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In the opening scene of Cutterhead, as protagonist Rie rides a construction site elevator deep into the Danish underground, we glimpse the elevator's control panel and its "up" and "down" buttons that some joker has labeled "Heaven" and "Hell" in felt pen, setting the stage for the claustrophobic horror that's to come.

As a copywriter for the Copenhagen metro, she's there to write the kind of breezy PR texts that might excitedly describe the metro as "the largest construction project in the Danish capital in 400 years", and frame having workers of 24 different nationalities as a "great European coming together" (rather than the result of working conditions and pay that no Danish construction worker would accept). Her interviewees aren't playing along, though. "What's the best part of your job?" she asks every worker she approaches, but most give polite non-answers (clearly trying to avoid trouble), if they even speak English. Only Ivo, who's from Croatia and maintains the cutterhead, doesn't hesitate. "The money," he answers, dispelling any romantic notions of a labor of love.

These workers are all here, working a bad job with bad pay and bad working conditions, because they need the money. But why is Rie here? The question lingers throughout the movie. When one character questions if she's even allowed, Ivo explains "She's from the office". In other words, she's Danish. "I have permission to go anywhere", Rie helpfully adds.

Ivo and his colleague Bharan work the cutterhead because it's more dangerous, and hence pays more. Even then, Rie undoubtedly earns more than either of them. The disaster that soon engulfs these three people should erase these differences, but the sense of disparity persists, and it's in these clashes between worlds that Cutterhead becomes more than a disaster movie with a novel setting, and shows real bite with its social critique.

"The Florida Project" is a social realist drama in the disguise of a lighthearted comedy. It certainly starts out on a high note, with the soundtrack lyrics telling us to "Celebrate good times, come on!", as we the audience tags along with a group of kids being the adorable little monsters that kids their age can be.

The "Florida Project", of course, was a code name for what would eventually become the Walt Disney World Resort, and "Celebration" is not just a Kool & the Gang song, but also the name of the Disney-developed community outside the resort. The movie, though, takes places in the real world, just outside Disney's walled garden.

It is a testament to the talent of the filmmakers that the movie manages to affect a joyous tone throughout, even as it depict the stark socioeconomic reality of making a living, one day at a time, at the bottom rungs of the social ladder.

The kids are having (quite literally) the time of their life, while the movie leaves no doubt about what the future has in store for them. Scooty's mother is working a minimum-wage job, yet tasked with acting as the provider for both Scooty and Moonee. Jancey is living with her grandmother, because her mother is gone (to alcohol, drugs or worse, the movie doesn't say). Moonee's mother Halley earns a living through street peddling, stripping, theft. Later in the film, Moonee sits quietly in the bathtub while her mom prostitutes herself in the next room.

The kids are left to their own devices without a smidgen of adult supervision. The resulting mischief ranges in severity from spitting on cars to burning down a building. But throughout this, the movie maintains a comedic slant, and (at least in the cinema where I watched it), the audience was roaring with laughter. It was not until Halley beats Scooty's mom black and blue, and police and social workers show up to drag the screaming Moonee from her mother, that the audience finally went quiet, as the reality of the situation could no longer be denied.

The heartbreaking scene continues for several agonizing minutes before the movie finally lets up and dons its comedic disguise again. Out of nowhere, Kool & the Gang soars once again on the soundtrack, as the kids run for their life - all the way into the Disney World Resort, where they will, presumably, live happily ever after. In this final moment, the movie grants us a respite and allows us to forget that Disney World is not the real world.

Despite film maker Horanyi's assertions that she did not set out to make a documentary about the evils of the American porn industry, it is nevertheless the film she ended up making, though she completely fails to substantiate her thesis.

It seems like people both inside and outside the porn industry have complained about porn becoming ever more explicit and transgressive, probably ever since photography (and picture pornography) was invented the 1800s. There's no doubt that the sexual boundaries in western society have moved greatly, but is the porn industry actually more exploitative in 2014 than it was in 1994 or even 1974, or has the increased professionalization actually benefited workers? This is an interesting question, but the only answer given in the film is straight from protagonist Denice Klarskov, who is quoted bemoaning the shift in the industry in just the three years since she last worked in the USA.

