Clooney's fractured family in the superb "Descendants".

One of the great dilemmas, I find, in composing film reviews, is exactly how large of a part I, the reviewer, should play in the text. Am I to objectively review it, coolly and at a distance, as a supposed professional should do? Or, since cinema is a personal art medium, meant to provoke a reaction, should I make each and every film a personalized, individual experience, and every review a narrative reflective of that?

Being the fairly passionate individual that I am, I naturally lean towards the second option. The fact that I bring it up in this review is indicative of that. And another strong argument for this argument is my reaction to Alexander Payne’s new work “The Descendants”.

I am a Hawaiian. My white father (a “haole”, as natives call it) married my Pearl City-native mother 23 years ago, and have made it a point to get us out to that state as much as they possibly can. The result is my fairly deep knowledge of Hawaiian culture, and if not knowledge then a sentimental passion. All the memories I hold there and will continue to make there carried over into my viewing of “The Descendants”, set on the Hawaiian islands. That alone would have made it an emotional trip for me, but the fact that the film itself is a raw, messy, unfiltered mess of emotions turned something poignant into something transformative. This is an amazing work.

“The Descendants” continues George Clooney’s untouchable run as the premier, capital-M movie star of this generation. He plays Matt King, a man whose family is forced to sell a fairly unique generational heir-loom — 250,000 acres of premium Ka’aui real estate. All the while, he’s juggling trying to keep his troubled daughters’ heads above water as his wife lay in a coma that, his doctors say, she probably won’t ever wake up from. When his elder daughter, Alex, casually drops the revelation that prior to the coma she was cheating for quite some time, things really spiral out of control.

In a world soaked with animated films, sequels, films based on toys and films made to sell toys, experiences like “The Descendants” are hard to come by. It’s a film without much flash or pizzazz to its direction, simply a faith that we, the audience, can connect with and be moved by the characters’ experiences. It works. Writer-director Alexander Payne has been biding his time since 2004′s “Sideways”, and working with such emotional material as this, I can see why.

“The Descendants”, like all of Payne’s work, strikes an uncanny balance between the humorous and the heartbreaking. It’d be a crime to undersell just how funny Clooney, his daughters, and Alex’s imbecile boyfriend Sid are together. But at the same time, a lot of the humor stems from the imperfections and flaws these characters carry with them, giving every laugh a wounded resonance, bordering on discomfort.

It almost seems redundant at this point to praise Clooney — I feel like every year he drops a performance or two labelled as Oscar-worthy, (“Up in the Air”, “Michael Clayton”, this year’s own “Ides of March”) but it’s only because he’s willing to dig deeper and take on greater challenges than any of his contemporaries. This may be the first film I’ve seen where the guy actually begins to show his age — Clooney de-glamourized, if you will.

But where “The Descendants” really surprised me were the performances of his family. Clooney’s younger daughter, Scottie, serves as both the film’s comic relief and sense of purity. It seems everyone in this film is damaged but her, although her profanity-laden one-liners certainly suggest otherwise. The pothead tag-along in the family, Alex’s boyfriend Sid, is hysterical. Scenes where he interacts with his elders are among the funniest of the year. But this being an Alexander Payne film, he too gets an exchange later in the film that strips us of our assumptions of his character.

But what may be the finest performance of the film is Shailene Woodley as Matt’s hard-partying daughter, Alex herself. She takes what could have been a whiny, one-note character and infuses her with life — yes, sarcasm and sass, but also warmth and humor, grace and intelligence. One scene where she learns her mother’s condition and screams furiously underwater in a pool is unforgettable.

And Hawaii in this film — I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect representation. It’s set more in the suburbs of the islands rather than the postcard-esque vistas, and is a superb, but most importantly accurate realization of an amazing place. Simply put, ”The Descendants” is one of the most unique, touching American films released in the time since I began reviewing. Through the eyes of one of the most glamorous men on the planet, it faces some very ugly truths dead in the eye — truths about dysfunction, jealousy, family, and how the three will always to some extent be intertwined. A

The unofficial, unfortunate faces of popular American cinema in "BREAKING DAWN: PART I".

