Alternately hopeful and disturbing, Havana Marking’s documentary about the popular Afghan TV show Afghan Star—an American Idol clone in a country where television was banned until 2004—provides us with an up-close peek at the more progressive side of war-torn Afghanistan. Afghan Star follows four of the finalists as they battle cultural restrictions and innumerable other challenges to participate and shoot for glory. Two of the finalists, Setara and Lima, face the greatest risk as women putting themselves front and center: the 21-year old Setara becomes the main character of sorts after she takes her performance to another level by dancing on stage, infuriating even the more moderate Afghan’s who initially supported her. As death threats and denunciations roll in, she returns to her home in Herat with her spirit unbroken, convinced she’s merely followed her dreams like women all over the world. Her determination and passion is matched by many others who have tired of political nightmares, and simply want the opportunity to enjoy their lives.

Music itself was banned by the Taliban from 1996-2001, and seeing the battered country greedily latch on to a chance to democratically express themselves by texting their votes (Afghan citizens select the competition’s winner via SMS) is pretty amazing to watch, though Marking takes a mostly non-confrontational approach; there are only a smattering of interviews with opposition leaders who vehemently oppose Afghan Star, while most are with liberal-to-centrist Afghani’s that adore every second of it. Old habits and prejudices die hard, however, and even those fans mostly vote on issues having less to do with quality of voice than where the contestant came from, or, sadly, their sex. This is particularly true for Hammeed, a member of the Hazara tribe that’s always been one of Afghanistan’s most belittled ethnic groups. Many have been slaughtered by the Taliban over the years, and with one of their own so close to the gold, the proud Hazara’s mount a massive grassroots campaign that Barack Obama would be proud of, campaigning door-to-door and plastering flyers all over the place. Seeing the divisive cultural split in Afghanistan, a country of 30+ million people, is very sad and serves as a reminder that the situation there will take a long time to get much better. But Afghan Star gives us hope that this new generation of ambitious, art-loving Afghani’s might lead the way to a kinder, more humanistic place someday, serving as a visible reminder of what freedom can bring.

68/100

One of the greatest films ever made, Elem Klimov’s anti-war masterpiece is ironically named, as those with weak stomachs may want to steer clear; Come and See brings its viewers to a place that some will regret being exposed to. Set in Byelorussia during World War II, the film depicts a young boy’s slow descent into madness as he witnesses horror upon horror while fighting for a hopelessly overmatched resistance movement—Florya (an astonishing Aleksei Kravchenko) is exposed to the unthinkable time after time, from seeing his slaughtered family stacked up in a bloody heap outside his childhood home to the mass extermination of a nearby town. The direction is extraordinary; extended sequences etch themselves into the mind and won’t be easily forgotten, such as a mesmerizing 10-minute stretch of Florya flailing wildly through a muddy swamp in search of his dead parents. Klimov’s ability to pull viewers into his world is unmatched, and his seamless blending of reality and madness leaves us unsure of what’s in Florya’s mind and what’s actually happening…until we realize that it doesn’t matter; he’s experiencing it all regardless. Perhaps no other movie so perfectly— and painfully—captures the depths of what humanity is capable of, as well the unspeakable atrocities, consequences, and casualties of war.

Using creative, extended close-ups from various angles and haunting music that weaves in and out to match Florya’s state of mind, Klimov crafts a pitch-perfect atmosphere for such a disturbing topic. We feel immersed in Florya’s every thought—which is emotionally exhausting but entirely unforgettable—due in large part to Kravechenko’s extraordinary performance. From his facial expressions to his trembling body, he visibly ages throughout the film, and his focus is laser-like; rumor has it that he was hypnotized for the closing scene, and it wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest. Cinematically, Come and See is technically unrivaled, and the only question one needs to consider before seeking it out is whether they’re mentally prepared to endure it. From an art-appreciation perspective, there’s little doubt you’ll come out of it feeling you’ve witnessed something special…but you may find yourself somewhere you wish you’d never gone. That a film can provoke such an intense reaction speaks volumes about the quality of Klimov’s work; now you need to decide for yourself whether you’re up for the experience.

