New to the Queue

We're in no hurry ...

Westerns are a rare treat, so we don't go lightly into the Michael Fassbender vehicle "Slow West."

Andrew Bujalski got back on his game with "Computer Chess," and he's got a name cast for his latest, "Results."

A documentary about the dying days of the filmmaker Ed Pincus, "One Cut, One Life."

A Romanian homage to Ozu, "The Japanese Dog."

An apocalyptic love story from France, "Love at First Fight."

This period piece set in the late '90s is a tribute to '60s unrest and '70s road movies, the Mexican drama "Gueros."

A meandering summer in the life of a French graduate student in the mid 1980s, "Tu Dors Nicole."
 

PUNK III: Life in Heck

KURT COBAIN: MONTAGE OF HECK (A-minus) - This fascinating mediation on the life of Kurt Cobain is a family-approved (though not family-friendly) stage-dive into the Nirvana leader's childhood, diary scribblings and art. It often has a dreamlike quality, as if we're road-tripping through Cobain's brain or strung out with him on heroin.

This is a video tour de force from Brett Morgen, the man behind the epic documentary "The Kid Stays in the Picture," where he made the colorful autobiography of Hollywood producer Robert Evans leap off the screen. Similarly, here, he reanimates one of the most important musical geniuses of the rock era, enjoying full access to every scrap, clip and image from the man's 27-year life. The movie confirms that Cobain, like John Lennon before him, channeled his issues of childhood abandonment into heart-stabbing songs that were perfectly attuned to the zeitgeist.

Morgen is not in a hurry (the film runs 135 minutes). He spends a good half hour exploring Cobain's childhood, and he lingers on home movie images of the innocent little boy. Random effluvia: a two-line to-do list of "(1) Learn to play your instrument and (2) Don't hurt girls when you dance." The screen flashes with a dozen or two diary entries of potential band names for what would become Nirvana. Another note: "A band needs to practice at least 5 times a week." We see scratched-out lyrics evolve into the classics we know by heart. We hear Cobain's voice, recorded on cassette, embellished with animations in graphic-novel style. Cobain's own art scribbles pop off the screen, crudely animated, as filmmakers like to do these days.

There are apparently no secrets left uncovered. You can imagine Cobain being horrified at spilling these intimate moments into the world -- childhood drawings of cartoon characters; an audio diary of his pathetic teen years; his step-mom announcing that adolescent Kurt was impossible to live with because he missed his real mommy, who had pawned him off on her ex and various other relatives (while dad Don Cobain looks on with anxiety and perhaps pent-up guilt). We also hear from a step-sister, his first real girlfriend, his parents, and, of course, Courtney Love and Krist Novaselic. (Dave Grohl is absent.)

The sweep of the film is enchanting. One minute we see a toddler mindlessly romping around his backyard with his toys (while a music-box version of "All Apologies" plinks away) and suddenly we see the grown man with his scraggly beard, now a tortured artist with that little boy still crying inside. So many images and clips are haunting. Imagine what it was like to be him. And then the tsunami of celebrity crashed down. Behind-the-scenes footage and outtakes from the legendary video for "Smells Like Teen Spirit" is accompanied not by the original recording but by a choir's cover version, presenting a heartbreaking omen to kick off the second half of the film.

And there seems to be no end to the music. Full versions of anthems like "Lithium" and "Territorial Pissings." A snippet of a demo of Cobain covering the Beatles. The MTV unplugged session.

Some viewers will recoil at this immense invasion of privacy; others will shrug and wonder what the big deal is about this loser junkie 20 years after he blew his brains out. In fact, Morgen's only significant misstep is the amount of time he spends on Cobain and Love's own home Betamax movies that document their bland heroin reveries or life with little Frances Bean. He wastes time on the tired rumors speculating about whether Love was shooting up during her pregnancy.

Otherwise, this is a unique fileting of every aspect of a sensitive human soul. It's an unprecedented unpacking of a life, a breathtaking glimpse at an ordinary boy and extraordinary, reluctant rock star.

At the two-hour mark, we start to sense that the end will come quickly. And it does. It did.

BONUS TRACKS 
Throughout the film we see examples of Cobain searching for ways to use the title "Verse, Chorus, Verse" (almost the title of "Heart-Shaped Box"), a fine example of his cut-and-paste songwriting style. It eventually appeared as a song on the "No Alternative" various-artists compilation:




The previously unreleased title track, "Montage of Heck":



Another rarity: Cobain performing "And I Love Her," as he descends into his heroin-fueled domesticity with Love:



Two minutes of blissful blistering rock 'n' roll:

PUNK II: The Curse

REVENGE OF THE MEKONS (B) - Self-deprecation has its merits. It can help a bunch of punks make it to middle age with their integrity intact.

