The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus (2009)

The most shocking scene of Terry Gilliam’s dark, nightmarish “let’s make a deal” film comes early: Heath Ledger is first seen hanging by his neck from a bridge during a miserable London night. Nearly two years after his death, Ledger’s mere presence still inspires awe. But, here, it’s for all the wrong reasons. Ledger plays Tony, a man with apparent amnesia found in his awful state by the daughter (Lily Cole) and employee (Andrew Garfield) of the centuries-old, traveling storyteller Dr. Parnassus (Christopher Plummer). The group’s find is lucky, as Tony provides a boost to their business, centuries past its expiration date. Hounding the group is Mr. Nick (Tom Waits), Satan himself, who’s the card dealer to the not-so-good doctor’s addiction to betting. The film, like any Gilliam treat, is a wondrous shifting, warping Rubik’s Cube. Yet, Ledger died mid-production, so in the alternate world scenes, his Tony is played by Johnny Depp, Jude Law and Colin Farrell. Fascinating concept, but hurtful. As tragedy smashes down (happy endings are not guaranteed), the film loses dramatic payoff as the final Tony just isn’t the Tony we've come to love. It isn't Ledger. B

10 Things I Hate About You (1999)

“10 Things I Hate About You” succeeds as entertainment despite it’s being the most woeful of genres: The teen romance. Chalk it up to a smart screenplay that well-knows it’s messing with the rules (teachers swear and talk back in class) and the wow-power of Heath Ledger as a Down Under teen in the U.S. of A. God, what a talent. What a loss. Julia Stiles (where did she go?) plays with the standard movie “bitch” card as a smart girl who knows what she wants, and knows from past wrongs. Best thing: She never gives in her smarts or independence for a man (boy)’s approval. All in all, a great showing for a film type I flee from. B+

I'm Not There (2007)

"I'm Not There" is a musical biopic of the legendary singer-songwriter Bob Dylan. But not really. In what has to be one of 2007's most original film, director/co-writer Todd Haynes ("Far From Heaven") ditches the well-worn historical re-creation path tread by 5,000 other biopics, and instead creates a truly head-spinning work of art.

"There" is a love letter, tribute and sly take on the persona of Dylan and world created in his folk, electric and religious library of songs. In a casting stunt that works marvels, six different actors play different variations on Dylan, and none of the characters actually are named "Bob Dylan." Trust me, it works.

The personas are Jack Rollins (Christian Bale), a meek folk singer turned star turned born-again Christian; Jude Quinn (Cate Blanchett), a superstar who seemingly hates the press and adoration; Woody Guthrie (Marcus Carl Franklin), an 11-year-old musical prodigy so apt at spinning tales, even his name is false; Billy the Kid (Richard Gere), a self-exiled outlaw living in a mash-up time period of early 1900s and 1960s America; Robbie Clark (Heath Ledger), an actor who played Rollins in a straight-forward biopic and has adopted some of the unsavory traits of the role; and Arthur Rimbaud (Ben Winshaw), a young singer-poet being interrogated by either the FBI or the meanest damn suit-wearing editors ever hired by Rolling Stone.

It's a lot, but as the Dylan-like characters' lives overlap and in the strangest scene -- the Billy the Kid period that carries echoes of David Lynch meets Robert Altman meats Terrance Malick -- literally crash into each other, a multi-layered, conflicted entity of Dylan develops. And I swear, this film isn't just about how Dylan has morphed as an artist and as a man, but it's also how America has evolved. Why else focus so much attention on the under currents of the simmering Civil Rights movement of the 1950s and the cultural explosion of the 1960s, among other areas? After all, as far as Americans go, Dylan sure is one of the most eclectic and original.

Some scenes, such as the concert where Dylan (here Quinn) went electric are created in true fashion, but whole chunks are mere whimsy and dreamlike. Franklin's character shows us how Dylan and many other artists such as 50 cent create false backgrounds as diligently and carefully as they create music, film or paintings. I'm still pondering what exactly the outlaw Gere scenes represent, but they are spectacular, haunting entertainment of an old America pushed beyond the breaking point. Ledger is the most scarred of the Dylan-like characters, watching his happy family life melt away because of his sexual escapades. It's a beautiful performance by Ledger, and another reminder of lost talent. Blanchett has to be the stand out, not because she is playing a he, or because she gets closest to Dylan's mannerisms. Her Quinn clearly is toying with journalists (one is played by Bruce Greenwood) and the audience (onscreen and us), maybe even himself, err, herself. You get what I mean.

