Reviewed on February 4th, 2013
Fox presents a film directed by Steven Spielberg 
Screenplay by Tony Kushner, based on the book 'Team of Rivals' by Doris Kearns Goodwin 
Starring: Daniel Day-Lewis, Tommy Lee Jones, Sally Field, David Strathairn, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, James Spader and John Hawkes
Running Time: 150 minutes
Rating: M
Released: February 7th, 2013

Are films too conveniently timed to coincide with contemporary moments or do they force us to address the unwanted memories and atrocities of the past? To this day, America struggles to address its racial history, determined to shield itself from its ugly and divided past, particularly in pop culture. Only two years ago an edition of Mark Twain's novel "Adventures of Huckleberry Finn" (1884) was published replacing the word n**ger with "slave".

The same attitude applies in Hollywood. Director Spike Lee declared he wouldn't view Quentin Tarantino's slave-Western Django Unchained, as it would be insulting to his ancestors. The film has also been criticised for the frequency of the word n**ger too. However, this year Steve McQueen (Shame) will also be releasing a film called Twelve Years a Slave and the frequency of slavery as a film topic could infer that there is genuine interest in exploring the subject as a result of recent America history.   

Yet despite documenting Abraham Lincoln's efforts to pass the 13th Amendment to abolish slavery, Steven Spielberg's Lincoln isn't concerned with foreshadowing modern history, like Obama's 2008 inauguration. Spielberg bought the rights to Doris Kearns Goodwin's book "Team of Rivals" before it was written in the early part of the last decade. The film began development under the Bush administration and Spielberg stated in an interview with the ABC: "It's not about America today, but it has tremendous repercussions looking back about what America could be today under the right leadership".

Spielberg is deemed one of the most iconic Hollywood filmmakers since Frank Capra. Through cinema he has recreated some of the most important historical events of the last century, including the Holocaust (Schindler's List) and the Invasion of Normandy (Saving Private Ryan). He is a great fit for this material but like Capra, he is susceptible to over sentimentalising his most work, as was the case recently with War Horse (2011).

Through their films both directors have shared a vision of America becoming an idealised land of equality. For Spielberg, this stemmed from childhood as he was tormented for being Jewish and admitted to being embarrassed by his heritage. After 9/11, the way that the Bush administration shattered relations with the Middle East stung Spielberg's American Dream.

Hence, Lincoln is a film concerned by the need for great leadership and social equality, though at the expense of bending the political and legal rules. The haunting image of a pile of amputated limbs, thrown into a ditch, visualises the film's moral dilemma and poses a question to the War on Terror itself: in times of conflict, how long can a political party withhold change before engaging with social reform?  

Following his re-election, President Lincoln (a magnificent, chameleon performance by Daniel Day-Lewis) faces pressure to end the Civil War and abolish slavery. Yet he is reminded by his staff, including William Seward (David Strathairn), that ending the war before the vote will mean there is no reason to emancipate slavery: "It's either the amendment or this confederate peace, you cannot have both." Lincoln is also urged by wife Mary-Todd (Sally Field) to end the war because their eldest son Robert (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) is determined to enlist in the army. Lincoln requires twenty votes to pass the motion, including votes from the Democratic Party, and enlists some men (John Hawkes, James Spader) to offer jobs as bribes to those who will support the vote.

What's surprising about the film is that despite encompassing many of Spielberg's staples, the lost child, an anti-war message and social and racial equality, it is without the director's usual preachiness and cinematic gaudiness. The narrative is conventionally structured but resembles a play rather than an epic. The screenplay by playwright Tony Kusher (Angels in America) gives the film and its backroom drama well researched and highly colourful conversations to work through. I did find some of the political terminology, combined with Early Modern English ("buzzard's guts!" "water closet"), to be intimidating at times though. 

Buoying the film past these challenging moments is the amount of humour and wit. There are hilarious conversations and anecdotes in the film, which are respected by Spielberg's restrained direction. The colours are gloomy and drab and the camerawork is sparse. The film is mostly compromised of men talking in rooms and the containment of these scenes is a reminder of, for better or worse, where leadership begins and ends. Relying heavily on the charisma of the cast is an intelligent move by Spielberg as no one here is anything less than convincing. Tommy Lee Jones is hugely enjoyable in a highly theatrical turn as Thaddeus Stevens, whose public image and values are tested as he momentarily suppresses his passion and fierceness to help his party secure the vote.

One of the few cinematic moments is an opening scene where we see the abstract images from Lincoln's dream about a ship. He later says in the film: "We're whalers!" This reflects the same themes equal to Herman Melville's novel "Moby-Dick" (1851): a Manifest Destiny and the impossible search for equality. Spielberg and Lincoln therefore share a collective and optimistic dream for America, but the director resists lingering over the film's contemporary relevance. His film and its necessity for leadership achieves an applicability that extends far beyond what has happened in the last four years of American history and surges deep into an uncertain future.  

Reviewed on January 28th, 2013
Icon presents a film directed by Kathryn Bigelow
Screenplay by Mark Boal
Starring: Jessica Chastain, Jason Clarke and Mark Strong
Running Time: 157 minutes
Rating: M
Released: January 31st, 2013

In his book "What is Cinema?" film theorist André Bazin stated: "But realism in art can only be achieved in one way - through artifice. Every form of aesthetic must necessarily choose between what is worth preserving and what should be discarded, and what should not even be considered." Realism in cinema is therefore determined by an audio-visual language that differs from real life. Any compression or fragmentations of events are a result of the limitations of the time, space and technique of the screen. A filmmaker is responsible for selecting these techniques within the frame of the narrative.