At the end of “Breaking Dawn: Part I”, I leaned over to my mother and said, “Please, for the love of God, get me out of here before someone spots me.”

I said this not out of some misguided fear for my masculine image, nor social status, or whatever you opt to read into that. But rather, it was my actual pride as a consumer and appreciator of the arts that I wanted to flee that theater. “The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn: Part I” is among the most laughable products of entertainment I’ve ever witnessed, comparable to a 5-year old’s stick-figure-dinosaur in its simplicity and ineptitude. Sorry, parents. And sorry to the moviegoers whose $139 million this past weekend further fueled one of the greater follies on American pop culture of the last decade.

Why so harsh, Ryan?

Considering I actually gave the last installment, the surprisingly competent “Eclipse”, a B, why such a drastic U-turn? Simply put, it’s because “Breaking Dawn” is so bad, the ineptitude is not only contained to it, but actually spreads to the first three films in the Twilight canon, two of which were fairly watchable exercises. Yes, friends, “Breaking Dawn” actually retroactively ruins other movies. To critique the acting in this film would be redundant — not when I’ve written reviews of what’s essentially an identical performance for this film’s three predecessors. The leads Kristen Stewart, Robert Pattinson and Taylor Lautner all seem to see the light at the end of the tunnel and totally phone it in here. I can’t blame them, nor can I say I don’t resent how such little work can still yield so much attention. Stewart is the best of the trio, conveying a feeling that must be difficult as an actor — literally being broken from the inside out, aided by extremely impressive visual-effects work.

This doesn’t answer my question I guess – why so harsh, Ryan?

To answer this question, I direct your attention to the recent conclusion of the “Harry Potter” franchise. “Deathly Hallows”, when put together, comprises a 5-hour epic with massive ambition and scope — but there isn’t a minute in either halves that isn’t dedicated to fleshing out the characters or propelling the story forward. The decision to make it into two films was a prudent one for the story being told. Compare this to “Breaking Dawn”. There’s literally stretches of this film dedicated to glances, ponderous beats, slow-motion shots of garbage cans closing, prolonged sequences of chess-playing. The whole thing is — and this is a word I strive as a critic to avoid — boring.

In “Breaking Dawn: Part I”, vampire Edward and human Bella marry, embark on a honeymoon, have sex, realize that for whatever reason they didn’t employ protection, and face the consequences of a multi-species beast growing in Bella’s stomach. Also, there’s a clan of angry, poorly animated werewolves. How they stretched these events out to 108 minutes still amazes me.

The grand flaw that’s always left “Twilight” behind in one way or another behind rival franchises is its dependency on character-driven moments — be it one-liners, glances, reveals, etc, when the franchise did such a poor job of building their personalities & foundations to begin with. Think about it — “Harry Potter” often achieved absolute hilarity (and at times, heartbreak) because over time you’d become so familiar and responsive to the characters. “Twilight” stumbled with this development right out of the gate, so the moments where it tries to play off our fondness for the characters fails. And that’s really all that “Breaking Dawn: Part I” is — a film built on moments playing off a relationship with the audience that doesn’t exist. D

William Shakespeare, figure of adoration, and as "ANONYMOUS" asserts, a total fraud.

We’ve all had that one kid in some class or another who thought that by using large words and elongating their sentences as long as possible, that they were smarter than all the other kids. Now imagine that kid getting to make his own movie about one of the most universally adored artists ever to walk the planet. You now understand my annoyance with Roland Emmerich’s “Anonymous”.

