Coraline

A creepy, hugely imaginative story about a young girl, Coraline (Dakota Fanning), who discovers a door into a world of seeming perfection. Her parents aren't the boring, uninterested people she knows in the real world; they treat Coraline like a princess. Trapeze artists, jumping mice and cannons that shoot out cotton candy are just some of the pleasures in this Other world. The fact that all of its inhabitants have buttons where their eyes should be seems a little strange, but that's easy to overlook with everything else the Other world has to offer.

For a children's film, Coraline sure is suspenseful. We know there's something wrong about this world but what is it? And when will Coraline realise it? As with all films aimed at children though, it does have a message, this one being "be careful what you wish for". Behind that though there's something more subtle at work. Like Coraline, the viewer also has to come to an understanding of her parents. The Other world seems so seductive because, in part, we agree with Corlaline: her parents are boring, obsessed with work and slow to show their feelings. Selick turns the table on his viewer by suggesting that a retreat to dull normality is, in fact, the preferable option. All of a sudden, Coraline's parents don't just seem dull, they seem safe. Which is important when your Other mother has turned herself into a creepy spider lady.

I can't rave enough about the design of the film. The Other world is colourful and exciting but there's an eeriness that suffuses every single scene. A frightening, hugely imaginative children's film, much like the sort of children's films we used to get in the 80s (but that could be the rose-tinted glasses talking).

Birth

Ten years after the death of her beloved husband Sean, Upper Manhattanite Anna (Nicole Kidman) is engaged again. However, at a party to announce her engagement to solid, understanding Joseph (Danny Huston), a young boy (Cameron Bright) appears who claims to be Sean's reincarnated spirit. This might sound like a hokey supernatural drama, but Jonathan Glazer has created a thoughtful mood piece and managed to extract one of Kidman's finest performances.

Sean's arrival at first extracts only laughs from Anna, but when Sean becomes more insistent in his advances, a glimmer of uncertainty opens up within Anna that expands as it becomes apparent that his knowledge of her dead husband extends far beyond the trivial and into the thoughts, feelings and secrets they shared when they were together. Or does it? Both Glazer's script and Kidman's careful performance are attuned to the possibility that she is quite capable of fantasising the boy into something he is not. Indeed, a plot twist towards the end of the film would seem to suggest that their relationship might not have been as perfect as Anna remembers it. This is reflected in the ickier implications of Anna's relationship with Sean, which rears its ugly head several times but is ultimately something which Anna is unable to meet head-on.

Glazer's evocation of mood here is excellent, bolstered by an appropriately eerie score from Alexandre Desplat. The increasingly disturbed nature of this central relationship becomes quite a bug to bare within her privileged family; the arrival of an eerily self-possessed child from downtown into their upper middle-class world seems to be more of a problem than Anna's possibly paedophilic tendencies. It is unfortunate that the film is forced to show its hand at the end of the film, which spoils some of Glazer's subtler work earlier on. However, Birth is definitely a worthwhile watch and Kidman has never been better.

Definitely, Maybe

A likeable, smart romantic comedy with a rather uncharismatic Ryan Reynolds playing Will, an ad exec who has just received divorce papers from his wife. Prompted by the imminent separation of her parents, daughter Maya (Abigail Breslin, irritating beyond belief) asks to know how they first met and fell in love, hoping for a reconciliation. Will agrees, but on the condition that Maya has to guess which of the three women Will has loved, ended up becoming his wife (he's changed their names). The choices are college sweetheart Emily (Elizabeth Banks), intelligent sophisticate Summer (Rachel Weisz) or fiery free spirit April (Isla Fisher)?

Will's story begins in the early 90s as he works on the Clinton campaign and the passing of time is marked by obvious political signifiers rather than the fashion or the music. The first third of the film is the least successful. Elizabeth Banks is stuck in the same cute-but-dull role that she's mined to better effect elsewhere. Definitely, Maybe is much more interesting when we're in the company of Summer and April. Rachel Weisz manages to make a potentially irritating character sympathetic and believable. Meanwhile, Isla Fisher demonstrates that she's the most gifted comic actress this side of Anna Faris with a totally lovable, sparkly performance that's equal amounts flinty wit and vulnerability.

