The Imitation Game (2014)

“The Imitation Game” wants to be a liberal rage against the evil that was British law for a century: The criminalization of homosexuality, and the body-and-mind destruction – execution, really -- of WWII hero Alan Turing, because he was born gay. But it’s really an (sorry) ultra-straight drama that’s played so safe and virginal, my church-going parents would not blink. Benedict Cumberbatch is mesmerizing and coolly brilliant as Turing, the mathematician who is called on by Her Majesty to help break the seemingly impossible cryptic Enigma code used by the Nazis during World War II. Mr. Sherlock nails the part of the misfit thrown into the Army, where failure to fit in can get you shot or jailed. But Turing’s sexuality? Cumberbatch has nothing to work with. All sex is off screen, hidden like one of those impossible codes. Now I get Turing couldn’t act on desires during war, living under Army rule. fact. But here there is no desire. No anger. No frustration. Why? By the time onscreen Turing is forced to undergo chemical castration, one has to ask, why fret? This man, as written for the Oscar votes, seems to have been a unich all along.  B-

The Book Thief (2013)

World War II drama “The Book Thief” is not for me. It is intended for teen girls familiar with fantasy and romance, not familiar with the Holocaust. “Thief” -- based on a YA novel -– wants tragic and magic as it follows every crushing blow -– death, illness, bombing -– with an immediate balm, often so fantastically out of place, it made me laugh. In disbelief. It is narrated by “Death” (why?) in a voice not different than Gandalf or Dumbledore, assured words pouring bright magic over the terror of Hitler’s Germany. The titular character is Liesel (Sophie Nelisse), ferried to rural Germany to live with childless peasants (Emily Watson and Geoffrey Rush). On the way, Liesel’s brother dies. Cry not. Rush’s new poppa is Mr. Rogers kind. Liesel steals a “criminal” book from burning, and is seen by the wife of the head Nazi. Fear not. Kind frau lets the girl steal books from her own home. The town is bombed. Scores die. Fear not. Liesel is found, adapted, loved, and saved. In two minutes. I know “Thief” must speak gently to and not horrify its young audience, and I get that, but I still cringed. Sage narrator, gorgeous cinematography. Cringe. C-

The Great Escape (1963)

Watching World War II action/drama “The Great Escape” -– based on fact, highly dramatized, three hours long -- has a new, unshakable tinge of sadness that did not exist during my childhood viewings. The entire principal cast has now passed, with Richard Attenborough and James Garner dying earlier this year. The true story: In 1944, 250-plus Allied prisoners attempted the most brazen escape from a POW camp ever known, with hundreds of minds and hands and three tunnels dedicated to infuriating Hitler’s military machine. Director John Sturges has made a near classic, even if it whiffs far too sanitized even for 1963. Attenborough, Garner, Steve McQueen, James Coburn, Donald Pleasence, and Charles Brosnan play the master escapists. Two hours document the dirt and work, the final rousing hour focuses on border runs. Pleasence’s forger is still my favorite hero of the bunch. The motorcycle chase with McQueen is exciting as hell, all stunts, no CGI. This kind of epic -– gifting character development and attention to process -– exist no longer. In Michael Bay’s world, it’s all flash and bang. Another sad passing. A-

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-

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

A Liar’s Autobiography (2012)

I love the hell out of Monty Python, the shows, the movies. I can’t get enough, even on repeat viewings. A wildly animated F.U. to the whole biopic genre, “A Liar’s Autobiography: The Untrue Story of Monty Python’s Graham Chapman” wants to be the M.P. version of the group’s founding member and leader’s life story, but it’s a pile of random tid-bits that don’t say much. Crazy fact: I learned more trivia about Chapman’s life and comedy impact in the “Making of…” documentary on this film than the film itself. That’s sounds like a Python satirical sketch. (Skip the movie! Watch the extras!) “Liar’s” never boring and much of the animation stuns – dig the section that represents Chapman kicking booze -- but there’s so little context I never got a hook on the man. A scene big on Python gore has toddler Chapman looking at the bodies of soldiers killed in a WWII plane crash. Why? Did he recall this a haunting memory? Who can tell when we’re told it’s fake? A letdown from a film I expected much from. C+