Looking to cinematise the lead up and execution of Operation Neptune Spear, the hunt and assassination of Osama Bin Laden, Kathryn Bigelow and journalist turned screenwriter Mark Boal compress facts and timelines and omit significant figures from this decade-long search. However, the film moves through a decade long period with such ease that the realism is never compromised. It sidesteps Hollywood clichés and sentimentality as comfortably as few others have done before it. Boal's script is clear of tragic back stories, its character development is quietly stated and its moral compass, if there is one, lingers under the film's surface.

The film has been described as being in the tradition of "New Journalism": a method of journalism that adds subjectivity rather than an objective perspective to the facts. It is an appropriate means of describing the film because even as it condenses multiple real world terrorist attacks over the years, from 9/11 to a bombing in London, the impact is still extremely shattering to the audience and its characters. The attacks grow increasingly personal to the film's lead subject Maya (Jessica Chastain at her most intense and emotive), a CIA operative who spends over a decade looking for clues on the whereabouts of Bin Laden.

Contributing to the film's authenticity, Zero Dark Thirty makes fewer concessions than Bigelow's previous film The Hurt Locker (2009), which to avoid any political waves, was purposely coy on its subject of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. This uncompromising nature is immediate from early scenes where torture is used to extract information from a prisoner. Both Democrats and Republicans alike have been publicly critical of the film, deeming the use of enhanced torture techniques to track Bin Laden is inaccurate and that the film praises torture an effective means of investigation.

This is a misjudgement and hypocritical given the extensive amount of research assistance by the CIA, the Department of Defense and the White House, who provided extensive interviews and documents about the operation. The interrogation scenes are, as they should be, ugly and difficult to watch. A man is strung up by his wrists, punched, stripped down and shoved into a box. His answers are varied, unclear and unhelpful. We see the stress that these moments place on the interrogator (played by Jason Clarke). It is difficult work and impractical compared to other advanced techniques, like aerial surveillance. An important subtextual development is how these techniques are gradually being phased out, which is true given the closure of the black list sites and the outlaw of enhanced torture techniques.

If the film does have a message my interpretation is that it is, in many ways, a film about how vacant revenge and obsession can be. Maya's entrance to the film is through one of these horrific interrogations, which she is not mentally prepared to engage. A deep focus shot of the room frames Maya in the background. The shot shows her isolated from the action, true to her inexperience, and her face conveys great discomfort in watching the interrogation unfold. She arrives in a dark suit, unideal for waterboarding prisoners, and when asked to participate she is clumsy in handling the situation.

Yet her inexperience also provides compelling movement in Boal's screenplay. As the terrorist attacks mount over the years and the deaths become more personal, Maya's viridity is dissolved and replaced with increasingly determined anger. This change is also complimented by through the costumes, as Maya's clothes become more combat-like, and her dialogue which grows more sadistic: "I'm going to smoke everyone involved in this op and then I'm going to kill Bin Laden". These fascist undertones, also echoed by Mark Strong as the head of Counter Terrorism at the CIA, are dispelled by how tactful much of the film is, particularly the meticulous and intense raid on the compound.

Like The Hurt Locker, the film isn't politically right or left. Once the breathless mission is over and the objective is 'won' the film obtains a brief but powerful feeling of melancholy. There are no 'hooahs' or flag waving. Maya's tears are not ones of joy or relief but unfulfillment. In a single close-up shot, her face reflects the hollow aftermath of conquering our enemies, and I think, the ambiguity around the next chapter of global terrorism. 'Zero Dark Thirty' itself is a military phrase, referring to the early dawn, once darkness has passed. What follows from this moment? It is an unexpected and brave question to end this long but supremely crafted docudrama.

In Texas, 1858, a dentist turned bounty hunter named Dr. King Schultz (Christoph Waltz) is seeking the whereabouts of a gang known as the Brittle Brothers. To find them he frees Django (Jamie Foxx), a slave who knows who the men are. Travelling across the South together, the two men form a partnership, with Schultz teaching the former slave the skills of a bounty hunter. In exchange for hunting the Brittle Brothers, Schultz agrees to help locate and free Django's wife Broomhilda (Kerry Washington), who is still in captivity. She is a servant to a powerful slave trader, the courteous but untrustworthy Calvin Candie (Leonardo DiCaprio). He runs a plantation called Candie Land, where slaves are encouraged to fight each other. Django and Schultz must pretend to be interested in buying a slave-fighter so that they can also bargain for Broomhilda's freedom. One of Candie's loyal slaves Stephen (Samuel L. Jackson) remains suspicious of their new guests.

Django Unchained is the film where Quentin Tarantino finally grew up. The former video store clerk turned director, fifty next year, is showing signs he's ready to put his film geek senses aside and start substantiating his work. Django surprises because Tarantino has pared back the pop references, the verboseness and the juvenility that marks much of his work. The man who once said "violence is one of the most fun things to watch" now has something important to say about the way that killers and violence are manufactured. If this isn't shocking enough, the film is also his most compassionate and romantic work since Kill Bill Vol. 2 (2004), with characters who finally have something internal resembling genuine feelings.

Having imitated a number of popular film genres, Tarantino has longed to make a proper Western, a tribute to his hero Sergio Leone. He once named The Good the Bad and the Ugly (1966) as his favourite film and like that movie, or any great Western, there is a wealth of commentary on justified violence here. However, the strength of Django is that it doesn't merely mimic Leone's work but provides new insights into the way that murder was deemed a necessity in the American West and the price of human life. Tarantino uses comedy to address this troubling subject matter, transcending its absurdity and brutality in unique ways we have not seen before.

