Lessons from "Mad Men," or It Has Come to My Attention That There Is Entirely Not Enough Booze In This Office

My colleague, Mike, just brought a few ads to my office that he'd like for me to proofread. They're still sitting there on my desk. Now, if he had taken a lesson from "Mad Men", he would know exactly how to get what he wants. Mike would invite me into his office and offer me a drink, preferably scotch on the rocks. His secretary would assure our privacy while we shoot the shit about baseball (even though he's a Mets fan) and our mouths contemplate the nuances of the brown liquor. Firing up a stogie, we are relaxed with our defenses down, when he casually mentions some ads that he's working on, and would I mind taking a look? Why of course not, in fact, it would be a privilege to see a master at work. Checking the colors on "Bangkok Love Story," everything looks good, down to the typeface on the quotes and the correct British spelling on the overseas ads. Oh, what's this? An extra space between the punctuation and the end of the sentence... better take a closer look at that. Stubbing out my cigar, I say that I'll save the rest of this for our next meeting, and that it's always a pleasure to work with him. And could he maybe check out my blog when he gets a chance? Sure.

But there is no booze in this office. No smoking, either... you now must leave your office for a butt, which feels like a chore, and ensures that no work gets done on the smoking deck.

It has also come to my attention that we have no offices either. Just cubicles.

And no secretaries either. I guess in the big picture, the loss of office sexism is a good thing, but in the narrow, old-boys-club picture, you can certainly see why none of the privileged men wanted it to change.

Instead, I will have to keep watching "Mad Men", one of the few shows about the workplace that doesn't feel like work. Hard to believe that escapism can come from stressful jobs and societal expectations, but then, that may be what the elite think when they watch Clerks or High Fidelity. Season One was the best show of 2007, and season two is only getting better.

– David Gorgos

© TLA Entertainment Group

No Country for Old Men

(2007, 122 min) Despite having four other 4-star reviews on this site, this review has never before been moved to bestow that lofty designation on a Coen Brothers movie. They always seemed a little too pleased with their dialogue, a little too amused at their own cleverness, and a little too condescending toward their characters. Well, they've finally grown up, and with the help of Cormac McCarthy's indelible voice, they've created their masterpiece.

On its surface, No Country for Old Men is a relentless thriller concerning the pursuit of $2 million dollars in cold hard drug money. Llewelyn Moss (Josh Brolin) is an old-school Texan who stumbles across the carnage of a deal gone bad; after tracking down the (former) last man standing, he stashes the dough and prepares his beloved (Kelly MacDonald) for a new life. But that kind of dough doesn't disappear quietly, as a bevy of bounty hunters is after him, most menacingly Anton Chigurh (rhymes with "sugar"). As chillingly portrayed by Oscar® shoo-in Javier Bardem, he recalls Michael Meyers crossed with Bobby Fischer, a methodically merciless and unfortunately principled killer armed with a cattle stungun.

While their chase involves some of the most exciting action sequences you'll ever see, the movie's heart (including the movie's title) belongs to sheriff Ed Tom Bell (Tommy Lee Jones). Trying to solve this mess with a minimum of mayhem, he's instead always a step behind, leading to a poetic ending that is so perfect, I'm shocked that anyone found it controversial. Additional kudos to the amazing Marfa, TX, the most cinematic American location since Monument Valley.

– David Gorgos

© TLA Entertainment Group

Taxi Driver

(1976, 113 min) In 1974, New York City was in financial dire straits and on the verge of filing for bankruptcy. As a result of low city funding, the NYC sanitation department went on strike during the summer of 1975. The hot city streets were filled with stinking garbage, setting the perfect stage for Taxi Driver – widely considered one of the best films of the decade.

Director Martin Scorsese and screenwriter Paul Schrader’s gritty study of a lonely urban isolation – for those few who may not have seen it – introduced us to Travis Bickle (Robert De Niro), one of the most recognized antiheroes in cinema history. A well-meaning yet dangerously unstable and easily influenced war veteran, Travis is alternately drawn to and disgusted by the porn theaters, hookers, pimps and drug addicts that frequented 42nd Street and Times Square during the overnight hours. Though originally optimistic about living a life of normalcy and becoming “a person like other people,” Travis’s intimate view of the city’s crime and corruption and icy rejection from Betsy (Cybill Shepherd), his object of amorous infatuation, make him increasingly violent, leading him to believe that he is predetermined to become “God’s Lonely Man.”

Scorsese employs seductive cinematography by Michael Chapman and a jarring and emotionally resonant score by master-composer Bernard Herrmann (who suffered a heart attack and died mere hours after finishing his recording) to showcase Travis’s transformation from relatively mild-mannered cabbie to destruction-bent urban survivalist. De Niro too, in one of his most captivating performances, transforms himself both mentally and physically as Travis begins purchasing guns and training in an effort to assassinate a well-respected politician and save Iris (Jodie Foster), a charismatic 12-year-old prostitute, from a life amidst the “scum.” Heavily layered and deeply affective, Taxi Driver gave eager audiences a glimpse into the deteriorating minds of the John Hinckley Jrs and Charles Whitmans of the world, culminating in an abrasive and unforgettable sequence of bloody redemption.

This brand new 2-disc edition is jam-packed with never-before-seen special features. Included are the original screenplay with interactive scene-display options, multiple photo galleries, "The Making of Taxi Driver," along with six separate featurettes, two highly informative audio commentaries by Paul Schrader and film studies Professor Robert Kolker as well as interviews with Martin Scorsese, Robert De Niro, producer Michael Phillips, Oliver Stone, Roger Corman, and even a few real-life NYC cab drivers who speak about the dangers that their profession presented during the ‘70s. Just as relevant today as it was upon its original release, Taxi Driver belongs, without doubt, in every serious DVD collector’s library. If you have seen it before, see it again. If you have never seen it, what are you waiting for? Yeah, I’m talkin’ to you!

– Robert O'Neill

© TLA Entertainment Group

Twin Peaks

(1990-1991, 1501 min) I still remember the night the pilot aired – April 8, 1990. Two days earlier I had just turned 14 and was at that age when I’d probably rather be out vandalizing the neighborhood and pretending to smoke cigarettes than spend a Sunday night with my dad watching some crappy nighttime drama. I was preparing myself for the latest version of "Falcon Crest" or something equally horrible. But Dad put his foot down, muttering something about the fact that one of the world’s greatest living directors had his own TV show.

I will forever be in his debt for making me stay in that evening… plus he let me have a pony bottle of Rolling Rock while we watched. Don’t tell the Feds!

