The other became an internationally renowned star by way of Ingmar Bergman masterpieces.

Now they’re both nominated for the same award.

Yes, the (I don’t know how to describe him) Jonah Hill and the illustrious and often classical Max von Sydow are two of the five nominees for this year’s best supporting actor category at the Academy Awards.

Hill tweeted his reaction:

Wow. Pretty incredible day so far.

—
Jonah Hill (@JonahHill) January 24, 2012

Von Sydow hand wrote his:

Now I haven’t actually seen either performance these two were nominated for (Hill’s Moneyball and von Sydow’s Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close) so I won’t at all comment on the merit of this recognition. I will just talk about how strange it is to see and likely turn this into yet another Michael Walsh-led Bergman/Von Sydow love fest and less of a reaction to the rest of the Academy Award nominations (Which, to be honest, are underwhelming this year. Where’s Drive? Melanchoilia anyone? Same old). Join me for a moment as I explain.

No film has shaped my feelings on cinema, life, love, religion and death more than Bergman’s The Seventh Seal has. It’s become the most important film to me ever since I first saw it sometime around the start of my college career (I think?). I’ve written a number of papers on Bergman and his films (all of which impact me in one way or another) but none have left a stronger imprint on my life than The Seventh Seal.

Von Sydow plays the film’s main character with a bizarre concoction of eloquence and terror. While Bergman’s ideas, writing and filmmaking is really the heart and soul of all his films, he also paired himself with a number of amazing actors to bolster those ideas with stunning and powerful performances. Von Sydow is just one of many who Bergman called on again and again and as you can tell, my favorite. In The Seventh Seal, von Sydow is the face and image associated with Bergman’s story about god’s existence, god’s silence, the fear of death and more. He plays Antonius Block, a knight returning home for the first time after fighting in the Crusades for years. During his journey through the Black Plague-ridden countryside villages that make up Bergman’s mostly gloom-and-doom film, a sense of fear and terror about god, death and his life invade as he’s met with images of Death himself – a fully engaging and personified Death who challenges him to a game of chess for his life and deep conversations about everything substantial. Every shot Bergman makes matters and every moment von Sydow acts matters.

Von Sydow is the representative function of all that is magical and mysterious about some of Bergman’s greatest films. Through a Glass Darkly, Hour of the Wolf, The Virgin Spring, The Magician, The Passion of Anna and Winter Light are some of his greatest career moments, all under the direction of one brilliant auteur. While he wasn’t the lead in all of those films – in some cases he had a minor role reserved for spare moments of the film – he is still one icon of Bergman’s screen fame.

But von Sydow’s career spanned past what Bergman gave him. He became an international star using his learned knowledge of the English language to his advantage, making it all the more funny that this nomination, his second for an Oscar, was apparently for a non-speaking role.

Von Sydow is possibly best known in mainstream Hollywood circles for his performance as Father Merrin from The Exorcist and more lately for his roles in Shutter Island and Robin Hood. But he’s also remembered for his role in cult films like Intacto and Flash Gordon, his role as Jesus in The Greatest Story Ever Told and his almost strange appearances in Dreamscape and Conan the Barbarian.

At age 82, this Swedish cinema staple could finally win his first Oscar he’s deserved since The Seventh Seal. But whether he takes home a shiny award that night or not, he’s already acted his way into the hearts and minds of many, an unseeable accomplishment that should be proudly displayed on a mantle somewhere, somehow. Congrats Max.

Fincher’s version of the first book in Stieg Larsson’s trilogy doesn’t deserve to be compared to Niels Arden Oplev’s 2009 Swedish incarnation of TGWTDT, but anyone who’s already seen it will have trouble trying to stop themselves from drawing similarities and differences from the two eerily similar films.

But I’m going to do my best to not dwell on the fact that two very good film versions of the same story have been made over the last couple of years. Fincher’s work is his own and it’s yet another good, gritty and visceral thriller to add to his impressive body of work.

Journalist Mikael Blomkvist (Daniel Craig), fresh off a loss in a libel lawsuit, is hired to investigate a decades old missing woman case on a northern Swedish island. Helping him is Lisbeth Salander (Rooney Mara), the young computer hacker that did his background check.

