The Invite (2026)

Score: 4.5 / 5

The surprise of the summer! 

An unhappy married couple host their upstairs neighbors for a dinner party that devolves into a nightmarish spiral of social and sexual anxieties. This is exactly my kind of story, its roots deep in theatrical chamber pieces like God of Carnage and Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? in a certain absurdist lambasting of bourgeois niceties. 

Olivia Wilde and Seth Rogen play the primary couple, and their winsomeness is carefully calculated to fracture and tear at key early moments. Each plays their part with energetic conviction, adding rich layers to characters that could be played quite straight. Trapped at home for years in a life that clearly doesn't satisfy, she's been buying expensive (and, frankly, a bit gaudy) materials to spruce up their large and expensive apartment while walking naked by her single-pane window on her community courtyard to catch the eye of a neighbor. He's a miserable band teacher who has lost touch with any inspiration (he was once a promising musician) and hides from the world at home while complaining about a bad back and doing nothing to help himself. They live in wholly separate worlds, and have clearly each attempted therapy without following through; within moments of him returning home on this day, they're hurling passive-aggressive jabs while deflecting with half-baked psychobabble. As they scream at each other in the kitchen, one wonders if their upstairs neighbors who are expected momentarily can hear them.

Which is funny, because half of the fight is about them. Edward Norton and Penelope Cruz, a sexy, worldly couple who have caught the eyes of both Wilde and Rogen separately, are apparently not quiet about their sex life. As the main couple fester in a sexless, loveless hell of their own making, Norton and Cruz have vivacious and very loud sex regularly in the dead of night. Rogen wants to confront them about the noise and establish some sort of dominance; Wilde seems eager to know more about what's happening up there and maybe compete or join. Once the dinner party commences -- which is an unmitigated disaster, for several increasingly hilarious reasons including dietary restrictions, a lack of wine, and the ultimate carnal purpose for the entire evening -- it's clear that the bohemians upstairs are in fact a little too perfect an opportunity for their repressed downstairs neighbors. Not all is well in their world of seemingly unbridled pleasure. 

Without having seen the 2020 Spanish film on which this is based, I admire writers Will McCormack and Rashida Jones for their incisive, kinetic screenplay that keenly and knowingly dives into the darker and more graphic subtext found in most sex-adjacent sitcoms. These jokes aren't salacious in nature or mean-spirited about who deserves pleasure and fulfillment in any kind of puritanical schema; rather, they take a frank look at people being genuinely curious while also being riddled with anxiety and demonstrate the inherent humor of being forced to reckon with oneself while trying something new in a nonjudgmental way. This refreshing approach is bolstered by four top-notch performances, each of which deserves an award.

Wilde herself directs this venture, which is saying a lot because her performance was the standout for me, with an aesthetic visually more in line with a thriller. Somewhat drab lighting in frames upon frames -- doorways and windows constantly restrict movement of these characters in their starkly artificial world -- makes the film appear a little jaundiced in its sickly amber pools of light. Her pacing is fast and I found myself cackling aloud in the cinema while sometimes chiding myself for laughing at certain moments of insults and cruelties. It's apparent that this is originally based on a play, and I'd love to see it live. Wilde succeeds, in making it a film, by deftly and artfully controlling the scope of our reactions to every beat -- awkward, horny, and hilarious -- as they come. The first act might throw some viewers off because of the forceful directorial approach (by which I mean the cinematography and editing, both firing on all cylinders from the first scene), but once you settle in to her style, you can start collecting boons. When the music starts interjecting slasher-movie stings in the middle of a particularly funny and tense scene, I found myself thinking that Wilde was parodying Hitchcock in a clever blend of Psycho and The Trouble with Harry. 

By the second half, things calm down a bit visually and aurally, and the actors rise to the occasion to carry us through the climax and denouement with some career-best work. Where she started the film encouraging us to judge the characters, she opens up in the final act with a more mature approach, allowing the film and actors to breathe, and us by extension. This is a slice of life; strange, funny, and earnest, meant to remind us that what connects us all isn't necessarily money or sex but something a bit more mysterious and satisfying. Purpose and communication, negotiation and patience, kindness and hospitality; these things should matter more than they do in 2026 America, and films like this help us cut through the confusion to find our profound shared humanity. The laughter and sex just help us swallow the pill.

