THE GOOD

A film about the African American civil rights movement in America must strike a very delicate balance. It must present both sides of the issue in varying shades of condonation and condemnation. Too much of one or the other tilts the scales prematurely, and the audience is left with no real choice in the matter. Too little of either, and the film makes no statement. The Help walks this line deftly, representing this difficult era of American history without leaning too far in either direction. But, the movie also makes a rather clear statement: while neither whites nor blacks always acted rightly or wrongly, the actions and attitudes of many of the whites during this era created a culture of unquestioned social hierarchy and ethical vacuousness, under which the blacks led incredibly difficult, disenfranchised lives. From the writing, to the acting and directing, to the art direction and costumes, this movie is extremely well made and a story well told.

THE BAD

There is little to criticize here. While there are moments that seem to be somewhat indulgent emotionally, for the most part the film has earned them, and the realization of the historical import of these events lends credibility to what otherwise might be saccharine storytelling. Voiceover narration can be employed as a copout, but here, it never seems out of place or inserted in lieu of more “legitimate” means of conveying the story. Instead, it always colors the scene and enriches the depth of the characters and their tales.

THE CONCLUSION

The Help will doubtless be nominated for a stack of Oscars, and it will probably win some of them. The acting is impeccable. All the women playing the “help” are extraordinary (notably Viola Davis and Octavia Spencer); Bryce Dallas Howard is terrifically despicable; Emma Stone is wonderful (and adorable); and even the bit parts are fully fleshed out characters with complex emotional lives (the actor playing Henry comes to mind: he delivers a great performance with only a dozen or so spoken lines). While there are no explosions or breathtaking CGI, the communal experience of watching this film in the dark of a crowded movie theatre is well worth the price of admission.

Rating: 3.5/4 Stars

Metaphors often work for their ability to succinctly capture and elucidate a complex idea, employing more accessible terminology and concepts than their perhaps obscure counterparts for which they stand. Too stretch a metaphor to its logical conclusion might come across as tedious or, worse, a dead horse beating contest. The inquisitive conceit of Cold Souls is a rather simple one, yet it has far-reaching applications: what is the soul? Is the soul a physical entity? Is the soul itself a metaphor? Sophie Barthes asks these questions as she writes and directs this film, and in so doing, leaves few stones unturned. Witty, charming, and, above all, enlightening, Cold Souls is a film that asks hard questions with a smirk hiding in the corner of its mouth.

Paul Giamatti (Paul Giamatti) plays himself as himself. During rehearsals for Chekhov’s play Uncle Vanya, he finds that he can’t quite separate himself from the character, and he feels his life sinking further into a mire of hopelessness. To alleviate his pain, his agent recommends he consider having his soul removed. And he’s serious, too. So, taking his advice, Paul played by Paul as Paul goes to the Soul Storage Company to investigate this new technological wonder. After deciding to go through with it, he finds himself worse off than before. He returns to get his soul back – but there’s a problem: his soul has been stolen. And, with one of the best lines of the entire film, the contrived, thinly disguised plot really gets going: “What is my soul doing in Russia?!”

Giamatti, ironically enough, turns in what may be his best performance to date. His simplicity and honesty rival anything he’s accomplished heretofore. His character (himself) is an actor at odds with himself, and Giamatti brilliantly plays the role of a lifetime, what Camus called the role each person must play, what Stanislavski referred to as the most interesting thing in the world: himself. Emily Watson plays his wife (Red Dragon; Synecdoche, New York), a woman unable to understand fully her husband’s trauma, even after he reveals the truth. Ultimately, this story is a tale of questions, at turns tearfully inspired and guffaw-inducing funny, as Giamatti captures the essence of a man truly grappling with his own soul in a palpable, moving performance.

