Le Scaphandre et le papillon/The Diving Bell And The Butterfly (Julian Schnabel, 2007)

Fashionable, wealthy and influential, Elle editor Jean-Dominique Bauby seemingly had it all. Yet, when he suffered a stroke driving in his convertible in the middle of the French countryside, leaving his beautiful country home, one wonders if the damage he eventually suffered could have been averted if he had been closer to immediate medical assistance. We meet Bauby when he first wakes up in the hospital, where he discovers he has been in a coma. The doctors' standard questions soon turn to concern as the extent of the damage Bauby has suffered becomes apparent. He is diagnosed with Locked In Syndrome – a rare condition in which the brain retains all cognitive function but is unable to communicate with the rest of the body – and the once worldly Bauby is now confined to a wheelchair, unable to even speak.

The masterstroke of Julian Schnabel’s film, is that it refuses to stay confined by Bauby’s physical condition. Based on the titular memoir by Bauby - composed entirely by communicating to his speech therapist by blinking his left eye to identify letters as she reads them down from a chart in order of popular usage - Schnabel’s film pushes its setting far beyond the hospital doors, capturing the endlessly fertile thoughts spinning in Bauby’s head. While the film does focus on Bauby’s health and his care, celebrating his struggle and accomplishment in penning the novel, it never flinches from presenting his troubling relationships with the women in his life or the seemingly vacuous nature of this job at the magazine. Both before and after the accident, Bauby is presented as smart, sarcastic, funny, a jerk and a warm-hearted friend. We see him for everything he is from a dedicated son in the moving and heart wrenching scenes with his father (played magnificently by Max Von Sydow), to a callous, selfish man as he continues to juggle relationships between his lover and his wife, even from his hospital bed.

Largely filmed from Bauby’s point-of-view perspective, it’s no surprise that Julian Schabel comes from an art background. He finds compelling and beautiful ways to both capture to the terror of Bauby's condition and the beauty of his imagination. Using his painter’s eye, and working alongside noted cinematographer Janusz Kaminski, The Diving Bell & The Butterfly is a film that – like its subject – uses its limited resources to maximum effect. It refuses to be bound by conventions, and leaps boldly and beautifully to piece together the memories of a decadent life that finds its meaning in the gravest of tragedies.

À bout de souffle/Breathless (Jean-Luc Godard, 1960)

When Jean-Paul Belmondo’s fedora wearing, cigarette chewing Michel Poiccard declares at the beginning of the film that he is an “asshole”, he’s not kidding. A womanizing, self-absorbed, wannabe criminal, he spends his days making schemes and his nights chasing skirts. He idolizes Humphrey Bogart but carries none of his charm or gentlemanly manners. Poiccard's foil is the shatteringly gorgeous Patricia Franchini (Jean Seberg), an American student in Paris, and the only woman who resists his carefully constructed persona.

What continues to make Jean-Luc Godard’s debut film so fresh and exciting nearly fifty years since its release, is its unguarded ambition. The thin plot, in which Poiccard murders a policeman and goes on the run, is merely a foundation for screenwriter François Truffaut to use his characters as a platform to expound a world of ideas on France, politics, love, sex, women and philosophy. In fact, the film’s central sequence – and also its longest - does absolutely nothing to move the plot forward. It is simply Poiccard and Franchini in her apartment talking, arguing, insulting each other, espousing opinions, smoking cigarettes, and making love.

If Poiccard is a mess of bravely stated contradictions, Franchini’s purposely elusive sexuality is almost sinister. Franchini openly courts other men, coyly dismisses Poiccard’s advances yet ends up running into his arms. She follows him as he evades a police manhunt, yet her true intentions remain secretive until the final frames. For both Poiccard and viewer alike, it’s difficult to parse what Franchini’s true intentions really are. Does she really love Poiccard or is she just curious about what it's like being with a bad boy? Does she want to be a journalist or does she simply enjoy being the focus of powerful men’s eyes? Ultimately, the two are perfect for each other, as both are so caught up in their carefully arranged personalities, they lose track of who they actually are.

However, to write off Poiccard and Franchini as simply immature would be to miss the point entirely. Breathless resonates because it captures the exuberant energy of being young and in love, and embracing hardline convictions about anything and everything even when it’s coupled with a certainty in nothing. With a playful, casual spirit Godard both celebrates and repudiates the impulsiveness and naivete of youth in equal measure, but is always in full admiration of its unquenchable energy.