Asteroid City (2023)

Score: 4 / 5

Another year, another Wes Anderson project. His titles are really hit-or-miss for me; out of his now eleven titles, I'd only happily rewatch five, while the others I prefer not to remember at all. Thankfully, Asteroid City falls squarely in the former category for me. Anderson's latest is a love letter to boyhood interest in space and to our love of theatre and television especially in an age of exciting (or scary) new advancements.

Asteroid City reimagines the luster and wonder of postwar curiosities and anxieties about the space race, radioactivity, and of course aliens. Reliably shot by Anderson's frequent cinematographer Robert Yeoman and beautifully, brilliantly designed by Adam Stockhausen (a regular collaborator with Spielberg, Anderson, and Steve McQueen), the film breathes excitement and ingenuity. The film opens in black-and-white square Academy ratio as if it were a televised special, a radio play or documentary in the mid-50s. Our host is Bryan Cranston, who does a sort of emcee-narrator riff as he tells the story of the fabulous new play "Asteroid City," to be presented presently, by fictional playwright Conrad Earp (Edward Norton). The play itself is presented to us in glorious widescreen and stylized technicolor and comprises most of the runtime. 

The mise en abyme here is perhaps the most clearly delineated in all of Anderson's films that include multiple layers or framing devices; I appreciated the simplicity for once. And the film -- the televised play, that is -- is a wonderfully realized production. Asteroid City looks not unlike those experimental "Stepford" type towns constructed in a remote desert for the dual purposes of being a sweet oasis for the weary traveler and to ostensibly be destroyed by bomb fallout at test sites. It's a bare place, with neat lines and cookie-cutter shacks and a certain retro charm, helped in no small part by the vibrant colors of the desert (the bright orange sand and light blue sky in stark contrast separated only by a thin horizon are picturesque and uncanny at once). The "city" is about to host a camp for science-oriented youth, drawn no doubt partly because it's also the site of a large meteor crater.

Comedy ensues partly due to Anderson's affinity for nerdy malcontents, naturally, and this film assembles quite an ensemble, which is saying a lot considering all Anderson's films have ludicrously large casts. The main character (arguably) is Woodrow (Jake Ryan), the oldest son of Augie Steenback (Jason Schwartzman), a war photographer who hasn't yet told his children that their mother has been dead for almost a month. Woodrow connects most closely at camp with Dinah (Grace Edwards), daughter of a melancholic but accomplished movie star (Scarlett Johansson), but their cohort of "Stargazers" also includes Ethan Josh Lee as a boy who questions authority and Aristou Meehan as a boy eager to be dared to enact dangerous or foolish stunts. Naturally, more comedy ensues when the camp's keynote speaker, General Gibson (Jeffrey Wright, a perfect casting for what is essentially the banality of evil), is revealed to be planning to steal the tech developed by these kids for the US government.

Those more interested in the human emotional core of this film should find it more accessible and relatable than in most of Anderson's films; at least, I did. The central family drama expands a bit when Augie's father-in-law (Tom Hanks) arrives to help his grandchildren process grief over their mother's death. Woodrow's sisters never quite land as real characters, but their interactions with Hanks are very cute. Surprisingly, I did not care much about the human part of this film -- perhaps I've been burned too often by Anderson to want to care about characters this time -- and much preferred the caricatures and form. That said, Johansson and Schwartzman completely blew me away with their performances; specifically Schwartzman, who has never done a role quite like this, and who plays Augie as well as the actor playing Augie as he convinces (seduces?) Earp to cast him. 

Asteroid City isn't wholly unlike those slice of life plays of a type of expansion-era mindset. Think October Sky meets Our Town. There's a lot of busy action, people talking and not listening, seeing and not appreciating, and connecting in unexpected ways. But by the final act, it all seems to boil down to everyone wondering what the meaning of human life is or could be. Because not only is their liminal space, floating precariously on ruin in the desert, an existential crisis itself, but during the camp they are visited not once but twice by an alien flying saucer. This revelation -- portrayed in brilliant stop-motion -- does very little to help anyone's existential crises, but it certainly provides opportunity for the characters to reflect and stay in town for another week. Which, really, is what we're all doing in life, right?

