Japanese director Hirokazu Kore-eda’s well-regarded 2004 film “Nobody Knows” is the only previous work of the filmmaker’s I’ve seen, and I’ll admit to not having strong feelings about it one way or the other. It struck me as meandering and overly long, though it certainly contains admirable qualities. Like “Nobody Knows,” his new movie, “I Wish” (aka “Kiseki”), also uses children as its protagonists, but is much brighter in tone. I can’t say this film makes as much of an impact on me as it likely intends to, but it features characters you care about and definitely has its heart in the right place.

Real life siblings Koki Maeda and Ohshiro Maeda play brothers Koichi and Ryunosuke, who have lived apart for the past 6 months because of their parents’ divorce. 12-year-old Koichi resides with his mother and her parents in a small town in the southern region of Kyushu island. The younger Ryunosuke lives with his father, a struggling musician, in a city on the northern part of Kyushu. Koichi longs for his family to be reunited.

Koichi learns that a new bullet train line will connect the areas where he and his brother live, and the two boys believe if they make a wish at the moment the northbound and southbound trains pass each other for the first time, it will come true. Of course, traveling to the exact location where the trains will pass is hardly an easy task for such young kids, but with the help of several friends on both sides, Koichi and Ryunosuke are able to set out on a journey they hope will mend their family.

I’ll go out on a pretty strong limb and assert that if “I Wish” was an American studio movie, it would likely revel in the most emotionally obvious (i.e. sappy) territory, but Kore-eda treats the film’s inherent emotionalism in an understated way. The director allows the viewer to develop feelings for these characters organically, instead of bombarding you with scenes of typically cutesy child behavior. The two young main actors, who actually comprise a comedy team in Japan, are so naturally appealing that their behavior doesn’t need to be embellished.

While the tone of the film works well for me, its pacing is haphazard. Whereas “Nobody Knows” at least moves at a consistently deliberate pace, “I Wish” mixes slow and faster scenes, causing it to feel disjointed. The film clocks in at slightly over two hours, which is longer than it needs to be, and some of the movie’s effect is dulled in the process.

That said, “I Wish” is a pleasant film and I appreciate that Kore-eda doesn’t take shortcuts to emotionally connect his audience with his characters. His humanism as an artist is commendable, and though I might prefer some narrative economy to go along with it, it’s clear his movies are connecting with audiences the world over.

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I Wish (Japan/2011)

(Magnolia Films. Opens in New York City and Los Angeles on May 11, 2012.)

Canadian writer/director Philippe Falardeau’s “Monsieur Lazhar” was nominated for Best Foreign Language Film in this year’s Academy Awards, and it’s the type of movie you’d expect to go over well with Oscar voters. While I’ll stop short of describing the film as “feel good” entertainment, it is relatively safe and emotionally obvious, although it has powerful moments. The film shifts back and forth between moving, organic scenes and ones that come across a bit contrived.

If the previous sentence makes “Monsieur Lazhar” sound like a frustrating viewing experience, well, that’s not the case at all. It always helps to have a strong lead performance as an anchor, and single name actor Fellag is exceptional as the title character. He plays an Algerian man who recently relocated to Montreal and steps in to teach a class of middle school children whose previous instructor, a woman named Martine, committed suicide. What makes the tragic event even more harrowing is that a student, Simon (Émilien Néron), found the deceased teacher’s body in her classroom.

Lazhar applies for the job in a peculiar way. He makes an unsolicited visit to the school’s principal (Danielle Proulx) after reading about the incident in the newspaper and offers his services. Lazhar claims to have many years of teaching experience in his native country, and the principal, knowing it will be a tough position to fill, agrees to hire him. In the midst of this extremely difficult situation, Lazhar is also dealing with his own shattering, slowly revealed personal issues and, of course, the cultural transition.

