Vicky Cristina Barcelona

Manhattan, with its dramatic black and white images of iconic New York landmarks complete with a Gershwin score, was Woody Allen's love letter to the Big Apple. In press reports he's said that he wanted to do the same thing for Barcelona, and if the golden-tinged cinematography, Gaudi architecture, and Spanish guitar don't resonate quite as deeply, it's probably because the city is an icon that is a little less familiar to America. But that doesn't mean it's not a success.

Initially, I had my doubts about where the film was headed. The voice-over narration, placed sporadically throughout, struck me as unnecessary, and some of the dialogue sounded a bit unnatural: it was articulate but not really conversational. Eventually though, the film seemed to find its rhythm, and turned into an intriguing yet breezy reflection on love and desire.

As always, Woody and casting director Juliet Taylor assemble a strong ensemble. Rebecca Hall (as Vicky) and Scarlett Johansson (as Cristina) compliment each other nicely and are a near perfect contrast in temperament. Cristina is attractive, impulsive, and a romantic, whereas Vicky is elegant but pragmatic. Yet Vicky's development is one of the chief strengths of the film.

There is also the Spanish half of the equation. Javier Bardem, fresh off his dark turn in No Country For Old Men, effortlessly portrays Juan Antonio, an artist and a natural charmer. His ex-wife, Maria Elena (Penelope Cruz), is a passionate though unstable artist seemingly adept at every artistic discipline. Her fiery presence in the film's second half is sure to generate a lot of Oscar buzz.

Somehow, these two American tourists get tangled up emotionally and physically with this Spanish couple, and though their escapades reveal Woody's deeply pragmatic (some would say pessimistic) views on desire, it stops well short of being any sort of morality play. While it carries some of the familiar Allen trademarks (affluent lovers, highbrow interests, urbane locales) it is fresh and lively, having a decidedly European tone, even for Woody. Roger Ebert has, I rightly believe, compared it to some of the works of French director Eric Rohmer.

Ebert also wonders if maybe we've taken Woody Allen for granted. Perhaps we have. This film is just another in a long line of remarkably consistent efforts. It may be under appreciated even by Allen fans who feel this film suffers by comparison to Annie Hall or Crimes & Misdemeanors. But I wonder that if years from now we'll look back and say, maybe with some surprise, "Hey, remember Vicky Cristina Barcelona? You know, that was a really beautiful movie!"

The Dark Knight

There's a scene in The Dark Knight where Alfred tells Bruce Wayne a story about a bandit he was trying to catch in Burma many years ago. The bandit stole rubies from a caravan in the forest and then threw them away. He stole, according to Alfred "because it was good sport. Because some men aren't looking for anything logical, like money. They can't be bought, bullied, reasoned or negotiated with. Some men just want to watch the world burn." Bruce then asks how they managed to capture him. Alfred's response: "we burned the forest down."

If there is a superhero that embodies the conflict of our age it is most assuredly Batman, and The Dark Knight is a near perfect cinematic expression of the turmoil in which we find ourselves. Although the problem of dealing with dangerous men is very old, the opportunities they have to wreak destruction have multiplied in recent years. And this latest Batman excursion is an examination of conscience posing as a Hollywood blockbuster.

An enormous amount of credit must go to director Christopher Nolan, whose foray into Gotham has redefined what comic book movies can be. The opening sequence, a taut and deadly bank robbery, calls to mind Stanley Kubrick, and with the rest of the film Nolan poises himself to join the ranks of such elite company. An array of striking shots stick with you: a mountain of cash doused with gasoline and set on fire, the eerie clown masks at the film's beginning, lingering close-ups of faces, and oh yes, the Joker.

Much has been made of Heath Ledger's performance, and, in my opinion, every accolade is justified. The darting tongue, the unnerving laugh and jerky voice, and the anarchic and unexpected bravado leering at you behind a coat of face paint make this Joker one of the most memorable of all movie characters. After seeing his remarkably understated turn in Brokeback Mountain and now this, possibly his greatest role, his death really seems tragic. America has lost one of its best young actors at the height of his powers.

But above all is the specter of Batman lingering in the shadows, contemplating how to fight the chaos of Joker (and later on Two-Face). Gotham is in many ways post 9/11 America and that message is conveyed without being too preachy. The invasion of privacy and the problem of fighting evil with questionable methods resonate strongly in 2008. But these are timeless concerns too, and in a way The Dark Knight returns us to the moral conflict long present in the Batman myth but that has been absent from cinematic adaptations. Can bad means lead to a good end? Does the ruthlessness required to eradicate evil destroy the good in one's self? How just is the vigilante?

It's a curious state of mind that finds you leaving The Dark Knight. Few commercial blockbusters walk such a fine moral tightrope. There is no clear answer to the troubling dilemmas presented. What is offered is the faintest glimmer of hope that good may somehow prevail even as it is chased into a great darkness.