) in tow to record the surely doomed nuptials. See, the ex loves the bride, and as hijinks, misunderstandings, and boozy drinks flow, soon so does Stewart’s wordsmith. I shall not divulge more, just watch. This is comedy romance at the tallest order, it makes you swoon for everyone on screen, with Stewart pushing charm, Grant smoothness, and Hepburn brass and brains. Yes, many plot ideas are way past sexist and stagnant, but this film shines. Love the journalism jokes, too. A-

Rebecca (1940)

Alfred Hitchcock’s American debut “Rebecca” – based on a bestseller – defines what old timers (and us TCM fanatics) mean with “They don’t make them like they used to.” Four years older than my father, this gorgeously shot black-and-white thriller sucks you in to its tale of romance as a woman (Joan Fontaine) falls for a widower (Laurence Oliver). The man is, of course, crazy wealthy, owning a castle named Manderley, and crazy, haunted by wife No. 1. In what I gather is a sick-twist Hitchcock joke, an old bird (Florence Bates) tells our heroine that Manderley will eat her alive. She’s right. Our nameless heroine is smothered by the stone walls and wealth, the “ghost” of Rebecca, the wife who drowned mysteriously and questionably, and the black-oil stare of the watchful housekeeper (Judith Anderson), who defines wicked. Secrets boil over as our heroine sinks into a mess, her ramrod morality straining against fates I still awe at, second watching. This is exceptional filmmaking, smooth, and with as much dark humor as betrayals, our director taking us innocents for a ride. The cast is flawless, the film endlessly re-watchable. A+

Amour (2012)

Michael Haneke’s “Amour” is the painfully grim picture of Parisian octogenarians struck helpless as the wife suffers a series of strokes and tumbles into the purgatory of dementia, lost under a thick sheet of ice. 

Anne (Emmanuelle Riva), the wife, was a piano teacher. In the first scenes, her eyes and spirit vibrate with light as she and her husband (Jean-Louis Trintignant) attend the concert of her former pupil. It’s at breakfast she has her first spell. Her eyes go vacant. I saw that vacancy in the eyes of my grandmothers. This film crushed me. Georges, the husband, cares for Anne every moment, feedings and diapers. Strain breaks him. Guilt shames him. He stretches his love over the widening chasm between himself and her. 

Haneke has made a film about love and honor that defies, but cannot overcome an ultimate horror -- joyful love turned to torture as one half of a beautiful whole withers. No hope. Only an absence of help, cure, or god to end the misery. Our leads are amazing, creating a fully realized couple surrounded by an apartment brimming of a shared life. Riva was robbed a Best Actress Oscar. An exceptional work. A

Hitchcock (2012)

I adore and fear Hitchcock. The filmmaker. “Hitchcock,” the new movie about the filmmaker? Not one bit. See, this is pitched as a behind-the-scenes tale of the making of the classic “Psycho.” You know, the mother of all slasher films. And, yes, we do get some of the writing, casting talks, Scarlett Johansson as Janet Leigh stuck in a shower with ol’ Hitch with a knife scaring the piss out of her. Those are snippets of the story. Moments. And Anthony Hopkins excels in them as Hitchcock, covered in fat makeup to play the big guy. When he “conducts” an audience reaction to the shower scene, outside a screening room, I was in movie heaven. But most of the film focuses on Hitchcock’s marriage, with his wife (Helen Mirren) nagging his ass 24/7 about avoiding snacks. God help me, it was like visiting my parents. More so, the missus launches a flirtatious affair with a Hollywood screenwriter (Danny Houston) and Hitchcock frets and fumes, and talks to the ghost of Ed Gein, the killer who inspired Norman Bates, and I wanted to slash apart this soap opera that muddies a mad genius/artist as a poor old befuddled geezer. C+

Rosemary’s Baby (1968)

Roman Polanski’s gothic “Rosemary’s Baby” is the greatest paranoid horror film, wildly spinning on marriage and expectant mommy-hood with a massive dash of brimstone, and satanic milkshakes. It sets a scene inside a telephone booth in which nothing happens but a phone call and still drives the panic needle to 666. That’s insanely genius filmmaking, from God and/or hell. Based on Ira Levin’s novel and Polanski’s American writing/directing debut, “Baby” follows waif/ housewife Rosemary (Mia Farrow, perfect) as she moves into a castle-like NYC apartment with fledgling actor hubby (John Cassevettes, just slightly creepy). The couple instantly befriends the eccentric old folks (Ruth Gordon and Sidney Blackmer) next door. Soon Guy is a hit and Rosemary is pregnant. Enter, Satan. Polanski is a shit, but he knows heart-crashing shock is found in the mundane -– the daffy, smiling old lady serving a tasty homemade snack. Best WTF-just-happened-? cliffhanger ending ever. The neighbors terrify me no end: My Philly childhood eccentric, elderly neighbors fed me odd concoctions and drinks 24/7. I sweat bullets now, “All of them witches!?!” Who the hell will ever know, eh? One of my Top 25. 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

Another Year (2010)

