Girl With Hyacinths (Hasse Ekman, 1950)

Ulf Palme and Anders Ek in Girl With Hyacinths

Cast: Eva Henning, Ulf Palme, Birgit Tengroth, Anders Ek, Gösta Cederlund, Karl-Arne Holmsten, Keve Hjelm, Marianne Löfgren, Björn Berglund, Anne-Marie Brunius. Screenplay: Hasse Ekman. Cinematography: Göran Strindberg. Production design: Bibi Lindström. Film editing: Lennart Wellèn. Music: Erland von Koch. 

A young woman kills herself, leaving a letter for her neighbors across the hall that names them as her heirs, even though they were only passing acquaintances. That's the setup for Hasse Ekman's Girl With Hyacinths. The neighbors, writer Anders Wikner (Ulf Palme) and his wife, Britt (Birgit Tengroth), are left to solve the mystery of why Dagmar Brink (Eva Henning) chose to take her life. Ingmar Bergman named Girl With Hyacinths as one of the greatest Swedish films, and while it never achieves the distinction of the best of Bergman's own films, it's an absorbing precursor to them. The secrets of Dagmar Brink's life are uncovered by the Wikners in a series of flashbacks, as they encounter a bristly banker (Gösta Cederlund), an alcoholic painter (Anders Ek), a giddy actress (Marianne Löfgren), Dagmar's ex-husband (Keve Hjelm), and a womanizing popular singer (Karl-Arne Holmsten). Although Anders Wikner does most of the sleuthing, it's his clever and more sympathetic wife who really understands what led to Dagmar's death, bringing to mind the collaboration of Nick and Nora Charles in The Thin Man (W.S. Van Dyke, 1934). The film also touches on themes that were taboo in the Hollywood of 1950. Hasse Ekman's skillful direction is aided by Göran Strindberg's cinematography. 

Films I've Seen Recently

 Prison on Fire (Ringo Lam, 1987)

One Battle After Another (Paul Thomas Anderson, 2025)

Wake Up Dead Man (Rian Johnson, 2025

Oslo, August 31st (Joachim Trier, 2011)

Train Dreams (Clint Bentley, 2025)

Maps to the Stars (David Cronenberg, 2014)

I Am Not a Witch (Rungano Nyoni, 2017)

West Indies: The Fugitive Slaves of Liberty (Med Hondo, 1979)

You Can Count on Me (Kenneth Lonergan, 2000)

Framed (Richard Wallace, 1947)

The Ice Storm (Ang Lee, 1997)

Chloe (Atom Egoyan, 2009)

The Grandmaster (Wong Kar-Wai, 2013)

Zhang Ziyi in The Grandmaster

Cast: Tony Leung Chiu-Wai, Zhang Ziyi, Zhang Jin, Song Hye-ko, Yuen Woo-ping, Wang Qingxiang, Zhao Benshan, Shang Tielong, Chin Shih-chieh, Wang Jue, Chang Chen. Screenplay: Wong Kar-Wai, Zou Jingzhi, Xu Haofeng. Cinematography: Philippe Le Sourd. Production design: William Chang, Alfred Yau. Film editing: William Chang, Benjamin Courties, Poon Hung Yiu. Music: Stefano Lentini, Nathaniel Méchaly, Shigeru Umebayashi. 

A luminous Zhang Ziyi haunts every frame in which she appears in Wong Kar-Wai's The Grandmaster, which somewhat distorts the story, which is based on the life of Ip Man (Tony Leung Chiu-Wai), the kung fu grandmaster best known perhaps in the West as the teacher of Bruce Lee. But anyone expecting the flash and dazzle of Lee's movies will be confused by Wong's dreamlike romanticism, merging scenes of action into a tale of doomed love against a backdrop of the history of 20th-century China. Wong struggles to bring coherence to a number of narrative threads, many of which involve the philosophical underpinnings of the various styles of martial art, but unless you're a devotee of the practice, it's best to let the lush filming and scoring carry you along. 

