With that major caveat out of the way, we turn to Jackson’s long-awaited prequel to The Lord of the Rings—The Hobbit. Or, rather, the first part of the said prequel; An Unexpected Journey (The Desolation of Smaug and There and Back Again will follow in 2013 and 2014 respectively). On first glance, this seems entirely unnecessary. While The Lord of the Rings is, in fact, three separate books, The Hobbit is not. Furthermore, it’s a much simpler book than its successor—more playful and less dark, for starters, and certainly not as emotionally or substantively complex.  So, why was it split into three parts? For one, let’s call a spade a spade and acknowledge that Jackson possesses, er, a drop of directorial conceit. Ever since the beyond-anyone’s-wildest-dreams success of LoTR, Jackson has seemed to think he has poetic license to put any topic into a wholly epic scope. The Lord of the Rings, with its operatic story and deep soul, could easily carry this. But King Kong? Not so much—the first hour in particular felt like a self-congratulatory masturbation session before  it settles into a passable comfort zone. And The Lovely Bones? Even less; that topic required a much softer, subtler touch mixed with a few grandiose moments. Jackson failed at injecting any of the former into the mix at all, instead putting out a mostly muddled mess that felt inappropriately bombastic for its subject. All of this goes to show that Jackson is more than capable of inflating a topic beyond its necessary means. Along these same lines, of course, is the subject of money. Splitting the films was going to be substantially more lucrative to New Line than releasing them as one shortened version…so really, what was there to think about? Like Warner Brothers did with the penultimate Harry Potter, New Line and its executives went were the money was.

So, now the million dollar question: did it work? Did the editing and expansion of the material drastically cheapen the source material? Or did Jackson, back in his comfort zone of Middle Earth, pull it off with splendor, transporting its viewers as if 11 years had passed like nothing? The answer to that question is likely to be a matter of perspective. I chose to make the experience as close to The Lord of the Rings as possible, eschewing 3D and IMAX for “old school” standard viewing, and thus eliminating a potential distraction from the mix, and the worlds and imagery are very similar to those of the original trilogy. Those who were transported years ago are likely to be so again. There are certainly scenes and entire sequences that one could argue could be trimmed or cut without doing any damage to the narrative. There’s singing, drinking, and lots of eating. The pacing is more laborious. But does that constitute a chore? Again, we go back to perspective. For this critic, I could have sat there for another three hours, warts and all. Martin Freeman of Sherlock fame makes an excellent Bilbo; Ian McKellan reprises his Gandalf with his usual aplomb; the cinematography, music, and set design are wonderful. The excesses and ponderous dialogue—well-written but dramatic—will certainly bore many to tears, especially those not drawn to the genre. But there’s tons to admire here, and just being back in these glorious lands of elves and dwarves, in Rivendell and Hobbiton, gives a glorious thrill in and of itself. Jackson’s conceits are real, but he’s never in his element as much as he is here.

Let’s be clear: The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey is not at the level of The Lord of the Rings. The characters, which predominantly consist of Bilbo, Gandalf, and a gaggle of dwarfs, are simply not as rich or interesting as Aragorn, Legolas, Frodo, Merry, and the LoTR crew. There’s not the same emotional heft. There’s not the same endless scope. But there ARE excellent production values, superb acting, and a marvelous fantasy story, all of which will leave many-a-viewer thirsty for more. Beauty and wonder is in the eye of the beholder, and to these eyes, the early critical backlash isn’t warranted, unless we’re basing our expectations on The Hobbit matching The Lord of the Rings. It doesn’t, and it won’t go down in history the way those masterpieces will. But it’s a worthy entry in its own right, offers lots of charming shout-outs to the originals, and should more than satisfactorily scratch the itch of those who have waited many long years to see Middle Earth back on screen.

76/100

Arbitrage simplifies some of these concepts, and it’s really a pretty by-the-numbers portrayal of all of this, but it does do a very solid job of depicting how the fat cats   can make their own rules when their consciences permit it. Gere, who I usually find dull as dishwater (outside of Days of Heaven), is pretty good here; he looks the part and plays it convincingly. The rest of the cast is much the same, ranging from fine-to-solid but rarely standing out. Jarecki’s direction falls into the same boat, though the closing scene—a bit overly abrupt, but quite good—warrants mention, illustrating how the game goes on as the torch is passed, and how these titans of their trade are content to look the other way as long as the money, second homes, and yachts are flowing in. While certainly unspectacular, Arbitrage is a competent feature debut from the young Jarecki, and a movie that may hold a small level of importance in the years to come as the financial system and its regulation in the United States continues to evolve.

