Category Archives: Documentary

SIFF 2025: Suburban Fury (***)

By Dennis Hartley

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Within a 17-day period in the early fall of 1975, President Gerald R. Ford survived two attempts on his life-both taking place in California. One could argue that the first would-be assassin, Lynette “Squeaky” Fromme is the only one people remember, by virtue of her well-known association with the Manson Family.

The second shooter, Sara Jane Moore, has remained a relative cypher. For one thing, she wasn’t a member of a high-profile death cult, and in stark contrast to Fromme’s  psycho daisy couture, Moore looked for all the world like a buttoned-down housewife who had strolled straight out of a John Cheever story (although in this case, a buttoned-down housewife armed with a .38 Special).

Not that she didn’t have a screw loose…which became apparent (to me) as Robinson Devor’s  documentary unfolded. Mixing archival materials and a present-day interview with an evasive and truculent Moore (now in her 90s), Devor tries to piece together the jigsaw of her bizarre journey from suburban mother of four to FBI informant, self-proclaimed revolutionary and would-be presidential assassin.

Moore (released from prison in 2007, after serving 32 years) is too cagey to drop any real bombshells here, so her motivations remain foggy. What I found even more interesting than Moore’s story was the adjacent retrospective on a politically tumultuous period in San Francisco (e.g. Moore has a tie-in with the Patty Hearst debacle). Despite leaving a number of questions unanswered, Suburban Fury is nonetheless a worthwhile watch for political junkies and the curious.

SIFF 2025: Unclickable (**)

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on May 17, 2025)

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Just in: From the nanosecond you log in to a social media platform, you are being tracked. Not only are you being tracked, but you are being filed, stamped, indexed, briefed, debriefed, and numbered (YOU are Number 6). In short: you are being bought and sold. That smart phone, laptop, or tablet in your hands is not the “product”. YOU are.

I know. In this day and age, any internet-savvy 8 year-old could tell you that.

Consequently, it was hard for me to be shocked, shocked by the revelations in Babis Makridis’ “torn from the headlines” investigative documentary. Although to be fair, his film does take a slightly different tack from similar exposés I’ve seen about how we’ve all become slaves to the algorithim; this one focuses on the proliferation of digital ad fraud.

To demonstrate how easily cyber scammers can cash in, Makridis enlisted a former tech executive to form a team of software developers to create a digital ad fraud operation, and basically documents thier step-by-step procedure (don’t try this at home, kids).

Unfortunately the film stalls out once the team starts getting hits and picking pockets (we are assured they did not bank the revenue). I suppose it’s interesting to learn how everyone from advertisers to phone users are getting screwed (except for Google and Meta, who still reap massive revenue-whether ad click data is legit or artificially inflated) but it leaves you wondering what you’re supposed to do with this information (maybe switch off and go touch some grass?).

SIFF 2025: Jean Cocteau (***)

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on  May 17, 2025)

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Director Lisa Immordino Vreeland utilizes a non-linear collage of film clips, archival interviews, and a present-day actor reading from letters and diary entries to create a vivid portrait of the avant-garde poet/visual artist/playwright/film director. It’s an enlightening study; I picked up a number of new tidbits on his life and work (I was familiar with him mostly from his films – e.g. Blood of a Poet, Orpheus, and Beauty and the Beast). The address he made in 1960 “to the youth of the future” is a mind-blower. I found it particularly interesting how his “apolitical” stance made him a pariah to both the Left and the Right at various junctures. Absorbing and rewarding.

SIFF 2025: Transfers (***)

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on May 17, 2025)

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There were many horrors endured by the citizens of Argentina in the course of that country’s  “Dirty War” period (1974-1983). Nicolás Gil Lavedra’s documentary primarily focuses on just one them: the methodical, State-sponsored extermination of dissidents (or those accused of being such) wherein people were kidnapped, tortured, drugged, and thrown to their deaths from airplanes.

