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Wanting to experience fatherhood, a man (John Cusack) adopts a youngster (Bobby Coleman) who has an unusual crisis of identity, believing he is from Mars, and trouble arises when the man, who devotes himself to his strange son, begins to believe that the boy is indeed an alien. "I'm not human," little Dennis says at one point in "Martian Child." So he believes. The lonely orphan has convinced himself that he was not abandoned by his parents, but arrived here from Mars. To protect himself against the sun, he walks around inside a cardboard box with a slit cut for his eyes and wears a weight belt around his waist to keep himself from drifting up into the sky. At no point during the film does anyone take mercy on the kid and explain that the sun is much more pitiless on Mars, and the gravity much lower. And it is perhaps there that Martian Child asks us to suspend our disbelief, for the version of "troubled" that Dennis represents in the film is the cute and cloying kind, with the boy exhibiting the sort of annoying problems that drive David to distraction at worst and amuse him at best. We all know that in reality a kid with the emotional problems and background that Dennis has would exhibit much more severe behavioral disorders beyond simply making up his own language and doing funny Martian dances. One such fantasy, of course, marks Dennis as a visiting alien from the planet Mars -- a being with special powers who is on a journey to observe mankind and then return to his home world with the information that he has gleaned. Obviously an outgrowth of the emotional abuse and alienation the boy has endured in his young life, the story nonetheless rings a little too true when some of his "powers" seem to actually work. Easily chalked up to coincidence, these events nonetheless give David pause. David sees a kindred soul in Dennis, for he was alienated himself as a kid and often turned to his own imagination to amuse himself in lieu of friends. He of course learned to channel that experience into a successful career as a writer, and one of his sci-fi books is now being turned into a big "Harry Potter in space" sort of movie. So even as he decides to adopt Dennis, David is also struggling with the challenge of writing a sequel to that book. Soon he is faced with not just dealing with his troubled young charge, but also with a bad case of writer's block. Parents need to know that although there's very little in the way of language, sex, and violence in this well-acted family drama, it does deal with some serious themes -- including death (of both humans and pets) and abandonment -- that are on the heavy side for young viewers, who may need guidance understanding what they see. Parents are shown discussing their frustrations with their kids and yelling at them, and kids are shown cruelly teasing a main character and calling him "weird." Some social drinking, but only among adults. Still, this isn't a film about planetary science but about love. Dennis attracts the attention of a lonely science-fiction writer named David (John Cusack), a recent widower who can't get the cardboard box out of his mind and goes back to the orphanage one day with some suntan cream. Eventually, almost against his own will, he asks Dennis to come home with him for a test run and decides to adopt him. The movie is the sentimental, very sentimental, story of how that goes. This is not to say "Martian Child" lacks good qualities. Young Bobby Coleman plays Dennis as consistent, stubborn and suspicious, and Amanda Peet has a warm if predictable role as the woman in David's life who starts out as best friend and ends up where female best friends often do, in his arms. Martian Child wants to make us cry. It nearly made me cry. This is an exercise in shameless and inept emotional manipulation. Still, Martian Child manages to make powerful statements about a person's ability to love even in the midst of personal suffering. And it speaks of the need to embrace the innocents who have been beaten down and injured by our oftentimes painful world.

Johnny Cash sang like he meant business. He didn't get fancy and he didn't send his voice on missions it could not complete, but there was an urgency in his best songs that pounded them home. When he sang something, it stayed sung. James Mangold's "Walk the Line," with its dead-on performances by Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon, helps you understand that quality. Here was a man who was blamed by his hard-drinking father for the death of his older brother, who said God "took the wrong son," who looked at Johnny's big new house and all he could say was, "Jack Benny's is bigger." In the movie you sense that the drive behind a Johnny Cash song was defiance. He was going to sing it no matter what anybody thought - especially his old man. The movie shows John R. Cash inventing himself. He came from a hard-working Arkansas family and grew up listening to country music on the radio, especially the Carter Family. He wrote his first song while he was serving in the Air Force in Germany. When he came back to the States, he got married and got a regular job but dreamed about being a recording artist. When his first wife, Vivian, complained he was spending more time on music than on her, he referred to his "band" and she said, "your band is two mechanics who can't even hardly play." "Walk the Line" follows the story arc of many other musicals, maybe because many core lines are the same: Hard times, obscurity, success, stardom, too much money, romantic adventures, drugs or booze, and then (if they survive) beating the addiction, finding love and reaching a more lasting stardom. What adds boundless energy to "Walk the Line" is the performance by Reese Witherspoon as June Carter Cash. We're told in the movie that June learned to be funny onstage because she didn't think she had a good voice; by the time John meets her she's been a pro since the age of 4, and effortlessly moves back and forth between her goofy onstage persona and her real personality, which is sane and thoughtful, despite her knack for hitching up with the wrong men. The film's most harrowing scene shows Johnny onstage after an overdose, his face distorted by pain and anger, looking almost satanic before he collapses. What is most fearsome is not even his collapse, but the force of his will, which makes him try to perform when he is clearly unable to. You would not want to get in the way of that determination. When Cash is finally busted and spends some time in jail, his father is dependably laconic: "Now you won't have to work so hard to make people think you been to jail." Although Cash's father (played with merciless aim by Robert Patrick) eventually does sober up, the family that saves him is June's. It is by now well known that Phoenix and Witherspoon perform their own vocals in the movie. It was not well known when the movie previewed - at least not by me. The problems with this film are minor, two in particular immediately come to mind. The pace of this film is so fast you find yourself wondering at times whether you have missed something. Time flies by in this film and it is sometimes hard to keep track of what state Cash's life is in now, or how famous he is today compared with the last scene. The pace is so speedy that it gets to the point where if there was a caption which read "one year later" at the beginning of this scene, you could count on there being the same caption at the beginning of the next one. Perhaps the most remarkable thing about Walk The Line is how average the film is at it's core. The base elements of the film are a fairly standard re-tread of virtually every rock & roll docu-drama film ever made from The Doors to infinity; drugs are used, people are hurt, lives are in chaos; all this we have seen before. What makes Walk The Line remarkable is how it takes something average and enhances just about every aspect of it to the point where you begin to forget how average the core of the film really is. The performances, the music, the cinematography, the script, all are distinctly sharper and better than any film of this kind than I have ever seen, though they had virtually nothing new to work with. I highly recommend this film. Go for the story, but stay for the outstanding performances.