98/100

Sam Mendes’ Away We Go is a distinct departure from the directors’ previous glossy works such as American Beauty (1999), Road to Perdition (2002), and Revolutionary Road (2008). In those films, Mendes is occasionally satiric in his over-the-top portrayals of suburban families or the inner workings of hitmen, but they’re predominantly somber and heavy, steeped in symbolism and bright colors. Here, however, we witness a lighter side of Sam Mendes, as he mixes a serious topic (the whirlwind of emotions that encompass soon-to-be parents) with a hodgepodge of wacky secondary characters, starting with the male protagonists’ kooky parents. The result is an uneven picture that’s at times poignant and at times quite funny, but ultimately lacks a consistent flow.

Burt (John Krasinski) and Verona (Maya Rudolph), a longtime couple, learn that they’ll soon be parents, and uproot their lives and move to Colorado to be near Burt’s parents for help with the upcoming child. Soon after arriving, however, they’re greeted with the unpleasant news that the eccentric Jerry and Gloria (Jeff Daniels and Catherine O’Hara) are leaving Colorado to fulfill their lifelong dream of moving to China for several years. With three months to go before Verona gives birth, the pair is at a crossroads of where to build their life, so they embark on a travel tour to figure out their ideal vision of home: they go to Phoenix (where a frequently vulgar ex-coworker of Verona’s lobbies hard), Tuscon (home to Verona’s sexy sister, who happens to be her only living relative), Wisconsin (where Burt’s childhood friend/”cousin” Ellen resides with her husband in a pacifist, pillow-filled bliss), and Montreal, where old college chums provide the first balanced, if inperfect, look at normalcy the couple has seen in weeks. Yet it takes an emergency call from Burt’s brother Courtney in Miami—whose wife has vanished, leaving Courtney overwhelmed and stunned, and his young daughter confused and with no maternal influence—for Burt and Verona to recognize that they have to carve out their own meaning of family, as well as their life together and their upcoming responsibility.

Away We Go has some delightful moments, particularly the duo’s time at Ellen’s (Maggie Gyllenhaal) Wisconsin home, where strollers are the anti-christ and parenting is graded by how much physical contact and together time everyone has. But Mendes seems unsure where to take the film, as its primary themes of self-discovery and parental philosophies weave in and out of meaningfulness. One of the more intriguing subplots—Verona’s unwillingness to marry the man she considers her sure-fire life partner, undoubtedly stemming from insecurity issues relating to her deceased parents—is moderately explored, but it’s insufficient given how badly Burt wants to offically tie the knot. And the encounters with the various wack-a-doodle families could serve as an owner’s manual for what not to do as parents…which results in some chuckles but not any emotional fulfillment as Burt and Verona evolve, something that Mendes clearly hoped for if the final sequence is any indication. Strong acting keeps Away We Go consistently watchable— John Krasinski is particularly excellent as Burt—and the natural banter between the leads and seconds is quite good. But ultimately, large tonal inconsistencies prevents Away We Go from being more than passable entertainment, with good performances and a few great moments mixed in for good measure.

51/100

A penetrating exploration of the hardships that Dominican baseball recruits (and other Hispanic cultures as well) face in making it to the major leagues, Ryan Fleck’s Sugar has highs, lows, and plenty of emotions in between. It’s easy for casual and die-hard fans alike to assume that José Reyes or Johan Santana are the norm, but reality paints a different picture; the vast majority of signees flame out early, succumb to injuries, find themselves overmatched, or get lost in the shuffle. In Sugar, we follow the journey of Miguel Santos (better known as Sugar; natch), a flame-throwing righty for the fictional Kansas City Knights. From the start, Fleck zeroes in on the weight that these kids, often no older than 15 or 16, carry on their right arms or bat speed. Parents sacrifice their scant pesos for a glove or spikes, and when a whiff of success is in the air, the blood-thirsty sharks emerge from the woodworks, pretending they’ve been there along. Sugar pokes fun at a pot-bellied ex-farmhand who claims he used to touch 98 MPH, convinced it’s little more than bullshit, but he soon learns first-hand why so many balleyhooed prospects crash and burn. The peaks and valleys of the lifestyle are staggering; after receiving the exciting news that he’s been selected to join the Knights’ A-Ball affiliate in rural Iowa, Sugar is placed in the hands of a baseball-obsessed Evangelical family with firm instructions to watch over him and keep his mind focused on baseball and off alcohol, women, and other such tomfoolery. Extreme culture shock ensues, as Sugar finds himself surrounded by a host family that doesn’t speak Spanish (their rare attempts to communicate in his native tongue are comically bad) and few teammates whom he connects with. Despite all of this, he starts off with a bang, consistently mowing down opposing batters, but after spraining his ankle, he loses his mechanics, subsequently overcompensates, and finds himself getting pounded with regularity until he’s demoted to the bullpen. Unaccustomed to failure, Sugar loses control of his emotions time and again until, ashamed and mentally exhausted, he gets on a bus to New York City, leaving a rough year in the rearview mirror.