Coming from a fiercely artistic family I was already well aware of the films of David Lynch. Dad had taken me to see Blue Velvet and I was still young enough to think that Dune didn’t suck, but it was "Twin Peaks" that changed my life forever. Hell, my brother and I even forced our family to film a HI-8 remake of the pilot while vacationing in Massachusetts… with disastrously awesome results. We also joined an organization called COOP (that’s Citizens Opposed to the Offing of Peaks) once we learned of the imminent cancellation. And yes, COOP failed.

Few remember what a sad state television was in before "Twin Peaks." I mean, this was a whole different universe compared to the world of "Major Dad" and "L.A. Law"! Not only had television never been so daring and original before, it had never been so weird! If you can show me any pre-"Twin Peaks" show featuring anything close to dancing Dwarves, backwards dialogue, a lady with a pet log, hearing impaired FBI agents (played by Lynch himself) and mind-bending hallucinations I’d be impressed.

Of course, the copycats came almost immediately. Some were bombs (Oliver Stone’s "Wild Palms") and some enjoyed more success than "Peaks" ever would ("Northern Exposure" and "The X-Files").

Getting to the show itself, the First Season (episodes 1-8) is essentially flawless. The episodes directed by Lynch himself stand up to his best theatrical work, and the rest ain’t too shabby either. You all should be familiar with the basic plot, but for you newbies out there, here goes: homecoming queen Laura Palmer (Sheryl Lee) is found brutally raped, murdered and wrapped in plastic. This shakes the entire town and nearly every citizen is a suspect. FBI Special Agent Dale Cooper (Kyle MacLachlan at his best) is sent to the town to investigate. From his eccentric mannerisms (constantly speaking to his assistant Diane through his tape recorder, or using a rock-throwing exercise to weed out potential murder suspects) to his endless appetite for “damn fine” coffee and cherry pie, Cooper is quite possibly the most original television character of all time.

From one-armed men and eye-patch-wearing housewives to agoraphobic horticulturists and homicidal truck drivers the cast of townspeople encompasses what could be the greatest ensemble this side of an Altman film. The only other show in recent memory that so completely creates a believably rich town environment is "The Simpsons"... and that's a cartoon so it doesn’t count! In the world of "Twin Peaks" you feel just as satisfied watching the supporting cast as you do the stars… except for maybe that abused wife that James Hurley shacked up with in Season Two. She freakin’ sucked.

Speaking of Season Two… the first 9 or 10 episodes are just as good as Season One. Beginning by concluding the amazing season-ending cliffhanger, the two hour season opener (again directed by Lynch) is nothing short of stunning. The Kubrickian final minutes as Ronette Pulaski (Phoebe Augustine) awakes from a coma gave the 14-year-old me nightmares for weeks. Some complain that the Laura Palmer storyline took too long to resolve itself, and to those people I kindly quote Mr. Axl Rose: “All you need is just a little patience.” The slack is soon picked up by an excellent plot thread involving Agent Cooper’s insane ex-partner and the race to a gateway to what may be another world called The Black Lodge. Knowing that the show would not be renewed, Lynch was able to indulge himself at the end of the series without worrying about ratings. And man, did he indulge! If you thought Inland Empire was weird, try watching the last episode of "Twin Peaks"! Who knows where the series would have gone if it would have continued? I like to think that it would somehow involve Pete Martell (Jack Nance) fronting a gangsta rap group with The Giant (Casey Struycken) as his DJ. Hey, this is David Lynch we’re talking about here!

To this day, I still watch the entire series at least once a year, always starting in the fall. Last year we started a "Twin Peaks" drinking game taking a shot every time Sarah Palmer (Grace Zabriski) screamed or a doughnut was eaten. I even judge people based on their comprehension of random "Peaks" references peppered into my conversation. If you give me a wink after I order my coffee “black as midnight on a moonless night” chances are that we’re going to be pals. I like to think it is not a coincidence that every one of my closest friends is a huge fan. I also like to think that they would not be my friend if they weren’t. If you haven’t seen this series yet, you need to. If you’ve already seen it, watch it again. Does the quality fade towards the end? Yeah, maybe a bit. But that’s like saying “Being a millionaire used to be so great, now it’s just alright.” Be thankful for what you have, folks. It’s not going to be there forever, and when it’s gone all you’re going to have is "Northern Exposure"… and that’s just sad.

– Jesse Short

© TLA Entertainment Group

3:10 to Yuma

(2007, approx. 120 min) The 1950s may have been politically and socially repressive, but the era saw a rebirth in the American western thanks to the likes of such stars as James Stewart and Glenn Ford and directors such as Anthony Mann and Delmer Daves. Daves, in fact, in 1957 directed Ford in a now-little known film based on an Elmore Leonard novel, 3:10 to Yuma, which at the time was a critical and commercial hit. For decades it’s been one of the best kept secrets of that time… that is, until now.

James Mangold, whose last film Walk the Line put the director on the A-list, brings this terrific story of heroism and villainy – but not always about heroes and villains – to the screen for a new generation who will revel in the film’s gritty dramatics, high adventure and cutthroat action. Add to that a great cast and a challenging, intelligent story line, and 3:10 to Yuma is possibly the best reinterpretation of an American film to hit theaters since Philip Kaufman’s incredible update of another ‘50s classic, Invasion of the Body Snatchers.

Christian Bale, whose year is already in high gear with his dynamic portrayal of a POW during the Vietnam War, stars as Dan Evans, an idealistic Arizona rancher and Civil War vet who is in danger of losing his ranch. He owes money on the land and is being targeted by a local landowner who is not beyond using violence to obtain Dan’s property. In his own eyes, and possibly those of his eldest son as well, Dan’s self-image as a provider and protector for his family is in disrepair, and there doesn’t seem to be any quick fix for self-redemption or answers for their financial worries.

That is, until the notorious gunfighter Ben Wade (Russell Crowe) arrives in town. Ben’s gang, including his loyal right arm Charlie Prince (Ben Foster), have been robbing the Southern Railroad with great regularity and success, and a determined marshal (Peter Fonda) is hot on Wade’s trail. When they finally catch Wade, with a little help from Evans, Dan is offered the dangerous mission to help escort Wade across a hostile terrain to catch the 3:10 train to Yuma and eventual justice. Knowing that Wade’s vicious gang will be in hot pursuit, Dan accepts the mission whose reward should solve his financial problems.

Thus begins a perilous journey that takes its place among the best chase films westerns have to offer. On the trek, Ben and Sam, two opposites morally and often pitted against each other, come to learn to respect the other, each ultimately offering a sacrifice that comes with a price. There are good guys and bad guys here, to be sure, but like Clint Eastwood’s Unforgiven, it’s the gray areas that really make the characters and the story soar.