Ever since I saw Oplev’s original film and the remaining two in the trilogy I’ve been fascinated in Salander’s character. She was the topic of discussion in a women and film course I took before graduating and for good reason. It’s easy for any writer or director to place a woman in a role of ass kicking and male dominance, but it takes a great one to make it not feel forced and mean something. In the case of both Larsson’s original story and Fincher’s visual take on it, that depth has been attained.

Women have been portrayed a number of polarizing ways during cinema’s existence – strong and weak, dominating and subservient – with the male gaze often being the viewing window for the audience. In TGWTDT that doesn’t change. There’s a lot to Salander, a lot more than is actually discussed, but her unspoken and only visualized power and strength, coupled by her bisexuality and boyish, outsider appearance, speak volumes to her character. It’s more than a woman being placed in a role and being told to be the strong hero – it’s the complete package and Mara executes it in a wonderfully meditative way.

Mara’s performance as Salander reprises the character Noomi Rapace lent so much strength to in Oplev’s film. Both actresses were at the total disposal of their directors and without being fully on board and disciplined their performances would never be so believable and commanding. Mara especially does powerful work. Compared to the boring Craig, who seemed miscast and to be almost going through the motions while waiting for the next James Bond film to begin production, she’s a silent firecracker. Watching the two finally work together is like fire and ice.

I found myself drawing a lot of comparisons to Zodiac, Fincher’s last investigative film. Similar in their lengths, they both do a nice job at laying out the story’s details, secrets and findings. There’s really nothing to be misunderstood and plenty to be taken away. In film form, Larsson’s original story really isn’t all that awe-inspiring, but it’s certainly captivating enough to hold viewers’ attention for more than two and a half hours.

What does leave a mark is the dark, visceral grit that Fincher brings to the production. It’s his signature touch and it resonates violently and loudly with the audience. No less impacting is the wonderful score by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, who worked with Fincher on last year’s The Social Network. Two totally different subject matters, but Reznor and Ross once again created a lengthy, atmosphere-creating collection of pulsating industrial sounds and lighter ambient noise to compliment Fincher’s stark, cold vision.

I did though at times feel uninspired by moments that along the way just didn’t feel full of any inspiration. The most interesting parts of the story deal with Salander and the perception the male-dominated society has of her. Outside of that, things are sometimes dry. Watching Craig play a journalist/detective isn’t all that fulfilling.

But because Fincher gets the most out of a determined and dedicated Mara, he does manage to turn Larsson’s TGWTDT story into yet another wonderful film adaptation. Was it necessary? I’m not really sure. I think the world could have lived with just Oplev’s great version. Either way, Fincher clearly loved the source material enough to pursue it himself and he nailed it.

On May 22, 2008 I made my first post detailing the point of the blog and its beginning. I was hardly a writer then. It wouldn’t be until September of that year that I’d get involved as a staff writer at The Recorder, Central Connecticut State University’s campus newspaper, reviewing films each and every week at a level much higher than a personal blog no one viewed.

My reviews were short, simple and to the point. I was growing as a person and as a prospective student of film. Many of those early reviews captured my first experiences with some of my favorite films and favorite filmmakers. Jean-Luc Godard, Ingmar Bergman and others were being put under the microscope of someone excited to learn more. They were humble beginnings from a person I like to think is still humble. I didn’t consider myself an expert on film then and I definitely still don’t consider myself one today. I’ve gotten much praise from peers over the last few years on my ability to take a film and look at it at an angle they sometimes forget to. But all that praise has done is helped me to keep writing. Nothing more.

And since I’ve begun this 2012 project of reviewing every film I see, I’ve come back in touch with a skill I sort of left on the table once I became editor-in-chief of The Recorder in the fall of 2010. I shifted from entertainment to news and guiding a student-run newspaper with a small and supportive staff. I still reviewed films, but it was no longer a focus of mine. Gone were the distant dreams of finding myself a place in film criticism’s tiny world and arriving were new dreams of being a well-rounded journalist.

