Parallel Mothers (Pedro Almodovar, 2021): 4/5

Improbable melodrama delivered with Sirkian mastery by Almodovar, who has fully embraced digital cinema with eye-popping production design and painterly fades to black.  And holy shit, he gives Penelope Cruz the opportunity to be the smart, sexy actress she too rarely has only hinted at.  As in Pain and Glory, Almodovar is still too quick to gloss over conflict for neat resolutions (the lingering "what about us?" question between the mothers/lovers, and other dark undercurrents, are simply dropped), as if the aging director can't bear to spend time on such emotional messiness anymore.  And, after so much elegance and finesse, the final scene literally uncovering Spain's murderous fascist past lands with a thud, pounded home with explanatory text.  This tonal shift is reminiscent of Bunuel's Diary of a Chambermaid, which, after so much discreet bourgeois bedroom maliciousness, ends with a fascist march in the streets; under Bunuel's direction, however, the ending more organically derives dramatic power by showing what a family's twisted emotional fascism portends.

The Worst Person in the World (Joaquim Trier, 2021): 3/5

The Ballad of Co-Dependency, millenial Norwegian edition. Usually, girls as pretty and smart as Julie realize very early that their beauty is a commodity and, when their career interests lose focus, find a partner who can support their dilettantism; here, she makes the dumb (or self-destructive) choice of leaving a successful cartoonist for a coffee barista.  And then, after loss and regrets, we skip forward and she's a successful photographer, just like that.  (Why can't more contemporary women's films show the pleasures and rewards of work?  Mildred Pierce did it well--all it takes are a couple of montage sequences.)  There are some nice moments along the way, but this kind of realistic melodrama often benefits from an injection of comic sarcasm, which might be beyond Trier's reach.

The Souvenir, Part II (Joanna Hogg, 2021): 1/5

The annoyingly passive and inexpressive Julie, whom no one seems to like or respect, and whose grief is convincing only when she's leaning over a toilet bowl, makes a self-indulgent student film based on her recent loss.  Somehow the power of her art conquers all and she becomes successful.  Her sudden leap to responsible adulthood and success is glossed over with self-reflexive, meta film gimmicks and is not at all earned.

Bergman Island (Mia Hanson-Love, 2021): 2/5

Despite starring Tim Roth, Vicky Krieps, and Mia Wasikowska, this was so dull and enervated that I would rather have spent the time perusing the shelves in that room that housed Bergman's VHS collection.

Licorice Pizza (Paul Thomas Anderson, 2021): 3/5

The fact that PTA grew up in Encino/Sherman Oaks around TV industry types predisposed me to think of this as his (and Gary's) story.  In retrospect, this meandering narrative works better when viewed as Alana's story and her struggle to grow up and find a role in the world, with Gary as a diversion from her problems.  This isn't really clear until the final act when she takes a grown-up political job that isn't enabled by Gary's precocious entrepreneurism, and only then does she realize that he still has a place in her life.  I was grateful that PTA didn't overload every shot with pop culture references a la QT; there were just enough to be fun.

Get Back (Peter Jackson, 2021): 5/5

The five songs performed on the roof are phenomenal in terms of their soulfulness and the sophistication of the five players.  I'd seen/heard these before, but seeing them develop over a month and realizing what each member contributed made them so moving, especially knowing how much contention and distraction had to be overcome to get there.  Their backs were against the wall, and they delivered.  Billy Preston's appearance and immediate integration into the band is truly a deus ex machina that unfolds before our eyes and ears.  Watching John and Paul play the acoustic "Two of Us," now realizing its autobiographical and symbolic meaning and seeing their joyful, loving expressions, brought me to tears.  You want them to go on forever, and knowing they can't just makes it more poignant.  They really brought out the best in each other.

The Wire (David Simon, 5 seasons 2002-2008): 5/5

At first this seems to be just another cynical cop show, with liberal use of F and N words to differentiate the product from network TV.  But by the third season, as it widens its scope, one starts to believe the hype that this audacious examination of Baltimore in crisis is indeed the greatest drama ever made about the intersections of race and class in modern urban America.  In this overwhelmingly Democratic, diverse, neo-liberal city, cops make arrests but justice isn't served; school is taught but little is learned; and public officials too often serve private interests.  Forsaking the "charismatic asshole" approach of other premium cable classics, The Wire invokes socialist realism by eschewing stars for a focus on institutions and communities, and the diverse cast of characters who shore them up and tear them down. This also forsakes a certain amount of pleasure: Dominic West doesn't have the chops to carry the show and his prominence fades mid-series, and compelling characters played by Idris Elba, Sonja Sohn, Amy Ryan, and many others are either eliminated or relegated to the sidelines.  Season 4's focus on a ghetto middle school, and the teenagers who already have no future but a life on the corner, was necessary but especially brutal to watch.  What is gained is a deeper understanding of the symbiotic relationships between police, organized crime, the legal system, politicians, unions, schools, and the media, and how the lack of both funding and community engagement create a downward spiral of quid pro quo deal-making that compels public servants to break the law to maintain order as well as their own livelihoods.  This culminates in a final-season ruse that becomes the city's "Big Lie," involving so many stakeholders that other public servants jump on board to perpetuate it, because admitting the truth would bring them all down.  Sound familiar?