Most affected by the death are Simon and another student named Alice (Sophie Nélissec). Alice, who held her teacher in high regard, blames Simon for the woman’s passing due to his role in an incident that got her in some amount of trouble. Both children struggle to come to grips with their complex emotions in the aftermath of the tragedy.

Based on Evelyne de la Chenelière’s play, perhaps Falardeau’s biggest challenge in adapting the material was making the central child characters come off convincingly. Alice and Simon are obviously dealing with a vast amount of internal confusion, but they occasionally seem to be processing their feelings in an oddly mature way. The obligatory breakdown scene when Simon confronts his guilt about possibly causing the downward spiral that led to his teacher’s death feels staged and too transparent about its intentions.

The film is at its best in its quieter, intimate moments. When Falardeau’s direction focuses more on observation than orchestration, the film finds a natural rhythm and gives the viewer a very fly-on-a-wall perspective. In an understated but instinctive performance, Fellag does a superb job of conveying Lazhar’s compassion for his students, a man driven by an innate desire to do good.

Despite some bumps along the way, the film does reach a satisfying emotional apex, culminating in a powerful final scene that also happens to be free of dialogue. Like many films before it, “Monsieur Lazhar” says a lot when it speaks at a low volume.

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Monsieur Lazhar (Canada/2011)

(Music Box Films. Opens in New York City and Los Angeles on April 13, 2012.)

To begin this review, I’ll proclaim that “Damsels in Distress” is my favorite Whit Stillman film to date (and his first one in 14 years). And here’s where I should also confess that I’m not a fan of his other movies (with the exception of “The Last Days of Disco,” which I haven’t seen), so the use of the word favorite in the previous sentence is entirely relative. Having said that, “Damsels in Distress” has its share of amusing moments and also displays the interesting evolution of actress Greta Gerwig. I can’t guarantee it’s a film I’ll really remember in much detail several months from now, but it’s easy enough to watch.

Stillman’s films are littered with overeducated, highly pretentious people who act little like anyone I’ve ever met or would ever want to meet. What sets “Damsels in Distress” apart from “Metropolitan” and “Barcelona” is that he places the characters in an overtly fictional world, so it’s easy to view this movie’s environment as a kind of alternate reality. However, the script goes off track when it can’t decide on a central character and comes close to unraveling near the end.

Lily (Analeigh Tipton) is a new transfer student at Seven Oaks, a college located somewhere in the northeast. On her first day at the school, three girls approach Lily and offer to take her under their wing. These girls, Violet (Greta Gerwig), Rose (Megalyn Echikunwoke) and Heather (Carrie MacLemore), have made it their mission to help the school’s most depressed and, let’s say, academically challenged students. They run the Seven Oaks’ “suicide center,” where their main forms of therapy are tap dancing and soap for the male student population who apparently have a severe body odor problem.

Lily moves in with the girls, and though she becomes part of their group, she also retains her own individuality. She has an interest in French grad student, Xavier (Hugo Becker), but he has a girlfriend. She also becomes the object of a young businessman named Charlie’s (Adam Brody) affection, but there’s something about him her friends don’t trust. Headstrong Violet remains committed to saving the most vulnerable members of the student population until she discovers her “boyfriend” Frank (Ryan Metcalf) — a frat boy who’s part of the aforementioned academically challenged — doesn’t just have eyes for her.

This development sends Violet into a sad decline, which completely changes the character. The film’s first act leads you to believe it might turn out to be something akin to “Heathers” set in college, with Analeigh Tipton’s Lily being the equivalent of Winona Ryder’s Veronica. Yet that scenario never materializes, and the film gradually becomes cluttered with characters that don’t serve a distinct purpose.

Like Stillman’s earlier films, the dialogue is carefully stylized, or perhaps you could say incredibly self-conscious. In his earlier work, I find this quality supremely irritating, but as noted earlier, it feels like the director is laughing at (not with) his characters much more this time around. Violet’s philosophy of dating beneath oneself to ensure a loyal partner and her dream of starting a new dance craze are character quirks that work far better than it might seem on paper. Growing out of her “Queen of Mumblecore” phase, Greta Gerwig has now tackled a variety of roles and plays Violet with such admirable earnestness. It’s a wholly committed and endearing performance.