Now I’m left with figuring out how to better my coverage of movies and cinema. After much deliberation, I’ve discovered that in the past I could sometimes get too caught up in the technical aspects of a film. I could sometimes get too caught up in singing the praises of a particular filmmaker. I wasn’t finding life, society or myself inside most films. I was hung up on trying to prove whatever knowledge I had. But with the 13 films I’ve watched and reviewed in 2012 I’ve begun to find new ways to look at the movies I watch. And that’s to do what I just said I hadn’t been: finding life, society or myself.

While not every movie is going to be relatable (and why would they?), filmmakers don’t just stumble upon their motifs or themes and the ways they display them. I truly believe there’s something for everyone inside every film. Something personal, something that causes an ethical argument or something that reflects strongly enough on the society you live in that it raises your attention for that extra moment. These are the moments that mean just as much as what kind of lighting Sven Nykvist used while framing a Bergman masterpiece or how exactly Martin Scorsese shot that scene and what it means. Together it’s relative.

Moving forward, I’m going to strive to make film reviews personal. Not only to gain more from what I watch or to learn more about myself, but to also make my writing more interesting. Everyone has an opinion and the beauty (or ugliness) of the Internet is that everyone has space to broadcast those opinions. Something needs to set my opinion apart from another’s and by bringing things to a personal, ethical, moral or idealistic level, that level of separation can be attained.

I do hope that anyone who actually reads my reviews (thanks if you do!) gets something out of it more detailed than a film’s plot or an actor’s performance. I think if I keep striving for an extended amount of thoughtful depth that will certainly happen.

So it was with Breakfast at Tiffany’s that I blissfully and unknowingly jumped into Hepburn’s world. And when I say unknowingly, I mean it. I didn’t know the plot, why it was critically acclaimed and beloved or what exactly they might be having for breakfast at Tiffany’s place. And who’s Tiffany?

And while I found Breakfast at Tiffany’s to be a supremely satisfying, fun and impressive movie, I was thrown off by a few things I didn’t expect to find – like the male prostitution – until I realized Truman Capote was indeed the novella’s author and it all began to make perfect sense from a scathingly satirical approach. Well everything except for Mickey Rooney’s supremely racist performance as upstairs neighbor I.Y. Yunioshi, but we’ll ignore that for now.

At the root of Capote’s story is Hepburn’s now iconic screen character Holly Golightly, a most confused woman who makes a living off of other men. It’s low, crass and falsely luxurious. I read up on the story and film a little before gathering my thoughts and writing them down and have seen her even referred to as a prostitute. Sex is not an obvious or discussed factor in Blake Edwards’ film, but it certainly exists in society’s mind. Interviews with Capote call her an “American geisha” and an example of a more liberated woman, which at the dawn of the 1960′s had to make her a huge, strong character for women. But is her relying on the wallet of a man strong? I don’t think so.

But I also believe that conflict is the root of Holly’s identity confusion. She doesn’t know what she is. In fact, I think she even says that towards the end of the film. Others call her a phony, but the real kind of phony, you know? And all the while Paul Varjak, a male gigolo and writer, who moves in to her building is trying to shed his somewhat similar identity of the crude profession that keeps him relying on women for money. The film’s end, a tender albeit stereotypical exchange of love in the falling rain, has Paul fighting to make Holly realize she can belong to someone and that just like him, doesn’t need to rely on false love of others to get by in life – I think.

Whatever it was, it’s an exchange that helps culminate what my favorite part of the film is – the joy and discomfort of watching the budding relationship between Paul and Holly unfold. The first sequence that stands out is the party scene early on in the film. Paul gets a sweet note from Holly inviting him by for a drink. A drink that turns out to be with dozens of other New York socialites and loud music. Holly uses the party to find her next rich suitor, at heart a very less than tactful and shallow movement. But Paul, who clearly is interested in Holly, doesn’t appear too rattled. The entire sequence is wonderfully filmed – lots of active, colorful and moving bodies in a few small rooms, with plenty of dry and slapstick humor to go along. But more importantly, the sequence is exhibit A of Holly’s confusion and fake set of priorities. This is her on display and “on the job,” so to say. It remains a key for the rest of the film and the development of their confusing relationship.