65/100

Now here strides James Bond (Daniel Craig) into Mendes’ world, ruthless, suave, and single-minded in focus…and voila! We have a match! Skyfall is wildly entertaining and cool, its world full of gorgeous evenings, penthouses, casinos, alcohol, and swirling lights. The excitement abounds. The patented Bond opening scene (not the credit sequence, which is marvelous in its own right), much of it atop a moving train; several smooth-meets-deliriously-mad encounters between Bond and the unhinged Silva (Javier Bardem, natch); and, of particular note, a shootout high up in the China night that’s simultaneously smooth as silk and electrifying. Skyfall flows easily, without hitches or abrupt, awkward moments. Crisp colors, sexy women, and cinematography that evoke Blade Runner and Tron: Legacy without departing from Mendes’ visual palate highlight why Skyfall fits Mendes like a glove.

The acting, led by the perfect nemeses Craig and Bardem—who channels his Anton Chigurh to full effect—is universally excellent. Ralph Fiennes, Judi Dench, and the precocious Ben Whishaw as the brainy Q offer outstanding support to the stars. And Adele’s much-balleyhooed title song simply must be mentioned in any write-up, as its beauty is matched only by its appropriateness as a Bond theme. And with a climactic shootout that’s simultaneously terse and touching—what IS Skyfall?—Mendes finally manages to inject some genuine heart into his work. Surprising and perhaps difficult to predict when the project was announced, but true nonetheless. Skyfall epitomizes what a Bond movie should be, and its director, for once, justifiably deserves much of the credit.

80/100

Best Lead Performance [Male]: Ralph Fiennes, Coriolanus. Runners-up: Brad Pitt, The Tree of Life (and Moneyball); Jean Dujardin, The Artist; Peyman Moadi, A Separation; Ryan Gosling, Drive; Michael Fassbender, Shame.

Best Lead Performance [Female]: Anna Paquin, Margaret. Runners-up: Kirsten Dunst & Charlotte Gainsbourg, Melancholia; Leila Hatami, A Separation; Juliette Binoche, Certified Copy; Adepero Oduye, Pariah; Glenn Close, Albert Nobbs.

Best Editing: Drive, The Tree of Life, Contagion, Margaret, Melancholia.

Best Cinematography: The Tree of Life, Hugo, Melancholia, Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives, Meek’s Cutoff.

Best TV Series: Game of Thrones. Runners-up: Breaking Bad, Dexter, Luther, Hell on Wheels.

Feel free to inquire about other categories. Now, onto the list…

15. The Artist (Michael Hazanavicius)

The subject of extreme backlash, The Artist definitely has its warts (an occasionally sloppy lack of attention to detail; some awkward stretches), but the positives easily outweigh the negatives for me. It’s a loving tribute to cinema, and not just the silent era…this is a melting pot of homages, including to such visionaries as Fred Astaire. Jean Dujardin deserves all the accolades heaped upon him. It could have been much better—dare I say award-worthy?—but as is, it’s still quite good. Oh, and the dog rocks. Best pooch onscreen since The Thin Man.

14. Drive (Nicolas Winding Refn)

A second viewing would probably have vaulted this one up into the top 10: alas, time didn’t allow for it, so here it stays. As a mood piece, Drive is exquisite, blending a hypnotic soundtrack with beautiful cinematography and editing. It’s a clear, and sizable, step up for the previously hyper-but-disorganized Refn, whose Bronson and Valhalla Rising had flashes of brilliance mixed with big problems. Drive felt a bit too style-over-substance to me after my initial look, but its sat very well on a much richer level (hence my first sentence)…but its technical mastery and superb acting earn it a spot on the list for now anyway.

13. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 (David Yates)

A few overly cloying moments (particularly the postscript, essential in the book but superfluous here) keep Part 2 a small step behind Part 1, but make no mistake: the Harry Potter franchise closes extremely strongly with this dark, tonally astute conclusion to J.K. Rowling’s masterful series. Featuring excellent set & costume designs, along with a continued emphasis on telling its story without words, The Deathly Hallows: Part 2 should thrill both admirers of the books and casual fans alike. The acting, which has never really gotten its due since things kicked off in 2001, wraps things up with a bang,

12 [tie]. Senna (Asif Kapadia)

I have absolutely no interest in auto racing, so Senna‘s powerful impact on me came as a surprise. It’s not about racing at all, but about culture, faith, and passion. Kapadia juggles all these sensitive items with grace and skill, and while there are a few aspects I wish had been fleshed out a bit better, Senna is an extremely impressive documentary, boasting strong editing and excellent use of archival footage. And the story itself is powerful stuff. Criminally under-the-radar, this should be a must-see for movie lovers.

11 [tie]. Project Nim (James Marsh)

James Marsh is rapidly establishing himself as a must-see documentary filmmaker: Project Nim isn’t quite on the level of his exceptional Man on Wire, but it’s not too far off. Once again, Marsh takes a subject matter that could have been presented blandly and matter-of-factly, and imbues it with life, love, and passion. It’s an even-handed, and often emotional, take on a topic that could have been completely skewed.

10. Melancholia (Lars Von Trier)

Like Drive, I expect to see this one shoot up on my list after a future revisit. For now, I’ll say this: Melancholia boasts tremendous acting (Charlotte Gainsbourg and Kirsten Dunst are magnificent), haunting cinematography, and a knock-you-flat finale that’s legitimately unforgettable. A sudden shift in perspective midway through is a bit jarring, and should flow more smoothly once I know what to expect. Unlike Von Trier’s previous work, I found Melancholia strangely unemotional, which was surprising, but not a flaw in and of itself. Not for everyone, but full of a jarring, unsettling power.

09. A Separation (Asghar Farhadi)

Certainly worthy of the extreme hype…this is a quietly powerful picture, taking us deep into the world of Iran’s cultural expectations and restrictions. Above all, though, this is a universally human drama, carefully crafted and buoyed by pitch-perfect performances across the spectrum. A Separation takes a bit of time to establish its rhythm (though it’s always interesting), but once it does, it’s masterfully constructed, evoking legitimate empathy for all parties. The ending refuses to wrap things up in a tidy package, leaving us to ponder what’s right and what isn’t.

08. Moneyball (Bennett Miller)

I love baseball. I love statistics. And I’ve always loved the concept behind Billy Beane’s philosophy. So it’s no surprise that I was a big fan of Bennett Miller’s adaptation of Moneyball. Miller chooses a somewhat surprisingly stylized approach, but it works: without adding a bit of pizzazz, it would have been difficult to make poring over numbers an interesting two hours of cinema. Brad Pitt wouldn’t have popped into my mind as the right actor for Beane, but he makes the character his own. A must for baseball geeks, and a should for all others.

07. 50/50 (Jonathan Levine)

Has a bit of that Rushmore magic—the ability to effortlessly make its viewer laugh one moment and cry the next. 50/50 isn’t at that level, but it’s an endearing, supremely touching movie that tackles a VERY difficult subject with just the right touch. Joseph Gordon-Levitt is excellent in the lead, but it’s Seth Rogen’s multi-dimensional performance that really hit me hard; a sequence near the end involving some bathroom reading is overwhelmingly moving. This is a movie that should not be dismissed. Perhaps the biggest surprise of the year for me, and a film I’d happily revisit over the years.

06. A Dangerous Method (David Cronenberg)

This one’s been seemingly and surprisingly ignored, perhaps because it’s much talkier and less reliant on atmosphere than Cronenberg’s previous work. For me, though, it worked exceedingly well, and gets bonus points for focusing on a psychological subject that I find very, very interesting. Michael Fassbender and the scene-stealing Viggo Mortensen have excellent chemistry, and even Keira Knightley, who I tend to actively dislike, mostly turns in a strong performance. Unlike a few others on this list, I could see A Dangerous Method dropping a bit over time, but for now, it stays in the top 10.