These “death flights” included the kidnapping and murder of the “twelve of Santa Cruz,” a group of Mothers of Plaza de Mayo, human rights activists and two French nuns captured in December 1977, which Lavedra covers in detail, mixing archival and present-day testimonials from former detainees, eyewitnesses, and journalists.

There is some redemption when you learn how a few (if not enough) of the perpetrators were eventually brought to justice. Interestingly, this was precipitated by the fact that, not unlike the Nazis, they kept meticulous records of their crimes (in this case, vis a vis dated flight logs that notated passenger counts).

Chilling and moving, this relatively understated film brings the human cost to the fore; making it a good companion piece to Luis Puenzo’s 1985 political drama The Official Story.

This is also a cautionary tale. When you consider that the term “Dirty War” was coined by the military junta, which one would assume was its way of self-justifying its atrocities, recent statements by government officials in our own country suggesting that habeas corpus “may” be suspended under the umbrella of “war powers” (what ‘war’?) should raise a red flag.

SIFF 2025: Free Leonard Peltier ***1/2

By Dennis Hartley

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“Free Leonard Peltier!” has been a rallying cry by Native American rights activists for decades; in fact so many years have passed since his trial, conviction and sentence for the murder of two FBI agents that the circumstances surrounding his case have become obfuscated to the general public. Even those who have lobbied 50 years for his release (predicated on the government’s arguably flimsy evidence and dubious witness testimonies) didn’t see Joe Biden’s January 2025 commutation of Peltier’s life sentence coming. It wasn’t the full pardon his advocates had wished for, but they certainly welcomed it with joy and relief.

It’s been a long road for Peltier (now 80), with many twists and turns, but co-directors Jesse Short Bull (Oglala Sioux) and David France do a yeoman’s job of telling not only his story, but putting it in context with the activities of the American Indian Movement that flourished in the 1970s.

The filmmakers recount the Mt. Rushmore, Alcatraz, and Wounded Knee occupations, takeover of the BIA headquarters in Washington D.C., the Trail of Broken Treaties march, et.al., culminating with the 1975 incident at Pine Ridge Reservation involving the execution-style murders of the two FBI agents.

This is the most comprehensive study I’ve seen on Peltier’s case and the history of the A.I.M. movement. What you learn from this film is by turns enlightening and maddening, but ultimately inspiring and moving.

SIFF 2025: Blue Road: The Edna O’Brien Story (***1/2)

By Dennis Hartley

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Never heard about Oscar Wilde
Don’t know about Brendan Behan
Know anything about Sean O’Casey
Or care about George Bernard Shaw
Or Samuel Beckett
Won’t talk about Eugene O’Neill
He won’t talk about Edna O’Brien
Or know anything about Lawrence Stern

Being the proud middlebrow that I am, I will freely admit that the only two things I previously knew about Irish writer Edna O’Brien was 1) she was name-checked in my favorite Dexy Midnight Runners song (“Dance Stance”), and 2) that the 1964 UK kitchen sink drama Girl With Green Eyes was adapted from her novel “The Lonely Girl” (which I haven’t read).

However, I’m happy to report that Sinéad O’Shea’s engaging documentary portrait of the outspoken novelist, playwright, poet and short-story writer (who died in 2024 at the ripe age of 93) has set me straight. Now I want to read everything she wrote.

What a life. She was raised by an abusive father; left home and married writer Ernest Gébler when she was 24 (he was 40), and was garnering universal critical acclaim for her debut novel (“The Country Girls”) by age 30.

That book (and several of her subsequent works) were banned in Ireland, due to their sexual frankness (and anti-patriarchal stance, no doubt). Undaunted, she pushed onward with her career,  becoming the toast of the town in London, and eventually selling her work to Hollywood (in the film, the nonagenarian O’Brien bemusedly recounts escapades with Robert Mitchum and Marlon Brando). A film as provocative and uncompromising as its subject.