The second sequence that left an impact on the characters of both Holly and Paul (and their relationship) is their day out together where they try to do things they’ve never done. It’s harmless, fun and innocent – a complete change of pace from their typical daily lives of social chaos and confusion and the antidote to the party sequence. The two seemingly enjoy each and every minute with one another – a sweet, tender approach at viewing their relationship. It’s also one of the funniest sequences in the entire film, especially their visit inside New York’s famed Tiffany & Co. where they seek a gift for $10 and all they can come up with is the engraving of a cheap ring found inside a box of Cracker Jack.

But I mustn’t let these adorable and genuine scenes let me digress too much from what’s really at hand in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. It’s at heart a dark tale of secrets. Holly gets a visit from her husband? And her name isn’t Holly? And she has children? She won’t return to them, she considers herself a different person. There’s this whole back story unexplored and I find it fascinating. It plays up to the confusing identity crisis Holly holds as problem number one throughout the film. She doesn’t know what her role in the world is, she doesn’t know who she is or who she should love.

And as genuinely nice the entire film is, it still holds onto a number of less than attractive portrayals of people – hopefully meant in a satiric way. The socialites, including Holly at times, are both maddening and stupid. Their priorities are a mess and their lifestyle is infuriating. Objects and money rule their small, closed world, not desire and emotion. And the racist yellowface performance by Rooney, existing in film form only for laughs, is something that you can hardly muster a laugh at today.

While not everything about Breakfast at Tiffany’s is perfect – George Peppard’s performance as Paul is that kind of stiff, typical performance we often saw from the less charismatic leading men in those days and the film’s movement between drama and comedy is a bit strange and unbalanced at times – it’s an overly enjoyable romantic comedy. Edwards does deserve credit for tastefully and eloquently capturing New York City and Hepburn in all of their beauty, but nothing other than the nice framing and vibrant colors really sticks out to me.

Holly Golightly is rightfully an iconic American character (perhaps for all the wrong reasons) and Breakfast at Tiffany’s deserves its place inside American cinema’s hall of fame.

And so the raspy, jumpy tune sets the mood for Jarmusch’s breakthrough film starring Waits, John Lurie and Roberto Benigni as three very different men who meet in prison and become friends (sort of). Panning shots of hearses, dilapidated housing and barren sidewalks are seen in a gritty black and white, the perfect way to watch this offbeat story unfold.

Waits plays Zack, a radio DJ who after getting kicked out by his girlfriend, finds himself wandering under the dark skies of a New Orleans’ night until accosted by an acquaintance to drive a car across town for $1000. Zack ends up getting busted by the police. Prison.

Lurie plays Jack, a pimp whose at odds with his dreams and aspirations to have it all. Accosted by an acquaintance, Jack finds himself heading out to check out what the man describes as the most beautiful fresh talent on the New Orleans scene. When he arrives, all that’s there is a much too young girl and the police. Prison.

Benigni plays Roberto, an Italian that we don’t really know much about. Before Zack is arrested, he meets Roberto, who tells Zack that “it’s a sad and beautiful world,” perhaps my favorite line in the entire film. Zack tells Roberto to buzz off, who incorrectly adds it to his pad of English phrases and sayings. “Thank you, buzz of-a to you to,” Roberto repeats. Instantly, that offbeat and humorous Jarmusch nature is instilled in the dialogue and character interaction. “Good evening, buzz off to-a everybody. Oh thank you, buzz of to you too.” We don’t see Roberto again until he randomly enters prison claiming he killed a man. Yeah.

Key to Down by Law‘s success is Robby Muller, the man helping Jarmusch capture it all. Known for his work with Wim Wenders on films like Paris, Texas, Muller has also shot other stark films I love including Lars von Trier’s Breaking the Waves as well as To Live and Die in L.A., home to one of cinema’s best car chase scenes ever. Muller turns Down by Law into an interesting, surreal piece of art. It’s not normal, it’s not regular. It’s this kind of dreamy nightmare world of the slums of life, the pain and heartbreak of a world left drifting away by humanity. Muller captures it all painstakingly.