Emmerich is a bit of a symbol of everything I hate about Hollywood. The maker of “Godzilla”, “The Day After Tomorrow”, and “2012″, he’s an unrelenting purveyor of destruction, death and noise; with obscenely high box-office receipts to boot. So his suitability for “Anonymous”‘ subject matter is certainly up for debate — a tangled web of political intrigue, relationships, creative disputes and family feuds. It’s all centered around the Earl of Oxford, who to shift public opinion, decides to release several plays to make a large splash. Hiding a tremendous talent for writing, he uses a middle-man as a public facade. This fraud’s name? William Shakespeare.

If there is one major achievement to the credit of “Anonymous”, it’s the dynamic digital re-creation of 16th-century-era England. Done with the seamless blending of practical stages and digital effects, it’s as vivid and textured as any digitally-created landscape. The fact that it was done on the film’s reputed $30 million budget makes it all the more impressive.

Rhys Ifans is the Earl of Oxford and lead character — and he’s something of a blank slate throughout the film — never really readable for the first two-thirds of the film, which make his sudden outbursts of emotion in the latter 40 minutes all the more baffling. He’s servicable. Further roles include Vanessa Redgrave as Elizabeth I, never escaping the shadow of her peers’ Cate Blanchett & Judi Dench’s wonderful work as the same character. David Thewlis is charming and persuasive as William Cecil, the Queen’s advisor.

“Band of Brothers” scribe John Orloff is credited as the scribe. Never in this film are the believable, richly human interactions of that miniseries displayed. ”Anonymous” has faced a lot of venom from historians disputing the film’s veracity, which makes me wonder — will anyone actually take this film as fact? Doubtful. Rather, what I think should be analyzed is how such a potentially intriguing concept was conveyed in such a dry, listless fashion. Perhaps the greatest fault I can find against “Anonymous” is that — at face value — it’s a film about relationships, about how different groups and alliances tangle. But in all his career, one thing Emmerich has never done is convincingly develop a genuine, authentic character. Without this very basic skill, character-driven films fall apart. “Anonymous” is dead on arrival. D+

Harold and Kumar after accidentally taking out Santa Claus -- with a shotgun.

Babies taking ecstasy, Ukranian mobsters, womanizing celebrities pretending to be gay, mens’ privates being frozen to a pole, claymation animation, Santa Claus taking a shotgun shell to the face, killer waffle-machines, car chases and 3-D cocaine snow-storms aren’t everyone’s idea of a traditional Christmas film. But then again the “Harold & Kumar” franchise never really was crafted with the majority in mind, instead catering to the audience craving a comedy a little more raunchy and radical than common, bland PG-13 offerings. (key example: this film’s counter-programming this weekend, “Tower Heist”) This critic is one such example, although that doesn’t necessarily mean I go to movies seeking the above criteria. I don’t.

That said, “A Very Harold & Kumar 3D Christmas” has its doses of sweet, although its awareness of traditional Christmas cinema doesn’t bode well for the sincerity of them. With these films we’ve tracked the stoner duo’s misadventures, and set several years afterwards, it appears they’ve settled down. The newly-married Harold is now a successful Wall Street executive, where Kumar’s life is about as static and blown (literally) as it was before. But when, I kid you not, a magical joint brings the two back together, they must scramble to replace the “perfect” Christmas tree Harold’s menacing father-in-law provided — that is, until the joint put it all into flames. Literally.

This quest for a simple tree turns into something much wilder, pushing the boundaries of the R-rating often. But “Harold and Kumar” slyly subverts a lot of trends we as a culture hold dear — simple family gatherings, our penchant for 3D, anti-Wall Street sentiment, pro-Wall Street sentiment. Nothing is held sacred here, and although the movie never really says anything meaningful about whatever its tackling, it holds a defiant middle-finger up to it nonetheless.

John Cho and Kal Penn are in top form as the titular duo. This series has brought them nothing but goodwill, landing Cho a spot in “Star Trek” and, in a bizarrely wonderful twist of fate, scoring Penn a spot in the White House. In bit roles, Patton Oswalt as a drug-dealing mall-Santa, Danny Trejo as the fearsome father-in-law who sets it all into motion, and Neil Patrick Harris, returning as himself for the third straight time in the series. Harris electrifies this franchise as he consistently has.