In the film’s final 10 or so minutes, I was completely ready for it to end, but that shouldn’t negate the fact that there are several charms along the way. I’m not exactly ready to call myself a Whit Stillman fan yet, but this film certainly makes me less of a detractor.

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Damsels in Distress (USA/2011)

(Sony Pictures Classics. Opens in limited release on April 6, 2012.)

I assume many of us have at one time in our lives been bestowed with an honor that we frankly didn’t want. In most circumstances, one can extricate him/herself from this uncomfortable position by politely declining such recognition, but this option isn’t as readily available in certain extraordinary situations — like the one at the center of “We Have a Pope (aka “Habemus Papam”),” Italian director/actor Nanni Moretti’s new comedy.

What has the makings of a humorous yet insightful character study, or possibly a sharp social satire, never materializes into anything substantial. Despite veteran actor Michel Piccoli’s exquisite performance in the lead role, Moretti’s film comes across as frivolous and fairly unfocused. In its second half, “We Have a Pope” completely transforms into a blandly polite comedy. Such a witty premise deserves better execution.

Piccoli plays Cardinal Melville who, much to his surprise and chagrin, is elected to be the next pope. As he’s about to be presented to the world in St. Peter’s Square, the man has a bit of a breakdown and rushes away, creating a truly awkward scene. The Vatican spokesman (Jerzy Stuhr) is left with the unenviable task of damage control, and until the new pope is publicly announced, his identity must remain a secret.

In one of the film’s strongest scenes, a psychiatrist (Moretti) is summoned to analyze Melville in front of the group of cardinals who elected him the pope (and are now sequestered) — however, the Vatican spokesman advises he not inquire about issues such as desires or his relationship with his mother. With this scene, it appears the film is about to hit its comic stride — regrettably, it signals the decline. Determined to not accept his new position, Melville is able to escape into the streets of Rome where he blends in with the city’s masses and joins up with a group of theater actors who are performing Chekov’s “The Seagull.”

Any comedic film that uses the Catholic Church as its subject runs the risk of ruffling feathers, so perhaps this explains why Moretti went overboard in making his movie so agreeable. The latter half of the film features a scene in which the psychiatrist sets up a volleyball tournament for the cardinals, which is shot partially in slow motion and is every bit as silly as it sounds. This is an example of what Moretti tries to pass off as good-natured humor, though I don’t personally know anyone who would actually find it funny.

The film is somewhat redeemed by its conclusion when Melville delivers a speech that momentarily gives the movie the depth it lacked until this point. Despite the fact the viewer is always kept at a distance from Melville, Michel Piccoli shines in the role. It would be an overstatement to say you can empathize with the character, because Moretti never completely reveals his interior, but the actor effortlessly gives him warmth and sincerity. It’s a completely genuine performance.

What on paper appears to be such a conceptually intriguing film turns out to be largely insignificant. Furthermore, any entertaining elements which keep the movie’s first half afloat almost completely disappear as it winds to the conclusion. “We Have a Pope” is more proof that an interesting premise doesn’t always equal an interesting film.

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We Have a Pope (Italy, France/2011)

(Sundance Selects. Opens in New York City and Los Angeles on April 6, 2012.)

If one were asked to describe what they think the drug-addled vocalist of an unsuccessful ’70s heavy metal band would look like in the 21st century, they might describe someone with a resemblance to Bobby Liebling. However, the person described in this hypothetical scenario likely would not have the genuinely unsettling appearance of Liebling when we first meet him. Emaciated by years of drug abuse, the vocalist of the Maryland-based heavy metal band Pentagram appears to be gravelly ill when he’s introduced to viewers in Don Argott and Demian Fenton’s latest documentary, “Last Days Here.” Think of this, perhaps, as the dark counterpart to “Anvil! The Story of Anvil.”

