Howard Zinn’s A People’s History of the United States was first published in 1980 and has inspired in some people a fanatical devotion we don’t normally associate with a 700-page history book. Songs, movies, and plays have all been dedicated to Zinn and his work, and a documentary co-written by Zinn based on the book will premiere at this year’s Toronto International Film Festival.

A People’s History is a conscious attempt to provide a different kind of historical record. As Zinn writes early on:

If history is to be creative, to anticipate a possible future without denying the past, it should, I believe, emphasize new possibilities by disclosing those hidden episodes of the past when, even if in brief flashes, people showed their ability to resist, to join together, occasionally to win.

The resistance Zinn refers to involves how people throughout U.S. history have stood against the forces of power--the moneyed elite, government, business--and tried to construct a fairer, more equitable system. A country in which the system worked for the common man instead of the other way around.

It’s amazing how different a history this is. The moving of armies, the electing of presidents, the “great men” of national leadership get only a few lines. Instead the emphasis is on workers and labor unions, women and African Americans, Native Americans and immigrants as they struggle for better and fairer conditions.

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Victor Bello/TWC 2008

Vicky is serious and engaged. Cristina is carefree and impulsive. Barcelona is beautiful and very, very sexy. Actually, that’s also true of Rebecca Hall and Scarlett Johansson, who play Vicky and Cristina in this golden-hued romantic drama. Oh, and Javier Bardem, too, who plays Juan Antonio (the name itself is sexy). And we can’t forget Penelope Cruz, as the overly neurotic Maria Elena, who is, despite her character’s troubles (or maybe because of), the sexiest one of all. That’s pretty much what you need to know about Woody Allen’s new movie Vicky Cristina Barcelona. To be honest, there’s not much more than that.

As the movie opens, Vicky and Cristina have arrived in Barcelona for a summer vacation. A droll but largely unnecessary voiceover brings us up to date, and soon the two have met Juan Antonio, an exceedingly suave Spanish painter who forthrightly invites them on a weekend getaway which will probably involve a threesome. 99.9% of all men would find themselves slapped in such a situation. Javier Bardem does not. What follows is a love triangle that later becomes a trapezoid when Maria Elena, Juan Antonio’s ex-wife, enters the picture. Word might have reached you that Johansson and Cruz engage in some kissing, but voyeurs (and aren’t we all, in a dark theater) should remember that the movie is rated PG-13.

To Allen’s credit, this rather preposterous setup comes off almost naturally. I might have recalled this hilarious Onion article on a couple occasions, but the actors are so strong and Barcelona so gorgeous that I found myself swept along for the ride. It helps immensely that, unlike Woody's films of the last 40 years, the male protagonist isn’t anything like Woody himself, for no one would ever confuse Allen and Bardem. Instead, Bardem plays the sophisticated European as every woman’s fantasy (women wishing to argue for Allen’s fantasy value can send their comments to our Antarctica office). He’s romantic and assertive, strong but sensitive, creative and handsome. We understand why a one-night stand with Juan Antonio might have Vicky reconsidering not only her wedding but her entire future. Her early declaration “I’m not free, I’m committed” feels more and more like a noose as the movie continues.

That theme of commitment vs. romance plays out like a battle, especially when a friend named Judy (Patricia Clarkson) encourages Vicky to follow her fantasy and screw the consequences. But even the plot threads of suicide and infidelity can’t compete with the filtered summer light that Allen and cinematographer Javier Aguirresarobe (Talk to Her) conjure, with everything subsumed in a warm, hazy glow.

Yet, the film ends strangely like a sitcom, with the finale bringing us back to the very spot from where we began and with each character largely the same. A summer vacation may seem like an escape from the real world, but it’s hard to imagine that Barcelona and Juan Antonio wouldn’t leave more of a mark.