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 Wind Rises (2014)

Animation legend Hayao Miyazaki has called –- only to retract the statement -- “The Wind Rises” his final film. Thank goodness. We need Miyazaki. “Wind” is unlike anything in Miyazaki’s past, eschewing pure fantasy, it’s a dream-heavy dramatic take on engineer Jiro Horikoshi (Hideaki Anno) who would design for the prototype fighter jet that would spawn the infamous Zero plane of World War II. Horikoshi -– an innocent whose dreams of piloting are mooted by poor eye sight and haunted by a devastating earthquake –- knows his designs will be used in war. His childhood dreams of flight were marked by scenes of war early on and as he grows older, the darkness only increases until a massive group of glimmering planes become a graveyard of wreckage. He proceeds anyway, despite his desire to build aircraft to improve, not dominate lives. “Wind” stops far short of calling Horikoshi’s work criminal. Could he have refused the work? Miyazaki introduces empirical reality as Horikoshi’s “patriotism” is questioned, and his romantic marriage is put to the side for work. Put aside politics and nationalism, this is great unequaled work of art, of a dreamer by one of our greatest dreamers. The animation here is breathtaking, unparalleled. A

The Train (1964)

John Frankenheimer’s World War II “The Train” is a classic beyond compare. Maybe the grimy, sweaty black and white photography gets in the way? No idea. This film is perfect. Burt Lancaster plays French railway manager Labiche, a control freak who reluctantly and then obsessively plays out a suicide mission to stop a Nazi colonel (Paul Scofield) from looting France of its most treasured historic art -- irreplaceable Monets and Picassos, etc. The genius plot trick: Labiche and his fellow saboteurs don’t care a whit about the paintings. This is personal pride, and screwing the Nazis. At the end in eerie imagery, our star and director sternly ask if even one life violently sacrificed to save paintings or any other treasure, land, or national pride, is worth the toll. War is fruitless. Another reason to endlessly love this film: The destruction of a massive rail yard and a three-way way crash between three engines are shot in-camera, single takes. These scenes astound. You can near smell the ash and smoke. Lancaster does his own stunts, sliding down ladders and jumping trains, with Scofield’s villain as one for the ages. Quite possibly my favorite film ever. This is epic film-making. A+

The Great Dictator (1940) and Dr. Strangelove: Or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964)

The brilliance of satirical pitch and timing of  “The Great Dictator” – from Charlie Chaplin -- and “Dr. Strangelove: Or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb” – from Stanley Kubrick, and starring Peter Sellers – cannot be summed up here. These are worthy of books. I saw these war comedies near back-to-back and sat awed, not just at the performances of their lead actors, but the sheer balls that both projects demanded from their creators. “Dictator” takes on Hitler as a buffoon just as the Third Reich roared into terrifying power, while “Strangelove” lampoons a world where nuclear war was considered a sensible tool to save lives. We have nothing in our present day to compare these films and real fears, so there’s no use fishing for analogies. Chaplin’s movie follows a barber rattled by war and a ruthlessly idiotic dictator, while Kubrick’s tale follows a crazed general (Sterling Hayden) who sets off World War III, rattling the U.S. President and entertaining a mad ex-Nazi rocket scientist turned U.S. war scientist. Chaplin and Sellers are so amazing, it boggles the mind. Watching these classics now, it shows the dearth of comedies we have now in cinemas, “Grown-Ups 2”? No. A+

The Lord of the Flies (1963)