In a brilliant move that further separates the idea of a "true" biopic, Haynes actually opens the film with one of his Dylans dead on the slab, ready for autopsy. He then closes with a Dylan death by motorcycle crash. Is it the same character stand-in on the slab? We don't know. "I'm Not There" lets us know that no matter how much we talk directly to or study, research, watch and obsess over a person, we can never get inside their head. Or body.

The film's not total manna from heaven -- a scene with Quinn goofing around with the Beatles, seems irrelevant and a goof, but maybe it's my ignorance of the History of Dylan. (And I am ignorant of music in general.) I don't need to understand every scene to "get" a film. "I'm Not There" is the death knell for the straight forward biopic. It has my head spinning not only on who was or is Dylan, but the endless possibilities of what was and is film. Now, that's movie-making magic. A

The Dark Knight (2008)

"The Dark Knight" explodes off the screen with a legendary performance by Heath Ledger as the most iconic comic book villain ever created, The Joker. The hype around Ledger's take on the homicidal clown and arch-nemesis of Batman has been building for more than a year and skyrocketed when the actor died in January 2008 at the age of 28. And it is deserved. He is mythical here, disappearing into a role that even Jack Nicholson never fully developed nearly 20 years ago in Tim Burton's "Batman."

This is a Joker for our age, a terrorist with no purpose other than to kill as many people as he can and cause as much destruction as he can before he himself is killed. And the Joker gladly welcomes that death. Excuse the focus on Ledger, but he simply owns this film, taking it from the likes of Christian Bale, Michael Caine, Gary Oldman and saints alive Morgan Freeman. See this film once and be floored by this young man's talent; see it a second time and be heartbroken over the loss of a generation's best film actor.

"The Dark Knight" is pitch-black material and an instant classic, digging deep into the darkest of Batman's storied legend for material never before seen in a super hero movie. As with "Batman Begins," Christopher Nolan directs and co-writes an adaptation that transcends its roots -- the entire plot seems to rest on America's war on terrorists who claim to be Muslim, but are the opposite of God/Allah -- they wish only to soak the world in blood and fire before they gladly die themselves. The Joker serves as their symbol here. How do you cope with that? How do you fight it, or even try and negotiate it? What are we wiling to give up and endure if it means the obliteration of those who so want to kill us?

These are the questions that Nolan and co-writer/sibling Jonathan Nolan lay out among the wild technology, stunts and set pieces. And the Nolans are not afraid to kill off major characters that will leave audiences reeling (unlike the dull third "X-Men" film which only pretended to do so).

The film opens with a bank robbery that more than tips its hat to the iconic crime drama "Heat" -- it uses one of that great crime drama's main actors as a would-be hero that crosses paths with the Joker. From there the film never lets up. A year after "Batman Begins," Bruce Wayne's alter ego (Bale) is still tracking villains that escaped his clutches whilst battling new enemies in the gist of mobsters (led by Eric Roberts) and wayward corporate demigods.

As Batman begins his duel with Joker, it's Alfred (the always excellent Caine) who tells his charge that there are times when the good must sink low to destroy evil. He tells a story from his own younger days (in the British special forces we can only surmise) as he helped track and kill a ruthless bandit by burning down an entire forest. It's heady stuff, and a road that Spider-Man wouldn't dare cross. Is Batman to kill the Joker, breaking his one rule?

Also on board is Aaron Eckhart as Harvey Dent, the Boy Scout DA who has captured the admiration of Wayne and the heart of ADA Rachel Dawes (Maggie Gyllenhaal, taking over for Katie Holmes who was miscast to begin with in the first film). Batman fans know most of what will happen with this plot thread, but the Nolans make it as fresh as ever.

This is a long film, too long maybe; but the balls are never dropped and the many plot lines weave into each other nicely, a feat "Spider-Man 3" failed miserably at. "The Dark Knight," far more than the still-great "Batman Begins," brings the world of costumed crime fighters into the adult world of chaos and uncertainty. I can't wait to see what's next. A