Formulaic as can be, The Fighter still earns a very solid rating from me because its execution is so strong across the board. The story is prototypical, been-there-done-that underdog-with-deep-family-issues stuff, but Russell goes James Gray enough to keep things consistently effective, with a successful portrayal of familial pressure and the tough choices it brings about. Parts feel a lot like The Yards and Two Lovers, though The Fighter has nowhere near as much spark as Gray’s two excellent films. Here, we get the story of Micky Ward (Mark Wahlberg), a quiet, mostly-mediocre boxer who’s always lived in the shadow of his champion brother Dickie (Christian Bale). When Dickie becomes hooked on crack, Micky becomes the family’s great hope…and boy, do they pin their misery and hopes on him. Man, these people are trash. It’s tough to watch them, especially the seven frumpy sisters aimlessly following the lead of their egotistical, selfish mother Alice (Melissa Leo) at every turn. The family, which never provided the proper structure and space for Dickie to really become great—hence, he fell in with the wrong crowd out of what’s clearly a subconscious rebellion—try to really sink their claws into Micky just as he’s found some success, but his new girlfriend Charlene (Amy Adams) and father convince him he needs to leave the poisonous ones behind and take on some serious representation if he’s going to be successful in his one, unexpected shot at the title. Of course, the ultimate reality proves to be much more complicated.

Clearly, this isn’t an original tale (it’s based on a true story, the notorious excuse), and I frankly expected a bit more spice out of the Director who brought us Three Kings and I Heart Huckabees. Ironically, though, I think The Fighter is my favorite of his movies, even though it’s also his least ambitious…and that’s due, first and foremost, to the actors stepping up bigtime. While Bale has hogged most of the fanfare for his scenery-chewing, if seemingly accurate, depiction of the drug-addled, hyperactive Dickie, I actually thought both Wahlberg and Leo surpassed him. It’s a bit easier to let loose with the mannerisms than to channel the internal pain and frustrations than the two of them successfully do. Adams usually annoys me, but she’s a good fit as the “classy” (which isn’t saying much here: they did meet in a bar! But comparatively, she’s like an Ivy League graduate) good influence. The script, which seemed destined from the trailer to be riddled with treacle, is surprisingly free of schmaltz. It’s always predictable, but manages to be sharp and affecting anyway. That’s a sign of a skilled director, and while Russell hasn’t fully put it together in my book yet, I predict he delivers a haymaker in the next five years or so. He’s shown enough layers of talents to whet my appetite for each new release he puts out.

68/100

At last! Though Alfonso Cuarón’s The Prisoner of Azkaban came close, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part I is the first entry of the franchise to really capture the essence of J.K. Rowling’s masterworks. Immediately, we can look to the decision to tell the story as two separate films. It’s ironic that this is so important to Deathly Hallows‘ success, since it was clearly done with financial implications in mind, but the choice winds up paying serious dividends. Instead of feeling the need to cram as much from Rowling’s work as possible into a few hours director David Yates is able to take his time and really flesh out The Deathly Hallows‘s dark atmosphere. I’ve heard complaints that this installment is wanting for magic, but that’s a false accusation (or shows a fundamental lack of understanding for what The Deathly Hallows is all about). By this point in the books, there’s a real end-of-days vibe—Dumbledore is dead, the Death Eaters have taken control of much of the lands, and Harry is solidly in the enemies’ cross-hairs—and parts of the narrative bear a distinct resemblance to The Lord of the Rings. Things are bleak. And for the first time onscreen, we see the trials and tribulations of Harry, Ron, Hermione & the rest of the crew exactly how I pictured them while curled up in bed reading.

Unlike, say, The Sorceror’s Stone or The Order of the Phoenix, The Deathly Hallows mostly eschews cuteness and charm. Part of this can be traced to where our protagonists are in life—they’re children still finding their way at the beginning, and by now are battle-tested late teens—but the credit really belongs to Yates, who’s directed the previous three entries. Long, wordless sequences elegantly portray the despair and pain that permeates throughout the party and the land. A stunning animated yarn about the three brothers that form the crux of the deathly hallows legend is absolutely mesmerizing, and might garner my vote for scene of the year. It’s sublime. The music, which was well-composed but often overly dramatic in earlier films, is used much more subtly and ominously here. The cloud of dread never lifts for a moment. The multiple deaths and injuries should emotionally resonate with those who cherish the books. The color schemes boast lots of blacks and silvers like the night and moon, and Daniel Radcliffe (Harry), Rupert Grint (Ron), and Emma Watson (Hermione), as they should, look grizzled and tuckered out, appropriately worn down from their constant on-the-run ways. There’s even a richness to the compositions that suggests a trust for the audience that we’d yet to be shown. When this ended, two thoughts zipped through my mind. One: part II can’t come quickly enough. And two: the earlier entries, especially Goblet of Fire—which signifies the franchise’s turning point from adventurous-but-charming to seriously intense—could have seriously benefited from being split in twain. The flow in Deathly Hallows: Part I is just perfect. And it’s also perfect, as a die-hard HP fan, to finally have a filmic adaptation that does Rowling’s imagination justice.