The Mekons emerged as the amateurish but politically vibrant alternative to their pals in Gang of Four in the Leeds music scene in the late 1970s, on the eve of Thatcher. They reinvented themselves with a pioneering alt-country album "Fear and Whiskey," with roots in both the English folk tradition and Hank Williams (abetted by a Chicago disc jockey who shipped them tapes of classic '50s country songs). They then re-emerged with their crunchy "Rock 'n' Roll" album in the late '80s, launching their most prolific decade of mature work -- all the while suffering the slings and arrows and curses of the fickle record industry, bouncing tragically from label to label before finding a home in Chicago.

Chicago native Joe Angio ably captures the spirit and verve of this ragtag caravan of artists who settled into a permanent lineup by the early '90s, including a violinist, accordionist and, for a while, a wild-limbed roadie. The core of the band consists of Tom Greenhalgh, who is the bearded George Harrison mystic of the group; the prolific Jon Langford, whose seductive green eyes and perpetual mischievous streak belie a Joe Strummer intensity; and velvet-voiced Sally Timms, another wiseacre whose artistry seems to spring from a deep well of hurt.

Anyone who has seen them live knows that Jon and Sally, who dated way back in the '80s when he recruited her into the fold, can banter like a British Sonny and Cher (or Cher and Letterman). Angio taps into the energy of that witty, charming duo but he doesn't ignore the rest of the band, offering extended glimpses into the lives of Susie Honeyman, Greenhalgh, and Rico Bell. He travels to Tajikistan with the nomadic Lu Edmonds (The Damned, PiL, Billy Bragg's Blokes) as the guitarist explores the sounds from other cultures.

Much of the footage appears to be from 2007 to 2011, including extensive scenes from recording sessions from their most recent album "Ancient and Modern." We get intimate shots of the Mekons writing songs and engaging in living-room recording sessions. We see them eating together family-style in a communal circle. It's a fascinating look at the creative process of a close-knit troupe.

The vintage clips are wonderful, including an MTV interview conducted by a youngish Fred Armisen, who was once married to Timms and was part of the '90s Chicago music scene (as the drummer for Trenchmouth) with her and Langford. Novelist Jonathan Franzen pops up as a fanboy talking head. Veterans of the punk era and from the band's early revolving-door years tell heartfelt tales. Angio doesn't ignore the band's more bizarre detours, like their ill-advised collaboration with performance artist Kathy Acker (try to sit through "Pussy, King of Pirates"). (One complaint: Angio mostly ignores the band's work from the turn of the millennium, its peak and its masterpiece "Journey to the End of Night.")

A scene that underlines the band's perpetual underdog status shows the band members at a club gig finding out from the audience that their next scheduled show has been canceled, apparently due to lack of ticket sales. In another scene, Timms forgets the words to one of her signature songs, “Ghosts Of American Astronauts," and has her bottle of vodka confiscated by Langford while another band member fetches the book of lyrics for her.

This is a loving look at hugely talented musicians/songwriters/performers/artists who not only have survived the music business on their terms but who seem to genuinely like each other like siblings and still love getting together every few years to create music and jam like there's no tomorrow. They long ago found peace with the idea that they'll never be superstars. It's all a blessing and a curse.

BONUS TRACKS
Our title track, from a live 2008 performance:



After their first single, "Never Been in a Riot" (an answer song to the Clash's "White Riot"), the Mekons broke through with this anthem: 



A punk manifesto. ("East Berlin can't buy a thing; there's nothing they can sell me.") The hit that never was:



Cowboy Sally, with the voice of an angel: 



The perfect closer (with Neko Case on backing vocals): 

PUNK I: A Regular Riot

We begin a trilogy marking the punk era, then and now:
 
PUSSY RIOT: A PUNK PRAYER (B) - HBO presents this by-the-numbers documentary about the three bold woman who are taking on Vladimir Putin's "totalitarian" tactics in post-post-Soviet Russia.

The three main members of the collective -- Nadia Tolokonnikova, Masha Aliokhina and Katia Samutsevich -- were arrested in 2012 on charges of hooliganism for staging an impromptu art-punk performance at the Cathedral of Christ the Savior in Moscow. It was typical of their flash-mob anarchist tactics, whose origins coincided with the return of Putin as Russian president in 2012.

