J.C. Chandor (A Most Violent Year) gives us a taut, intelligent, crisp story of one NY investment house which realizes (credibly, at least for movie purposes) that the economic crash/conflagration of 2008 is not only going to happen, but it is happening, however subtly.  As a result, we get to see the reaction of and impact upon the firm’s silky Gordon Gekko-like chairman (Jeremy Irons); the executives who sold him on the mortgage-based investment policy that brought the firm to the brink of ruin (a harsh looking Demi Moore, made all the more brittle by her counterpart, the Dorian Grayish Simon Baker); the traders (Kevin Spacey, who I would say steals this movie except for the fact that Paul Bettany as his no. 2 is every bit as good); and the lower-level young risk analysts (Zachary Quinto and Penn Badgley) who reveal the threat and then serve as wide-eyed witnesses to the first rumblings of the financial earthquake.  The film never misses a beat as it propels the story (which unfolds in a 24 hour period) while offering great characters in an ensemble piece loaded with dialogue that is thoughtfully cynical but never showy.

Chandor’s byzantine world of finance is neither sexy or diabolical, and the cogs are just performing their jobs in a system whose caprice they often fail to understand.   As the trading floor manager, and the closest thing the film comes to a moral voice, Spacey sees the inevitability of the resolution but he cannot resist it; the system won’t let him.  There are no villains, and thankfully, no simplistic Oliver Stone-esque sermons.  The characters are the audience, and they, like us, do not lash themselves to the wheel as the ship goes down.  They survive, take stock and move on.

By far the best film of 2011.

Another Alexander Payne gem.  I’m always heartened by a picture about family and relationships that is neither pat, cute and unreal, or so raw and uncompromising that you’re driven to awkward discomfort.  George Clooney is more than believable as a father whose wife has an accident and is in a coma, having to deal with establishing relationships with his two daughters while also learning that his wife was having an affair. On top of these woes, Clooney is the trustee of a pristine piece of Hawaii, and his family naturally wants to sell to the highest bidder. So, no stress there.

All the characters ring true, from the wife’s grief-stricken and angry father (Robert Forster) to the rebellious daughter (Shailene Woodley) to his wife’s scared lover (Matthew Lillard) to his shattered wife (Judy Greer).  Particularly strong is Nick Krause as Woodley’s boyfriend, who accompanies Woodley as she comes back from college to deal with the tragedy. He could have been ill-used as the clueless stoner/comedic relief, and while he is funny at moments, he’s also poignant, another burden Clooney has to carry, but perhaps the only one who can actually assist.

The film meanders a little, and it tests Clooney’s depth (plus audience credulity – what wife cheats on George Clooney?), but those are nits.  This is a rich portrait.

An earnest political tale, not as serpentine as Advise and Consent  and lacking the sense of humor of Primary Colors.  It’s closer to The Best Man.  That said, it could have used Gore Vidal’s involvement because the picture is dull, with dutiful performances by George Clooney as the flawed and dark presidential candidate; Phillip Seymour Hoffman as his “loyalty first” campaign manager; Paul Giamatti as the conniving rival campaign manager; and Jeffrey Wright as the oily senator who holds the key to the nomination. Based on a stage play, it feels stagey, but the biggest flaw is Ryan Gosling as the number two in Clooney’s camp who becomes embroiled in a web of intrigue.

Gosling is poorly written.  On the one hand, he’s presented as whip-smart and an up-and-comer, but some of his missteps are so glaring as to be ridiculous.  Note to self:  when having to pay off the massive fee of $900 to take care of a problem, DO NOT USE PETTY CASH!

The plot is also a little too tidy (why is meeting with the rival campaign manager presented as the equivalent of a paid sexual tryst with a transvestite?) and sometimes, the perfect rebuttal is foregone for the weight of the message.

There’s also a political imbalance that is a little distracting.  Christopher Orr nails it:

Alas, The Ides of March wears its ever-bleeding heart on its sleeve. As frontrunner Morris, Clooney is to Barack Obama as Martin Sheen was to Bill Clinton, an uncompromising embodiment of the liberal id. He waves his irreligiosity like a banner, vows that with a greener energy policy, “you don’t have to bomb anyone, you don’t have to invade anyone,” and publicly derides the gay-marriage debate as a “silly argument.” (He even gives the right answer—with the benefit of 23 years’ hindsight—to the historic Michael Dukakis death-penalty gotcha.) A war hero turned antiwar, Morris is Wesley Clarke crossed with Dennis Kucinich crossed with Robert Redford in The Candidate. It’s little wonder that from the film’s vantage point on the ideological rim, moderate Democrats are Machiavellian devils, and Republicans—I may be mistaken, but I don’t believe a single one appears onscreen throughout the entire course of the film—are an inconceivable evil looming on a distant horizon, like the White Walkers in Game of Thrones.