It's obvious from a fairly early stage who Will truly loves out of the three women, but the script has some fun with themes of storytelling, pointing out Will's ability to write and rewrite his own destiny. Or perhaps that's reading too much into a film that is, ultimately, just some good-natured fun.

The Class

A supremely confident movie, based on François Bégaudeau's semi-autobiographical novel Entre Les Murs and starring the author himself as the teacher at the centre of the story, it's easy to see why Laurent Cantet's movie has been such a critical success. Spread out over the course of an academic year, the film documents François' time as a French teacher, following his interactions with both the students and the faculty.

The first hour or so of the film feels almost loose, as the viewer is invited to observe the dynamics of the classroom and François' interactions with the class. These scenes are electric. Certain abrasive students come to the fore, not only as a way to avoid work but also as a way to confirm their standing amongst their peers and to question the socio-political prejudices of their teacher; at one point, a student asks him why he only ever uses Caucasian names when he writes out examples of French on the blackboard. However, this improvisational feel belies the work that has gone into the incredibly nuanced screenplay. We witness the ebb and flow of the classroom. A girl who was friendly the previous summer is sullen when she returns for the autumn semester, two friends fall out only to make up again a few weeks later, the more academically gifted students struggle to make themselves heard above their noisier classmates. François is aware of all of this but the students' private lives remain hidden as, indeed, does that of François himself. A parent/teacher evening provides the viewer with some context as to the students' home lives but the script acknowledges the impossibility of the teacher ever "knowing" his students and vice versa.

The climax of the film comes when two girls hear some disparaging remarks François makes about a Malian student, Suleiman, during a teachers' conference. When they inform Suleiman of what the teacher has said, François calls them both "pétasses", a word that that, in certain contexts, can mean "slut". This leads to a confrontation in class and Suleiman storms out of class, accidentally striking another student with his backpack. It is here that Cantet's fascination with language - how it can be used and misappropriated - comes most obviously to the fore. Although François tries to qualify his use of the word "pétasses" he eventually finds himself fighting with the girls in the playground, symbolically battling it out on their turf. His intellectualisation of the confrontation is of no use here and, as far as the two girls are concerned, he has shown his true colours. The additional possibility that Suleiman may be sent back to his home village in Mali adds a further dimension to the school's decision as to whether to expel him or not, and another layer to François' troubled central character.

The Class also involves a hugely moving final scene, which not only radically alters François' assumptions about his students but those of the viewer themselves. We are just as prone to the prejudices and second-guesses of the teacher. A student we had previously thought as sullen and disruptive reveals that she has not only read but understood Plato's Republic and another girl, one who we had barely noticed, reveals that the school year has taught her nothing, that she doesn't understand any of her lessons and that she is frightened about what her future might hold. It's a bold, upsetting final scene and one that lingered long in my mind.

How To Lose Friends And Alienate People

An aimiable enough romantic comedy based on Toby Young's memoir detailing his stint at Vanity Fair. Simon Pegg - all flailing limbs and pratfalls - plays Toby, here offered a job at the fictional celebrity magazine Sharpes, run by media legend Clayton Harding (Jeff Bridges). Desperate to land a date with glamorous up-and-coming actress Sophie Maes (Megan Fox), Toby is paired up with sober junior editor Allison (Kirsten Dunst) with whom, of course, he's destined to fall in love with.

Knowing where a story is going doesn't have to be a problem if we enjoy the journey but, although likeable enough, How To Lose Friends And Alienate People is almost completely devoid of both laughs and charm. A cast of such good actors (and Megan Fox) are ultimately unable to do much with the limp material (including a dead chihuahua, a transsexual and a Polish landlady), although Kirsten Dunst again shows how good she can be even in middling rom-coms such as this. Even if the ending was a bit of a cop-out, at least The Devil Wears Prada had a bit more bite to it...