Their faces masked by balaclavas (neon-colored, intended to express joy), the trio sparked worldwide controversy with their sacrilegious performance.  Filmmakers Max Lerner and Maxim Pozdorovkin humanize the women and allow them to express themselves. One collaborator helps out with the line "It's God's shit," and that becomes a chorus. Another title is "Putin Pissed Himself."

Katia rebels against the patriarchy's expectations of women's roles as wives and mothers. She is older and lived through the final years of the Soviet Union, eventually becoming radicalized through her study of French leftist philosophers. We're told that Nadia was raised as "a little Bolshevik" by a strong-willed grandmother and turned to conceptual art as a teenager (we see one of her art pieces in which she tries to force kisses on police officers and another called "Biology Museum," which is essentially an orgy). Relatives tell us that "unjust" was Masha's favorite word as a little girl and that she was a Spice Girls fan before turning to environmentalism as a teen.

Masha has a husband and child, and she frets about the specter of Social Services. Nadia's husband and child also appear. "Jail is not so bad for a person who thinks" and who still has a conscience and soul, Nadia proclaims from her cage surrounded by reporters, photographers and relatives.

The film is fairly even-handed. We see members of the Orthodox church bemoaning the "demon" women and staging counter-protests (while noting that in the glorious 16th century they just would have hanged or burned the women). Older Muscovites point out that the celebration of their faith is sacred, especially after having gone underground during the Soviet era.

The memories of Lenin and Stalin are always present. The filmmakers remind us of the "show trials of the 1930s that quelled insurrection, drawing a link to the Pussy Riot prosecution. The women's trial is covered extensively, as the second half of the film becomes, essentially, a courtroom procedural. The accuseds' closing statements are quite powerful, especially Masha's boast that the trio are the free ones while those serving the system and prosecuting them are the imprisoned ones.

BONUS TRACKS
Crashing the cathedral:



Peaches and pals, in solidarity:

Brooklyn, Brooklyn, Take Me In

We finally hand out our first straight A for a 2015 release:

APPROPRIATE BEHAVIOR (A) - As assured a debut as you will ever see. Desiree Akhavan spins a smart, funny, passionate tale of relationships in 21st century Brooklyn (where else?).

The film is expertly paced, wry, touching and dead-on about the way humans interact. Akhavan, who had a memorable role in "Girls" this past season (as one of Hannah's Iowa classmates), carries the film like an old pro. She also wrote and directed it, and, playing effortlessly with time jumps, she exhibits the confidence of a young Orson Welles, as if she were born to make movies.

Akhavan stars as deadpan Shirin, a bisexual daughter of Iranian immigrants, trying to right herself after a tough breakup from the butch Maxine (a pitch-perfect Rebecca Henderson, who recalls Lili Taylor). Shirin finds support in her straight best friend, Crystal (the dryly funny Halley Feiffer from HBO's "Bored to Death"), before the story doubles back intermittently to tell the story of Shirin and Maxine's romance, starting with a charming meet-cute at a New Year's Eve party, on the steps of a Brownstone, bonding over their disdain for the culture around them.

Akhavan weaves in Iranian culture but doesn't wallow in it, as if she were directing "My Big Fat Persian Wedding." (One joke you'll find in the trailer sharply deflates any mysticism about Shirin's visits to the homeland; she would mostly sit around watching Disney videos while her grandmother untangled jewelry.) Her parents may or may not be either clueless or in denial about Shirin's longtime lack of a boyfriend, even when they visit Shirin and Maxine's one-bedroom (and one-bed) apartment. Shirin's brother, Ali (Arian Moayed), is the golden child of the family, a doctor who mocks his sister for having majored in journalism.

Crystal hooks Shirin up with a McJob, in which she is tasked with teaching filmmaking to a bunch of 6-year-old boys. She can barely grab their attention enough to lecture about the rudimentary process of stop-action techniques. When she visits a similar class that is full of girls, she finds them deep into production of a shot-for-shot remake of a Hitchcock scene -- one of a few laugh-out-loud moments that bring joy to the proceedings. The other teacher, Tibet (Rosalie Lowe), is a delightfully ditzy former hair model. A stoner turn by Scott Adsit ("30 Rock") is the only flat, cliched performance

Akhavan obviously shares an aesthetic with Lena Dunham (who's "Tiny Furniture" was an impressive debut), and both women are sharply observant in their comedy. But Akhavan sheds the hipster narcissism of the top Girl and instead establishes instant cred with her modern-day take on "Annie Hall" or "When Harry Met Sally."