Like many teachers, this film never truly answers the questions that it asks. In fact, at times, it admits openly that it doesn’t know the answers. What happens to the soul after death? The doctor (played by David Strathairn) states unequivocally that he has absolutely no idea. What is the essence of a human being? Ultimately, what separates us from the rest of the animal kingdom? And, simply, who are we? These questions are ubiquitous, finding manifestations throughout every culture since we hopped up on our hind legs. A genuine, droll, and affecting film, Cold Souls explores these age-old inquiries with aplomb and poignance, under a new light, both literally and emblematic of something much larger than itself. And, in the end, we learn that, with all its deformities and imperfections, our soul, this unbearable lightness, is truly what makes life worth living.

Rating: 3.5/4 Stars

Before anybody became somebody, they were practically a nobody. That’s the understanding, anyway, and Coco Before Chanel is an extended case-in-point. However, if it exemplifies the previous adage, it also stands testament to the power of two things, unrelated but connected: benefactors and femininity. Though “everyone must start somewhere,” it helps to have someone eventually give you money, and it may expedite that process if one is an attractive woman. This film illuminates both with grace and subtlety.

The young Gabrielle, or “Coco,” played expertly by Audrey Tautou (The Da Vinci Code), works as a seamstress. Earlier still, she lived in an orphanage. At night, Coco and her sister perform and sing at clubs. She catches the eye of a wealthy aristocrat, Étienne Balsan, a man who attempts to give her a shot at a bigger spotlight. Soon, however, he leaves for his large “castle” in the country. Coco, who is now seemingly destitute without her older sister, travels to his home and requests to stay on for a while. “A while” evolves into days, and, eventually, days into years. Creating a strong but odd relationship, Coco and Balsan seem to live happily. When Arthur ‘Boy’ Capel shows up, however, things change, and Coco’s life, as so often seems to be the case with her, will never be the same.

One might guess that a woman who would eventually become the famous “Chanel” would be a tireless worker, an indefatigable individual with an indomitable spirit, working until the job is done, trying harder and harder to achieve her dreams. According to this particular film, that is not quite the case. Anne Fontaine, the writer/director, crafts a story  that seems to depict Coco as a stubborn, at times impetuous, and all around lazy individual. She desires nothing more than “to work,” but it seems only to rid herself of the social constructions of a male dominated society, not because she is such an ideal “hard worker.” On the contrary, she customarily refuses to entertain guests, leaves her suitors and benefactors, and even declines to act in a socially acceptable manner at times.

All this being known, she still succeeded. She was a chic, quirky spirit, whose talent could not be hidden, and Tautou is brilliant, playing her with simplicity, poise, and elegance. The acting is good on all accounts, and the writing (not to mention the beautiful costumes, for which it received an Oscar nomination) complements it well. Fontaine seems to direct with great confidence, gently allowing the story to unfold, slowly but surely, as we grow with Coco, think with her, and aspire with her to autonomy, importance, and celebrity.

Ultimately, we know the ending. Many times, true stories or “Based on a True Story” stories aren’t about the ending so much as they are about the journey, the process, the path taken by a seemingly ordinary person destined for greatness. Coco Before Chanel takes the most famous name in all of fashion, Chanel, and returns to its roots, from the orphanage to the castle, from the castle to the limelight. From here, Chanel, a lowly orphan with an incredible gift, became the Queen of Fashion. This film portrays her lucidly and effectively. Even if you couldn’t care less about the world of fashion, this film, like The Devil Wears Prada, is almost certainly worth it.

Rating: 3.5/4 Stars

Horrors occur all around the globe, under varying levels of spotlight beams. Some, however, deserve (to use the term pejoratively) much more exposure than they have ever received previously. One such macabre violation of dignity is the dolphin genocide taking place in Taijii, Japan, where a group sanctioned by the government is herding, trapping, and killing hundreds of dolphins every day of the year under a veil of secrecy. Led by Richard O’Barry, who trained the original Flipper dolphins, a group resembling Oceans 11 in many ways (a fact not lost on the key players in this film) takes high-tech equipment into Taijii in order to document the atrocities.