Confessions Of A Shopaholic

Based on a book by Sophie Kinsella and relocated to New York, Confessions Of A Shopaholic is much more satisfying and funny than it has any right to be. Nearly all of this is down to Isla Fisher, whose perky, adorable performance gives the so-so script a spark that few actresses outside of Anna Faris could have managed. Fisher plays Rebecca, a self-confessed shopaholic whose love of Louis Vuitton and Prada have helped her mount up a rather tremendous amount of debt, a debt she's unable to pay off given that she's just lost her job. Luckily, she finds a new job at Successful Savings magazine (irony alert!) under the tutelage of dreamy-but-penside Luke (Hugh Dancy, rather damp). Rebecca puts financial problems into language that people can understand, namely shoes and handbags apparently, and successfully manages to fib her way not only into the boss' affections but also to catch the eye of Alette Naylor (Kristen Scott Thomas), editor-in-chief of a top fashion magazine.

Even for a frothy romantic comedy, this spends far more time on its protagonist's not-wholly-honest rise to the top than it ever does on the inevitable downspiral and life lessons learned, which works much more in its favour than you might expect. Although there are several questionable elements to the story (would Luke really be duped by Rebecca, for instance?), the amount you're prepared to forgive if there's a good central performance is considerable. After scene-stealing roles in Definitely, Maybe and Wedding Crashers, Isla Fisher seizes her first lead role with both hands, not letting go for a second. The pratfalls and humorous misunderstandings that make up 90% of the film would've felt lame and clichéd in other hands, but they are handled so endearingly here that it's difficult not to be swept away in it all.

In The Bedroom

Surely on the most impressive debut films of the last decade, Todd Field's study of suburban grief is the kind of film that welcomes hyperbole. The story is focused on a middle-aged couple, Ruth and Matt Fowler (Sissy Spacek and Tom Wilkinson), whose son Frank (Nick Stahl) is carrying on an affair with an older woman, Natalie (Marisa Tomei), who is still in the process of divorcing her abusive husband. How serious is Frank about Natalie? It's a question of great concern to Ruth, who is worried that the relationship will impinge upon his plans to study architecture at college. Matt is more benign about the situation, perhaps because he seems to harbour regrets of his own about pursuing a career in medicine rather than following in his father's footsteps as an offshore fisherman.

The first third of Field's movie is concerned with establishing location and character. The cast are given plenty of room to inhabit their characters, perfectly displaying the small tensions and concerns underlying the family dynamics. At the forty minute mark, the movie takes a tragic and unexpected twist. What follows is a study of the different ways in which people grieve, with the emphasis firmly on small details (Ruth's sureptitious glance as her husband helps himself to another glass of wine, a hand run over the ladder of an abandoned treehouse). A blazing row between Ruth and Matt in which truths are told and unkindnesses traded prompts a further, yet more unexpected twist.

Of the four main players, Sissy Spacek arguably makes the biggest impression. Her struggle not only to make sense of her own emotional reaction but also that of her husband's is palpable in every facial twitch, every gesture. Tom Wilkinson is almost as impressive, stoically providing the movie's necessary emotional core.

What is most remarkable about In The Bedroom is how both of its twists work so well in colouring your view of the remaining segment. The first third, a study of a New England family, is subtle, relaxed almost, giving the characters time and space to burrow their way into the viewer's subconscious. The second third is emotionally draining, horrifying, laced with the eerily beautiful Eastern European folk music that Ruth teaches at her school. Field's final act is one of tense manipulation. We know what's coming but we're uncertain as to whether we want to see it. Like David Cronenburg's later A History Of Violence, this is a study of suburban living, of how any disruptions, no matter how horrible, can be quelled, repressed and forgotten so that life as we know it can continue. As such, this is a chilling masterwork in grief and the reassertion of middle-class "normality" after a tragedy.

Blindness

Fernando Mereilles has created a visceral film out of José Saramago's allegorical novel about an unnamed city that suddenly becomes blind. Unfortunately, and in spite of its obvious good intentions and faithfulness to the original source, the overriding impression is one of a rather clunky post-apocalyptic thriller. Mark Ruffalo and Julianne Moore play an opthamologist and his wife. He is one of the first people to go blind and she remains the one person who is unafflicted. Inititally, the blind are swept into an isolated facility so as not to infect the rest of the population. Moore's character claims blindness in order to stay with her husband and it's through her eyes that we see the ensuing descent into chaos.