This is a traditional relationship film, and, like in "Blue Is the Warmest Color," sexual preference or gender roles just aren't the point. You take two people in love and track their progress as they co-habitate. If you have a talent like Akhavan in charge of the narrative, you also have an instant classic.

BONUS TRACK
The perfect closing-credits song, "To the East," from the great melodic noisesters Electrelane:

I See What He Did There

WHILE WE'RE YOUNG (B+) - I know what Noah Baumbach was going for here, and it's admirable. If he had pulled it off, he would have crafted a masterpiece. As it is, this battle of generations -- X vs. Millennials -- is smartly written and well acted.

But Baumbach's past films from the last decade really stick with you -- "Frances Ha," "Greenberg," "Margot at the Wedding," "The Squid and the Whale." This one seems ambitious but fizzier and fuzzier. It's funny but just a tad scattered.

Ben Stiller is wonderful as Josh, a 40-something documentarian obsessing over his own egg-head masterpiece (years in the making and still not nearly finished) and toiling in the shadow of his mentor/father-in-law, Leslie Breitbart (Charles Grodin), a legend in the field (known for such Mayslesian works as "Boy in the Bathtub"). Josh and his vivacious wife, Cornelia (Naomi Watts, back in form), live a happy child-free existence in a clean, well-lighted section of Brooklyn.

Josh soon is befriended by up-and-coming filmmaker Jamie (Adam Driver, starting to wear his shtick thin already), a hipster in a fedora whose wispy wife Darby (a spot-on Amanda Seyfriend) makes ice cream in a loft they share with a random roommate, Tipper (Dree Hemingway). Jamie and Darby seem to have furnished their loft with everything the older couple tossed out in the early '90s. They play vinyl albums and earnestly shun other modern conveniences. The ones who obsess over their phones -- you may have noticed this -- are the older Gen Xers. Here that's Josh and Cornelia's friends Fletcher and Marina (Beastie Boy Adam Horovitz and Maria Dizzia), sadly convinced that they are only following new social norms with that classic ironic detachment.

So Josh feels like a kid again. He and Cornelia start hanging out with Jamie and Darby and shunning Fletcher and Marina and their drag of a newborn. Josh, decked out in fashions borrowed from a Hipster Bingo card (fedora, hoodie, etc.), feels re-energized about finishing his opus, and Jamie has a line on his own project, inviting Josh to participate. But something's not right; Jamie seems to be working an angle. Ah, here comes the generational divide; these kids with their reality shows and YouTube don't follow the same rules we've surrendered to!

Baumbach is nimble with his narrative here. He throws in a few twists that Stiller pulls off impressively.  Baumbach has got more on his mind than bashing Gen Y. Or Gen X. Or popular culture in general. He has a Big Idea. (What is authentic? Which truths are worth pursuing?) You can see him mapping it out with postcards on a bulletin board and some thick philosophy books stacked on his desk. He just doesn't quite pull it off. It's a two-dimensional rendering of a three-dimensional brainstorm. At times it's quite funny, and the jokes are never cheap. A few sight gags (a chicken as a house pet; a cut to Josh in his new horn-rims) land perfectly. An extended sequence at a drug party, however, drags during a key section.

Thankfully, Stiller is strong, playing a more successful (though still stunted) version of his "Greenberg" man-child. Watts and Seyfried take a back seat to the men here, but they manage to give depth to their characters. Driver tosses in physical tics (Jamie does a Gleason-like flourish just getting out of a chair) but whereas he was refreshing in "Frances Ha," here he seems to be trying too hard to make Jamie quirky and mysterious. The glue holding the movie together is Grodin, the referee between the generations. Breitbart oozes the familiar father-in-law disdain toward Josh, and he seems genuinely charmed by Jamie despite the phoniness.

That wise, open-minded elder is Baumbach's ace up his sleeve. It's a reminder that he had a great, complex movie right at his fingertips. Just because he came up a little short doesn't mean that he failed. Like Mozart (and Josh), he just couldn't convey to the rest of us precisely what he had in his head.