Mangold has assembled a first-rate ensemble, with Bale and Crowe firmly in their element. Bale in constant search for redemption through acts of bravery; Crowe certainly enjoying his bit of villainy that is shaded with just the right tinge of civility and equal parts brio and malevolence. But the performance of the film is given by Ben Foster, who shatters any and all expectations as Charlie Prince, Wade’s ruthless but loyal henchman. Never over the top, Foster brings a startling absence of morality to Prince, whose acts of vengeance and violence are merely part of the job rather than a sociopath seeking pleasure in his actions. It’s at once brutal, subtle and revelatory.

3:10 to Yuma is that rarity, a western of the highest order. Clint Eastwood is second to none among contemporary directors in the genre, and Kevin Costner has demonstrated a serviceable knowledge as well. Director Mangold, whose eye and ear for atmosphere and pacing and whose ability to exploit maximum tension gives the film its remarkable punch, now joins a select group that – like Ben Wade and Dan Evans and their respective posses – is good company indeed.

– David Bleiler

© TLA Entertainment Group

Ratatouille

(2007, 110 min) Now this is what filmmaking is all about. One of the most romantic visions of Paris, and one of the most passionate statements about the joy of creating (and critiquing) art, comes in the guise of a computer-animated movie about a rat.

Yes, a rat. Where Disney did everything possible to disassociate Mickey Mouse from his rodent roots, director Brad Bird and Pixar make their hero Remy (voiced by stand-up comedian Patton Oswalt) as ratlike as possible. Remy and his family live in sewers, eat trash, and speak only in squeaks. Well, that's not entirely true... in this anthropomorphic universe, they also understand English and communicate in English, but only to each other. As if that wasn't evolutionary enough, Remy has developed a taste for haute cuisine, demonstrated in abstract animation reminiscent of Fantasia with each flavor hitting a particular color and note.

Remy gets his big break after he's flushed away to Paris (in the type of riveting action scene that Pixar excels at), and finds himself near the kitchen of his favorite deceased gourmand. It so happens another frustrated chef, young Linguini, is also messing around with the soup. These kindred spirits forge an unlikely alliance, leading up to the big night when feared food critic Anton Ego (voiced majestically by Peter O'Toole) sidles up to the table.

In an age when we perhaps take Pixar for granted, Brad Bird seems to be working on an entirely different level. As good as The Iron Giant and The Incredibles are, Ratatouille is his crowning achievement, simultaneously extolling and demonstrating the joy of creation. The climactic kitchen scene, set on a scale of both Griffithian and Lilliputian proportions, will have your mouth salivating at the food and your eyes watering at the technical achievement. And when Ego tastes the ratatouille, you will see one of the greatest, most unforgettable shots in cinematic history. Man, I'm getting hungry just thinking about it. Anyone know a good place in Philadelphia with rats in the kitchen?

– David Gorgos

© TLA Entertainment Group

The Bourne Ultimatum

(2007, 114 min) Hold on to your beanies, boys and girls, this is gonna be one helluva ride. Make sure trays and seats are in the upright position and all seatbelts are fastened for there’s no guarantee by the end of the excruciatingly exciting third chapter in the Bourne films, The Bourne Ultimatum, that you’ll still be standing, in your seat, breathing or conscious by the film’s end. It’s that pulse-pounding, and it’s that good.

After winning an Oscar® for writing Good Will Hunting and starring in a series of commercially viable and then unreliable projects, Matt Damon turned the next corner in his career by starring in 2002’s gritty thriller The Bourne Identity, based on the Robert Ludlum novel. It was so successful both artistically and financially that a sequel was in order, The Bourne Supremacy in 2004, and it was an even bigger hit with critics and the public. Three years later, Damon and the director of Supremacy, Paul Greengrass, fresh off his Oscar® nom for the terrific United 93, reteam for what is the best of the trilogy. Whatever else Matt Damon does, no matter what direction his career takes, it will be a tough act to follow as to be as completely satisfying on-screen as he is in this career-defining role of Jason Bourne.

Featured in almost every scene of this edge-of-your-seat thriller that elevates chase and fight set pieces to new heights, Damon brings a maturity and immediacy that, though not lacking in either of the first two films, has been amped up for this final go-round. And it’s fitting to the quest that Jason Bourne is now on, for with his memory mostly intact, he attempts to return home to fill in the last missing pieces and have answered the questions that have been gnawing at him for years.

Bourne’s journey begins in Moscow, and the roller-coaster ride doesn’t stop until the final credits. Escaping the Russian police in a chase scene that neatly opens the film, Greengrass ups the ante with Bourne’s next destination, London, as the agent – still on the run from various local police departments and the CIA which still is out to terminate him – makes contact with a newspaper reporter who has discovered one of the pieces of Bourne’s puzzle from a well-placed source. Thus is set in motion an amazing cat-and-mouse game within the confines of Waterloo Station. The sequence must last almost ten minutes, and every single second is hold-your-breath exciting.

Back home, CIA operative Pam Landy (the always great Joan Allen) is reintroduced as she and newcomer to the series, section chief Noah Vosen (David Strathairn in a terrific turn), bicker as to what is to be done about the renegade agent. It is clear from the start that Bourne may have an ally in Landy, but Vosen, for reasons that are initially unclear, sees Bourne as a national security threat and demands his immediate execution.

Now in Spain to track down the source of the article, Bourne and the mysterious insider are both the target of CIA assassins. This operation, as was the London escapade, is under the watchful eye of Vosen as he safely gives orders from his New York office all the while watching pinpoint satellite coverage that would have George Orwell cringing. It’s a new era in espionage and from this vantage point, the agency seems ready. (So why haven’t they yet captured Bin Laden? That’s another movie.)

From here, the locales include Paris, Tangier, Morocco and, in the final set piece, New York City. Each location is particularly good, as both a backdrop for the story and as a dressing for the non-stop action. Oliver Wood’s extraordinary camerawork captures the flavor of each city while maintaining a tension that is almost unbearable. All the technical aspects of the film, under the skillful eye of director Greengrass, are exemplary, each contributing in making this an enthralling viewing experience.

But it’s that cast too that keeps you pinned to your seat. Thanks to the superior text by writers Tony Gilroy, Scott Z. Burns and George Nolfi, the ensemble recites first-rate dialogue and finds themselves in totally believable situations, not a mean feat in thrillers such as these. Damon, Allen, Julia Stiles (who makes her best impression as CIA op Nicky Parsons) all return in top form, with Strathairn, Scott Glenn and Albert Finney bringing an air of duplicity masked in patriotism to their roles. They all make great adversaries.

