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I saw this Austenland premiere at Sundance yesterday and I was thoroughly entertained. While not a completely original romcom premise, there is enough that is fresh in the storyline to keep you engaged, and at one point even with a whodunit flair.

Director Jerusha Hess (co-writer of Napoleon Dynamite) has a really remarkable debut. The movie is smart, funny and paces nicely. Keri Russell is at her girl-next-door best, but Jennifer Coolidge feels like she has been cut loose to reveal her outrageous, campy silliness in all its splendor, and Brett McKenzie (of Flight of the Conchords fame) is surprisingly believable and impossible not to like as mostly a straight man. I expect this performance will catapult McKenzie's acting career. Other cast members, including J.J. Field and Jane Seymour, are solid.

Most of the cast was at the premiere and came on stage for the Q&A. Now many casts at Sundance say they enjoyed making the movie, but you could tell there was something different with this group. They sounded like the REALLY HAD FUN. McKenzie was hilarious live (something few actors are) and I only wish Coolidge had been there. Their enthusiasm was certainly buoyed by just having seen the movie for the first time and I'm sure being surprised by how well it turned out. But also, quite a credit to Hess to create an environment where good spirits flow. The positive energy definitely found its way to the screen.

I had the good fortune to run into Jerusha Hess in the parking lot afterward. She seems like a very genuine and engaging woman. I expect she will be highly sought-after from here out. A new Nora Ephron. In fact, there was something about this movie that reminded me a little of Mixed Nuts.

Religious conversion stories are often dreadfully boring to all but fellow believers. Too often they are tales of interesting lives of despair lifted by a higher power to lives of less-than-fascinating virtue. I don't mean to imply criticism of epiphanies in any form. But it is an axiom of sectarian movie marketing that the religiously inclined will tolerate the blandest of cinema if packaged faithfully, and that's often what they get.

I was expecting more of the same when I heard about New York Doll at Sundance last year. This is the story of Arthur "Killer" Kane, bass player for the legendary New York Dolls rock 'n roll band of the '70's. For those that didn't follow the pop music scene back then, the Dolls were one of the hardest-edged, most controversial groups of their era. Forerunners of the punk movement, they paraded in drag and set the stage for later bands such as The Sex Pistols, The B-52's and The Clash.

Like so many other punk bands, the Dolls fell victim to excesses and addiction. Kane, known for his "killer" bass lines, was sometimes too drunk to perform, and would simply stand on-stage with a bass around his neck while a roadie filled in for him. (However, since Kane was known for his wooden posture on stage, it may have been hard to tell whether he was really playing or not!) After a meteoric four years, the Dolls dissolved and Kane drifted into alcoholism and obscurity, only reclaiming his life with his 1989 conversion to Mormonism and work at the LDS Family History Center in Los Angeles.

But despite his discovered spirituality, he always harbored the desire for the band to reunite and play again. His seemingly impossible dream was realized in 2004, when Morrissey (The Smiths) engineered a reunion of the Dolls for the London Meltdown Festival.

Director Greg Whitely crafts a warm and engaging story set to this strange juxtaposition. Kane is an intriguing personality—simple, friendly and honest, he talks wistfully of his days of drugs, sex and rock and roll ("some of my fondest memories," he says) yet never wavers from his commitment to his Mormon faith. Interspersed in the reunion story are thoughts on Kane from Mormon co-workers and religious leaders as well as punk rockers Morrissey, Sir Bob Geldof (of Boomtown Rats and then Live Aid fame), Chrissie Hynde of The Pretenders, Iggy Pop and others.

But the drama is the reunion itself. Two of the Dolls died in the early 90's, leaving Kane, guitarist Sylvain Sylvain and singer David Johansen. Of the three, Johansen found the most success post-Dolls, both as an actor as well as singing under the alter-ego Buster Poindexter (remember "Hot, Hot, Hot"?). Kane resented Johansen for nearly three decades, and the tension is palpable when the singer arrives (over a day late) for rehearsals. While time and hard living have clearly slowed, humbled and mellowed Kane, in contrast Johansen comes across like Mick Jagger—a youthful glam rocker in a craggy-faced, 50-year-old body. While Kane appears non-plussed by the experience, Johansen is still energized by the spotlight.