78/100

TRON: Legacy may be the best movie I’ve ever seen that possesses a truly awful script. There’s no sugarcoating it—the screenplay alternates between predictably hokey (a sunrise sequence is particularly galling), and flat-out cheesy (most of the dialogue exchanges). It’s less the romantic subplot between the freewheeling, seemingly-orphaned Sam Flynn (Garrett Hedlund) and the mysterious Quorra (Olivia Wilde), which thankfully doesn’t get enough screentime to become a serious detriment. Rather, it’s the father/son relationship between former gaming/technology mogul Kevin Flynn (Jeff Bridges, reprising his role in 1982′s original Tron) and Sam that’s especially offensive on the ears. Seemingly every other exchange between the two contains some form of cloying schmaltz that should evoke regular snickers from the audience. The acting isn’t any great shakes either. Bridges is passable at times, but too often seems to be channeling The Dude from The Big Lebowski: seriously, he should never be allowed to say the word “man” again. The rest of the cast mostly looks the part, but lack any sort of real acting chops.

But you didn’t go to the IMAX theater near you to listen to Kevin or Sam wax poetic, did you? You came to break out the popcorn and get gloriously lost in TRON‘s sweeping world, and here, TRON: Legacy succeeds brilliantly. With a first-rate, pulse-pounding soundtrack by Daft Punk and dazzling CGI, the action is rhythmic and often mesmerizing. A battle in “Zeus’s lounge” is absolutely riveting (and Zeus is easily the coolest character in the entire film; he could easily be a droog), and indeed, most of the fights, chases and escapes are intense and thoroughly engrossing. Like Avatar, TRON: Legacy is more of an impressive experience rather than a great film, but there’s less pretension here, if not quite the capitalization of the IMAX technology. TRON: Legacy seems to be very comfortable with what it is—namely, a video game fan’s wet dream. At some point, all gamers have fantasized about being transported into their console, be it the vast lands of Final Fantasy VII or the battlefields of Call of Duty. Here, they get to experience it in all the modern, hyper-digitalized glory. Be sure to see TRON: Legacy in IMAX and with friends. It’s very entertaining, and accomplishes its goals with gusto—its strengths are so prominent that it’s easy to view its weaknesses as quibbles rather than serious detractions, presuming you go in with proper expectations.

65/100

Working off an old-but-not-dusty script from Jacques Tati (Playtime, Mon Oncle, Mr. Hulot’s Holiday), Sylvain Chomet (The Triplets of Belleville) has crafted an extraordinarily poignant film with The Illusionist, even if it’s much sadder than Tati’s usual lust-for-life work: it’s unsurprising that Tati preferred to portray the bumbling M. Hulot instead of tapping into the soulful protagonist seen here (he never actually made the picture). I’d suspect Tati felt a serious bond to The Illusionist—we’re never told his name—an elderly magician who retains a good bit of talent, but finds that the world has mostly lost interest in what he has to offer. Phased out by such new age gems as hotshot boy bands, he’s forced to travel from town to town alone, seeking odd gigs in obscure pubs and off-the-beaten-path theaters. Frequently, the audiences are nearly nonexistent by the time he takes the stage. A lonely life he leads, until one night, at a bar on a small, primitive island off the coast of Scotland, a spark arises from the ol’ rabbit-and-cards: a poor young girl named Alice is awestruck by his act, believing it to be real magic, and is drawn to the old man’s kindness in “conjuring” up new red shoes for her. She stows away on his return-trip boat, and thus begins a relationship that’s part Harold and Maude, part “Puff the Magic Dragon.” Alice takes on the doting daughter role, keeping ‘house’ in a small rented room at a boarding house in Edinburgh. The Illusionist (who’s drawn to look exactly like Tati) entertains where he can, but, unbeknownst to Alice, also takes on menial jobs at venues like garages to continue supplying her with gifts that bring her enormous joy (a dress, a necklace, etc). As time passes, the loving Alice begins to yearn for connection with those her own age, and eventually falls in love with a handsome young man. Alice’s separation from the Illusionist was in many ways inevitable from the start, but the moment still resonates with a resounding mix of emotions: relief, sadness, and doubt (will Alice find the same happiness?) are just three of them.

The Illusionist, like The Triplets of Belleville, relies on creative animation, striking characters and music to tell its story rather than dialogue—to describe the screenplay as sparse would be a drastic understatement. Luckily, Chomet is more than up to the task. The visual style, which proportionately often resembles a funhouse mirror, works beautifully to portray a world that’s frequently off-kilter. An alternately sympathetic and creepy puppeteer headlines a wonderfully imaginative supporting ‘cast’—many of Alice’s wordless encounters with them are as touching as her interactions with the Illusionist himself. The aforementioned “Puff the Magic Dragon” allusion stems from The Illusionist‘s timeless theme of age always catching up, and I’ve rarely seen it done better than here. And the tender, non-sexual old-and-young relationship conjures up Ashby’s Harold and Maude on multiple occasions. One can see why Tati didn’t follow through with creating The Illusionist, but you can also see what drew him to write it in the first place: the magic of discovery (Alice’s first exposure to The Illusionist’s show, Playtime), the pleasures that the simplest things in life can bring, telling a story through imagery over chatter…it’s all here (and Chomet pays tribute to Tati’s genius with a lovely scene involving a movie theater, Mon Oncle and a coat rack). If Tati didn’t feel prepared to bring The Illusionist to the screen, viewers everywhere should be delighted that Chomet was all too happy to pick up the slack.

80/100