The Cold War has long been dead, but the post-9/11 international espionage film is alive and well and has hit its zenith with The Bourne Ultimatum. As director Doug Liman did with the first Bourne film, the bar has been raised, and Greengrass has risen to the challenge in remarkable ways, making it an almost mission impossible for the next globe-trotting secret agent to follow this job well done.

– David Bleiler

© TLA Entertainment Group

Hairspray

(2007, 117 min) You can’t stop the beat, indeed. As the title of the closing song suggests, the beat goes on and on in this deliriously entertaining screen adaptation of the Tony Award-winning Broadway hit. From the opening number, a sly, “affectionate” tribute to Baltimore (complete with cameo from John Waters who created the first film that all this is based upon) to the toe-tapping, wanna-get-out-of-your-seat-and-join-the-fun finale, Hairspray is an old-fashioned joyride down memory lane to when Jackie Kennedy was the final word in fashion, big hair was all the rage and social protest could actually make a difference.

This journey all started when cinematic provocateur John Waters made Hairspray in 1988, his most accessible film to date, about Tracy Turnblad, an overweight high school girl (Ricki Lake) who lives to dance. It also had the audacity to star transvestite Divine as a housewife, playing it “straight” as laundry woman and loving wife and mother Edna. In 2002, it was adapted into a stage musical starring one-time drag performer Harvey Fierstein as Edna (who was an absolute knockout on stage). Keeping with the theme, a male performer once again dons Edna’s wigs and dresses, and his appearance here in no small way helps make the film musical Hairspray such a rousing success.

That would be John Travolta, the macho star of the ‘70s who reinvented himself in the ‘90s thanks to Pulp Fiction, and now throws caution, hell, everything but the kitchen sink to the wind to give a performance of such charm as to beguile any and all in his path. This isn’t camp. Just as Divine and Fierstein weren’t camp in the role (Divine in Pink Flamingos is camp; Fierstein in Mrs. Doubtfire is camp; Travolta in Two of a Kind is camp). This is a male actor seriously portraying a comedic woman’s role, and why it’s worked all three times.

Faithfully following the stage musical, minus a song or two and one particularly memorable prison sequence, Hairspray joyously sets the story of being true to one’s self at the time of the birth of the civil rights movement, and here they go hand in hand.

Tracy Turnblad (Nikki Blonsky in a wonderful film debut), a plump high school senior whose sweet disposition is matched only by her love of dancing, anguishes through classes each day with her best friend Penny (Amanda Bynes) waiting to rush home to watch her favorite TV show, “The Corny Collins Show,” a local Baltimore version of “American Bandstand.” It features the nicest kids in town, “nice white kids who like to lead the way, and once a month, (they have) Negro day.” This show’s Frankie and Annette are Linc (Zac Efron) and Amber (Brittany Snow), and like most all the girls, Tracy harbors a crush on Linc.

When one of the regular girls must leave the show (just for nine months), Tracy defies the odds and wins the coveted spot, becoming overnight one of the most popular dancers on the show. This sets her in direct competition with Amber, who doesn’t like the new girl, and an overweight one at that, taking the spotlight away from her. Nor does Amber’s mother (Michelle Pfeiffer as a former beauty queen and now station manager). And to make matters worse, Tracy is now trying to integrate the all-white program. To the establishment, Tracy has to go.

This all leads to more rousing musical numbers, sprightly directed comedy and towering hair-dos. The infectious musical score by Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman defies you not to swing and sway to the beat, and director Adam Shankman (whose work on Bringing Down the House and Cheaper by the Dozen 2 gave no clue as to the talent demonstrated here) opens up the play to great effect and his choreography befits the snappy, lively tunes.

You gotta love the cameos: Jerry Stiller (Edna’s husband in the '88 version that’s nicely played by Christopher Walken here), Lake, Waters, Paul Dooley – they’re all having fun, as is the ensemble, highlighted by Queen Latifah as Motormouth Maybelle, the hostess for Negro Day, newcomer Elijah Kelly who brings down the house in “Run and Tell That” and James Marsden, who displays a wicked grin, a hilariously cynical streak and surprisingly good pipes as Corny Collins.

By the time this all ends, and Tracy has found her dream, and Edna takes center stage (as she should), and all the outcasts have had their day, it’ll be hard to say goodbye to these delightful characters. They were right: You can’t stop the beat. And the way they sing and dance and carry on, you would never want them to.

– David Bleiler

© TLA Entertainment Group

Sicko

(2007, 113 min) Michael Moore just gets better and better.

This time he takes on the multi-billion-dollar morass known as the U.S. health care system . . . the term “health care” embodying the height of ironic sarcasm. He starts with individual stories: There’s the solid middle-class couple bankrupted by co-pays and deductibles when both suffered catastrophic illnesses. There’s the woman whose ambulance ride from a car accident was denied payment because it wasn’t pre-approved. Or the young woman whose claim was denied because she was “too young” to have the illness she contracted. Logic has no foothold here; the only motivation is profit, the guiding principle by which Nixon set up HMOs in the 1970s. (Nixon’s the one.)

Bankrupt if you’re lucky, dead if you’re not. A mother loses her daughter, a wife loses her husband, when their claims are determined to be ineligible by the insurance companies that took payments for years.

Moore visits several industrialized countries with universal health care, only to find that the evils of the medical care system that we’ve been taught to fear apparently don’t exist. People get to pick their doctors and hospitals in Canada and Great Britain and France. The patients seem happy with the care they receive and the doctors seem content with their working conditions. Medications cost next to nothing. No one there can quite grasp the idea of being denied heath care because you can’t afford it.

Moore’s command of the medium has matured; he controls the film’s ebb and flow masterfully. His ability to make complex information accessible is joined with an impressive ability to move from the humorous to the utterly serious — and take the audience with him. He is unabashedly polemical, and makes no bones about his beliefs and predispositions. While Canada, Great Britain and France certainly are not pristine paradises, human life does seem to be held to a different standard, with a different sense of community and responsibility to compatriots. In the U.S., profits are made when care is denied; in Great Britain, doctors get bonuses for healthy patients. In the U.S., some hospitals put drugged, disoriented patients into cabs to be dumped at the doorstep of other institutions when their coverage runs out; in France, there are 24-hour-a-day house calls. (Moore offers a compelling theory as to the real reason our government and media encourages us to hate the French.) As one Brit put it, “If you can find money to kill people, you can find money to help people.”