Anderson, of course, handles these themes deftly, perhaps even briskly here. His characters are agonizing for answers and purpose, and yet when given the metaphorical microphone, they voice their version of the questions we ourselves have as audience members: "I don't understand the play. Am I doing it right?" It's these moments that take us out of the play and into the film properly, and I loved that. Much as how every single detail of the sets and props are important and brilliant, these little "asides" from Anderson's screenplay are crucial and poignant. There is a lot of silly stuff here, much like in Moonrise Kingdom, but Anderson wants us to work our way though tough questions. One of my only notes from watching this movie came from Johansson, who while gazing through neighboring windows at Augie and discussing their melancholia, says, "We're just two catastrophically wounded people who don't express the depths of our pain because [...] we don't want to."

Glass Onion (2022)

Score: 5 / 5

Thank goodness they're back at it. Rian Johnson returns with Daniel Craig for another quick-witted, topical whodunnit to follow up Knives Out. And, befitting a sequel, this one is glossier, flashier, and bigger. The Gothic tendencies of the first are still present, but now in chic modern trappings. The self-aware political dialogue of the first is somehow more trenchant and expansive now. Think of this as like Branagh's new Poirot films: the first was more isolated and spooky, the second was more glamorous and brutal. It helps that Glass Onion takes place on a picturesque private Greek island topped with an enormous glass globe, because murder in paradise is always more fun.

It's the height of the COVID-19 pandemic and a group of old friends gathers for their annual vacation together at the island paradise home of Miles Bron, a billionaire techie and patented idiot played to perfection by Edward Norton, who plays against type to hilarious effect. One wonders if his idiocy has led to paranoia, because the group of friends he amasses are surely close-knit but they each hide devious secrets that only each other knows. They affectionately refer to themselves as "The Disruptors," which reveals their collective narcissism and smug self-righteousness, and their various pursuits smack of shady dealings and ill-gotten gains. Guarding each other's secrets as they do, they might best be described as frenemies.

Much as with the first installment, Johnson both honors and inverts typical whodunnit tropes. Yes, everyone in the large ensemble cast is a suspect, but they're also all deeply conflicted and ambiguous characters. The pool of suspects Johnson treats as a microcosm of social ills: the first film's insular family felt a bit Trumpian in its hyper-fixation on money and entitlement as well as their performative tolerance, and this film's fraternity of friends is more than a little echo chamber-y in its treatment of social media and its condemnation of greedily inspired tech advancements. Johnson also structures his delightfully twisty plot with knowing loops on itself, making it deucedly difficult to predict, much like the first film. Adding in metafictional flair -- such as his numerous gobsmacking cameos from people like Ethan Hawke and the late great duo Stephen Sondheim and Angela Lansbury -- only adds to the festive wackiness and off-the-wall ingenuity.

Daniel Craig leads again as Benoit Blanc (now confirmed to be gay and partnered to Hugh Grant) as the Cajun detective with a mind like a steel trap, although this time he plays more of a character than before. His attention was piqued when he receives an invitation to the Disruptors' vacation: each invitation takes the form of a deviously complex puzzle box Blanc declares to be silly and simple. However, Blanc was more or less recruited by a character played by Janelle Monáe. SPOILER ALERT: it is Monáe who really owns this movie in a dual role of twin sisters determined to bring down Miles for his criminality and dangerous new alternative fuel. And so, Blanc himself is a bit more relaxed and even goofy during the film's first act, which is a memorably blissful change in style for him.

The rest of the cast is uniformly great (including Kate Hudson's model and influencer with a penchant for racist tweets, Dave Bautista men's rights YouTuber, and a surprisingly nuanced Madelyn Cline as his sexed-up girlfriend Whiskey), although I personally felt that Leslie Odom Jr.'s tortured scientist and Kathryn Hahn's shady governor up for a senate election were underused despite being arguably the most dynamic actors of the ensemble. It's nice to see the actors play into or against type intentionally, and I wondered more than once how much of that was intentional to this movie in particular, to tie in with the symbolic ambiguity of its titular structure.

The plot, characters, performances, and themes are all pretty clear, but the layers get more interesting and intricate as they are peeled back. That's the brilliance of Johnson's creation in this series; it's like what Wes Craven and Kevin Williamson did with the Scream franchise in honoring the genre traditions while flipping them on their heads in intelligent and daring ways. Other recent satires like The Menu aren't dissimilar in targeting hot topics with complex, half-joking wit. And Glass Onion takes everything we loved about Knives Out and gives us more of it all, which makes it one of the best movies of the year and a joyous addition to what we can all hope will be a thriving new Netflix series.