“The Lord of the Flies” is a surreal yet documentary-like, micro-budgeted stark black-and-white staging of William Golding’s novel of children stranded on a Pacific island, left to their own wild imaginations and ultimately violent tendencies. As with the book, this is a stellar display of that animal (weak or cruel) inside all of us, and the great lie of childhood innocence. The boys here set out to mimic adults, and they do well at it. Look at the body count. There’s something about director Peter Brooks’ wonky sound-recording and often haphazard cinematography that makes this feel less like an adaptation that a capturing of the novel, from the nonsensical dialogue the children trade in, to the “take my ball home” with a slice of pulverizing violence. Brooks funded much of the production, having the cast live on an island for real. Genius. Daring. Hugh Edwards breaks hearts as Piggy, the boy who trusts too much, while Tom Chapin terrifies as Jack, the monster who feels it’s his God-given right to rule the weak. Very modern Republican. At 50 years old, “Lord” is still a tough watch as anything recent, including the tepid 1990 remake. A

42 (2013)

The story of Jackie Robinson -– the first African-American to cross the color line in baseball and swing a bat at a bunch of white guys –- needs no embellishments. It is one of the greatest of American stories, a man finding love, fame, strength, and most vital of all respect after sustaining unspeakable hate. But in Hollywood, every story needs a rewrite. OK, writer/director Brian Helgeland (he co-wrote “L.A. Confidential”) has a good film with “42,” and I cheered on newcomer Chadwick Boseman as Robinson, despite knowing every outcome, but the “clap here!” music score deafens, Robinson is treated like Jesus, and the go-capitalists! whack-off vibe reeks. Never mind the stock side characters: The gold-hearted mentor (Harrison Ford), the bus loads of reject bigots, and the one guy who must be reborn. “42” hits high marks, though, when it shows baseball as a, yes, glorious American pastime (long past?), but one marked with sin, as is all of America. Check the scenes across the American Northeast –- not just the South -– that show the extent of prejudice, and awe when rage overtakes Robinson. In Philly. Well done that. The title, and all its meanings, is simple brilliance. B

The Master (2012)

In “There will be Blood,” Paul Thomas Anderson told the story of America’s greatest gifts -- capitalism and religious freedom –- gone mad. “The Master” does not rise to such heights, but it never could have. It also follows two men -– again representing one idea -– at odds. Joaquin Phoenix plays Freddie Quells, a World War II vet who is violent, perverted, alcoholic, immature, and a drifter, until he literally stumbles onto the yacht of a man close in age, but light years beyond Freddie’s mental reach. Lancaster Dodd (Philip Seymour Hoffman) is a scientist, writer, philosopher, and cult leader of a trillions-year-old self-help religion known as The Cause. (Scientology? Maybe.) Dodd has a family and scores of admirers. Quells wants it all, to be Dodd, but can’t recognize that impossibility. It is clear that Quell stopped maturing at 13. He’s all awkward male poses and farts, a hormonal teenager. Dodd sees Quell as a pet project, and Quell pings-pongs, loving and loathing Dodd as others point out the man’s fakery. Yet, Dodd is convinced of his own powers. So, who truly is the better man? Like “Blood,” Anderson offers few answers, but provides another riveting, fascinating, and endlessly debatable story. A

Five Graves to Cairo (1943)

Billy Wilder’s World II spy drama “Five Graves to Cairo” starts off grim as hell: A Brit armored tank drives aimlessly through the Egyptian desert, its crew dead except for one man who falls from the vehicle onto the desert sand. John Bramble (Franchot Tone) stumbles and then crawls his way to a nearby town, to a hotel called the Empress of Britain. Recall, the Brits ruled this land, lock, stock and key. But the Brits scrammed. The Nazis are in, full force. The sun-stroked Bramble is certainly dead. Except the hotel owner (Akim Tamiroff) takes pity, and sets Bramble up as the dead-by-bombing waiter Davos. Bramble as Davos learns the latter was a Nazi spy, so now Bramble can play the espionage card triple against Rommel (Erich von Stroheim). This is a great yarn, suspenseful, fun, gritty, and full of the era’s patriotic Us-Against-Them/Country-First propaganda, up to a fault: See the damsel-in-distress (Anne Baxter) of the pic is -– SPOILER ALERT! -– doomed because she dares put family first. It smacks not so much of war-time tragedy, but a sexist streak absent from Wilder in lighter classics a la “Apartment.” B+