Since 9/11, there have been many fundraisers held to help pay the medical costs of volunteer first responders. Since they weren’t city employees, they weren’t covered. Moore takes a group of them by boat, first to Gitmo looking for some of the medical care given to suspected Al-Qaeda detainees. No help there, so onward to Havana, where medical care is available and affordable. There’s something shameful about watching a group of fellow Americans, Americans who jumped in to assist the fallen in a moment of national nightmare, getting medical treatment they couldn’t afford and a grateful nation wouldn’t supply; and getting it from a country defined as our enemy for half a century.

Washington has more health care lobbyists than congressmen, and “contributions” to the lawmakers is one payout the insurance companies don’t do on the cheap. All of this leads inexorably to Moore’s summation question: “Who are we?” Ponder that one while reeling from the gut punch that is Sicko.

– Ann Yarabinee

© TLA Entertainment Group

30 Rock

(2006-2007, 950 min) Where did Alec Baldwin come from? Suddenly that magnificent bastard is on my TV every week, smirking and deadpanning his way into my one-liner-loving heart. It’s as if he was in comedy hibernation and has finally come out funnier, wiser and larger.

Ten years ago Baldwin was just a dull leading man who only attracted attention when he was marrying Kim Basinger, socking paparazzi or talking about his Schwetty Balls on Saturday Night Live. And although those bits were hilarious, they were nothing compared to the brilliantly preening alpha male he has brought to life in the first season of NBC’s "30 Rock."

Baldwin’s Jack Donaghy is an obsessive control freak and a high-powered executive who consistently outplays, outmaneuvers and outlasts his competition. Although he is a major player at GE (parent company of NBC) he spends most of his time micromanaging the marginal (and fictional) NBC sketch comedy show TGS and the personal life of its director, the charmingly goofy and antisocial Liz Lemon (Tina Fey). Best described by Salon’s TV critic Heather Havrilesky as “the human embodiment of a bad hair day”, Liz is Everywoman. Or at least, how Everywoman sees herself.

Liz, the kind of person who avoids effort in order to avoid failure, sets her standards early on in the season when she decides to stay with her loser beeper-salesman boyfriend because he is thoughtful enough to buy her a hamburger. She is the embodiment of the sad single lady: awkward, bitter, jealous and willing to settle. As a single lady well on her way to becoming a sad single lady, I heart her. In fact, most people I have encountered who have strong feelings about this show seem to also be women. I am willing to bet a shiny silver dollar that there is a correlation here.

Playing the role of the anti-Liz we have Jane Krakowski as Jenna, the female lead of TGS (short for The Girly Show) who has been abruptly pushed to the sidelines by her new male costar. Jenna is vapid, blonde and desperate for love and attention. Her insecurities cause as much self-destruction as Liz’s do, which makes them a modern-day Betty and Veronica, except neither one gets to go for a ride in Archie’s jalopy. Ever.

Tracy Morgan plays a caricatured version of himself: Tracy “Jordan”. This is as brilliant as it is ridiculous. Tracy fears the powerful cabal known as the “Black Mafia” (chaired by Bill Cosby), pitches a drama to a GE exec about the life of Thomas Jefferson where he plays every character (even Sally Hemmings) and does such a hilarious impersonation of Oprah that I had to rewind it three times. He is goofy and over-the-top and there’s not much more to say about his performance on the show other than it’s comedy at its most basic level. He’s just funny as hell.

To top it off, the cast and writers of TGS (many will recognize the schlumpy Judah Friedlander from Wet Hot American Summer and "Best Week Ever"); wide-eyed Kenneth the Page (who has a Southern accent despite apparently being from Western Pennsylvania) and Tracy’s devoted entourage are all hilarious as well. Look out for scene-stealing guest appearances by Isabella Rossellini as Jack’s ex-wife and Paul Reubens (Pee-Wee Herman) as Gerhardt, the last living Hapsburg.

"30 Rock" is smart, funny and quick. Every episode has left me wishing it had lasted longer than a measly half-hour. I can’t imagine anyone would be disappointed.

– Rachel J. Cox

© TLA Entertainment Group

Knocked Up

(2007, 128 min) Writer/director Judd Apatow, after the consistent brilliance of TV's "Freaks and Geeks," "Undeclared" and the big-screen breakthrough The 40-Year-Old Virgin, may have just proven himself to be the holy grail of comedy. Where Kevin Smith's dialogue is honest, profane yet unnaturally verbose, Apatow manages to make similar dialogue (and the occasional improvisation) sound familiar and organic. Where the Farrelly brothers juggle vulgarity and sensitivity, Apatow melds the two into a seamless whole. In fact, the only reason Ben (Seth Rogen), slacker, underachiever, stoner and slob, is so damn lovable is because he spits out every obscene observation that floats into his head. That same social shortcoming allows him to note his insecurities, vulnerabilities, and understandable inability to approach the gorgeous and upwardly mobile Alison (Katherine Heigl) in a nightclub.

Fortunately his equally baked friends (all Apatow regulars) prod him on, leading to a drunken night of inadvertent baby-making. Alison decides to keep the baby, creating a flip-flop of the conventional romance: The sexual climax was first, and they must almost force themselves to know each other and fall in love. A multitude of supporting characters provides ample opportunity for bouncing romantic ideas around, best displayed in reluctant husband Paul Rudd and explosive wife Leslie Mann. Behind those one-note descriptions are surprisingly deep characters that continually ring with truth.

The knee-jerk reaction to a 128-minute romantic comedy is that it's just too long. To that I ask, what would you cut from this perfectly paced movie? Ryan Seacrest badmouthing Jessica Simpson? The pointed music critcism ("Steely Dan gargles my balls.")? Rogen and Rudd tripping at Cirque du Soleil? The running gag about a beard-growing bet ("See you, Scorsese on coke")? A bouncer explaining the truth about the velvet rope ("I'm only allowed 5% black people, which means if 25 people are in the club, that's 1¼. I have to hope and pray for a black midget just to make quota")? Our best hope is that Apatow gets a development deal with HBO, where he can have the time and the freedom to explore similarly deep, truthful and profane characters as long as possible.

– David Gorgos

© TLA Entertainment Group

Zodiac

(2007, 156 min) During the 1970s, the San Francisco area was gripped by fear as an unknown serial killer who dubbed himself the Zodiac terrorized the Bay area. Officially unsolved by the police, the case was high profile and impossible to ignore. Zodiac, an adaptation of Robert Graysmith’s 1986 first-hand book giving a behind-the-scenes look into the investigation and a glimpse into a frightened city, is very much the same: a first-rate “high-profile” adaptation and totally impossible to dismiss.