Jose Haro/First Look Studios

A filmmaker can do a lot with two people on a train, especially if they’re a husband and wife still working out their relationship. The cramped quarters, the parade of strangers, the disorientation of a new environment all provide rich soil for character development and conflict. So it is with Transsiberian, a movie about Jessie and Roy (played by Emily Mortimer and Woody Harrelson) riding a train from Beijing to Moscow.

The two are relatively happy, but differences lurk over whether to start a family and how to deal with their respective histories (Jessie has led a much more colorful life). Things get more complicated when Carlos and Abby, a mysterious young couple, join them in their sleeping car. Carlos takes a liking to Jessie, while Jessie is trying to figure out what’s going on with Abby. Roy and Jessie soon get separated (is Carlos responsible?), leaving Jessie in a tenuous position.

Director Bran Anderson knows how to manipulate the audience. Hints abound that Carlos might be up to something bad. Drug smuggling? Maybe. Human trafficking? Possibly. But he also could just be a suave Lothario. No matter what, we know that Jessie shouldn’t go on that "innocent" walk with him when they get off the train, and soon she’s in a lot more trouble than she could have ever imagined.

But just when the movie should focus on characters and relationships, it takes a right turn into plot. And an ugly, barbaric plot it is, which is surprising. If you’re making a movie that stars Ben Kingsley (as a narcotics investigator) and features exotic railway travel and interesting characters, the likely target audience will be middle-aged arthouse fans. Last I checked, that demographic isn’t so big on brutal mutilation and punishing violence.

This shift in tone is particularly regrettable because Harrelson gives a wonderfully subtle performance as an earthy, religious husband. I’m not usually a fan of Harrelson’s wide-eyed approach, but here he creates a likable and genuinely interesting character. Roy wants to connect with his wife despite their contrasting pasts, and he’s willing to look like a fool and take some chances to make it happen. Kingsley doesn’t have much to do besides practice a different accent (Russian this time), while Mortimer is a nicely down-to-earth actress who’s a bit outmatched in the movie’s more intense scenes. Unfortunately, there are a lot of those.

Lucasfilm Ltd./Warner Bros. Pictures

Mark Hamill, the star of the first three Star Wars films, once remarked, “I have a sneaking suspicion that if there were a way to make movies without actors, George Lucas would do it.” Film critics who sat through The Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones had a similar feeling. And now with the further development of animation technologies, Lucas has reached that point.

He isn’t directing the new computer-animated flick Star Wars: The Clone Wars, but his DNA is all over it. The story about Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi trying to save the son of Jabba the Hutt is just a skeleton for some cool battles (at least my nephew thought so) and overly intricate political intrigue.

The movie is a set-up for the TV show set to debut this fall on Cartoon Network. The animation is intentionally retro, in the movie, at least. None of the beautiful backgrounds of Kung Fu Panda, little of the sleek design of the Pixar films. Instead, we have the somewhat geometric characters that are common in video games, which fits since most of the movie feels like a long video game, with various battles involving ships, droids, and clones. And of course Jedis with lightsabers.

The most interesting character is also the one that feels the most calculated. Ahsoka is a young Jedi-in-training, or Padawan for the fanboys out there. So she functions as both the spunky sidekick and the object of interest for the pre-teen crowd who are the most likely viewers of the TV show. And yes, she’s a she, in what I suspect is a vain attempt to attract young girls to the franchise.

Fans of the franchise won’t need any prodding to check out Lucas’s new direction, though ‘new’ isn’t quite the right word. The Clone Wars storyline started out as a video game in 2002, became a TV show in 2003, and morphed into a series of graphic novels. But re-baking old material is old hat for Lucas. Only the technology changes.

As many critics have remarked, the first 45 minutes of WALL*E feel like a silent movie, using purely visual elements to construct its characters and story. It’s possible, though, that the Pixar folk didn’t look all the way back to the silent era. Rather, they might just as easily have studied Albert Lamorisse’s famous 1956 short film, The Red Balloon.