In many ways, the story—which begins with such optimism, such energy—is universal and tragic. The moment a ligament pops or velocity dips, the players are treated like replaceable parts. And when they’re sent back home, what can they do with themselves? Since a young age, these kids have been viewed through the prism of baseball. If they fail at that, they’re considered to have failed in a much more general sense…even by those closest to them. The aforementioned beer-bellied washout is unfortunately all too common, and Fleck does an outstanding job of illustrating both the mountains these prospects need to climb and ways to emerge from disappointment with a large portion of their pride intact. If the first 2/3′s of the film are about Dominican baseball, the final third is about self-discovery beyond the game; after arriving in New York, Sugar heads to the Bronx (Yankee Stadium, after all), where he begins working at a diner. He meets a beautiful girl. He reconnects with another former baseball hotshot, now with a pot-belly of his own but a big, relaxed grin to match. And he takes up the equivalent of an unpaid internship in woodworking under the kindly Osvaldo. Raised without a father and with sky-high expectations—burdened upon him because of nothing more than a lethal-but-unrefined fastball/knuckle-curve combination—the 20-year old Sugar can finally unwind and be himself. The wide smile that we see in the early sequences in the Dominican Republic returns in New York, and a poignant final sequence at a community baseball league finds Sugar enjoying the game in a way he clearly hasn’t in years. He may never fulfill his dream of pitching on the mound in Yankee stadium (or perhaps he will; comebacks are plentiful in the world of baseball), but for the first time, he has new dreams, dreams of his own that aren’t weighed down by extraordinary pressure.

Sugar would be nowhere near as compelling without Algenis Perez Soto’s first-rate lead performance, which should certainly earn him some nice future paychecks. He disappears into Sugar, from lonely, small-town Iowa to the bubbling New York, and at times, it’s easy to forget that we’re not watching a documentary. The supporting performances are all strong as well, and the pacing and editing are superb, with very few wasted moments in the entire script. Sugar ends on a wistful-but-happy note, and that’s fitting for the turbulent journey the title character has been (and still is) on. It’s a journey that’s well worth taking with him.

75/100

I recently caught up with the supposedly timeless children’s classic The Red Balloon, released in 1956 and not to be confused with Hsaio-hsien Hou’s The Flight of the Red Balloon, which came to the states last year. Albert Lamorisse tells of a young boy chasing a red balloon around Paris…or rather, of a feisty red balloon that’s taken a liking to said young boy, and refuses to let him out of its sight. Despite the fact that there’s little dialogue in the entire picture (which is only 35 minutes long anyway), The Red Balloon amusingly managed to snag a Best Original Screenplay Oscar for reasons I can’t decipher. If there’s one thing unimpressive about Lamorisse’s work, it’s the screenplay. Rather, the adorable children and the outstanding cinematography keep The Red Balloon touching and (at times) magical today. The color schemes in particular are excellent; the vibrance of the balloon itself and the grainy, washed-out world around it perfectly capture the delight that mysterious yet simple things can bring to an innocent child. A lovely shot of the boy leaning over the bridge watching a train go by reminded me of sequences from Miyazaki that I dearly love.

Ultimately, however, The Red Balloon doesn’t hold up as well as I’d hoped. Watching a boy and balloon prance across France’s mecca quickly becomes tedious, and that’s a dangerous description of a 35-minute motion picture. While individual moments are delightful, the experience as a whole is charming but slight, and the aforementioned magic doesn’t enchant enough to compare to Miyazaki, or Pixar, or many other contemporary works. Perhaps, for many, The Red Balloon’s charms live on in the form of nostalgia and its sporadic lovely scenes. For those of us who don’t have childhood memories driving our analysis, it’s a passable kids movie that could be so much more.

59/100