Director David Fincher, who has orchestrated some bloody good work on the screen (Fight Club, Se7en), would be quite at home in detailing the gruesome killings in inventive cinematic flourishes – one shocking set piece after another. However, he has wisely chosen to blend a few genres – the police procedural, a newspaper investigation drama and a psychological thriller – to create an atmospheric, tense and gripping study in suspense rather than present a simple blood-and-gore horror-fest. Featuring great writing, smart direction, terrific performances and a hypnotic story of murder and the subsequent detective work that followed, Zodiac is more All the President’s Men than Saw, more Silence of the Lambs than Hostel. And that’s pretty good company.

The film opens on July 4, 1969, re-enacting the shooting of a young couple parked at a lovers’ lane. The editor at the San Francisco Chronicle receives a bizarre, cryptic manifesto from the killer, demanding it be published or more will die. And they do – the next killing is of a young couple by a lakeside; the scene is brutally efficient and, although there is hardly any blood spilled, it is one of the most gruesome murders ever conceived for the screen. Hitchcock is smiling somewhere.

The Chronicle’s new cartoonist, Robert Graysmith (Jake Gyllenhaal), happens to figure out the killer’s first puzzle, and thus begins his fascination with the case, his employment at the paper giving him access to much inside information. The lead detective on the case, Dave Toschi (Mark Ruffalo), is nicknamed Bullitt by his coworkers, and for good reason as he was not only the inspiration for the Steve McQueen movie character but Clint Eastwood’s Dirty Harry as well. As the murders continue, the two men begin separate investigations that eventually collide. Though there are a few leads, the strain on the men is evident as each tries to piece together the identity of the killer.

Fincher has done a marvelous job at re-creating 1970s San Francisco. The speak is genuine (too many times in movies modern colloquialisms make their way in period pieces – not here!), the look is authentic. . . you can almost smell the seafood at Fisherman’s Wharf. Though running 156 minutes, the film is lean, tight and consistently keeps you involved. The great cast helps, too, at making this a spellbinding experience.

Gyllenhaal, who was so nuanced in Brokeback Mountain and dynamic in Jarhead, is no less effective here in a shrewdly observed low-key portrayal as the mild-mannered cartoonist. He is the film’s Everyman, and is the heart of the film. Ruffalo, who has such a natural charm to him, is the film’s conscience, and when he’s outraged, we’re outraged; when he grieves, we grieve. As the Chronicle’s lead reporter on the story, Downey steals the show from the splendid ensemble. Witnessing the wear and tear on the journalist leaves little doubt as to his outcome. Obviously, the Zodiac effected more lives than just his victims and their families.

Zodiac is probably Fincher’s most accomplished film to date, a real tour de force in storytelling and technique. That the crimes were never officially solved only adds to the immediacy of it all. We are witness to the best and worse impulses in man, and it’s fascinating stuff.

– David Bleiler

© TLA Entertainment Group

Cold Comfort Farm

(1995, 99 min) Do you like English movies? Well, if you don’t, do you at least like making fun of English people? Oh, good. I do, too.

Aren’t English people from the olden days (ie: before 1960) so funny, with their stuffiness and propriety and "tea" being "lunch" and "supper" being "dinner"? With their flats and petrol and lifts, their being permanently flustered (no, Hugh Grant didn’t invent it) and the men all calling each other "old boy"? With their nervous meetings and awkward goodbyes and lack of visible emotion? They’re so charming!

I had the privilege of having read the novel "Cold Comfort Farm" less than a week before watching the film version, so I can tell you for a fact that the movie perfectly captures the book in its entirety. I was extremely impressed. It didn’t make me laugh quite so much as the book did, being that I laughed two times instead of three. It is an old book, you know, not a David Sedaris pseudo-memoir, but it was great all the same.

Stella Gibbons, a moderately successful journalist and book reviewer, wrote "Cold Comfort" in 1932 and it was an instant hit. She went on to write dozens of other books, none of which were as popular. The book has the distinction of being a successful parody of a genre that nobody (especially in this country) really remembers, but it is clearly parodying something, which makes it work. The biggest names to come out of this genre were D.H. Lawrence, Thomas Hardy and the Bronte sisters. Tragedy in the country life was the common thread between them…along with the subtext of nature representing sexual desires. Or something like that. The only thing I remember from reading "Wuthering Heights" in high school was that the moors were a metaphor for Heathcliff’s animal brutality, so that seems about right. In fact, one character, a writer, spends most of his time roaming around the countryside, pointing out how much the hills look like breasts.

The 1995 movie stars a young and surprisingly talented Kate Beckinsale (before she got hair extensions, tanned herself into a moccasin and married an animal-print-wearing Hollywood director), Joanna Lumley from "Absolutely Fabulous", Ian McKellan from X-Men and Stephen Fry from Wilde. They’re good too, except that McKellan could use subtitles. I wouldn’t have understood a word of his dialogue if I hadn’t already known what he was going to say.

One aspect of the book that the film ignores is that it was actually set in an alternate future timeline. Written in 1932 but taking place sometime in the '50s, Gibbons correctly guesses that World War II has taken place already (although she gets the continent wrong) and imagines the everyday use of video phones and personal airplanes. Most recent adaptations overlook this for obvious reasons.

The movie begins when Flora Poste (Beckinsale), having just nonchalantly attended her parents’ funeral and found out about her measly inheritance, decides to find extended family members to take her in. She chooses the Starkadders, despite their obvious backwardness, and goes to live with them at Cold Comfort Farm. The farm is a run-down, gloomy mess where the disheveled bunch is controlled by their matriarch Ada Doom. Ada inspires devotion through her apparent madness, supposedly brought on by a traumatic experience she had as a little girl when she "saw something nasty in the woodshed." Pretty much every Starkadder needs some major personal help. Seth, the aimless local stud whose only interest is the "talkies," knocks up the servant girl every spring; Adam, the 90-something farm hand, washes dishes with a twig; and Elfine, the free-spirited and beautiful teenager, just needs to get the hell out of there.

Flora sets about tackling everybody’s problems in her calm, efficient and orderly manner. She hopes that by successfully changing the Starkadders it will give her enough life experience to write a great novel when she’s fifty.

It’s a charming, quaint little story that’s also really funny. And by funny I don’t mean funny like the 40-Year-Old Virgin or watching Dumb and Dumber when you were fifteen, I mean the kind of funny when you’re not actually laughing but just kind of grinning inside. It’s a nice, pleasant feeling that may be unique to certain types of subtle humor. Or it may be the feeling you get when you realize you’re one step closer to completely forgetting having watched Love, Actually.