What is truly touching is how they resolve their differences, rekindle their relationship and develop mutual respect. Kane tries to explain his religion to a bemused Johansen, including the Mormon principal of tithing—"It's like an agent's fee," he explains. "It's only 10 percent. It's a pretty good deal." New York Doll is a well-executed and compassionate documentary that will warm the hearts of faithful and heathen alike. Whitely clearly cares deeply for Arthur Kane, who seems to have touched the lives of everyone—even those from the Dolls' era. And it's impossible not to like Kane, who is so sincerely grateful for his good fortune—his past, his faith and his chance to once again be a New York Doll. This is a tender story with a bittersweet ending, which I won't give away. I will tell you to keep watching as the credits roll, because there's a song you won't want to miss.

What a great idea-a documentary that just wants to entertain. Killing Flies is a restaurant-sized slice of life about Kenny Shopsin and his diner in Greenwich Village. The place is one of a kind and Shopsin's ad lib rants are as entertaining as any screenwriter could contrive. Watch this film and you will go out of your way to visit this restaurant when in New York, not just because of the eccentric owner, but because the food has the same eclectic appeal.

Directed by Matt Mahurin, who got the idea as a regular Shopsin customer, Killing Flies is fun and captivating entertainment without the usual documentary pedagogy. (OK, I did learn a few things: You can put about anything into pancakes. And DON'T bring a party of five into Shopsin's!)

I can react to this movie on a number of levels. First of all, it is a wonderful thing that this film was made. It deals with a very real yet very troubling issue, and handles it with sensitivity and hope. This movie has the potential to really help people, and I can't think of a better legacy for a filmmaker.

Despite all that, I wish this would have been a better movie. The pacing of the story seemed wildly out of whack and there were a couple of directorial decisions that could certainly be questioned. On the other hand, Kristen Stewart's performance in the lead role of Melinda was excellent, although the rest of the acting left me flat. (Even Steve Zahn, who I normally love, seemed a bit miscast.) And while the writing didn't grab me, there were enough light-hearted moments to make Melinda's personal anguish bearable for the audience.

Beyond cinema as therapy, the film contained meaningful insights into the potential of artistic expression in healing, the general alienation of being a freshman in high school, or the critical relationship of an individual's will and determination with the healing process. People should see this movie not because of its cinematic excellence but because it has an important and optimistic message.

This movie is fresh and alive with laugh-out-loud truths about growing up in general, and particularly growing up in small-town America. First-time director Jared Hess is either loony, very gutsy, or (quite probably) both. Dumb and Dumber meets The Royal Tanenbaums. Some scenes are priceless. And the sheer chutzpah of this ludicrous effort is enough to make you want to overlook the flaws. Jon Heder is outstanding as Napoleon, and Efren Ramirez, Tina Majorino and Aaron Ruell manage to play their characters convincingly, crazily straight up.

Here's the thing-somehow, through all their flaws, their handicaps and their pathological weirdness, these characters manage to rise above the fray with a nobility that we want to embrace. There is a bedrock morality to each one. They know something about friendship on an intuitive level, because they have lived their lives often without friends. These characters are simple, but extraordinarily deep, and to me, that is the genius of this movie.

I wasn't overwhelmed by the comedy. Friends of mine who were more familiar with rural Western small towns thought it was hilariously on target. Plus, I think there's some generational humor that I didn't appreciate. (I had a discussion about this with a friend. He thought that Napoleon getting hit in the face by a thrown steak was hilarious. I didn't.) An older crowd might miss the humor entirely. But one thing is certain: this movie isn't like anything you've ever seen before. Napoleon Dynamite is an American original.