The French Dispatch (2021)

Score: 3.5 / 5

It might be the most Wes Anderson Wes Anderson movie yet, and that's just what it is. If you like his usual style, you'll probably like this, because he ramps it up about 200% from usual. If you don't like his style, you'll probably hate this because it's just too niche. I've always been on the fence with him, because for me Fantastic Mr. Fox, Moonrise Kingdom, and The Grand Budapest Hotel are wonderful films, especially that last, but I have felt indifferent or negatively toward most of his others, such as his most recent, Isle of Dogs. This most recent is more like Hotel in terms of style, substance, and grandiosity of storytelling, and for those elements I quite enjoyed it. But it's also surprisingly inaccessible, even for people who are willing to let Anderson take them on another funny, weird ride through his unique experience of life in a strange world.

A meditation on journalism -- I think -- The French Dispatch begins with Angelica Huston's voiceover narration about the establishment of the titular magazine. Though it was founded in Liberty, Kansas, where its editor Howitzer (Bill Murray) was born, it is now published in a little French town called Ennui-sur-Blasé, which means something like sophisticated boredom. In rapid succession, we are introduced to Howitzer's loyal staff in their oddly crumbling but quaint offices; the characters are not seen directly at first, and left almost unknowable until they respectively share some of their work with us. The film is divided into sections, one from each of the eccentric journalists, that form what is meant to be the final issue of the magazine. Based on the style of the on-screen font and the unusual focus of the fictional writing staff, it seems that we are meant strongly to think of the Dispatch in the same terms we think of The New Yorker. The secondary opening sequence seems pointedly to satirize (or offer homage to) the New Yorker regular piece "The Talk of the Town," funnily narrated by Owen Wilson in a beret and on a bicycle, riding through the small town and showing us the locations (past and future) when he's not colliding with commoners or falling down holes.

To recount the plot (of which there is essentially none) seems fruitless and even arrogant, as I frankly had trouble with all the characters and their doings. There are three main stories that take up the bulk of screen time, each from a different writer's perspective. One involves an incarcerated painter and his muse who is also his prison guard, and their work with an art dealer on the outside. One involves the writer inserting herself into a student protest led by a moody young revolutionary and the fallout that entails. One involves a legendary chef whose only employ is in the police department kitchen, despite the reporter's best efforts at launching him to fame. The pieces are all shot in Anderson's style, but with various kinds of changing aesthetics; for instance, during a chase scene, everything is presented suddenly as an animated cartoon.

That's shocking, but not really in context of Anderson's work. Everything is usually presented in toybox or dollhouse style in his films, and each piece of the set and props are clearly chosen and altered to cultivate a painfully specific atmosphere. His production design notoriously borders on the obsessive, and here (as in Hotel) that is most clearly sensed. Perhaps that's because it's so removed from most audience members' lived experience. There is almost nothing relatable in this film, at least physically, and yet it seems Anderson wants to transport us to a very real world for which he then wants us to experience some kind of catharsis through nostalgia, even if the nostalgia is for a fantasy. 

I don't really know what else to say about this film. It's a valuable experience, I thought, and one that I'll need to mull over. But even more than in most of his work, here I just couldn't connect to any of the (many, many) characters or even fully understand the setting or themes. I suppose part of the project is to simply appreciate the varied work of specialized journalists, but I'd rather have movies like All the President's Men or The Post than something like this. It just moved far too quickly and with too many moving parts for my taste; I could never really savor the crucial beats in even the expository bits. There's a relentlessness in its pace that denies us access to any thematic underpinnings, even as the experience of Anderson dragging us through his imagination was thrilling.

Motherless Brooklyn (2019)

Score: 3.5 / 5

Less hard-boiled than tender-hearted, Motherless Brooklyn is a fascinating, sweeping film that showcases what is best and worst in the genre. Edward Norton's latest feels much like a passion project -- his name is all over the credits -- and fits most squarely in film noir, something I don't think anyone really expected from him. His clear determination to get it right often makes the film feel sentimental, which is not quite a proper noir attribute, but his emotional intelligence keeps things grounded and intensely relevant.

That is, if you can follow the convoluted story. This is where I get lost in most noir: I get taken in and carried along by the setting, lighting, atmosphere, costumes, and acting, and I completely lose track of the plot. So much of it is relegated to anti-dramatic exposition -- that is, a femme fatale describing the crime, a mob boss describing his innocence, a detective piecing together disparate stories -- in voiceover or dimly lit P.I. offices. They toss around names and places and connections like we can catch it all, and frankly I have trouble remembering my own age. And if you, like Norton, stretch your mystery across two-and-a-half hours, you can kiss my memory of details farewell.

