Ends with a jarring abruptness, but throughout, it spends nearly every moment defying the conventions of its time: It feels like something made in the late fifties or early sixties (this alone is exhilirating to watch; the narrative is a tad soapy).

I prefer the visual splendor of the earlier Miyazaki films but they lack the ability to fully develop all the characters, usually focusing on one or two. As in all of his films, insurmountable odds for young protagonist(s) drift along a sea of eco-conscious adventure stories, this one concerning a young girl's plight to stop the spread of a toxic jungle, the result of man's carelessness with the environment. Nausicaa, the main character, is another of Miyazaki's brand of young, absurdly lovable heroes. Falls in the A Bug's Life/Finding Nemo category: I know there's a brilliance about it, but it's just not as much fun as its betters.

Skewed marginally for those attracted to unraveling the identity of the masked killer, but aimed more realistically at those interested in watch stylistic manuevers for two straight hours, Dressed to Kill is so much pure DePalma, it almost begs, as a bonus, a detailed explanation of just how he was able to secure enough control to make such an empty thriller into such a wild (even for him) collection of smoke, mirrors and Hitchcock homages. (The explanation would probably start with the lengthy sex fantasy positioned right at the start of the film, making up one of the two overtly gratuitious shower scenes; Psycho is the clear model for that and one other reason, which I won't reveal). Aside from Sisters, Dressed to Kill is probably the most satisfying DePalma film for those of us who have no trouble blocking out the dimwitted elements (Dennis Franz's entire performance, for instance, or some of the dialogue, which I'm convinced exists soley to show off how little DePalma cares about directing actors - another Hitchcock trait).

There was no question this time around that The Life Aquatic is the most openly emotional (and, in turn, the most successful at moving us) and Anderson furthest-out-there risk pays off big time: This film looks like exactly the opposite of the safe, studio picture he could easily have made in the wake of the The Royal Tenenbaums, itself a pretty huge revelation of Final Cut Privelidges. (The wit volleys more smoothly, thanks to an assist from Noah Baumbach.)

The spartan nature of Pixar defined. The Incredibles doesn't waste a single breath, turning the story over and over and over again, seemingly unable to stop being clever long enough to be memorable, but engaging to no end while you watch it.

If I didn't see this as the title of an editorial on The Onion, I should have: "Is there anyone else like me who thinks The Phantom Menace is the best of the new three and doesn't hate Jar-Jar Binks?"

Though Lucas testifies that only 20% of the information to be delivered in all three prequels is purged through this film, it feels like roughly ten times that; I think in expecting the trajectory to mirror that of The Empire Strikes Back (and it does...sorta), we probably set our sights too high. I still maintain that it's a pretty darned exciting motion picture (hence the grade), but it's probably my least favorite of the six. I get less giddy thinking about it than I do the other five.

It's very painterly, and Renoir's approach to the blending of cultures is much more interesting than I'd originally expected, but the sound is muddy and the whole thing feels like a few too many vignettes. I don't know if I buy that "One of the most beautiful looking movies ever" crap that Scorsese is always spouting, but it is impressive. What I'd really like to see is the Criterion Edition. And in one sitting not six. Grade pending. I guess.

Genuinely apes the feel of Star Wars (the prequels, anyhow), while quietly broaching the events of a war that was better not shown in the realm of Episodes I, II and III, but still nags at you to be expounded upon. In other words: If they were going to dedicate any time to The Clone Wars, this was a handsome way to do it. I particularly love the way old questions can be answered, but the new questions are kept very much to a minimum. If only they'd used the original actors' voices...

At the very least, Victoria was able to rooch in her seat far less than I expected (one can't expect an excited eight year old to sit still for one hundred forty-two minutes under any circumstances), although I have mixed feelings about my thrusting myself back into this thing just three hours after seeing it for the first time (I wouldn't say I was bored, exactly, but it's kind of like overload, to the point where I was actively forcing myself not to scan the perimeters of specific frames to find all the alien goodies). For sure, Lucas clearly has some idea what he's doing with this Balance Of The Force message: He is able to make all three villains in the film - General Grevous, Emperor Palpatine and Darth Vader himself - seem as potent and exciting as Darth Maul in The Phantom Menace or Jabba the Hutt in Return of the Jedi. He consistently delivers Ewan McGregor's spot-on Obi-Wan riff, a Yoda who comes as close to his finest hour in Empire Strikes Back as he's likely to, and a more solid pre-Sith Anakin, all three bridging the Jedi void (left by a scatterfocused Attack of the Clones) between Liam Neeson's deeply admirable Qui-Gon Jinn in The Phantom Menace and Alec Guinness's Obi-Wan Kenobi-as-wise-old-sage in A New Hope. Of all the great pleasures of entering Revenge of the Sith a second time, the greatest is, without a doubt, the sense of warmth in this film's final deliverance: It drops us off right where we've been breathlessly anticipating to be lo' these last twenty-two years: At the beginning of our colletive, linear Star Wars experience again.

"I watch The Night of the Hunter, looking to steal homages for Weiland (or, The Transformation), a script I've just finished. I marvel almost into a stupor. (Also, after years of being less anal, I finally get organized and add the "the" to the end of the title.)"

[Quote lifted from rarely updated "20 Best" page you might find if you were looking far too hard for the occasion.]

So, Luke has been surrogate son to Owen and Beru for all of his nineteen years and knows Obi-Wan personally for all of - what - two or three days, yet he barely acknowledges the death of those who raised him while hitting a major slump (practically weeping) over the seeming slaughter of Ben Kenobi. Talk about arbitrary compassion.

[What we did here, was play connect the dots, watching Star Wars as an antecendent to Revenge of the Sith, and attempting - for the third time - to milk every last drop of parallel reference from this, Lucas' first and best of the saga.]

One of those films where the cinematic prose is a whole lot more coherent - and interesting - than the narrative. AAnd while that shot of Vincent Gallo shooting his joy juice out of focus is pretty harrowing, most of the dialogue and bad horror movie blood is little else but silly. The music of Tindersticks is very much underused; It's best when its looping through scene after scene, connecting ideas: Too much of the film is too quiet, leaving far too much room for thought which, in this case, is a really bad thing.

It's a more interesting premise, but the Dardenne's documentary style still doesn't impress me into losing myself (see also, The Son); Oliver Gourmet, on the other hand, might be the greatest actor who ever lived (alright, maybe not the greatest, but certainly quite skilled). The delay of honesty between the boy and the the wife of the dead immigrant went on far longer than it ought to have. By the time he tells her, the film had mimicked the effect of being so hungry that we miss our chance: We've lost our appetite. We could care less what her reaction is, which leaves her own crazied indefference to play colder than it ought to.