Schultz's introduction is fantastic. He is richly characterised, not as a cold blooded psychopath, but as a businessman. After shooting a slave owner off his horse, Schultz puts down his rifle and then asks if he can have a bill of sale for Django. Later he explains: "I kill people and sell corpses for cash". Every kill to him is a business deal. He only kills people if he has the right paperwork for the bounty and believes he is acting within the confines of the law. Christoph Waltz is perfect in this role. He strips away any hint of malice and replaces it with a hilarious amount of gentility that makes him seem almost naive to the seriousness of his actions.

Interestingly, this character also shows changes that make him seem like a rounded human being; something unique to any Tarantino film. Schultz's friendship with Django makes him feel more responsible for other people, not just for freeing this one slave, but seeing how other people kill for entertainment, including a vicious dog attack on a slave. Django, quietly expressive by a great Jamie Foxx performance, also faces powerful moral questions about the value of life and race. Brief intercuts to memories of his wife increase the film's romantic temperament but later test his moral grounds. To fool Candie, Django must act like a slave trader and be neglectful of slaves himself. Both protagonists are therefore asked how much they're willing to sell themselves morally for flesh - a complex allegory for slavery itself.

The Candie Land scenes reach tension levels on par with Inglourious Basterds (2009). Infrequent close-up shots on Django's face and on his revolver are hugely suspenseful touches. Both DiCaprio and Samuel L. Jackson also form a pair of scene stealing baddies of frightening unpredictability, and build a chilling mirror to Schultz and Django's own friendship. There is an artifice to their civility, reflected through the art direction and mise en scène. The rooms of the main house are handsomely lit by candlelight and furnished with leather fittings. A woman plays Beethoven on a harp and we watch the slaves set out placements on the main dining table. But the unspoken psychological dilemma remains: do all of these luxuries come at the expense of a pound of flesh? This question is visualised with perhaps the most dramatic Faustian-like handshake in the history of movies.

For all the depth of the screenplay and the amazing performances, there are niggling shortcomings. Some technical issues include Tarantino's overly playful editing cuts and an anachronistic soundtrack, using songs from the likes of Tupac. The last fifteen minutes are also disastrous. The old Tarantino emerges with silly shootouts and an extremely stupid, unfunny cameo, a supposed gift to Australia. God help us. These are distractions from a very mature theme: no matter what their skin colour, all killers become indistinguishable from one another. Nonetheless, discussing an imperfect Tarantino film is still better than saying nothing at all.

In 1949 Los Angeles is a city ruled by the mob. At the top of the crime syndicates is Mickey Cohen (Sean Penn), a ruthless mobster involved with murder, women and drugs. To combat Cohen, the police department look to construct a special squad of cops who will shut down his operations. Bill Parker (Nick Nolte) pitches the idea to honest cop John O'Mara (Josh Brolin), who is also a happily married war veteran. His wife gives him the idea of picking men that have little ambition and therefore less likely to be corrupted. One of the main men to join his squad is Sgt. Jerry Wooters (Ryan Gosling), who has eyes for Cohen's etiquette teacher Grace (Emma Stone). The other members of the squad include Coleman (Anthony Mackie), Max (Robert Patrick), Conway (Giovanni Ribisi) and Navidad (Michael Pena), each of whom has their own specialties.

The most depressing realisation about Gangster Squad is not simply that it is the lowest form of pulp trash, but that it leaves in its wake the question of "what if?" Director Ruben Fleischer (Zombieland, 30 Minutes or Less) has assembled a cast that the most seasoned director would salivate over, only to show complete ineptitude towards authenticity and controlled performance registers. The only positive to be drawn from the film is that it contains some momentarily appealing photography. The rest of the film is a shambles. It's badly directed, allowing for poor performances, glossy over-stylisation, and serves no purpose other than showcasing a series of tiresome gunfights.

How did Warners Bros, who produced some of the most important gangster films ever made, let this happen? It's through no fault of the source material. The film is based on a seven day L.A. Times series by journalist Paul Lieberman, who in 2008 chronicled the real life formation of the Gangster Squad. Historical facts notwithstanding, the film is as it claims "inspired by a true story". It's the treatment of the material that fails. Discussing the film's cop-turned-writer Will Beall, Lieberman stated in an article for the Nieman Reports: "With 'The Gangster Squad,' he understood that the studio wanted to go big, with flying bullets and fists." Evidentially, someone at Warner Bros. felt this subgenre had to be modernised by removing the substance and racking up the violence.

The classic gangster films of the past were more psychological than ostentatious. Filmmakers like Howard Hawks used them as public warnings against the real life threat of gangsters and to pressure governments to take stronger action against them. The films provided cautionary tales about the way that ordinary people could be seduced the allure of power and money, raising their social status but dispersing their friends, family and moral values. Actors like James Cagney transformed the gangster figure into tragic Shakespearean characters that were physically and mentally corroded by the failure of the American Dream.

The heavy emphasis on the violence and the action in Gangster Squad lessens the opportunity for complex moral ambiguity. A character asks John late if there is a difference between the criminals and the gangster squad. It's hard to believe given the film's insistence of what a monster Cohen is, along with Penn's disappointingly monotone performance, which substitutes nuances for snarls and angry grimaces. After an opening scene where he orders someone to be drawn and quartered between two cars, there's little by way of sympathy or psychology.

Similarly, if Fleischer is interested in blurring the lines between the criminals and the police, why does he frequently romanticise their battles with adolescent techniques like slow-motion, freeze framing and careless juxtaposition? In one sequence he contrasts a raid with the Carmen Miranda song 'Chica Chica Boom Chic', as the camera crabs sideways, scanning the crew as they beat up crims. Is there any reason besides including a superficial pop reference? This is true of Fleischer's overwrought visual style, one which desperately claws for your attention, only to remain vacuous. There are pretty moments in the film, like a sumptuous wide shot of L.A.'s neon glowing nightlife and Emma Stone's first appearance in a red dress, but they're designed solely to distract you from the film's emptiness and artificiality, as these colour techniques are divorced from a theme.

