An ambitious, sprawling picture about the epic swirl of Italy’s criminal underbelly, Matteo Garrone’s Gomorrah does an excellent job of depicting just how many cookie jars the Camorra (a sweeping crime family organization centered in Naples) have their grubby paws in. Most mafioso films heavily focus on the bloodshed and brotherhood, either with stylistic flourishes (Goodfellas, Casino) or somber craftsmanship (The Godfather(s), Donnie Brasco). Gomorrah, however, is all about scope, with the aforementioned topics playing supplementary roles. Weaving five simultaneous stories together, Gomorrah dives headfirst into Naples’ endless darkness. From young Totò, the 13-year old antithesis of Peter Pan (he just can’t wait to grow up), to tailor Pasquale, a skilled craftsman who sneaks away from his Italian brethren to train Chinese competitors at great personal risk, everyone has roots in this cruel, soulless world. And it’s the rare root that’s not firmly planted.

With faded colors and grim lighting, Garrone paints an overwhelmingly dispiriting portrait of the Comorra’s impact on daily life. Only once does brightness peek into Gomorrah‘s world, illustrating a rare moment of fun that’s for all the wrong reasons: Marco & Ciro, two teenage friends who fashion themselves rebellious loners, get their hands on a treasure trove of guns (Uzi’s, M16′s, and even a bazooka), and proceed to unload on an empty lake, letting out blood-curdling screams after every shot. Dressed in shiny underwear, the boys in this sequence represent the only time in Gomorrah where characters appear to be enjoying themselves. The rest of the picture is a myriad of reprehensible mobsters coldly carrying out criminal missions. There’s not a trace of optimism to be found; only one person (Robert, a university graduate with a passion for honest work) confronts a local leader and quits the business, due to a weak stomach and nagging conscience, and after everything we’ve seen from these guys, it’s impossible to believe he’ll seamlessly shift to a normal life.

It’s fascinating to see how tightly run the Camorra’s ship is, and how much power the organization boasts—almost like a combination of a monarchy and dictatorship in its absolute power. And it’s chilling to learn that the Camorra’s numerous reinvestments include the Twin Towers’ reconstructions (much of their blood money is pumped back into legitimate businesses). But Gomorrah, for all its excellent qualities, has a major drawback—a serious lack of cohesion and flow. Large chunks of this 135 minute film could be sliced without Gomorrah‘s overarching message losing any cinematic power; it runs about 40 minutes too long. It’s questionable if all five stories contribute uniquely to the themes, as they frequently blur together. Sure, each offers its own subplot, but they’re not intriguing enough to warrant the bloated runtime. Ultimately, though, Gomorrah is certainly worthwhile viewing, and stamps director Matteo Garrone as an up-and-comer to keep an eye on.

58/100

Though somewhat repetitive and clunky, Chris Bell’s Bigger Stronger Faster deserves credit for presenting a fairly evenhanded examination of steroids & their threat to the integrity of the country’s sports industry, as well as the danger they pose from a medical perspective. Most pictures (and books, and magazine articles, and TV specials) on performance-enhancing drugs tend to dumb down the issue enormously, presumably to help discourage athletes, both professional and aspiring alike, from seeking out Steroids or Human Growth Hormone (HGH). But lost in these softball analyses from a myriad of pundits is any perspective on where Performance Enhancing Drug (PED) usage ranks among risks to the body (hint: it’s nowhere near as high on the list as you’d think). Despite the potential perils of being labeled “Pro-Steroids,” Bigger Stronger Faster presents both sides of the story, illustrating the numerous reasons to pass on PED’s (acne, hair growth in unwelcome places, dramatic lowering of the sperm count, etc) while adding notes of caution about viewing them as comparable to, say, cocaine (many of the side effects of Steroids are temporary; even Ritalin can be more damaging longterm…). It would be a mistake to label this documentary as pro-anything; rather, it’s more interested in showing that for all of PED’s problems, there’s a certain fascination with them—due to their heavy involvement in the always-sexy sports arena—that’s not warranted by their actual danger to one’s health. With all the pressing matters facing our country, is Congressional intervention on this matter really necessary?