Film noir Canadian style shot on a shoestring budget. Kevin Pollak in a rare lead role. Some interesting twists and turns. Lies and deception. Happy ending. It is refreshing to have the film set at Christmas, and creates opportunities for delightful contrasts with low-lifes and Christmas music.

I love the genre and I liked the movie. Not great by any means. But it moved along nicely and had enough subtleties and nuances that it felt fresh and not simply derivative. Oh, and Liane Balaban is fetching without working too hard at it.

Killer premise: Black male teacher is recruited suddenly to teach English at an Indian reservation high school and takes over as coach of the hapless girls basketball team. Chris Eyre is a talented director. (He actually reprises the reservation DJ commentary that was so funny in Smoke Signals.) This is Hoosiers on the Rez.

I love Eyre's movies because they are thoughtful, funny and compassionate, and always force us to consider people in a new light. He does an extraordinary job of exposing us to the good and the bad in Indian country, and I walk away from his films both enlightened and uplifted.

I must admit that I don't know the martial-arts movie genre very well. I think the last one I saw starred Bruce Lee. Zatoichi is about a blind old samurai warrior roaming from town to town as a masseur. Of course, he's always the toughest guy in the village, besides being one very cool samurai. Apparently director Takeshi Kitano is something of a legend in Japan, but this film strikes me as an unusual blend of classic `Seven Samurai' good vs. evil combat combined with tongue-in-cheek choreography, and somehow, it all works.

Warning: This is not for the squeamish. They drained the blood bank to film some of the scenes and there are probably at least 50 deaths----all by a single swipe of the long blade. Tarantino, eat your heart out!

YOU'LL PROBABLY NEVER SEE THIS MOVIE BUT IF BY CHANCE YOU MIGHT THEN YOU SHOULDN'T READ THIS BECAUSE IT GIVES AWAY THE PLOT-LINE, BUT YOU PROBABLY WOULDN'T BELIEVE IT ANYWAY.

If I was going to look for an actor to play a sympathetic lead role of a dwarf for a straight-up drama about `little people,' naturally I would turn to Gary Oldman. Yes, that Gary Oldman. Dracula. The Devil. Pontius Pilate. Maybe 5'11'. I guess Al Pacino wasn't available.

This is a bizarre movie. Matthew McConaughey plays Oldman's brother (not a dwarf), so this Schwarzeneggar and Devito as Twins straight up. Both McConaughey and Kate Beckinsale turn in reasonable performances, as does Peter Dinklage. (As an aside, I think this guy is a terrific actor. In both this and Station Agent, soon into the movie I quit thinking about him as a dwarf.) However, I was most enchanted by the acting of the little people in the supporting cast. They brought me inside an inaccessible subculture and often made it very comfortable and believable.

However, Bogie, Bacall and the entire cast of the Wizard of Oz couldn't rescue this movie. This is an ambitious project with an intriguing premise. And apparently, Oldman is the one that drove the project, and he wanted to play a dwarf. (The kid that has the football gets to be quarterback?) But everything else about the movie is … bad. There were times when the Sundance crowd laughed at loud at some of the directing/editing. And the script seemed to be pieced together.

More Weirdness: At the premiere at Sundance, writer-director Matthew Bright scathingly denounced the film. He didn't watch the movie and said he never will. (`It's like making love to your ex-wife.') Bright apparently got into an argument with the financier of the film over creative differences. I think what I heard is that Bright wanted to close with a love scene between Oldman (playing a dwarf) and Kate Beckinsale. I guess the money-guy just didn't think the American public was ready for this. Anyway, according to Bright, he was fired from the movie and a bunch of inexperienced hacks who know nothing about the movie business finished the film. Bright said neither he nor none of the artists were paid a dime and that they didn't support the movie. Maybe this explains why this was such a disappointing film.

I flat-out loved this movie. It was my favorite film at Sundance this year, although I didn't see a few movies that got great buzz. Good-bye Lenin is a fresh, comedic look at impact of the fall of the Berlin Wall on an East German family. The movie is funny, warm and insightful. I learned more about Soviet Bloc folks might have perceived their countries and their government than I have in all the stuff I've read in the past 20 years.