05. The Descendants (Alexander Payne)

Slowly builds to a moving, symphonic crescendo: Payne’s poignant take on bitterness, frustration, and loneliness gets off to a slightly slow start, but quickly picks up momentum, and by the end, it’s a classic example of the sum being better than its individual parts. All of the interactions and emotional developments feel astonishingly real, particularly given the “superficial” setting of Hawaii. Clooney is quite good (though I wouldn’t call it a dazzling performance), but the supporting cast is excellent across the board. Sneakily deep and substantive, The Descendants is Payne’s best and most fulsome work to date.

04. Children Who Chase Lost Voices From Deep Below (Makoto Shinkai)

Technically unreleased in the USA as of now, but it’s my list, so I’ll do as I please. Anyway, Children Who Chase Lost Voices From Deep Below isn’t quite at the level of Shinkai’s masterpiece 5 Centimeters Per Second, but this aching tale of the search for purpose and meaning is both a coming-of-age tale and a beautiful look at how the heart challenges people of all ages and places in life. The imagery is predictably mesmerizing—Shinkai has gifts that have not been sufficiently appreciated in America. Suffice to say, watch it if you can get your hands on it. Particularly if you have a fondness for the work of Hayao Miyazaki.  And if you like gorgeous animation without the hokum.

03. Hugo (Martin Scorsese)

If you’d told me before its release that Hugo would instantly become one of my favorite Scorsese films, I would have thought you’d lost your mind. I shouldn’t have doubted someone with such a deep appreciation for his craft, though. Hugo, for the lack of a better phrase, overflows with pure magic; a glorious love poem to cinema. The gorgeous cinematography and colors fully pull us into the world, an emotional place full of discovery, wonder, growth, and artistic rebirth. Georges Méliès is also a splendid choice to get a serious boost in exposure behind cinema geeks like myself: he was a real pioneer, and the wild imagination of his work shines through here. Hugo is also the rare picture that actually benefits from 3D. See it, love it, lose yourself in it.

02. Margaret (Kenneth Lonergan)

Tied up for years in legal battles over the control of editing, Margaret is worth the wait: it’s a messy, sprawling, balls-to-the-wall masterpieces that oozes ambition from every corner. Endlessly pulses with unease, as it runs the gamut of emotion and self-discovery. The evolution of Lisa’s state of mind and understanding of the world (a marvelous Anna Paquin at her absolute finest) is a wonder to behold. Margaret is the sort of picture I could watch over and over again, gleaning new insights into its world each time, and along with You Can Count on Me, helps establish director Kenneth Lonergan as a truly elite cinematic mind. One can only hope he picks up the pace of his filmic output…

01. The Tree of Life (Terrence Malick)

…like Mr. Malick appears to be doing as he approaches his later years—if reports are to believed, we may be treated to four of his films in the next two years. Would that we would be so lucky. Watching Malick spin his craft is like watching an absolute master school the rest of the world at what his art form is about, and The Tree of Life is the crown jewel of a spread-out career that’s produced multiple masterpieces already. Malick’s narrative-eschewing approach will turn off many viewers, but for those who respond to his vision and style, he achieves an artistic transcendence that mere mortal directors can only dream of. He’s a poet of the highest order. Put aside the spellbinding imagery, the entrancing music, the universally superb performances: The Tree of Life is perhaps the most accurate portrayal of the human condition that I’ve seen onscreen. There are no preconceived notions, no stereotypes that can’t be torn down.  He tenderly shows us the power of new parenthood with all cooing turned off, and shows us the complexities of reconciling ones own flaws with how to properly raise a child. Malick goes from humanity to the world. The scope is breathtaking, the resonance unforgettable. Rarely do I leave a theater hardly able to speak, but I felt nearly catatonic when The Tree of Life came to a close; shaken to my very core. This will be a mainstay in my all-time favorites list for the rest of my life, and one day, I’ll put together a much more comprehensive analysis than this capsule. Or maybe I won’t. A few rare works of art are best left to their own devices, to make sure the magic is never lessened by words. This just might be one of those times.

