Yes, in the context of my other movie choices this one is weird. (There’s a reason, but don’t ask.)

No, I didn’t go in expecting it to be any good.

Yes, it was fucking awful.

An excellent, compelling story of discrimination and private life made public that plays out in a meticulously reconstructed 1950s world. Especially good (though sometimes leisurely paced) because the filmmaker has avoided any facile morality lessons.

I seem to be seeing movies about sadness and isolation this week. (To say nothing of movies with Julianne Moore as a ’50s housewife.)

It’s as I always suspected… a career as an actuary makes you question your reason for living! Or something.

At the Globes, Nicholson said he thought they were making a comedy, and it certainly was funny at turns. It was also thought-provoking and not a little scary (e.g., the hot tub scene.)

Overall, a film that’s good on its own merits is made even better by an impressive performance by Jack.

Perhaps today was not the day to see The Hours. As I left the theater, gloom surrounded me. Sleet poured from the darkly gray sky and sullen people huddled up against its chill.

Or perhaps this was the ideal day and time, the mood all the better to contemplate the story’s darkness; its characters’ choices for life and death.

It’d been almost 3 months since the new theather opened here, and I had yet to enter it. I’m leaving town tomorrow afternoon, so tonight was my last chance for awhile. So of the rather weak choices, I settled on the always watchable Al Pacino and The Recruit.

The movie was about what could be expected: some spy stuff, a liberal helping of “who do you trust?” and an ending that you’ve seen before. But for all that it’s not so bad if you can put your brain on autopilot and focus on style over substance.

Plus, it has Colin Farrell. Yum.

Easily the most traditional of the four movies we saw on Saturday, Hour is saved from cliché by the presence of Spike Lee at the helm. The movie’s riffs on New York (not actually in the book, B tells me, though the same writer penned the screenplay) are particularly interesting given this is Lee’s first real post-WTC film.

The addition of talented actors such as Ed Norton and Philip Seymour Hoffman can only add to the film’s appeal, but there’s not that much to start with. There’s not so much a plot as a snapshot of relationships: Ed and his girlfriend, his father, his friends, his city. These are occasionally compelling, but there’s no escaping the fact that none of these people are particularly good or even honorable. That’s not necessarily an indictment, but this is: I’m not even sure that they’re interesting.

Pedro Almodóvar is one wacky guy. I’ve seen several of his films, including ¡Átame!, Todo sobre mi madre, and La Ley del deseo, and my reaction is always the same: wow, that was weird…but I liked it.

Talk to Her is no different. Suffice to say the ‘her’ in question is a woman in a coma and you begin to get the idea that this film is far from the beaten path. But even that is not the most eyebrow-raising element. That distinction would have to go to the sex scene, which I would put against any movie I’ve seen as the weirdest (and most hilarious) ever.

There’s just nothing like an Almodóvar film. Just go see it. (If you don’t end up liking it, you probably need to loosen up.)

Another film about outcast groups, this one tells the true story of half Aborigine, half “white” children (known as “half-caste”) and the Australian government‘s effort to “breed” them white. (An effort that didn’t end until 1970.) Much like The Pianist, it is a story of discrimination — and determination.

The movie follows three girls named Molly, Daisy and Gracie after they were forcibly taken from their mothers and placed in a school to “civilise” them. The three girls — Molly, the oldest, in particular — decide to set off on a 1,500-mile journey to return home. On foot.

I marvelled at this movie. Molly’s sheer will and cleverness was nearly as amazing as the government’s arrogance (represented smoothly by Kenneth Branagh) in its wish to “save them from themselves.”

A very good film about a very brutal time in the world’s history. Fascinating to watch as the film maintains a certain nobility, even while the protagonist slips into a feral pseudo-existence.

Every time I see films about the period, the tiny incremental details (forbidden to enter the park, use the benches, walk on the sidewalk) of the discrimination against Jews, the banal practicality of it all, hits me hard. The brutality is incomprehensible.

I had a personal response as I watched people being lined up and selected seemingly at random for slaughter. Though I’m not Jewish and could probably avoid the pink triangle if I chose to lie, it’s frightening to me to think that if I ever were “rounded up” in such a group, my height would guarantee I would get far too much unwelcome attention. It would end badly.