From what I do remember, Norton plays a detective in 1950s New York, working with his foster brothers under their boss and surrogate father Bruce Willis (forgive me, but I'll never remember all these characters' names). Norton's character, the titular "Motherless Brooklyn", has Tourette's Syndrome, which often causes some friction with others and his ability to blend in while investigating -- he's often also called "Freak Show" -- but he has an invaluable photographic memory. When Willis is killed by criminals, Norton embarks on a dizzying descent into the criminal underbelly of his hometown.

It sounds simple enough, but the criminals are in fact those lording over the city, and the film quickly changes tactics. Before the halfway point, we're already enmeshed in conspiracies over urban planning and gentrification, and if you think this isn't the stuff neo-noir stories should be concerned with, think again. It's a thrilling and confusing web of thieving businessmen and genocidal politicians all angling for power and money in an atmosphere of secrecy and impunity for those with titles and cash. Enter Alec Baldwin, whose city planning developer is more interested in roads and parks and displacing nonwhite folks than in actually building a community, and Cherry Jones, a grassroots activist fighting the forced removal of immigrant and minority workers. Norton becomes a sort of Dante, guided by Gugu Mbatha-raw's Virgil, climbing from the depths of dark alleyways to the well-lit offices of public officials where he finally confronts the capitalist devil himself.

Civic corruption and racism go hand-in-hand here, but for all the film's damning indictment of U.S. gentrification (in the 50s, sure, but also today; it's hard not to think of Baldwin's impression of Trump on SNL while watching him here, though here he's far more sinister and believable) it remains eminently watchable. This is because it flirts with noir tropes while subverting many others, making it a unique project working toward, I suspect, a re-evaluation of the genre. Norton is sweet and caring, not chauvinistic or entitled. Mbatha-raw is not forced into a role of dutiful sidekick, sex icon, or victim/villain, but is given ample space to craft a strong, standalone character who chooses a mutually beneficial romance with Norton. Norton's perceived disability gives him a fresh and useful perspective he uses to the advantage of others; he's no chainsmoking Bogart in a fedora and trenchcoat looking for the next broad to bang.

It's fascinating to me that, by displacing the film to the 50s and layering it behind steam rising from street vents and jazz music wafting on salty breezes, Norton's messages ring clear and true in 2019. Motherless Brooklyn is a rewarding viewing experience, if you're into mystery and confusion and that feeling of melancholy that follows most of the best noir pictures. But be warned, it's the kind of movie that you have to watch and listen to the whole time if you don't want to get lost. Look away for a moment and you could miss valuable information. That's a lot to ask for with a runtime this taxing.

Isle of Dogs (2018)

Score: 2 / 5

Isle of Dogs is a perfect example of Anderson's artistry. The incredible design of the film and its stop-motion animation are more than enough to earn its praise. Abundant details keep everything magnificent on a big screen. The film isn't as colorful or vibrant as, for example, Moonrise Kingdom, but it's got some really arresting moments, especially the Western-meets-noir moments on Trash Island. It's got some slick, dry humor, too, which I was digging for the first half of the film, along with some incredible music. But style only works for me when it reinforces content.

The story is just weird. Thousands of dogs suffering dog flu and the prejudices of a dictatorial mayor are banished to a nearby landfill island. A lone boy, nephew to the despot -- destined for greatness by proximity to greatness, no doubt -- crashes his plane on Trash Island to find his own dog Spots. A group of alpha dogs (who are really anything but alpha in demeanor, as they gossip and bumble throughout the film) befriend him and help him search.

Unfortunately, Anderson keeps everything at a sort of ironic distance, valuing his own aesthetic over developing context or enhancing meaning in the story he's telling. That's not unlike his approach to every film under his name, but here I didn't see how it matched the story.

The film's logic is also woefully skewed. The dogs, though living in Japan, speak English and cannot understand the Japanese boy's speech, which becomes a point of sourly humorous absurdity. It seems that formal Japanese speeches must include a haiku poem, another point of absurdist humor that sat badly with me. And then there's the motif of a mushroom cloud (!) every time something explodes, something that felt severely shortsighted on Anderson's part. If Anderson wanted to pander to his American audience, presumably because we're so shallow we need to identify with the characters and can only do so when they speak English or are white, why set his movie in Japan?