SIFF 2025: Chain Reactions (***)

By Dennis Hartley

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Patton Oswalt, Takashi Miike, Alexandra Heller-Nicholas, Stephen King, and Karyn Kusama walk into a rundown farmhouse…and their lives change forever. At least according to the idiosyncratic appraisals by those luminaries regarding Tobe Hooper’s no-budget 1974 cult classic The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Alexandre O. Philippe’s documentary transcends its subject to not only become a treatise on what defines “horror”, but illuminates the sometimes elusive elements that constitute a great work of cinema-regardless of genre (or budget).

Living in the 70s: Borrowed Time-Lennon’s Last Decade (**1/2)

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on April 26, 2025)

Fame (fame) what you like is in the limo
Fame (fame) what you get is no tomorrow
Fame (fame) what you need you have to borrow

– from “Fame” by David Bowie (backing vocal by John Lennon)

I’ll never forget the first time I saw Billy Wilder’s Sunset Boulevard-although I wish I could.

Allow me to explain.

I was all of 24, living in San Francisco. I didn’t own a VCR (they were exorbitantly priced), so I was still watching the tube in (*shudder*) real time. Perusing the TV Guide one December evening, I was excited to spot  Sunset Boulevard on the schedule for 8pm (I believe it was airing on independent Bay Area station KTVU).

For the uninitiated, Gloria Swanson’s turn as a fading, high-maintenance movie queen mesmerizes, William Holden embodies the quintessential noir sap, and veteran scene-stealer Erich von Stroheim redefines the meaning of “droll” in a tragicomic journey down the Boulevard of Broken Dreams (I’ve seen it many times since).

At any rate, I was comfortably ensconced on the couch, really digging the film (despite myriad commercial breaks). Approximately 20 minutes into the broadcast, the station unceremoniously cut away from the film for a news bulletin: former Beatle John Lennon had been shot and killed in New York City.

It was eerie kismet, as the film opens with the shooting death of the protagonist/narrator (played by Holden), and is ultimately a rumination on the dark side of fame.

Being an avid Fabs fan, it kind of harshed my mellow. Still does, actually-whenever the subject comes up.

It’s hard to believe that was 45 years ago (5 years longer than Lennon’s lifespan). Over the ensuing decades, there has certainly been no shortage of documentaries and biopics covering Lennon’s life and work. At this point, I think I’ve seen most of them.

Consequently, one would assume that there are very few secrets, revelations and angles left to explore. Yet, 2025 has seen the release of no less than two new Lennon documentaries (and the year is still young).

First, there’s One to One: John and Yoko:

I haven’t seen it yet (it will be available to rent on streaming platforms beginning on May 9th).

This is the other doc (more on that in a moment)…

Directed by Alan G. Parker, Borrowed Time promises to “…set the record straight on the truth behind many famous Lennon moments, brought to life by rare archive footage, including never-before-seen interviews.”

So does it deliver? Well, in a fashion. As Lennon himself once implored, “All I want is the truth…just gimme some truth.” In context of the director’s approach, you may have to settle for “benefit of the doubt”.

I make that qualification because the lion’s share of screen time is devoted to talking heads. As promised, there are indeed “never-before-seen interviews” with former musical collaborators (Vinny Appice and Earl Slick), as well as music industry insiders, presenters, writers, and journalists (the BBC’s “Whispering” Bob Harris, Anthony DeCurtis, Barry Miles, Pamela Des Barres, Apple Records CEO Tony Bramwell, et.al.).

However, their stories are purely anecdotal; the backstage tales are engaging enough at first, but by the 2-hour mark they began to feel redundant and were not necessarily revelatory. Archival interviews help mix things up a bit, but overall it’s a static affair.

Then there’s the elephant in the room: zero Lennon music. I realize it can be challenging and/or simply too cost-prohibitive to secure permission to utilize copyrighted material in a film; but when you try to paint a portrait of an artist without any paint on your palette, more often than not you are likely to end up with an empty canvas.

Note: the version I previewed is the 134-minute theatrical cut that will be opening in the U.K. only on May 2. However, there is a 3.5 hour director’s cut out on the same date, which will be streaming for a month on the Icon Film Channel and also available to subscribers of the Amazon Prime Video Channels.

