Dressed in a light pink frock and standing on a dusty road in an unnamed African country, Maria Vial (Isabelle Huppert), the central character in the French art-house film “White Material,” appears spellbound by the changes happening in a world she once thought of as her home.

Maria, who lives with her family on their failing coffee plantation, is Caucasian with reddish-blonde hair and blue eyes. Despite her desire to blend in with her surroundings, her presence is obvious. With rebel soldiers pitted against the government militia in a civil war, the country has become increasingly dangerous for anyone to stay. Maria’s fighting spirit, however, refuses to leave even after her entire workforce abandons the crop.

“Coffee’s coffee; not worth dying for,” her foreman says before packing up his belongings and joining the mass exodus. For Maria, it’s not that easy.

Like most of her past work, French filmmaker Claire Denis, who was actually raised in a French-colonized Africa, is minimal in her delivery and focused more on the picturesque imagery and details of the landscape than she is on the finer points of the sometimes vague narrative.

Only a hint of a secondary storyline featuring a rebel hero known as The Boxer (Isaach De Bankolé) who is hiding at Maria’s plantation is shared before it’s forgotten (a metaphor for Maria’s own ambiguous political position?). Maria’s apathetic son Manuel (Nicolas Duvauchelle), too, is briefly plucked from his comfort zone before his character is engulfed by the turmoil without much explanation.

While Denis avoids concrete answers in her allegorical work, the consistently despairing tone throughout the picture is remarkable, as is Huppert’s understated and absorbing performance as a woman lost in deep-seated denial and facing an inevitable end. The hopelessness is heavy in “White Material.” Maria’s strength is unmistakable, but it would be a tough task for anyone to carry the load alone.

As far as cinematic schlubs are concerned, not many actors out there can play bitter more brilliantly than Academy Award nominee Paul Giamatti (“Cinderella Man”). Even those with the physical traits to be considered schlubby like Jon Lovitz, Danny DeVito, and Kevin James would have to dig pretty deep to give nuanced performances like the ones Giamatti delivers in 2003’s “American Splendor” as late comic book icon Harvey Pekar or in 2004’s road-trip wine adventure “Sideways” as a sourpuss writer.

Once again, Giamitti embraces his inner grump in “Barney’s Version,” a Canadian drama based on the 1997 fictional autobiography of the same name by Mordecai Richler. While the structure of the novel doesn’t figure into director Richard J. Lewis’ film adaptation (footnotes are used in the book to correct factual errors Barney writes due to Alzheimer’s disease), “Barney’s Version” is still a quasi-epic biopic centered on the paradoxical life of a man with nothing and everything to live for.

In the film, Giamatti portrays title character Barney Panofsky, a once-widowed, twice-divorced TV producer in Montreal whose entire existence has been an up and down battle between his heart and his head. Flashbacks mark moments that have impacted his life – from a drunken encounter with best friend Boogie (Scott Speedman), which may have led to his disappearance, to his longtime pursuit of third wife Miriam (Rosamund Pike), whom he meets during his second wedding reception.

Watching Barney search for happiness in the most graceless ways is uncomfortable at times, but his sincere personality peers out enough from behind his callous exterior to feel just enough sympathy for him without dismissing his countless flaws. There’s something uplifting about his stubbornness and refusal to conform. Barney stays the same as the world changes around him. It’s a life filled with disappointment, but one that’s still worth living even if it’s for the little glimpses of a better one.

No one appreciates a classically-trained magician anymore. With contemporary tricksters like Criss Angel freaking your mind, it’s not enough these days to make a canary vanish from its birdcage or pull a silver dollar out from behind someone’s ear to grab an audience’s attention.
 
In the French-British animated film The Illusionist (L’illusionniste), director Sylvain Chomet delivers a breath of fresh air to those not easily distracted by the gimmicky bells and whistles of modern magic or computer graphics. For that, The Illusionist lets you in on its most remarkable ruse of all. With nothing up its sleeves, it creates a beautifully-imagined narrative right out of thin air.
 
Based on an unproduced, semi-autobiographical script written by French director, comedian, and mime Jacques Tati in 1956 for his daughter, The Illusionist, is a Chaplinesque throwback featuring quietly-realized characters that unfortunately would be overshadowed by most of the pushy, dumbed-down 3-D cartoons studios bank on today.
 
In only Chomet’s second full-length animation (his first was the delightful 2003 Academy Award-nominated film The Triplets of Belleville), The Illusionist, which received its own Oscar nod this year, is another example of the auteur’s precision to detail and eye for elegant and soft two-dimensional drawings. One might call Chomet a minimalist from an artistic standpoint, but the complex nature of his characters resonates soundly even with dialogue being almost nonexistent throughout.
 