The Iron Lady (2011)

In “The Iron Lady,” a biopic about Britain’s MP Margaret Thatcher, Meryl Streep embodies the loved/hated prime minister with a voice and movements that are amazing to witness. The actress is more than a worthy Oscar winner here, for she is Atlas, hoisting a terrible film upon her shoulders. Director Phyllida Lloyd and writer Abi Morgan dedicate heaps of time to an Alzheimer’s-stricken Thatcher as she talks to her dead husband (Jim Broadbent), who mucks about as if Peter Pan. The undeniably fascinating life of Thatcher, from World War II-era teenager to leader of a superpower, is all rushed flashbacks, snippets with bold-font headlines, half-explanations, and historical characters that run by. The dementia scenes turn into a bad “Ghost” rehash as onscreen Thatcher literally packs a suitcase for dead hubby so he can go off into the light. What utter nonsense. Streep, thankfully, makes every scene she is in shine, from Parliament debates to her vicious and regretted attack of a second-in-command, to the sad elderly years. Nostalgic conservatives will cheer the speeches, cruel liberals will mock the woman chasing her ghost husband because he’s shoeless. B-

The Debt (2011)

A smart thriller of morals, ethics, and revenge among a trio of Mossad agents played out during the 1960s with Sam Worthington, Jessica Chastain and Marton Csokas, and then in the 1990s with Ciarán Hinds, Helen Mirren, and Tom Wilkinson. The 1960s mission: Capture an ex-Nazi hiding in East Berlin as a gynecologist, and bring him to trial. The 1990s mission: Ensure the tale of what really happened never sees light. When “Debt” focuses on the mission, Jewish anger, and guilt, it is damn exciting. See, Chastain’s agent must kidnap the decrepit Nazi during a pelvic exam, half naked and her feet in stirrups. It’s a riveting scene from director John Madden, who made “Shakespeare in Love.” Yet, the past and present tug-and-pull hardly holds, Worthington becomes Hinds, and Csokas becomes Wilkinson, and the paired men look so vastly different, I kept getting hopelessly lost. To worsen matters, Worthington’s Israeli accent vibes to distraction with the actor’s native Australia cadence. Add in a Hollywood OTT ending, and this remake of a 1990s Israeli film (which I have not seen) suffers. B

Hellboy (2004)

Guillermo del Toro’s “Hellboy” is among the best comic book adaptations out there. And why not? The Spanish master of cinema (he had “The Devil’s Backbone” behind him, and “Pan’s Labyrinth” before him) has a massive bright-red-skinned, sawed-off demon-horned, cat-loving superhero as his star, one who smokes – PC alert! – cigars.

Del Toro doesn’t shy away from the comic book tone, as so many others do to be as audience-pleasing as possible, he embraces it. He even has “Hellboy” comic books be part of the early plot as a young novice FBI agent (Rupert Evans) is assigned as a baby sitter to the prime agent of a top-secret super-natural subdivision of the fed. That’s the tough hero Hellboy, played by Ron Perlman, a character so bizarre to look at onscreen, one marvels still this film ever got made. Or produced a sequel. Perlman, by the way, gives a star-making performance, and clearly is having a blast as the center of attention. He’s the Hulk meets Dirty Harry meets Lucifer, as a misunderstood good guy, and the color of a red Crayola. John Hut, always good and just oozing majesty is Hellboy’s adaptive father, a scientist in love with the strange and unusual.