Four Rooms (Allison Anders, Alexandre Rockwell, Robert Rodriguez, Quentin Tarantino, 1995)

Jennifer Beals and Tim Roth in Four Rooms

Cast: Tim Roth, Sammi Davis, Amanda de Cadenet, Valeria Golino, Madonna, Ione Skye, Lili Taylor, Alicia Witt, David Proval, Jennifer Beals, Antonio Banderas, Tamlin Tomita, Lana McKissack, Danny Verduzco, Kathy Griffin, Marisa Tomei, Quentin Tarntino, Paul Calderón, Bruce Willis. Screenplay: Allison Anders, Alexandre Rockwell, Robert Rodriguez, Quentin Tarantino. Cinematography: Rodrigo García, Guillermo Navarro, Phil Parmet, Andrzej Sekula. Production design: Gary Frutkoff. Film editing: Margaret Goodspeed, Elena Maganini, Robert Rodriguez, Sally Menke. Music: Combustible Edison.

Four directors on their way up concocted Four Rooms, a knockabout anthology comedy set in a rundown LA hotel. The four segments are linked by the hotel bellhop, Ted, played by a twitchy Tim Roth in a performance that's supposed to be reminiscent of Jerry Lewis, but for once makes the viewer long for the real Jerry Lewis. Roth mugs and flinches and mutters his lines so much that you might be grateful for closed captions except that the lines aren't particularly funny. A few actors survive this mess: Jennifer Beals keeps her head in the two segments in which she appears, and Antonio Banderas does over-the-top machismo well, but most of them succumb to the general anarchy. Four Rooms was savaged by critics, but you'll find people who think it's one of the funniest films ever made. 

No Fear, No Die (Claire Denis, 1990)

Alex Descas and Isaach de Bankolé in No Fear, No Die

Cast: Isaach de Bankolé, Alex Descas, Jean-Claude Brialy, Solveig Dommartin, Christopher Buchholz, Christa Lang, Gilbert Felmar, Daniel Bellus, François Oloa Biloa, Pipo Saguera, Alain Banicles. Screenplay: Claire Denis, Jean-Pol Fargeau. Cinematography: Pascal Marti. Production design: Jean-Jacques Caziot. Film editing: Dominique Auvray. Music: Abdullah Ibrahim. 

Claire Denis's No Fear, No Die is a story about exiles trying to make it in the land that colonized their homelands: Dah (Isaach de Bankolé) is from Benin and Jocelyn (Alex Descas) is from the West Indies. They have come to France to make a fortune in cockfighting. Dah is the businessman and Jocelyn the trainer. Jocelyn provides the contact, Pierre (Jean-Claude Brialy), whom he knew when he was a boy. Eventually, tensions arise between Jocelyn and Pierre, especially after Pierre notices that Jocelyn finds his wife, Toni (Solveig Dommartin), attractive and even names one of the fighting cocks after her. Pierre suggests to Jocelyn that he used to have sex with the man's mother. The explosive human situation is heightened by the sequences depicting cockfights. Denis directs with her usual no-nonsense approach to the brutal actuality that lies hidden beneath the veneer of civilization. 

The Sealed Soil (Marva Nabili, 1977)

Flora Shabaviz in The Sealed Soil

Cast: Flora Shabaviz. Screenplay: Marva Nabili. Cinematography: Barbod Taheri. Music: Hooreh. 

With its static camera, long takes, and lack of a conventional plot, Marva Nabili's The Sealed Soil has earned comparisons to Chantal Akerman's Jeanne Dielman (1975). It has the same unrelenting focus on a central figure, in this case Rooy-Bekhir (Flora Shabaviz), an 18-year-old woman in an Iranian village, who resists pressures from her family and her society to enter an arranged marriage. She is told at one point that her mother was engaged to be married at the age of 7. Eventually, the pressure to conform breaks her down. Much of the film focuses on her daily life in a place that seems suspended in time -- it's a film in which ambience rather than incident dominates. Made on the sly, with Shabaviz the only professional actor in its cast, the film was smuggled out of Iran (where it has never been exhibited) and edited back at the City University of New York, where Nabili was a film student. For those willing to endure its lack of narrative urgency, The Sealed Soil has a quiet power.  

Pink Narcissus (James Bidgood, 1971)

Bobby Kendall in Pink Narcissus

Cast: Bobby Kendall, Don Brooks, Charles Ludlam. Screenplay: James Bidgood. Cinematography: James Bidgood. Art direction: James Bidgood. Film editing: Martin Jay Sadoff. Music: Gary Goch, Martin Jay Sadoff. 

