No, Ludlum’s and Tarantino’s characters are not explicitly alluded to or literally borrowed from, but the flavor is inexcapably familiar. Here’s the good news, though: Hanna is significantly more than just a tundrafied teenager mashup of these new classics — it has a meaningful story all its own sneaked in between the fights.

And there is fighting. Cool fighting. Eric Bana and newcomer Saoirse Ronan spend the first 20 minutes of the film alternating between woodland-rules physical throwdowns and quaint firelit encyclopedia study sessions in an expositional bonding sequence that, while not as cleverly shocking as that of Kick Ass, is also thankfully less crass. And then the rest of the film shows the pair using said mad skills to pwn baddie after baddie in situation after situation until the film is over. You knew that.

But here’s the bit you might not have known: director Joe Walsh takes the ambient aestheticism and drmatci pensiveness previously demonstrated in 2007′s Atonement and 2005′s Pride and Prejudice (you know, the relatively not-lame version — the Donald Sutherland one) and re-appropriates it, breathing a relatively non-sexist, authentic sympathy into Hanna‘s story in order to emotionally bolster the coming-of-age moments and themes that other directors might have ignored.

The result is a film with no shortage of comic-booky radnesses worthy of the thumping techno score (thanks, Chemical Brothers, you’re so good to us!), but which is also genuinely concerned with its protagonists growth and self-discovery. When young Hanna is not wasting drones or leaping from something to other-something, she’s dealing with boys, commiserating with broad-minded British neo-hippies, and watching the landscape roll past the car window — all while asking herself why she is who she is and where she’s going and why.

The direction and plot have their contrivances, yes, but truly the narrative proves itself an earnest modern descendent of the very Grimm tales it references. Credit is due to storysmiths Seth Lockhead and David Farr for creating a tale in which a real-world Hanna-type young person could lose him/herself — a classically pittoresque adventure which steps from eye-opening episode to episode, but which does so in a contemporary style that, while borrowed from some of cinema’s recent greats, is appreciably unique in this application.

That’s what you said to yourself upon your first exposure to a trailer for Rango, isn’t it? Well, that or “Yeah, I guess Johnny Depp hasn’t been a chameleon yet. :: audible sigh :: ”

Well, it turns out it was awesome.

We all know, as has been proven in a series of very scientific method-y studies, that 99 percent of CG animated films are cranked out by tremendously, really stupendously talented animators, illustrators, and virtual physics masters who, when some conscientious minority interrupts the sketching party with “Shouldn’t we have a bit of narrative in there, too?”, go “What? Oh, yeah… One of those… Sure, I guess.” BUT not Mr. Verbinski and friends.

In any case, the story seems to actually take more than a 51 percent share of the stock of this film, which is good news for everyone — even the illustrators and animators who, throughout the course of Rango, never once miss a chance to simultaneously frolick and impress, essentially having their technical cake and eating their narrative cake, too.

So my point is it looks good. I won’t go on gawping or fawning or using any other relatively little-used verbs with “aw” in them to attest to the technical coolnesses Rango has to offer. That’s between the film and your eyes.

So let’s stop praising Verbinski (not that he doesn’t deserve it) and start super-praising screenwriter John Logan, because it is Rango‘s story that really merits special attention. It is anachronistic, anthropomorphic, existentialist, slapstick, adventurous, delightfully irresponsible, and arrestingly sober all at once — truly “seven [achievements] with one blow,” which, yes, is a direct allusion to “The Brave Little Tailor,” the classic fairy tale upon which Rango‘s dramatic action is based.

If we’re to make literary or cinematic allusions, though, what makes Rango so goshdarned cool is more than the Grimm-ness at it’s narrative core, but also the Tom Stoppard-ness, the Coen Brothers-ness, and the Brian Jacques-ness that combine to make up the rest. If you haven’t attended Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, read Redwall or watched Raising Arizona, then go do so immediately, after which you should watch Rango and enjoy a small pleasure seizure at witnessing all three genii so artfully combined.

Plus, there abounds a healthy dose of Looney Tunes sensibilities, that I shouldn’t neglect to mention. We’ve got surprising animated “cameos” (Hunter S. Thompson/Raoul Duke, Clint Eastwood/Man With No Name, et al.), metaphysical gags (producing mallets and guns and so forth from nowhere), borderline-offensive stereotypes (morbid Mexican mariachi birds existing on the margin of society, tough Cockney henchmen, etc.), and a protagonist whose only real strength is pure indefatigable pluck.

