I'm not sure if this works as a straight-up thriller, but as a dark comedy and a surreal anxiety dream, it's the tops.

Once you get over the sacrilege of not only making a sequel to 2001, but making it direct, prosaic, and sentimental, this is an absolutely not-bad sci-fi film that's had the decency to be largely forgotten, so the original can still stand alone.

A beautiful glimpse at the passing of time and the subjectivity of memory.

Its plot has no logic other than what would make a good scene. But it's got Robert Downey, Jr., Samuel L. Jackson in an eye-patch, Mickey Rourke doing a Russian accent, Scarlett Johansson's stunt double in a tight body-suit, and the most effortless scientific breakthrough since Jeff Goldblum hacked an alien computer system overnight. And of course, it sets up the next film. If anything can save America, it's synergy.

Living dangerously in South America! Of course, this being a Howard Hawks movie, it's also a battle of the sexes. Admittedly, the film's gender ideals seem damn near irrelevant in an era where women have career opportunities and Weezer has gone platinum. But as a movie, it still crackles. A great Hawksian line, from a plaintive Arthur to an emotionally withdrawn Grant: "I'm hard to get. All you have to do is ask."

In 1930, it's clear Howard Hawks hadn't quite figured out sound and the proper rhythm of dialogue that marks his later classics. But this is still the original buddy-action-war movie, with a growing awareness of complexity and action sequences that still work.

The closest Woody Allen came to being Bergman, and he did it without forgetting that he's Woody Allen.

"The world would be a better place if we knew the answers to your questions, Bruno."

I can walk!

This isn't exactly Shakespeare, but it may be the best film ever derived from his work: a disorienting, phantasmagoric staging of Othello sped up to such a pace (and done with such a grim, beautiful eye for chaos) that nearly every shot can send your mind reeling. The result is the only Shakespeare adaptation that runs the risk of giving you a panic attack.

Some very interesting decisions, particularly towards the end, but the original is still the most essential.

The cocoon that the New Wave and Antonioni would come out of, and with much to recommend it on its own.

Let future historians know that by 2011, the last remotely subversive way to do a poop joke was to have it done by a woman.

One of Herzog's richest, most ironic subjects, as well as one of his more troubling treatments. It's not that his stance is condescending towards the eccentricity on display—on the contrary, Herzog seems to feel that madness is the closest a human being can come to ecstasy—but that, of all his documentaries I've seen, this is the one that least effectively dodges the charge of exploitation.

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Aesthetically and conceptually strong, and so unusual in both regards for 1988 that it attained minor classic status on those strengths alone. But as a narrative, it's a bit wobbly, with a hazily defined set of conflicts, rules, and motivations that put a damper on the set-design.

A jolly old wartime morale booster that turns (surprisingly and pleasingly) into a complex, melancholy love story and an examination of the roots and realities of World War II.

Love Felicity Jones, but would it have killed them to make Anton Yelchin's character more interesting? I'm starting to get a paranoid suspicion that women fantasize about ending up with a man who has no personality.

Feels a bit like strong individual pieces of much longer and more fulfilling work.

Would make an intense double bill with Sleeping Beauty.

At it's core, and if it were directed in a more prosaic style, Mysteries of Lisbon would essentially be one big expository soap opera. But in Ruiz's hands, and with the enveloping, mesmerizing mood he creates, it becomes something more: a tract on how life is long, complicated, messy and beautiful, and you can spend your whole life trying to understand it without coming close.

I'll have to check it out!

Interested to see this one, as it has a reputation as the pleasant surprise of the year—that is, far better than anyone expected a Planet of the Apes movie in 2011 to be.

Title and treacly premise aside, Cameron Crowe does deserve credit as one of the best modern auteurs of sentimentality. This is not meant as an insult—far from it—but to say that he's one of the few mainstream directors who can present the warm, fuzzy, and optimistic view of human relations (between family, friends, and lovers) and have it feel sincere, convincing, and genuinely effective.

It's the end of the year, and once again, the awards seem to have forgotten what a terrific and unusual film Soderbergh has made.

Iñárritu!

As an alien thriller, it may not satisfy, but an alien thriller is only a fraction of what it is. 2011 is clearly the year of nostalgia: just as The Artist resurrected silent form (and as The Muppets is less a "Muppet movie" than a movie about Muppet movies), so Super 8 is a loving tribute to blockbuster filmmaking—not as crass marketing juggernauts, but as geeky daydreams originating in the heart of suburbia.

Uneven, wonky by design, and a bit of a stretch, even by sci-fi standards. But, along with Moon, it very much works in the spirit of a 1960s sci-fi short story, and for that, I'm glad we have Duncan Jones.

A film about beautiful it is just to walk down the street.

A nice bump from the Golden Globes.