The film does not lend a voice to anyone else, not even getting a react quote from porn producer Kink.com after insinuating that they abuse their models. Klarskov has later publicly distanced herself from the film, which she claims is taking quotes and clips out of context.

If there is one message Horanyi and Klarskov agrees on, it's the importance of young people defining their boundaries and sticking to them (a message worth heeding no matter the industry). It is telling, though, that Klarskov seems to find that it is Horanyi, more than the porn industry, that violated her boundaries during her latest stint in the USA.

I had high hopes for Last Call, which billed itself as a retrospective on the predictions of the seminal 1972 publication, "The Limits to Growth". Unfortunately, when this documentary talks about "The Limits to Growth", it literally means that: it talks about the book. Not the message of the book, but the actual book itself.

The film does start by paying lip-service to the topic of unrestrained growth, going over the old saw about rice on a chessboard, but quickly turns to roughly 80 minutes of "human interest" anecdotes from and about the authors of the book, including showing Polaroid pictures of a picnic, or five minutes of one guy relating how he built his home and garden, or Aurelio Peccei's secretary tearing up while reminiscing about the late founder of the Club of Rome, who clearly meant a lot to her (but it's unclear why the audience should care?). We also get a few mentions of the book being controversial, but the film never digs into why. In fact, the film never gets around to quoting even a single line, number or chart from the original book.

The sheer inanity of the film is best illustrated in a scene where Dennis Meadows is seen talking to German politicians. He announces that he'll switch to English, because (as he jokes) while he's competent in German smalltalk, he's more comfortable with English when he needs to say something intelligent. Now, you could easily fill 90 minutes just with Dennis Meadows saying something intelligent; but this documentary instead opts to mute the sound, then cut away, anxious to get to the next anecdote. (But hey, we learned that Dennis speaks German. Isn't that interesting?)

In the last 5 minutes of the film, we finally get an interesting discussion between Meadows and Jørgen Randers about the bleak prospects of the world's governments acting on climate change in time, and the chilling prediction of the thawing tundra causing an unstoppable runaway greenhouse effect. Those few minutes in the end of the film does not excuse the dreadful 85 minutes preceding them, however. If you want to know more about limits to growth or climate change, this is not the film you're looking for.

Already in the 1960's, the Milgram experiment demonstrated that ordinary people were willing to administer lethal electric shocks to a test subject, as long as a man in a white lab coat ordered them to. Compliance is a harsh reminder that 50 years later, little has changed.

(Importantly, Compliance isn't typical Hollywood "based on a True Story, then twisted beyond recognition" fare. The film recreates the actual events with attention to even minute details.)

The perpetrator perpetrates his crimes "by proxy" not as much by exploiting the gullibility of the people involved, as much as by appealing to established authority structures in society, whether it be the police or the management hierarchy of private enterprise, not to mention patriarchy. The consequences are terrifying.

If you find it hard to believe the story, remind yourself that the events depicted are real, down to every single act of degradation.

If you find yourself disregarding the characters as victims of their own extreme naiveté, remind yourself that this was not a singular incident, but the culmination of more than 70 previous incidents, spanning a decade.

If you find yourself convinced that most people would never fall for such a "prank", remind yourself that Milgram's peers also thought that few (if any) participants would remain compliant throughout his experiment. In actual fact, 65 % went all the way.

And finally: If you find it uncomfortable to watch this 90 minute film, remind yourself that the real ordeal lasted more than three hours.

Milgram ends "Obedience", the documentary on his 1962 experiment, with the following comment: "A substantial proportion of people do what they are told to do, irrespective of the content of the act and without limitations of conscience, so long as they perceive that the command comes from a legitimate authority. If in this study, an anonymous experimenter could successfully command adults to subdue a 50-year-old man and force on him painful electric shocks against his protests, one can only wonder what government, with its vastly greater authority and prestige can command of its subjects..." With Compliance, we no longer need to wonder.

A note on spoilers: The Cabin in the Woods benefits from the viewer having as little information as possible going in. Not because it contains any big plot twists (though the final resolution seems to take many by surprise), but because it works best when it can slowly, but steadily, tear down all preconceived notions about horror films.