Fong juk/Exiled (Johnnie To, 2006)

Johnnie To’s highly mannered, yet sufficiently bullet riddled gangster film tests two of the genre’s most important moral qualities: the importance of friendship vs. the bonds of loyalty. When an ex-member, banished from his home town for attempting to murder his mob boss decides to return home to raise his son, two of his best friends and former colleagues are sent to kill him, while two other friends vow to protect him. It’s a simple, ingenious concept that finds its characters – in between superbly choreographed gunfights – weighing their debts to gang fidelity.

There is a remarkable sequence early in the film in which the protectors and the assassins share cigars together in an unspoken professional understanding, while they await their mark to arrive. Once he does, they allow him to go up to his apartment and each side then sends one of their own upstairs after him. Just before they get down to business, they quietly ensure each man has the same amount of bullets. A violent three-way battle unfolds between the three men, leaving the apartment in near shambles, but when they all run out of ammunition, they simply stop, call in their associates, help the target move into the apartment and have dinner together. Eventually, the assassins and protectors agree that they can’t go through with killing each other or their mark, and vow to work together on some contract killings to get their friend out of town, with enough finances to raise his family.

From here, To sets up a familiar supporting framework. There’s a hooker looking to grab one big score, a cop on the verge of retirement and an absolutely psycho mob boss with a thirst for blood and money. Nevertheless, To’s mastery of the material keeps it from getting stale. It is a pure joy, coupled with some genuine surprises, watching the machinations of the plot click into place like a fine Swiss watch. As the film builds towards its monumental finale, To patiently and thoroughly weaves each strand of the plot into a perfect knot.

It’s rare to watch a film of this nature that treats the entire subject with near existentialism. Tonally, the film evokes the classic French gangster films of Jules Dassin or Jean-Pierre Melville. Behind the camera, To eschews realism for something more painterly. The film contains about four major action sequences, and each one is as carefully realized as the next, with the kind of balletic, yet over-the-top gunplay that John Woo excelled at in his pre-Hollywood days. Even the special effects defy reality as blood explodes in perfume-like puffs of mist rather than thick red streams. For the final sequence, To constructs a hotel set that cuts away the ceilings so he can shoot directly over the action, literally displaying the architecture of his shots.

Whereas American action films continue to aspire to bigger explosions and endless ammunition, To’s film is a exciting breath of fresh air. It makes every bullet, every movement and every word count, making it that much more exciting when the triggers are finally pulled and bodies are hurled almost angelically through the air.

I Am Legend (Francis Lawrence, 2007)

In a premise that seems to be en vogue of late, I Am Legend is a familiar tale of a country that has become victim to an unnamed, unknown plague which if it doesn't kill you, turns you into a monster, in this case, a variation of a vampire. Imagine the tweaked zombies of 28 Days Later with an allergy to the sun and you'll have the right idea.

While I definitely credit my friend Heidi for warning me in advance that the film was terrible, I was still allured by the film's slick trailer and The Dark Knight preview that would be in front of the IMAX showing of the film. The last film I saw in IMAX was a clearly wrongly projected Starsky & Hutch, so I had forgotten how good films can look on a three story screen. So if anything, I Am Legend looked great. And while I won't quite agree with Heidi that I Am Legend is terrible, it is certainly disappointing.

The biggest problem with I Am Legend is ultimately how empty the film is. This is a film that really didn't need to be more than 90 minutes and even then, it could be shorter. While Will Smith surprises at maintaining a strong screen presence for most of the film, there isn't just enough story here to make it work. The film waits a long time to get to it's third act, and when it does it is hugely unsatisfying. The film also suffers from a variety of plotholes, the most egregious being the shifting intelligence of the monsters. While they are savvy enough to set traps out to capture any humans, it seems they are mentally deficient in getting organized, or fighting in a coherent manner. Director Francis Lawrence does little more than send wave after wave of generic, CGI monsters in the film's final showdown. The monsters even sound generic. While casting avant garde music freak Mike Patton to enact the creature's voices was a masterstroke, the usually creative Patton seems to be held at bay here. The monster's voices are no different than the general squeals and roars you might expect. Patton is an extremely gifted individual behind the microphone and it's a shame his talents weren't put to better use.

The only true surprise of the film, is its relentlessly dark tone. Smith's character isn't particularly likeable, and for a Christmas season blockbuster the film stays grim right up until the end. But for a film that is brave in tone, it fails to take any daring steps narratively, and like much of the New York in the movie, it's completely barren.