O’Barry, a lifelong dolphin lover, was actually a major participant during the initial attempts to take dolphins into captivity when he joined the crew of Flipper. He trained the dolphins and grew to love them. It is his contention, as well that of a growing number of experts in the field the world over, that dolphins are special among non-human animals for one very important reason: they are conscious. All animals have some form of consciousness, sure, but these people maintain that dolphins are conscious in a way akin to humans: more specifically, they are self-conscious. They have a sense of self, a complex emotional life, and are highly intelligent creatures. Because of this, O’Barry and others have made it their life’s goal to pursue the end of dolphin captivity and genocide.

Consciousness is an elusive concept. Self-consciousness is fairly simple to understand from the first-person point of view, but to discern whether another being is self-conscious has posed philosophical problems for a long time. For fear of solipsism, we assume that all (or at least the vast majority) of us, human beings, are conscious - and self-conscious – beings. It goes without saying that to discern whether a non-human animal is actually self-conscious might be a tricky conundrum.

One such self-consciousness “testing” method used is quite simple, really: a mirror. If, when faced with a large mirror, a given entity shows signs that they understand that the image being shown to them is, in fact, them and not another entity, then there seems to be some certainty that the entity in question is self-conscious to a certain extent. Dolphins, when put to this “test,” reveal that they are quite aware that is their image being shown back to them. O’Barry is certain, in fact, that when watching herself on TV, one of the dolphins who played Flipper was very much aware that it was herself on the screen, not another dolphin; moreover, when another dolphin was on the TV, O’Barry says he is certain she knew that too.

The Cove is a fascinating and adventurous documentary look at the world of sea life generally and dolphins (and whales) in particular. Specifically, is it wrong to kill a self-conscious creature, if that creature is non-human? We certainly think it immoral to kill another human, and we have a word for it: murder. When it’s an animal, we say it was “killed,” but rarely, if ever, do we refer to a “murdered animal.” It is this rather simple juxtaposition of the words “kill” and “murder” that elucidates the whole premise of this film. When does self-consciousness begin? Furthermore, if self-consciousness is present in non-human animals, are we ethically obligated not to kill those animals without due cause? Would that be murder?

The film seems to conclude fairly unequivocally that killing dolphins is, indeed, wrong. Whether you agree or not, there’s another, much easier, conclusion that the film makes as well: certainly you cannot watch the massacre of hundreds of dolphins on their secret footage without feeling that some form of ethical violation is taking place, something that must be stopped, regardless of your position on non-human animal consciousness.

Are there “more important” international goals to pursue? That, of course, depends on who you are. And for people like Richard O’Barry, there is little more important in life than pursuing what you feel to be your calling. It is his calling, and he pleads with the viewer as well, to save dolphins from the butchery inflicted on them year round. The fate of dolphins everywhere rests on his decision, and he is urging the viewer to take part.

Rating: 3.5/4 Stars

A film set in the 30′s in France, Faubourg 36, or Paris 36, feels like a film actually made in the 30′s. The costumes and the outdoor sets have a contrived artificiality to them, the whole town seems within arm’s reach, and the quality of the shots are more often than not reassuringly melodramatic, in a way we’ve come to love, reminiscent of Casablanca, of a bygone era. The whole film has an endearing quality, with plenty of highs and lows, only enhanced by being a kind of musical (though it never really feels too much like one). Great songs (one receiving an Oscar nomination), nice voices, a very likable cast, and an enjoyable story make this one a success.

In 1936, the Chansonia, a theatre in Parisian district goes under (“faubourg” means “suburb” in French). All jobs are lost: the cast, the crew, everyone involved. A shrewd, dictatorial businessman, Galapiat takes over, and the theatre is shut down. As claims of Fascism and threats of strikes hit the airwaves and the streets, one man, Pigoil, decides to lead the old clan in taking back the Chansonia, leading them on an unending quest to restore themselves and the theatre to greatness.

