Page One: Inside the New York Times (2011)

A scene from Andrew Rossi's enthralling documentary
"Page One: Inside the New York Times."

We learn early on that the title refers to the Page One meeting, a morning ritual in which the editors of each section meet with the executive editors to carefully consider what stories will be on the front page the next day. For reporters and columnists, getting your byline on the coveted front page is a big deal just about anywhere, but perhaps nowhere is it a bigger deal than at the New York Times.

Watching the nostalgic first few frames of “Page One: Inside the New York Times”—dozens of hard copy editions roll out from printing presses and delivery trucks carry them away—offers a quixotic glimpse of a romantic, ink-stained past. Indeed, with more and more of the masses shifting to the Internet, dwindling circulation and plummeting advertising revenues forcing some newspapers into bankruptcy, the reality is starkly different. The movie poses a dark question—will the Times eventually go out of business?

The answer and the paradigm shift of traditional media into the digital age is comprehensively contained in this revealing, enthralling and masterful documentary directed, co-written and photographed by Andrew Rossi, whose largely unfettered access to the Times leads to a smart and sometimes very funny behind-the-scenes look at the inner workings of the venerable newspaper.

Several writers are prominently featured, including the late David Carr, the acerbic and charismatic old-school reporter who joins Twitter during the movie and explores the ways in which social media has changed the information landscape; Brian Stelter represents the new breed, an online whiz-kid whose digital savvy helped transform the young upstart from anonymous blogger to hotshot Times reporter; and Bruce Headlam, whose movie star good looks contradict his status as the pragmatic and harried media desk editor.

Among its many fascinating topics, the film explores the controversy surrounding WikiLeaks and founder Julian Assange; argues whether newspapers are still relevant in an age of ‘citizen journalists,’ when anyone with a camera phone can shoot shaky, hand-held footage and post the blurry results to sites like YouTube; and, by examining both Judith Miller’s dubious reporting for the Times in the early stages of the Iraq war as well as the plagiarism scandal of Jayson Blair, it even turns a fair-minded, critical eye on the paper itself.

As soon as “Page One: Inside the New York Times” was over, I wanted nothing more than to open up the laptop and search for some of the stories that were featured. Some of them I had already read—like Carr's sweeping expose on the crass, reckless new management at Tribune Company lining their pockets with big bonuses while losing millions, destroying careers and running a once proud business into the ground—but would joyously re-read nonetheless, like a favorite book.

Some movies are great because they inspire you to think. This one inspires you to want to read a newspaper.

The Exploding Girl (2009)

Zoe Kazan deep in thought in "The Exploding Girl."

Ivy doesn't say much, but spend some time with the main character in “The Exploding Girl” and you quickly realize that what she lacks in loquaciousness, she more than makes up for in quiet, thoughtful contemplation. As portrayed by the expressive, excellent Zoe Kazan, Ivy is a girl with a lot going on beyond those bright blue eyes of hers.

The title of the movie—a lovely, ruminative character study with a hint of romantic longing written, directed and edited by Bradley Rust Gray—refers to all of Ivy's superfluous inner anguish which seems to put the complicated young adult in danger of bursting at the seams at any moment.

The movie covers the week of her college spring break in New York, where Ivy struggles to have a social life in between increasingly heartbreaking cell phone calls with a physically and emotionally distant boyfriend who drifts from and finally breaks up with her. If that weren’t enough, she also must take medication to control epilepsy, which leaves her feeling tired.

Meanwhile, fellow college student Al (Mark Rendall), Ivy’s childhood friend, returns to her life and they begin spending more time together. Al is one of those ordinary-looking guys, bookish and smart but skinny, halting and awkward, who wouldn’t seem to stand a chance with a pretty girl like Ivy. But as the movie unfolds, we notice hints that his feelings have grown deeper over time; he’s desperate to get past the “just friends” stage and inch closer to a relationship. If only she would notice.

