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.

It's the little moments in Farhadi's film that are its most important, speaking every bit as loudly as its big, narrative-driving moments.

Amour is a far cry from the warm-and-fuzzy version of love that most people are probably looking for on Valentine's Day. This movie is more of a slap than a hug. But reality hurts sometimes - just like love does.

Positively soars.

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.

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.

Merely from a film-study standpoint, it's an interesting exercise.

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

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.

A thoroughly uplifting bit of cinema.

Imagine Norman Rockwell had he been more of a realist than a nostalgist.

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

Pitt and Hill are fantastic individually, and hilarious when together -- and on a surprisingly engaging script by Aaron Sorkin ("Social Network") and Steve Zaillian ("Schindler's List").

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.

A thoroughly and unmistakably modern film so rooted in the now that it's bound to be remembered as a cinematic landmark.

It is a thoughtful film, a serious one, and one that is sneakily affecting.

Sharp, brisk and highly entertaining.

What Anderson's talky and willfully opaque film doesn't have, however, is an unfailingly compelling story to tell.

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.

It's the same fine line that so often separates artfulness and "trying too hard" -- a line that Lebanon tramples all over.

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

All of the pieces fall into place by the third act -- or most of them, anyway. But Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy is such a cold, unemotional film that getting there is a chore, muting the payoff.

If you appreciate historical melodrama, you could do worse than Vincere.

All in all, Nichols ends up with a richly drawn, and at times disturbing, portrait of one man's descent into madness.

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

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

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

The resulting slowdown, as well as a significant narrative shift, gives Looper a slightly sprawling and ungrounded feel at times, almost as if the first and second halves are two separate movies.

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

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

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

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

It's also a British comedy, with that singularly British way of being clever and deliriously juvenile all at once, a combination that makes for scathing, laugh-out-loud, big-screen satire.

Even though it's right there in the title, "fantastic" might be a touch hyperbolic in describing director Wes Anderson's stop-motion adaptation of Roald Dahl's The Fantastic Mr. Fox, but only by a whisker.

Extraordinarily engaging but surprisingly sobering.

While Pina will undoubtedly be well-received by modern-dance devotees, it does little to take advantage of the enormous opportunity to open the door for newcomers.

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.

Even if the obligatory third-act twist arrives with all the subtlety of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, Drag Me to Hell otherwise steers mostly clear of predictability.

Dumont's fans might find this latest exercise enjoyable, but his style of filmmaking is an acquired taste. I doubt those without that taste are going to acquire it here.

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.

A beautifully uncomplicated story, really -- about the love between daddies and their little girls.

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

The film is chilled by characters that never really come alive or generate any deep sympathy.

The performances are strong enough to elevate things. Darin, Villamil and Francella are the kinds of actors who you just know you've seen before, but whom you probably haven't.

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

Don't expect there to be a run on Secret of Kells action figures any time soon.

You'd think that a movie about such a dynamic moment and such a vibrant ad campaign would be more dynamic and vibrant.

Berger's film is still far more magical than it is macabre. And so although a black-and-white, foreign-film adaptation of a very familiar tale might, indeed, be a hard sell, audiences who buy into it are in for an undeniably rewarding movie-going experience. In a word: ¡Ole!

It's that zippy dialog more than anything that moves "Django" along and that coaxes such fantastic performances from its actors.

The sky is far from falling on the Bond franchise. In fact, it is as good as it has ever been. What's more, Craig is reportedly on board for at least two more outings, so Q had better get to work on those bifocals because 007 is no where near ready for retirement.

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

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.

The result is an intelligent and well-crafted film that works to inspire audiences by finding the humor amid the prevailing bittersweetness of life, and that celebrates the strength of the human spirit with a dose of unbridled and entirely embraceable optimism.

That's some admirably mature stuff for a kid's flick in this day of rampant pandering, but it also helps rob the film of a certain breathless, edge-of-your-seat appeal. In other words, there are lulls here.

As a result, the slickly produced Food, Inc. is more deeply unsettling than it is out-and-out stomach-turning.

