Terry Gilliam is cursed.

Ok, I'm certainly not the first to think this (Googling should find thousands of hits on this topic), but it's clear that he's one of those tortured souls who seems to have to struggle constantly for his art. From acts of God to the machinations of studio hacks and unscrupulous producers, he's had to bite and claw for almost every film he's ever made.

And now, alas, he's had an actor die while filming a movie.

The circumstances of Heath Ledger's death and subsequent Oscar win are well told, to be sure. And, inevitably, it's Heath's contribution to this film that will be discussed and scrutinized, much the way that James Dean's last films have undergone critical microscope.

Yet all this, surely, is besides the point. Terry Gilliam has made a wonderful film. Heath Ledger puts in a fine, supporting performance, equal to the other supporting characters he plays alongside (including those famous friends that step in, elegantly and well within the plot of the film, to rescue those scenes that he didn't get to shoot). After all, this is a film centered around Christopher Plummer and (I fear overlooked by many) a deliciously diabolical Tom Waits.

Gilliam has trod roads like this before - this film fits in comfortably with Munchausen and some of his more flamboyant contributions to the Python show, from cross dressing policemen to zany, psychedelic landscapes that seem ripped from some book of etchings. But it is the character of Parnasus, the poor, long suffering man who simply wants to ignite the imagination of his audience, to keep telling the story (lest the world come to an end), where we see what can only be interpreted as the most autobiographical of Gilliam's whimsical characters. Through Parnasus and his gambles and sacrifices, we see Gilliam at a certain peak of his career, looking into his weird, wonderful brain for another glimpse at the oddly spectacular. Yet the good Doctor is linked, inexorably, to his nemesis, one who both torments him, yet provides the means by which his stories continue to be told. After all, Gilliam has no doubt signed enough deals with his own devils to owe more than his lot of souls.

Besides all those elements, we're left with another wonderful contribution to this film, the casting of Lily Cole as Parnasus' daughter. Absolutely radiant on screen, the wide eyed, moon-faced woman seems plucked from 20s cinema, if not some 15th century painting. Gilliam once again has a woman of such astonishing beauty that he can faithfully recreate the Botticelli's Venus vingette, complete with half-shell. While Uma certainly has her own unique beauty on screen, far from the dreary, plastic Barbie-dolls of traditional Hollywood, in Cole he finds someone that he can shoot with such care, such passion that she simply leaps from the screen.

Oh, and Vern Troyer is less annoying than you may expect.

In the end, then, go see this as a modern triumph from Mr. Terry G, not merely in order to placate the posthumous fascination that one may feel for the departed Heath. This is the type of film that they simply don't make often anymore, and if it was in Spanish and directed by some guy named Del Toro, it'd immediately jump to the top of any cineaste list. As it stands, this is a wonderful, well paced fable, overly earnest in every way possible while still being immensely entertaining. Bravo, Terry and company, it's refreshing to see your imagination once again come alive in a way that's, frankly, a hell of a lot more fun that what you've been doing of late. Plus, it's a pleasure to actually be able to review a film of yours without taking years to think about something constructive to say.

Rachael Weisz as a hottie, end-of-Empire Philosopher/Astroner chick? What's not to like?

Set in Alexandria at a time of great historic tumolt, Amenábar's film juggles lots of chaos. The rise of Christianity versus the "pagan", previously dominant Roman religion, the divide between faith and science, heck even the stone throwing Jews show up for an added bit of narrative complication. Through it all it plays fine, if a bit dry, tying hard to live up to the standards set by HBO's Rome and often falling as flat as the sandles everyone's wearing (*Zing!*).

The performances are fine, the story more than a bit apocryphal (basically positing that this woman beat Kepler by some one and a half centuries to his own Eureka moment), and generally it's a fairly competent, if overly earnest, flick.

Lars von Trier's latest is a film certain to divide audiences, some no doubt dismissing it as mere exploitational trash. Written during what he describes as a time of bleak despair, this film is a bleak, at times maddening and depressing onslaught. Yet, at its core, it's a psychological thriller that owes much to Kubrick's "The Shining", a similar "failed" attempt at a genre pic. Like Kubrick, von Trier seems incapable of the banal, even when he tries to do a straight ahead exploitation horror flick like "Saw", he comes up with a thing of artistic beauty, startling images, and deep psychological insight. Like Kubrick, von Trier has failed at making a B movie, and instead has crafted another great addition to his oeuvre.