Whether they get together is a surprise better left unrevealed. Worth noting is that true to spirit of this gentle and airy film, when something does eventually happen, Gray handles it with a sense of exquisite subtly that is rare, genuine and refreshing. This is one of those movies where day dreaming and quiet moments in a conversation—and the characters’ facial expressions—are as important and illuminating as what’s ever said.

Quill: The Life of a Guide Dog (2004)

A scene from "Quill: The Life
of a Guide Dog."

Most dogs are born into this world to eventually become pets, treasured members of the family who provide enthusiastic loyalty and unbridled love to their owners while asking for very little in return. But Quill, the yellow Labrador retriever at the center of the bright and engaging “Quill: The Life of a Guide Dog”—a Japanese film directed by Yoichi Sai, adapted from a novel by Ryohei Akimoto and Kengo Ishiguro, and based on a true story—is poised for a lifetime of important service in helping a blind person to gain a measure of independence.

We follow Quill from puppydom, when it is determined that his distinct curiosity and capacity for individual thought separate him from the pack. The idea is neatly established in a scene in which Quill resists running along in sequence with the rest of his litter; instead, he stays by himself seemingly in quiet contemplation. Along with natural patience, Quill seems to have a unique desire to learn, a couple of integral components in becoming a guide dog.

Quill is born in Tokyo but his first year is spent in Kyoto with a pair of “puppy walkers,” who provide a loving home, care and safety, and lots of exercise for prospective guide dogs. It is the puppy walker’s responsibility, the narrator explains, to teach a dog to trust and feel comfortable around humans, which probably doesn’t sound like much of a challenge to anyone who has ever encountered a lab.

After Quill turns one, he leaves for a training facility to be taught the intricate points of being a guide dog—like knowing when to stop his master at a street curb, letting the owner know when there are obstacles blocking his path, or even when to disobey a master’s command if it puts him in danger (such as crossing a street against the traffic signal).

When Quill is ready to be on his own, he is put in charge of a blind journalist named Mitsuru Watanabe (Kaoru Kobayashi), a mild curmudgeon who gets around using a cane and doesn’t much care for dogs at first. But labs, in addition to being intelligent, are one of gentlest and most affectionate of all breeds, and soon Quill and Watanabe become inseparable friends.

Along with some sad and unapologetically sentimental moments, there is humor in the movie, especially during scenes when Quill is at play. Indeed, he loves his work, because his work involves people. Still, the moments when he is just being a regular dog, getting into childish mischief—like he does at one point in a scene with Watanabe’s young son—are fun to watch and provide an intriguing contrast to the “on the job” scenes.

When you consider this film and how many other things dogs are capable of doing—beagles and bloodhounds sniffing out bombs and drugs, border collies keeping herds of cows and horses in check, German Shepherds doubling as police dogs—it’s not surprising how far ahead they are in the hierarchy of domesticated animals. By being a story of one special dog, “Quill: The Life of a Guide Dog” pays tribute to all of them.

Populaire (2012)

Romain Duris and Deborah Francios in "Populaire."

Speed typing contests—using those quaint, erstwhile antiques called manual typewriters—were apparently popular enough during the 1950s to fill up a grand ballroom roughly the size of Radio City Music Hall. At least that's the case in "Populaire," the ponderous and formulaic but ebullient and irresistibly charming French romantic comedy by first-time director Regis Roinsard.

These days, the contest would be usurped by speed texting drills and dominated by gossipy high school freshman with quick trigger thumbs. In Roinsard's film, the participants tend to be eager, attractive young women angling for a career in the competitive world of professional secretaries. What can you say, things were different back then.

The story introduces us to Rose Pamphyle, a twenty-something French girl who hears about one of the contests and decides to travel to compete. Desperate to escape her small, provincial town and working in her father's nondescript retail store, she sees it as a chance for a big break. Also, she just happens to be able to type really, really fast.

Rose finds employment as a secretary at an insurance office run by Louis Echard (Romain Duris), a smooth operator who quickly discovers Rose's potential for typing greatness as she hammers away at the keys—initially using the dependable two-finger method—with fluid dexterity and lightning speed. Thinking she has the stuff to be a future world champion, he convinces her to move from his office to his sprawling mansion so she can practice full time.

