In the midst of fallout from Clint Eastwood's incredibly polarizing American Sniper, Sean Mullin's romantic comedy Amira and Sam gives us a completely different take on the returned soldier. While Sniper is grandiose, heavy handed, and kind of messy, Amira and Sam is incredibly personal, effective, and manages to remain light-hearted without being shallow and flimsy. 

Amira and Sam is, at its heart, a love story, and it never tries to be anything but. Sam is an ex-solider who is trying to find his way upon his return from the war. He meets Amira, the niece of an Iraqi translator with whom Sam served and formed a deep friendship. Amira isn't all that fond of American soldiers, but when she runs into some immigration problems Sam offers to let her stay with him. Of course, they don't get along at first, and, of course, she begins to soften on him, and, of course, their friendship begins to develop into something more.

It seems a little easy and a bit trite, but that's just how romance films work. What makes Amira and Sam fun and effective is Martin Starr. Starr plays the lead, Sam, and is fantastic in the role. Subtle, funny, dry, awkward at times, confident at others, Starr really gives the character the weight and depth of a real person. When it comes to romantic movies, that is what really makes or breaks them. Regardless of the framework, motivations and circumstances, all the smart dialogue and pretty faces, none of it will work unless the actors can make you care about the characters. Starr really makes us like Sam, and in turn makes us very invested in Sam's arc. We want Sam to succeed, we want Sam to be happy, and when things are going poorly for him, we really want Sam to overcome those obstacles and come out on top. 

In addition to Starr's excellent performance, another part of what makes the film work is how it uses the soldier returned from war trope. Instead of Sam being this tortured, conflicted, and grizzled veteran that has seen too much and returns to a world that he no longer understands, Sam is just a regular guy that served his country because he thought it was the right thing to do and comes back to a world where doing the right thing really doesn't matter. He struggles not with the horrors of war and his actions overseas but with trying to maintain his ideals in an apathetic and crooked world. Sam is given an opportunity by his cousin (played by Paul Wesley of Vampire Diaries) to help him manage hedge funds, particularly those of his clients who are military veterans. Sam is offered an obscene amount of money, but his cousin's dealings may not be exactly on the up and up. 

Where I feel the film falls a little flat is Amira's character development. I feel as if she is a little too quick to soften on Sam, but I am willing to overlook it because Dina Shihabi really owns the role and gives Amira the emotional weight she needs. In order for us to accept that Sam is truly in love with her, she has to be someone that is truly lovable, and not just a frowny face painted on a board, like Kristen Stewart for example. 

There are a few flaws, but overall Amira and Sam is a superbly acted film, and is a very real and adult love story. Considering that this is writer/director Sean Mullin's first feature length film, Amira and Sam is a great romance. Never too cliché, never heavy or morally preachy, it makes us feel for the characters and gets us invested in their struggle, and we really want them to just be able to be happy together.

—Eric Harrelson

What can I say? I laughed at this shitty movie. Sophomoric, dumb, toggling between sexism and/or asinine gay jokes, the film is despicable for any number of obvious reasons. But sometimes it’s feels nice to not be consumed with the pretensions of criticism. I’d be foolish to concoct a defense for the more offensive aspects of Wedding Ringer, but I’ll lay it all out there and you can decide. 

The Wedding Ringer has been in the hopper for more than 13 years, originally a Vince Vaughn project that slipped into development hell. Swap out Vaughn’s slacker charm for Kevin Hart’s high-octane swagger, and you’ve got a product ready for the open market. The premise is simple: Kevin Hart is Jimmy Callahan, who runs a business where schlubs with no friends can hire his services as a best man. He’ll be the life of the party, toast giver extraordinaire, probably smush a bridesmaid, and disappear from your life ever after.

Enter Josh Gad as Doug Harris, a man so devoid of friends in his life he has to hire Jimmy to pull off the unthinkable “Golden Tux.” Basically, Jimmy has to construct an entire cast of groomsmen complete with lifelong friendships out of thin air. And—record scratch—they only have two weeks to pull it off! Madcap scenarios ensue with Jimmy reminding Doug all along it’s just a business relationship. Gee, I sure hope those two learn a thing or two about love and friendship along the way. So, yeah, pretty dumb, right? At the very least, something you've seen before. 

Well, in that vein, it’s worth pointing out the efficiency of the script. With 13 years to write and re-write, this is a lean 101 minutes of goofs and yuk-yuks. We open on Doug, establish he’s a loser, cut to Jimmy rendering his best man services, introduce the bride, prop-up the central conflict, introduce Doug to Jimmy, and all in the first 20 minutes. Soon after they set-up our rouge’s gallery of groomsmen, plug through the standard five to seven bits that hold any comedy of this ilk together, and boom, you’re at the credits. I mean…downright economical.

As for the film’s content, it undoubtedly feels like it’s from 13 years ago. There are certain attitudes even today’s bro-centric comedies have moved beyond. For example, the slew of gay jokes. None of them are cruel or judgmental—in fact Jimmy and company appear to have a number of gay friends—but more of a giggling-behind-the-hand at the thought of two dudes making sex. It’s not a positive, but what are you willing to reconcile? Lest we forget the now cringe worthy “You know how I know you’re gay scene,” from 40 Year Old Virigin. A far superior film, sure, but a very unflattering moment for Apatow and company. As for the female characters, let’s just say this picture does not pass the Bechdel test and leave it at that.