Few filmmakers portray life as real as Mike Leigh, and “Another Year” feels not so much like a movie, but an invite to stay with the family who’s at the center of this drama. Ruth Sheen and Jim Broadbent play a married couple, perfectly content with gardening, eating and reading in bed. She’s a counselor. He’s a geologist. They invites family and friends to a handful of dinners during the course of a year, including a divorcee (Lesley Manville) crumbling under loneliness who gulps wine as if it is an antidote, and an equally lonely old school chum (Oliver Maltman) who holds onto wine bottles as if they were oxygen. Alcohol equals life in this film. The main couple enjoys it as a side to the wonderful dishes they whip up. Take it or leave it. Manville and Maltman are full-fledged alcoholics, drowning their miseries in wine and all the more miserable for it. There’s not a false word, performance or scene in this drama that lays bare the jealousy that the miserable feel toward the happy. Manville should have won an Oscar. Fact. A

Everything Must Go (2011)

Will Ferrell goes mostly serious in the dramatic comedy “Everything Must Go,” which follows an Arizona man as he 1) Loses his job, 2) Loses his wife and home, and 3) Falls off the sobriety wagon all in the same day. Much of the film takes place on the lawn of Nick Halsey, that’s Farrell, because that’s where his wife has dumped all of his belongings after she decides their marriage has hit a dead end. Jobless, carless, hopeless, Nick pounds beers, and waits for … nothing. This being a movie, we can’t have the guy drink himself to death, so he gets two lifelines -- a lonely teenager played by Christopher Jordan Wallace and a friendly (but platonic) new neighbor played by Rebecca Hall. Based on a Raymond Carver short story and directed by newcomer Dan Rush, “Go” is a low-key flick about a guy taking stock of his life. A late-in-the-game reveal is too neat and smacks of an easy out. Ferrell rocks as he did in “Stranger Than Fiction.” Alas, when I said “low-key,” I meant nothing grand happens. B

Blue Valentine (2010) and Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf (1966)

Two films focusing on crumbling, spiraling marriages? Full of seething anger and pent-up hates and resentments, with love utterly and wholly defeated? This may be the double-billing from hell for some, but it makes for great cinema. “Blue Valentine” is a recent art-house hit, and it may gain cult status as wider and wiser audiences seek it out. “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf” – a needed follow-up, especially in light on Elizabeth Taylors’ death -- is hands-down one of the all-time, you-must-watch-this classics. Shockingly, the older film still is the darker of two, by light years.

“Blue” opens on a young married couple (Ryan Gosling, Michelle Williams) and their daughter, and stays with them for a long weekend. A bad, soul-crushing weekend. The family dog escaped from the backyard pen and is missing. The high-speed rural highway below the house is not a good omen, and the dog is indeed found dead. This moment is the final crack in a crumbling marriage. But all is not grim.

We flashback to when Dean and Cindy first meet. He’s a high-school dropout who can barely get through a job interview for a moving company. She is fresh off a bad breakup, hails from an emotionally violent home, and yearns to be a doctor. They click, wonderfully and explicitly, but can it last? They rush toward marriage because Cindy is pregnant, and Dean wants to be a father and a husband, even if the child is not his. The question must be asked: Are they right for each other? Each so humanly, woefully flawed?

Writer/director Derek Cianfrance pulls no punches as the twin plots surges toward utter happiness (past) and absolute destruction (present). The last scene is perfect, as is much of the film (a run-in with the ex-beau doesn’t seem to work in retrospect, a shouted comment from a friend of Cindy’s is so out-there odd, it stops a big scene near dead). Williams and Gosling are funny, euphoric, devastating, sexy, sad, dire, and everything you could ever want or fear. The little girl playing the daughter is heartbreaking sweet. A-

If “Blue Valentine” is a knife to the gut, then “Virginia Woolf” is an atom bomb. Real-life married couple Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor play George and Martha, he an associate professor, she the daughter of the university president. The setting: A New England college, probably one of those small, private snob schools. After a drunken faculty party, George and Martha stumble home, and talk and flirt to no avail, and bicker a bit. And bicker some more. Just as a young professor and his wife come to the house – Martha unwisely invited them over at 2 a.m. – the bickering turns ugly. Flesh ripped from bone ugly.

For the rest of this one night, George and Martha filet each other, with the young couple (George Segal and Sandy Dennis) held hostage, scared to stay, and equally hesitant to leave. Two decades of bitterness, past hurts, accusations and anger are coming to a full, raging boil. The crux: George’s lack of ambition against Martha’s beloved “daddy,” the couple’s absent son, and the endless amounts of alcohol readily available. I can’t recall any other film where so much alcohol is poured and consumed. It is their fuel.

Directed by Mike Nichols, in his debut, this Edward Albee play just kills on screen. Just when you think there can be no more hate or vile petty anger, the film sinks lower. And the acting soars. “Woolf” won an armful of Oscars, and should have taken more. Taylor – in heavy makeup, packing on weight and slurring her voice – plays 20 years her senior, and Burton is as scary as Lector and sad as Job in his role.

Their infamous double marriage surely adds blood to the proceedings as George and Martha bait and trap each other with words of war, how can it not? (Google Burton’s acidic comment on Taylor’s win and his snub of an Oscar. Holy shit!) Segal and Dennis also burn bright as a couple with their own dirty laundry.

“Woolf” is a must-watch, for its acting, the cinematography, the mere gamesmanship of trying to out-think George and Martha as they slash into each other, snarling like animals, and for the final confrontation. A ripe 44 years old, “Woolf” still packs some of the most deeply biting dialogue ever filmed. A+