Part comedy, part horror and action, and all World War II Spielberg Nazis as bad guys opera, this film is a delight from frame one to frame last, because of del Toro’s love for the bizarre, and fantastical sci-fi nonsense. The main villain is none other than Rasputin (Karel Roden), or at least the comic book version of infamous Russian madman, over the top evil and yet grounded as one would expect from the guy who made “Cronos.” (Perlman starred in that gem and “Blade II,” too.) Del Toro’s onscreen pranks include “anything goes” sights in New York to an assassin with sand for blood, and a box full of kittens in need of rescue. (A box full of kittens!)

This is how you take a film from ink-stained comic book pages to the big screen, just go for it. Excellent special effects, makeup and art direction throughout, it’s clearly been inspired by the similar “Men in Black.” Great popcorn fun. A

Windtalkers (2002)

John Woo’s “Windtalkers” is sold as a never-before-told chronicle of Marine-trained Navajos who used a code based on their language to communicate military ops over radio during World War II. Naturally, this being a Hollywood drama, “Windtalkers” actually follows a white guy (Nicolas Cage) as he struggles with war wounds of body and soul, and relegates the persons of color (Adam Beach and Roger Willie) to supporting bits, and most shockingly their Navajo-spoken subtitled-in-English almost mute. Yes, battles are staged with absolute chaos and one can feel the heat of explosions and spent cannon shells, but war flick clichés abound, from campfire sessions to the devoted nurse to the nasty bigot who will have a change of heart. Beer bong alert: A serious drinking game can be made of Woo’s trademark slow-mo action shots. There’s a great story buried here, one that tackles the ironies of a people once hunted and killed by and subjected to white American rule, now fighting for that very nation with their lives. But this ain’t it. Not unless Cage -- playing a ridiculous Rambo killing machine with perfect aim -- is part Native American. C-

The Pawnbroker (1965)

Sidney Lumet’s “The Pawnbroker” – photographed in a stark black and white – is merciless, poignant, unsettling, and packs a devastating finale. It was the first American film to deal with the Holocaust from the perspective of a survivor. Rod Steiger – in arguably his greatest role – is that survivor, Sol Nazerman. Once a professor with a wife and children, Sol now runs an East Harlem pawnshop that plays front to a local mobster (Brock Peters). The shop offers dry cleaning, but only launders money. Sol loathes his customers, and everyone around him. They are “scum” and “creatures,” hate has bred more hate. As a devastating anniversary looms, the brick wall that Sol has built up and over his human shell cracks. Sol either will be reborn, or will get the death he longs for. Lumet inter-cuts long memories and quick violent images from Sol’s past: Subway cars become death trains, while a half-naked woman recalls his ravaged wife. The images are startling. “Pawnbroker” is dated in portions, some portrayals of African-Americans and Hispanics skate close to stereotype, but this is one hell of a film. Lumet’s genius is on display throughout. Steiger beautifully plays several ages and bursts with grief and God-hating rage. A

The King's Speech (2010)

I feared “The King’s Speech” might be another ho-hum British drama about excessively privileged white people battling a hardship that 85 percent of the world’s population would kill to have. I was wrong. It’s damn smart, surprisingly funny, and proudly uplifting. King George VI (Colin Firth) had an untreated speech impediment mostly hidden from public. But as Nazis called for war, George had to lead not with a sword, but with a calm and commanding voice. Smartly portrayed, Firth’s king knows that when he speaks, it will result in lives lost. He wants to be worthy of his people. This is about them. Not him. Geoffrey Rush is the speech therapist who helps George find his voice. (I swear it's not corny. Square, yes. Oscar bait, yes. Corny, no.) The lessons make for solid buddy comedy and social satire as the two bicker and learn to say the “F” word. Firth has Oscar clips galore, but it’s his quiet scenes that impress, such as telling bedtime stories. This was intended as a play, and its dialogue –- witty and strong –- is as good as any stage production I’ve seen. A-