Much like the themes of the underappreciated 2009 Australian stop-motion claymation Mary & Max about an odd relationship between an imaginative little girl in Sydney and a grown man living with Asperger’s syndrome in New York City, The Illusionist builds on its two charming protagonists through bittersweet and touching moments.
 
Set in 1959 Paris, the film follows a veteran illusionist who travels from town to town with his ornery rabbit looking for places to perform. While he’s not short on talent, jobs are sparse since an aging illusionist isn’t what anyone would consider a headlining act. When he befriends a young chambermaid who believes all his magic is somehow real, the two set off on a fascinating journey filled with colorful supporting characters, including a trio of energetic acrobats, a lonesome ventriloquist, a suicidal clown.
 
Consider Chomet, however, the ringmaster and main attraction in this melancholic circus accented by a warm, watercolored Edinburg landscape. The Illusionist is a low-key show, but one that could never be considered unoriginal. The tender way Chomet handles the story’s poignancy should be reason enough for admirers to hope he doesn’t wait another seven years for an encore.

It’s always a breath of fresh air when a filmmaker offers audiences a glimpse into the lives of fictional characters who could easily be everyday people. There’s no glitz or glamour in the way 7-time Academy Award-nominated director/writer Mike Leigh presents his intimate stories, but it’s in his own quiet style and that he creates fascinating and realistic situations with such precision and craft.

In “Another Year,” which recently earned an Oscar nomination for Best Original Screenplay, Leigh’s simple and bittersweet narrative wears its heart on its sleeve. The emotional, character-based drama stars Jim Broadbent and Ruth Sheen as happily married Brits Tom and Gerri, one of the most well-matched couples your ever likely to meet on screen or in real life. Tom and Gerri are content, comfortable, and most importantly, in love.

While their lives are as pleasant as can be, Tom and Gerri are surrounded by friends and family that haven’t quite figured where to find their own happiness. The couple nurtures them as much as possible, but there is only so much someone can do before third-party misery begins to affect everything it comes into contact with.

In a scene-stealing role, Lesley Manville plays Gerri’s coworker and friend Mary, a high-strung, desperate, and deeply depressed middle-aged woman who feel time has rudely passed her by. The emotional connection she has with Tom and Gerri when she visits their quaint home is one of friendship and neediness. As much as she rambles and drinks, Tom and Gerri are more than hospitable to her and never let her neuroticism get in the way of their ability to be good company.

But as the seasons pass during this ordinary year, Tom and Gerri find themselves brimming with people who need their attention. Their son Joe (Oliver Maltman) has found a girlfriend they both adore and Tom’s brother Ronnie (David Bradley) is left helpless when he loses his wife. It becomes only a matter of time before Tom and Gerri must prioritize their life and make difficult decisions about who they can let into their joyful little world without feeling overworked.

“Another Year” is filled with sadness, but not in a way that’s going to drag audiences down. Leigh doesn’t offer much hope at the end, but instead gets his richly-written characters to a point where they can move onto the next year knowing where they stand with one another. It’s a message that most affable people won’t care for (“Life’s not always kind”), but one that is true nonetheless.

While poetic and immaculately shot on a grey palate to make the city of Barcelona look like a place you wouldn’t want to send your enemy, “Biutiful,” the fourth feature-length film from Alejandro Gonzalez Iñárritu (and the first without longtime screenwriter Guillermo Arriaga), is a structural mess. Doing what he does best, Iñárritu shows us human emotion at its weakest and does so with a searing performance by Academy Award winner Javier Bardem (“No Country for Old Men”). But the layers upon layers of narrative Iñárritu experiments with as a writer don’t come from the same fine-toothed brush as Arriaga. After two and a half hours, Iñárritu has muddled depressing idea after idea with what he believes to be craftiness. Instead, it ends up being one of those films you can admire, but not necessarily like very much.

As the credits roll in the pleasant-enough drama “Made in Dagenham,” archive footage is shown of the real English women who stood up for their rights as workers at the Ford Motor Company in their hometown during the 60s. Director Nigel Cole’s (“Calendar Girls”) assessment of the historical event shoehorned into a two-hour crowd-pleaser ended just fine, but there was something sorely missing from the final product – a little edge.

Even a hint of genuine rawness would have given the bubbly “Dagenham” a much-needed nudge away from the melodramatic elements it uses as a crutch. While the film hoped to evoke thoughts of “Norma Rae” or even the more recent “North Country,” “Dagenham” is merely dainty in its delivery.

Still, the most impressive things about “Dagenham” are the actresses that inhabit these real-life characters. Sally Hawkins plays Rita O’Grady, a Ford employee who leads her female co-workers against the manufacturer to get them to fix the factory’s poor working conditions (the women sew upholstery for the cars and usually do it in their unmentionables because they are without air conditioning). Soon, Rita and the gals – with the help of a sympathetic union leader (Bob Hoskins) – become more confident and decide to go on strike until Ford agrees to pay them the same wage as male employees.