Their relationship remains platonic at first—like a trainer and an athlete, cute workout montages feature Louis cycling while Rose jogs, borrowed from the "Rocky" movies—but romance is bound to bloom sooner or later between this handsome teacher and pulchritudinous protégé.

The movie lurches along during its last half hour, moving through a checklist of tedious romantic comedy clichés—the couple suffers the obligatory break up followed by the inevitable reconciliation—and nearly losing all the lighthearted comic momentum that sustained it as far. "Populaire" recovers in the end by the time Rose finds herself in New York at the silly yet surprisingly entertaining speed typing world finals.

Even though set in the 50s, “Populaire” has some of the appeal of Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell in the 1940 “His Girl Friday,” or the Astaire-Rogers musical act of the 1930s. The formula is usually the same, a mismatched couple who exchange sarcastic quips but stick together just long enough to fall in love.

By far the best thing going for "Populaire" is its engaging heroine. Rose is played by Deborah Francios, a Belgian actress with an easy charm and instant likability. A plucky, adorable presence with strawberry blonde hair and a soft smile, Francios makes Rose so easy to root for that it forgives the screenplay's weaker, more predictable moments.

Grizzly Man (2005)

“Grizzly Man” is the 2005 documentary directed by the great German filmmaker Werner Herzog (“Nosferatu the Vampyre,” 1979) about the late adventurer Timothy Treadwell, a Long Island, N.Y. native who made annual trips to Alaska to live among and document bears during the summer months. In 2003, during a rainy and windswept day near the end of one expedition, Treadwell and his girlfriend, Amie Huguenard, were viciously mauled and gruesomely killed by a bear. It is captured on audio, but too horrifying even for Herzog to consider sharing with his audience here.

A cursory research reveals that an adult male grizzly bear can stand over nine feet tall on its hind legs, weigh almost one thousand pounds, and have claws up to four inches long. They usually will not attack a human unless they feel threatened, or are surprised at close range. Amazingly, little to none of this information is learned from “Grizzly Man,” despite the fact that Herzog went through 100 hours of film that Treadwell shot during his 13 summers spent observing bears at Katmai National Park on the Alaskan Peninsula.

Indeed, the movie has far less to do with bears than it has to do with Treadwell, who comes across as a deeply troubled man, whose disillusionment with the world and failures at life drove him into the wilderness to the only place left where he thought he could reign supreme. He tried college, but dropped out after losing an athletic scholarship; he almost made a splash as an actor, but quickly washed out after apparently losing out (to Woody Harrelson) a chance to be on the TV show Cheers. If people let him down, he seemed to believe the bears wouldn’t.

So he journeys into the wild to be with the bears under a half-baked, delusional guise of being their protector from things like poachers (even though Katmai is a federally protected national park where poaching is illegal). Many times during “Grizzly Man,” we encounter him walking up to bears, talking to the huge animals using a silly, high-pitched, infantile voice—the way that people sometimes talk to their dogs or cats or babies. At one point, he answers some of his critics with an angry, rambling, expletive-laced harangue into the camera, vowing to keep returning and fighting for bears. Treadwell’s level of condescension and narcissism is almost as astonishing as the details of his death are lurid and ironic.

Still, Herzog’s film is well made and consistently fascinating. As baffling, delusional and unlikable as Treadwell is as a subject, his story remains a strange and twisted cautionary tale of madness and obsession that spilled over into macabre tragedy.

Dark Horse (2012)

“Dark Horse” is another look at alienation and aimlessness in contemporary suburbia by New Jersey filmmaker Todd Solondz. This one centers on thirty-something Abe (Jordan Gelber), a depressed, slovenly, overweight man-child still living in the room he grew up in—complete with walls and shelves decorated with posters and lined with countless toy collectibles, an obsessive hobby carried over from childhood—at his parent’s house.

Selma Blair and Jordan Gelber
in "Dark Horse."