“A Very Harold & Kumar 3D Christmas” has a massive amount of shenanigans to condense into 89 minutes, coming at the expense of cohesion and clarity. It’s shoddily edited and stitched together, more often than not feeling like a rough-cut with awkward transitions, introductions, and actions randomly repeated twice. Oddly enough, had he waited a little longer for the actual Christmas period, I’m sure director Todd Strauss-Schulson could have worked out the nitpicks and kinks fairly easily.

Yeah, characters are underdeveloped, racial stereotypes are repeatedly employed, and the 3-D technology is only really used whenever the makers want to throw a bodily fluid in your face. And believe me, they throw EVERY bodily fluid in your face. But if it offends audiences it’s no one’s fault but their own, given these films’ reputations at this point. For what it is and who its for, “Harold and Kumar” is a near-perfect Christmas film, subverting and offending near everything in its path while actually being a fairly heartfelt contribution to the holiday genre. I’m excited to see the continuing path of one of the more daring, radical, and charming comedic franchises out there at this point. B+

While you sleep....

The “Paranormal Activity” franchise’s greatest advantage is probably going to be its greatest curse further down the line — the element of surprise. Backed on the gimmick that it’s authentic ‘found-footage’ of sinister ghostly happenings around an extended family and their homes, three installments in, I’m not altogether sure they can hold it together for further ones down the line. They’ve squeezed all the creative juice they can out of the concept — but ah, what delicious juice.

The first film’s underdog status is a story well-told, as is the mediocrity of its successor. Paramount wisely picked two total curveballs to helm “Activity 3″, the makers of the potentially-fake documentary “Catfish”, Ariel Schulman and Henry Joost. This is a film buzzing with creative energy and sly sleight-of-hand, with tension only ramping up as Schulman and Joost unleash one crazy set-piece after the other. There’s no household object here that isn’t fair game — that the malicious spirits in this film will not try and turn against the characters (and ultimately, the audience).

The film traces the first two film’s main characters, Katie and Kristi, back to their sisterly childhood roots in 1988. In those films their sinister childhood happenings were only hinted at, here they’re fully depicted. The footage is “caught” by way of their mother’s videographer boyfriend, who senses something isn’t right and sets up cameras in rooms all over the house. Just as the first two films did (or should have, in theory, the second being a failure) we ease into the proceedings by way of cheap, self-conscious jump-scares. But as the nights go on and on, the happenings intensify. The last 15 minutes of this film are pure, undiluted terror, with a capital T.

“Paranormal Activity 3″ serves also as a satisfying counter-argument for many things I, as a viewer, tend to scream at the screen in horror films — “Why won’t you get out of the house?!”, “Don’t go in the closet!”, etc. The directors, clearly very conscious of these genre trappings, work them into the plot in very clever ways. And I can’t emphasize this to you, the reader, nearly enough — catch this on a late weekend night, with a packed audience. Part of what makes these films such unique experiences is how responsive the audience is to them – shouting, heckling, and screaming all through the running time.

Part of my deep respect for this franchise is that it trains the viewer to look for even the tiniest changes in a given scene — lulling us into a constant sense of unease and squeaminess. These movies are proof that you don’t need dangling intestines or crazed chainsaw-wielders to strike deep fear in the hearts of moviegoers. And deep fear it is — “Paranormal Activity 3″ is the best horror-movie experience I’ve had since I caught the original, in September 2009. All bets are off for this one, as is my hat. See what I did there? B+

Gosling's character Stephen touring for George Clooney's radical politician in "The Ides of March".