Although the rest of the cast is strong, Julianne Moore is riveting. It's such a pity that she gave two such strong performances in 2008 (the other being in Savage Grace) that won't be seen by a wider audience. As the script doesn't seem overly concerned with character, its through Moore's expressive face that we feel the burden that she has to carry.

For a film that didn't really satisfy me, this gets an awful lot right. The direction and cinematography, both designed to emulate the sensation of blindness are varied and expressive, although those who have seen The Diving Bell and the Butterfly might note some similarities. Mereilles' vision of social degradation is remarkably convincing, scary even. It certainly helps that the location is so carefully established as an oppressive, frightening metropolis bleached of both colour and familiarity. This helps the movie to establish itself as an allegory, but it is this very thoughfulness that ultimately cripples the movie. In spite of Mereilles' careful use of location and a well-chosen cast, certain story elements don't carry over well from the source material. In the novel, the fact that none of the characters had names seemed conducive to Saramago's style of writing but here it appears obvious, patronising even; Danny Glover's voiceover doesn't help. The message of Mereilles' movie seems like one we've heard before, and the script doesn't have enough subtlety of expression to make us really care for these characters.

Having said that, the best scenes (notably an attack on Gael García Bernal's tyrannical inmate) are tense and frightening and any fans of Julianne Moore are bound to want to check this out.

The Painted Veil

1920s London and Kitty (Naomi Watts) is nearing an age where she will be deemed "unmarriagable". Desperate to escape her stifling family home, she hastily marries dull bacteriologist Walter (Edward Norton), who just as hastily whisks her off to Shanghai. There, Kitty has an affair with a married man (Liev Schrieber) and when Walter finds out he punishes his wife by taking her with him into the middle of a cholera epidemic in rural China. What begins as a battle of wills between the mutually resentful couple turns into a love story as their difficult living conditions force Kitty and Walter to see each other in a different light.

Naomi Watts and Edward Norton are well matched, both offering powerful, complex performances. Stuart Dryburgh's cinematography and Alexandre Desplat's score are equally impressive. There are clear parallels drawn between the cholera epidemic and the diseased marriage between the central characters. Whether this conflation of national problems with Kitty and Walter's problems is offensive will probably depend on your point of view but, this problem aside, The Painted Veil is a deeply felt period film about the darkness of the human condition.

Shutter Island Trailer

How bloody awesome does this look? I knew next to nothing about Scorsese's new movie other than its name, which put me off for some strange reason. I had no idea it was a thriller/mystery film, for instance. Or that it had people going mad. I did know that Michelle Williams was part of the cast, which is always a good reason to see anything. And DiCaprio is pretty much a given for Scorsese now. I had no idea that Patricia Clarkson was in it either and, from what we see of her here, she's looking pretty mental. Shutter Island is based on a Dennis Lehane novel and though I didn't enjoy Mystic River nearly as much as a lot of other people did (Laura Linney + rubbish Lady Macbeth role = FAIL), I'm more than interested to see this. Shame it probably won't hit the UK until the end of the year though...

Sliding Doors

Every once in a while, I'll notice that Sliding Doors is on Film4 and I can't help but be taken in all over again. Basically a romantic comedy with a twist, at the start of the movie Helen (Gwyneth Paltrow) is sacked from work and misses her train home. Or she doesn't. In another, alternate reality Helen catches the train in the nick of time and gets home to find her boyfriend having sex with another woman. Whilst one Helen blithely continues with her miserable life, the other gets a hair cut, sets up her own PR company and meets-cute with James (John Hannah), a guy she shares a lift with.

How much of our lives are mapped out for us? Can we really turn our lives around just by looking at things differently? Although Sliding Doors addresses some interesting themes, it's essentially a romantic comedy with a neat twist. Thanfully, the twist serves the story well and it's a credit to director Peter Howitt that he keeps both stories up in the air with relative ease. What's fascinating about the film is how perfectly it manages to capture the late-90s.