So this must be a children’s film, right? It’s animated and cartoony, and its world feels distinctly cousinly to that of Mssrs. Chip & Dale and their associated Rescue Rangers. Well, no, not really. Bring a youngster to this and you’re guaranteed to have to recomb his/her hair afterward, wot with a solid 7-maybe-even-9-out-of-10 jokes whizzing consistently over junior’s head. And yet, for weeks, now, every other commercial spot on Nickelodeon shouts, “Hey, kids! Come see this kids movie, Rango — it’s totally for kids!” Of course they did, as Nickelodeon was a primary producer of the project. But still, do we have a marketing ethics problem here? Perhaps from some perspectives, yes, but I might just have to contend.

See, while much of the depth of the story will be too deep for your average pre-teen to easily grasp, and much of the humour too far over his/her head, it will encourage stretching. It’s not a film that speaks to a young person the way he or she might overhear his or her peers tell a story — with exclusively pre-acquired vocabulary and references — but rather as that young person might overhear two older persons relate anecdotes, and that can be very healthy. After all, haven’t most of the truly inspiring, mind-working, horizon-expanding, research-provoking media experiences of our lives been those that aimed above our heads, motivating us to grow up a little? Personally, one of the main reasons I even went to college was to try and figure out what the other two-thirds of the jokes in Monty Python and the Holy Grail meant.

When children are exposed to films that don’t talk down but rather pop a squat and talk as parallely as possible, all while lifting the receiver’s chin to look up at bigger and better things — which happen to, in real life, also tend to be looming, intimidating, challenging things — that’s what helps children look past the fleeting superficialities of their present station and fixate instead on the realities of the world they stand to inherit all too soon. They learn that there are consequences to all actions, that bravery is required to live even the humdrum moments of life, and that assuming responsibility is a noble and good thing to do.

And Rango, with it’s sincere questions about the role of the artist in society, about the harsh realities of being a hero, about the humanity and intrisic worth of the mixed-up and even the criminal, does just that. Its themes are frequently more profound and its jokes too referential or quick for the average youngster to comprehend, but that’s exactly why it’s good medicine — it will challenge them to become above-average youngsters.

Of course, if you’re an adult, you can look at this whole thing the other way around and say, “A meaningful, well-scripted film full of bats and rattlesnakes with machine guns stuck on them? Righteous!” And there’s nothing wrong with that, either.

This conversation is about Catfish, the other Facebook movie that came out last year and didn’t get nearly the attention it deserved. Presented as a documentary, it chronicles the story of a relationship between a boy and a girl, or rather a boy and an entire family, which happens to include a girl he falls for. The catch? Their whole relationship — Nev (the boy), Angela (the mother), Abby (the 8-year-old), and Megan (his huge crush) — all takes place over Facebook and phone calls. There are pictures, mailed packages, long conversations, and endless messaging, because Nev lives in New York and Megan’s family lives in Michigan.

But then Nev (and his filmmaker roommates) decide to fit a surprise visit to Michigan into a business trip. Nev wants to meet these people in person.

And that’s where any summary of this film should stop. The way everything unfolds is riveting. Nearly unbelievable. In fact, that’s the real question everyone is asking. How much (if any) of this was contrived? It’s presented as a documentary. Not like Cloverfield or Paranormal Activity, but an actual, this-is-reality documentary. No tricks.

That presents some problems for the observant members of its audience. Documentaries don’t often (ever?) work out so neatly. There are a lot of extremely handy coincidences and blind spots that you have to overlook or accept in order to believe the whole thing was as real as the filmmakers claim it is.

For their part, they are dogged in their assertion that it is 100 percent genuine, but they also seem a bit quick to provide some false choices — it’s either completely real or they wrote and cast and acted and directed the whole thing. Surely there are some possibilities in-between? The thing is, it’s impossible to prove anything. The only three people in the world who would know whether any part of this thing was contrived would be the filmmakers themselves.

It comes down to whether they’re the kind of people who would hold up this kind of lie for the sake of success. I think there are a lot of people who would, though the consequences are a bit dire. I want to tell you to go see this film. I think it’s incredibly pertinent, fascinating and entertaining. It’s a great film. But at the same time, if it’s not entirely true, then these filmmakers are in some moral trouble. If there is contrivance here — and I can’t go into detail because I don’t want to spoil anything — but if there was some manipulation, some dishonesty, then it means this film is appallingly exploitative, and I would urge that no one support it. Tough question.