It’s one thing to be the star of a film and also write, direct, and produce it. But to tinker with and deconstruct one’s own famously charismatic, silky screen persona is another thing entirely. George Clooney pulls off all five of these things with uniformly strong results in the political drama “The Ides of March”. Clooney is Mike Morris, a man whose talk of broad reforms and revisionist policy have captured the attention of a nation. Set over the course of a week leading up to the Democratic primary in Ohio, Morris’s campaign team include the jaded Paul (Phillip Seymour Hoffman) and the young, idealistic Stephen played by….you guessed it, Ryan Gosling. This is the fourth time in the last 10 months Gosling’s name has showed up in a review of mine, and the fourth time I’ve emerged fairly awed with his work [and his looks].

Paul Giamatti is a rival candidate’s campaign manager who tries luring Stephen over to their camp, which sets off a chaotic set of events in which loyalties are tested and principles are violated. And that’s really what “Ides of March” is about. Not necessarily who wins the primary, but what ends people will go to ensure it goes one way or another. Gosling is our moral center here, and as he skews towards a shadier ethical ground, our sense of balance as viewers is totally thrown for a loop. Leaving “Ides of March”, the disturbing thing is how easily you can emphasize with Gosling’s arc. If such a youthful, energetic force can fall, who can’t?

Gosling’s face has been a particular joy to watch as a filmgoer — not because of his looks, mind you, but because of how much he communicates with his face. In “Ides”, his eyes are put to just as much work as his mouth, and one could certainly argue his performance gains its power from it. Side roles include Marisa Tomei in solid form as a Times reporter, Jeffrey Wright as a governor whose endorsement may be key to the primary, and Evan Rachel Wood as an intern. The script certainly tinkers with our expectation of a ‘love-interest’ role [the interest being for Gosling], taking some fairly jaw-dropping turns with the character.

There’s not a weak link in the cast, Clooney particularly standing out for his work as the candidate in question. So many times, in films like “Up in the Air” and the “Ocean’s” trilogy, we’ve perceived Clooney’s characters as suave, collected, vibrant guys. “Ides of March” is notable in that for the first time, we see very plainly that this is an act on his character’s part. Clooney, both in front of and behind the camera, propels the film forward at an intense clip.

Clooney as a director continues to develop as a stylist, working with cinematographer Phedon Papamichael to create a silhouette-shrouded, seedy vibe throughout. One particular scene, in which Gosling and Hoffman’s characters debate ethics lit against the American flag is some of the most ingenious cinematography this year. [the fact that the scene was filmed in Ann Arbor's own Power-Center notwithstanding]

Clooney’s own liberal ideologies, however, pose more of a problem to the film. Seeing as much of the film takes place in town-hall debates, Clooney manages to work in some wry, of-the-moment observations of our own political landscape. Although I understand some of these scenes were necessary to establish his character’s political standing, there’s a point where it stops feeling like George Clooney’s character talking, and more like George Clooney. Given how deeply he dives into the remainder of his role, it makes these stick out sorely.

I don’t think anyone could call “Ides”‘s various plot twists shocking, but they’re handled with just the right tone and delivered so convincingly by the cast that it almost fools you into thinking they’re unforeseeable. Matters certainly take a turn for worse in the final 30 minutes, in which the film’s overall question is resolved — who can Stephen trust? Anyone? Himself?

“The Ides of March” doesn’t decide whether to be about politics or ethics until it’s a little too late to make much sense of the former. That said, the film’s tight grip on style and tone, as well as a near-perfect ensemble cast, ensure a gripping drama whose final message [and final shot, for that matter] is sure to unsettle many, and maybe rouse a few to action. B+

Joseph Gordon-Levitt as the cancer-stricken Adam, and Seth Rogen as his concerned stoner buddy in "50/50".

Tragedy can be kind of a funny thing, if you think long enough about it. So much of people’s lives are devoted to presentation of control; be it of a situation, of a job, of emotions, et cetera. So the fact that a single event can tear all that down and strip one of their control carries a really dark, somewhat sinister irony about it. “50/50″ explores that in the most appropriate way possible — with a heavy dosage of humor, some moments of genuine heartbreak and poignancy, and brownies laced with cannabis. It’s a good time to be had at the movies.