 

And I feel fine: Aum-The Cult at the End of the World (***)

By Dennis Hartley

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(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on March 22, 2025)

In my 2013 review of the documentary Let the Fire Burn I wrote:

Depending upon whom you might ask, MOVE was an “organization”, a “religious cult”, a “radical group”, or all of the above. The biggest question in my mind (and one the film doesn’t necessarily delve into) is whether it was another example of psychotic entelechy. So what is “psychotic entelechy”, exactly? Well, according to Stan A. Lindsay, the author of Psychotic Entelechy: The Dangers of Spiritual Gifts Theology, it would be

…the tendency of some individuals to be so desirous of fulfilling or bringing to perfection the implications of their terminologies that they engage in very hazardous or damaging actions.

In the context of Lindsay’s book, he is expanding on some of the ideas laid down by literary theorist Kenneth Burke and applying them to possibly explain the self-destructive traits shared by the charismatic leaders of modern-day cults like The People’s Temple, Order of the Solar Tradition, Heaven’s Gate, and The Branch Davidians. He ponders whether all the tragic deaths that resulted should be labeled as “suicides, murders, or accidents”.

While it arguably wasn’t as self-destructive, Japan’s “Aum” cult shared many similar traits, and was no less lethal. If you’re as ancient as me, you may recall the 1995 nerve gas attack on Tokyo’s subway system that resulted in 13 deaths and thousands of injuries. This shocking incident introduced the world to a bizarre spiritual sect hitherto unknown outside of Japan.

In an engrossing (albeit disturbing) new documentary called Aum: The Cult at the End of the World, co-directors Ben Braun and Chiaki Yanagimoto paint a “couldn’t make this shit up” portrait of  leader Shoko Asahara tantamount to a Bond villain’s origin story (replete with his rejection as a child, seething hatred of society, secret laboratories, evil plans, kidnappings, assassinations, and the inevitable stockpiles of weapons of mass destruction).

The story of Aum follows a trajectory that has become depressingly familiar. The sect was founded in 1983 by Chizuo Matsumoto (who changed his name to Shoko Asahara). Asahara’s original philosophy was centered on yoga, meditation, and self-enlightenment.

That didn’t last.

By the mid-80s, Asahara was getting extensive coverage in high-circulation Japanese occult magazines; this helped spur a sizeable youth following. A canny self-promoter, Ashara seized on this and over the next several years published a series of books and produced anime that portrayed him as having supernatural powers (including the ability to levitate). He even trekked to Tibet with the express purpose of arranging a photo-op with the Dalai Lama.

In the cult hierarchy, members who were scientists and chemists were at the top (which makes a sick kind of sense in hindsight). As the number of followers grew, so did Asahara’s increasingly draconian rules. As journalist Shoko Egawa points out, members were directed to forgo earthly possessions, money, the enjoyment of good food, etc., as such trifles were roadblocks to spiritual enlightenment. The Aum tenets praised not sleeping, not eating, even not changing clothes. The communal diet was “Aum food”, which one former member describes as “boiled vegetables with no flavor at all…rice and natto, day after day.”

Yum.

The turn to the dark side occurred circa 1989. In the film, journalist Andrew Marshall (who co-authored a book about the cult) observes “By 1989 the stock market had peaked and Japan was really entering this period of economic stagnation, and possibly cultural and political stagnation as well, and I think what was about to happen was a symptom of that.”

In 1989, a man began photographing suspicious activities by a “weird group” of people who “suddenly showed up” in his small village of Kammikushiki, which is nestled near the foot of Mt. Fuji. The newcomers were reticent to interact with the villagers, and hostile to any inquiries. They set up a compound containing some unusual equipment (including gas tanks and chemical barrels), and over time were regarded as “bad neighbors” due to non-stop construction noise and loud chanting emanating day and night. When Marshall was poking around, he discovered they also had a “massive Russian helicopter” parked on their premises.