A few more quick problems I noted. Most of the Japanese dialogue, rather than directly translated for the audience or even subtitled, is rendered though the medium of Frances McDormand's dialogue as a reporter. She translates (maybe) the essential bits of exposition. In a movie of male characters and male voice actors, it's not insignificant that there is one female dog (voiced by Scarlett Johansson) who is called a bitch at least once. Accurate? Sure. In poor taste? You betcha. The film also has an interesting anti-cat theme, one that I can sympathize with, that feels overt and more than a little sinister.

I was most disturbed, though, by the character of Tracy (voiced by Greta Gerwig, who really should have known better), an exchange student investigating the politics in Japan and the corruption of the mayor. Tracy is the White Savior, rousing the otherwise voiceless people of Japan and rallying them to confront the mayor. Her afro-style hair notwithstanding, when she finally leads a protest to interrupting the mayor's public address, she raises her fist in what looks suspiciously like a Black Power salute (never mind the lack of people of color in the ensemble film). Then, of course, there's the scene where she violently assaults the scientist Yoko Ono (voiced by Yoko Ono) to get her to stand up for herself and fight back against the mayor.

WHAT? Yeah. That happened.

I don't know, maybe I'm being too harsh. But I just didn't enjoy this movie, beautiful as it may be. Its problems are far more troubling than I expected; so much so, in fact, that I want to revisit his other movies and see if they're as disturbing. Humor doesn't have to come at the cost of racist or sexist jokes, and there's really no excuse for it these days. Especially not when your story sucks as it is.

IMDb: Isle of Dogs

Sausage Party (2016)

Score: 1.5 / 5

In a bizarre parody of (I guess?) Toy Story, we get the story of walking, talking food products as they live their lives in a grocery store. As we might expect, fun and silliness turns to horror as the food is brutally consumed. Conceptually, it's brilliant fodder for some rotten food puns and grocery groans, and the film makes the most of each and every one. One-liners fly faster than we can catch them, and the constant innovation in design and delivery of each character and their world is fascinating.

Obviously with a title like Sausage Party, there will be a fair amount of sexual humor. But if you had told me that this madcap absurdist comedy would view more like a graphic porno, I would have laughed it aside. But it does. While I have no problem with witnessing offensive humor and animated food celebrating orgiastic sexuality, and I laugh-cried through most of the picture, it's just not my cup of tea. I left the theater feeling hollow and annoyed and more than a little sorry I had gone. Only so much pleasure can be taken from the animation, the humor, and even the surprisingly deep themes of truth and fantasy, hope and courage, and (arguably) embracing a diverse community.

If you know me, you know comedy is not my thing, and I'm pretty picky with animated movies. Ultimately, I can only take so much deep-fried crude humor in 90 minutes.

IMDb: Sausage Party

The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014)

Score: 5 / 5

Wes Anderson is a unique and fascinating visionary, and this film is certainly his best yet. It would be remiss of me to note that his style is not for everyone -- and that even after a certain point in any of his films I've had about enough -- but his incredible aesthetic and sense of pace in this particular production are pure genius. Shall we check into the hotel, then?

Anderson's greatest strength, in my opinion, lies in his ability to amass an irresistible cast and then turn them loose in a surreal/hyperreal/[insert descriptor] environment. This film alone boasts an enormous ensemble including Adrien Brody, Williem Dafoe, Jude Law, Tilda Swinton, Jeff Goldblum, Tom Wilkinson, Saoirse Ronan, Harvey Keitel, Edward Norton, Jason Schwartzman, F. Murray Abraham, Mathieu Almaric, Bill Murray, Bob Balaban, and Owen Wilson. I mean, honestly. And then there's our leads. Ralph Fiennes in yet another character role, and the young (and, to me, totally unfamiliar) Tony Revolori. These two men balance each other flawlessly, and their volleyed energy is both captivating and endlessly entertaining.

Our story concerns a devoted concierge Gustave (Fiennes) who runs the fabulous titular hotel. His service includes special attention to the intimate desires of aging women, one of whom (Swinton) mysteriously dies and leaves to him a valuable painting. After Gustave steals the lady's painting, her furious family (Brody) hires an assassin (Dafoe) to track it down and eliminate rival heirs. Meanwhile, Gustave is arrested under suspicion of murder and escapes jail with help of his protégé lobby boy, Zero (Revolori). The two team up to prove Gustave's innocence, which of course happens after many chases and shootouts.