This is a light-hearted film that moves quickly and manages to not take itself too seriously. Acting is excellent throughout---particularly by Daniel Bruhl and Katherine Sass as his mother. But it is the gentle political commentary the carries the day here, along with some hilarious scenes and images throughout.

What a great idea-a documentary that just wants to entertain. Killing Flies is a restaurant-sized slice of life about Kenny Shopsin and his diner in Greenwich Village. The place is one of a kind and Shopsin's ad lib rants are as entertaining as any screenwriter could contrive. Watch this film and you will go out of your way to visit this restaurant when in New York, not just because of the eccentric owner, but because the food has the same eclectic appeal.

Directed by Matt Mahurin, who got the idea as a regular Shopsin customer, Killing Flies is fun and captivating entertainment without the usual documentary pedagogy. (OK, I did learn a few things: You can put about anything into pancakes. And DON'T bring a party of five into Shopsin's!)

I don't mind a documentary having a point of view but one thing that really angers me is when the filmmakers pretend they are being unbiased and then clearly make a one-sided movie. Farmingville is all about a battle between residents of the Long Island town (15,000 pop.) and a sudden influx of 1500 mostly illegal Mexican immigrant men. One of the two pivotal events of the film was the attempted murder of two Mexicans by town citizens. (The actual murder of a young mother by a drunk immigrant was barely mentioned.)

I don't think I'm a bigot. (Who knows for sure?) I believe the immigration problem is an extraordinarily challenging one that needs to be part of public debate. Nevertheless, I do not believe that the way to solve the problem is to produce documentaries that make most of the white residents out to be racist idiots and a group of 1500 Mexican men out to be saints. If I were to believe this film, the Farmingville Mexicans were the most respectful and well-behaved group of men in American history-of any race. These guys make the Amish look like hell-raisers, their sole crime apparently being their custom of gathering on corners to find work and a lack of affordable housing. Any other negatives we hear are accusations and innuendo from the whites, which come off as paranoid rants. These oppressed men just want to work hard, play soccer and be left alone.

When I asked one of the directors, Catherine Tambini, about this, she said that it was difficult to get any bad behavior from the men on film. But apparently the stupid white folks were more than willing to immortalize their ignorance. Most of the Anglo citizens of Farmingville that were featured were mean-spirited, ignorant human beings. The sole thoughtful and articulate exception was a legislator that was a champion of the Latino community. Honestly, this film was so biased that I felt like I was watching Reefer Madness. But then, it was funded in part by Latino organizations.

Mexican immigration is a major issue for our country, and it's good to see film-makers tackling the problem. Farmingville is a symptom of a bankrupt immigration policy-both legislative and executive. Fear and self-interest brought out the worst in many people of Farmingville. It's a sad chapter in American history. But let's not ignite the debate by deifying immigrants or vilifying whites. That's not a documentary. That's propaganda.

Didn't I just see Billy Bob Thornton as an ex-con in a redemption film called Levity a year or two ago? And didn't he play a pot-planter in Home Grown? So I guess I was baffled that Ray McKinnon would insist on Thornton for the lead in his first feature-length directing effort. Isn't this a little like asking Russell Crowe to do Mutiny on the Bounty? Or Kevin Costner to follow-up Bull Durham with Field of Dreams and For the Love of the Game? (Wait, he did do that, didn't he?)

The best part of Chrystal is the folk music. The story takes way too long to develop. The writing, while carefully crafted, lacks cogency and the acting is uninspired (except a surprisingly believable Colin Fickes). Further, for a story that could still, despite all this, come off as sweet and uplifting at the end, there is enough absolutely unnecessary graphic sex and gruesome violence to make you feel more disgusted than inspired at the end. (I know some people will call me a prude and not agree with this. Surely, the fact that Chrystal slept around was core to her character. But I don't think we need to see the act to get the point. And I also wonder why this particular movie has the most excruciating fight scene of any in my memory.)