In 1964 the winds of change are sweeping through Sister Aloysius' (Meryl Streep) St. Nicholas school. Father Flynn (Philip Seymour Hoffman), a charismatic priest, is advocating reform of the school's strict customs, and the first black student has just been accepted. When a fellow nun (Amy Adams) tells Sister Aloysius that Father Flynn may be paying too much personal attention to the student, Sister Aloysius begins a personal crusade against the priest -- despite her lack of evidence. A Catholic grade school could seem like a hermetically sealed world in 1964. That's the case with St. Nicholas in the Bronx, ruled by the pathologically severe principal Sister Aloysius, who keeps the students and nuns under her thumb and is engaged in an undeclared war with the new parish priest. Their issues may seem to center around the reforms of Vatican II, then still under way, with Father Flynn (Philip Seymour Hoffman) as the progressive, but for the nun I believe it's more of a power struggle. The pope's infallibility seems, in her case, to have descended to the parish level. Some will say the character of Sister Aloysius, played without a hint of humor . Sister Aloysius of "Doubt" hates all inroads of the modern world, including ballpoint pens. This is accurate. We practiced our penmanship with fountain pens, carefully heading every page "JMJ" -- for Jesus, Mary and Joseph, of course. Under Aloysius' command is the sweet young Sister James, whose experience in the world seems limited to what she sees out the convent window. Gradually during the autumn semester, the situation develops. There is one African-American student at St. Nicholas, Donald Miller, and Father Flynn encourages him in sports and appoints him as an altar boy. This is all proper. Then Sister James notes that the priest summons the boy to the rectory alone. She decides this is improper behavior, and informs Aloysius, whose eyes narrow like a beast of prey. Father Flynn's fate is sealed. But "Doubt" is not intended as a docudrama about possible sexual abuse. It is about the title word, doubt, in a world of certainty. For Aloysius, Flynn is certainly guilty. That the priest seems innocent, that Sister James comes to believe she was mistaken in her suspicions, means nothing. Flynn knows a breath of scandal would destroy his career. And that is the three-way standoff we watch unfolding with precision and tension. Something else happens. Donald's mother fears her son will be expelled from the school. He has been accused of drinking the altar wine. Worse, of being given it by Father Flynn. She appeals directly to Sister Aloysius. It lasts about 10 minutes, but it is the emotional heart and soul of "Doubt". Doubt. It is the subject of the sermon Father Flynn opens the film with. Doubt was coming into the church and the United States in 1964. After the assassination of Kennedy and the beginnings of Vietnam, doubt had undermined American certainty in general. What could you be sure of? What were the circumstances? The motives? The conflict between Aloysius and Flynn is the conflict between old and new, between status and change, between infallibility and uncertainty. And Shanley leaves us doubting. "Doubt" has exact and merciless writing, powerful performances and timeless relevance. It causes us to start thinking with the first shot, and we never stop. Think how rare that is in a film. I came to a different conclusion seeing this film. The entitled "doubt" was not about Father Flynn's guilt (which I believe becomes apparent toward the end of the film). The "doubt" is manifested in Sister Aloysius as she comes to doubt the institution of the Catholic Church she has devoted her life to. Instead of getting rid of the priest, the church covers up the crime. I think that would be enough to cause anyone to have "doubts". This was the last straw that caused this nun to have an emotional break down, reducing a once rigid woman certain in her beliefs to a sobbing and lost wreck of a human being. To answer the obvious mystery in the film - whether Father had some sinful (or criminal) relationship with a twelve year boy? The one word answer on the platter is 'Yes'. I don't think the plot of this movie made a lot of sense for its 1964 setting. Would a nun in 1964 really suspect a priest of sexual abuse based on nothing more than a shirt being placed in a locker? In 2018, after two decades of priest abuse stories in the media, sure; however, in 1964, at a time when no one would dare criticize a man of the cloth, I have my doubts. Either way, I did enjoy the film and thought it was well-acted.