Pigoil is quick-tempered, impetuous, selfish, and mostly very ignorant. His only redeeming qualities are his best: he’s sincere, and he means well. When Douce shows up, the theatre has found its savior. At least temporarily. Through a series of events, Pigoil, Milous, Jacky, and the rest have their work cut out for them, if they want to get the theatre, and their lives, back on track.

Christophe Barratier directs this musical film, and he does so with aplomb. He seems to attempt to recreate the quality of the Hollywood melodramas from the Golden Age: larger than life personalities, smoking in profile on rooftops, the Eiffel Tower in the distance, and all while confessing ones love to the new girl in town, only to be followed up by a song and dance number. It may sound overly sentimental or even kitschy, but Barratier seems fully aware of what he’s doing at all times, and as a result, the film is truly delightful.

Taking the black and whites from classic Hollywood as its starting (and continual reference) point, Paris 36 ultimately succeeds by creating a cast of charming characters whose lives have taken a turn for the worse. The winsome world of the characters is set against the backdrop of a volatile political environment, adding to the tension of the characters constant frustrations. In the end, we have a feeling for what might happen, but we don’t exactly know how we’ll get there, and in this one, style is really what it’s all about.

Rating: 3.5/4 Stars

One of the major obstacles of an animated feature length film is pleasing both young and old alike. The young flock to films like this, but they only flock because their parents are willing to take them. If they can please the older movie-goers, then they have achieved a level of success that many animated films only dream of, but that nearly all aspire to. The Secret of Kells succeeds on this most important front differently than many animated films. It does so by appealing to the artistic part of the adult mind, the creative aspect of our fertile psyche. The storyline is very engaging, but the imagery used to tell the story is almost more important in some ways, and, because of this attention to artistic detail, the film offers something to everyone wiling to give it a shot.

It tells the story of a very curious young boy named Brendan, whose appetite for adventure is greater than his capacity to endure his follies. We can probably all relate to this particular character trait in some way. Though his eyes for escapades are bigger than his proverbial stomach, his sincerity and unrelenting spirit are no match for any misfortune that gets in his way. He meets a forest fairy named Aisling, who guides him on his first journey beyond the stone walls his uncle, the Abbot of Kells (played by Brendan Gleeson), has fortified to barricade and protect the city against imminent invaders. Enter Aidan, a wise old sage from a distant land, who comes bearing books. Or, rather, he comes bearing a book, The Book. But, it isn’t finished, and it becomes Brendan’s job to complete it. Tragedy abounds, and the city is engulfed in epic circumstances. The film follows Brendan in his quest to finish the book and ultimately save civilization. In this way, it is very similar to The Book of Eli, though much more kid-friendly.

Tomm Moore, from whom I hope we see more in the near future, almost singlehandedly created, designed, wrote, produced, and even recorded music for this beautiful animated film. And it shows. This is one film in which the art direction, an often overlooked aspect of film-making, triumphs with flying colors. Quite literally. Gorgeous imagery adorn the screen in nearly every scene, creating rich, textured emotional layers to the world of these characters. There are essentially only a half-dozen speaking parts, while the rest of the world, both friend and foe alike, is voiced by the ambient sounds of the multitude. Moore creates a world in which color and imagery are as important as anything that can be spoken. In fact, the book is populated by images, ostensibly Celtic symbols and lurid swirling shapes of different sizes, which move about on the page as one “reads” them.

Moore seems to have a very controlled artistic vision, but the film never feels stifled in the least. The borderline simplistic animation of the people is constantly surrounded by, and enmeshed in, the ornately illustrated depictions of nature and village alike, and the life therein, all around them. The essential conventions are familiar, but this particular representation is anything but. The watercolor world of Kells and beyond dances and flirts with the eye of the viewer, and the characters come to life through it. The Secret of Kells is an artistic film with a specific vision and an enchanting story to tell. You won’t be disappointed.