But it could be entirely true. Sometimes life grants us perfect narrative arcs — I’m thinking of the ending of New York Doll, in particular. Sometimes the timing is just right. And if this is true, it’s one of the most remarkable films ever made, and a must-see for the contemporary world.

If it’s fake (even partly), then it’s still a really good film, but it also has no soul. And we know that giving that away for some amount of fame and fortune — or perhaps some popularity at Sundance — has certainly been done before.

Best Picture

Who will win: The King’s Speech

Who should win: I’ve seen every nominee except The Fighter, which I’ve heard is good, but not “Oscar good.” Usually every year I have one favorite that I feel passionately should win. This year, however, I like most of the films. I thought The Kids Are All Right was just all right, and Inception really does not deserve the nomination. Watch Inception a second time and pay attention to the writing — it’s horrible. The rest of the nominees, however, are truly outstanding. If I had to pick a favorite, if you held a gun to my head, I would say The King’s Speech. It has all the elements of a great movie. It’s beautiful, it’s moving, the acting is superb, and Colin Firth.

Best Director

Who will win: Tom Hooper, The King’s Speech

Who should win: Darren Aronofsky, Black Swan. He managed to make every second of Black Swan thrilling — and it’s a movie about ballet!

Best Actor

Who will win: Colin Firth, The King’s Speech

Who should win: James Franco, 127 Hours. I feel like I’ve betrayed Colin. I love Colin (Mr. Darcy) so much. But he didn’t have to carry an entire movie with his arm stuck beneath a rock. I mean, that’s impressive. And by the end of 127 Hours, I really thought Franco was dying. And I was really thirsty. That’s good acting.

Best Supporting Actor

Who will win: Christian Bale, The Fighter — because his hair is long and artsy now.

Who should win: John Hawkes. Winter’s Bone is far too ugly to be Best Picture, but the acting is some of the best I’ve ever seen. Hawkes is absolutely terrifying and compassionate, and he looked like he smelled bad. Again, that’s great acting.

Best Actress

Who will win: Natalie Portman, Black Swan

Who should win: Nicole Kidman, Rabbit Hole. Nat’s performance was pretty amazing. But honestly, how hard is it to go insane? I think the effects really added to the performance — the sound, the cinematography and the makeup all had as much to do with the illusion of insanity as her acting. Nicole Kidman greiving over her dead son in Rabbit Hole had me sobbing in the back of the theater. And as much as I hate being a public spectacle, I have to hand it to the woman for making me feel so deeply while staring at a screen.

Best Supporting Actress

Who will win: Melissa Leo, The Fighter

Who should win: Hailee Steinfeld, True Grit. She should be in the leading role category, right? She is the star of True Grit, so the supporting business doesn’t make a lot of sense. Regardless, she deserves the win.

Best Animated Feature Film

Who will win: Toy Story 3

Who should win: Toy Story 3. I can’t even think about the final scenes without getting teary-eyed. And it’s the end of a trilogy, a Pixar legend. How to Train Your Dragon is completely charming and The Illusionist looks very sweet, but Toy Story 3 is epic.

Best Documentary Feature

Who will win: Restrepo. It’s political.

What should win: Exit Through the Gift Shop. One of the most entertaining films I’ve ever seen. It may or may not be true — and the fact that no one’s sure makes it that much more impressive.

I really don’t know enough about the rest of the categories to make any sort of educated guess, nor do I really care. They’re the “get-up-and-make-a-sandwich-to-kill-time” categories anyway.

“The Bechdel Rule is a test for films, which follows three criteria: (1) it has to have at least two named women in it, (2) who talk to each other, (3) about something other than a man.”

Think about it. Soak it in.

Okay, now think about some of the popular movies that have come out over the last couple years and see if they pass. The Social Network? Fails. TRON: Legacy? Doesn’t cut it. 500 Days of Summer? Surprisingly, no. The A-Team? Not even close. Up? Fail again.

It seems movies are more likely to make it at the box office if they’re about white male protagonists. If anyone tries to sell a screenplay to the studio executives over at Tinseltown that focuses on women, it will, more often than not, get turned down. (This aspiring screenwriter rants about how her professors preached not to write toward a female audience in film school.)