The story gets weirder, and the bodies start piling up even before the Tokyo subway terror attack made international headlines. Equally troubling to learn is how the Japanese media characterized the sect as “silly” and colorful (perfect fodder for a kicker at the end of the newscast, but nothing worth a deeper investigative dive, despite many red flags over time),

As I was watching the film, I was looking at all the footage of this guy and just not seeing the appeal, although thousands of his devoted followers would surely beg to differ. One observer helpfully offers, “No matter what they asked him, he gave them an immediate answer.” (does that remind you of anybody?).

As Woody Allen says in Manhattan, after meeting his girlfriend’s highly-lauded ex-husband, the “little homunculus” portrayed by Wallace Shawn, “It’s amazing how subjective all that stuff is.” Maybe that’s what lies at the the crux of why I’m endlessly fascinated by cults. As I wrote in my 2012 review of Paul Thomas Anderson’s drama The Master:

What he has crafted is a thought-provoking and original examination of why human beings in general are so prone to kowtow to a burning bush, or be conned by an emperor with no clothes; a film that begs repeated viewings. Is it a spiritual need? Is it an emotional need? Or is it a lizard brain response, deep in our DNA?

As Inspector Clouseau once ruminated, “Well you know, there are leaders…and there are followers.”

The best hope for humankind is that, at some nebulous point in (whatever time is left of) our future, we will finally learn the lessons of history and stop repeating the same stupid, stupid mistakes.

(In theaters now; available on all rental platforms March 28th).

Over the hills and far away: 15 films for St. Patrick’s Day

By Dennis Hartley

(Originally posted on Digby’s Hullabaloo on March 15, 2025)

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With Saint Patrick’s celebrations in full swing this weekend, I thought I’d help you get your Irish up and drive those snakes from your media room with 15 grand film recommendations.

Sláinte!

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The Commitments – Casting talented yet unknown actor/musicians to portray a group of talented yet unknown musicians was a stroke of genius by director Alan Parker. This “life imitating art imitating life” trick works wonders. The Commitments can be seen as a riff on Parker’s 1980 film Fame; swapping the locale from New York City to Dublin (there’s a bit of a wink in a scene where one of the band members breaks into a parody of the Fame theme).

However, these working-class kids don’t have the luxury of attending a performing arts academy; there’s an undercurrent referencing the economic downturn in the British Isles. The acting chemistry is superb, but it’s the musical performances that shine, especially from (then) 16-year old Andrew Strong. In 2007, cast member Glen Hansard co-starred in John Carney’s surprise low-budget hit, Once, a lovely character study that would make a perfect double bill with The Commitments.

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Darby O’Gill and the Little People – Sean Connery…in a film about leprechauns?! Well, stranger things have happened. Albert Sharpe gives a delightful performance as lead character Darby O’Gill in this 1959 fantasy from perennially family-friendly director Robert Stevenson (Mary Poppins, The Love Bug, The Absent-Minded Professor, That Darn Cat!).

Darby is a crusty yet benign b.s. artist who finds himself embroiled in the kind of tale no one would believe if he told them it were true-matching wits with the King of the Leprechauns (Jimmy O’Dea), who has offered to play matchmaker between Darby’s daughter (Janet Munro) and the strapping pre-Bond Connery. The special effects hold up surprisingly well (considering the limitations of the time). The scenes between Sharpe and O’Dea are especially amusing. “Careful what you say…I speak Gaelic too!”.

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A Date for Mad Mary – Seana Kerslake makes a remarkable debut in Darren Thornton’s 2017 dramedy (co-written by the director with his brother Colin) about a troubled young woman who is being dragged kicking and screaming (and swearing like a sailor) into adulthood. Fresh from 6 months in a Dublin jail for instigating a drunken altercation, 20-year-old “mad” Mary (Kerslake) is asked to be maid of honor by her BFF Charlene. Assuming that her volatile friend won’t find a date, Charlene refuses her a “plus one”. Ever the contrarian, Mary insists she will; leading to an unexpected relationship.