Argott and Fenton, who worked together respectively as director and editor on the immensely enjoyable documentary “Rock School,” tell the story of a man whose hopes of achieving rock and roll stardom have been dashed many times over. Described early in the film as not so much a cult band, but rather one that was simply forgotten, Pentagram were pioneers of a style of hard rock known as doom metal. To call them America’s answer to Black Sabbath wouldn’t be a stretch, but very few people actually heard their early music until decades after it was recorded.

While Liebling is the documentary’s subject, the film has something of a secondary protagonist in Sean Pelletier, a champion of Pentagram and indie record label employee, who essentially stumbled into the role of Bobby’s manager. Throughout the movie we watch as Pelletier (mostly) patiently deals with Bobby’s numerous lapses into self-destructive behavior, resolutely determined to connect Pentagram’s music to a larger segment of fans. This isn’t a job for the uncommitted.

Several ex-Pentagram members confirm Liebling’s erratic behavior. It’s not uncommon for Liebling to show up late, or not at all, to performances (he OD’s backstage before one gig) and he blew the band’s biggest chance at mainstream success when he butted heads with well-regarded producer Murray Krugman during a recording session. Liebling now lives with his parents in suburban Maryland (his father worked as an adviser to Presidents Johnson, Ford and Nixon) where he continues his life of abuse, believes his skin is infested with parasites and obsesses over a woman who has filed a restraining order against him. This behavior eventually results in temporary jail time.

What seems to have all the markings of tragedy ultimately turns out to be a somewhat uplifting story. At first, when seeing Liebling’s ravaged appearance, you wonder how this documentary could be anything but exploitative, yet as it unfolds it becomes clear the filmmakers have genuine compassion for their subject. If Liebling doesn’t always come across as a sympathetic figure, Pelletier is depicted as one driven by the best intentions. “Last Days Here” can be viewed as an underdog story, but this time the underdog has more warts than usual.

The filmmakers don’t include much in the way of archival footage, but what we do get to hear of Pentagram is impressive (to these ears, anyway). I don’t think it’s hyperbole to say the band were ahead of their time. Who knows if their music would’ve been appreciated had it been heard on a larger scale in the ’70s, but it does seem a shame their recordings were hidden from the public for so long.

“Last Days Here” can make for difficult viewing at times, and Bobby Liebling, understandably, is a person some potential viewers won’t want to spend 90 minutes of their lives with, but there are ultimately silver linings in the dark clouds of this rewarding film.

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Last Days Here (USA/2011)

(Sundance Selects. Opens in Los Angeles on March 23, 2012. Opened in New York City on March 2, 2012.)

“The Kid With a Bike” (original title “Le Gamin Au Vélo”), which premiered at the 2011 Cannes Film Festival, is the unsuspecting title of the latest effort from Jean-Pierre and Luc Dardenne, the Belgian siblings who have made a string of critically acclaimed films (including Palme d’Or winners “Rosetta” and “L’Enfant”), which haven’t garnered much commercial recognition in the United States. Thankfully, this hasn’t stopped U.S. distributors from releasing the Dardennes’ work theatrically, and “The Kid With a Bike” is another stellar addition to their resume.

The Dardennes have a talent for making movies that are both cinematic and realistic. In essence, they’re contemporary neo-realists, and this time around they make their collective directorial hand more obvious than usual (especially in the prominent use of score). “The Kid with a Bike” covers typically gritty territory for the filmmakers, as the story follows an 11-year-old boy named Cyril (Thomas Doret) who is sent to live in a group home when his father (played by Dardennes regular Jérémie Renier), basically, abandons him, a fact the stubborn Cyril refuses to believe. Additionally, Guy has also sold Cyril’s beloved bicycle, but the boy insists the bike must have been stolen.