That 34-minute movie relates the tale of a little boy who discovers that an unusually large balloon is following him. ‘Tale’ might be too sophisticated a word, however, as the narrative is simple to the point of being iconic. Boy finds balloon, boy sometimes loses balloon, boy and balloon join together again, boy and balloon traipse through Paris. The delight in watching such a simple story comes from how Lamorisse endows the balloon with a strong, magical personality. It hovers outside the boy’s room, waiting for him to come outside again. It refuses to let other boys play with it. In one hilarious sequence, it taunts an old man who, in frustration, has locked up the boy.

Still, the primary relationship comes from how the balloon teaches the boy. It is more than happy to play with him, but it refuses to be controlled by him. Early on, he scolds it, “You must obey me and be good.” Not quite, we soon learn. Rather, the boy must learn to respect the balloon, and only then can the magic happen. And indeed it does happen, with finely tuned sight gags and beautiful, visceral tracking shots through Paris streets. This reaches its zenith when a rebellion of balloons fills the sky with brilliant color over the famous Parisian architecture. Then in a truly transcendent moment, boy and balloon become one and take flight. Don’t let its short length fool you; there is more joy here than in most films four times longer.

James Rexroad/Paramount Vantage

Nanette Burstein shooting American Teen

Nanette Burstein was nominated for an Oscar for her debut film On The Ropes and received critical acclaim for The Kid Stays in the Picture, but her latest documentary shifts from the highly specific story of a well-known movie producer to the more universal tale of teenagers. Indeed, American Teen feels almost archetypal, as Burstein follows four classic American types--the popular girl, the band geek, the quirky outsider, and the jock--through the ups and downs of their senior years. The film captures the teens as they fall in and out of love, wrestle with the demands of friends and parents, and struggle with where (or whether) to go to college.

We sat down with Burstein and talked about reality TV, crafting a story, and whether teenagers really are that self-absorbed.

J. Robert Parks: You've done documentaries on boxers, on music, on Robert Evans. Why teenagers in small-town Indiana?

Nanette Burstein: I wanted to do a film on teenagers. One, I was influenced by this documentary called Seventeen, which was actually shot in Indiana. Also, my high school experience was such an important time in my life. It was very challenging, but also very formative in defining who I ultimately became. So I wanted to do a movie that was personally very important to me.

JRP: One of the things I find interesting about the film is that these teenagers almost seem like they're out of central casting. You've got the band geek, you've got the queen bee, you've got the jock and so forth and so on. I'm curious how you chose the teenagers you did. Were you looking for those kinds of things, or did that storyline develop as it went on?

NB: I was definitely looking for kids from different social cliques and different social classes. But they didn't have to be as archetypal as they were. I'm glad that they are, because I think they defy the stereotypes and are surprising and unexpected, and that's what I was looking for. You think you know who they are, just like their peers think "oh this is the theater geek." But in fact they're very different people, and they're complicated, and they're trying to figure out who they are.

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Warner Bros. Pictures

Three years ago, when the first Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants movie hit theaters, Alexis Bledel and Amber Tamblyn were the well-known stars, courtesy of their TV shows Gilmore Girls and Joan of Arcadia. But now things have shifted, with their fellow Sisterhood stars Blake Lively and America Ferrera grabbing magazine covers with TV hits Gossip Girl and Ugly Betty. As for their characters in the Sisterhood, well all four are riding high when we first meet them in the sequel, with Brown, Yale, NYU Film School, and Rhode Island School of Design the markers of success.

Still, as most 19-year-olds would tell their younger siblings, just getting into your dream college doesn't necessarily guarantee happiness. And as Tibby (Tamblyn), Lena (Bledel), Carmen (Ferrera), and Bridget (Lively) head towards the summer, not all is well. For starters, all four are scattering to summer projects, so that last f in bff looks a bit tenuous. Even worse, those projects have a way of bringing up problems of their own. Lena finds out her boyfriend from the first film has gotten married to someone else, Bridget is dealing with issues related to her mother's suicide, Carmen is struggling at a theater camp and, in the most provocative of the storylines, Tibby might be pregnant.