(If you haven't seen the film, stop reading now.)

You have a pretty good idea of where the film is going at all times, and it doesn't throw any big curves at you. Rather, it continuously veers ever so slightly, forcing you to repeatedly adjust your expectations. In other words: This film takes the path less traveled, but you never lose sight of the main road. In the end, it ends up where you thought it was going all along... or does it?

Much has been said about the "metaplot" of the film, which is an obvious metaphor for the horror film genre. As the creators Drew Goddard and Joss Whedon has said, Hadley and Sitterson in the control room are stand-ins for the creators themselves, which means the old ones represent the horror film audience.

In the end, when the incomplete ritual leads the old ones to destroy the world, it's a tongue-in-cheek prediction of audiences panning this and other movies that doesn't follow the horror film conventions perfectly. More pointedly, as admitted by the creators, the ending is a critique of the horror film genre, basically saying that the genre in a rut and the slate needs to wiped clean, so fresh ideas can have a chance.

Is the horror genre stuck in a rut? With the genre being been flooded by a steady stream of torture porn flicks for the last decade, it is no coincidence that in CITW, Maintenance (whose job is to be non-creative) bets on the Zombie Redneck Torture Family every year - and wins every year, too.

But the horror film metaphor is not the only metaphor in the film.

Drew Goddard has said, "the questions that Cabin raises all involve the treatment of youth in our culture. (...) We've always idealized youth, and then destroyed youth. That has happened since the beginning of time, and I'm fascinated by why we do that."

I'm amazed at the number of reviews I've seen (especially from the professional reviewers), which describe the five protagonists as perfect matches for the five horror stereotypes, when the film repeatedly shows that they're NOT, even as the adults in the control room try to coerce and manipulate them into their predetermined roles. Curt, the "jock", is on a full scholarship and as Marty notes, would never insult his friend, even when drunk. Jules is neither dumb nor blonde, except at the behest of the manipulative adults. Holden is as much an athlete as Curt. Marty may be a pothead, but he's no fool. And Dana is not a virgin, as the director begrudgingly admits in the end.

In the end, Cabin recalls The Breakfast Club: "You see us as you want to see us, in the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. But what we found out, is that each one of us is a brain, and an athlete, and a basket case, a princess, and a criminal."

Goddard again: "There's this need to marginalize (youth), and put them into different categories so that their voice is not important. (As I get older,) I find myself dismissing youth. You have to realize that the youth cannot be dismissed. At the end of the day, they're not going to care what we do to them, and yet here we are trying. That struggle is at the heart of Cabin."

In other words: When the film declares that a civilization that inflicts such horrors on its children is not a civilization worth having, civilization is not just a metaphor for horror films. Civilization is a metaphor for civilization.

Obviously, that is an audacious proposition. As can be seen right here on the IMDb message boards, many viewers have been left angry and confused, while other dismiss the metaphor immediately, focusing only on the more palatable horror film metaphor. But follow the Cabin's example, and entertain the idea for a little while. Even if you're not a youth, but an adult.

I'm a fan of Koyaanisqatsi, a film that has no plot and no characters, yet is able to build tension and reach a climax through strong imagery and music alone.

There are scenes in The Tree of Life which are pure Koyaanisqatsi, absolutely breathtaking. But any tension is voided by the rest of the film, which present the actual plot of The Tree of Life.

The film gives us the well-acted (but rather banal) story of an abusive father, and the grueling effects he has on his wife and kids. Pitt and McCracken provide shining performances, but the remaining characters are ciphers.

The reason for the underdeveloped characters, one quickly discovers, is that the plot is merely a parable, to enable a two hour sermon on the Problem of Evil. With the Book of Job as the point of departure, the film asks that age-old question: If God is omniscient, omni-benevolent and omnipotent, why is there suffering? Christians philosophers have attempted to answer this question for millennia without luck, and indeed, Malick doesn't provide any answer either, instead drifting off on what appears to be a "Isn't God's creation magnificent?" tangent.