As much inspirational fervor you find behind the women’s intentions, there is also a patronizing tone that lingers throughout much of the second half of the film. Credit most of these tacky, TV-sitcom moments (“Way to go honey!”) to first-time screenwriter William Ivory, who is far more interested in patting these women on the back than he is giving them a sense of empowerment that cuts deeper than the cautious script allows.

Delivering her best performance since her Oscar-winning role as renowned author Virginia Woolf in 2002’s “The Hours,” Nicole Kidman doesn’t take her part as a grieving mother and turn it into a typical heartrending exercise.

As Becca, Kidman captures a mother’s anguish after she loses her 4-year-old son in a car accident, but she also fleshes out sensitivity, bitterness and humor in a role that could have easily come off as tedious as the mourning parents Rachel Weisz and Mark Wahlberg play in “Lovely Bones.”

The difference here is that director John Cameron Mitchell (“Hedwig and the Angry Inch”) is working from a script written by David Lindsay-Abaire based on his Pulitzer Prize-winning play of the same name. A “rabbit hole,” most notably from the story of “Alice in Wonderland,” is exactly where Becca and her husband Howie (Aaron Eckhart) are trying to crawl out from. After their son dies, nothing makes sense. It’s like they’re trapped in a world they no longer recognize.

Eight months after the tragic accident, Becca is ready to move on. She no longer wants to attend support group meetings and starts to get rid of anything in the house that may remind her of her son. Howie is more comfortable about expressing his feelings about his loss. He watches home movies and keeps pictures around. He also tries desperately to save his marriage from caving in. In one compelling scene, Howie attempts to seduce Becca into having sex with him. The innocent foreplay quickly turns into an argument as Becca makes it clear that life will never been the same again.

“Rabbit Hole” takes the more-is-less approach in storytelling, but unloads the emotional tension through well-written dialogue and some surprising twists in the narrative that keep it distressingly genuine. It’s impossible to even fathom what Becca and Howie are going through unless you have experienced the same pain, but “Rabbit Hole” will have you sympathize with this broken couple. You can feel them slipping away from each other with every straining moment.

As difficult as it is to watch at times, the contemporary relationship drama “Blue Valentine” doesn’t come without reward.

In “Blue Valentine,” Academy Award nominees Ryan Gosling (“Half Nelson”) and Michelle Williams (“Brokeback Mountain”) play Dean and Cindy, a hopeless couple on marital life support. The lack of intimacy between husband and wife is uncomfortable. Even taking a shower together is a searing reminder that there’s nothing left to salvage.

Written as an uncompromising nonlinear narrative (think “500 Days of Summer” with a mean streak), director/screenwriter Derek Cianfrance puts emphasis on the dysfunctional interaction between its emotionally-depleted characters. By doing this, he allows Gosling and Williams to lumber through this loveless marriage with so much attention to detail in every move and expression they make.

“Blue Valentine” features characters at their emotional low points. It’s almost as if they are addicted to each other’s unhappiness. Watching this unfold is both depressing and gripping. With heart-wrenching performances by the leads and an intensely affecting script, “Blue Valentine” proves that misery truly does love company.

While it’s natural for almost anyone to get a bit nervous when speaking in public, stumbling over a few words while giving a keynote address or losing your train of thought during a toast wouldn’t signify the end of the world. If you were the King of England in 1939, however, disappointing an entire nation at the brink of war was a definite possibility. No pressure, right?

Directed by Tom Hooper (“The Damned United”) from a script by 73-year-old screenwriter David Seidler (a former stutterer himself), “The King’s Speech” tells the little-known true story of King George VI (Colin Firth), known as “Bertie” by his family and friends, and his battle with a debilitating speech impediment that causes him to panic and freeze up every time he stands in front of a microphone.

The film opens in 1925 when our tongue-tied protagonist is about to deliver a major speech as the Duke of York during the British Empire Exhibition at Wembley. The scene becomes more and more devastating as a terrified Bertie – with speech in hand – opens his mouth and is unable to string two words together without his stammer reverberating through the stadium speakers. Painful as it is to witness, Bertie’s weakness is clearly evident through these awkward moments of silence.

Unable to overcome his stutter despite ongoing vocal treatments (one of his doctors encourages him to smoke because it “calms the nerves and gives you confidence”), Bertie’s supportive wife Elizabeth (Helena Bonham Carter) sets up a meeting with Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush), an Aussie-born speech therapist and amateur actor whose unorthodox techniques don’t initially impress the duke.

But with Adolf Hitler and Joseph Stalin looming in the east, the monarchy needs someone confident enough to speak to the masses. Although Bertie is not meant to be the next king, the responsibility is transferred to him when his older brother David (Guy Pearce ), who holds the title of King Edward VIII for less than a year, shocks the House of Windsor when he renounces the throne so he can marry a twice-divorced American socialite.