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Garage – At once heartbreaking and uplifting, this 2007 character study by director Leonard Abrahamson and writer Mark O’Halloran is an underappreciated gem. It’s a deceptively simple story about an emotionally stunted yet affable thirty-something bachelor named Josie (Pat Shortt), who tends a gas station in a small country village (he bunks in the garage). When he befriends a teenager (Conor Ryan) who takes a summer job at the gas station, it unexpectedly sets off a chain of life-shaking events for Josie. Shortt (a popular comic in his home country) gives an astonishing performance. I like the way the film continually challenges expectations. An insightful and affecting glimpse at the human condition.

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Hear My Song – This charming, quirky comedy-drama from writer-director Peter Chelsom (Funny Bones) concerns an Irish club-owner in England (Adrian Dunbar) who’s having a streak of bad luck. He’s not only on the outs with his lovely fiancée (Tara Fitzgerald), but is forced to shut down his venue after a series of dud bookings (like “Franc Cinatra”) puts him seriously in the red. Determined to win back his ladylove and get his club back in the black, he stows away on a freighter headed for his native Dublin. He enlists an old pal to help him hunt down and book a legendary tenor (Ned Beatty, in one of his best roles) who has hasn’t performed publicly in decades. Fabulous script, direction, and acting. Funny, touching and guaranteed to lift your spirits.

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I Am Belfast – I try not to use “visual tone poem” as a descriptive if I can avoid it…but sometimes, there is no avoiding it. As in this case, with Irish director Mark Cousins’ meditation on his beloved home city. Part documentary and part (here it comes) visual tone poem, Cousins ponders the past, present and possible future of Belfast’s people, legacy and spirit.

I’m fairly sure Cousins is going for the vibe of the 1988 Terence Davies film Distant Voices, Still Lives, a similar mélange of sense memory, fluid timelines and painterly visuals (he waxes poetically about the aforementioned film in his epic 15-hour documentary, The Story of Film). Lovely cinematography by Christopher Doyle. A rewarding experience for patient viewers.

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In Bruges – OK, full disclosure. In my original review, I gave this 2008 Sundance hit a somewhat lukewarm appraisal. But upon a second viewing, then a third… I realized that I like this film quite a lot (happens sometimes…nobody’s perfect!).

A pair of Irish hit men (Brendan Gleeson and Colin Farrell) botch a job in London and are exiled to the Belgian city of Bruges, where they are ordered to lay low until their piqued Cockney employer (an over the top Ray Fiennes) dictates their next move. What ensues can be best described as a tragicomic Boschian nightmare (which will make more sense once you’ve seen it).

Writer-director Martin McDonagh (who deftly juggles “fook” as a noun, adverb, super adverb and adjective) re-enlisted In Bruges stars Gleeson and Farrell as the leads for his Oscar-nominated 2022 dramedy The Banshees of Inisherin (also recommended!).

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Into the West – A gem from one of the more underappreciated “all-purpose” directors, Mike Newell (Dance With a Stranger, Enchanted April, Four Weddings and a Funeral, Donnie Brasco, Pushing Tin). At first glance, it falls into the “magical family film” category, but it carries a subtly dark undercurrent with it throughout, which keeps it interesting for the adults in the room. Lovely performances, a magic horse, and one pretty pair o’ humans (Ellen Barkin and Gabriel Byrne, real-life spouses at the time).

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Miller’s Crossing–his 1990 gangster flick could only come from the unique mind-meld of Joel and Ethan Coen (with shades of Dasheill Hammet). The late Albert Finney is excellent as an Irish mob boss engaging in a power struggle with the local Italian mob during the Prohibition era. Gabriel Byrne (the central character of the film) portrays his advisor, who attempts to broker peace.

You do have to pay attention in order to keep up with the constantly shifting alliances and betrayals and such; but as with most Coen Brothers movies, if you lose track of the narrative you always have plenty of great supporting performances (particularly from Marcia Gay Harden and John Torturro) , stylish flourishes, and mordant humor to chew on until you catch up again.