Although this material could be ripe for after-school specials, the conflicts are handled with patience and surprising depth. It helps that the actresses are strong. Tamblyn is especially good in conveying the anxiety that an unwanted pregnancy could bring, and Lively combines her natural charisma with some genuinely emotional acting. Only Bledel looks a little bored, though that might have something to do with her storyline being the purely romantic one of the bunch. Not that the other girls don't have potential love interests (in today's teen entertainment, this goes without saying), but romance is refreshingly secondary to issues of family and identity.

As with the first film and the books they're based on, the four storylines are largely independent of each other, so the narrative sometimes feels fragmented. Ironically, when the quartet finally does come together, the movie doesn't know what to do with them. But otherwise, director Sanaa Hamri keeps it all going, and there are several affecting moments. Tibby's scenes with her boyfriend are refreshingly mature (parents take note), and the movie slows down enough for us to appreciate their interactions. The same is true when Bridget confronts her dad and grandmother. Twelve-year-olds will be able to follow the story, but twenty-year-olds won't find the material beneath them.

True, the boyfriend possibilities feel like the work of a focus group of 14-year-old girls (soooo dreamy). But in a summer when Anne Hathaway has been caught in her lingerie and Angelina Jolie has been dipped in wax, it seems the height of hypocrisy for male critics to begrudge young women a little wish fulfillment of their own.

Jean-Louis Blondeau/Polaris Images

The World Trade Center towers were one of my favorite places in New York. When I visited the city throughout the '90s, I would make a point of heading there around sunset so I could stand on top of the outdoor observation deck and watch the sun slip behind New Jersey and the lights come on all over Manhattan.

It is for this reason and many others that I'm thankful for the new documentary Man on Wire. It's a look back at French high-wire artist Philippe Petit's incredible 1974 achievement: when he and a team of friends and others strung a wire between the very top of the two towers and then Petit walked out into thin air.

The movie is structured around contemporary interviews with Petit and most of the co-conspirators who helped him slip past the towers' security with his high-wire equipment. Petit comes across as both delightful and manic, what you'd expect of someone who spent six years dreaming and planning his most famous conquest. His charisma is also evident in these interviews, as he, in ways both modest and immodest, talks of the difficulties and setbacks he encountered. And when he remarks, "What a beautiful death, to die in the exercise of your passion," we can grasp the passion he's talking about.

This charisma is what drew so many people to his side. And while I had trouble sometimes remembering who was who as the movie cycled through its talking heads, their various perspectives give a striking sense of the monumentality of the project and the cleverness of the team. Petit's girlfriend at the time likens it to a bank robbery, and the movie builds on that tone.

Director James Marsh carefully balances these interviews with re-creations of various moments as well as footage the group took of their preparations. Shots of Petit practicing on a wire in a field give a sense of the joie de vivre he brought to his art, as do high-wire acts in Paris and Sydney.

But it's the World Trade Center project that Petit is known for, and the film carefully builds the suspense leading up to the fateful night when the team sneaked into both towers and the morning when Petit walked out over the city. Even though I knew what happened, the movie is so well edited by Marsh's editor Jinx Godfrey I found myself becoming more and more nervous, more and more excited. If only there had been more footage of the actual event; the same photos, incredible as they are, get repeated as people describe what happened. And the movie's denouement is both a bit confusing (who fell out with whom?) and anti-climactic.

Still, as thrilling as Petit's feat was, what I'll remember most about Man on Wire are the Twin Towers themselves. The image of them falling has been utilized in so many manipulative ways, it feels right to see them snatched out of the hands of politicians and restored as buildings that sometimes inspired dreams.

MGM

I was almost 16 years old when Wargames was released in 1983, and it quickly became one of my favorite movies. You didn't have to be a teenage hacker (I wasn't) to thrill to the sight of a high school wiz kid saving the world. But what particularly captivated me was the overt political message. A few months later, I wrote a play about the dangers of nuclear weapons, which seemed to impress my English teacher, but maybe she was just giving me points for nervous outrage.