The performances in this mess range between embarrassing and vapid, and in some cases, both. Brolin's character is a dull lead, the can-do officer with the beautiful home and concerned wife. I found her surprisingly more interesting but the exchanges between the pair gnaw at terrible clichés: "The war is over. Stop fighting," she tells him. When the rest of the cast is allowed to speak, and some of them aren't, they're embarrassed by laughably ornate dialogue, such as: "This is a war for the soul of Los Angeles!" and "The whole town is under water and you're using a bucket when you should be grabbing a bathing suit".

Gosling is the only actor who seems aware of how silly the project is. But his performance is compromised of poses and jokey lines, so chilled that he could play Jerry his sleep. Likewise, Emma Stone's reunion with her Zombieland director leaves her with only two things to do: smoke and look po-faced. The gangster squad itself is little more than a collection of action figurines, defined by quirks than personality, like the knife thrower, the fast shooter and the Hispanic guy.

I liked this movie more when it was called The Untouchables (1987). A tremendous cast and glamorous production design is wasted hosting loosely connected action scenes, with little substance to support them. Warner Bros. decided to delay the film six months following the Aurora shooting. Or was it because they already knew how poor the film was? Now after the events in Connecticut, how will they sell a film that's only interested in gunfire?

This is the first of three films Peter Jackson has made to adapt J.R.R. Tolkien's prequel to Lord of the Rings. An elderly Bilbo Baggins writes to Frodo about the land of Erebor, where the Dwarf King Thror lost his land and prosperity to the dragon Smaug. Bilbo then recalls the earlier years of his life (played by Martin Freeman), where he's timid and lost his sense of adventure. Bilbo's complacency is questioned by the wizard Gandalf (Ian McKellen), who secretly arranges for a meeting to be held in the hobbit's house. One evening Bilbo is interrupted by thirteen dwarves who invite themselves inside. He's told these dwarves are in search of a home but need a burglar who can accompany them to the mountain where Smaug is and take back their land and treasure. Initially reluctant, Bilbo trails after the unit but this does little to impress Thorin (Richard Armitage), the dwarf leader and grandson of Thror, who doubts the hobbit's commitment.

Even without reading the novel The Hobbit, nothing erases the feeling while watching An Unexpected Journey that this is a deliberately inflated work of fanfare, with eyes drawn acutely towards the box office. Good cinema is defined by economics and how efficiently a story can be told with images. Peter Jackson demonstrated this skill with his Rings trilogy, gracefully balancing multiple narrative threads and characters, and ensuring each one possessed an appropriate amount of emotional weight.

Why then has he chosen to make a soulless, linear action movie, extravagantly scaled, but so insubstantial that it never justifies itself as the start of a trilogy? Penned by no less than four writers, including Jackson, this would have been more satisfying as one film with richer themes and selective action. Instead, a novel of barely 300 pages long is extended to nearly three hours, if only to showcase boring battle scenes and superfluous new technology, falsely touted as innovative.

The excess of Jackson's passion stems from his fascination with geek culture. Since the inception of his career in the 1980s, making low budget horror films, he has been concerned with subjects like the undead and the uncanny. His recent films have been criticised for being overly dependent on special effects. The trajectory of his career, from horror to global blockbusters, is not unlike James Cameron, who is coincidentally using Jackson's special effects studio Weta Digital to work on Avatar 2.

Both men have become transfixed by spectacle, with each of their films more elaborate and technically sophisticated than the last. They seem intent on blurring the lines between video games and cinema, which means more investment into technology and effects, rather than the scripts. Someone distanced from the source material and video game culture might have made The Hobbit less self-indulgent and plodding. A legal battle between Jackson and New Line Cinema meant Guillermo Del Toro was originally meant to direct the film but was eventually replaced.

As it stands, Jackson's love for video games is all too visible here. The script is short on themes, characterisation and subplots. It's overly rigid structure means the film becomes too absorbed in its sets and its environments, instead of the story. Each scene is like a level from a game, designed to showcase a gallery of monsters, which are cogs in the film's tired formula for suspense. Exposition is followed by danger and then an escape route. Press start to begin.

If the desire for a home offers some resemblance of a motive, it's regularly lost in the flurry of the action, most of which is extremely unengaging and lacking in tension. The film's one good scene admittedly adds some suspense and intrigue. It involves the reappearance of the monster Gollum and begins tying threads back to the Rings trilogy. The detail in Gollum's expressions, beautifully captured again by Andy Serkis, is even more incredible than before.

How do scenes like this, as overlong as they are, fare through the introduction of 48 frames per second? The standard frame rate for films has been to use 24 frames per second. The additional number of frames on the screen adds more detail and colour to the images. The trade-off is that it gives the illusion the images are moving much faster, which is very distracting. It's an unnecessary addition so if you must see the film, watch it in 2D.

Will fans enjoy the movie? Undoubtedly, but for most hardcore fans, more is always more. Consider the families who will now be paying for three movies instead of one, as well as the 3D surcharge, and must then wait another two years to finish the story. They're shown a footnote of a narrative here and that's not right.