The Lookout (Scott Frank, 2007)

We all have a daily routine, but what if each day you had to be reminded what those series of small events were - taking a shower, brushing your teeth, going to work - and even what order they had to be done in? For former high school hero and aspiring athlete Chris Pratt (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) this is an everyday nightmare. After a horrific car accident that leaves two friends dead and estranges his former girlfriend, Pratt finds himself living in a cheap apartment with a blind man (Jeff Daniels) and a countless number of labels reminding Pratt of everything from what each kitchen cabinet contains to what nozzle in the bathtub is for the hot water. Attending life skills classes by day, cleaning a bank at night and now an icon of disappointment to his wealthy family Pratt's life in the middle of Kansas is going nowhere fast. One evening, a chance encounter in a bar introduces Pratt to three people who offer him friendship, sex and an opportunity to make something out of his frustrating existence. All they want him to do is to act as a lookout for a heist at the very bank he's working at.

The film's premise, at least on paper, comes dangerously close to being a gimmick: Brain damaged man is engaged into a bank heist. But longtime screenwriter Scott Frank, in his directorial debut, first creates an emotionally rich world in act one before kicking in the heist in the latter half of the film. We watch as Pratt desperately tries to apply for a promotion at the bank or even get the cadence of pickup line (that he wrote down in his always present notebook) right. His life is carefully ordered which helps keep his sanity intact, but when that order is challenged not only is the tension felt but the emotional fallout is equally devastating. But the film wouldn't succeed if the supporting characters weren't as well sketched out as they are here. Pratt's roommate Lewis is the film's humor and logic. He speaks the audiences fears and keeps Pratt's anger in check, and is a reminder to him that while things are tough, they could be worse. The other friend is Deputy Ted, played with a charming earnestness by Sergio Di Zio. Though he is onscreen for no more than ten minutes he plays a pivotal role in how the heist unfolds and as the audience grows attached to him, the grip around our hearts is tightened when this small town cop is suddenly involved in a big city crime.

Scott Frank already has a tremendous reputation with Get Shorty, Out Of Sight and Minority Report to his name. With The Lookout he settles comfortably into the director's chair. Much like fellow colleague Tony Gilroy, who also asserted his directorial prowess for this first time last year with Michael Clayton, Frank also shows flair with a tightly focused script, solid writing and sharp editing choices. The Lookout is another notch in Frank's belt, and one of the finest, shrewdest heist films in years.

The Golden Compass (Chris Weitz, 2007)

After the monumental financial and critical success of the Lord Of The Rings trilogy New Line studios were eager to launch another franchise that would reap the same rewards. The recipe for the Lord Of The Rings was certainly simple: a built in fanbase; a director with a reverential and dedicated love of the source material; and a savvy plan to shoot the entire trilogy simultaneously with a relatively modest (given the scope of the project) $300 million budget.

Perhaps still reeling in the excessive spoils of the Lord Of The Rings, New Line ignored virtually every rule that made that trilogy a worldwide phenomenon. The one thing they got right was in acquiring the rights to Philip Pullman's "His Dark Materials" trilogy, a cult favorite. However, in every other aspect of the production they got it wrong. Prior to this film, director Chris Weitz - who even left the project during pre-production stages - was previously known for directing American Pie, the tepid Chris Rock fantasy Down To The Earth and the sort of well received Hugh Grant film, About A Boy. Where Peter Jackson cut his teeth on fantasy films, Weitz is a rookie to the genre. Next, the first film alone cost an astronomical $200 million dollars. Finally, where the Lord Of The Rings tried to stay as close to the source as possible, leaving as little out as they could, prior to the release of The Golden Compass fans were already openly appalled at their perceived watering down of the thematic elements of the novel and the removal of several key sequences.

Going into the film, I had not read the books, but as soon as the cinema darkened I could already tell I was being given the Cliff Notes version. The film begins with a lengthy voiceover to explain the various terminologies and aspects of the plot we're about to be thrown into. Instead of a fascinating and organic learning process, the audience is given just enough to understand what is going on. Clearly trying to cram as much of the book as possible into two hours, Weitz simply moves the film along from plot point to plot point. The characters themselves are mere sketches and are simply divided into good guys and bad guys. I won't bore you with recounting everything here, but simply put there is a young girl who holds the fate of the entire world in her hands as she battles fascistic government forces and begins a quest that will dismantle their plans for complete control over the population. Her secret weapon? The titular, shiny navigation device. Her allies? A cowboy with a Texan drawl, a badass armored polar bear, a band of gypsies and a bevy of beautiful witches.