The opening reel, the so-called "Prologue", is a stunner - slow motion, black and white footage of a couple making love as tragedy unfolds while they're preoccupied. This is the most beautiful cinematic moments that he's captured since "Zentropa", as if Picasso had all of a sudden dropped cubism or linedrawings for a moment to do a "normal" oil painting, just to show that he could. From this opening we plunge into mourning and despair, hardly themes unique to this von Trier offering. This time, however, there's an overt creepiness, a sense of horror that builds throughout the film that's sadistically patient. The middle section of the film does lose its way, as the tension build. Once unleashed, however, this brutalistic, man-versus-mother nature motif comes across as an assault on the senses.

The film's dialectical oppositions (man/woman, man/nature) conflate through the final reel, where the genre conventions are brought to their logical conclusions, but with a unique style and flourish that's energizing. Antichrist will certainly split the audience, but for those willing to take the plunge, there are clear aesthetic and narrative rewards to be found.

The opening gala of this year's fest, this film promised to be a sweeping love story about Darwin and his wife as he struggled to write his masterpiece.

Instead, what we get is a pedestrian period drama, an overly long "I see dead people" flick where Darwin, tormented by the death of his daughter, is impotent to continue with his great project.

The film tries to build up tension with wholly artificial moments of narrative doubt (Will he be able write the book? Will his devout wife support him or destroy the manuscript?). One spends the entire film simply waiting for Darwin to get out of his funk and get to work already.

Showing a side of him rarely shown (a devotion to ridiculous homeopathic procedures), the film in many ways actually deflates the man, making him seem even less than the legend. This is the boring middle bit of Darwin's life, after the adventures on the Beagle, and before the impact of his work was truly felt. Hardly a gripping narrative, despite the valiant attempt by all at crafting something of interest.

A story too weird to not be true - in the 80s, the US army amassed a band of psychic warriors after the Vietnam debacle, harnessing the hippy ethic in order to hug the enemy into submission (before, if needed, slitting their throats).

As part of their training of these so-called "Jedi", goats were brought in, and attempts made to explode their hearts with purely psychic powers. Apparently, once, this actually worked (although, to be fair, the goat next to the one targeted for destruction was the one actually felled).

With this trippy true tale as a backdrop, MWSAG presents a Coen-esque farce. Casting Ewan "Obi-Wan" McGreggor as the skeptic who explores the way of the Jedi was clearly a mindtrip in and of itself, and Clooney, Bridges and Spacey give their usual gifts to the flick.

There are indeed moments of great hilarity, but in the end it all felt a little haphazard, lacking a cohesive narrative thread or a sustained sense of mood that would have elevated it to the level of an actual Coen production.

Wildly exceeding my expectations, this Chinese produced film is an accessible, nuanced tale about the Japanese occupation of Nanjing just before the beginning of the Second World War. Shot in glorious black and white, the film has a sweeping, epic feel. Production design is impeccable, and the recreation of the action sequences is the equal of any major production. Yet it is in the characters, finely drawn, complex, engaging, where the film shines.

I had expected, purely out of ignorance, that this tale would be simply one of narrow-minded retribution, a "John Wayne-versus-the-Japs" type of cinema that Hollywood produced for decades. Given China's notoriously strict codes regarding certain topics, it was heartening to see that this was no mere propaganda tool. Much like Eastwood's "Letters from Iwo Jima", the film paints a picture of the Japanese with historical sensitivity, recognizing that the bestial acts aren't always perpetrated by the inhuman.

The film obviously has a keen point of view, but it never comes across as agenda or polemic. Instead, this is a very contemporary telling of this tale, one certainly sits comfortably beside such Western offerings as "The Piano" or perhaps even "Schindler's List".

Picked up for distribution by National Geographic (!), this is a hard hitting yet wildly effective film, a unique take on this subject matter, and well worth seeking out.

Riding the success of her Oscar turn with Juno and the recent bloodlust for all things vampiric, writer Diablo Cody turned her eye towards the 80s horror genre. Megan Fox is Jennifer, the curvy, bitchy pretty thing at her high school, with her best friend Amanda Seifreid. Things go awry when an out of town band fails at being sufficiently diabolic to make it as Emo/alternative rock darlings.

There's cheekiness to the whole thing which is fun, and the participants dive into their roles with relish. Fox in particular is having fun with the stereotype that's been gleaned from her motorcycle humping, Michael Bay produced image, and despite grand attempts, Seifreid just can't help shining despite any frumpy attire they attempt to clothe her with.

There are moments where everything clicks, from a great opening sequence (precipitating the bulk of the film to be flashback), to some of the great discursive interactions that made Juno click. However, after a while, the heightened dialogue just gets to be in the way ("it's a box cutter... for cutting boxes!" is one of the more silly), as if the film's trying to be far cooler than it really is.

Still, as a "grrl power" shockfest, it's a nice change, and if you can get past the distracting diction it's a pretty fun ride, and a decent way to start off this year's Midnight Madness.