An unexpected silver lining appears in Cyril’s life in the form of Samantha (Cécile De France), a gracious hairdresser, who agrees to take the kid into her home and care for him on a part time basis. It’s with her help that Cyril discovers the reality of his father’s actions. Understandably, the boy is initially distraught, but he gradually develops a bond with his new guardian. However, at his impressionable age, Cyril is ripe pickings for a neighborhood thug, Wes (Egon Di Mateo), who takes him under his wing. Criminal activity soon follows.

“The Kid With a Bike” is an emotional film, but not a melodramatic one. The filmmakers keep most of the scenes short and the fractured editing and active camera work create a tangible sense of Cyril’s distress. As you’d imagine given his background, Cyril is prone to falling pray to bad influences, but he remains sympathetic despite his worst choices. Newcomer Thomas Doret gives a suitably scrappy performance as a boy who wants simply to be wanted. The scenes between Cyril and his father, who wishes to have nothing more to do with his son, are as difficult as they should be.

It takes a bit of a leap of faith to completely swallow the actions of Cécile De France’s (who you may remember starring alongside Matt Damon in Clint Eastwood’s “Hereafter”) Samantha, who seems a bit too selfless, but given the tough circumstances of Cyril’s life, you really want to believe he has a guardian angel waiting for him. Of course, things don’t always go smoothly between Cyril and Samantha, especially when Wes enters the picture and threatens to derail the kid. The allure of what Wes offers is understandable — respect, acceptance and even potentially “easy” money if Cyril becomes another pawn in his small time crime gang.

Lest one think this is a simple morality tale, “The Kid With a Bike” ends on a note that can legitimately be considered provocative, inconclusive and grim. In stark contrast to Samantha’s character, it shows that in extremely trying situations some people can act their worst. As mentioned, there is an inconclusiveness to it that doesn’t snuff out the hope most of the film’s final third creates, but if one’s looking for a happy ending, they’ll need to search elsewhere.

Beyond happy or sad, the Dardennes’ films feel real, and “The Kid With a Bike” impressively captures the intimacy and authenticity they’ve built their lofty reputation on.

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The Kid With a Bike (Belgium, France, Italy/2011)

(IFC Films. Opens in limited release on March 16, 2012.)

Joshua Marston, incredibly, has only made two feature films. I’m astounded because he writes and directs with such a sure touch that you’d think he’d have closer to a dozen features under his belt. “The Forgiveness of Blood” is a worthy successor to 2004’s “Maria Full of Grace,” easily one of the best debut films of the past decade. It’s a shame this gifted filmmaker doesn’t work more often.

Among many other things, both of Marston’s features are coming-of-age tales focusing on protagonists who make enormous sacrifices ostensibly for the good of their families. Set in Albania, “The Forgiveness of Blood” largely takes place in the aftermath of a murder that sparks a “blood feud” between two families. In this case violence doesn’t necessarily beget more violence, but the consequences are certainly dire.

The life of seemingly ordinary teenager Nik (Tristan Halilaj) is turned upside down when his father, Mark (Refet Abazi), and uncle murder a man over a land dispute that was threatening the well being of Mark’s business. Mark sells bread to local families and merchants using a horse and buggy, but the now deceased man, Sokol, was trying to prevent Mark from crossing his land, thereby denying him access to his customers.

Mark claims the killing was done in self-defense, but skeptical of the local justice system — largely because one of Sokol’s family members works on the police force — the man goes into hiding. Nik’s uncle has been arrested, but this doesn’t stop a centuries’ old law, Kanun, from being enacted, which stipulates that a victimized family can retaliate if one of its members has been murdered via the killing of a male member of the perpetrator’s family. Amnesty only exists in the form of house arrest.

Nik must bear the brunt of his father’s act, dropping out of school and giving up most of his ties to the outside world. His sister, Rudina (Sindi Lacej), also endures a major life change when, for economic reasons, she is forced to leave school and take over her father’s bread delivery business. As he grows more isolated from his surroundings, the toll on Nik becomes severe.

