To his credit, however, the often-playful Blomkamp never bludgeons his audience with any specific message. He's too busy letting 'er rip with his edge-of-your-seat, and unapologetically violent, sci-fi adventure.

His (Jonze) obvious affection for, and veneration of, Maurice Sendak's 1963 Caldecott Medal-winning children's book is palpable in his near-perfect live-action adaptation, a dreamy -- and, like Sendak's book, faintly nightmarish -- exploration of one child's tantrum-y side.

It's a tremendously moving drama, filled with heartbreak, humor and, more importantly, humanity.

More than anything this is an intelligent film, a satisfying bit of old-school sci-fi suspense.

A thoroughly uplifting bit of cinema.

Not only does it deliver a powerful message, but it is wrapped in an immensely entertaining package.

After watching the bailouts, the bank foreclosures and the Bernie Madoffs of the world dominate headlines, Michael Moore is mad as hell, and he's going to try to make you mad as hell, too.

More than anything else, however, director Jacques Audiard's gritty, grab-you-by-the-shirtfront film is a mob movie -- a really, really good mob movie. Think "GoodFellas," but with Gauloises and accent aigu instead of plates of spaghetti and accent Pesci.

It's one of the most engaging foreign films to come along since 'Tell No One' in 2008.

Like "The Hurt Locker," Winter's Bone is a spare but riveting drama with a female director. It is built around a raw, revelatory performance by a young, little-known lead actor.

Positively soars.

A film that is beautiful, harrowing, heartbreaking -- and necessary.

The result is a ripped-from-the-Zeitgeist film that is razor-sharp, an astute and funny portrait of the early 2000s, with all its LOL's, its IMO's and its WTF's. Mostly its WTF's.

It is beautiful, and it is difficult to watch. It is heartwarming, and it is heart-wrenching. It is absorbing, and it's unsettling.

127 Hours -- just like "Slumdog Millionaire" -- is a masterful slice of four-star cinema, featuring an irresistible performance by James Franco, breathtaking cinematography, and the kind of deep, searching soul that is absent from so much of what comes out of Hollywood.

This film is undoubtedly a piece of art, as much so as a Picasso painting, one that invites viewers to immerse themselves, scratch their heads and consider it.

A dazzling, stirring capper to a once-in-a-generation movie franchise.

The Help isn't intended to be so much a movie about the ugliness of the era than an optimistic tale of what can spring from that kind of ugliness, about the ability of people to love one another even when they're surrounded by hatred. And on that level, The Help succeeds wonderfully, a warm and sweet song of hope.

If there's a complaint, it's that it flirts with rambling once the main case is solved -- nearly 20 minutes before the movie ends. But Fincher uses that remaining time to expand on Lisbeth's character, which is hard to hold against him.

This kind of cinematic delight is a rarity, a warm and masterfully crafted reminder of why we love to go to the movies in the first place.

An entirely fitting Christmas Day release -- filled as it is with magic and talk of miracles -- and easily one of the best films of 2011.

A thoroughly endearing journey, and one of the most enjoyable and touching movies to land in theaters so far this year.

Extraordinarily engaging but surprisingly sobering.

If nothing else, this is a cinematic high-wire act.

His a wonderful, touching story, one that made me want to scoop up every kid I know who has a scrap of creative talent, and have them watch the film. Because Elmo's story is sweet -- but Clash's is nothing short of inspiring.

The U.S. government did torture prisoners of war in the name of its so-called war on terror and, by extension, in the name of all Americans. What Bigelow and Boal seem to be arguing is that such actions take a deep cosmic toll on the people responsible -- whether directly, in the case of Chastain's character, or indirectly, in the case of you and me.

Beasts of the Southern Wild is not only a wonderful story -- a portrait of intestinal fortitude in the face of enormous change -- but it's our story, forged in our own shared recent history and dripping with flood, sweat and tears.

A captivating portrait of the frailty and the failures of humanity.

The result is a human drama that quietly argues that the gift of life isn't one to be taken lightly.