James Bidgood's shoestring fantasy is a reminder of the fine line between the erotic and the comic. Filmed in his apartment with a cast of friends, it's a lush evocation of the daydreams of a man (Bobby Kendall) waiting for the client for his sexual favors, in which the man, credited as Pan, imagines himself in various guises: a bullfighter, a harem boy, a Roman slave, and so on. In short, the familiar setups for gay porn. Though there is plenty of male nudity and at least one sexually explicit moment, Pink Narcissus never quite crosses over into pornography -- at least in the eye of this beholder. The score is made up of snippets of Mussorgsky, Prokofiev, and a Haydn horn concerto, designed to set up a languorous mood. There's no plot, but none is needed. The usual word for this sort of film is camp, and the presence of Charles Ludlam in a variety of roles reinforces that adjective. Certainly it's all a little too much, and the blazes of color, soft-focus photography, and busy editing are sometimes eye-straining, but it's still an intriguing glimpse into one man's imagination.   

Weapons (Zach Cregger, 2025)

Cast: Julia Garner, Josh Brolin, Amy Madigan, Benedict Wong, Cary Christopher, Alden Ehrenreich, Austin Abrams, Whitmer Thomas, Callie Schuttera, Scarlett Sher (voice). Screenplay: Zach Cregger. Cinematography: Larkin Seiple. Production design: Tom Hammock. Film editing: Joe Murphy. Music: Zach Cregger, Hays Holladay, Ryan Holladay.

In Weapons, Zach Cregger takes a gut-level nightmare, the abduction of children, and turns it into a horror movie centered on social scapegoating. When all of the children except for one in the third-grade class taught by Justine Gandy (Julia Garner) disappear one night, she becomes the target of suspicion. The details of their disappearance is uncanny: Seventeen children all left their homes at the same time of night and completely vanished, with only a few videos made by home surveillance cameras to record their departure. The police are baffled even after grilling Justine and the boy (Cary Christopher) who was left behind. Justine is harassed: The word WITCH is painted on her car, and she begins to drink heavily. One of her chief accusers is Archer Graff (Josh Brolin), whose son Matthew was one of the disappeared. Cregger tells the story in overlapping segments, each from a different point of view, a device that’s a little too repetitive but eventually pays off, revealing a villain with supernatural powers – ordinarily a cop-out device in a mystery story, but made effective by a wonderfully creepy performance by Amy Madigan. There are some plot holes that irritate those who look too closely, but Weapons is the kind of film you watch without expecting actuality to intrude.

Dr. T and the Women (Robert Altman, 2000)

Shelley Long and Richard Gere in Dr. T and the Women

Cast: Richard Gere, Helen Hunt, Farrah Fawcett, Shelley Long, Laura Dern, Tara Reid, Kate Hudson, Liv Tyler, Robert Hays, Matt Malloy, Andy Richter, Lee Grant, Janine Turner. Screenplay: Anne Rapp. Cinematography: Jan Kiesser. Production design: Stephen Altman. Film editing: Geraldine Peroni. Music: Lyle Lovett. 

More noisy than funny, Robert Altman's Dr. T and the Women has his characteristic generous casting and overlapping dialogue, but it also displays the limitations of both. We want to see more of some of the performers, like Lee Grant and Laura Dern, than we do, and we want them to say cleverer things than they do. Richard Gere plays a Dallas gynecologist whose office is crowded with eager patients and whose family is full of women demanding his attention. Though Altman's movie was scripted by a woman, Altman portrays women as so foolishly self-obsessed that when he delivers a baby at the end of the film, his proclamation, "It's a boy," is made to sound like a cry of relief. 

Black Christmas (Bob Clark, 1974)

Olivia Hussey in Black Christmas

Cast: Olivia Hussey, Keir Dullea, Margot Kidder, John Saxon, Marian Waldman, Andrea Martin, James Edmond, Doug McGrath, Art Hindle, Lynne Griffin. Screenplay: Roy Moore. Cinematography: Reginald H. Morris. Art direction: Karen Bromley. Film editing: Stan Cole. Music: Carl Zittrer. 

One of the progenitors of the "the call is coming from inside the house" trope, Bob Clark's Black Christmas generates a lot of suspense once you get through the first hour, which is full of cheesy jokes and naughty talk, much of it given to Margot Kidder as Barb, one of the doomed coeds in a sorority house being stalked by a psychopath. Bob Clark's pacing is off in this first part of the movie, but it doesn't much matter once the victims keep dropping. The Christmas setting is gratuitous and the father of the first victim is played oddly for laughs, so the film also takes its time finding a consistent tone. Still, there are those who think it's a classic of the genre. 