I wasn't the only person nervous about global thermonuclear war back in those days. Protests against Reagan's missile buildup abounded in 1982-83, and people's fears culminated in the broadcast on Nov. 20, 1983 of an infamous TV special The Day After, which portrayed what life would be like after a nuclear holocaust. Everyone knew what the DEFCON scale meant. And I distinctly remember our social studies teacher asking how many students thought a nuclear war would happen in our lifetime, and most of our hands went up. Imagine today's chatter about global warming but on a topic that could instantaneously and without warning destroy millions of people.

Watching Wargames again 25 years later, I'm not surprised that it feels dated and a bit slow. It's amazing how much more frenetic today's blockbusters are. And for better or worse, few of us worry much about computers accidentally setting off World War III. But I am still impressed that the movie decided to take on such a controversial and, let's admit, depressing subject. And Wargames tackles it head-on, with nuclear war a real and awful possibility, not like the ridiculous set-up of global warming in The Day after Tomorrow. When Matthew Broderick (acting in just his second film and still working out the nervous tics) "teaches" the computer to stop the wargame, the machine remarks, "A strange game. The only winning move is not to play." No matter how simplistic that might sound, it had real political bite in 1983, and even today it makes me shiver a bit not knowing if our own leaders believe it.

What I didn't realize in 1983 was how much the Wargames script owed to Stanley Kubrick's masterpieces Dr. Strangelove and 2001. The former is directly echoed in the opening scene, as two men in charge of a nuclear missile receive a coded message to launch the bomb. But while irony abounds in Slim Pickens flying a bomber over the Soviet Union, Wargames plays the scenario straight and for maximum tension. And as there's no irony in Wargames, there's little of 2001's metaphysics, just the plot point of a computer gone amuck.

But if Wargames lacks the depth of its forebears, it does provide the winning smile of a 20-year-old Ally Sheedy, which should not be underestimated. And it also has a beautifully executed faux ending. Unlike today's multiple endings that feel like they're pre-programmed in some screenwriting software, Wargames makes you think victory has been achieved only to snatch the rug out from under you. And in this case, that misdirection is what had us pondering the political message as we walked out of the theater. Yeah, Matthew Broderick might've saved the day, but would anyone be able to the next time?

Palm Pictures

I first noticed the director Rolf de Heer when I saw his powerful Western The Tracker. That movie confronted head-on the colonial legacy that's plagued relations between whites and aborigines in Australia. Four years later, de Heer decided to leap over those post-colonial difficulties by collaborating with an aboriginal village and bringing their stories to the big screen. The result is the delightful Ten Canoes.

The film actually uses a double framing device. The narrator (David Gulpilil from Rabbit Proof Fence and The Tracker) tells a story about an older man with three wives. When his younger brother takes a fancy to one of those wives, the older man tells an ancient tale that mirrors the first story. De Heer shows the two stories in parallel, which might seem confusing, but he makes things beautifully clear by using color for the ancient tale and slightly over-exposed black-and-white photography for the more contemporary one.

What follows is a lovely film about storytelling and aboriginal life. From the opening gorgeous helicopter shot over the plains and swamps to the way each character is introduced with a head-on closeup, de Heer obviously wants to introduce the audience to this land and culture and let them speak for themselves. The movie begins with Gulpilil intoning, "Once upon a time," but then he laughs and remarks, "It's not your story, it's my story," cheekily poking fun at the Western fairy tale tradition to let us know "his" tales might be a bit different.

The narratives are relatively simple, and as Gulpilil himself points out, they take a while to get to their destination. My suspicion is that in a less exotic setting, many moviegoers would find themselves bored, but their culture is so different from ours that there's always something to notice. Furthermore, the cinematography, both brilliant color and striking black-and-white, is stunning. And the dialogue is comically earthy with jokes about farting and penis size, a reminder that certain movie conventions cross any cultural boundary.