Clever story. Good acting. Interesting direction. Film noir, gangsta rap style. Nevertheless, the movie sickened me. I have rarely seen such callous evil, even in the movies. And the notion that this gangsta culture has become so celebrated in mainstream music that our kids listen to should scare the hell out of every parent alive. These cool, good-looking black men dress very fine, have lots of money and spend their lives snorting drugs, having sex, killing people and MF'ing everything in sight. I wouldn't mind it so much if they were all really bad guys and I had never listened to Eminem. Nope. These are role models. Welcome to Hollywood, DMX!

Net, if you like this part of our culture, you will probably like this movie. But if graphic sex, heroin addiction, at least 10 murders, and having our beloved hero (Michael Ealy) smack his teenage sister in the face isn't your thing, you might try something milder. Maybe rent Pulp Fiction.

Matrix meets Kafka meets Eyes Wide Shut. On a budget. Without the cool. This is a painful film to watch, which unfortunately, I think was the intent. Take away the fact that the film has a very interesting Philip Dick type of premise and some very clever directing (the sound practically carries the movie!) and you are left with cryptic dialogue, shallow (but spooky) characters, kinky sex and an occasional beheading. Good enough for Sundance. But who wants to see this, really?

Two years ago at Sundance I loved Josh Kornbluth's directing debut-Haiku Tunnel. So I was looking forward to his brother (and frequent collaborator) Jacob's, The Best Thief in the World. This is a drama about a seemingly good kid growing up in a lower-class area of New York. The movie is not without its poignant moments. But at times it is as if Kornbluth is working way too hard to state the obvious: Life can be very difficult for some people. And life isn't fair.

More subtle, and more important, is our understanding that despite all of these somewhat abhorrent cultural underpinnings and the anti-social behavior they may spawn, these characters have no shortage of goodness and humanity. We can recoil at their language and their living conditions, but we are cannot discount their intent. And in fact, their struggles to maintain a family under such adversity has a certain nobility that most of us can barely appreciate. Kornbluth grew up in this neighborhood, and his compassion for the people is evident throughout.

Having said all this, The Best Thief in the World suffers from many painful flaws (including the title). The characters aren't very believable. The writing is uneven. And the plot-line is barely discernible. And for many the most disturbing is that Kornbluth uses two young black boys mimicking gangsta rap between scenes. To each his own: But while I don't question the potential realism of this phenomenon, it pains me to see 5-year-old children mf'ing and talking about having sex with a line-up of women. It's unnecessary shock value and is a forced bit of borrowed interest.

Wow! Stacy Peralta has followed up Dogtown and Z-Boys with an equally stunning documentary about the history of the big-wave surfing culture in America. Piecing together insider archival footage along with interviews from surfing legends, we are transported into the daring and free-spirited life of the early pioneers whose sheer passion for the sport spawned an industry that today touches the lives of millions.

It's getting to know these icons and their stories that gives the film its warmth. You can feel the respect Peralta has for this group as we hear accounts of Greg Noll striding from a pack of awestruck fellow surfers on the beach to singularly challenge 50-foot swells off Hawaii's North Coast. Or Jeff Clark, surfing the outrageously dangerous Maverick off the northern California coast all alone for 15 years before it was discovered and became the surfing destination in California. And the storybook history of Laird Hamilton, today's surfing icon. Hearing Greg Noll reverently refer to Hamilton as the best surfer ever sent chills up my spine.

(As an aside, Noll, Clark and others were at the Sundance screenings. Noll humbly described himself as an old, over-the-hill surfer. He was deeply moved by the audience reception of him and film. Both he and Clark were as likable in person as they were in the film.)

Riding Giants pays homage to these extraordinary athletes while at the same time rewarding us with an insight into the magnitude and terrifying power of the waves they seek to conquer, the gut-wrenching vertical drops required to get into them, and the almost unfathomable combination of adrenaline and fear that the surfers experience each time they take on a monster swell.