Based on the 2001 novel by Yann Martel, Life of Pi is the metaphysical and spiritual journey of a character who must question their physical endurance and willingness to sustain their faith in God. This character is named Pi Patel and we first see him in present day Canada as a man (played by Irrfan Khan) who is preparing to tell an amazing story to a writer (Rafe Spall). Pi's story begins at a young age when he is a schoolboy in India. His parents are strict but intelligent and run a zoo with a huge array of animals. The film traces Pi's life to when he is a young man (Suraj Sharma), who is reluctant to join his parents once they sell the zoo and move overseas. Once onboard a Japanese ship transporting the zoo animals to be sold, a huge storm floods the vessel and Pi is separated from his family. He finds himself in a lifeboat with a zebra and somehow survives the storm. A fantasy adventure of imagination begins, where several other animals emerge from under the covers of the lifeboat, including a tiger. Fearful of the tiger, Pi resorts to building himself a mini raft attached to the boat. He must use a survival guide and other skills to control the tiger and retake the lifeboat.

Director Ang Lee has never made the same film twice. His constant versatility and creative mind for unique visual spaces defines his work. His films including Hulk, Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and Brokeback Mountain each adopted a unique filmic style appropriate to the material. Only someone with such diverse and sophisticated formal knowledge like Lee could have made Life of Pi work as well as it does. Once deemed unfilmable, the film's visual sophistication bridges the gap between an art house project and mainstream blockbuster. Its stunning visual qualities do not stand isolated but provide cinematic representations of complex philosophical questions surrounding myths, religion and faith.

In lesser hands this might have been a more bloated, less intelligent film. Before Lee, the project was passed between several directors including Jean-Pierre Jeunet, Alfonso Cuaron and M. Night Shyamalan, all of whom are considered visual stylists. Lee's personal strength as a filmmaker is that he rarely allows images to be devoid of meaning. His approach to this complex material is wholly cinematic: he challenges the audience to draw meaning from the properties of the screen and the images, realising a film that is in equal parts dazzling, thoughtful and ambiguous.

The only stumbling points are the early scenes where Lee deters from his cinematic approach. The jumble of anecdotes, including Pi being named after a swimming pool, are confused and estranged from the rest of the film. But the screenplay by David Magee finds its footing once it adopts a linear structure to tell Pi's life story. Expositional dialogue is skilfully masked as provocative philosophical statements, which are then attached to the film's Biblical imagery. The film's midsection, spent almost exclusively on the raft with the animals, visualises Pi's desolated world and draws parallels to stories like Noah's Ark.

The animals in these scenes are a powerful example of Lee's emphasis on combing theme and image. Early in the film Pi shows great interest in the tiger. But his father says to him: "When you look into its eyes,you see only your own emotions reflected back at you". This statement is problematised by the displacement of the animals on the raft. Are the animals real or part of Pi's imagination? The animals, I think, reflect Pi's shifting emotional states. When Pi is afraid, the tiger shows more aggression. When he learns to tame the animal, it shows more control. These images are also allegories for God's own existence. If one fears God, like Pi fears the dominance of the tiger, doesn't that project our own vision of God in our minds?The basis of the film is therefore how much faith we are willing to place into something that might only be a state of mind.

Using a number of aesthetic devices, the film makes a dazzling case for the power of imagination and visual stylisation over conventional naturalism. Colour desaturation is used purposely, with the white tones of Pi's clothes stressing his desire for a cleansing experience on the boat but perhaps also to show impending death given the unlikelihood of his survival. The tiger's half of the boat is coloured red. It matches the colour of tiger to instigate a place of fear that Pi must overcome. Lee also allows his camera to be unconstricted by reality. The fluidity and tilting movements of the camera are used to stunning effect in a storm sequence that takes on Biblical and apocalyptic proportions. There are gentler moments of great power too, where Lee opts to take us deep under the ocean, delivering some of the most striking images in cinema. Abstract and impressionistic images, like a sea of blue neon lights under the ocean, are enhanced spectacularly by bursts of colour and unintrusive 3D effects.

To define precisely what these scenes mean, and many others including a bizarre episode involve thousands of fish and an island of meerkats, would be futile. The film isn't concerned with facts, logic or realism. It stresses how stories and myths inspire our survival as a species. Posing a belated question about what type of stories we would rather hear, inspiring fantasy or scientific rationale like the survival of the fittest, is clever because the answer is predetermined by the amazing things we've already seen. There's a small end moment where the film undermines its sophisticated ambiguity by explaining a twist too neatly but minor quibbles never deter from the power of Lee's craftsmanship. Life of Pi has the spectacle of a blockbuster but compliments its flair with heart and intelligence - compelling reasons see this astonishing film on the big screen.

Stephen Chbosky has chosen to adapt and direct his own epistolary novel The Perks of Being a Wallflower. It's the story of fresher student Charlie (Logan Lerman), a lonely kid starting high school who is in need of some company. His sister Candace is busy with her abusive boyfriend and his brother is rarely seen. Charlie admires his English teacher Mr. Anderson (Paul Rudd), who supplies him with extra work, but he still needs a real friend. He finds company in two older students: Sam (Emma Watson) and the flamboyant Patrick (Ezra Miller), who are step brother and sister. They invite Charlie into their circle of friends where they party and involve themselves in stage performances. Charlie is also introduced to Buddhist-Punk Mary Elizabeth (Mae Whitman), who develops feelings for him. However, the group becomes aware of Charlie's insecurities, including traumatic memories of his aunt and a friend who killed himself. Sam and Patrick's own demons come to the fore, including his secretive relationship with a footballer named Brad (Johnny Simmons).