Women make up 51 percent of the U.S. population. That means women make up 51 percent of consumers. However, women arguably spend more money than men — and after examining my overflowing closet of shoes and clothes, I’d have to agree with this sentiment. From a purely economic standpoint, wouldn’t it be common sense and even advantageous to market to women just as equally as, if not more so than, men?

Apparently, the good ol’ boys club in Hollywood never got this memo.

Take the popular franchise, Wonder Woman, for example. I looked everywhere for a Wonder Woman costume this year for Halloween — they were sold out in every store. The Wonder Woman brand is most certainly marketable and profitable. But she has never made it to the big screen, despite years of attempts by producer Joel Silver and various screenwriters like Joss Whedon, who is known for writing strong female characters. (For more in-depth analysis of why Wonder Woman has not and will not make it to the big screen, read Entertainment Weekly’s article from November 26).

You’d think that with all the progress women have made in other areas of life, we’d be seeing more female presence in movies and not just acting (or directing) as satellites in orbit around a man’s world. But we’re not.

You might disagree with me and bring up a successful female in the industry like director Kathryn Bigelow. Bigelow has indeed paved the way for future female filmmakers with her Oscar-winning masterpiece The Hurt Locker. However, only three of the 34 actors in the film were female. I’m not trying to downplay her pioneering achievements for women — I just want you to scrutinize the film industry and become conscious of the discrepancies.

You might also bring up how the good folks at Disney have made a decision to have Tangled be their last fairytale princess flick. And you might argue this is good progress for women. “Good riddance!” you might say. I’d have to agree — Disney fairytales teach little girls (and even little boys) extraordinarily unhealthy views of the world and relationships. This is undeniably true, but the thing is, those princess movies were made for female audiences. They were stories for girls about girls. Disney will no longer make anything specifically for girls. Even during production of Tangled, their last fairytale, they changed the story’s perspective from Rapunzel to the dashing scoundrel, Flynn Ryder — and then changed the title from “Rapunzel” to reflect those changes.

Finally, you may argue that male-focused films sell to a broader audience because females are more open to watching guy movies than guys are willing to watch chick flicks. The success of movies like Twilight is a huge indicator that female audiences bring the big bucks. The Twilight saga is probably worse for girls’ perceptions of reality than Disney ever thought of being (caveat: the Bechdel test does not require the movie to promote feminist ideals), but it is a franchise geared toward women. Twilight made massive amounts of money. Imagine what kind of profits could be made with a better (and hopefully less unhealthy) franchise geared toward women.

It goes without saying, the structure and constituents of female story cycles are inherently different than male story cycles. As a society that has been predominately male-centric for the majority of its existence, we are accustomed to viewing primarily male narratives, and most of the time we don’t think anything of it. There are so many stories to be told that we’re missing out on. It doesn’t take a marketing genius to realize the growth potential — and it doesn’t take a feminist to realize the gross gender-based discrepancies on the big screen.

The plot of The King’s Speech is fairly straightforward. The Duke of York (played by Colin Firth), or “Bertie” as he is called by his family, is second in line to the British throne. However, he has a speech impediment, a stammer, that prevents him from speaking in public and has made him an object of public mockery. He has given up hope he will ever overcome the impediment, having seen the best speech therapists in Britain. Of course, this shouldn’t cause a problem as Bertie is never expected to take the throne and his public engagements are limited.

His wife (played by Helena Bonham Carter) does not give up hope and takes him to see Lionel Logue (played by Geoffrey Rush), a speech therapist who believes speech impediments are more psychological than mechanical. What follows is fairly predictable — Logue and Bertie become fast friends, we gain insights into the complicated lives of the royal family, and, of course, scandal rocks the nation and Bertie is forced to take the throne as King George VI just as Britain is on the brink of war with Nazi Germany.

Where the film really shines is in its acting, for which it will undoubtedly receive much recognition during this award season. Firth is masterful as King George VI and gives the character multiple layers of depth. On the surface, his use of the speech impediment must have been no easy task, and it is both believable and heartbreaking. Underneath the surface, he manages to portray Bertie as humble and, at the same time, furious over the cards he has been dealt. He portrays Bertie as being very self-aware, aware of his life of luxury, of how ignorant he is of the common man, aware of his role as a symbol of the British nation and of the danger his country is in. At the moment, Firth seems to be the odds-on favorite to win the Oscar this year — and deservedly so.