When it comes to PED’s impact on sports & honor, Bigger Stronger Faster doesn’t pull many punches, presenting several reporter-athlete interactions that show the guilt and torment that users/cheaters endure; one such interview with 1980′s-1990′s track star Carl Lewis is particularly uncomfortable to watch. Unfortunately, what could have been an excellent film is hindered by thoroughly uninteresting protagonists, two Steroid-abusing brothers who alternate between complete comfort and uncertainty in their drug usage. The film’s overarching message—America is a win-at-all-costs sort of country, and if you don’t bend the rule, you fall behind—certainly has plenty of resonance, and could have been tied much more efficiently to current events and concrete examples. Trotting out tired retreads like Rocky isn’t particularly illuminating. Rather, Bigger Stronger Faster would have been well-served by spending more time on sequences like the idolization of Arnold Schwarzenegger and Sylvester Stallone being built on lies (their physiques were the result of hours in the gym and protein shakes…riiight). Those moments serve as a portal into imperfections and the deepest problems that PED’s can cause. Sadly, there just aren’t enough of those moments, and too much time is spent tracking the Bell’s mundane activities & conversations. Still, it’s easy to recommend Bigger Stronger Faster; imperfect as it may be, it also serves as a balanced commentary on a topic that desperately needs one.

57/100

A huge step down from the outstanding Casino Royale, Marc Forster’s Quantum of Solace is bound to disappoint Bond fans all across the country. It’s hardly a debacle, and the middle section is pretty enjoyable; Daniel Craig continues to be a very strong 007, cool as ice and oozing the rugged sex appeal that makes the girls squeal and the men envious. But as Quantum of Solace bounces from country to country at breakneck speed, it’s evident that Forster is out of his element at the helm. The herky-jerky action scenes are poorly edited, severely dampening their excitement factor, and the classic lustful romantic lack the appropriate punch—Olga Kurylenko is drop-dead gorgeous, but unfortunately doesn’t possess the necessary charisma as an accompaniment. I’ve enjoyed some of Forster’s previous work (I liked Monster’s Ball and loved Finding Neverland), but he’s definitely been slipping of late by overdoing whatever genre he’s partaking in—The Kite Runner was far too soppy (especially the latter portion), and now with Quantum of Solace, we get a movie that’s too fast for its own good.

From the film’s opening, which pales in comparison to Casino Royale‘s dazzling first sequence, it’s crystal clear that Quantum of Solace will be a letdown for those who’d waited all summer for this one (for the record, I am not among them). For a better example of the style, rent The Bourne Ultimatum. Though honestly, I’m probably being harsher on it than I should. After all, it’s James Bond, and it’s not wretched. There’s sex, liquor, guns, lush visuals, and mostly solid acting (the aforementioned Craig is terrific, but Mathieu Amalric as evil Tycoon Dominic Greene is also quite good). It’s passable entertainment, and will certainly gross a boatload of greenbacks. But after Martin Campbell breathed life back into a mostly moribund franchise with Casino Royale, it’s depressing that Forster returned 007 to the doldrums of mediocrity. Here’s hoping the next director to tackle JB follows Campbell’s example, because James Bond functions best when injected with hyper-doses of energy & pizazz, but also a steady hand.

50/100

A probing look at the breadth of our current economic crisis, I.O.U.S.A. squeezes a whole lot of sobering facts into 85 educational (and painful) minutes. Told through the eyes of David Walker, the U.S. Comptroller who’s made it a personal mission to barnstorm the country in an attempt to enlighten the public about just how deep the shit we’re in is, I.O.U.S.A. examines the multiple—and often underdiscussed—forms of debt that American’s are currently suffering under. The problems go far beyond credit cards and foreclosures; for instance, few statistics were more unsettling than seeing that the United States ranks dead last in the world in terms of trade debt…by seven times the country directly ahead of us. Yikes. President Obama, get ready for quite the slog, though without director Patrick Creadon’s help, you certainly knew the dangers of the crisis!

