"Ken Burns's documentary depicts the action of famous Civil War battles, and relates the stories of soldiers, generals and a beleaguered president."

My concerns were unfounded. It was as wonderful as ever, and features one of the finest, most cathartic finales of all time. A great, great film...

The video quality leaves something (or much) to be desired—Because "scratchy videos" and "VHS" and "turn of the last century," remember?—but it doesn't even matter. The genius of the Clown Prince of Denmark was never built upon pristine video quality. 

So, here it is: The Graham Greene-penned, Carol Reed-helmed, Robert Krasker-lensed noir that first fueled my (ongoing) obsession with Orson Welles. It's pretty much a perfect film, including one of the greatest monologues ever delivered, one of the greatest character introductions ever made, and one of the greatest, most devastating closing frames ever shot.

I think this one will be universally popular. It's beautifully shot (by PJ-conspirator and eventual Oscar-winner Andrew Lesnie), cleverly acted (especially by Cromwell and Elron...er...Hugo Weaving), and if the Hoggett Dancing scene doesn't make you smile, you probably never will.

It's an unusual film structurally, with almost no story (or even much in the way of themes) holding it together. Every now and again, a single thread can be identified between a series of mostly-disparate images, and there are a couple of different stories that keep coming to the fore. But for the most part, they come off as beautiful, self-contained (and mostly unrelated) visual snippets. There is something holding them together, of course: Johnson herself.

It's a tough film to get through, but it's pretty much perfect for today. A real reminder both of our own, numerous blessings, and of human nature's astonishing ability to rise above adversity. (That's what might make it particularly helpful for those of us inclined to be excessively pessimistic about what today's ceremony may portend. A little perspective never hurts.)

It's the 1951 classic, The Day The Earth Stood Still, and I really, really hope there isn't some subconscious reason for its recent (and frequent) appearances on my cinematic mind.

PSA: Do not watch Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. Other than that, though, knock yourself out.

A wildly absurd, absurdly entertaining flick, with nary a thought in its pretty little head (though that's hardly a reason to hate it), and the best thing Michael Bay's ever done (by a long shot).

I watch General Waverly standing gratefully in the gently falling snow -- or standing tearfully on the barn dance floor as his men honor him for his uprightness and his perseverance and his courage -- I forget the sappy silliness and secularized, gift-wrapped, Hallmarked "Seasons Greetings-ness" of it all.

It's the original True Grit, starring the unchallenged King of the Western in the lone Oscar-winning performance of his career. I don't think I like it quite as much as the Coens' more recent effort (either as an adaptation or as a film), and I'm not sold on the idea that Wayne won his statue based on the strength of this particular performance (rather than for his overall body-of-work). But it and he are still highly enjoyable, and it's streaming on Netflix.

The last half hour or so is about as much fun as you can have with a film, in my opinion (as evidenced by the fact that I recommended it two years ago, almost exactly), and its soundtrack is without peer. Besides, it's got Double Douglas. What's not to love?

While hardly the biggest fan of the Michael Bond tales upon which the film was based, they'd always seemed charming, child-like, and fundamentally uncinematic in their simplicity (and in the fact that their main character was a talking bear). It was hard for me to imagine a successful cinematic interpretation of Bond's light-but-enjoyable efforts. But I was wrong.

"Say, any of you boys smithies? Or, if not smithies per se, were you otherwise trained in the metallurgic arts before straitened circumstances forced you into a life of aimless wanderin'?"

A Swedish film about vampires; vampires as you've rarely (if ever) seen them. Even watching the trailer again is creeping me out. So scary, but surprisingly insightful, as well, I think. (Yes, it sparked one of the most unexpected and theological conversation about vampires and the Eucharist that I've ever had. And yes, I'm still really, really scared to try and watch it again.)

It's pretty much made for me, because I love WWII movies and I love submarine movies and this one's both. (There's something about the claustrophobia that fascinates me in a film, because it's both a huge challenge to the filmmakers and the very essence of what they're capturing. So the various ways they decide to tackle it are always interesting to me.)