Of course, Firth is not the only actor being lauded for his role. Geoffrey Rush is also excellent as Lionel Logue, a failed Australian actor turned speech therapist. Rush and Firth have an instant rapport, and the best scenes of the film are when the two are alone on screen. The audience quickly believes in the unlikely friendship, as the two actors work so well together.

The two characters juxtapose each other perfectly — one the royal, one the commoner — while at the same time they share commonalities leading to their friendship. Bertie’s speech impediment has made him something of a disappointment and an outsider, while Logue’s failed acting career and Australian heritage do the same for him. By then end of the film, Rush’s motivations seem clear. He is no longer helping out the king for money, fame, knighthood or King and Country. He is doing it simply to help his friend.

Helena Bonham Carter shows her acting range very well as the late Queen Mother. Known for always portraying more eccentric characters, she comes off as a very sincere woman trying to help her husband. Likewise, Guy Pearce was a perfect choice to play the Prince of Wales, and the actresses who played the young princesses bear an uncanny resemblance to the actual Princesses Elizabeth and Margaret. The only actor who fails to deliver is Timothy Spall as Winston Churchill. While he perfected the Churchillian voice, his look and demeanor lack the gravitas one would expect from Britain’s most famous leader.

While the plot may not thrill, the film is certainly compelling. The tale of a humble king trying to overcome a disability is noble and timeless — something we can all be inspired by. The most poignant scene in the entire film comes when Bertie is viewing some newsreels with his family. A news program displaying what is going on in Nazi Germany comes on, and Hitler is seen giving one of his rousing speeches, sending millions of assembled Germans into a frenzy. Bertie’s daughter Elizabeth (the current Queen) leans over and asks, “What is he saying?” King George, gazing intently at Hitler, responds in his slow, stammering manner: “I don’t know, but he’s certainly saying it well.”

Here we see the central conflict of the film laid before us. On the one hand is one of the most charismatic men, and one of the most evil, to ever walk upon the earth. On the other, a humble king — noble, yet impeded by disability. By confronting his fears, Bertie becomes the symbol of a nation, a symbol of perseverance, humility and triumph. Even if The King’s Speech doesn’t take home the Oscar for best picture of the year, it will certainly be the most inspiring.

Black Swan

See, I’m a pretty stressed-out guy, frequently beleaguered by dragging around an interminable queue of ambitious projects and almost never disposed to sit down and contemplate a cinematic experience wherein the protagonists are coping with similar burdens times-one-thousand (and this is exactly what Aronofsky’s protagonists almost always are.) Yet, on every occasion where his films are put before me — because a friend is begging to pop the DVD in, or because it’s the only unwatched disc left in the house — I relinquish, looking forward to two or so hours of I’m-not-in-the-mood-for-this, but finding myself pleasantly ambushed instead by two or so hours of whoa-mood-or-no-mood-this-is-compelling-as-all-get-out.

The point is that Black Swan is not only right in-step with Aronofsky’s previous productions, it builds his career to a gracefully intense crescendo of the same themes he started with — taking the hyperfocus of Pi, the dangerous mania of Requiem for a Dream, the surreal existentialism of The Fountain, and the dogged persistence of The Wrestler and weaving together these thematic swatches, all while upping the tempo and crying “Forte, forte, forte!” That is to say that it’s good; good enough that you can be in the exact diametrical opposite of the right mood for some film about ballerinas, get snookered into buying a ticket, and never ever regret your awesomely fortuitous moviegoing decision.

The Story

The story is not only centered around the production of Swan Lake, the classically classic ballet, but it is Swan Lake. Cubed. And inverted. In Natalie Portman’s mind. That’s as much plot detail as we’ll allow here, but let’s take the time to laud Andres Heinz, to whom the film’s story is due, for paring Black Swan‘s narrative world down to its essentials: the stage and the home. Almost the entirety of the action takes place in these two places, and in them the core of the protagonist — her angsty hopes, fears, and solitary, single-minded perfectionism — is sharpened to a sympathetic point, which the film uses to scratch its existential poetry into the walls of the audience’s mind.

The Execution

Natalie Portman, who ditched her Garden State and Luke Skywalker’s mom avatars somewhere along the path from V for Vendetta to Hotel Chevalier, is our graceful and tormented protagonist — and she acts the hell out of this role. You might’ve gawked at the grotesquely make-upped portrait that serves as the film’s poster or watched a trailer visually pitting Natalie-the-White-Swan against Natalie-the-Black-Swan and thus developed an expectation to see her incarnate two roles — but you’d be wrong.

