DEAR ZACHARY: A LETTER TO A SON ABOUT HIS FATHER (US, Kurt Kuenne)
A true emotional roller coaster, this documentary was made entirely by one person, Kurt Kuenne, and was intended as a home movie to be given to the infant son of Kuenne's lifelong friend Andrew Bagby, who was murdered in cold blood by his monstrous ex-girlfriend when he was only 28. After a stunning series of twists and turns, Kuenne's "letter" to little Zachary, documenting the life and personality of the well-liked Bagby, became something much bigger and infinitely darker. The result is a film that alternately shocks, saddens, angers and occasionally even gives hope. Kuenne has created a work of art, delivering devastating subject matter in an intensely personal manner using an idiosyncratic editing technique that employs quick cuts and repetition to rich effect. Dear Zachary is so strong and so troubling that I can't find many words to describe it. That Kuenne made such a gripping documentary literally all by himself is even more impressive. This is one of the great films of 2008. Even if you have to wait for it on Netflix, you must not miss it.

HAPPY-GO-LUCKY (UK, Mike Leigh)
Another of Leigh's trademark slice-of-life British comedy-dramas, using generally unknown (to Americans) actors who work with their director for months in improv workshops in order to develop fully lived-in, realistic characters, Happy-Go-Lucky's heroine is a 30-year-old Londoner named Poppy (Sally Hawkins) who is thoroughly unflappable in her optimism no matter the situation. Leigh gauges our tolerance for such an exuberantly happy person right up front when, after Poppy fails to engage a surly bookshop employee in conversation, she finds her bicycle stolen and says simply, "Oh no! I didn't even have a chance to say goodbye!" Craftily, this is the most outlandishly Pollyanna-ish Poppy gets. Leigh is no sentimentalist. Nor is he a sadist; a character like Poppy seems in line with the sacrificial lambs in Lars von Trier's Breaking the Waves and Dancer in the Dark. But unlike the lead characters in those films, which I liked a lot, Poppy seems neither naive nor doomed. Von Trier or some Hollywood directors would set up a character like Poppy just to put her good nature to extreme tests (rape, cancer, etc.), and I think Leigh understands that audiences may cynically expect Poppy to get her comeuppance. He does touch on the downside to being nice to everybody, but he does so in a non-melodramatic manner that is truer to the realism of his film, and truest of all to his characters.

Sally Hawkins is wonderful, but the whole cast is great, especially Alexis Zegerman as Poppy's gruff but lovable roommate and the homely Eddie Marsan as Scott, Poppy's driving instructor, possibly the angriest man in England. The interaction between Poppy and Scott drives what little narrative the film has, and it's a pleasure to watch these two actors together. Scott is a bit like David Thewlis's character in Leigh's Naked, minus all charisma. What Leigh does is interesting in that most of the characters in the film are teachers of some sort. (Poppy, unsurprisingly, teaches little kids.) I'm still not entirely sure of the relevance here; perhaps Leigh sees teachers, whether happy or frustrated, as idealists. Indeed, Happy-Go-Lucky is about the bravery it takes to be an idealist, to be optimistic in a world that is anything but. (The film is shot in the plainest, most soulless areas of modern London, emphasizing the difficulty of keeping a free spirit in a place devoid of character.) I find this film endlessly thought-provoking and, in its way, inspirational. As one critic said of Poppy, I believe Leigh the utopian sees her as something of an evolutionary step in humankind; a woman out of place in 2008, perhaps, but a sign of the potential for kindness, empathy and joy that we all have inside us. To call Happy-Go-Lucky a "feel good" movie would be dismissive; it's a real drama, with real characters and real darkness. But in reminding us of the responsibility we all share in making the world a happier place, it is the sweetest, and maybe even the most important, film of the year.

LET THE RIGHT ONE IN (Sweden, Tomas Alfredson)
Completely original horror-drama, set in a snowbound Stockholm suburb in early 1982, about a shy 12-year-old boy who is mercilessly bullied at school until he strikes up an odd friendship with the new girl next door... who happens to be a vampire. Sure to attain cult status, especially among goth teens, Let the Right One In is a canny blend of sympathetic performances, highly creative scenes of violence, remarkable cinematography and a suspenseful story rich in unexpected moments. The film is so well made, in fact, that my only disappointment is that it never delves as deep as one might expect it to. Director Alfredson and screenwriter John Ajvide Lindqvist (adapting his novel) start exploring themes of loneliness, abuse and devotion, but instead of leaving us with something profound, Let the Right One In works mostly as just a really nifty vampire story. Oh well. If that's good enough for them, then it's good enough for me. To anybody already sold on the concept, I highly recommend the film, and that's coming from a guy who likes Swedish movies about a thousand times more than he likes vampire movies.