Muller’s patience and ability to shine in a gritty black and white adds to Jarmusch’s capturing of New Orleans, the prison cell and the swamp after the three escape prison. In essence, this is a prison break movie, but Jarmusch focuses more on the interaction between Zack, Jack and Roberto rather than the way they escape. Whereas in classic prison break films like Le Trou, the entire focus is on the painstaking process of a group of guys breaking out of jail. Here, we just see them slide down a rope into the sewers. The real meat of the film is their connection that builds out from an auspicious start that lasts during their struggles to survive in the Louisiana swamps.

Now it’s no secret that I love Tom Waits. But I will tell you that the love I have for him spawned from this very film. When I first saw his cool, subdued and offbeat performance as Zack, the nighttime DJ, and heard his song used in the film’s opening moments, I instantly sought out more of his acting performances and albums. Waits was at the early stages of his acting career here. He had other performances, but I feel this is his breakthrough, just like Down by Law is the breakthrough film for Jarmusch, who would go on to make many more strange journeys through the days and nights.

Jarmusch is no easy filmmaker to just dive into. His work is strange and can certainly feel alienating at times. But those looking for something that certainly sways from strong film conventions would feel right at home with this very minimalistic tale of trouble under a New Orleans night.

The two meet at a Halloween party. Oliver, dressed as a Sigmund Freud lookalike, is giving mock therapy sessions. Anna, whose beautiful blonde hair is hidden by an ugly wig, sits down for one. She has laryngitis, she can’t speak. Oliver speaks, Anna writes on her notepad. They communicate in the simplest of ways, but manage to connect emotionally. They spend a quiet but invested night together without having a complete conversation.

Oliver is sad and in their mock therapy session Anna can see it in his eyes. He’s dealing with the death of his father, Hal (Christopher Plummer), who after the death of his wife came out of the closet at age 75 and expressed his homosexuality. But there’s more to Oliver’s lump sum of emotion in Beginners. Because Mills uses a unique narrative structure by interjecting different moments in Oliver’s life alongside each other, we see the roots of Oliver’s happiness, sadness, confusion and heartbreak. Once the ball gets rolling, Mills makes it easy enough to follow. There’s no confusion.

But I’d like to reverse back to Oliver’s relationship with Anna, because I do think it’s the most important part of this film’s emotional ride, and also because it’s perhaps my favorite on screen relationship in the last year. Before we meet Anna, there are references to Oliver’s failed relationships and his fear of becoming like his parents, trapped in a relationship that wasn’t true.

And what I love most about the somewhat strange relationship the two formulate is its suddenness. It happens quick and in an unconventional way, but it works. What makes it even more important to the film’s characters is the impact it has on them. For the down, morose Oliver, it brings light to his life. It brings him something outside of the day to day he spends with his father’s dog Albert (who, by the way, is absolutely adorable) and a level of excitement. For Anna, an actress away from home who spends nights in new hotels constantly, it provides normalcy. Oliver is her one constant in a hectic life. While things between them aren’t perfect (I won’t say more on that front) it’s an utterly wonderful relationship to study.

By establishing a likable character in Oliver, him meeting Anna is the lift the audience needs. And while you watch Oliver deal with his father’s cancer diagnosis and eventual death, you’re also transported to times of joy with Anna. It’s this insanely strange and creative cut and paste narrative job that works so well with strong content that Mills certainly has at his side. Anna never meets Oliver’s father, but it feels like she does. The two never overlap, but it feels like it does. It’s that little bit of movie magic Mills instills in us that makes Beginners a fully enjoyable, witty and sharp original film we haven’t seen in awhile.

But romance finds its way into Beginners in the most unlikely ways. Hal’s acknowledgement of him being gay adds a bit of confusion to Oliver’s life. He seems okay with it, but being around his father and his much younger boyfriend while his father nears death from inoperable lung cancer would be bizarre for anyone, let alone a person like Oliver. Mills’ ability to dissect and discuss relationships of different kinds from different decades makes Beginners‘ impact all the more important.

Beginners is also driven by three great performances from McGregor, Plummer and Laurent. Plummer’s performance, which won him a Golden Globe over the weekend, stands out in the most subtle way a standout performance can. Handed to Plummer is a challenging performance with a great range of emotion to handle. McGregor’s quiet performance, while good, could have been his change to really break out. It falls a bit short of that but still holds up well. And Laurent tries her best to unseat Marion Cotillard and Julie Delpy as my favorite French actresses. Her beauty almost won me. Nice try.