More importantly, while the question is doubtlessly interesting to Christians, it is quite frivolous to an atheist, for which the answer is quite simply that the premise is false, and that suffering exists simply as an artefact of chaos, with no higher power in the universe to stop it. If you belong to the latter category, you're in for a very, very long evening with Terrence Malick.

"You're going to like this one. Quite a puzzle", says Max in this adaptation of Colin Dexter's first novel. Quite right: A girl is dead, and in her purse is a mysterious envelope, empty but for a coded letter, reading "Take this, please."

One of the best Morse episodes, Last Bus to Woodstock has a plot that twists and turns, keeping both Morse and the viewer stumped until the last moment, when the dreadful truth sinks in.

Gender roles and loneliness are the recurring themes that serve as the foundation for this visit to Oxford: Among the dozens of characters introduced, all but two live hauntingly lonely lives, coping as they may -- through drinking, gambling, sex and adultery.

The first exception is an old miss Marple type. She has learned to deal with the loneliness, or even appreciate it. The second exception is Angie, a young and amiable English literature student, who has yet to face the harsh facts of life. Of course, her innocence can't last, and eventually she gets her unpleasant rite of passage into adulthood.

As often with Morse, the conclusion is only half satisfying: Although the case is closed, there's no sense of justice being fulfilled, only lives ruined, a little more misery in an already miserable world. The Inspector Morse series never drew the nicest picture of society, but in this episode, it seems particularly grim.

A most peculiar video game adaptation, BloodRayne's storyline plays out a couple of centuries before that of the games, and the film merely lifts selected characters and ideas from its source.

But although the story of the film has little in common with that of the games from which it draws its title and inspiration, BloodRayne manages to include standard role-playing game clichés all the way. There are the three objects of power to be obtained, monsters that drop keys to secret doors, bystanders apathetically disregarding the heavily armed heroes as they walk by, killing things in their way, stupid guards, campy villains, etc.

Occasionally, you almost expect to hear a ding accompanied by the words "Your quest log has been updated."

The cast includes plenty of excellent actors, and they're all turning in pretty bad performances. Although no exception, Michael Madsen effortlessly manage to match the tone of the film with the same low-key disposition as seen in Kill Bill, among other films.

However, the actors should not be blamed for the shortcomings of the script and the director. Since the film doesn't follow the plot of the games, it seems unlikely that much of the dialogue could have been taken from there, so maybe its just intentionally written in the corny style of computer RPG conversation; the same goes for much of the plot.

But despite all these shortcomings, I rather enjoyed the film. Ignoring the more ludicrous details of the plot, it had an engaging and entertaining storyline, along with gripping cinematography. Oh, and the occasional mix of (pretty mild) sex and horror, bizarre enough that one has to laugh.

Finally, the ending caught me completely off-guard. Completely setting aside Hollywood-standards and turning the expected RPG-style ending on its head, it was almost Hamlet-esquire, an odd turn after 90 minutes of campy RPG plot.

No, BloodRayne is not the best thing to happen to cinema since The Seven Samurai. Don't be ridiculous. But was seeing this film worth the 95 minutes I spent seeing it? Yeah, I think so.

So, there's this boy and his little sister, and they go through a lot of suffering during World War II, after their mother dies during a bombardment. However, that's not really the reason for their suffering.

They have no place to stay, because they don't want to stay with their evil aunt. But that's not the reason either.

They suffer because they're starving. Ah, they have no money for food, and that's why they're suffering! Well, actually... Let me try again.

It's tough to lose a family member, during war or anytime else. You could have made a perfectly good film around that alone. Then there's the aunt. How is she evil? Oh, she's angry that the boy hangs around home all day, doing nothing. She also sells the clothes of the boy's late mother (her own sister, I take it) for food, and only gives half to the boy. That makes her evil. (Who wrote this script, an angry teenager?)

And then they've got no food.

Let's face it, there's really no good reason for them to go through so much suffering, except to make the audience sad.

Making innocent characters suffer is a sure way to engage the audience -- however, it's a cheap trick, and a shallow substitute for proper characterisation. The only character we get to know is the protagonist, and by the end of the film, he still seems like a bit of a cipher. Okay, so he loves his sister a lot, briefly mourned the death of his mother, and kinda looks up to his father... but mostly, he just loves his sister. Oh, yeah, and he's going to die (we learn this from the beginning). The next hour and a half is his slowly drawn out death sequence.