The Pianist reminds us of our humanity, just as it reminds us that we must be ever-vigilant against tyranny. Let the words “Never again” be our motto forevermore.

Well, Brandon liked it.

Going in to this movie, I knew precisely two things about it: 1) it was shot on DV, and 2) it sold for $5m at a festival.

I’m not prepared to say they overpaid, but the foremost thought I had after leaving was, simply: Wow, did that look awful. The story — a sort of Rushmore Lite thing about an erudite youth and his love for an older woman — was serviceable, and Sigourney Weaver and “Lilith” are certainly sophisticated, compelling women.

But why did they have to look so bad?

The reason I went to see this movie can be summed up in two words: Charlie Hunnam. I’ve had the Hartnett-level hots for the boy ever since his appearance as Nathan in the original Queer as Folk.

Given my somewhat shallow motivation, the film was a pleasant surprise. Hunnam breathes life into the virtuous Dickensian title character without making him seem insufferably nice or superior. Throw in the excellent supporting cast, including Christopher Plummer in a role that will make you forgive him for solving a problem like Maria, and you’ve got a winner.

Of course, that’s provided you don’t mind a period piece. (Personally, I love the sound of proper English well spoken.)

Unlike Moulin Rouge!, where the editing and camerawork never let you forget it was there, Chicago sometimes felt like a “legit” musical performed with smoothly varied perspective.

It’s more than just a musical on film, but not so much that you shouldn’t see it live instead, without the safety net of multiple takes. Of course, I still haven’t seen the Broadway version, so who knows what the hell I’m talking about.

Just a few minutes ago, I completed watching the documentary One Day in September, concerning the 1972 kidnapping of male Israeli athletes by Palestinian terrorists at the Olympic Games in Munich. I’ve long intended to watch the film, as I knew little about the events that took place more than three decades ago.

The documentary took my breath away.

It revealed the shocking ineptitude of the German security forces. Though they refused an offer for an Israeli commando team, the Germans had no storm team of their own. When they considered rushing the apartment where the men were held, they picked police officers seemingly at random. That attack plan was called off because East German TV was broadcasting the preparations live, including to the terrorists. Later in the day, only 5 German snipers (there were 8 hostage takers) were positioned at the airport, some without sniper rifles, all without armor, helmets or even radios.

This lack of communication would take a tragic turn later when some of the police would turn on themselves and armored cars, supposed to be in place early, were not requested until 20 minutes after the final shoot-out began. They arrived forty minutes later. (A similar communications problem [PDF; part of this report] also hampered FDNY response to the WTC attacks.)

The film revealed the harrowing brutality of the terrorists, who emptied a full clip into a helicopter full of bound hostages, one just 18. When it was all over, all of the 11 Israelis were dead and five of the terrorists had been killed. The bodies of the terrorists killed were taken to Libya, where the coffins were carried through huge, cheering crowds. The remaining three hostage-takers were held in prison for a short while until being released on the demands of a hijacker who took over a Lufthansa flight. It was later discovered that the German government had colluded to arrange the “hijacking” to rid themselves of the terrorists. They would never stand trial.

This Academy Award-winning documentary raises many questions. What is the media’s role in these situations? Did the East German news crew have any responsibility to assist the police? Was it appropriate for the modern-day filmmakers to provide Jamal Al Gashey, the sole surviving terrorist, the chance to appear, his face obscured, and say “I’m proud of what we did in Munich”? Were the Israeli assassination squads who eventually took the lives of the other two Palestinians acting appropriately? Most of all, will we ever find resolution in this conflict that has defined Israel since its establishment more than 50 years ago?

I came to this movie with mixed feelings. True, it was another collaboration between Spike Jonze and Charlie Kaufman, who brought us the weird and interesting Being John Malkovich. On the other hand, the trailer seemed so weird, and it had Nicolas Cage, unattractive and annoying to begin with, playing a fatter, sweatier version of himself as twins.

But that’s all okay. As it turns out, the movie is twisted, weird, funny (and a tad long.) It doesn’t succed at everything it tries, but the story is inventive and different. If you like your movies off the beaten path, go see it.