Ultimately, Beginners is one of my favorite films of the year. It’s unique, powerful and strong in every way. I had thought 50/50 was to be the cancer drama mixed with comedy of the year, but I was wrong. Mills has it beat in nearly every way.

Payne captures just about every emotion in his layered family drama. Happiness, sadness, indifference, resentment, pain, sorrow, joy – you name it, it exists here. And Payne does a wonderful job – both in his script he co-wrote with Nat Faxon and Jim Rash and in his visual framing of Matt King’s dysfunctional family.

King, played by George Clooney, has lost touch with his daughters Scottie (Amara Miller) and Alexandra (Shailene Woodley). And his relationship with his wife, whose life hangs in the balance after a boating accident, was in turmoil before he found out she hadn’t been the most faithful woman before landing in a hospital bed.

The Descendants strengths come from Payne’s particularly great job of capturing the grief of all characters. With age differing between the father and two daughters, they each dealt with tragedy in their very own way. And Payne’s framing of this grief is both darkly funny in King’s lashing out at his wife while she lies in a coma and sobering in the troubling way the daughters deal with it.

The two scenes specifically that blew me away were the ones where the daughters dealt with tragedy. They came at different parts of the film, blew me away and left me with an emotional imprint. Older daughter Alexandra is captured swimming underwater in their backyard pool after her father delivers the news about her mom’s impending death, a beautiful and moving scene where she screams so loud but you can’t hear a thing. Conversely, Payne forgoes the use of words in the explanation to the younger daughter Scottie. We don’t need to hear what’s being said, we feel the grief from the young girls’ stricken face.

But what makes The Descendants anything but familiar are the subplots that exist inside the head of King. After finding out he was being cheated on, he’s indifferent with his feelings towards his dying wife. He wasn’t naive enough to believe their marriage was actually working, and there’s part of him that still cares, but he can’t help but resent her for the pain she’s caused him. To love for so long and but feel pain at the first hint of treachery is nothing but confusing. And with no one there to communicate with, there’s nothing left but to engage a battle in his own mind.

With a lot going on in the King family, Payne makes sure not to jump too far from point to point. Whizzing around too quickly could have been poison for this smartly paced film. Instead, Payne wraps each bullet point of drama into one. All relating in some way, King has battles with family members, friends and his daughters about business, life and more. I thought what Payne did was very sustained and unique. There’s a lot of drama here and none of it is forced.

The Descendants is also acted beautifully. While at first I felt Clooney was playing Clooney again, which he does rather well, I bought into his performance more as the film moved along. There’s slightly more range to his work here. While I’m not sure it was best actor award worthy, it’s certainly a performance that empowers Payne’s screenplay that much more. There’s something about his performances that are indescribable, perhaps because of how commonplace and typical they seem. But somehow, someway, they leave you impressed.

But the true star of the film was Shailene Woodley. Only know for her role on some teenage show I don’t have the time to look into, Woodley dominates as the anchor to Clooney’s rock solid performance. Can you imagine the pressure to live up to expectations set by Clooney and Payne? I couldn’t. Somehow Woodley did, which to me is only a sign of better things to come from this young actress. Her performance is both angry and gentle, with a full range of emotion in between.

I’ve always said that the scariest films are the most realistic ones. A family drama like The Descendants scares the wits out of me more than any horror film could ever dream of doing. This is dread, failure, paranoia and emotional confusion at its best. With a boiling sense of misery behind seldom faces of joy, this is one of the year’s best American films. Payne doesn’t make many films, but when he does, he apparently knocks them out of the park.

But in Cold Weather, the normality of  Doug’s return home and the eventual mystery he begins to uncover is certainly something most viewers will be able to riff off of.

It’s not to say that all of us have a friend who’s gotten themselves wrapped up in a scummy web like Doug’s (Cris Lankenau) ex-girlfriend Rachel (Robyn Rikoon) did in her return to Oregon’s rainy skies, but the basic concept of being able to relate to Doug’s struggles and return to a monotonous life might strike a nerve.

And luckily, if you’re a nerd like me who has spent too much time watching Robert Mitchum and other famed detectives of the screen track down trails of clues in black and white film noir, then you’ll love Cold Weather‘s mystery even more.