Rating: 3.5/4 Stars

One of the wittiest films of the year turns out to be another stunning example of clever animation (puppets) and to be fully aware of how witty it is (extremely).  Wes Anderson certainly knows what he’s doing, both in the sense of how to make films and in the tongue-in-cheek quality that his films so often exude.  The characters in Fantastic Mr. Fox are intelligent (some of them, anyway), their wit acerbic and dry, and the entire film follows suit.  Yet another in a line of hilarious and well made animated films from this past year with no pretense otherwise.

Wielding this rapier wit, Fox and his compatriots take on Boggis, Bunce, and Bean, corporate power-mongers on the other side of the fence. They deal in chickens, alcoholic cider, and, ultimately, fox-killing.  Having been a professional thief many fox-years ago, Fox decides to tackle the Big Three in one final heist.  ”One final heist” never turns out well.  Fox gets himself and his entire community into a huge hole (pun very much intended), and it’s his job to dig them out.  Based on the book by Roald Dahl (of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory fame), this story has a simple premise and lovable, engaging characters, who know exactly what they’re doing and will often narrate likewise (though nearly always unsolicited).

The voice-acting, not to mention the dialogue, could not be much better, among them many a familiar face from previous Wes Anderson films. George Clooney and Meryl Streep are Mr. and Mrs. Fox, while Bill Murray plays the Badger, Fox’s lawyer. Jason Schwartzman plays Ash, the Foxes’ son, Willem Defoe plays the Rat, one of the many nemeses, and Owen Wilson has little more than a cameo as Coach Skip.  Each of the voices fits exceedingly well.

Additionally, it appears that Anderson has incorporated a few clever conventions in order to make the film both farcical and appealing to children, though it really isn’t a children’s film. For instance, all expletives are replaced by the word “cuss.”  ”What the cuss?” is a recurring colloquialism in this world.  At one point, he includes a song which is played by a folk band in full view of the audience, only to be silenced by one of the Big Three, as if they are a part of his extended posse.  Another humorous word game Anderson plays is differentiating between a “phobia” and a “fear.”  Each works to great comic effect. Finally, the cross-sectional presentation of the sets works conventionally for several reasons.  The tree house and the sewer environment are both shot as if a half has been literally cut off – the slice is visible in at least a few of the scenes.  Like so much of what Anderson includes here, including the movement and textures of the characters, the cross-sectional sets remind us that we are watching stop-motion, serving as a subtle nod to the fantastic work by the animation team.

Fantastic Mr. Fox is Anderson’s animation debut, and it reigns up there with the best of them, certainly of this year, but possibly beyond as well, to include some of the great stop-motion films in recent years, including the Wallace and Gromit series and The Nightmare Before Christmas.  It succeeds for many reasons, not the least of which is its ability to be clever and entertaining without seeming pretentious or absurd. Anderson has done it again.  If you enjoy him or stop-motion, you’re almost certainly bound to enjoy this one as well.

Rating: 3.5/4 Stars

Films based on memoirs are a particular sub-genre in the Based on a True Story realm.  They are from a particular vantage point, seen in retrospect though the eyes of an individual who lived though the events.  For such reasons, they often have an uncanny ability to speak with poignance and insight.  An Education is just such a film, offering the story of one teenage English girl’s perpetual romantic rendezvous with a man two decades older than her.  It turns out to be an education she could never have gotten elsewhere.

Jenny is a talented and intelligent schoolgirl, going through the motions to appease her overbearing father (played brilliantly by Alfred Molina), soon to take her exams for university (she hopes for Oxford), and on her way to a life she has little desire to live.  David (an incredible performance by Peter Sarsgaard) pulls up to the curb of her life and offers her cello a ride, and one for her as well if she’s interested.  As it happens, the day he pulls up it’s raining cats and dogs, much like the stormy milieu of Jenny’s home life, and she hops in – a car ride that would change her life forever.  The parallel is unavoidable and effective. Through a series of events, she and David come to know and fancy one another, and, as these things go, they fall in love. The life she lives while she is with David is unlike anything she had ever experienced, and she is loving her life as she never knew before.  It is said that all good things must end.  And so they must.