– Rachel J. Cox

© TLA Entertainment Group

The Hoax

(2007, 115 min) Clifford Irving's first few books were met with critical acclaim but they were not best sellers. He thinks he has the big one within his grasp with "Rudnick’s Problem" (a rip-off of "Portnoy’s Complaint"), when McGraw-Hill pulls the plug on the deal at the last minute. He had already spent the money.

It starts as a total bluff: In 1971, he tells McGraw-Hill he is working with the infamously reclusive Howard Hughes on Hughes' autobiography. He then begins the research, starting with a road trip with longtime friend Dick Susskind (Alfred Molina). Irving expects Hughes' eccentricities to work in his own favor. He forges Hughes' handwriting to create letters confirming that Hughes is working with him on this book. He starts to dress like Hughes while manufacturing bogus interview tapes, recreating Hughes' distinctive speaking style. He believes Hughes' exile to be so complete, he would never respond to the book if he even hears about it. Continents are traversed, Swiss bank accounts are opened, wife and mistress are handled, frauds are perpetrated. The confabulation becomes so byzantine and convoluted, the lies become so intricate and wide-spread, that it's hard to tell if Irving himself has lost the ability to distinguish fact from fiction. As he uncovers long-term connections between Hughes and Nixon, Irving's paranoia becomes as consuming as theirs.

This long con seems impossibly easy at first. Experts verify the forged letters and interview tapes as authentic, and McGraw-Hill opens the check book — even in the face of much skepticism from people who have had dealings with Hughes. Irving is outraged and indignant, vociferously proclaiming his work’s authenticity even in the face of denunciation by the "real" Hughes. But the writing (no pun intended) is on the wall.

Richard Gere and Molina are at the top of their game. Gere manages to make Irving simultaneously slimy and charismatic. Molina plays Susskind as endearing, befuddled and out of his depth. Director Lasse Hallström seamlessly weaves images from that era into the film, effectively conveying the temper of the times (look for a priceless snippet of newsreel footage showing Nixon speaking in support of a congressional bid by some guy named George Bush). The Hoax is action-adventure, mystery, intrigue, road trip and history; it's a wild ride. Based on a true story by a certified liar.

– Ann Yarabinee

© TLA Entertainment Group

Aqua Teen Hunger Force Colon Movie Film for Theaters

(2007, 86 min) The "Aqua Teen Hunger Force" universe, like many of the shows on Cartoon Network's Adult Swim block, operates on its own surreal inner logic. Running gags such as the Mooninites' attempted takeover of Earth will be referenced, while the death of one of the main characters in that same episode will be conveniently ignored. The three super heroes (reasoned Frylock, deviously lazy Master Shake and dimbulb Meatwad) never do anything remotely resembling the heroics pictured in the opening credits. And the villains must never actually succeed at anything, despite the ineptitude of their enemies. But unlike shows such as Wonder Showzen and movies like Head, creators Matt Maiellaro and Dave Willis have never developed contempt for either their audience or their characters, and they're always eager to let their fans in on the joke (including the publicity campaign that blew up in Boston).

Keep all this in mind as you watch the Aqua Teen Hunger Force Colon Movie Film for Theaters, especially if you're among the uninitiated, and you should have a terrific time. Barring some sort of comedic miracle, it will finish 2007 as the funniest film of the year, an exhaustive and exhausting exercise in surreal dream-logic and gut-busting one-liners. The plot? Good luck. Something about a disco-playing exercise machine (the Insane-o-flex) that uses hirsute neighbor Carl's energy to lay eggs and take over the world, with assistance from the Plutonians and Dr. Weird, whose NJ lair has been converted into condos. Hell, I've seen the film and that sentence still doesn't make any sense. But that's part of the fun.

Blistering death metal band Mastodon provide the opening tune, an ode by concessions aimed at an inconsiderate audience: "Do not nudge, kick or jiggle the seat in front of you./I'm sitting there!/I am everywhere at once!" Can Mastodon please perform before every movie this summer? You'll easily recognize the Neil Peart (of Rush) cameo, but listen carefully for Tina Fey, Bruce Campbell and Chris Kattan as a burrito, a burning chicken, and a watermelon with manifest destiny.

– David Gorgos

© TLA Entertainment Group

Bowling for Columbine

(2002, 120 min) Who better than Michael Moore to handle the most serious of issues with humor and humanity, and communicate complexities with clear, concise vision? The Capraesque documentarian examines the American culture of violence through a pastiche of interviews, conversations, news footage and 911 calls; and presents a collection of statistics that everyone is familiar with, but when presented en masse is profoundly overwhelming. As Moore gets a free gun on opening a checking account and buys ammo in a barber shop, he discusses the atmosphere of violence which has permeated U.S. consciousness from the inception of the country. Wedded to this culture of violence is the culture of fear...fear and consumption, as Marilyn Manson suggests in a thoughtfully considered conversation. In comparison to Manson’s commentary is Charlton Heston’s regurgitation of the NRA party line in an interview he walks out of with relatively little provocation.

Bowling... (reportedly, the shooters went bowling the morning of the massacre) shows Littleton as on the surface the embodiment of the American Dream, where “two young men made very bad, very wrong decisions”; yet, under the docile morning-in-America façade, is subject to the same pervasive undercurrents affecting the country as a whole. Moore recounts myriad instances of intrusive force to implement U.S. foreign policy, and asks why Canada -- where our movies are watched and with similar issues of poverty and unemployment and a whole lot of gun owners –- has so few murders by gunshot. The film is brilliant and incendiary, sure to outrage and to incite as much considered discussion as hostile reaction. Academy Award winner for Best Documentary.

– Ann Yarabinee

© TLA Entertainment Group

Deliver Us from Evil

(2006, 101 min) For an unconscionable number of years, charming and soft-spoken Catholic priest Oliver O’Grady assimilated himself into the lives of trusting parishioners throughout Northern California and sexually molested numerous children (and even one 9-month-old infant) that were taught to regard him with the same respect one would pay Christ. For easily questionable reasons, O’Grady discusses his crimes and sexual yearnings (with an ever-present, off-putting smirk) during a series of interviews in the provocative and powerful Deliver Us from Evil.

Though cognizant and ashamed of his transgressions, O’Grady (now roaming free on the streets of his native Ireland) has managed to mentally disassociate from the overwhelming devastation that his actions have caused. Director Amy Berg (a former television news producer for CBS and CNN) balances the film perfectly by interviewing several of O’Grady’s victims and their families – each of whom continues in carrying psychological pain decades after their respective violations.