This is not a feel-good movie. This is the frigid, hard-to-embrace cinematic opposite of a feel-good movie, in fact -- all wrapped in one long, dark metaphor for depression.

This is a dirty, stinky Western -- the kind where authenticity is the guiding artistic hand and where a layer of filth and grime have seemingly settled over everything but the popcorn in your lap.

This is a film custom-made for dog lovers.

It boasts strong acting and a nice dose of suspense.

Many scenes, like Another Year itself, don't actually go anywhere.

As it is, it's little more than an artful rehash -- which means that anyone who wants closure to the story, or to see justice truly served, will have to wait a little longer.

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

While Pariah starts out as a film with moments of predictability, it evolves into a smart, compelling -- and optimistic -- portrait of heartbreak and hope.

Precious is painful, it is harrowing, it is emotionally exhausting. It is also a singular film, one that is as difficult to compare to another as it is to forget.

The only thing missing from the film -- which is frequently amusing but too bleak to be consistently laugh-out-loud funny -- is a genuine connection with its audiences, or at least those audiences not raised in 1960s Jewish suburbia.

A punch-drunk tale whose fitful ramble from Jerry Springer-style family seaminess to "Rocky"-like triumph is elevated enormously by knockout performances.

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

With its emphasis on relationships and character, Drive can best be described as a thinking man's action film -- or at least, it could if it didn't ultimately feel so oddly slight. As it is, for all of its positives, it functions mostly as a guilty pleasure rather than as a movie that resonates the way, say, "Blue Valentine" does.

The result is a movie built upon big ideas -- and timely ones, too, delivering a message of understanding in this frustrating age of great intolerance -- but also a great story and, thanks to Lee, a wonderfully satisfying cinematic journey.

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.

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.

Arriving with a savage grace, director Darren Aronofsky's nightmare-come-to-life Black Swan cements his reputation not only as one of the more daring filmmakers of his generation, but also as an actor's director of the first order.

A dramatic comedy that is light on plot but generous in spirit, a leisurely, understated film that underscores the ever-present modern guilt while -- oddly, given the weightiness of that central conceit -- boasting a satisfying buoyancy.

It's a film for patient moviegoers. But for those moviegoers, it stands to be a rewarding experience.

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

Doesn't rise as much as it flounders and frustrates, in what would appear to be a case of a filmmaker prioritizing ego over efficiency, and engaging in generally muddled storytelling.

An Ireland-set charmer oozing with a satisfying intelligence and driven by the considerable charisma of Brendan Gleeson ("Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows").

Director David Yates picks up where he left off with "Order of the Phoenix," assembling a nicely paced and artfully shot adventure.

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

The movie documents much more than a talent competition -- it documents a political movement.

There's a good reason why the true-crime film The Imposter is a documentary: If someone tried to pass off this bizarre Texas tale as fiction, nobody would believe it.

A singularly enjoyable and moving film.

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

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.

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.

Almodovar lets his movie become boring, and insufferably so.

Doesn't boast enough universal meaning to make it truly sing.

It continuously feels less like straight-up reportage and more like a fan film, one built on equal parts idol worship and wishful thinking.

It's called Chico & Rita, but their film could just as easily have been titled "Chico & Cuba." In both cases, it's a film are about a long-lost love, and in both cases it is steeped in such a pitch-perfect sense of place -- and affection -- that you can almost smell the cigar smoke as it unfolds.

World War II dramas might be common enough, but, amid them all, Lore stands as an uncommon entry in the genre.

Complemented by striking, well-conceived visuals, in Fukunaga's hands Bronte's tale of love and woe becomes one well worth repeating.

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.

The quietly moving drama Martha Marcy May Marlene must be thought of as an "arrival" film. That is, for all that it has going for it (and, it must be said, against it), if it is remembered for anything it will be for introducing a 22-year-old newcomer named Elizabeth Olsen.

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

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 Dangerous Method still feels as if it's based on a rather pedestrian narrative --and so, in the final analysis, Cronenberg's film bores.

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