The Kids Are All Right (Lisa Cholodenko, 2010)

The Kids Are All Right is certainly well acted, subtly directed, the writing is sharp and focused, and it is overall engaging. But I couldn't help but be a little put off by the story's chosen trajectory, especially in the wake of numerous critics' lamentations about how, even though the parents here are both women, in the end, it's about "family." Because that's not entirely true. It's about a family facing a crisis, which is a different thing altogether. I suppose I was (naively) expecting more Cassavetes, less sensationalism and soap-operaish plotting and gloss. True, it's by no means a product of the branch of Hollywood that produced Transformers, but in ways aside from Annette Bening's involvement it reminded me of American Beauty, with its characters participating in a scandal that betrays their essence, and kind of deflates the whole thing.

The Social Network (David Fincher 2010)

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Margot at the Wedding (2007)

Sure, like all of Noah Baumbach's efforts, there is a required level of class condescension—in this case, of, say Deliverance-sized proportions—but the frenetic in-the-action staging (and, to a lesser degree, pervasive handheld camerawork) create an immediacy and a sort of verite veneer that almost makes you believe that these types of people could exist in the real world. Overly everything, including charming.

Black Swan (Darren Aronofsky, 2010)

If Darren Aronofsky is the filmmaker equivalent of Brandon Flowers of The Killers, then Black Swan is his "When You Were Young," a terrific song (amidst some really horrible ones and a few that almost get it right) where all of the operatic pretension effortlessly rises and tugs you along, away from a well-deserved reservation and hesitance to the other side of the hump where intoxication and sadness reigns. The film is is essentially the collection of seconds born of awaking in the middle of the night, grabbing a baseball bat and slowly creaking down the hallway toward sounds you understand to be consistent with those of a home invasion—only stretched to two TMJ-inducing hours.

Aronofsky is not to be confused with a first-tier contemporary director on par with, say, Paul Thomas Anderson (there's a little too much "arteest" in Aronofsky's blood for my money) but he deserves a lot of credit here for keeping the train on the track; he has certainly matured since the similarly toned Requiem for a Dream, which I found pretty intolerable. But in the end, it's primarily due to Natalie Portman's disciplined, anxiety-drenched and transformative performance that Black Swan is deeply affecting, painfully sad and thrilling, miraculously avoiding the potential for silliness—there's plenty of it—lurking around in the screenplay. Given its fantastical leanings, I can certainly see why someone would find the whole thing to be utterly fucking ridiculous. Me, I was haunted, troubled, in admiration. It's black licorice, black olives; either you like it or you don't.

The Virgin Spring (Ingmar Bergman, 1960)

Troubling, simple story forcing you to grapple with complex issues of faith, violence, forgiveness, good, evil, intention, and innocence. Its power is crafty; though you may realize that you're watching something of substance, you'll probably find yourself shocked by the weight and intensity of its emotionally charged and despairing conclusion.

McCabe & Mrs. Miller (Robert Altman, 1971)

I resisted watching this for a long time, even though it is a favorite of my friends; I'm not a huge Altman or Warren Beatty fan, and, for the first half, I wasn't convinced that McCabe was anything other than irritating, from the characters' incessant muttering to the Leonard Cohen songs trying to either lull you to sleep or tell you how you're supposed to feel about the characters. But in the second half, it becomes overwhelmingly clear that this is one truly original, otherworldly, sad, and disquieting film. It's not perfect, by any stretch of the imagination, but it's lousy with invention and heart.

Four of the Apocalypse (Lucio Fulci, 1975)

Although there's nothing to specifically recommend this film, I rather enjoyed its bizarre melancholy. It would be a mistake to deign to finger its lack of polish amateurish; there's an element of that, to be sure, but I think its employment is intentional—as is the film's ghostly hippie-folk soundtrack and snow-heaped climax (probably in homage to the much-superior McCabe and Mrs. Miller). There's a chilly disconnect, at times, and director (and future gore aficionado) Lucio Fulci's inclusion of some pretty gruesome flesh-removal scenes seems out of place. (Unfortunately, the rape seem does not, as is the standard for most spaghetti westerns good and bad.) There's nothing to learn or take away, but I was really taken with the weight of sadness these characters carry with them, and I was surprised by the sheer volume of scenes containing grizzled men fighting—and losing—battles to keep tears from streaming down their faces.