Nichols and Sorkin's film is imminently charming and breezy, but likewise naive and flippant in its treatment of the United States' involement in the Soviet-Afghan conflict.
Wright's realization of Ian McEwan's epic meditation on regret is a resolutely assured one, deploying an impressive compliment of affecting visuals in service of its tragic narrative.
Anderson's mercurial character study is impressive if wildy uneven, creating in oil man Daniel Plainview a conflicted and ultimately incomplete vision. Daniel Day Lewis' lead perfromance is likewise inconstant, reminiscent in its best moments of Jimmy Stewart's steel-headed work with Anthony Mann, but also possessed of overwrought, all too familliar histrionics.
Reitman's film eventually, and deceptively, overcomes insufferably stylized dialogue and well worn American indie cliches to acheive a sweet, winning rhythm.
Haynes' sprawling Bob Dylan tapestry is part riff, part caricature, part revision, and part hallucination, its ultimate, overwhelming, and bewitching success won from Haynes' precision in managing his film's myriad parts.