I'm giving the film more difficulty than I ought because, it is a generally entertaining movie. But there is a problem when one of the most fascinating characters in the film is a CGI polar bear. That said, the cast here is uniformly excellent. Newcomer Dakota Blue Richards holds her own against a roster of seasoned actors, while the constantly underrated Nicole Kidman not only looks gorgeous in about a half dozen fantastic outfits but is particularly devilish as the film's quasi femme fatale. The last forty five minutes of the film contain some great set pieces including an amazing, animated polar bear fight sequence that left the theater literally gasping with its shocking conclusion. The story itself is actually quite good, if run through rather perfunctorily.

The film did dismal business in the United States, but scored better in the overall worldwide box office numbers. But those numbers are nothing close to what the Lord Of The Rings took in and given the cost of The Golden Compass, most analysts consider it to be a financial failure. That, combined with the fact that none of the A-list cast is signed on for any more films, the chance of a sequel seems unlikely. Pullman fans will have to enjoy what they have here even it is served up somewhat tepidly, while fantasy fans will have to just sit and await the two-part Hobbit film now in pre-production to feed their Lord Of The Rings sized hunger.

Kiss Me Deadly (Robert Aldrich, 1955)

When I discovered the world of classic film, I became particularly obsessed with gangster and film noir pictures. I watched them incessantly, picking up anything with Humphrey Bogart, James Cagney or Edward G. Robinson sneering on the VHS or DVD cover. When I had run through those, I read about film noir and immediately picked up any film of note, loving every last morsel of tough dialogue and shadowy atmosphere. However, there are a few films I've missed along the way and one of the biggest, until recently, is the generally revered Kiss Me Deadly.

Based on the novel by Mickey Spillane and the fourth film by the heralded genre director Robert Aldrich, Kiss Me Deadly occupies a somewhat dated spot in film noir history. To be certain, film noir in general, with its colorful language and aesthetic boundaries dates itself, but the best films transcend those trappings to become timeless thrillers or existential exercises. Unfortunately, when the plot hinges on a particular moment in world history as Kiss Me Deadly does, the results are awkward when watching them over fifty years later.

The film definitely starts off with an effective bang. A woman comes running out of the brush near the side of a highway wearing nothing but a trench coat and screaming for someone to stop. A handsome man, with a convertible and look that says he's seen it all before, picks her up. Even though a news bulletin gives her away as a wanted woman, the man plays it cool, guiding her through a police stop and listening to her story. She is gripped by fear, worrying that someone is out to get her - and she's right. She doesn't get very far in telling her tale when the car is run off the road and she's killed. Fade to a clever reverse credit scroll.

The man in the car is private eye Mike Hammer and of course, he feels duty bound to find out who killed the mystery woman and why. Thus begins a Hammer's journey through the nameless city's seamy underbelly, as he interviews a variety of low lives to unravel this case. Naturally, the police tell him to back off as do an assorted array of baddies, but Hammer keeps his jaw squared and his eyes steely.

Behind the camera, Aldrich shows a keen eye. He keeps the viewer off balance by shooting from high up, placing the camera in corners, accenting the depth of the hallways and staircases, while throwing ominous shadows all over the place. But none of it is over the top as Aldrich maintains a steady atmosphere without it becoming a crutch. Additionally, the film benefits from some nice on location shooting around Los Angeles, adding to the heat infused tension as the film moves forward.

Unfortunately, at the midpoint of the film it is revealed that a box of nuclear material is at the center of the growing body count of brooding bad guys. What would have been a legitimate scare near the beginning of the Cold War becomes a device that throws believability right out the window. Why is the government not involved if the police are already aware of what is going on? Are we to believe that nuclear material can be stored in a box in a gym locker and is only dangerous when opened? From here the film becomes tiresome and hysterical, right up to it's finale. The 1955 theatrical release cuts about one minute from the ending, leaving things ambiguous while suggesting that every character we've come to know over the past hour and a half ends up dead. The restored ending, featured on the MGM DVD, brings back the missing sixty seconds and offers up something more conventional if just as unsatisfying.

Kiss Me Deadly is ably directed, with a strong cast and a proper assortment of eccentric locals and shifty characters. But when viewed fifty years later, it simply doesn't hold up.