It's hard growing up. It's even more problematic writing about those experiences with candour. Stephen Chbosky says that his novel, published in 1999, isn't autobiographical but he relates to the experiences. Many others would also testify to that because according to the New York Times, over 700,000 copies of the novel were sold by 2007. Why then has it taken so long for a film adaptation? Until now the political climate has been unsettled. After its popular release, the novel was banned in places like Massachusetts and Long Island because of its frank depiction of sexuality and drug use. This censorship movement coincided with a bill in 2004 that was proposed by Alabama legislator Gerald Allen, who argued that all public libraries should be banned from purchasing books that "promote homosexuality", by containing gay characters or written by gay authors. As to how close the bill came to passing, Allen met with George W. Bush five times.

Since then, Hollywood has been increasingly liberal about sex so it's easier for films to explore the subject. However, studios still demand mainstream appeal, which means that compromises are made in exchange for financial support. Perks was developed by John Malkovich's Mr. Mudd studio but distributed by Summit Entertainment, who produced the Twilight films. This accounts for the timid approach to the subject matter. The film settles for being relatable and nostalgic, rather than insightful or upfront. It's a missed opportunity. I haven't read the novel, but I am told it cuts even deeper, dealing with issues like date rape, pregnancy and abortion. Those threads have been omitted from the film, which means there are still social barriers that aren't being crossed. Simultaneously, Chbosky's film seems bloated and distant. It has a checklist of confronting teenage issues, which could sadly be referred to as clichés. Suicide, hallucinations, gay bashings, drug use and child abuse, are some of the major concerns here. Why include these though if you're only going to address them at arm's length?

At least tonally the depiction of high school is handled with more maturity than many similar films. The sense of isolation and the desire for friendship are Chboksy's most resonant and successful themes. A long shot of Charlie sitting by himself reflects his dislocation from the rest of the school. Quiet moments like this have a reality to them, as does the bonding between misfits, which the film depends on. High school clichés about jocks and outcasts are subverted with a refreshing dose of optimism and humour. Charlie and his friends are not typical high school losers seen in other films. They happily live in their own private circle. "Welcome to the island of misfit toys", Sam announces. They go to parties and social gatherings together and even participate in performances of The Rocky Horror Picture Show on stage. This in turn helps Charlie become a less introverted student in class too, which shines a more positive light on high school itself.

A more complex notion is that Charlie's circle of friends is bound by a lack of self-worth. In each other's company Chbosky's characters are not unhappy but each possesses some internal damage from either a past or perpetually flawed relationship: "We accept the love that we think we deserve", Charlie notes. Some of this material is very involving and powerful. A subplot involving Charlie's forced relationship with Mary-Elizabeth is one of the film's best threads. It shows deep flaws in Charlie's character but also provides the film with a dramatic motor and explosive conflict within the group. Mae Whitman's work here, the impulsiveness to jump into a relationship and the inevitable hurt, is impacting and believable. Ezra Miller (We Need To Talk about Kevin, 2011) shows a different side to himself with great energy and a surprisingly acute feel for comic timing. But limiting the film to Charlie's perspective, like the novel, means that Patrick's gay relationship with Brad is kept at bay, until a melodramatic climax. Emma Watson also isn't quite gritty enough to play a girl who is meant to have slept around, though her bond with Charlie is still fun to watch unfold.

As for Charlie, there's uncertainty about how to translate the darker psychological material surrounding his character. His relationship with his aunt for example is presented through poorly realised flashbacks that obscure the issue instead of providing true insight. This is included in a deficient final quarter, which falters under cliché coming of age ramblings like: "We can't choose where we come from, but where we go from there". Overall, the film is relatable, funny and true, but it would have benefited from a defter touch. There are too many slow-motion scenes and montages that detract from the important issues that this sometimes palpable drama tries to face. What will it take for a mainstream film to pull no punches when it comes to adolescents and how much they carry on their shoulders?

When a list of MI6's agents falls into the wrong hands James Bond (Daniel Craig) pursues the man who stole it. But during a tense standoff on a train, M (Judi Dench) makes the call for a shot to be taken. Bond is accidentally wounded by fellow agent Eve (Naomie Harris) and the list vanishes with the man. With Bond presumed dead, M takes the fall and is set to be replaced, with the relevancy of the 00 agents questioned by the Intelligence Chairman Gareth Mallory (Ralph Fiennes). Bond briefly takes to drinking until there is a terrorist bombing against MI6. Returning to Britain, Bond remerges, bitter at M, but determined to serve his country. Although weakened, Bond vows to get the list by travelling globally to places like Shanghai and is given some help by a younger agent codenamed 'Q' (Ben Whishaw) and the mysterious Severine (Berenice Marlohe). He eventually discovers that his nemesis is Silva (Javier Bardem), a criminal mind of the computer age, who has a personal vendetta against M herself.

Some will argue that in the 50th year of the James Bond franchise Skyfall is the spy's pinnacle adventure, taking us into a new age of invisible terrorism, far beyond Ian Fleming's post-war espionage novels, while also reintroducing staple characters from the series and finally teasing at Bond's past. The film's craft alone, at the hands of British director Sam Mendes, rates as a series highpoint. However, true greatness still remains another entry away. This is the most overtly political and conservative Bond film to date, which is jarring for a franchise that defined the term "reboot" in mainstream cinema not long ago. This conservatism harps back to the Bond novels and their fear of the declining British Empire. Fleming was a journalist and a naval intelligence officer. He prepared intelligence units and modelled Bond on various agents and commandos he met. Fleming wrote at least a dozen Bond novels, some of which were criticised for a lack of ethics, being "sado-masochistic" or adolescent. The film series rarely grew up either. It's been spoofed, imitated and even toyed with self-parody too. The stunts and gadgets grew silly and the puns were increasingly lame. What separated this once colourful franchise from production line blockbusters anymore? The Daniel Craig era looked to rectify this: a darker tone, less CGI and Bond projected as a human being. Skyfall shares this attitude, along with the same visceral nature and physicality as Casino Royale (2006). It's an exciting, often funny adventure, but even as it postures towards a changing era, it's still Bond. In this half-century of vodka martinis, little has changed, and here Skyfall doesn't follow-up on some enticing threads and possibilities, signposted in the first half.