Deadline at Dawn (Harold Clurman, 1946)

Bill Williams and Susan Hayward in Deadline at Dawn

Cast: Bill Williams, Susan Hayward, Paul Lukas, Joseph Calleia, Osa Massen, Lola Lane, Jerome Cowan, Marvin Miller, Roman Bohnen, Steven Geray, Joe Sawyer, Constance Worth, Joseph Crehan. Screenplay: Clifford Odets, based on a novel by Cornell Woolrich. Cinematography: Nicholas Musuraca. Art direction: Albert S. D'Agostino, Jack Okey. Film editing: Roland Gross. Music: Hanns Eisler. 

In Harold Clurman's Deadline at Dawn, screenwriter Clifford Odets takes a familiar thriller premise -- a guy wakes up after a blackout bender with a dead woman and can't prove that he didn't kill her -- and almost talks it to death. The guy is a sailor on shore leave, Alex Winkler (Bill Williams), and in his effort to determine whether he killed Edna Bartelli (Lola Lane), he gains the help of a taxi dancer, June Goffe (Susan Hayward), and a taxi driver, Gus Hoffman (Paul Lukas). The result is a head-spinning series of encounters with various unsavory types leading to a conclusion that will be surprising only if you haven't learned to suspect everyone in a whodunit. This was celebrated stage director Clurman's only film and he makes it more theatrical than it should be, largely with the help of Odets, who was also a playwright in love with florid dialogue. So we get lines like "If you hear a peculiar noise, it's my skin creeping" and "People with wax heads should keep out of the sun." Fortunately, Odets doesn't give any of these screwy lines to his protagonist, Alex, so we like him all the more for his simplicity. None of Deadline at Dawn makes very much sense, but that's what's entertaining about it. 

Guilty Bystander (Joseph Lerner, 1950)

Zachary Scott and Mary Boland in Guilty Bystander

Cast: Zachary Scott, Faye Emerson, Mary Boland, Sam Levene, J. Edward Bromberg, Kay Medford, Jed Prouty, Harry Landers, Elliott Sullivan, Ray Julian, Dennis Patrick. Screenplay: Don Ettinger, based on a novel by Whit Masterson and H. William Miller. Cinematography: Gerald Hirschfeld, Russell Harlan. Production design: Leo Kerz. Film editing: Geraldine Lerner. Music: Dimitri Tiomkin. 

Mary Boland made her name as a character actress playing dotty matrons like the Countess De Lave in The Women (George Cukor, 1939) and Mrs. Bennet in Pride and Prejudice (Robert Z. Leonard, 1940), so it's fun to see her play against type as Smitty, the tough old bird who is the proprietor of a run-down residence hotel in Joseph Lerner's Guilty Bystander. She's entertaining to watch but it's more a collection of mannerisms and speech patterns borrowed from Marie Dressler, Mae West, and Jean Harlow than a credible character. But then the movie, a whodunit with an alcoholic ex-cop for protagonist, feels borrowed from a lot of sources, including the snarled plots and seedy milieus of Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammett. Zachary Scott is Max Thursday, Smitty's booze-sodden house detective. His ex-wife, Georgia (Faye Emerson), comes to him for help when their small son goes missing, along with her brother, Fred (Dennis Patrick). Rousing himself from his stupor, Thursday goes on a hunt that takes him into several hives of sleaze, gets him shot in the arm, and even leads him on a chase through the subway tunnels of New York City. The kidnapping turns out to have something to do with diamond smuggling, but atmosphere is more important to the film than plot. Good location shooting lifts Guilty Bystander above the routine, but not by much.  

Blackout (Terence Fisher, 1954)

Belinda Lee and Dane Clark in Blackout

Cast: Dane Clark, Belinda Lee, Betty Ann Davies, Eleanor Summerfield, Andrew Osborn, Harold Lang, Jill Melford, Alvis Maben, Michael Golden, Nora Gordon, Alfie Bass. Screenplay: Richard H. Landau, based on a novel by Helen Nielsen. Cinematography: Walter J. Harvey. Art direction: J. Elder Wills. Film editing: Maurice Rootes. Music: Ivor Slaney. 