The second half shifts gears a bit. Now, Clooney turns to liberal, and overall, disenchantment with Obama, or on a grander scale, disappointment with how all politicians tend to break the hearts of those who love them most, though he encompasses this within other political themes and current events. In The Ides of March, it’s a sex scandal (something that we’ve seen plenty of recently) that threatens Meyers’ idealism and the campaign’s future, but it could just as easily have been the failure to come through on campaign promises. The cynicism of politics is omnipresent throughout The Ides of March, but without any fire. The only actor who really digs into his character is Paul Giamatti as Bill Duffy, Zarra’s rival campaign manager for the opposition. Everyone else trudges sleepily through the motions. The dark underbelly and brutality of this world has been portrayed millions of times, and Clooney fails to bring anything new to the table. If this specific story had been told before Obama’s rise to glory, it would have packed more of a punch. As it is, The Ides of March is dull as dishwasher.

39/100

McCarthy deftly keeps things from spiraling into the predictable or hokey. For instance, despite Mike’s conniving move, he never comes across as a particularly slimy guy. In fact, if we didn’t know that he’d played the court, we wouldn’t think much was wrong with him at all. He visits Leo regularly, grows to care for Kyle deeply, and wants the best for his family. Of course, there’s certainly some opportunistic behavior going on—when Mike discovers that Kyle used to be a top-ranked wrestler in Ohio, it takes him about two seconds to pounce—but his emotions and actions always seem authentic. This is a man who’s scared, and if he can find a way to help the ones he loves without seriously affecting someone else, he’s willing to do it. Similar analyses apply to Kyle’s evolution as a character, and even those of Mike’s down-to-earth wife Jackie (Amy Ryan) and his recently-divorced, lost-in-life best friend Terry (Bobby Cannavale). All have personality traits that seemingly lend themselves to hokum, but they all manage to transcend that and come  across as totally believable. The acting certainly helps matters: while there’s not a mind-blowing performance in the bunch, Giamatti, Young & co. all turn in stellar work.

So what holds Win Win back from being a great film? Well, first and foremost, it lacks the emotional heft of The Visitor. While McCarthy shows the same compassion for those that society has discarded as he did in his previous works—little people in The Station Agent; illegal immigrants in The Visitor; emotionally abandoned child in Win Win—he’s unable to deeply tap into our reservoir of feelings here. There’s a workmanlike feeling throughout Win Win, one that’s effective and unsentimental, but never ultimately rewarding. The final 20 minutes or so also aren’t on the same level as the rest of the picture: they feel slightly more scripted and less authentic. That’s a shame, because it saps a lot of the momentum that Win Win had built up throughout. Flaws aside, there’s a lot to like about Win Win, and McCarthy’s approach and sensitivity should serve him well as he continues to evolve as a filmmaker.

65/100

There’s no question that each of these characters has a certain level of caricature to them, but Waltz (who took home an Oscar for Inglourious Basterds in 2010), Winslet, and Reilly are so good that it’s not a major hindrance. Foster’s performance, on the other hand, seems forced at times. It’s not really a natural role for her, and while she gets an A for effort, that’s not enough to keep her from being the clear weak link among the quartet. Similarly, the spilling out of pent-up frustration from within a tightly-protected image isn’t a unique subject mater, but Polanski keeps things brisk (Carnage is only 79 minutes long), and there’s enough wit and humor in the screenplay to mostly make up for its limitations. Some might dismiss Carnage as overly snarky and pseudo-intellectual, and if we’re hoping for Polanski to recapture his ambitious, daring form of the 60′s and 70′s, there’s some validity to the film’s shortcomings. But the execution is strong enough to match any reasonable expectations, and Carnage is worth seeing for the acting and hamster (trust me) alone.

67/100

Steven Spielberg’s cinematic version, on the other hand, is basically what we’ve come to expect when Spielberg tackles a topic like this, and the result is one of his weakest films . A seemingly bottomless budget and Spielberg’s technical skills as a Director allows for plenty of beautiful shots: the cinematography and colors are lovely. That’s about where the praise ends, though. At nearly two-and-a-half hours, War Horse is extremely bloated, with John Williams’ score seemingly chiming in during every single scene. The treacle is unyielding, and that’s basically a kiss of death for a picture that’s working off a script with such potential for hokey melodrama. From the opening shot to the closing sequence, War Horse hammers you over the head with sap. Holiday moviegoers in the mood for a feel-good pick-me-up should get what they’re looking for, but from a critical perspective, War Horse has little to offer beyond a string of pretty shots and some passable performances.