BONUS TRACK
When Jamie plays Josh Survivor's "Eye of the Tiger" to pump him up for a meeting with a potential financial backer, Josh notes that back in the '80s "I remember when this song was just considered bad." Baumbach pays it backward to the boomers by including a little cheesy McCartney on the soundtrack:


  

That '70s Drift: Dock Ellis

NO NO: A DOCKUMENTARY (B+) - This lovingly assembled homage to Dock Ellis -- the somewhat militant and heavily medicated star pitcher for the Pittsburgh Pirates in the early 1970s -- is a fascinating character study, an interesting time capsule, and a moving tale of friendship and addiction.

Director Jeffrey Radice's fastidiousness pays off in an entertaining trip back to the pre-Free Agent Era to celebrate a unique individual. Ellis famously claimed that he was tripping on LSD when he twirled a sloppy no-hitter (he walked eight and hit a batter) against the San Diego Padres in 1970. He also was a poster child for the Greenies Era, when most players were buzzing on amphetamines; Ellis claims he was never straight for any of his games. Another player from that time suggests that players have always used something -- speed, steroids, HGH -- to either gain an edge or bounce back from a rowdy night before a day game, going back to Babe Ruth's time.

Ellis was a rowdy one from the start, going back to his minor-league days. He chafed against the treatment of blacks in baseball. (He and two black teammates were infamously maced by security guards at Cincinnati's Riverfront Stadium.) He vowed that Sparky Anderson would never start him in the 1971 All-Star Game after another "brother," Vida Blue, had already been tapped to start for the American League; the reverse psychology worked, and Ellis got the nod. He also famously gave up the towering home run to Reggie Jackson in that game. Ellis would respond a few years later when, as a Yankee, he beaned Jackson (then with the Orioles). Ellis also memorably started out a game against the Reds by nailing the first three batters with pitches. When his next pitch sailed over Tony Perez's head, the manager yanked him.

There are plenty more stories. (I didn't mention the hair curlers.) Radice dug through a lot of old rosters to assemble his own roster of talking heads. It is pleasantly free of superstars (no Dave Parker or Pete Rose); instead we get a C-list cast of characters and journeymen, including such blasts from the past as Scipio Spinks, Bruce Kison, Manny Sanguillen, Dave Cash, Enos Cabell, Al Oliver, Steve Blass and Gene Clines. We also hear from ex-wives (who don't sugarcoat the domestic violence); the son of a former owner of the Texas Rangers; director Ron Howard (who included Ellis in "Gung-Ho" in 1986); and -- touchingly -- old pals, some going back to childhood, who pack an emotional wallop.

Ellis himself is featured, in interviews not long before his death. He remains defiant and proud. We get audio of him breaking down as he reads a touching letter sent to him by Jackie Robinson, congratulating him on standing up for himself and other black players and encouraging him to continue speaking truth to power. Radice cements Ellis' close relationship with the legends Roberto Clemente (whose death in a plane crash while on a humanitarian mission stunned the sports world) and Willie Stargell (whose widow participates). He also explores nuggets of history like the day in September 1971 when the Pirates became the first team to field an all-minority starting lineup.

The LSD-fueled no-hitter bookends the film and will hook viewers, but it's the man himself who is worthy of this 100-minute trip down memory lane. And it's the social upheaval of the time that gives the film added gravitas.

BONUS TRACK
The soundtrack features music from Adam Horovitz from the Beastie Boys. Here, from the closing credits, is Mickey and the Soul Generation with "Hey, Brother Man" from the early '70s:

Old School

LOSING GROUND (1982) (B) - This curiosity from the early '80s -- just now getting a full release -- has the raw feel of a student film, even though it was made by a 40-year-old woman.

"Losing Ground" is the only full-length feature film from playwright Kathleen Collins, who is credited as a pioneering black female filmmaker. She would die six years later, having never made a follow-up. But her influence can be seen in "The Cosby Show" and the films of Spike Lee, particularly in her confident depiction of middle-class people of color.

Using mostly non-actors or journeymen performers, Collins tells the story of philosophy professor Sara (Seret Scott), a prim intellectual searching for something more than what is offered by her artist husband Victor (Bill Gunn), a braggadocious horn-dog who drags her away from her work in New York to a summer retreat upstate. Victor has just made a major sale and is inspired to switch from abstract art to representational paintings, apparently so that he can hit on women under the pretense of becoming a portraitist.

Sara feeds off the energy of her students, and is particularly drawn to a young filmmaker who invites her to star in his latest shoestring production. Sara will eventually make a major life choice, leaving Victor to cat around with a young muse (Maritza Rivera) and grouchily hanging up on Sara whenever she calls. Sara, meanwhile, is drawn to her charming, broad-shouldered co-star.

