Theaters like Landmark’s Ritz in Philadelphia, have become the last venue for adult dramas with adult casts, which in the not so distant past were a mainstay of popular cinema. As a result, a standard issue revenge flick, like the Michael Caine driven “Harry Brown,” ends up in these “art” houses, probably because it’s star, now in his late 70s, belongs to the older demographic. But “Harry Brown no more belongs in art houses than “Harry Potter.”

Back in July of 2006, the small Chicago based distributor, Music Box Films, released “Tell No One,” a French thriller based on a novel by an American, Harlen Corben. Much to everyone’s’ surprise, the movie, winner of several French “Cesars” raked in over 6 million US dollars, a big number for a foreign language film.

“The Ghost Writer,” adapted by Roland Harris from his novel, “The Ghost,” and directed by the 76 year old Roman Polanski, is intelligent, smartly acted and handsomely shot. While it doesn’t have the stylistic élan of the director’s finest works – “Chinatown,” “Rosemary’s Baby,” “Tess,” (among others,); the knowing direction and visual flourishes keep reminding us a master craftsman is in charge.

Paul Greengrass’ hyperkinetic take on the boondoggle that launched the Iraq war adds little to what we already know, and is less persuasive than speculative accounts that have been rehashed ad nauseam in other media. As “Green Zone” screeches to a thundering finale, where a single army officer takes on a helicopter augmented strike team of Special Forces, you wonder not only what its creators were thinking, but who they thought they were talking to.

Two remakes this week; a second go-round for Disney with “Alice in Wonderland,” and a polished reworking of 1973’s, “The Crazies.” While “Alice” aims high, the “Crazies” hits harder. Tim Burtons’ “Alice in Wonderland,” is actually the third English speaking version of the Lewis Carroll classic made here. (There have been others, overseas.)

The trailer for Martin Scorseses’ “Shutter Island” comes across like a horror film, and a chilling one at that. But when the release date was changed from late October to last week, rumours suggested the project was having an identity crisis. It was also assumed that the master’s 21st feature was less than Oscar material, and that it would suffer in comparison to the weightier features distributors slot for the fall, when they’re more likely to be considered for year end awards…

“A German children’s film,” the subtitle of Micheal Haneke’s prize winning “The White Ribbon,” barely hints at the way this film engages its principal subjects. But it points us in a certain direction, and may help us to divine the writer/director’s intentions from its earliest passages, making it a lot easier to follow as it gets more complicated.

Although this weekend’s studio releases, “Valentine’s Day,” “The Wolfman,” and a Harry Potter knock off, (the title of which is so unwieldy I can’t get it straight no matter how often I see it in print,) are attracting sizable crowds, my advice is to stay home with a good book and a few DVDs. Despite record bad weather and mostly bad movies people are turning up at the theaters. Maybe it’s cabin fever.

Say what you will about the Academy Awards, they’re as reliable as any other year end prizes. It’s the show that’s really an endurance test. And while the whole enterprise has been derided as a venal and self serving family celebration, there are mitigating factors. For one, the nominees are selected by professionals in their respective divisions. Actors nominate actors, art directors, art directors, writers, writers, etc.

Five minutes into the new Mel Gibson vehicle, “Edge of Darkness,” you understand why the world is in thrall to American filmmaking. The movies’ sheer craft lulls you into willing submission. That its problems pile up like cars on an icy highway is almost aside from the point. Meticulous production and technical credits go a ways to glossing over the large narrative problems the script struggles to contain.

We’re knee deep into awards season, and while the shows may be bores, the movies they’re honoring are anything but. 2009, a year that most of us are glad to be done with, was better for movie going than almost anything else. We got something good in almost every genre, including several truly memorable titles.

Pedro Almodovar’s distinctive and masterful films have made him Spain’s best known director and a brand name around the world. While he may be more popular in Europe, he commands a sizable following here. Over the past twenty years he’s earned a slew of international prizes and two Academy Awards; Best Foreign film for “All About My Mother,” (1999) and Best Original Screenplay for his follow up, “Talk To Her,” (2002.)

When the original “King Kong” came out, in 1933, it was a screaming sensation. One critic called it “the greatest trick film of all time.” It wasn’t like there hadn’t been monster movies before–there had–especially during the silent period. Just not like this. The forerunner is probably “The Lost World” (1925), for which Willis O’Brien, who was later hired to animate Kong, created small dinosaurs out of small models made of clay, that were then shot using stop motion photography.

George Clooney is the rock solid core of “Up In the Air,” and I think that’s saying quite a lot. As good as it is, and it’s very good, you can’t imagine the movie working its magic on you without him. Clooney is one of the few bankable actors who seem as comfortable in ensembles as in leading roles. With comparatively little screen times he shines in films like “Burn After Reading,” “The Men Who Stare at Goats,” and “Syriana.”