MILK (US, Gus Van Sant)
Van Sant's long-in-development biopic of Harvey Milk, the slain San Francisco supervisor and gay civil rights activist, finally comes to the big screen as a somewhat sober, mainstream Hollywood feature, showing little of the experimental character of the director's last four features (possibly the most interesting second act in an American filmmaker's career). Sean Penn is perfectly cast as Milk, for a number of reasons: physical resemblance, the right age, shared politics, a love for grandstanding... the actor even lives in San Francisco, for pete's sake. And as usual, he disappears into the role with great conviction. So is the movie any good? Well, I'm ambivalent about it. For the most part, I really liked it. But a narrative framing device where Milk tells his own story - and that of the 1970s' burgeoning gay rights movement in San Francisco's Castro district - shortly before his murder is stiff, awkward. And it's very hard to draw the line between the film's genuine sense of purpose (being Californian, I'm especially struck by the clear parallels between 1978's state proposition 6, which threatened to fire gay teachers from schools and which Milk fought so ferociously, and 2008's state proposition 8, which stripped gays of their newly-given rights to marriage; Milk was made even before those rights were briefly granted, so its relevance is stunning) and its rather obvious statement-making: gays are people too. But then, that was Harvey Milk's own message, so it's pointless to say that Milk drives the point home too frequently. What's left is an etching of the public Harvey Milk (shrewdly, Van Sant and screenwriter Dustin Lance Black don't start off by showing Milk's formative years, but with an intimate scene of the still-closeted Milk meeting his future boyfriend Scott Smith (James Franco) in a New York subway; the implication is that Milk the openly gay, outspoken politician was truly born then, on his 40th birthday), a compelling document of the rise of the Castro and the evolution of San Francisco politics, and especially a disturbing, if purposefully vague, portrait of Milk's assassin, fellow San Francisco supervisor Dan White (Josh Brolin, enjoying his own career's second act). Milk is a very good film, not a great one. Those seeking Van Sant's narrative or visual idiosyncracies will be disappointed. But mainstream audiences who can endure a little harmless same-sex kissing will be both educated and moved by Milk's tragic yet uplifting story.

RACHEL GETTING MARRIED (US, Jonathan Demme)
Though the title and theme of this film may recall, to art house goers, 2007's Margot at the Wedding, Jonathan Demme's feel-good, feel-bad drama about a dysfunctional family whose most troubled member, nine-months sober junkie daughter Kym (Anne Hathaway, in an award-worthy performance), shows up at her sister's wedding only to open up all kinds of old wounds, is thankfully nowhere near as chilly as Noah Baumbach's well-made but unlikable Margot. Rather, with its handheld approach (even letting some of the wedding "guests" film part of the proceedings, sort of like leaving disposable cameras on reception tables for all to use) and flurry of invited entertainers caught in performance, it falls somewhere between Thomas Vinterberg's classic The Celebration and Jennifer Jason Leigh's middling The Anniversary Party in terms of both style and quality.

I liked Rachel in general, but had a lot of small problems with it. For starters, Demme and his cast and crew are having so much fun pretending to hold a real wedding that far too much time is spent merely documenting the festivities' many musical interludes. At times it's like a concert film. The result is a movie that, at just over two hours, is maybe thirty minutes too long. Demme forgets that, to the audience, it's not really that fun watching complete strangers having fun. One could argue that, as this is how the family's black sheep Kym must feel (she herself admits that she doesn't know a soul), it's intentional. But I think that Demme just thinks he's showing you the most awesome wedding ever. (It may sound cynical, but I can imagine certain brides-to-be watching this film and taking notes.) He also depicts a remarkable racial utopia amongst this extended family, which is refreshing, but after a while it comes across as a little too earnest, a little too politically correct. (The screenplay is by Jenny Lumet, whose own upbringing as the biracial daughter of director Sidney Lumet and granddaughter of the legendary Lena Horne may have informed this ethnically harmonious group.) It's never even mentioned what the groom's or bride's family must do for a living in order to have literally dozens of musicians - from Robyn Hitchcock to Fab Five Freddy to a Brazilian samba troupe - perform for them, and it smacks more of Demme's own connections than it does any of the characters'. What I was mostly hoping for was for the brutally honest Kym to lay the smackdown on all these phony multicultural feel-good theatrics put on by her severely broken family. It never comes, alas, but that doesn't detract from Hathaway's strong, no-nonsense performance, or indeed the work of any of her lesser-known costars. Lumet has written very rich characters and has allowed for some mind-bogglingly complicated relationships to develop between them, with no tidy endings. For that she should be lauded, and it forgives the ain't-we-hip bloat of Demme's movie.