Joseph Gordon-Levitt is the man whose life rapidly unravels, with the shocking revelation that he has a severe form of spinal cancer. See, he’s a 20-something health nut with a steady if shady girlfriend and a goofball best friend; played by the only guy I can think of who deserves his absurdly-expensive paychecks to show up in movies, laugh and get high. Yes, friends, Seth Rogen is in this film, and his loose comedic energy provides a lot of the film’s surprisingly frequent laughter.

The chance of survival Gordon-Levitt has makes up the title of the film, and to be sure, “50/50″ dives very deep into the confusion and hurt that his character, Adam is feeling. But “50/50″ is just as much about the effect his disease has on other people, and the brilliant supporting cast bring both believability and humor to their roles. Rogen does well essentially playing a variant on himself in real life — see, he’s good friends with screenwriter Will Reiser, whose script here is based on his own experiences of getting cancer at a young age.

Anjelica Huston is perfect as Adam’s hopelessly if adorably dependent mother. Bryce Dallas Howard continues making a name for herself in Hollywood playing unsympathetic girlfriend-characters, and the veteran Philip Baker Hall is hilarious as a fellow cancer-patient with a fondness for all things cannabis.

Anna Kendrick, whose career build-up continues in the wake of roles in “Up in the Air” and the “Twilight” films, hits just the right notes as Adam’s therapist who wants to maintain a degree of distance from her, admittedly, very good-looking patient. Gordon-Levitt’s status as one of the best-looking men in Hollywood, admittedly, compromises the film’s believability on one occasion — he has a hard time picking up girls at a local bar. If there’s any female (or for that matter, male) readers who aren’t in love with Gordon-Levitt, I demand an explanation.

There’s a moment towards the end where our lead, who’s been fairly composed up to this point, lets out a furious scream. As an audience member, all through the film I’d been laughing with his character, but it’s in this little 10-second beat that I realized how deeply I felt for him. The subtle ways in which writer-director Jonathon Levine builds that up for us — believable supporting characters, convincing interactions, and constant deviation from movie formula to create a more honest, open tone — go a long way towards setting it apart from the majority of films in this genre, and probably this year. Refreshingly unpretentious, and satisfying on all levels. Oscar voters, take note. A-

Pitt and Hill, partners in crime rebelling against baseball conventions in "MONEYBALL".

“Moneyball” lives in the shadow of the Facebook movie. It’s an unfortunate comparison, given my absurdly high regard for “The Social Network”, but it’s one that must be made. Both Columbia Pictures-backed, modestly budgeted adult fare slid into a near-identical fall release with a specific vernacular pertaining to a cultural revolution — in “The Social Network”s case, communication, in “Moneyball”s case, baseball. I suppose the most obvious parallel is their scribe, Aaron Sorkin.

Sorkin’s dialogue often takes a sardonic, biting rhythm, as if each word stings as it rolls off the tongue. He dials that back for this Brad Pitt vehicle, taking a smooth, relaxed pace. The plot, adapted from one of Michael Lewis’s endless bestsellers, revolves around Oakland Athletics owner Billy Beane. Given a budget around a third of the major-league teams, Beane, along with a young statistician, Peter, devises a radical new method of compiling a successful team — one driven purely by statistics and calculations, not old adages or gut-instinct. The fact that the reserved, hyper-intelligent Peter is played by the guy who drew lots of penises in “Superbad” is totally irrelevant.

“Moneyball” moves at a measured pace, one that I’m not entirely sure was appropriate. Here, we have the story of two men betting their reputations and livelihoods on changing an American tradition. Director Bennett Miller certainly conveys the opposition to Beane’s theory, but never the rebellious, driven spirit that fueled him.