Marston excels, like few other directors I’m aware of, at creating palpable tension without employing much action. Aside from a somewhat perilous car ride and an act of arson, the danger is more implicit than explicit. Marston knows where to place the camera and how to move it to thrust the viewer into each moment. The narrative doesn’t quite have the searing intensity of the director’s previous film, but each scene is still capable of standing on its own as something vital.

The environment he captures is also of great intrigue. The old and new clash when you see cell phones mix with antiquated modes of transportation like the horse and buggy. Similarly, Nik questions why he must suffer for his father’s actions based on a law made hundreds of years earlier. Watching a film about an Albanian family feud may sound inaccessible, but that presumption is far from the truth.

Marston, an American, penned the script with Albanian writer Andamion Murataj, and the cast is comprised largely of non-professionals. This tactic, of course, makes careful casting essential, and the two young actors, Tristan Halilaj and Sindi Lacej, do a commendable job shouldering a considerable amount of the film’s weight. Lacej’s Rudina is more than just a supporting figure, and because she has the ability to move about freely (unlike her brother), it’s this character that leads us to places and people of interest, such as the ones she buy cartons of cigarettes from in order to turn around and sell them at a profit.

Opting not to embellish his film with much in the way of score or artificial “production value,” Marston has once again made a powerful fiction film that feels entirely real. Let’s hope not to have to endure a seven-year wait for the filmmaker’s next effort.

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The Forgiveness of Blood (USA, Albania, Denmark, Italy/2010)

(Sundance Selects. Opens in New York City and Los Angeles February 24, 2012.)

Just before sitting down to write this review, I decided to go online and watch the trailer for “Carnage,” the new film from 78-year-old Roman Polanski. It’s an exceptional trailer — one that promises snappy dialogue, great chemistry among a stellar cast and cruelly quirky characters. To a certain degree, the film delivers the aforementioned qualities — but in a much lower dosage than the trailer would lead you to believe.

Based on Yasmina Reza’s play “God of Carnage” (the playwright shares screenplay credit with Polanski), which I have never seen, Polanski’s adaptation of the work doesn’t make for an engaging translation to the screen. Of course, the director has previously worked well using minimal locations (”The Tenant” and “The Pianist” come to mind), but those films don’t attempt to juggle the bombastic personalities featured here. The four characters this film examines, two married, upper crust New York City couples, are more grating than humorous, partially because the director apparently forgot to inform his actors (especially the histrionic Jodie Foster) that it wasn’t necessary to project to the last row of the balcony.

The point of “Carnage” is to look at how ostensibly civilized people can become completely unhinged when they don’t get their way. Agreeing to disagree is not the strong suit of Penelope and Michael Longstreet (Foster, John C. Reilly) or their adversaries Nancy and Alan Cowan (Kate Winslet, Christoph Waltz). These people have come together in the aftermath of a fight between their two young sons on a school playground, which left the Longstreet’s kid with injuries, the severity of which is a primary topic of debate. At first, the Longstreets seem like the good, earnest couple trying to find a resolution that benefits everyone, while the Cowans come across as the cold power couple — she’s an investment broker, he’s a lawyer — who are solely interested in their own fortune and want the meeting to end as soon as possible.

Taking place in real time during an afternoon in the Longstreet’s well-groomed apartment, the situation goes from mildly uncomfortable to noticeably tense to completely combative in less than an hour and a half. The couples fight with each other and also themselves, spitting out plenty of vitriolic comments and, in one memorable moment, Nancy Cowan vomits up a piece of cobbler that didn’t sit particularly well in her stomach. The actors don’t lack for energy, but because Polanski does little to rein them in, the people in the film end up as less than compelling caricatures.