The plot can get a bit thick, but the film doesn't much count on the plot to carry it. It also doesn't do much for character; to be sure, Gustave and Zero are wonderfully realized, but the remaining characters are loose archetypes intended for comic revelation, and often rely on the actor's celebrity or aesthetic résumé. Instead, Anderson gives us so many visual pleasures in each frame that the whole film becomes a sinfully rich buffet of images. He divides time periods with different aspect ratios, and transitions between miniatures, sets, and effects with intoxicating ease. The intense complexity of visuals in this film mirrors (and arguably glosses over) the great thematic depths to which the film dives. Its sharp wit centers on a narrative of unlikely friendship and personal redemption, framed against an atmosphere of change and unrest (as the fictional setting is seen to be an isolated European mountainside in the years between the World Wars). Anderson uses a pseudo-farcical caper as a vehicle to carry our leading men on a journey that ultimately legitimizes their daily efforts in service of their occupation. I was most satisfied, though, with the frame story, in which we see a larger context for the adventures of Gustave, including the effects of war and poverty and the importance of having one's story told, especially if that is your primary legacy. The last shot is a powerful punch on that front.

IMDb: The Grand Budapest Hotel

Birdman (2014)

Score: 5 / 5

The obvious frontrunner for this year's award season is also uncommonly good. Too often, it seems, the movie that gets the most hype (for whatever that's worth) is also sentimental or traditional, and sometimes both. A lot of people tend to attach baggage to the Best Picture Oscar, wanting it to be timely or eternal, classic or fresh, comfortable or edgy, and so forth. My main consideration for Best Picture is how state-of-the-art it appears to be: Technically original, aesthetically fresh, pushing boundaries, and (more subjective, obviously) appropriate to popular culture. Birdman is all of these things, and then some.

I know you've heard people raving about how great this film is, and like me, you probably got a bit annoyed partly because nobody is talking about the film's plot. So what is this thing? Michael Keaton plays an actor who is attempting to re-create his career following the success of a series of "Birdman" movies in which he played the titular superhero. Two decades later, he is writing, directing, and starring in a Broadway play that opens soon and is having nothing but trouble taking flight (yes, flight). Besides his dramatic attempts onstage, our protagonist is plagued by conflict in his personal life as well, with his friends (Zach Galifianakis), girlfriend and actress (Andrea Riseborough), ex-wife (Amy Ryan), daughter/employee (Emma Stone), and co-star actor (Edward Norton) and his girlfriend/actress (Naomi Watts).

This all-star cast rocks their individual roles, and intelligently embody the world of the film as its ensemble. This is very "meta" stuff, but our actors fit comfortably into their supporting roles, just as their fictional counterparts maneuver into place around their leading man. Edward Norton and Emma Stone arguably have the most complex characters and perform them with remarkable strength, but truly all the characters (and their actors) are almost stunningly well-written and fully realized. But they aren't the only good things about this movie.

Director/co-writer Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu (Biutiful, Babel, 21 Grams) helms this black comedy with such ingenuity, intelligence, and skill that it is immediately understood as a consummate work of art. For all the themes and motifs we could eke out of this complex film -- from its not insignificant title to its final shot -- Inarritu directs with an eye for beauty and magic. Stunning special effects happen somewhat unexpectedly, as Keaton's character is empowered by the voice of Birdman in his head to move objects with his mind and levitate, and the heavy lighting transforms what we see on screen into a tableau of fantasy and wonder.

It's technically incredible. Besides the awesome lights, Inarritu makes the two-hour film look like a single, continuous shot. It was obviously not filmed that way, but the effect is brilliant: we get a real-time peek into a man's life. When Keaton is alone we see his secret powers, the emotions of his encounters with other people are raw and fresh, and we see his show from casting to opening night as one single episode. Inarritu plays with his own technical approach, then, in that we see many moments separated by time as one shot; in one scene we see magic juxtaposed with the most mundane of daily activities; we see more profound drama offstage than on. Inarritu is making a movie about movies, a film about theatricality, with timely references and modern theatre concerns, replete with magic and mayhem, that ultimately emphasizes the beauty, complexity, and wonder of life. This movie is, literally, everything.

IMDb: Birdman