Any movie that starts with Cleo Laine singing "St. Louis Blues" even before the credits run has my attention. Unfortunately, Terence Fisher's Blackout (aka Murder by Proxy) doesn't repay it. It's a welter of plot twists and red herrings and withheld information that begins with a drunken American (Dane Clark) being propositioned in an unusual way by a beautiful woman (Belinda Lee). Naturally he wakes up the next morning in a place he's never been before, with a furious hangover and a blood-spotted topcoat. From then on, he keeps sticking his nose in places he shouldn't and getting mixed up with people he should avoid. It's standard whodunit stuff, but without much punch in either performances or direction. The chief reward of the film for me is that it added to my collection of Mondegreens and closed-caption goofs: When Laine sings the line in "St. Louis Blues" about the St. Louie woman's "store-bought hair," the captioner turns it into "stubbled hair." 
 

Pieces of April (Peter Hedges, 2003)

Katie Holmes in Pieces of April

Cast: Katie Holmes, Derek Luke, Patricia Clarkson, Oliver Platt, Alison Pill, John Gallagher Jr., Alice Drummond, Sean Hayes, Isiah Whitlock Jr., Lillias White, Leila Danette, Sisqó, Adrian Martinez, Armando Riesco. Screenplay: Peter Hedges. Cinematography: Tami Reiker. Production design: Rick Butler. Film editing: Mark Livolsi. Music: Stephin Merritt. 

April (Katie Holmes) is the black sheep of the Burns family, so when she decides to make amends with them, she invites them for Thanksgiving dinner in the grungy apartment that she shares with her boyfriend, Bobby (Derek Luke), in a dicey New York neighborhood. It's a formulaic setup for all sorts of formulaic mishaps, starting with April's discovery that her oven doesn't work, yet somehow Peter Hedges manages to transcend formulas and a collection of characters just shy of caricature to create a warm-hearted feel-good movie. Much of the burden of transcendence falls on the shoulders of the actors, particularly Patricia Clarkson as April's mother, Joy, who is dying of breast cancer. Clarkson earned an Oscar nomination for the role. It's part road movie, as the Burnses journey from the suburbs to the inner city, and part sitcom farce, but it has considerable charm. I couldn't help comparing Pieces of April, however, to a better suburbanites-in-the-city comedy, The Daytrippers (Greg Mottola, 1996).  

Natural Born Killers (Oliver Stone, 1994)

Woody Harrelson and Juliette Lewis in Natural Born Killers

Cast: Woody Harrelson, Juliette Lewis, Robert Downey Jr., Tom Sizemore, Tommy Lee Jones, Rodney Dangerfield, Edie McClurg, Russell Means, Balthazar Getty, Stephen Wright, Sean Stone, Jeremiah Bitsui, Pruitt Taylor Vince, Joe Grifasi, Everett Quinton. Screenplay: Quentin Tarantino, David Veloiz, Richard Rutowski, Oliver Stone. Cinematography: Robert Richardson. Production design: Victor Kempster. Film editing: Brian Berdan, Hank Corwin. Music: Brent Lewis. 

Oliver Stone's sledgehammer satire Natural Born Killers began with a screenplay by Quentin Tarantino in which the central character was the filmmaker Wayne Gale, played in Stone's version by Robert Downey Jr. In the rewrite, Stone and co-writers David Veloz and Richard Rutowski shifted the focus to the killers, Mickey (Woody Harrelson) and Mallory (Juliette Lewis). Tarantino has since regretted the loss of control over his story, and it's easy to see why. A Tarantino version might be at least as violent and bloody, but it would have had some wit to it. Mickey and Mallory might have been more like Pumpkin and Honey Bunny, the couple played by Tim Roth and Amanda Plummer in Pulp Fiction (1994) -- lethal but oddly lovable. Stone makes all of his characters loathsome -- if we have sympathy for Mickey and Mallory, it's because everyone around them is worse, from Mallory's parents, played by Rodney Dangerfield and Edie McClurg, to the gas station attendant played by Balthazar Getty, to the detective played by Tom Sizemore and the warden played by Tommy Lee Jones. Jones in particular is directed to play against his usual type, a slow-burning character like the marshal in The Fugitive (Andrew Davis, 1993), and go wildly over the top. Stone is less interested in characters or even in making a point about media exploitation than in showing off film technique, from Dutch angles to the mixing of various film stocks and switches from color to black and white. In short, Natural Born Killers is a headache-inducing mess.  