40/100

Now we have Young Adult, for which I had moderate (at best) expectations for. Alas, it’s easily the worst in his canon thusfar. If Up in the Air had a certain cavalier attitude in its direction, Young Adult is downright lazy. There’s absolutely nothing creative. Self-loathing, newly divorced former high school beauty and published writer trying to rekindle an old flame to give herself a sense of self-worth? Maybe there’s some potential there, but Mavis (a pretty good Charlize Theron) is written without a stroke of oomph. Mavis has all the traits that a screenwriting student might write in a homework assignment for the genre: she drinks too much, gorges on fast food, and generally wallows in her own misery, oblivious that others around her like Matt (Patton Oswalt of Big Fan) have it much, much worse.The supporting characters aren’t any better—they’re all one-note, including Matt, who has a mirroring “crutch” and propensity to live in the past in a cloud of excuses, and Buddy (Patrick Wilson), the aforementioned old flame who’s now happily married with an infant daughter, yet seems oblivious to Mavis’s master plan until it’s shoved down his throat.

From the beginning, any competent moviegoer can predict almost every plot development, including the predictable finale when Mavis, full of anger and frustration, reaches a breaking point, blows up…and then has the magical epiphany during a chat with Matt’s sister where it all clicks, and Young Adult ends with, yes, Mavis understanding that it’s time to let go of her youthful crushes and love of tequila shots, embrace what she has, and grow the fuck up.  In short, ditch the “young,” keep the “adult,” and the quality of life will dramatically improve. What a concept! All that keeps Young Adult from being a truly wretched picture is the acting, which isn’t award caliber or anything like that, but is mostly strong across the board, particular Theron in the lead role. Otherwise, the contrived Young Adult offers next to nothing: Reitman continues his downward spiral, and I continue to sympathize more and more with those who found him supremely irritating from the start.

37/100

All three films covered in this review boast excellent screenplays and lots to enjoy, but Mark Sandrich’s The Gay Divorcee offers the best mix of wit, humor, and, of course, song-and-dance. Centered on a complicated divorce scheme with lots of twists and kooky connections, it’s boosted immensely by the presence of Erik Rhodes as Rodolfo Tonetti, a professional correspondent hired by those wishing to feign infidelity. His interactions with Astaire, who plays the smitten Guy Holden, are priceless: there are several knee-slapping laugh-out-loud moments that go beyond the usual chuckles you might get from Astaire’s canon. There’s a breezy flow to The Gay Divorcee that gets appropriately emotional when the moment calls for it. On the other hand, Shall We Dance?, also directed by Sandrich, lacks the same airiness and light-heartedness of The Gay Divorcee, which was made three years earlier. It’s about innuendo and devious plots (though, of course, the stories are always essentially backdrops to showcasing the Astaire-and-Rogers show), and while it has plenty of amusing moments and some good musical numbers, it feels stiff at times, without a Rhodes-sort to break things up. It’s a fine film, but I’d rank it ahead of only Top Hat out of the Astaire pictures I’ve seen thusfar.

As for The Story of Vernone and Irene Castle, the aforementioned backdrop isn’t necessary here: Astaire and Rogers play the title characters, who were world-renowned ballroom dancers before World War I. It’s not exactly a stretch for them, but they do the old rags-to-riches angle seamlessly, and the finale is surprisingly touching. Horton doesn’t appear here, but Walter Brennan effortlessly fills that void. One could certainly argue that the structure is a bit formulaic, but when it’s executed as well as here—strong writing, strong acting, strong pacing—I can live with the progression of events being somewhat by-the-numbers. It seems to be a fairly underseen film, and fans of Astaire and Rogers should absolutely seek it out. It’s a key addition to a filmography that has lots to cherish, and hasn’t been tarnished by time at all. On the contrary, Astaire’s uniqueness as an American icon has only been more solidly entrenched.

The Gay Divorcee: 75/100

The Story of Vernon and Irene Castle: 68/100

Shall We Dance?: 60/100