Under the cloudy skies of Oregon, Doug and his sister, along with Carlos, the unlikely purveyor of Star Trek, track down the disappearance of Rachel, amateurishly getting their hands on clues both believable and downright silly (baseball stats equate to some kind of code, and I’m not sure I understand the practicality of that yet).

You see, Doug’s a failed forensic science student now working in an ice factory. Yes, those exist. As Doug tells his sister, someone has to prepare those bags of ice you buy. Doug’s temporarily failed ambitions do lend a hand in his attempt to figure out a mystery he was hesitant to begin.

In a lot of ways, Cold Weather is a more normalized version of the great film Brick, which took the extra step to make you disbelieve the actual situation you encounter. This one makes sense. It’s leveled and grounded and believes in itself, which pays dividends with the audience.

This neo-noir also couldn’t be possible without the help of the gloomy great northwest. I couldn’t imagine this working as well as it did without the rain, the clouds and the overall mood of the world these characters live in. A noir’s surroundings are supposed to bleed character emotion and director Aaron Katz certainly makes the most of what Portland gave him.

The performances are all subdued and given by relatively unknown actors, but without much need for flair they work. Lankenau doesn’t even have himself a profile photograph on IMDB while the other three main actors, including Rikoon, Trieste Kelly Dunn, who plays Doug’s sister Gail, and Raúl Castillo, as Carlos, haven’t hit their mainstream stride yet. But as a quartet the four play it well.

The four are aided by a script that doesn’t demand too much from them, but at the same time keeps the audience interested. While the story’s mystery doesn’t travel deep, it remains believable and possible, which is huge. Anyone looking to get lost in a maze of crime is looking up the wrong pole here. At the same time, there’s a very subdued and tense feel to the film – you kind of wait for something to go wrong inside this small circle. And once the film reaches its final act, mood changes, and the previously slow-moving gears are now spinning fast.

This is a great, fun and sometimes quirky little film that deserves your attention. Katz films with patience and anyone who finds themselves actually interested in the story will enjoy it. Those expecting anything else might be sorely disappointed if they can’t get their gears on the same pace as Katz’s.

Tomas Alfredson went above and beyond the calling with the film adaptation of Tinker Tailor Solder Spy, a mostly British winding journey through George Smiley’s attempt to put his finger on the Soviet mole that worked his way into the “Circus,” the highest level of the British Secret Intelligence Service.

Gary Oldman leads a strong cast of actors with a stoic, commanding performance as Smiley, the honorable intelligence agent pulled out forced retirement to track down who infiltrated Circus the very top of Circus. His performance glides through the film at a comfortable speed, as Oldman goes his usual route of become indistinguishable of his actual self. I don’t think it’s heavy enough to pull the strings of American’s hearts, but I do think it’s worth adding into any best actor conversation for the restrained style of performance.

But the real heart of Alfredson’s film is the story. Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy is a winding spy thriller, not as complex as you might like to believe, but worthy of multiple viewings. I haven’t read the book or seen the longer previous television series, but I feel Alfredson must have done a nice job of translating that text to a visual medium. Two seasoned playwrights, Bridget O’Connor, who passed away before the film’s release, and her husband Peter Straughan, worked together on the adaptation and presented Alfredson a clear but still twisting and complex story to work with.

I do think it’s a huge challenge to turn such a dialogue-driven story into something feasibly entertaining for the eyes and ears. Alfredson, who directed the wonderful Let the Right One In, had no trouble turning this into a moody, powerful piece with the help of dark visuals and a fantastic score. The camerawork also helped tons, with restrained, focused shots that mirrored the characters high intellectual being in many ways. It’s a smart film with smart characters.

What’s important to remember when diving into Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy is the patience it will take for you to be rewarded. This one really starts slowly but with each event and each introduction of another piece of Mr. Smiley’s puzzle, it builds, becoming more tense with each passing moment. The acting and dialogue is strong enough to sustain itself past any threat of a lull, with sharp performances by Colin Firth, Mark Strong and Tom Hardy, among other greats like John Hurt. Together the ensemble pulls off a convincing turn as intelligence experts, really strengthening Alfredson’s already impressive efforts.