Abe's typical day involves working for his father (Christopher Walken) at a boring office job he hates, taking life advice from a mousy secretary (Donna Murphy) who transforms into a seductress during a bizarre dream sequence, and sneaking out to the local toy store where he argues with supercilious retail clerks. But Abe's world changes when he meets his possible soul mate in the waifish Miranda (Selma Blair), a similarly moribund introvert still living at home, and announces plans to marry her.

As romantic partners go, the awkward moments between Abe and Miranda generate about as much spark as a wet book of matches, so when Solondz unleashes a cringe-worthy third act twist—Miranda reveals she has hepatitis B and may have passed it along to Abe—the results seem like a desperate reach for sympathy.

Solondz became a kind of poet of the odd after his masterful debut “Welcome to the Dollhouse” (1995), a brilliantly caustic and surprisingly moving coming of age satire about a lonely, outcast girl struggling with family and school and the cruel vicissitudes of growing up in a world that never seems to understand her. The characters are somewhat similar, if older, in “Dark Horse,” but the new movie is a disappointment, dreary and lifeless—lacking the sardonic wit, razor sharp edge and heart that made a movie like “Welcome to the Dollhouse” special.

A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night (2014)

Sheila Vand plays a vampire in the visually striking
Iranian film, "A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night." 

A beautiful and mysterious female vampire roams the dark and desolate streets, satiating her strange thirst for blood while avenging crimes in “A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night,” the stylish and often scintillating black and white debut feature from Iranian director Ana Lily Amirpour. Screened at the 2014 Sundance Film Festival and cleverly billed as a Persian vampire western, the movie is a visually striking and irresistibly entertaining amalgam of horror, film noir and dark comedy.

The movie was filmed in Taft, California near Bakersfield but takes place in a fictitious town called Bad City, distinctly imagined by Amirpour as an industrial wasteland of sorts, with cold, deserted streets lined with hazy, orbed streetlamps casting harsh, high-contrast light and shadows. Such visual details, along with oil rigs and power plants belching clouds of smoke in the background, evoke the Mexican border town of Orson Welles’ masterful film noir “Touch of Evil” (1958). There’s even a deep ravine running along one lonely road, perfect for dumping the occasional corpse.

“I’ve done bad things,” the main character, known only as The Girl (Sheila Vand, dangerous and radiant, like an archetypal femme fatale), confesses at one point. She’s not the only one. In Bad City, a variety of denizens—prostitutes, pimps, drug addicts—ensure the place lives up to its name. Our lone vampire often appears sad-eyed and taciturn, at once mournful and vulnerable, yet eerily capable of quick, scary bursts of violence.

But the movie is not strictly atmosphere and dread. One night, after frightening a small boy, the vampire ends up with the kid’s skateboard and a bit of dark, almost farcical comedy follows as she is seen incongruously speeding down the street like a teenager, the toy’s wheels whirring obliviously underneath. Another funny moment—when the vampire emotionlessly mimics a man, stalking him as he walks on the opposite side of the street—is reminiscent of the Marx brothers. The way Amirpour finds oddly ingenious ways to insert humor into the story without violating the integrity of the characters recalls some of Jim Jarmusch’s work, like the deadpan classic “Stranger than Paradise” (1984).

The interesting use of lenses and focal depth also make “A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night” consistently stunning to look at. Amirpour is fascinated with lighting and shifting focus between foreground and background characters, leading to some luminous, Tarantino-esque imagery. The way the director goes from a close-up of a cat’s eye to the shape of the vampire seen from behind—thematically linking woman and beast—plays like an elegant homage to Jacques Tourneur’s brilliant noir “Cat People” (1942).

There is the slightest premonition of romance when the protagonist meets the morose, tortured but basically good-hearted Arash (Arash Marandi). But whether the vampire can leave the demons of Bad City behind long enough to escape with the handsome hero is better left unsaid. “A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night” might sound like a lot of parts that don’t quite make up a whole, but that said, those parts are pretty good and Amirpour’s unquestionable artistry is worth watching.