So, what could I even slightly enjoy about The Wedding Ringer? I’m beginning to wilt a bit myself, but it boils down to Hart and Gad, and they’re great together. These are two actors I’ve never really cared for all that much, but they work very well together. Gad might be the best broad “straight man” running these days, and Hart’s need to carry the load with relentless, hammy mugging is decreased accordingly. They fit together in a way I never expected, and it was enough to generate a tide of, “pleasant surprise.”

Admittedly, the bits the producers/writers probably think are the funniest—flaming grandma, dog with peanut butter, old guys vs whippersnappers football game—are the least rewarding. It’s the quieter moments—Jewish funeral, dance sequence, building the fake relationships—where the Wedding Ringer finds its earnestness and humor. The ratio of solid moments to eye-roll inducing broad comedy isn’t favorable, but it’s close enough to justify a why behind this picture.

Am I saying you should rush to the theater? No. What about when it’s, like, in the dollar theater off the interstate? Not…really. Not unless it’s a "Wednesday afternoon off of work" type situation. You know when this movie will be perfect? Let it find you on some hungover Sunday. Horizontal on the couch, surveying the wreckage of fast food wrappers and poor, half-remembered choices, let it wash over you. You might laugh a bit. No one will be there to judge you, and heck, you know I’ll never tell.

—Monte Monreal

Inherent Vice opens in 1970, and Joaquin Phoenix is Doc, our Marlowe buried under a poof of hippie hair squinting through a thick cloud of pot smoke. And as these stories must go, it begins with a woman walking into his office who needs help—an ex-lady, no less. From there, the handful of threads come unspooled leading to massage parlors, mental health clinics, and a pad in Topanga Canyon where a surf rock band host its ongoing love-in. Recounting the details here would be utterly pointless, and it’s the nature of the story where our path diverges.

I absolutely adored Inherent Vice—probably my favorite film that was technically released in 2014—but I’m not misguided enough to ignore what people will despise about this picture. Before I really let this old windbag blow, it’s important to point out the noticeable shortcomings of this project. The film is in various degrees sloppy, tedious, meandering, and totally self-indulgent.

All of P.T. Anderson’s auteuristic tics are on full display. An untold number of references to other films and counterculture nods worm their way through the movie. There’s even one scene, as featured in the trailer, where a bunch of stoners gather round a table for a pizza feast and create a visual reference to the last supper. Some of the sexuality—both repressed and overt—is sophomoric to the point of childish. The film is, at times, completely ludicrous. A significant portion of the dialogue is inaudible. No kidding, the title of the film is used as a line of dialogue. But if you’re anything like me, all of the above—when deftly deployed—equates to a ragged, lovely piece of cinema.

Where I don’t believe this is PTA’s best movie, Inherent Vice is a consolidation point of his powers as a filmmaker. Striking a precarious balance between titillation, melodrama, black comedy, and character piece, all of his Altman as Cassavetes (or is it Cassavetes as Altman?) prowess is on display. With a universe of big name players in bit parts—Reese Witherspoon, Benicio Del Toro, the exceptional Josh Brolin—the film is charming in its maddening sprawl. Katherine Waterson and Joanna Newsome also deserve their due for fine, fitting performances in PTA’s unhinged universe of burnouts.

To that end, the movie feels like a Pynchon novel reads: a commendable accomplishment by any stretch. Every bit a stoner/drug movie, the 1970 backdrop is the natural habitat for this discursive epic. The tension of the post-war years given way to the revolt of the '60s fizzled out into the drug induced hippie haze of the '70s. Counterculture has been adopted by the square world, and drugs have driven everyone mad.

The hippies trade in psychobabble and talk of chakra points. The squares vacillate between liberal guilt and extreme superficiality. Up to and including the belief a person deserves to be murdered if they have sex in a tacky enough hotel room. Part satire, part swan song, a pinch of surrealism, Inherent Vice is a convergence zone where the no-account hippie and the overzealous cop are the lone holdouts. Everything else is a blurred world of session musician informants, hippie girls gone straight, squares grabbing at a higher plane of actualization via LSD benders, drug dealers gone the way of vertical integration, and pizza. Always pizza.

Overly wordy readings aside, free of all the loving nods to a lineage of L.A. crime stories, my favorite aspect of Inherent Vice is it’s a joyful film. Not in spite of the silliness, but embracing the silliness, it feels like Anderson had a total blast making this one. In a year of big name directors but few good films, a pattern of consuming self-seriousness has dogged cinema in 2014. With this picture, Anderson throws it all out the window and lets this grubby, manic bastard of a movie shuffle across screen with a joint perched between its lips and a peace sign in the air.

Inherent Vice is a California detective story. And you know why they make California detective stories? Because a mystery is the ideal vehicle for pinging between the disparate freaks and weirdos edging the left coast. California has enough land, cars, and sunshine abutting with the unknowable ocean for the Linkhorn gene to really take hold of some intrigue. Grisly crimes, femme fatales, the requisite land baron, all hallmarks of the Golden State hard-boiled, but whether it’s The Big Sleep, The Long Goodbye, The Big Lebowski, or Anderson’s sublime, frustrating Inherent Vice, you recognize the question has never been unraveling the crime at hand, but trying to decode the most enduring mystery of all: other people. 

—Monte Monreal