England in the 1960′s was a society still in the throws of racial segregation.  Jenny at one point refers to them as Negroes. The separation between whites and blacks is not highlighted in the film, only brushed over, to illuminate David’s secretive and ostensibly devious occupation.  He and his friend Danny (Dominic Cooper is perfect) make a living by acting, it seems, immorally.  Or, perhaps, amorally.  Their covert profession keeps them very wealthy, and if their significant others are none-the-wiser, then so much the better for it.  Danny speaks curtly to Jenny during one such business appointment, and we are quickly reminded that the place of women even as recent as the 60′s remained quite subservient to the male in some countries.

It is this environment that the film creates so deftly, revealing the societal and economic constraints of different pecuniary classes, a fact not lost on Jenny’s father, who demands academic perfection from her, in order that she make a living for herself, not for the sake of education itself.  As he says, becoming a famous author isn’t as good as knowing one.  It reveals everything we need to know about his intentions and his principles.  Her mother’s role is diminutive by comparison, again elucidating the minor role of women in mid-20th century English society.

The writing is superb, the dialogue impeccable – coming from Nick Hornby, what do you expect?  The directing is straightforward and honest (though allowing a very kitschy montage at one point), allowing the actors to perform on the screen as they might on the stage: exposed and vulnerable.  Carey Mulligan is exceptional as the artless yet remarkably discerning Jenny.  She is both candid and accessible; we relate to her as she comes of age in a number of ways, striding on through various rites of passage, with subtle strength and a touching femininity.  Not to mention, Rosamund Pike and Emma Thompson are both flawless, the former as Danny’s girl, the latter as Jenny’s mother.  There is an ex post facto accompaniment to one character that changes everything, though there are certainly several remaining ambiguities left unattended and unresolved, as perhaps they might actually have been in Jenny’s life.

Life is a journey full of decisions, some we can’t regret until years after we’ve made them. Sometimes, it is these decisions that end up changing us for the better, affecting our lives in ways we wouldn’t have dreamed or imagined.  This is a must see for everyone who has ever had to grow up or make a difficult decision.  That is, it’s a must see for everyone.

Rating: 3.5/4 Stars

A return to classic Disney animation, talking animals, musical numbers with song and dance.  The Princess and the Frog is Disney’s first attempt in nearly a decade to tell an original story in that classic style of animation those of us who were born before the new millennium grew up with and came to know and love.  It absolutely succeeds.  It’s engaging, fun, hilarious, meant for children, but enjoyable for adults, as well.  This may be Disney reminding the world of who it is and where it came from. Old school Disney animation is a class of its own, and this film is a taste of that earlier era in children’s cinema, full of magic and wonder.

Much ado has been made over the fact that this film marks the first time in the storied history of Disney that an African-American is the protagonist.  In the scheme of animated feature films, this is a landmark.  In the movie, it is a detail which adds some texture to the story’s landscape.  In Jazz-age era New Orleans (with a requisite Streetcar reference), the relationship between blacks and whites was imperfect, to say the least.  Disney pulls a lot of punches, however, in having Tiana’s best friend, Charlotte, be white.  This anachronistic friendship seems to be intended to allow that most impressionable group, kids, to enjoy the movie without leaving with any hint of racial confusion or ambiguity, a necessary, if not historically correct, touch.

Tiana grows up in a tight-knit community in New Orleans with her parents.  Her father’s dream is to open a fancy restaurant in the most happening area of the city, but he isn’t able to see his dream realized.  Years later, Tiana is working double-shifts at a diner to make her (and her father’s) dream come true.  Though a recluse due to her hard working ways, Tiana is loved by one and all.  She chooses work over play in every situation, and her dream is beginning to seem within arm’s reach.  After Prince Naveen of Maldonia comes to town, the cards begin to fall where they may, and Tiana and Naveen find themselves under a new skin, in a new swampy wilderness, with a whole cast of talking animal friends, on a journey back home, both geographically and taxonomically.

