I can’t believe you’re not really retarded.

Garden State is a charming, if imperfect, film that at least proves that, when not saddled with George Lucas’s leaden dialogue, Natalie Portman can acquit herself quite admirably as an actress. This movie has an interesting point of view, sharply written characters but a story that somewhat loses its way during its meandering final third.

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God loves you just the way you are. But He loves you too much to let you stay that way.

Junebug is a uniquely charming little film in love with moments of silence. A more conventional film with the exact same story probably would have been a lot shorter, but Junebug takes the time between plot points and story beats to pause and marvel at moments of a quiet beauty that surround the characters.

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There’s nothing more real than a mirage.

Nine Lives is the movie equivalent of an anthology of short stories, incorporating the tales of nine women whose lives have trapped them inside personally untenable situations. It’s also a stylistic experiment, because each story is filmed in a single, unbroken eleven to fifteen minute take. This unique approach turns each episode into a one act play. It also gives the stories an immediate, fly-on-the-wall quality that heightens the sense of reality onscreen.

The stories themselves lack any grand, life-changing arc that you expect from more conventional movies. These are moments out of nine lives (natch) captured voyeuristically. The script by writer/director Rodrigo García captures the natural rhythms of the way people talk (rather than the way movie characters talk). The characters are sharply etched portraits of largely unremarkable, but compelling people we might know, but in shoes we’re glad we’re not walking.

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I tried to save my life but it didn’t work.

Damn it, I know I’m supposed to like this movie. I am a movie buff with a great deal of patience for slower, offbeat films. And Miranda July‘s directorial debut has a keen sense of character and as a writer, she’s got a terrific ear for the way people talk. The problem with this film is its lack of focus. The plot has a bad case of attention deficit disorder as July crams a Robert Altman-sized cast into its brief indie-film running time.

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Well, the past is gone, I know that. The future isn’t here yet, whatever it’s going to be. So, all there is, is this. The present. That’s it.

The opening credits of Broken Flowers is like porn for postal geeks, as we follow a pink envelope through virtually the entire process of it being mailed, sorted and delivered. I was oddly reminded of the little girl in the red coat from Schinder’s List as I watched this pink beacon sail through a sea of white and manila envelopes.

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