Gwyneth Paltrow was busy in 1998; six of her films were released, one of which was multi Oscar-winner Shakespeare In Love. Since then she's mostly been known for a couple of brilliantly dour supporting roles (The Royal Tenenbaums, The Talented Mr. Ripley) and a string of embarrassing failures (Shallow Hal, View From The Top). Sliding Doors shows her at her most likeable and personable, which is still a pleasant surprise given the way that public opinion turned against her after her blubby speech at the Oscars. There are some lovely supporting performances here, notably John Hannah (where is he?), but it's Gwyneth that really shines here.

Another one of the big reasons why I love this movie is its soundtrack. Blair, Dodgy, Jamiroquai and Olive all achieved the peak of their fame at the time, just as Britpop was ending. Their inclusion on the soundtrack helped encapsulate Sliding Doors in the late 90s. The obligatory female singer/songwriter component comes from Aimee Mann, Abra Moore and Dido. Both Mann and Dido were to become ubiquitous on movie soundtracks within the next couple of years so their appearance here might come as a surprise. Aimee Mann's Amateur is a particularly good song choice, played just after Helen discovers that her boyfriend has been cheating on her. Abra Moore's Don't Feel Like Cryin' comes later on, when alterna-reality Helen is putting her life back together.

And, of course, no discussion of Sliding Doors would be complete without bringing up the sucker-punch of an ending. It's here that the film's high concept ideas really gel with the story. In both realities, Helen discovers that she's pregnant before being involved in an accident. In both realities, Helen loses her baby. Whilst our expectations of romantic comedies have led us to believe that the happier Helen will survive, the film does a neat little U-turn. James' final moment with Helen's body is all the more moving because we weren't expecting it. Instead, it's the "other" Helen that has survived, but the film's final moments hint that the two realities aren't as distinct as they might first appear. She finally sees her boyfriend for what he is, orders him to get out of her life and, as she leaves the hospital, runs into James. Her anticipation of James' non-sequitar (the same non-sequitar that he baffled her with in the "other" reality) suggests that Helen's alter-ego might not have died after all, that she has in fact merged with this Helen. It's here that the movie's twin themes of fate and self-determination dovetail perfectly, giving the perfect ending to one of the most impressive romantic comedies of the 90s.

He's Just Not That Into You

A rather strange ensemble romantic comedy adapated from a self-novel that was, in turn, adapted from a one-liner in Sex and the City. Earnest, optimistic Gigi (Ginnifer Goodwin, cute as a button) frets when Conor (Kevin Connolly) doesn't call after their first date. Seeking advice from Conor friend, bar-owner Alex (Justin Long), an unconvincing lothario willing to dispense more honest dating advice than her co-workers Janine (Jennifer Connolly) and Beth (Jennifer Aniston). Meanwhile, Conor wants Anna (Scarlett Johannsson) to commit to him, but she's too busy having an affair with Ben (Bradley Cooper), who's married to Janine. Beth is also having relationship problems; although they've been together for seven years, her boyfriend Neil (Ben Affleck) remains adamant that he's not interested in marriage. In yet another plot strand, Anna's friend Mary (Drew Barrymore) is trying online dating without much success.

The film starts off promisingly, in part because several of the observations it makes about dating and relationships are true. The problem is that they never feel painfully true. He's Just Not That Into You treads a sort of middle ground, unsure whether it wants to offer up a self-help guide or heart-warming romantic comedy. There are far too many plot threads, with Aniston and Barrymore (both such naturals at this sort of thing) feeling particularly under-utilised. A lot of the stories feel like they could've been feature length themselves, which means the movie feels crammed and overlong.

The one character that really resonates is Janine. Jennifer Connolly's buttoned-up performance is irritating at first, but her slow combustion as she realises that she may have married the wrong man feels like it's wandered in from a much better movie. It's a shame that such a fine actress (and an Oscar-winner at that!) should be reduced to flabby rom-coms like this.