It remains one of the more fascinating "Based on a True Story" films, in my book. Why? Partially because it's about a smaller, more personal story than many of its "True Life" conterparts, and partially because it's really solidly (yet unflashily) made, and that's always a plus, in my book. Mostly, though, I enjoy it because it's about the small-yet-erosive concessions so many of us are willing to make for the sake of a little fame and fortune.

There's not much to be said about Mockingbird, really. Or at least I don't have much to add to the conversation. Most remember it for Peck and for Scout and for what it said (and did not say) about the simultaneously complicated and simplistic times in which it was made; I remember it for launching one of my all-time favorite cinematic careers. Either will do.

If you watch the first two episodes of "Milo Murphy's Law" -- currently available for free through the folks at AMAZON PRIME -- and one of your first thoughts is is that it looks and sounds and feels a whole lot like "Phineas and Ferb," you are correct. Jeff 'Swampy' Marsh and Dan Povenmire are the creative forces behind both shows, and the artistic and humorousistic DNA is the absolute same, basically. (Except this one also has Weird Al Yankovic. So...there's that.)

I don't like it quite as much as Sarah does (for mostly film-snobbish reasons), but it's got a really fun cast (including a great turn from the ever-great Ed Harris), makes great use of a fantastic, Copland-esque score from the legendary James Horner, and boasts one of the most absurdly-implausible-yet-true stories ever.

So if you're in the mood for a mature, dark (bleak, even), unconventional, complex, and stylish thriller, you're in luck. Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy is currently streaming on Netflix.

What a fascinating guy he was. What a fascinating guy he is, actually. And that's the film's greatest strength (and greatest gift): the opportunity to spend an hour or two with a man who was not only an astonishing athlete, but one who remains an impressive and inspiring human being even to this day.

Somehow, in defiance of Hollywood's tendency to cram aging action stars down our cinematic throats even as they grow increasingly incapable of sustaining the suspension of disbelief required for an action film, these Cruise-focused/financed/carried blockbusters keeps getting better and better (even as their punctuated monikers grow ever-more bizarre).

Also, yes, this might be for you, as well. I know it's for me, because I've watched it by myself. At night. When there were no kids around to serve as an excuse. But I'll do that for pretty much anything the guys at Aardman have made, because they really are that good.

Last year, while recommending the documentary Lost in La Mancha, I claimed that it was my second-favorite documentary about film-making. Today, I'm recommending my all-time favorite: Burden of Dreams, Les Blank's spectacular documentary on the insanity surrounding Werner Herzog's efforts to make Fitzcarraldo.

"To revisit—or discover—Following today is, at least in part, to marvel at how rapidly Nolan has ascended from these humble beginnings to the very top of the big-studio food chain, and how he has managed to do so without compromising his vision."

Fun, stylish stuff, and one of the greatest twisty endings ever. Plus, did I mention that the music's really great? Joplin's rags set the perfect tone. Enjoy "Easy Winners," "The Entertainer," "Gladiolus Rag," "Pineapple Rag," "Rag Time Dance," and "Solace." And Redford and Newman and Shaw. Gosh, what a great cast.

Maybe I'm just counting on The Lubitsch Touch. There may be directors who "do satire" better than he, but there is no one who does it like he does.

When I decided to re-watch this recently with the boys , I was a bit trepidatious. It can be difficult to return to films that have been massively influential in one's life. What if they no longer resonate?

Happy People: A Year in the Taiga is about as transporting and gentle (yet quietly insane) a documentary as you'll ever see. 

"Twenty male inmates in a Kentucky prison form an unlikely Shakespearean acting troupe, rehearsing and performing a full production of Shakespeare's last play, "The Tempest," a play fittingly about forgiveness. Over the course of a year, these men are changed as they discover the power of truth, forgiveness and transformation."

It's unnerving because Peter Weir doesn't seem to have received the sort of acclaim he deserves (either for this film or for any of his others). But mostly, it's unnerving because it's so much less absurd than the reality we're living in right now, it barely even works as satire any more.

Has there ever been an action star as incompetently competent as Jackie Chan's Wong Fei-hung from The Legend of Drunken Master? Probably not. Has there ever been a higher-octane, more action-driven film that still manages to maintain its absurd innocence and charm and is as much straight-up fun is this one? Doubtful.

What could possibly be better than spending this Friday night with the very finest Batman portrayal ever captured on-screen? No, I'm not talking 'bout the best Wayne ever (because that would be Nolan's). I'm talking about the best cinematic representation of the legendary Caped Crusader himself: Bruce Timm's improbably-square-jawed, Kevin Conroy-voiced, and surprisingly-nuanced and engaging Dark Knight. He's not my (or my boys') first brush with the character. But he's pretty much the family favorite.

Whatever else one might be tempted to say about the Frankenheimer filmography, there is one fact that is incontrovertible: The man was an absolute master when it came to directing action. A veritable virtuoso of cinematic vim and vigor.Whatever else one might be tempted to say about the filmography of Mr. John Frankenheimer, there is one fact that is incontrovertible: The man was an absolute master of directing action. A veritable virtuoso of cinematic vim and vigor.

The final few scenes, in particular, are excellent; I will defend its finale against just about anyone. It's great. (Actually achieves what Bay tried for -- and grotesquely flubbed -- only a few years later in Pearl Harbor: that perfect mixture of pathos and heroism that exists on a small, human scale in the midst of huge, spectacular tragedy and triumph.)