RELIGULOUS (US, Larry Charles)
Borat director Larry Charles goes on the road again with another flippant provocateur, TV talk show host Bill Maher. The concept is as easy as the targets: atheist Maher confronts an array of religious hucksters around the world to underscore his beliefs that all religion is a sham. Speaking as an atheist myself, I found the film too obviously preaching to the choir (pun intended). And as an atheist, I was rather let down by Maher, who doesn't strike me as a gifted social critic so much as simply a pushy comedian. I learned absolutely nothing new. Perhaps watching this movie will be a more delightful experience to those who know and love Maher's TV work. I haven't seen much of him before, so I wasn't giving his smirky "But what if you're wrong?" remarks to religious sorts a free pass. There is a lot of potential in making a film that, even in an era rife with documentaries critical of Christianity, dares to expose all religions. (A Christian friend reminded me that if atheists are true to their word, they can't just slam the Christians, and maybe the Muslims, while keeping their mouths shut about the Jews, Buddhists, Rastafarians et al.) Where the film gets interesting is when Maher finally starts investigating some of the kookier devotees of Judaism and Islam. But there's obviously too much to cover for just one film - perhaps Religulous would be better served as two films, one which attacks Christianity alone and one which attacks the other world religions - and Charles and Maher ignore Hinduism and Buddhism completely while wasting their time with a boring marijuana devotee in Amsterdam and some Latino con artist who's convinced thousands that he is the Second Coming. What gets the biggest laughs in Religulous are Charles's very clever cutaways to pop culture references and obscure Christian films. It reminded me of the older David Letterman shows where director Hal Gurnee would randomly cut to a strange camera angle or some stock footage just for a laugh when the show was dragging. The cutaways here are equally hilarious, but they're not enough to warrant rushing out to see the film, whether you're an atheist or not.

SYNECDOCHE, NEW YORK (US, Charlie Kaufman)
It's funny. When Paul Thomas Anderson's breakthrough film Boogie Nights came out, everybody loved it - except me. When Magnolia came out, everybody loved it even more - except me. And then when Punch-Drunk Love came out, everybody ignored it - except me, who loved it. My relationship to the output of Charlie Kaufman is similar. Being John Malkovich? Didn't do much for me. Adaptation? I was slightly amused. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind? I was not really moved. All three films, written by Kaufman, earned a great deal of critical praise and became cult favorites. Now, for some reason, Kaufman's directorial debut, Synecdoche, New York, is being slagged off - or at least shrugged off - by critics and fans alike. And yet, even though I freely admit that I didn't understand all of it (no big surprise with Kaufman), I liked it much more than I thought I would.

I can understand the naysayers, though: for a debut, Kaufman's surrealist roller coaster of a film is outrageously ambitious, and it would be easy to say that he's bitten off more than he can chew. Philip Seymour Hoffman stars as a gloomy theater director whose life is stuck in fast-forward (literally) as he slogs through his complicated relationships with women and his various physical ailments while staging a city-sized theatrical production that, in its overreaching scope, probably intentionally mirrors the film itself. That's the easiest way I can wrap up the plot, which eventually involves actors playing other actors; sets within sets, and the usual goofy Kaufman non sequiturs, e.g., a house that is eternally on fire, which smacks of the forced zaniness of Malkovich's 7½ floor. On that note, Synecdoche could be called Kaufman's 8½ - a self-reflexive, semiautobiographical study of an artist struggling with life, death, love, sex and the creative process. The finer details may have mostly gone over my head, but there is an emotional truth to the film that I found at times very touching. It doesn't hurt that Kaufman has cast nearly every great screen actress working today: Catherine Keener, Samantha Morton, Hope Davis, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Dianne Weist, Emily Watson and Michelle Williams. Whew! The guy must have the same jones for pixie-faced actresses that I do. Their presence adds much warmth to the film. It wouldn't be nearly as effective without them. (And having Watson play Morton is possibly Kaufman's most genius move.) Otherwise, if critics deride Kaufman's directorial style as lacking the visual aplomb of his usual collaborators Spike Jonze or Michel Gondry, it's not something that I noticed. Definitely worth seeing for Kaufman fans who are up for the adventure. Others may find it baffling and pretentious. As someone who neither worships nor loathes Kaufman's work, I found Synecdoche, New York a unique, heartfelt and certainly unpredictable moviegoing experience.