Todd Haynes' WONDERSTRUCK may leave you (and your kids) in that special state. I hope so.

Finally: A children's movie that really is for children. And for their parents. And maybe especially for their grandparents. (WONDERSTRUCK is set back in time in both the 1920s and the 1970s.) Best of all, this is not one of those Marvel or DC "stupid-hero" films, of which we've seen far too many of late. At the press screening I attended a month back, here in Fort Lauderdale, as the end credits rolled, there was a burst of spontaneous applause the likes of which I've not heard in all my two years down here in Florida. There were only maybe a dozen of us critics at the screening, but that applause sounded like it was coming from a hundred or more.

As much as TrustMovies has enjoyed and appreciated the films of Todd Haynes (shown at left: Carol, I'm Not There, Far From Heaven), he would not have guessed this guy capable of directing a movie for children that worked this well. (But, then, he was equally surprised by the success of David Lowery in directing the Pete's Dragon remake.)

Mr. Haynes' use of everything from the terrifically talented young actors involved to some fine, collage-like animation, an amazing diorama and New York City's American Museum of Natural History, in combination with the increasingly lost art of genuinely imaginative storytelling (the screenplay is by Brian Selznick, from his book of the same title) joins to make Wonderstruck a wonderment indeed.

Haynes and Selznick have divided their film into two stories that eventually connect. One is that of the young girl, Rose, played with wondrous openness and grit by newcomer Millicent Simmons (above), who leaves her comfortable New Jersey home to journey to New York City back in the 1920s to find and meet her idol and famous actress (brought to life by Julianne Moore). The other story, set in the 1970s, follows Ben (Oakes Fegley, shown below, the fine young actor who also played Pete in that Dragon movie), who comes to New York City to find the father he has never known, after his mother (Michelle Williams) has died in an accident.

How these stories weave together so beautifully and delightfully -- using New York's American Museum of Natural History in perhaps the most thrilling and meaningful manner I've yet seen on film (one that puts those Night at the Museum movies rather in the shade) -- is as wondrous as all else in the film, and the scenes involving the children at play (and learning) are so filled with energy, believability and sheer joy that they take their place among the great "kid" scenes movies have given us.

Ms Moore (above) plays yet another dual role (as she does in the better-than-you've-heard and under-appreciated Suburbicon), and she is alternately hard and soft, caring and not-so, and of course aces at both.

How Haynes' and Selznick's movie works itself out is less surprising than it is a kind of consistently visual (while mostly non-verbal) amazement. The movie deals in large part with deafness, and the way it handles this -- via conception, execution and especially performances -- is, I think, exceptional, original and quite moving without ever needing to jerk those tears.

How Mr. Haynes achieves this, with the help of Mr. Selzlnick, of course, is what makes him such a singular and thrilling filmmaker. Do stay through the end credits, which are joyful, explosive, colorful and finally meaningful, too. A word must be said, too, for the other and already quite seasoned young actor in the film, Jaden Michael (above, right, and below, left), who plays Jamie, the kid who encounters Ben on the city's street and befriends him. Young Master Michael is certainly the equal of his two fine co-stars. Mr. Haynes has managed to encourage (or maybe simply allow) three indelible child performances to burgeon here, and great thanks are in order. This is magical movie-making.

One of the year's best films, Wonderstruck -- from Amazon Studios and Roadside Attractions and running a just-right 115 minutes -- after opening last week on the coasts, will hit South Florida this Friday, November 3. In Miami, it plays the AMC's Aventura Mall and Sunset Place, the Cinepolis Grove 15, and Regal's South Beach 18; in Fort Lauderdale at the Gateway 4; in Boca Raton at the Regal Shadowood 16, in Boynton Beach at the Cinemark 14, and at The Movies of Delray. On the following Friday, November 10, it will opens throughout the country. Click here to find the theater(s) nearest you.

Alexander Sokurov's FRANCOFONIA explores culture & history, war & peace, art & museums

Alexander Sokurov surely is a versatile director. In this new century alone (he's been making movies for over 40 years), his work has spanned the groundbreaking "one-take" museum piece, Russian Ark, to the breathtakingly strange and beautiful Father and Son to The Sun (narratively documenting the abdication of the Japanese Emperor at the close of WWII) to the nearly unbearably moving Alexandra to his version of Faust and now, another "museum" movie that harks back to that Ark and yet is definitely its own thing: FRANCOFONIA.

Mr. Sokurov, pictured at left, often writes, as well as directs his films and he has done so here again. While his visual skills are as fine as ever, it's his memorable writing that turns Francofonia into the special thing that it is. He begins with what sound like phone conversations regarding the very film we're about to see, and then we get visuals of writers such as Chekhov and Tolstoi, then Skype-ing with a fellow named Dirk, during which we hear, "It's not human, dragging art across the ocean!" Only slowly does the content of the movie begin to take shape: art and culture, history and museums, war and peace -- and Sokurov's musings on all of these. And when I call them "musings," this is not to say that they aren't pretty delightful, thought-provoking,and oh, so beautifully spoken (if I am not mistaken, Sokurov does his own narration).

As usual with this man's movies, you'd best pay absolute attention to the visuals and the audio or miss something vital, as Sokurov combines archival footage with beautifully recreated film that looks quite "dated" (it even has that "tracking" strip that runs down the left hand side), making his modern stuff seem archival, too. This is quite nifty.