Disney keeps the laughs rolling and the musical numbers soaring.  The voice-acting is spot-on, from John Goodman to Terrence Howard and Keith David, and from Anika Noni Rose to Jennifer Cody and Jennifer Lewis (even Oprah has a vocal cameo).  The animation has the feel of films like The Jungle Book, The Lion King, and The Little Mermaid, among others. Some of the characters are so reminiscent of predecessors, it seems it must be intentional.  Louis, the talking, trumpet-playing alligator, is clearly reminiscent of Baloo, at one point floating down a river on his back, nearly identical to a scene from The Jungle Book. Dr. Facilier (the antagonist) seems to be an amalgam of Jafar and Ursula, with magical powers, minions, and a beguiling demeanor, employing Lawrence for his dirty work, a character who is a mixture of Iago and the Sultan from Aladdin.

This at times expressionistic and self-aware film openly borrows from earlier animated Disney feature films, and it works, reminding us of why we love Disney, and of the magic that captivated us as children and will captivate our children as well. Disney is, in a word, enchanting.  Any film under their banner must have this delightfully spell-binding quality.  The Princess and the Frog is another film to add not only to the Disney canon, but to their growing oeuvre, a collection of movies without which no shelf is complete.  If you are a Disney fan, an animation fan, or just like musicals, see this one, and be reminded of why you fell in love with Disney in the first place.

Rating: 3.5/4 Stars

Up in the Air takes its name, it seems, from a song of the same name (or perhaps vice versa).  The opening stanza is as follows:

I’m up in the air,
Choices drifting by me everywhere
And I can’t find the one
That would help me do the work I’ve left undone,
‘Cause I’m up in the air.

The entirety of the story is aptly summed up thus.  Clooney’s character, Ryan Bingham, fires for a living.  He quite literally fires people every day.  That is his job, his occupation, his profession, and he has made a career out of it.  Flying around the country, he’s quite content alone, doing his dirty work on the road, in various and sundry hotels all across America, building up his American Airlines SkyMiles (perpetual product placement).  Into his life strolls Natalie Keener (played by promising newcomer Anna Kendrick – reminiscent of Amy Adams’s debut, in fact), a top-of-her-class Cornell graduate with a chip on her shoulder.  She’s got a thing or two to learn.  And Bingham’s the one to teach her.  (The parallel of veteran Clooney showing Kendrick the ropes is unmistakable.)  The story rolls on, and we fly along with it, learning a thing or two ourselves along the way.

George Clooney just gets better and better.  If you haven’t seen Michael Clayton, do yourself a favor.  Before now, I would have said it was Clooney at his best, but with the addition of Up in the Air to his growing list of accomplishments, it’s more difficult to differentiate.  With the Great Ones, discriminating the best from the rest is more an exercise in preference than it is in aesthetics as such.  Clooney is slowly gravitating toward a distinct group of performing artists of whom this is most certainly true.

The supporting cast is equally as wonderful here.  Vera Farmiga is transparent through her character’s ostensible lack thereof.  And, as mentioned earlier, Anna Kendrick shows substantial promise as an up-and-coming actress.  She plays Natalie with a subtle mixture of post-collegiate quixotic pride and rite of passage naiveté, something we young aspiring “professionals” can probably find in ourselves.

Jason Reitman (Thank You for Smoking, Juno) brings his pen and eye to a poignant story about work, about love, about life.  Poets and philosophers have said it many ways.  Man is the social animal.  And God saw that it was not good for man to be alone.  We require others to function properly.  A child raised in seclusion, away from others and social development, will develop into a feral creature, a human without much that marks humanity.  Adults aren’t so different.  Without other people, we are hermits, and hermits are famous for going bonkers.  But when we have someone to spend our one fragile life with, purpose and meaning are enkindled where they might not otherwise exist.  Sometimes it takes a story like Up in the Air to remind us of just such a truth.

Rating: 3.5/4 Stars