All this, and the movie has more. For those of us that didn't live in California in the 60's, we get an insight into the impact of surfing on American pop culture. (And, to my surprise, the impact of the movie Gidget on surfing!) Peralta also weaves in a primer on some of the technical aspects of the sport and the history of innovation in equipment. I'm not a surfer, but like the rest of the Sundance audience, I was absolutely captivated by this film. Peralta is staking his claim as the Big Kahuna of American documentaries.

I'm always skeptical of Eastern European films. While not as universally depressing as, say, Icelandic cinema, I am nevertheless always prepared for tragic characters in an utterly depressing environment. I don't mean to belittle the culture or the countries. I am certain that life can be very tough in Russia. And that can make Russian movies very tough to watch.

In The Return, Andrey Zvuagintsev has crafted a powerful and interesting film about two young Russian brothers and their father, who suddenly and inexplicably returns after a 12-year-absence. They immediately set off on a 3-day fishing trip, with a little unexplained and mysterious business along the way. This unspoken agenda adds a compelling undercurrent throughout the film. With only a few very subtle clues, Zvuagintsev gives the viewers a plot-line written into the seams of each relationship-brother to brother and each brother to father, although the ending feels contrived and unbelievable.

It is the relationship of the boys and their father that form the substance of this movie. With excellent performances from each of the three principals, we search the characters for signs of understanding. The father is particularly enigmatic, and through glimpses of insight our attitudes toward him jump freely from disgust to sympathy to admiration and back again. We feel the boys' sense of alienation, confusion, anger and rejection, as they learn about having a father, in all his imperfections, while the father struggles too with his new role. The Return is a powerful and engaging film directed with originality and sensitivity.

Written and directed by Edward Weber and produced and starring Joey Pantoliano, Second Best is a curious movie that is painfully entertaining, embarrassingly funny and surprisingly touching in the end. Debuting at Sundance last night, Weber's story is about the anti-heroes, the average Joes that have cashed in their dreams for mediocre careers and dysfunctional families. Accustomed to failure and disappointment, they now only play-act at success, and will grasp at the fringes of worldliness.

Weber effectively makes the case that there is nobility in the lives of the below-average and that the friendships that bind these people (for they have nothing else but friends) is of greater value and meaning than the worldly success they aspire to.

Pantoliano hasn't branched far from the tree of his typical roles. He plays Eliot, a wise-cracking, cynical, self-proclaimed loser with a broken marriage and a job selling menswear. He nevertheless is the catalyst for his gang of pals, one of which is a Hollywood mogul currently on top of the world. What's the allure? Eliot is a funny, interesting, original thinker who, in the end, we know to have a heart of gold. And even more important, they've been friends for life.

I wanted to like the movie, because it feels like an original theme and I cared about the characters. A little more plot would have been nice, though. I also began to weary of the Freudian obsession with sex in a group of 40-year-old men. And I never bought into the extraordinary insensitivity Eliot displays to his friends. And finally, the only remotely likeable female character is Eliot's mother, Barbara Barrie, who gives a nice comedic performance.

I am eager to see what Weber comes up with next.

Whale Rider is a story of the quest for the new leader of an indigenous Maori tribe living on an island off the coast of New Zealand. Often this type of film ends up making a caricature of the people, accentuating their quaint customs and idiosyncratic behaviors and causing us to smile condescendingly at their ignorance and stunted development. Whale Rider does nothing of the kind. Director Niki Caro treats her subject matter with profound respect, genuine curiosity and effortless grace, while refusing to ignore the signs of cultural disintegration. It is as if we are invited into the Whangara community, and are free to observe comfortably, without fear or embellishment. The 11-year-old first-time actor Keisha Castle-Hughes gives the most astonishing performance by a child that I have ever witnessed, and lifts the movie from being just plain good to a profoundly moving experience. Whale Rider is a tale of the evolution of a culture, wrapped in humor and hope. It is a story of an indomitable spirit. It is a movie about love and change, about the grim realities of life and the marvelous miracles of faith. If you have a chance to see this film, do not miss it!