Shadow Kill (Adoor Gopalakrishnan, 2002)

Director Adoor Gopalakrishnan

Cast: Oduvil Unnikrishnan, Sukumari, Mallika, Thara Kalyan, Murali, Sivakumar, Narain, Nedumudi Venu, Vijayaragavan, Jagathy Sreekumar, Indrans, Kukku Parameshruwaram. Screenplay: Adoor Gopalakrishnan. Cinematography: Sunny Joseph, Mankada Ravi Varma. Production design: Raheesh Babu, Adoor Gopalakrishan. Film editing: B. Ajithkumar. Music: Ilaiyaraaja. 

Shadow Kill, which is also known as Nizhalkkuthu, is my introduction to the films of Adoor Gopalakrishnan and a reminder of how much I am at sea in films from other cultures. I don't know, for example, how much of the story is based on actual criminal justice practices in pre-independence India and how much is fictional. Taken in itself, the film is a fable about guilt and justice, centered in the practice of capital punishment. It takes place in the kingdom of Travancore, where Kaliyappan (Oduvil Unnikrishnan) is the official executioner. He's a man wracked with guilt for what he has done in his professional capacity, particularly the fear that he has put innocent people to death. As the hangman, he is presented the rope used after each execution, which he burns and consecrates to the goddess Kali to be used as holy ash in the treatment of the sick. His guilt has driven him to drink, but he's not the only one who feels cursed by the administration of capital punishment: The authorities, fearing divine retribution, have made it a practice to pardon all those condemned to death, but for the pardon to arrive only after the execution has taken place. Much of the film consists of a story told by the jailer as a drunken Kaliyappan struggles to stay awake before an execution: It deal with the rape and murder of a girl that has been wrongly pinned on her lover. When the jailer reveals that it's the man he's about to execute, Kaliyappan collapses, but his son, a follower of Gandhi in the struggle for India's freedom, dutifully takes his place as executioner. Gopalakrishnan provides no explanation for the son's act, leaving viewers to explicate the story's more on their own. It's beautifully filmed and Unnikrishnan's performance is excellent, but I wonder how much of my puzzled reaction to the movie comes from my own ignorance of Indian culture and history. 

Materialists (Celine Song, 2025)

Dakota Johnson and Pedro Pascal in Materialists 

Cast: Dakota Johnson, Chris Evans, Pedro Pascal, Zoe Winters, Marin Ireland, Dasha Nekrasova, Emmy Wheeler, Louisa Jacobson, Eddie Cahill, Sawyer Spielberg, Joseph Lee, John Magaro. Screenplay: Celine Song. Cinematography: Shabier Kirchner. Production design: Anthony Gasparro. Film editing: Keith Fraase. Music: Daniel Pemberton. 

Celine Song's Materialists is a rom-com with a satiric edge, though not a terribly sharp one. Dakota Johnson plays Lucy, who works for a high-end matchmaking service that celebrates its workers when their clients end up getting married. Lucy is very good at her job, with nine weddings to her credit, but she hasn't been very successful in finding her own soulmate. She split with her old boyfriend, John (Chris Evans), largely because they're too poor -- he's a struggling actor -- to think about an upwardly mobile life together. Then, in the course of her job, she meets Harry (Pedro Pascal), handsome and rich. They hit it off, but something's not right just yet. When one of her clients is raped by a man Lucy matched with her, she begins to question what she does for a living, and to realize that the potential for love can't be measured by algorithms, the "checked-off boxes" she uses to match her clients. The premise of Materialists -- a bright young woman overcoming her own delusions -- is pure Jane Austen, but the movie feels weighed down by its stars. Johnson doesn't have enough chemistry with either Evans or Pascal to give her choice between the two any real urgency or credibility, and the hits at yuppie materialism are more didactic than funny. 

Household Saints (Nancy Savoca, 1993)

Lili Taylor in Household Saints

Cast: Tracey Ullman, Vincent D'Onofrio, Lili Taylor, Judith Malina, Michael Rispoli, Victor Argo, Michael Imperioli, Rachel Bella, Ileana Douglas, Joe Grifasi. Screenplay: Richard Guay, Nancy Savoca, based on a novel by Savoca. Cinematography: Bobby Bukowski. Production design: Kalina Ivanova. Film editing: Elizabeth King. Music: Stephen Endelman. 