What can't be faulted however is the photography by Roger Deakins. He frames this movie beautifully, with more width than we've ever seen in a Bond film. It makes Bond resemble a smaller piece of a much greater spectrum of world terror. There are some gorgeous sequences in this film, my favourite being a martial arts battle fought in a glass building. The blows are photographed with dark shadows, like a silhouette, and the screen is shrouded by a blue filter lens. Action sequences like this, selective in a strong, leisurely first half, have more weight to them, fused with questions over Bonds fitness and the relevancy of M and the 00 agents - clever metaphors for the franchises own relevancy. Though the first half is witty and promising, with Dench and Craig's sparring sessions a delight, the second portion is bombastic, tense but unsatisfying. The cracks in the screenplay coincide with the introduction of Bardem's Silva, whom the film gambles heavily on. French actress Berenice Marlohe is thrown by the wayside; her character is a mere waypoint leading to Silva. As for Bardem, his villain in No Country for Old Men (2007) was a case of less is more. He's been cast to do the same, to be scary, but the character is underwritten. His acting style is broader and over the top to compensate and it's an unusual concoction of humour and weirdness. At most, his character provides an interesting suggestion about M's poor treatment of her agents.

A great seed of conflict between Bond and M is planted by this, only to be diluted by a number of action set pieces, several of which owe too much to The Dark Knight (2008). Huge plot holes become startlingly visible too: If Silva is a wizard in electronic sabotage and can place bombs on MI6's doorstep, why does he personally go to such extraordinary lengths to attack M himself? If he specialises in cyberterrorism, and has a sophisticated background, why are his tactics in the final climax so lead-heavy? Bond wants to be a serious franchise, it wants to be Nolan's Batman, but we're expected to ignore the plot inconsistencies. Bond still dazzles, but there's disunity around the direction and future of the series too. It's repackaged beautifully, but inside is a political tool, with references to the London bombing, shots of the British flag and a main character that is decidedly immobile, though not through circumstance. In Casino Royale, Bond returned to the circus out of personal tragedy and revenge. Now he's back only because Britain needs him. He's not ready yet to be called the spy who came in from the cold.

The Sessions is based on the life of journalist Mark O'Brien, adapting his article 'On Seeing a Sex Surrogate' (1990). Mark (played by John Hawkes) suffered from polio as a child. He is not so much paralysed but has a muscle disorder from the neck down, which makes his body immobile. At thirty-eight, he has spent his life either on a gurney board, with a portable respirator, or inside an iron lung, a large machine that provides him with oxygen. Simply, Mark is a virgin and due to the immovability of his neck, he hasn't been able to see his genitalia in thirty years. Embarrassed by his inexperience and his slender body, Mark seeks help from one of his carers Vera (Moon Bloodgood) and also a new priest in Father Brendan (William H. Macy) in confronting the issue. He asks Father Brendan for a blessing to explore his own sexuality, while Vera wheels him to meetings with a sex surrogate. The surrogate is there to provide sexual activity with a patient for therapeutic purposes. Mark's sex surrogate is Cheryl (Helen Hunt), who is extremely dogmatic, telling him that they can only have up to six sessions, and being extremely closed about her own personal life. She's aware that Mark's anxiety stems from his personal demons, including the death of his sister Karen at age seven. Cheryl's own life is plagued by indecision: she is caught in a loveless marriage because her husband is a disinterested layabout, sparking her admiration for someone as intelligent as Mark.

This deceptively small film remains entirely selfless about its own significance, but subtly envisions the great socio-political change within Hollywood and America cinema itself. Under more a liberal administration, Hollywood's attitude to sex, the most dangerous word in the American vocabulary, has become increasingly flexible and open-minded. The films being produced are now more frank and less conservative about sex and sexuality. The significance of this cultural change is that it evokes an equally changing national identity. Americans are often caricatured as God-fearing conservatives, when more accurately America was a nation built on strict Christian values. Some parts of America have retained this conservative outlook, while others are pushing towards liberalism and broader cultural understanding of other races and religions. Films that speak more openly about sex and gender will help shape American values and identities. Recent films, like Easy A (2010) and Friends With Benefits (2011), have approached the subject of sex through comedy, which makes it more disarming and accessible for a broader audience. Earlier this year Shame turned the physicality of sex into a dramatic examination of psychological behaviour. The Sessions does the same, but it is not as intimidating or bleak a film. The sex is upfront, both physical and in verbal descriptions, and the actors aren't concealed. But the film is surprisingly funny and hopeful, not dour, bravely suggesting that physical connections are a means of liberating the soul. Much of the film's sincerity and honesty is drawn from real life sources, which enhances its authenticity. The film's director, Polish-Australian Ben Lewin, was affected by polio too, which makes him understandably sympathetic to the story. But wisely, the film closely traces O'Brien's article so that it's never overinflated with implausible melodrama.