I believe there was a plot to this movie. I sensed some conflict on a low simmer. Then it suddenly erupted, although I'm not sure why. And it got resolved pretty quickly, but I couldn't tell you how. And there was a lot of stuff about trains, which I think was a metaphor for ... well, I can't decide. But yes, there was definitely something faintly resembling a classic plotline. It just never seemed like a high priority in the movie.

The funny thing is, it doesn't really matter about the plot. Tom McCarthy, in his directing debut, either didn't want one or maybe just didn't need one. The backdrop of the movie is a vehicle to introduce us to some memorable characters, and a story that gave them the opportunity to band together in their pursuit of happiness. This is enough to both charm and entertain the audience.

Peter Dinklage is at the center and this is a perfect role for him. He walks into town like a modern-day Clint Eastwood--the man with no name. OK, so his name is Finn and he's only four and a half feet tall. Still, ruggedly handsome and stoically silent, Finn's non-threatening stature and elusive manner make him virtually irresistible to everyone that can see past his dwarfism. Completely believable, we are all drawn to this extraordinary character. Patricia Clarkson plays an artist living through an emotional crisis brought on by the death of her son and separation from her husband. And Bobby Cannavale is Joe, the guy who is running his dad's hot dog cart since he took ill, and whose puppy-dog enthusiasm and good-hearted demeanor push the story along.

These three come together with grace, compassion and humor. The most unlikely of comrades, McCarthy senses their need to have their lives intersect, but allows them to make their own way of it. These characters are lovingly crafted and there is enough substance to them to carry the film. When the movie ends we're smiling and we feel good.

It took some courage to do a movie with a dwarf as the lead. Unfortunately, McCarthy couldn't quite play it straight. He almost made a movie about a guy who happens to be a dwarf. That was exhilarating while it lasted. But then we lapsed into too much information on what it's like to be a dwarf. Still interesting, but not quite as daring or ambitious. Given Peter Dinklage's complete package, I suspect that is still to come.

Every now and then a movie comes along with a fresh approach to film-making that captures the public's attention. Pulp Fiction comes to mind in recent years. Also Star Wars, and Forrest Gump. A remarkably infrequent occurrence, these innovations often change the nature of film-making as they are copied and adapted to the needs of other directors. Rarer still are those movies that are truly creative-even ground-breaking in their originality-and yet very difficult to transfer to other films because the distinctive creative approach is so uniquely tailored to the particular story the film-maker wants to tell. The Rocky Horror Picture Show (with apologies to Hedwig). The Blair Witch Project. Memento. And now, American Splendor.



To list American Splendor alongside these classic cult films is perhaps giving the movie more credit than history will one day concede. It is the story of Harvey Pekar, the real-life star of the autobiographical American Splendor comic books. In his comics, Harvey looks for relevant truths in his real-life, everyday occurrences. A working stiff file clerk, he is more than willing to reveal himself and his friends, warts and all. Given the opportunity to make a biopic out of this extraordinary situation, regular collaborators Shari Sherman and Robert Pulcini take us on a real-life journey that blends a wonderful performance by Paul Giamatti as Harvey Pekar, along with commentary and narrative by the real-life Pekar, cameos by a few of his associates and characters from the comics, archival footage of Pekar's frequent visits to the Letterman Show and illustrations and visual devices pulled straight from the comics.

Altogether it works, and works well. While perhaps dragging in parts, we find this erudite but grubby guy funny and lovable. We marvel at his authenticity, his often embarrassing tendency to speak his mind, and his child-like honesty and curiosity. Pekar is an observant student of humanity, but filters what he sees through a generally pessimistic and sometimes misanthropic point-of-view. Through this film, we recognize that there is a little of Harvey Pekar in all of us, and that secretly we wish we had a little more of him, although we would insist on the ability to pick and choose what parts.

This is an innovative, entertaining and lovingly crafted film. As an appropriate homage to Pekar, it is a true original. Let's hope we never see another like it.