Instead, we have a character who follows a single one-way arrow, whose trajectory goes from immaculately straight to a twisting downward spiral carrying her to rock bottom and, finally, a sort of resurrection. An actress who clearly owns the role, Portman is responsible for the successful tracing of this course all the way.

Another pleasant acting surprise comes in the form of Mickey Rourke, returning to play the role of Portman’s obsessive, somewhat haggard former dancer of a mother. Wait, IMDB tells me that was actually Barbara Hershey. Well, it’s an honest mistake, because you have to admit they’re starting to look the same. (Oh snap!)

Presentationally-speaking, it is my opinion that the cinematographer is almost wholly responsible for selling the experience of this film. If it were, indeed, “some film about ballet,” then we’d be in for the sum of all our impatient audience member fears — longish, boring stretches of ballet on film, costing many hundreds of bazillions of dollars more than your mom’s smartphone footage from the wings of Ballet West, but not much less snore-ific.

But Aronofsky and his camera crew would have none of that, instead favoring a consistently un-steady camera that walks alongside or just behind our characters as they strut or bustle through the halls of their forboding artistic temple and which, most importantly, dances alongside, around, over, under and through them as they dance on its scenic altar. The shakiness is unsettling, as it should be, and the motion pulls the snoozing audience member out of his/her seat and whisks him/her along in a metaphysical cinematic vicariousness by which uncoordinated wallflowers like myself can’t help but be fascinated.

(Oh, and a note on the score: it’s pure. Pure Tchaichovsky from A to Z, and it works better than any original composition or geniously-placed pop track could ever have done — yet another reason why this film is Swan Lake (or at least its essence) cubed.)

Conclusion

This was, and may ever remain, the single most stressful cinematic experience I’ve endured since BBC’s The Office Christmas Special (Tim and Dawn, why must you take years off my life!?), but, again, the anguish is worth it. Though Black Swan‘s moments of microgore, psychological terror, and acutely intimate sensuality make for an exquisitely grisly and harrowing narrative, even these peaks (or troughs, depending on your point of view) of “content” are all significance and pathos, narratively defensible and arguably inevitable.

The careful and conscientious viewer should take such content into consideration when determining the time and place to approach this film — and I’d definitely say that time should at least be somewhere after age 18, or never if you’re one of those people who laughs like an awkward child whenever something potentially titillating or brutal comes onscreen.

If Requiem for a Dream was a cautionary proxy tale meant to dissuade anyone and everyone from getting mixed up in illicit drug culture, then Black Swan, a cautionary tale in its own right, has made fully sure that I will never ever try doing ballet — not even at a party.

Best 10 out of ’10

Honorable Mentions — The Other Guys; The Next Three Days; Salt; Knight and Day; The Karate Kid; The Good, The Bad, and The Weird; The A-Team; Iron Man 2; Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time. Let me note that all of these are very worth watching, even though they didn’t make it to my top ten.

10. Easy A — This one came as kind of a surprise to me as I was winnowing down the list. But the truth is, I enjoyed this film too much to leave it off. Out of all the comedies this year, this one had the cleverest writing, and I haven’t been so impressed by a “teenaged” female character since Juno. Emma Stone is comedically brilliant.

9. How to Train Your Dragon — This was easily the most delightful surprise of the year. I’m not sure anyone expected it to be so good. I certainly didn’t.

8. Toy Story 3 — Pixar’s (let’s hope) final installment in this wonderful franchise only barely beat out Dragon, but ultimately, Pixar retains the title of Best Animators Ever (no less significant because I just made it up.)

7. TRON: Legacy — The technical and visual achievements of this film are nearly inestimable.

6. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1 — Despite my frustration over having to type out an entire sentence to include the whole of this film’s title, I must admit the Harry Potter franchise is becoming something truly remarkable.

5. Scott Pilgrim vs. the World — Edgar Wright should be proud. Really. Because if he’s not, he should be taken out into the street and beaten to death.

4. True Grit — How do you make a perfect Western? Go ask the Coens.

3. The Social Network — My guess for this year’s Best Picture. And I wouldn’t be disappointed.

2. 127 Hours — Danny Boyle has an ability to imbue his films with a resonance that is somehow both deeply universal and startlingly intimate. His latest work might very well be his best, and that’s saying something.