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My Left Foot – The first (and best) of three collaborations between writer-director Jim Sheridan and actor Daniel Day-Lewis (1993’s In the Name of the Father and 1997’s The Boxer were to follow). This moving 1989 biopic concerns Christy Brown, a severely palsied man who became a renowned author, poet and painter despite daunting physical challenges.

Thankfully, the film makers avoid the audience-pandering shtick of turning its protagonist into the cinematic equivalent of a lovable puppy (see Rainman, I Am Sam); Brown is fearlessly portrayed by Day-Lewis “warts and all” with peccadilloes laid bare. As a result, you acclimate to Day-Lewis’ physical tics, allowing Brown to emerge as a complex human being, not merely an object of pity.

Day-Lewis deservedly picked up an Oscar, as did Brenda Fricker, who snagged Best Supporting Actress as Brown’s mother. Don’t let Day-Lewis’ presence overshadow 13-year old Hugh O’Conor’s work as young Christy; he gives an equally impressive performance.

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Odd Man Out – An absorbing film noir from the great director Carol Reed (The Third Man, The Fallen Idol). James Mason is excellent as a gravely wounded Irish rebel who is on the run from the authorities through the shadowy backstreets of Belfast. Interestingly, the I.R.A. is never referred to directly, but the turmoil borne of Northern Ireland’s “troubles” is definitely implied by word and action throughout F.L. Green and R.C. Sherriff’s intelligent screenplay (adapted from Green’s original novel). Unique for its time, it still holds up well as a “heist gone wrong”/chase thriller with political undercurrents. The top-notch cast includes Robert Newton and Cyril Cusack.

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Older Than Ireland With age, comes wisdom. Just don’t ask a centenarian to impart any, because they might smack you. Not that there is violence in Alex Fegan and Garry Walsh’s doc, but there is consensus among interviewees (aged 100-113) that the question they find most irksome is: “What’s your secret to living so long?” Once that hurdle is cleared, Fegan and Walsh’s subjects have much to impart in this moving and entertaining pastiche of the human experience. Do yourself a favor: turn off your personal devices, watch this wondrous film and plug yourself into humankind’s forgotten backup system: the Oral Tradition.  (Full review)

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The Quiet Man – I’ll admit to never having been a huge John Wayne fan, but he’s perfect in this John Ford classic as a down-on-his-luck boxer who leaves America to get in touch with his roots in his native Ireland. The most entertaining (and purloined) donnybrook of all time, plus a fiery performance from gorgeous Maureen O’Hara round things off nicely. Although tame by modern standards, romantic scenes between Wayne and O’Hara are quite fervid for the era. The pastoral valleys and rolling hills of the Irish countryside have never looked lovelier, thanks to Winton C. Hoch and Archie Stout’s Oscar-winning cinematography.

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The Secret of Roan Inish – John Sayles delivers an engaging fairy tale, devoid of the usual genre clichés. Wistful, haunting and beautifully shot by the great cinematographer Haskell Wexler, who captures the misty desolation of County Donegal’s rugged coastline in a way that frequently recalls Michael Powell’s similarly effective utilization of Scotland’s Shetland Islands for his 1937 classic, The Edge of the World. The seals should have received a special Oscar for Best Performance by a Sea Mammal. Ork, ork!

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Song of the Sea – This 2014 animated fantasy from writer-director Tomm Moore centers on a melancholic lighthouse keeper named Conor (voiced by Brendan Gleeson), who is raising his young son and daughter following the tragic loss of his wife, who died in childbirth.

After his daughter is nearly swept out to sea one night, Conor decides the children would be better off staying with their grandmother in the city. The kids aren’t so crazy about this plan; after a few days with grandma they make a run for it. Before they can wend their way back home, they are waylaid by a succession of characters that seem to have popped out of one of the traditional Irish fairy tales that Conor’s mother used to tell him as a child.

Moore’s film has a timeless quality and a visual aesthetic on par with the best of Studio Ghibli. There is something in Moore’s hand-drawn animation that I find sorely lacking in the computer-generated “product” glutting multiplexes these days: genuine heart.