Of course, what works well on stage (the Broadway production starred an equally big name cast of James Gandolfini, Marcia Gay Harden, Jeff Daniels and Hope Davis) doesn’t always transfer to film, and it’s easy to believe that the natural artificiality of a stage play would suit these characters and their stylized dialogue better. John C. Reilly, whose character begins as the voice of reason before taking a darker turn, does the most credible job here, and Christoph Waltz is actually toned down compared to his scenery chewing, and Oscar-winning, performance in “Inglourious Basterds.” This type of material makes for an actors’ playground and, unfortunately, Polanski lets his cast run a bit too wild.

I’m also left with the feeling that this film’s primary audience will be the people it’s attempting to skewer. It’s not difficult to envision privileged urbanites in cities across America guffawing at every exaggerated barb, turning to their better halves and then nodding in agreement that they too are capable of exhibiting such “edgy” behavior (and if you’re lucky, they may actually wait until the movie ends before tweeting about it on their iPhones). There’s hardly a moment in the film that’s not obviously self-aware.

Regrettably, this feels like a novelty piece for all involved, but thinking of their collective resumes, it’s easy to give them a pass for this misstep.

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Carnage (USA/2011)

(Sony Pictures Classics. Opens in New York City and Los Angeles December 16, 2011.)

It’s interesting to consider how Ozzy Osbourne has changed (and how public perception of him has changed) over the past four decades. Once the vocalist for one of the most important bands in the annals of heavy rock music who embarked on a shockingly successful — and controversial — solo career before having an image makeover as the star of a popular reality television series, Osbourne’s life has indeed been a memorable one. He is certainly a subject worthy of a feature length documentary film.

Directors Mike Fleiss and Mike Piscitelli dig far deeper than any Behind the Music rockumentary would go and tell a very complete tale of a celebrity artist whose devil-may-care public image masked a personal life that constantly devolved into chaos. Some of Ozzy’s craziest antics, presented here with blow-by-blow descriptions, made him public enemy #1 for many a 1980’s suburban parent, but his battles with the demons that fueled his outrageous actions created collateral damage in the form of his family.

Speaking of his family, Ozzy’s son Jack is the producer of this documentary, while his wife/manager Sharon wears the executive producer hat. The upside to the family involvement is that this film feels like an all access pass to the life and thoughts of Osbourne, but one can’t help but wonder just how much freedom the directors’ had to tell the man’s story. Not that the film feels sugar coated — this is certainly a warts and all depiction — but would this tale of redemption have a darker/critical tone without family involvement?

It’s a fair question, but one that’s only tangentially pertinent to assessing what this film is. If Osbourne had never picked up a microphone after Black Sabbath sacked him, the man still would have left an enormous musical legacy (and his excesses would also likely have led to his death many years ago). Sabbath is, of course, the band widely credited with pioneering the heavy metal music genre and it seemed that Osbourne’s career was over when the band fired him in the late 1970s.

Rejuvenated with the help of his manager and future wife, Sharon, Ozzy’s career was resurrected when he met a young, extraordinary guitar player named Randy Rhoads. Establishing a solo career, Ozzy released two very well received albums, “Blizzard of Oz” and “Diary of a Madman,” prior to Rhoads’ tragic, untimely death in a freak plane crash that happened almost literally before Ozzy’s eyes. Ozzy’s career seemingly again extinguished, he soldiered on and still found enormous success, especially in the ’80s, the era when heavy metal enjoyed its most mainstream appeal.

Most of the people integral to the story are interviewed — ex-bandmates, family members — and it’s Sharon and children Aimee, Jack and Kelly who provide the most candid observations about a life spent with both the man and his myth. Jack, himself, fell prey to the same addictions as his father, and I hardly consider it a spoiler to reveal that they’re both now happily sober. Given all he’s been through, and the abundance of self-inflicted damage — perhaps the most surprising twist is this tale actually has a happy ending.

Whittled down to an economic 90 minutes, “God Bless Ozzy Osbourne” is both an up close and personal look and a fitting tribute to a complex person who’s walked in unique shoes.