1. Inception — Well, what did you expect?

As much as I’d like to see every good film that comes out in a year, time and money are always holdin’ me down. So here’s a list of…

10 Films I’m Sorry I Missed

1. The Town

2. Catfish

3. Buried

4. Shutter Island

5. Hereafter

6. Waiting for Superman

7. The Fighter

8. It’s Kind of a Funny Story

9. Unstoppable

10. Red

Over the past few years, I’ve developed a talent for avoiding movies I’ll certainly hate or that will disappoint me. That said, the following four SHOULD have been good, but…

They Were So Disappointing

1. Robin Hood — For Ridley Scott, this was painfully formulaic and forgettable.

2. Alice in Wonderland — Has Tim Burton sold out? I don’t know. But he sure seems a lot less clever and daring than he used to be.

3. Clash of the Titans — I find myself lost in the contemplation of what it means to not care at all.

4. Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief — Okay, we all knew this one was a long shot, but COME ON!

As a disclaimer, I haven’t seen ANY of the following, but let me be clear…

I Don’t Care What You Say, I’m Never Going to See Them

1. Hot Tub Time Machine — They shouldn’t make movies out of ideas spawned late at night by a bunch of drunk dudes.

2. Kick-Ass — One day, the people who most violently advocate the artistic value of graphic novels will realize the novelty has worn thin. Just because it was a good graphic novel doesn’t mean it’ll be a good movie.

3. Get Him to the Greek — I. Hate. Russell Brand.

4. Shrek Forever After — The idea of a fourth Shrek movie just makes me tired.

5. Megamind — No. No no no no no. I’m trying to understand why Will Ferrell’s comedic talent has been confined to a chair in a sound booth. Voice acting for a mediocre animated film seems to be a rite of passage these days.

Every year, Hollywood (yes, specifically Hollywood) churns out a whole crapload of films that are, well, crap. Not in the sense that they’re terrible, per se, but that they are so mundane, pointless and insignificant that by the end of the year…

They’re Already Almost Totally Forgotten

1. The Tooth Fairy — It’s funny because it’s The Rock. Get it?

2. Eat, Pray, Love — Julia Roberts plays a woman who indulges a lot in the first and talks a lot about the other two.

3. Dear John, I just remembered I have nothing interesting or important to say. Love, Some Chick.

4. Remember Me — No.

5. Letters to Juliet — “Dear Juliet, Remember when I was in a movie called Dear John? Apparently, neither do I. Love, Amanda Seyfried.”

6. You Again — I keep hoping someday Kristen Bell will get to be an actual actress.

7. Resident Evil: Afterlife — Please. Just. Stop.

8. The Bounty Hunter — Gerard Butler decided it was time to stop being so popular.

9. Secretariat — Give me a break.

10. Green Zone — Congratulations, Matt Damon, you brought Jason Bourne into a juvenile frenzy of political axe grinding. Doesn’t it feel good to have opinions about things?

And then there were the obvious choices of movies to avoid. Well, I guess I’ll admit there were a couple of these I wanted to see just to provide myself with an opportunity to write a really scathing review, but, ultimately, I couldn’t because…

The Titles Alone Filled Me with Rage and Despair

1. Little Fockers

2. MacGruber

3. Marmaduke

4. Furry Vengeance

5. Sex and the City 2

6. Cats & Dogs: The Revenge of Kitty Galore

7. Piranha 3D

8. Saw 3D

9. Jackass 3D

10. Yogi Bear (in 3D)

Alright, well, that’s it. Let me just say thank goodness for the good films, if only for the fact that they help us survive the never-ending barrage of steaming refuse.

I was wrong, of course. I realize now that I was much more mesmerized by the aesthetics of that world than I was by any kind of actual science or technology. I haven’t seen the original in… who knows how long, and I certainly have no recollection now of what it was about. What stuck was the world, so completely alien, so mesmerizing back in the 80′s.

I went to see TRON: Legacy last week in IMAX 3D. It was the right choice. I still dislike wearing those stupid glasses and my eyes always hurt afterward, but even so, it was hands down the best 3D experience I’ve had. In that format, the film was totally immersive. In fact, the “unrealness” of the 3D experience suited this film better than most, since TRON‘s basic goal is to introduce you to something wholly unreal.

Disney’s left-field sequel has been getting a lot of negative criticism for the paucity of its story, but can I be honest? I don’t really care. I usually do. I usually care about story more than, well, anything. But this film accomplished some things that work so brilliantly that I failed to even really notice the story. I felt like a kid again. It wasn’t “gosh wow look at those neat effects” — it was like I was actually there, lost in “the grid.”