I.O.U.S.A. astutely weaves together foreign policy with America’s financial woes; if the amount of our debt held by foreign countries, particularly China and Japan, continues to mount, then our leverage during diplomatic negotiations rapidly shrinks. The film illustrates that even many “gains” are mirages, as Social Security and Medicaid are going to become very tough to sustain when the baby boomers begin to retire. And scarily, many who will be deeply affected by the declining path (our 17-35 year-olds) are mostly oblivious to the straits that we’re in. Our youth must shoulder much of the blame for their own ignorance, but it doesn’t help when newscasters elect to showcase lost wedding rings on the evening news instead of arrival of Walker & Co. in town. 2008′s Presidential election illustrated how petty distractions often overshadow the devastating issues our country faces, and I.O.U.S.A. makes it clear that this is oh-so-true on a local level as well.

Perhaps most impressively, I.O.U.S.A. does an excellent job of presenting the weight of our burden as all-encompassing for Americans—Creadon (Wordplay) avoids turning his film into a partisan slugfest, instead opting to focus on how our country as a whole must come together as soon as possible to fix this if we don’t want to see our children pay 46% taxes in 25 years. The filmmakers certainly appear to prefer the bottom-up economic philosophy rather than trickle-down—there are several interviews with economists who express skepticism with Reagonomics despite their overwhelming popularity at the time of their inception, and there’s a shot of Bill Clinton signing the first balanced budget in 30 years—but unlike most political documentaries (as we all know, Hollywood tends to lean, er, slightly to the left), playing the blame game or bashing Republican ineptitude never seems to be what I.O.U.S.A. is really about. There are plenty of harsh words about excess spending (a Conservative talking point, and one that’s certainly valid, if just one piece of the pie), and ultimately, our current budget imbalance affects Americans of every political party. It would do us well to see Democrats and Republicans work together on this, though history has taught us that bi-partisanship is easier said than done. Thankfully, we may finally have an administration that’s serious about having its actions match its rhetoric. After the disconcerting numbers and sobering circumstances that I.O.U.S.A impressively breaks down for us, it’s clearer than ever that we’re going to need all the teamwork we can get.

68/100

I fully confess that my deep affection for this film stems from something far deeper than an admiration for acting, editing, and screenwriting. Oh, it’s a fine film in those regards…director Peter Sollett, who helmed the impressive, if underappreciated, Raising Victor Vargas in 2003, has a way of framing small moments as something altogether larger. An awkward conversation sends pleasant shivers through the spine, whether it’s between high school crushes or doting family members. In both of his films, Sollett avoids overreaching—his protagonists and secondary characters are clearly drawn and flow gracefully, stitched together by fluid dialogue and strong acting. Michael Cera and Kat Dennings as the title roles in Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist are both outstanding, and a superb soundtrack & vibrant color schemes enhance the frenetic mood of those topsy-turvy high school days nights.

But for me, it goes deeper than this. Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist has been described as the Facebook generation’s Before Sunrise, and that’s certainly half the reason I love it dearly. It’s also only half the story. Because Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist isn’t just a modern, American version of Before Sunrise—it’s also a portrait of a different time in life, a time when we’re not looking for a soulmate, but for the rush of lust and romantic excitement, the swings of euphoria one day, heartbreak the next. Sometimes, a dazzling erray of emotions can come together in one 6-hour stretch, culminating in a delirious rush of happiness; as rewarding as it all feels one minute, it can come crashing down any day. It’s a period of learning, sexual discovery, and intellectual exploration. This is a magical period of life, and Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist absolutely nails it. Throughout the entire film, I felt happy, energized, invigorated…magical might be overly corny, but hell, when the shoe fits…and Sollett knows how to avoid treacle. Nick and Norah’s alcohol-free interactions, which fluctuate by the hour, add a particularly interesting dynamic to their relationship—after all, liquor is a major part of the teenage years for so many. The refusal by Nick and Norah to succumb to peer pressure allows a glimpse into a different sort of youth, one that directors too often ignore.

75/100