The story and the performances are uneven. The demure Scott has her moments, but she doesn't have the heft to carry such an emotionally wrenching film. The handsome, wiry Gunn, a TV veteran of '60s action shows, bigfoots the movie in his depiction of a vibrant, restless man approaching middle age. The production feels very much like a leftover from the era of downbeat '70s dramas. (It could very well be that it took years to shoot and finalize.) In fact, the narrative devices reach further back to a classic era of theater, with a smoldering tension that builds in the final half.

Collins' framing and camerawork are interesting at times, but she comes across as a director feeling her way around the format. A few scenes play like shout-outs to Charles Burnett's 1978 milestone, "Killer of Sheep." It's a bittersweet little movie that makes you wonder what might have come after it.

Theater People!

ACTRESS (B+) - In this stylized documentary, director Robert Greene ("Fake It So Real") embeds himself into the personal life of Brandy Burre as her loveless marriage falls apart and she plots a return to acting while raising two small children.

Burre's only notable entry on her resume is a regular role as a political fixer on HBO's "The Wire" about 10 years ago in seasons three and four. But it's not her IMDb profile that matters here; it's the intimate look at a woman on the brink of 40 having a career/life meltdown. Greene takes liberties with the nonfiction form, scoring his film beautifully and presenting artsy shots and languorous slow-motion takes. It's often quite lovely to look at. Some might be put off by a few obviously staged scenes, particularly the one in which Burre, dressed like Donna Reed, stands at the kitchen sink and artfully lets drop a glass, which she then kneels over as if it were a wounded bird.

But once you get past the set-up -- it takes a while to generate empathy for this woman of privilege trapped in a suburb in upstate New York -- a cadence kicks in, and the story draws you in like a good soap opera does. Her mostly mute husband, who runs a restaurant and bar, has obviously checked out of the relationship. Burre has her yoga body back and craves attention, both physical and emotional, but she gets nothing. Instead, her eye strays, as Greene casually alludes to in an early scene that is lovely and poetic.

Burre opens herself up -- to the extent that we can believe actors are capable of that while a camera is rolling. Listing her as playing "herself" is accurate; she is playing the role of Brandy Burre.

We see her struggle with the tedious tasks required of a mother of two kids under the age of seven. She complains to the camera about her general ennui and dissatisfaction. She starts to network, looking to get back in the game.

It's all visually arresting, and it's knitted together with a fascinating soundtrack, dominated by the 1990s Chicago indie band Rachel's moody strings, notably quiet songs from the sophomore effort "Music for Egon Schiele." A nugget from Harry Belafonte, "Waly Waly," drives home the theme -- love is "bright as a jewel when first new" but "fades away like morning dew."

It can be difficult to connect with a woman who seems to ache more for the stage than her little nest and who openly yearns for recognition. But despite the sheen slathered on her life, Burre still manages to come across as achingly human.

BONUS TRACK
Rachel's, "Music for Egon Schiele":

New to the Queue

New shoots ...

More quirk from Kristen Wiig in Shira Piven's unsettling comic-drama "Welcome to Me."

A documentary about a forgotten music scene from the 1960s and '70s, "Don't Think I've Forgotten: Cambodia's Lost Rock and Roll."

We're a sucker for documentaries about comedy, so we'll sit still for Kevin Pollak's "Misery Loves Comedy."

HBO comes through again with an in-depth study of the man (and the boy) behind Nirvana, "Kurt Cobain: Montage of Heck."

Starring Viggo Mortensen and based on a Camus story, the tale of two men wandering the desert at the start of the Algerian war, "Far From Men."

Six filmmakers, including Wim Wenders and Robert Redford, study houses of worship in "Cathedrals of Culture."

So I Don't Have To

In an occasional feature, we present capsule reviews from correspondents who go see the movies that we don't have an interest in seeing.  Today, veteran filmgoer Phillip Blanchard weighs in on the latest Marvel spectacle: "Avengers: Age of Ultron":

Writer/director Joss Whedon decided to put it all into one movie, and the result is mostly a mess. The witty back-and-forth among the heroes is entertaining, but the fighting is tepid compared with the battle of New York in the 2012 hit. Non-Marvelites will have no idea what the [heck] is going on.

GRADE: C (on a regular scale), B+ (on the comic-book scale)