With all of Britain watching, “The King’s Speech” builds toward King George VI’s first wartime radio broadcast to the nation. As the ineloquent king, Firth is simply mesmerizing, as is the rest of the talented cast who bring to life this fascinating footnote in British history. Charming, humorous, and engaging throughout, “The King’s Speech” is easily one of the best films of the year.

While the Coen brothers have dabbled with western themes in a few of their past films including “The Big Lebowski” and “No Country for Old Men,” the duo has finally tightened up their boot straps and given us their own dusty, old-fashioned take on the genre with such craftsmanship you would think they’ve been doing it for years. Without comparing the film to John Wayne’s original of 1969, the Coen’s version stands on its own with noteworthy performances by Jeff Bridges as a marshall out to get his man and newcomer Hailee Steinfeld, who steals just about every scene she is in.

If searching for a young director with an audacious approach to filmmaking that is unlike anyone else working in the industry today, look no further than Darren Aronofsky.

While his last film, 2008’s critically-acclaimed drama “The Wrestler,” was less bizarre than some of his earlier works including “Requiem for a Dream,” “The Fountain,” and “Pi,” Aronofsky finds his way back to an unusual narrative in “Black Swan,” a hypnotic, psycho-sexual thriller that plays like high-art horror.

Academy Award nominee Natalie Portman (“Closer”), who will definitely earn a second Oscar nod for her role here, plays Nina Sayers, a ballerina who is chosen as the fresh face of the company by her demanding director Thomas Leroy (Vincent Cassell). Although Thomas chooses Nina as the lead for his version of ”Swan Lake,” he’s not sure she has what it will take to perform both distinct parts of the classic ballet. While she is technically flawless and built to play the White Swan, Nina is missing the fiery passion needed to transform into the Black Swan.

With an overbearing (bordering on obsessive) mother (Barbara Hershey) at home watching her every move and a new ballerina (Mila Kunis) from San Francisco who might be out to take her role on stage, Nina’s paranoia begins to take effect on her fragile mental state.

Thus begins Aronofsky’s take on a metamorphosis that rivals David Cronenberg’s 1986 film “The Fly.” While not nearly as graphic in nature, “Black Swan” is just as intense and chilling. Portman, whose real-life ballet skills probably helped her earn the role, has never been better. It’s a confident performance in a beautiful and unnerving film that examines the significance of ambition and what someone will sacrifice to reach perfection.

As beloved as William Hanna-Joseph Barbera’s TV cartoons have been since the late ’50s, their recent resurrection as live-action/CGI-animated feature films has been hugely disappointing. Somewhat inspired casting choices like John Goodman as Fred Flintstone in “The Flintstones” and Matthew Lillard as Shaggy in “Scooby-Doo” (zoinks!) were spot on, but the films themselves were a firm reminder that without a competent script, nostalgia can only get you so far.

With “Yogi Bear,” another of these bizarre live-action/CGI hybrids, Warner Bros. aims their attention at a new generation of indiscriminate four-year-olds unfamiliar with the short-lived animated spinoff of the early ’60s. While the simplistically-drawn “Yogi Bear Show” only aired 35 episodes over two seasons, it’s considered a classic in the Hanna-Barbera canon.

In the new film version, which is the first picture not to be produced in some capacity by either creator (Hanna passed away in 2001, Barbera in 2006), the basic premise of the original cartoon remains the same. Yogi (Dan Aykroyd doing his best impression of comedian Rodney Dangerfield), along with his faithful sidekick Boo Boo (Justin Timberlake, whose take on the pudgy little bear is about as wonderfully wussy as his role in “The Social Network”), spend their time in Jellystone National Park evading Ranger Smith (Tom Cavanagh) and stealing campers’ “pic-a-nic” baskets. The troublemaking duo becomes the park’s main attraction when a filmmaker (Anna Faris) chooses them as the subject for her next nature documentary.

Jellystone can use all the publicity it can muster. The town is going bankrupt and a corrupt mayor (Andrew Daly) wants to sell the park to a company planning to cut down all the trees (cue an unoriginal green message and a plot centered on zoning regulations). Penned by three screenwriters, whose less-than-stellar credits include “Tooth Fairy” and “Wild Hogs,” and directed by longtime special-effects whiz Eric Brevig (“Total Recall”), “Yogi Bear” wears thin even at a merciful 82 minutes, which includes an unfunny, outdated dance sequence to Sir Mix-a-Lot’s “Baby Got Back.”

Yogi can still refer to himself as “smarter than the average bear” if he’d like, but his movie hardly supports the self-description. Instead, “Yogi Bear” joins other brainless live-action/CGI combos of the last decade like “The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle,” “Alvin and the Chipmunks,” and “Garfield” to become yet another forgettable addition to the dullest of kid-friendly fare.