Beane’s struggle at home is certainly humanized well, in a moving subplot with his young daughter. But we get a little too much of the ‘Brad Pitt, meaningfully staring into distance’ stuff and not enough of the ‘Brad Pitt flying in the face of societal convention’ stuff.

This marks Miller’s sophomore effort as a director, after his 2005 work “Capote” which won Philip Seymour Hoffman an Oscar. Hoffman collaborates with Miller again here, playing the team’s coach, Art, who represents a direct contrast to Beane’s theory. A running joke is how the press glorifies Beane’s accomplishments as Art’s own, but otherwise, Hoffman is definitely a side player.

Jonah Hill is the real revelation here, and it’s not because of any grand entrance or dramatic outburst — it’s because of his silence. The normally comic actor is totally dead-pan here, something that, ironically, can work to great comedic effect during his discourses with Pitt.

Chris Nolan’s go-to cinematographer Wally Pfister shoots offices and baseball stadiums with the same grandeur and intensity that he applies in Nolan’s works. “Moneyball”s structure imitates its storyline, in that it never quite offers a clear, triumphant victory that one would expect from a film of this genre.

The fact of the matter is, “Moneyball” is not a sports movie, nor is it an economics one. It’s about how one man’s personal philosophy, if championed just enough, can change the way traditions are carried. On one hand, it’s the story of one great American tradition, baseball, but on the other hand, it’s the story of an even greater one: Revolution. Who can root against that? B

No caption needed. Driver drives.

As long as the cinema has been around, a prominent fixture in its works have been guns. More specifically, the little metal cylinders that empty out of them, who it goes into, and why. Somewhere along the way, however, the visceral impact of guns have been watered down. You don’t really feel the bullets anymore, to be honest. One of the many distinctive things about Nicolas Winding Refn’s “Drive” — every bullet goes off like a bomb. This is partly due to the booming sound choices Refn takes. However, it’s mostly because “Drive” has a pervasive silence — dialogue is fairly rare, and when it is, it’s absolutely vital. Refn structures “Drive” almost like a game of Jenga — taking a fully developed, built tower (or in this case, film) and seeing how many elements he can remove without it falling apart. “Drive” is a film with all the fat trimmed — every beat, pause, line, gun-shot, and glance is vital. Everything – forgive the pun – drives the film forward.

Ryan Gosling is the star, as tends to be the case with most quality American cinema in recent months. Gosling is the lead character in a film called “Drive”, and so it is appropriate that in the film he, yes, drives. He has no name, nor a backstory. All we know is that he’s a stunt driver by day and criminal-getaway driver by night. After becoming involved with a woman from his apartment block, he becomes involved in a heist. Like all movie heists must, this goes very wrong. To reveal more, as the marketing campaign apparently did (I made it a point to avoid trailers for this film), would be a total injustice. Just know that some very bad things happen and a very interesting side of our Driver is revealed.

Gosling plays Driver with a slippery cool; always hinting at emotions and reactions but never betraying them until very late into the film. What leads Driver to let down his cool is actress Carey Mulligan, whose talent and unbelievable cuteness seemingly feed off one another with each subsequent film she makes. The two have a refreshing lack of verbal interplay explaining how much they love each other — Gosling and Mulligan do something much more rare. They glance. They act. Stars should try it sometime.

“Drive” may play mainly off these two, but it sports an impeccable supporting cast that add flair and personality to the proceedings. “Breaking Bad” star Bryan Cranston is great as Driver’s mentor, and Ron Perlman as well, as Cranston’s parallel to the main villain — Albert Brooks. Brooks pulls a 180 on his traditional persona, playing a wonderfully evil, hilariously venomous man. I can’t quite spoil how he relates to Driver, aside from the obvious point that the two come into very direct, volatile conflict. Christina Hendricks is nice here. Her brains make for a unique sight.