DVD Comments:

The film is presented in widescreen 16:9 format, and the directors make good use of archival clips. Audio is presented in both Dolby and DTS Surround as well as good old Dolby Stereo. Eagle Rock always offers a number of different subtitles, and this is no exception as, by my count, seven languages are represented here. A host of deleted scenes are included along with an interview with Jack and Ozzy and also footage from the film’s premiere at the Tribeca Film Festival. This accounts for about 45 minutes of bonus features.

I’d recommend that hardcore Ozzy fans rush out and buy a copy of this DVD, but given that this review’s a few weeks late, I get the feeling they’ve already done so.

contact: wcurry718@yahoo.com

GOD BLESS OZZY OSBOURNE (2011)

(Available on DVD November 15, 2011 from Eagle Rock Entertainment)

DVD Features:

16:9 Screen Format
English DTS Digital Surround Sound, Dolby Digital 5.1, Dolby Digital Stereo 2.0
Subtitles: English, German, French, Spanish, Italian, Dutch, Portuguese

Bonus Material:
- Extended Interviews

If you’re unfamiliar with Finnish director Aki Kaurismäki, “Le Havre” is an excellent entry point to his work. The filmmaker’s style can be described as deadpan, lighthearted, comical and understated, all qualities that apply to his latest effort, which emerged from the 2011 Cannes Film Festival with many favorable reviews (and is now Finland’s entry for the best foreign language film Oscar). Though Kaurismäki is still pretty much an unknown quantity in the U.S., he’s quite well regarded in the international critical community.

While “Le Havre” is such an agreeable film in so many ways, it isn’t accessible to the point that one senses it’ll be the movie to increase the director’s visibility in this country. Kaurismäki is content to hit minor notes both comically and dramatically and his penchant for holding shots just a few beats longer than you’re expecting and obtrusive, unnaturally warm lighting demonstrates an individual, somewhat offbeat style. It’s not every day you come across a filmmaker whose work is both good-natured and genuinely eccentric.

This French-language film is named after a harbor city in France, which is home to the appropriately named Marcel Marx (André Wilms), a working-class, aging bohemian who barely makes ends meet shining shoes. His wife, Arletty (Kaurismäki regular Kati Outinen), has suddenly become ill and her prognosis isn’t good. But then Marcel comes across an African kid named Idrissa (Blondin) who was separated from his family on his way to England. He managed to escape from a group of other illegal immigrants who the authorities immediately detained when they mistakenly arrived in Le Havre.

While Arletty’s condition forces her to stay in the hospital, Marcel takes Idrissa into his home. With the help of his caring community (excluding one neighbor), the man is able to keep Idrissa hidden from the police, including a nosy, though perhaps not altogether antagonistic, inspector named Monet (Jean-Pierre Darroussin). And when it comes time to send Idrissa on to his ultimate destination, London, Marcel holds a fundraising concert, which features a performance by Little Bob, a real-life, pint-sized, older French rocker who simply has to be seen (his 5 minutes of screen time is worth the price of admission).

In the press notes, Kaurismäki admits he has made an unrealistic film concerning the mistreatment of immigrants in Europe because he has no answer to the problem. Personally, I don’t feel one must have a solution to point out a problem, and if “Le Havre” creates dialogue about the issue then the director deserves more credit than it seems he’d be willing to accept. Given its subject matter, Kaurismäki has made a political film but refrained from making an overt political statement. His restraint is palpable and serves the material well.

“Le Havre” is a film of contrasts. The inherently gritty subject is the basis for a delicately told story. Kaurismäki’s direction embraces a classic style, but with a modern arthouse sensibility. And despite the contrasts, the director is completely in control of the tone and pace from first frame to last.

Kaurismäki’s films are nothing if not modest, yet the abundance of simple pleasures ultimately adds up to more than you’d expect. Similarly, the charming “Le Havre” easily transcends what seem to be very basic ambitions.

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Le Havre (Finland/2011)

(Janus Films. Opens in New York City and Los Angeles October 21, 2011.)