An impeccable documentary, truly engaging and, in many ways, it supersedes its subject matter convincingly. The original Chorus Line was a documentary of sorts itself, drawn from recording that the original creators made of struggling New York actors as they attended audition after audition. Their own life stories energized the original production, with each part workshopped over many months to create the eventual smash it would become.

With Every Little Step, we're again at a series of auditions, this time for the revival of the classic. Thus, we're following the very narrative of the play in the casting of the play itself, witnessing the arduous process in all its variety. With impressive access and a keen eye, the filmmakers trace the audition process, while simultaneously providing a history of the original production, highlighting changes in Broadway over the last several decades, and giving us a crash course on what it takes to make it in a show of this magnitude.

This is no American Idol voyeurism, each of these performers gives their all, the level of their performance at times simply astonishing. These are pros competing against pros, not simply some silly talent show, and by tracing their achievements and failures we get an even higher appreciation for the story that Chorus Line tells.

It's impossible not to fall in love with this flick, it's so joyous of the artform without flinching from the stark realities that underlie the "business" of show business. A tremendous achievement, a documentary that's simply a singular sensation.

Oh what a wasted opportunity. The idea is great, follow the Dakar rally as it traverses 7915km of the desert. We get a tremendously exciting opening sequence, seeing the cars bounce along the tracks, exotic locales sweeping by, and an opportunity to view this race from the inside. Instead, the director focuses on the aftermath of the race, lines in the sand left by the cars, trucks and bikes, and the stories from those in the path along the way.

However, instead of some insightful analysis, we get a pedantic, downright boring look at these areas, haphazardly jumping along the route, until the director shows he doesn't know how to end the film, while we're whisked away on a helicopter, following refugees in the ocean.

Even the striking visuals can't save this mess, it's a boring, misguided attempt at creating pathos, and instead comes across as a pretentious bore.

This is one of those "twist" movies, as a novelist hires a hitman to do some research for his books, only to find himself embroiled in the assassin's own plans for revenge.

It's stylish and an interesting genre flick from Russia, but this type of plot has been mined far too often in American cinema to hold any real surprise, and the obvious conclusion distracts from what, at least initially, promised to be a fresh look at this type of film. Instead, we're left with a fairly plodding, pedestrian thriller, without enough substance to go along with the style.

In this tremendous, joyous look at the Teen Eurovision contest, we follow a number of young individuals as they represent their countries in the music competition. American Idol this ain't, as each child feels the weight of their country on their shoulders. Some rise to the occasion, others falter, and the usual foibles ensue. I worried, needlessly, that the film would be too earnest. Instead, the director has chosen just the right level of objectivity, never putting down the competition, but showing its ridiculous excesses in an unblinking way. From the opening chords of the Who track used over a montage, this is indeed a "teenage wasteland", having far less to do with music than the pageant of young, fresh faces trotted out for the masses to enjoy. You end up rooting for them all by the end, and this stylish, extremely well made doc is a giant, bubblegum burst of fun.

The pre-film buzz was audible, this was the first film in French cinema history given the equivalent of an X-rating due to violent imagery instead of sexual content. At the MM screening someone had to leave to vomit. There were stories that at the other screenings some may have passed out. What kind of monstrous creation would elicit such a reaction?

Simply one of the best, most haunting midnight madness films in TIFF history. This is gore done by an auteur, an Exorcist for the thinking agnostic. Unapologetically cerebral, there's still enough shock and horror to make similar high-browed horror (say, Silence of the Lambs) seem like child's play.

Ostensibly about a woman overcoming memories of her abuse, only to find that her daemons cannot lie low, there's such a dramatic 90 degree turn midway through that it'd be a shame to say more about it. Suffice it to say, this is no silly slasher flick or ghoul fest, but a work of depravity told with astonishing style. There is much to admire on a technical level, be it the sustained intensity of the performances, the impeccable makeup effects, or the original yet downright creepy cinematography.

In introducing the film, the director made pointed and disparaging remarks about another cerebral, violent thriller (Haeneke's Funny Games), one he decried as a gratuitous mess, truly exploitational of its subject by refusing to go the obvious distance. While I don't agree with his analysis, it's clear that the unflinching violence and horror in Martyrs is well earned, it is painful to watch in the way Peckinpah's Straw Dogs or Von Trier's Breaking the Waves is. Like in those two masterpieces, the violence is earned, the shock and horror never mere dressing to the narrative.

Many will avoid this, writing it off as genre crap. Others would certainly not be able to stomach what's clearly one of the more shocking films of this or any other festival. Delving into the mad world of Martyrs is a dark and dangerous place, but it's an aesthetically rewarding one, pushing the boundaries of genre cinema and creating a truly horrific horror film.