There's a level of gentility to the film, expressed most earnestly through the performances. They're wonderful. John Hawkes, an underappreciated character actor, is the film's centrepiece and unfazed by the unconventional physicality of the part. He effortless draws O'Brien with a sense of humour and dry wit, but also projects a great amount of fear within this man as well. If you find yourself awkwardly tilting your head during any close up shots, listen to the pitch of his voice and the way that he expresses his hesitation and his sense of dread in confronting his body and his own self-worth. For O'Brien, sex must become more than a compulsive life event. It is a means of understanding that he is an ordinary human being. Mark reflected on this in his article: "Another lesson learned:Sex is a part of ordinary living, not an activity reserved for gods, goddesses, and rock stars." But this is also a man who must also be at peace with himself, replacing his emotions and guilt over his sister Karen with a new form of intimacy. The complexity of this role is further echoed in its relationship to Hunt's work too. Her dialogue has a different set of rhythms. Whereas Mark is nervous and unassured, Cheryl is direct and rigid in her actions and procedures. She is also very delicate and poised around her patients, which is a means of hiding her personal life. A once maligned actress, Helen Hunt eases into this role with such confidence and unflinching maturity, allowing the subtleties and minute features of her character to seem like the most naturalistic features of a real person. Her increasing attachment to Mark, contrasted by her unsatisfying home life and relationships, is convincing. Macy's role is fascinating too. Though he is very funny, he is not just for comic relief. He compliments the notion that people must break out of their generic roles if they are to find self-satisfaction. He describes Mark at the end of the film as "a dynamic voice in a paralysed body", but each of the three characters could initially be described like that. They help each other realise that people can be as complete and as mentally powerful as they are in any physical action. It's a lesson for Hollywood itself too.

In 1979 protests in Iran break out over the countries leadership, forcing violent attacks on the US embassy. Six Americans in the embassy manage to flee and take refuge in a house of Canadian ambassador Ken Taylor (Victor Garber). Yet it becomes increasingly likely that their faces are going to be recognised and they'll be tracked down. The CIA decides that they must come up with a plan to try and rescue these people. Enter Tony Mendez (Ben Affleck), a burnt-out agent who is isolated from his family, including his young son. Offset by the CIA's incompetence, Mendez hatches his own rescue plan: to pitch a fake movie, pretend to shoot it in Iran and have the six hostages pose as a film crew to transport them secretly out of the country. He has the support of his fellow agent Jack O'Donnell (Bryan Cranston) but needs proper film aid. This comes in the form of crabby film producer Lester Siegel (Alan Arkin) and makeup artist John Chambers (John Goodman), who supply a script for a science fiction film called "Argo" as their cover. Travelling into the hostility of Iran, Mendez must convince the six embassy workers of their new roles and help them memorise their fake identities.

Argo is Ben Affleck's third film as an actor turned director and arguably his most important. The film is based on a true story, however unlikely, but contains uncanny modern day parallels. The recent attack on a US embassy in Libya, for example, is a frightening coincidence. But the movie is also founded in a deep political subtext about the way that global events are fictionalised and increasingly detached from the truth and the reality. That's what sparked the involvement of producers George Clooney and Grant Heslov, who worked together on Good Night and Good Luck (2005). Clooney is an outspoken liberal in Hollywood and has been deeply critical of both the War on Terror and the Bush administration. Prior to invading Iraq, he compared the Bush government to mobsters from The Sopranos. But wisely, Argo doesn't draw direct parallels to Iraq. How could it? Instead, it's conscious of the way that political events, especially through cinema, are distorted and fabricated. The film is surprisingly self-critical in that regard, but well-equipped to pose moral questions that subvert the formula of its subgenre and Hollywood's general aversion to authenticity. The film's characters are forced to ask whether a plan as silly as this is an appropriate solution and whether they should be playing make-believe when people are being publicly strung up and executed. "This is the best bad idea we have", O'Donnell announces. Structurally, the film does possess a conventional framework, with Acts 1, 2 and 3 unfolding as you remember them, but the scenes are deliberately infused with ongoing sparring session between fiction and reality. Look at the opening prologue that summarises the political context, leading to the riots. Affleck uses the format of a comic book panel to outline the tension. He then intercuts between real footage and his own reenactment. The effect is seamless and masterfully handled: the political back-story is recounted factually, but with visibly fabricated edges, only for the reality and the dramatisation to become deliberately opaque. Problematising their inseparability, Affleck affirms cinemas collision with non-fiction, revealing his own film to be a highly stylised account of the crisis.

The meta layers of Chris Terrio's excellent script also provide the most enjoyable and funny parts of the movie: the admission that Hollywood is a place of huge egos, and the bigger the lie, the bigger the profit. The humour in the movie scenes is set at the right pitch by experienced, charismatic actors, especially Arkin, who know how to control the deftness of the lines. The wit is dry and self-depreciating but not overly broad that it ever slips into self-parody or silliness. When Goodman's character is asked about a film and who the disappointed target audience will be this time he says: "People with eyes". And frankly, in a time where clever dialogue is being steadily replaced by boring exposition, like in video games, isn't it refreshing to hear dialogue so witty that it obtains almost a lyrical quality? Anticipating any jarring tonal shifts, Affleck juxtaposes the mood between two locations: we see the silly movie costumes of a robot and a space monster contrasted against the Iranian household: the framing is tighter, more intensified and the colour filters grainier as to express the increasing tension levels. Hollywood seems a lot more superficial from that angle. If there are any hiccups, they occur late in the second half where the pacing begins to dip slightly, when Arkin and Goodman disappear briefly, but only for the movie to hit top flight again with an unbearably tense climax. The editing in this final sequence, and the relationship between scenes, as characters rely sometimes unknowingly on each other and sheer luck, is handled with an astonishing level of confidence. If the film's structure does seem overly familiar, its rare quality is that the filmmakers understand that their work is a more sophisticated brand of fiction; compared to what really happened and how continually artificial movies are in relation to the real world. How often can you say that a Hollywood film and its director are this humble either?