Instead of mandating psychiatric help, Cardinal Roger Mahony authorized O’Grady’s relocation to similar near-by parishes on multiple occasions after receiving reports of his abusive tendencies. Footage is shown of a recent court hearing where Mahony conveniently forgets (under an apparently meaningless oath) having taken part in O’Grady’s transfers. With the well-informed assistance of Father Thomas Doyle, a free-thinking cannon lawyer and Christian activist, the film also informs of shockingly unjust governmental choices that the Church (as high in rank as the papacy) has made. Examined is how Catholic dogma sees no technical difference between the molestation of a child and consensual fornication between adults, the origins of celibacy in priesthood and the vicious effects that can result from scientifically unnatural sexually repressive practices.

Though the topic may upset many viewers, Deliver Us from Evil is a deeply moving masterpiece of documentary filmmaking that warrants mass attention. It is an absolute must-see (especially for all former and current, practicing and non-practicing Catholics) with an abundance of valid and globally important information that will surely keep audiences talking about the subject matter long after it ends. With enough awareness and public demand, full justice can be done for the victims and families. Full comprehension of this state of affairs will inhibit both the crimes of sexual abuse and the conspiracy of silence.

– Robert O'Neill

© TLA Entertainment Group

God Grew Tired of Us

(2006, 89 min) The Sudanese Civil War started in 1983, as the Muslim north descended on the Christian and animist south with torture, sterilization and murder. At least 27,000 five- to 10-year-old children, separated from their families and abandoned by the world, crisscrossed thousands of miles of desert in their exodus, foraging for food, under attack by hyenas and lions, enduring bombing raids from the north, eating mud and drinking urine. After five years, about 12,000 were left alive to make it to refugee camps on the Ethiopian border. God Grew Tired of Us focuses on three of those who made it to the U.S.

John Bul Dau, Daniel Abol Pach and Panther Blor never used electricity or plumbing before they left the camps they called home for 10 years. Culture shock is palpable as they roam the aisles of a supermarket in Pittsburgh, as they watch images flickering on a TV screen. We see ourselves through fresh eyes, as they adjust and adapt to our way of life. They observe Christmas as a time of spiritual contemplation and joyful commemoration of the birth of Christ, not an extravaganza of consumerism. They worry that the hours needed to work multiple jobs and to attend classes allow little time for their friends, for the family forged during their hegira. They're saddened that their memories of their homeland and their birth families are failing, growing fainter the longer they remain here. They wonder why we don't talk to each other more.

When a 13-year-old's job includes burying the dead and being an elder statesman for his group, his sense of responsibility is tempered and focused. The Lost Boys and Girls work not just for themselves but for those left behind. They search for surviving family members, sending financial support to them as they support themselves. They've survived in the face of overwhelming odds and struggle to maintain their culture and to aid those compatriots having a harder time acclimating to the new world. Through it all, they retain the ability to celebrate life and experience joy. God Grew Tired of Us is an examination of a decades-long injustice and a veneration of the human spirit.

– Ann Yarabinee

© TLA Entertainment Group

The Last King of Scotland

(2006, 123 min) It's 1970, and young Nicholas Garrigan (James McAvoy) has just completed his medical studies. His doctor father sees Nicholas joining his practice in their Scottish town, but that prospect makes Nicholas literally scream. He spins a globe, points, rejects Canada, spins again, points again, and this time finds Uganda. He arrives just as Idi Amin overthrows President Obote, his former friend and ally. Amin is welcomed as a "man of the people" by the populace, and ascends to lead the country with forceful charisma. Garrigan is working in a small village hospital when a chance roadside meeting brings him to Amin's attention. Amin has been enchanted with all things Scottish since he joined the King’s African Rifles, the British Army's East African Corps, as a young man. Amin appoints Garrigan as his personal physician.

For a while, Garrigan's privileged position insulates him from what's going on in the country at large. But eventually he sees that Amin's over-the-top persona has escalated to ruthless volatility, paranoia and madness. As Amin becomes increasingly irrational, critics of the regime (real and imagined) simply disappear, and mass deportations become mass murder. Amin once valued Garrigan's opinion, but Garrigan finally realizes that he is just another prisoner in the jail that was Uganda.

Forest Whitaker grabs the screen with inexorable control, delivering an extraordinary portrayal well worth the Oscar® it garnered. He sits on a throne wearing a kilt, resplendent in plaid and animal fur, as Ugandan folk singers offer their rendition of "The Bonnie Banks O' Loch Lomond"; he is the epitome of disconnect and denial. McAvoy holds his own against Whitaker's powerhouse performance, as does the supporting ensemble. Director Kevin MacDonald, himself a Scotsman, evidences his documentary background in the film's immediacy and spontaneity. He has crafted a fluid and involving examination of a fascinating, horrific personality. The Last King of Scotland is an arresting experience.

– Ann Yarabinee

© TLA Entertainment Group

Volver

(2006, 121 min) Volver observes three generations of strong-willed Spanish women from La Mancha, beloved director Pedro Almodóvar's old stomping ground. In Almodóvar's La Mancha, female residents tidy the graves of their departed loved ones – and often their own – in a celebratory weekly tradition, while fighting against an unrelenting wind that is known to cause mental breakdown.

In the cemetery, Raimunda (Penélope Cruz), her daughter Paula (Yohana Cobo) and sister Sole (Lola Dueñas) are introduced. They have returned to La Mancha from Madrid to visit their elderly Aunt Paula (Chus Lampreave) and neighboring family friend Agustina (Blanca Portillo). Aunt Paula claims that Irene (Carmen Maura), Raimunda and Sole’s deceased mother, is present in the house and has been her primary care-giver for many years. Shortly after, Raimunda faces a deadly family crisis. At the same time, Irene returns and appears to Sole in an effort to comfort her daughters and reveal secrets about her mysterious death that closely compare with Raimunda's current predicament.

Abundant in his radiant use of color, melodramatic narrative structure and heartfelt praise of triumphant female endurance, Volver fits snugly amidst Almodóvar's cumulative catalog of classics and continues a streak of profuse critical praise that boomed louder than ever before with 1999's All About My Mother. Current fans will be undoubtedly pleased while those unfamiliar with Almodóvar's previous works should not have a difficult time relating to the universal sentiment at which the film arrives.

While all of the cast members perform proficiently, particular attention is earned by Penélope Cruz and Blanca Portillo. Cruz is given the opportunity to show off the dramatic capacity and range that has been missing in her Hollywood career while Portillo is often heart-breaking as the pot-smoking family friend who tries to dismiss the pain that she feels over her own mother's abandonment.

– Robert O'Neill

© TLA Entertainment Group