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy is filmed in a world of muddied grays, reds and browns. Its exterior visuals are as dark as its interior philosophy, a twisting, spiraling spy thriller of the most patient, contemplative kind. Alfredson is a huge talent on the brink of explosion right now. With full credit to Oldman and the rest of the cast, this is one film that succeeds on the back of its director, but supplemented by its cast and crew.

I waited a long time to finally watch this one and I have to say it lived up to my immense hype. The first trailer hooked me with its mood, one that Alfredson sustains throughout. It’s acclaimed for a reason and I suggest you figure it out for yourself.

No, it’s not quite ‘Oregon Trail’ come to life, but you wouldn’t be wrong to have that first thought. The western genre has taken a number of twists and turns ever since John Ford and John Wayne did their bit to immortalize the image of the cowboy and native american on the screen years ago.

Simple and straightforward American pictures turned into huge Hollywood productions which turned into Italy getting in on the game, creating their own, more unique take on America’s old west. And while good entries in the genre have been rare lately, unique films do still exist – contemporary western No Country for Old Men and the masterpiece The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford might be the two best examples.

Reichardt’s ‘indie’ take on the genre is certainly different. Meek’s Cutoff is a contemplative approach often unseen in the western genre. Reichardt sheds the film of most normal conventions found inside the long history of the genre and comes up with her own way of doing things.

Most notably is her decision to film in a full frame aspect ratio instead of opting for the more common widescreen approach. While directors like Ford mastered shooting westerns in full screen, I doubt they much preferred being cramped in style like that. But Reichardt explained her decision by relating it to the perspective the story is told from – the woman’s. That alone makes Meek’s Cutoff a unique western. In an NPR interview, Reichardt likened the bonnets the women wear as their full frame restriction. They see life through different eyes and she wanted to represent it that way.

Whether you buy that or not, it’s her film, and if she wants to bring tense forward more so than beautiful, sprawling shots of the west, then so be it. Reichardt also films in a most stagnant style, with the camera sometimes never moving, just sitting and watching. It’s an interesting choice that I think goes back to her idea that while a lot exists outside of the small caravan of traveling people, we don’t know what it is. So the camera sits and waits and never shows us anything other than what the men and women see.

Meek’s Cutoff also won’t fly with every audience. Its realism could be its Achilles heel for some viewers. There are a number of moments where there’s no dialog spoken, just people walking. But what else could there be? A lot doesn’t happen inside the just under two hours of the film either. It’s a pivotal segment of a long journey, a portion of the entirety. But that doesn’t mean points should be taken away automatically. Instead, judge what Reichardt’s intentions were and go from there.

One of my favorite things about Meek’s Cutoff was its use of lighting. It becomes clear quickly that Reichardt only used what was available to her. Scenes at night are as dark as they should be. In moments where the travelers are sitting around a fire, you sometimes can’t make out an entire person’s face. But then the film cuts to morning or afternoon the next day and the sun beams into your airs. It’s an attack on your pupils if you watch this film in complete darkness. The light almost blinds you as well.

A great western always uses its surroundings as an “enemy,” one convention Reichardt does maintain. Portions of this movie reminded me of the great Wages of Fear, where the real danger and conflict came from the travel. Obviously, the two are completely different in pretty much every single way, but the dynamic remains the same. There is some conflict between characters, specifically the white travelers and the Native American they come across, but the real conflict exists between people and nature, a huge theme among most successful westerns.

The screenplay doesn’t exist without some smart play between characters – but not many. A lot of the male characters, outside of the titular Stephen Meek, the rugged cowboy playing guide to the travelers, are unexplored. But the triangle relationship between Williams’ Emily Tetherow, Meek and the Native American they hold captive is wonderful. It’s subtle, but it works. Of course, Tetherow and Meek can’t communicate verbally with the Native American, making things a bit tricky, but it works. Williams performance is terrific and probably the best in the entire film considering how little was given to the actors to begin with.

Meek’s Cutoff is a rugged, dirty western that sheds most conventions of its ancestors. I can see it becoming very polarizing between audiences, but if you let each silent and tense moment build inside of you, the outcome will be pleasing.