If I had known this movie was about teen sex I never would have gone. Fortunately, I didn't, because I would have missed a rather remarkable film at Sundance. Raising Victor Vargas is about a non-traditional Hispanic family in New York's lower east side. Victor Vargas is a hormonally charged teenager with one thing on his mind. (If we believe the film, every young male in Spanish Harlem is preoccupied with similar thoughts.)

Then Victor meets Judy. Unable to make a sexual conquest, the relationship develops into something more meaningful for both of them. It is this process of discovery which is so encouraging and uplifting, as Victor learns, with the help of a firm and loving (if sometimes misguided) grandmother, a deeper set of values-genuine caring, friendship and family. As his façade of cultural expectations wears off, the vulnerable but inherently well-meaning Victor emerges with a more mature outlook, strengthened principles and firmer moral grounding. You might argue that the transition is a bit forced and happens too suddenly. Nevertheless, it is cause for celebration.

This is not to say that the movie is a propaganda piece for pre-marital abstinence. There is enough promiscuity to make parents think twice about letting their teens see the film. But the over-riding theme of the movie builds the case that the sexual preoccupation of youth is selfish and immature.

Director Peter Sollett employed inexperienced actors with an improvisational style, and managed to elicit extraordinarily real and believable performances from Victor Rasuk (Victor) and Judy Marte (Judy). By focussing intently on the individual, and encouraging freedom of expression, Sollett is able to capture truth on film, without too much embellishment. He takes us to a world where we expect to find despair, and leaves us with hope and faith in the spirit of youth.

Call me a cultural bigot, but I'm predisposed to dislike Canadian movies. Don't ask me why, because I love the rest of what the country offers. I'm just skeptical that even the best movie produced in Canada can rival the middle of the Hollywood pack. The Baroness and the Pig supports my case.

I believe that Michael Mackenzie is a playwright by trade, and in fact this film might have been better suited to the theatre. Nevertheless, in his directing debut, Mackenzie delivers an incredibly beautiful film, making exquisite choices of sepia-toned elegance that nicely complements this period piece set in France. Patricia Clarkson is excellent as the Baroness, but the rest of the cast is generally disappointing, especially Caroline Dhavernas as Emily, a plum role that she somehow manages to perform without eliciting the slightest emotional response from the audience. This is perhaps the biggest disappointment of the entire film, although the script is uneven and the pace a little sluggish at times.

Mackenzie shows promise as a director, and this may be one of the best films out of Canada this year. What does that tell you?

Normal is a funny, lovely, touching love story about a God-fearing rural small-town Midwestern couple--Roy and Irma Applewood--played by Tom Wilkinson and Jessica Lange. Shortly after their 25th anniversay, Roy goes public with the revelation that he has long felt that he is a woman trapped in a man's body, and with the Protestant determination to do something about it, no matter the consequences. Irma (Jessica Lange), an avid knitter and member of the church choir, naturally finds this a little disconcerting.

And so the fun begins. Roy gradually becomes a woman, and Irma, as well as the kids and the townspeople, all react.

Wilkinson is a curious transsexual, shattering virtually all of our myths, he evolves from an aging, non-descript man into a still-frumpy and hopelessly homely woman. While we may feel his pain, Anderson is much more interested in challenging our reaction to him than delving into his conflicted anguish. Nevertheless, she treats his change with a certain amount of whimsy. It is difficult not to warm to his smile when he dons his first earrings.

But it is Lange who is the star of the show. Demonstrating a surprising knack for dry comedy, she moves from frustration and resentment to acceptance and compassion. Surely drawing from her own Midwestern roots (some of the move could easily have been filmed in Cloquet, Minnesota!) Lange's character never wallows in self-pity, but searches for answers within, as she seeks to redefine her relationship to her husband.

Lange once again displays her extraordinary talent. (Truth be told, she was my first crush, and she is aging beautifully.) She portrays strength and vulnerability like few in her class. (Meryl Streep comes to mind.)

Hayden Panettiere is also quite good as the 13-year-old daughter.

Normal premiered at the Sundance Film Festival.