The design, the way it was shot, the effects, everything — all of it was orchestrated to provide a seamless alternate reality. Even the editing, thank heavens, was consistent with the feel of the film. Instead of the nausea-inducing freneticism of Michael Bay’s typical, asinine pacing, Legacy uses plenty of smooth, sweeping long shots that coincide perfectly with the environment. The action sequences were fantastically stunning, including a light-cycle sequence that was heroically beautiful. I haven’t been so blown away, so dazzled by kinetic filmmaking since… maybe never.

It’s funny, the first film I think of in terms of comparison here is Avatar, the last film to plead shamelessly for its audience’s total submission to a new world. TRON: Legacy, then, is like Avatar‘s better-looking little brother. Completely and totally different, of course, but just as wholly and perfectly synthetic.

I’ve already admitted the story is weak, but there’s a lot to be said for writing that doesn’t irritate or enrage me. The only reason this film was able to so successfully transport me is an absence of stupid characters. They may have all been somewhat two-dimensional, but the dialog isn’t bad, the acting is good enough (though it was certainly a step down for Jeff Bridges), and the story itself is harmless, if a little melodramatic and ultimately meaningless. If there is some kind of ideological agenda driving the narrative, I missed it completely.

Monetarily, this unexpected sequel isn’t doing so hot in the theaters. It’s understandable, I suppose, but no less disappointing. I openly admit to hoping there will be another installment in this surprise franchise sometime in the near future, but Legacy will have to make some money first. Please trust me when I tell you it deserves yours.

…

I’m not going to say that Joel and Ethan Coen are incapable of making a bad film. I’ve heard that Burn After Reading was terrible from every single person who’s seen it. We’re all human here on this little planet, and I’d almost be disappointed if they don’t squeeze out another stinker sometime or another. But True Grit isn’t that film. Nope, it’s just another jewel in their crown of daunting cinematic achievement.

If the Coens have a signature style that permeates their work, it’s gotta be the dialog. They’ve labored within a wide range of genres, but the one constant is that the dialog is always fresh, sharp, poetic… perfect. And very often exactingly funny. Not once in any of their films does a single line of dialog come across as on-the-nose, cheap, trite or out-of-place. It’s a style of writing that lends itself quite well to the Western genre, actually, with all its stoicism and gruff subtextuality.

From the trailer for the film, you might have assumed True Grit would be a bit dark. Gritty. The preview is a taut and effective piece of cinema in itself, and certainly communicates that tone. The surprise is that this is one of the funnier films by these brothers. A comedy? No. But sincerely, constantly funny. These are expert storytellers, and they have a way of teasing out the humor of real life, real situations, real people. Not REAL (as in documentary, or reality TV), but real, the way a well-told story worth its telling becomes real.

A great illustration of this is when Rooster Cogburn (Jeff Bridges) sends Mattie Ross up a tree to cut down a lynched corpse because Rooster is “too old and too fat,” but he needs to see if he knows the man. She cuts the rope, the body lands on the ground with a cringe inducing thud, and Rooster steps over to examine the desiccated, eyeless face. “I do not know this man,” he frankly states. And the audience laughs, because it’s impossible not to. And this happens over and over. We go from gripping the armrests in suspense to feeling nauseous to laughing out loud — and then back again. And then every once in a while, you get some tears, because it’s a beautiful story (which I will characteristically refuse to summarize for you.)

None of what I’ve described so far surprised me — it’s a Coen brothers movie, after all — but what did surprise me were some of the classic western tropes they chose to employ, such as the traditional, almost melodramatic score, and the slow dissolves and sweeping transitions between scenes and sequences. It’s almost like I was watching some impossible hybrid between a slick modern take on a classic genre and a movie straight out of the Fifties that barely anyone in the world remembers anymore. Like maybe something with, uh, John Wayne. Or something. (*cough*)

So I’ve spent some time talking about this film, but really, all I need to do is tell you that this was made by the same guys who gave us Raising Arizona, O Brother Where Art Thou? and No Country for Old Men, to name a small but significant handful. And it’s at least as good. And now, hearing that, you should be convinced to go see it. So instead of going back and reading all of my other articles again and again and again, you should go see this movie. Because if you miss it, well, it would be the “biggest mistake you ever made.” So don’t.