All other characters are ciphers, easily summed up in a word or two: The sister? (Sickeningly) cute. The aunt? Evil. Farmer? Wise. Their late mother? Nothing less than perfect.

The film sucker-punches the audience to cover for its outrageous characters and aimless plot, with the sole intention of making the audience sad. I guess it worked.

It's not immediately apparent what goal Troy Duffy had in mind when he wrote The Boondock Saints.

In this film, we follow two Irish brothers on a mission from God to rid Earth of all evil, but the film is vague regarding the questionable righteousness of their deeds. Instead, it shows the brothers as they see themselves, as martyrs suffering torture and self-mutilation rivalling the scourging of Christ (or at least, that seems to be the idea) in their quest for holy righteousness.

They also receive approval from the FBI agent assigned to their case, but in the end, it's left very much up to the viewers to decide whether the brothers are doing a good thing or not.

One could suspect that that was the point of the film, but while I see no problem in a film raising such questions, The Boondock Saints hardly does that very well, with its imbecile jokes, and lack of plot and believable characters.

Could it then be that Troy Duffy is merely expressing his beliefs, and genuinely wants us to sympathize with these two holier-than-you brothers and their vigilant justice? If so, it's not working at all - for me, anyway.

In the end, one reach the sad conclusion that this is likely just another violent action film trying to attain depth, but failing miserably.

Seeing as Zatôichi came out between Kill Bill vol. 1 and vol. 2, and both films include the same kind of bloody samurai fun, a comparison might be warranted.

Both are part comedy, part drama and part mindless slaughter, an explosive combination to say the least.

Kill Bill kept the drama to a minimum, and instead indulged in an often ridiculously funny bloodbath, never letting the audience come too close to the characters. In other words, mindless fun. Zatôichi, on the other hand, is less comedy, less mindless slaughter and more sinister drama.

We engage the characters and become emotionally involved - and this is where Kitano's Zatôichi fails. Kitano crosses the line, and makes the film too dark for comedy, and yet pushes on with some genuinely hilarious scenes that just seem jarring.

On the bottom line, Zatôichi is still a good film, and definitely worth watching, despite its flaws. The acting, scenery and camera work is excellent, and the result is enjoyable.

I will not begin to compare the overall qualities of Zatôichi and Kill Bill; such a comparison would be meaningless. One is pure fun, the other is quite sinister in places. Both excellent themes - just, perhaps, not in the same film.

Not surprisingly, a lot of good plot had been removed from the story, and a lot of bad plot inserted. This is hardly news; the same happened to the two predecessors. Much was lost by skipping "The Scouring of the Shire". The computer graphics are well-done but rarely convincing, and Gollum's only task is to provide comic relief. Most of the audience seemed to find him quite funny. I was just bored.

Tolkien's books told a great story basically about the weakness of men (and other races), and the importance of not fighting alone. The best example being the events on the edge of Mount Doom. Tolkien made a strong point in that nobody is perfect, neither perfectly good nor perfectly evil.

The film completely ignores this and simplifies things to pure black and white. There's good, and there's evil, with nothing in-between , no shades of grey.

And that I think is sad.

All that being said, the film has a few but important qualities, and that's the great camera work, the excellent acting and the stunning scenery - CG-scenery too.

The rest of the CG is not that interesting, except for Shelob the spider who really makes up for it. The sound of a whole cinema audience simultaneously gasping in horror as ... Well, I won't spoil for those who haven't read the books. But wow. So, in the end, despite all its flaws, I recommend seeing this film. But go see it now, on the big screen. It won't be worth your time on TV.

Everything that has a beginning has an end... Except for the Matrix trilogy, which substitutes cliches and comic relief for an ending.

Sure, I can see how it must have been a difficult task to end the plot arc. It would probably have been impossible to outdo the battles of the second film.

But then, maybe they should have considered ending it with something other than the archetypical final showdown?

In any case, the ending presented in Matrix Revolutions is just plain pathetic, though not without its laughs.

Finally, people prone to epileptic seizures or migraines should probably not watch this film.