All music docs are not created equal. Yes, some are formulaic. But some are beautiful, some are singular, some are marvels of storytelling. And some, like Searching for Sugar Man, are all three.

What plays out is something like CSPAN 1865. That is, it's dense, talky stuff at times -- particularly at its start, as the film takes a good 15 minutes to gain traction -- but also highly rewarding and instructive.

The House I Live In is not a comfortable film to consider in any respect, but without discomfort it's hard to feel anger - and without anger, it's hard to imagine that anything will ever be done about it.

Watching Mud unfold, one suspects that the Arkansas-reared Nichols remembers exactly what it was like to be a boy of the Southern wilds.

Feels startlingly real and inherently relevant, a shining, sterling example of cinema at its most powerful and urgent.

A simple story about a difficult man, and it's an impressive debut from writer-director Scott Cooper.

It's a career-making performance that relies as much on charm as on acting ability -- and Mulligan has both.

It is edifying, it is emotionally engaging, it is embraceable.

Local viewers will be tickled by the wealth of New Orleans details in the production. One of the best just might be in the film's music.

You know how people say that they don't make romantic comedies like they used to? Turns out they do. At least, director Marc Webb does -- and has -- with his clever and sweet debut, 500 Days of Summer.

A surprisingly uplifting examination of life and loss.

As beautiful as the animation is, Zemeckis' real masterstroke is combining it with a loyalty to Dickens' story.

Bong's film starts out as a comedy, transforms into a quirky Agatha Christie whodunnit and finishes with an unpredictable Hitchcockian flourish.

What Nolan has created with Inception is the rare movie that is bound to improve with repeated viewings, both as a means to drink in its brilliance one more time, and to see what sly clues might have flown under your radar the first time around.

It's a lovely bit of blood-pressure-lowering cinema that never betrays its simple conceit.

This is a self-contained story that stands nicely on its own. How novel.

A movie with a message, but the subtle kind; it's whispered wisdom, wrapped up in a story of mystery, of love, of regret, of repentance and redemption.

A movie that charms its way to being a kind of well-crafted teen touchstone that very well could become to today's generation what "Ferris Bueller" was to teens of the '80s.

An exceedingly well-assembled genre picture, a spell-binding, edge-of-your-seat thriller.

Without subtitles this time, it also stands a very real chance of migrating out of America's art houses and into its multiplexes, where it can sink its teeth into a whole new audience.

Boasting a rich look and an engrossing storyline, it's the rare "to-be-continued" film that doesn't leave its audience feeling cheated.

Almost feels as if it is two different films. One is the opening 20 minutes or so, in which most of the screwball comedy takes place. The other comes when Yimou gets on with the real story. That's where the payoff comes in.

As a result, Hereafter isn't so deep that it will change the way many people think about the afterlife. But it is heartfelt and thoughtful and, in a way, comforting.

One of the chief reasons that director Tom Hooper's richly produced film works so well is because it operates on so many different levels. The King's Speech is all about layers, and Hooper keeps it humming on several at once.

That character flaw makes for some great shock-fueled laughs in Lewis' film -- Giamatti does full-on comic rage as well as anyone.

A documentary that is equal parts sweet science, brutal art and masterful filmmaking.

The only waste would be if people didn't go see it.

The film -- lame of title but big on fun.

The result isn't just the best new romantic comedy released so far this year, but one of the best comedies, period.

At times humorous, at times poignant, but always absorbing.

Both taut and satisfyingly relevant, it presents a portrait of a compromised elections system -- one that should give the left wing, the right wing and the fringe-dwelling nutjobs something they can all agree on. Namely: We're in deep doo-doo.

A lovely jaunt that ends up becoming one of Allen's most enjoyable films, start-to-finish, in years.

A story of hope amid the ruins -- one that everybody can appreciate, no matter their politics.

Built as it is around horrifying moments of intimate violence, the stark British drama Tyrannosaur can be a hard movie to watch. At the same time, though, it's hard to stop watching once it gets going.

Seeing Brannaman work in the warm, sun-dappled documentary Buck makes it clear why he was such a perfect fit for Redford's film: Few people can handle horses the way Brannaman does.