As a portrayal of a certain kind of religious obsession peculiar to immigrant families, Nancy Savoca's adaptation of Francine Prose's novel Household Saints has warmth and charm balanced with a touch of skepticism. Judith Malina and Tracey Ullman overcome the caricature inherent in their roles as Old World mama and New World daughter-in-law, and Lili Taylor is wonderful as Teresa, who inherits her grandmother's piety with a new intensity. Vincent D'Onofrio is a touch too contemporary in style for the role of the butcher Joseph Santangelo, who tries unsuccessfully to impose his will on the women in his life. The film runs about half an hour too long. It could have jettisoned the subplot dealing with the obsession of Nicky Falconetti (Michael Rispoli) with Asian women, which has something to do with Madame Butterfly, and the framing scenes that set up the veneration of Teresa aren't really necessary. Household Saints sometimes overstates the comedy, but that's a risk inherent in the story, and Savoca manages to avoid the temptation to milk the material for tears.

Hold Me Tight (Mathieu Amalric, 2021)

Vicky Krieps in Hold Me Tight

Cast: Vicky Krieps, Arieh Worthalter, Anne-Sophie Bowen-Chatet, Sacha Ardilly, Juliette Benveniste, Aurèle Grzesik, Aurélia Petit, Erwan Ribard, Cuca Bañeras Flos, Samuel Mathieu, Jean-Philippe Petit. Screenplay: Mathieu Amalric, based on a play by Claudine Galea. Cinematography: Christophe Beaucarne. Production design: Laurent Baude. Film editing: François Gédigier. 

"I don't like movies that make me think," said a woman on a social media site recently in an argument about Kathryn Bigelow's latest  film, A House of Dynamite. "I have enough to think about already." I wouldn't recommend Mathieu Amalric's Hold Me Tight to her, then. It makes the viewer work to sort out what is going on in actuality or in the mind of the protagonist, Clarisse (Vicky Krieps). When we first see her, she is laying out a bunch of Polaroid photographs on the table, turning them over as if they were tarot cards that might provide a revelation of some sorts. Then we see her sneak out of the house, careful not to wake her husband and children, and set out on what will become a solitary road trip. We then see her family, her husband, Marc (Arieh Worthalter), her daughter, Lucie (Anne-Sophie Bowen-Chatet), and her son, Paul (Sacha Ardilly), as they start the day without her. But gradually we realize that what we have just seen may not have happened at all, at least not in the way it's presented to us, and we have to assemble what is being shown to us into a coherent and ultimately painful reality. The question may arise whether the way Amalric chooses to tell Clarisse's story justifies itself: Does it reveal something about her experience that a straightforward narrative would lack? Or is it just like a jigsaw puzzle in which putting it together is the point, rather than the picture itself? After waffling back and forth between those questions, I find myself coming down mushily in the middle: I think the complications of the narrative verge on self-conscious filmmaking, but that the ultimate effect is to make Hold Me Tight an unusually compelling story of memory and desire, heightened by Krieps's performance and a soundtrack full of evocative music.    

Love Under the Crucifix (Kinuyo Tanaka, 1962)

Ineko Arima in Love Under the Crucifix

Cast: Ineko Arima, Tatsuya Nakadai, Ganjiro Nakamura, Mieko Takamine, Osamu Takizawa, Koji Nanbara, Manami Fuji, Yumeji Tsukioka, Hisaya Ito. Screenplay: Masahige Narusawa, based on a novel  by Toko Kon. Cinematography: Yoshio Miyajima. Art direction: Junpei Oosumi. Film editing: Hisashi Sagara. Music: Hikaru Hayashi.  

As deliberate and slow as the tea ceremony that it features, Kinuyo Tanaka's Love Under the Crucifix is a story of love thwarted by conflicting codes: Christian moral doctrine vs. the laws and traditions of 16th century Japan. Ineko Arima plays Ogin, daughter of Rikyu (Ganjiro Nakamura), a master of the tea ceremony. When a wealthy merchant seeks her hand in marriage, Ogin is forced to accept, even though she has loved Takayama Ukon (Tatsuya Nakadai) since they were children together. Ukon, however, is not only already married, but also a Christian and opposed to divorce. When Christianity is banned in Japan, he is forced into exile. Eventually Ogin and Ukon will meet again under perilous circumstances and their enduring love will be tested. Beautifully designed and filmed, Love Under the Crucifix is weighed down by exposition-heavy dialogue and its somewhat over-familiar story line. Arima is superb as Ogin, but Nakadai is wasted in a role that gives him little to do.