“Drive” is not so much an action picture as it is a funky little art-house concoction, that happens to have A-list stars, gunfights and some incredible car-chases. Seriously, the opening sequence of this film is a complete nail-biter — Driver navigates two passengers/wanted thieves through a web of cop-cars and helicopters in downtown Los Angeles. “Drive” seems to be full of these brilliant little moments of either unbelievable tension, or ones of almost cartoonishly grotesque violence. Forks, boots, and window-panes are utilized in the process.

Propelled by Cliff Martinez’s atmospheric, synth-driven score, “Drive”s denim jackets, tooth-picks and hot-pink title-sequence all carry a distinctively ’80′s style, one not really used for more than atmosphere. But still — what atmosphere!

All of this font and all of these words (assuming this review reaches your hands unedited, thus far I count 611) describe what “Drive” is like, but what convinces me this film is a masterpiece is that I can’t really articulate the instinct that I get, that I KNOW it’s special. “Drive” is a film that on script, was a pure genre exercise. On screen, it’s rollicking, hypnotic entertainment. A

Matt Damon trying to escape newly-quarantined Minnesota in "Contagion".

In my time as amateur film-critic/connoisseur, I have to use the bathroom really quite often. This seems a really bizarre place to start a movie review, but then, do you really expect anything too traditional from my end? I say this not to shock or elicit a giggle, but because I had to go really freaking bad during the entirety of Steven Soderbergh’s 105-minute disaster epic “Contagion”. And you know what? I sat there the entire time, not really caring one way or another whether I was in fairly intense abdominal pain. So gripping is his vision of society’s meltdown, I felt to miss a frame would be a disservice. You tell me the last movie that pinned you to your seat like that.

“Contagion” is helmed by the man I believe to be American cinema’s most exciting filmmaker, Steven Soderbergh. Over the years the man’s cranked out star-studded extravaganzas, documentaries, five-hour epics, explorations of eroticism, Julia Roberts vehicles, and, I kid you not, an experimental drama with porn star Sasha Grey in the lead role.

The fact that his quality can be inconsistent misses the point. The man will do anything and everything, putting a distinctive stamp on anything he touches. With “Contagion” Soderbergh adds another notch to his belt: master of terror. Yeah, “Contagion” is the most terrifying movie of the year and pulls this off without so much as a jump-scare.

Watching people chased with knifes and chainsaws can be scary, but considering that most level-headed individuals have not had such an experience, there’s a degree of distance to the proceedings. What if something so simple as a touch or a cough could have you contract a virus, putting you and anyone you contact six feet under? And furthermore, what happens when it spreads all over the world until there isn’t any more room six feet under?

These are only some of the questions “Contagion” answers, with a very deliberate, realistic style courtesy of “Bourne Ultimatum” scribe Scott Burns. Burns extensively researched his material for the film, even working with the CDC to create an authentic virus. Although occasionally at the expense of organically developed dialogue, authenticity pays off handsomely, never calling to attention its status as a multimillion-dollar blockbuster with an Oscar winner in almost every frame.

Among them are Matt Damon, Marion Cotillard, Kate Winslet, Jude Law, Gwyneth Paltrow, Bryan Cranston, Elliot Gould, John Hawkes, and Dr. Sanjay Gupta. (Because what’s a tentpole blockbuster without a famed neurosurgeon playing himself?) Damon aside, who sinks himself into the role of a pudgy, unassuming newly-single father, none of them carry particularly deep, memorable roles, but then again, such is not the point. They are essentially inserts for the audience to hook their emotions in, and with their characters including bloggers, specialists, doctors and janitors, I’m sure at least one will do the trick.

We are intended to care for their plight, but Soderbergh always reminds of the grander scale of things — he’s not afraid to kill off Gwyneth Paltrow in the first ten minutes of the film, and he’s not really afraid to remind us that it doesn’t matter too much, either. Why mourn the passing of one when billions more tiptoe death’s door? And why not throw boatloads of praise onto a studio-backed film that will so fearlessly pose such a question? A-