Rather than giving us a tour of the Louvre, as he did with the Hermitage Museum in Russian Ark, instead he zeros in on that period of the famous French museum during which the Nazis took over half of France, Paris and the museum itself. We get history recreated and narrated, with two fine actors portraying the Frenchman and the German who did the most to "save" the museum's artworks.

The ubiquitous Louis-Do de Lencquesaing (above) portrays Jacques Jaujard, the man in charge of the Louvre, while Benjamin Utzerath plays Franz Wolff-Metternich, the German officer charged with overseeing the art treasures the Nazis took ownership of as they conquered and occupied country after country.  The two men's story runs in and out and around Sokurov's musings in a way that brings us back again and again to the subjects at hand.

Also along for the ride (and the humor they bring) are little Napoleon Bonaparte (Vincent Nemeth, below, right) and Marianne, that symbol of French womanhood and liberty Johanna Korthals Altes, below, left). And while the filmmaker gets a lot of mileage out of Nappy, I wish he could have brought a little more thought and wit to his Marianne, who seems to exist mostly to flounce and gambol like one of those recent Terrence Malick heroines. This may have more to do with the usual filmmaker patriarchal entitlement to "stick with the guys" than anything else. But it does seem a missed opportunity.

Otherwise, Francofonia is a non-stop delight, offering up lovely visuals, even as it gives us non-stop ironies about art and culture, war and various kinds of peace/collaboration. The film would make a fine bookend to the popular French TV series, A French Village, about the country's occupation during WWII, At one point the narration mentions that the "same old slow-seller" has once again appeared on the market. "The product may be very expensive or be free. Yet the price of this product is always set by the buyer. What is it? Can you guess? Think it over...."

The movie rests on what Sokurov chooses to tell us, and how and when, and against which visuals he places all this. His choices could hardly be bettered, and his finale is as splendid as the rest of the film, as he gives his two main characters (and us) a look into their very interesting futures. The movie ends with a shot of two empty chairs, and then a blood-red screen which, in time, turns to a more peaceful blue. Quite fitting. And wonderful,

From Music Box Films, in Russian, French and German with English subtitles and running just 87 minutes, Francofonia opens this Friday, April 1, in New York City at Film Forum and the Lincoln Plaza Cinema, and then over the weeks and months to come, elsewhere across the country in some 30 cities. In the Los Angeles area, look for it to open on April 15 at Laemmle's Royal, Playhouse 7 and Town Center 5. Click here and then click on THEATERS (about one-third of the way down the screen) to see all currently scheduled playdates, cities and venues. 

Phallophilia on-screen again in Jonah Bekhor and Zach Math's documentary, THE FINAL MEMBER

Making a just-about perfect double bill with Unhung Hero, the new documentary THE FINAL MEMBER breaks further ground concerning the male-of-the-species' penis obsession. The three men we meet here seem obsessed something fierce with the male member -- an activity I admit that I myself have been rather interested in down the decades, as are, I suspect, many gay and bi-sexual men. But whatever interest we may have with cocks and balls surely pales next to that of these three guys.

The two filmmakers who directed the doc -- Jonah Bekhor and Zach Math (shown above, with Mr. Math on the left) -- are Canadians who, when they first heard about and then followed up on this story of the world's first penis museum, found in Iceland, actually relocated to that tiny country in order to facilitate their film-making. It's a bit difficult to imagine that they ended up with what they expected from their endeavors, going in. But who knows? Perhaps they were aware from the upshot how obsessed all the parties actually were.

Those parties would include the man, Sigurður Hjartarson (above), who put together the penile venue -- the Icelandic Phallological Museum, the world's only one devoted exclusively to the penis -- that holds a sample member from so many of the world's mammal species and displays them all. All, that is, except for the penis of one of us homo sapiens. To that end, the museum's founder, now in his 70s, is literally beating the bushes to find a possible donor for the cause.

Which brings us to the other two obsessive gentlemen: Páll Arason (above), an ex-adventurer/cocksman said to have had his way with more Icelandic (and maybe other nationalities) women than any other Icelandic man. Arason has agreed to donate his member to the museum upon his death. Except that, even in the best of days, his penis measured but five inches. Now that he is in his dotage, it is shrinking (as all of ours seem to, eventually), and so may not measure up to standard.

The movie takes a funny side trip here into penis-size folklore, and we hear the tale of a woman who insisted that Iceland come up with a minimum acceptable penis size because, as you can see from the drawing above, her hubby simply did not measure up.

Then our curator hears from a man in America, Tom Mitchell, who is also interested in donating his penis to the museum. It's a big one: seven inches and very thick. Tom calls his cock Elmo, and it is clearly his most prized possession. So prized that he begins setting rules and gilding the lily, as it were. (Ever seen a cock with a red, white and blue tattoo on its head? You will.)

All this is, on one level, crazy as hell. But as these are human beings, their desires and craziness are funny and sad and faintly ridiculous. Even though someone in this movie (Hjartarson maybe?) early on notes that, regarding the penis, "Anything that mustn't be talked about must be talked about." Fair enough, but obsession or no, one can't help but ask, Is this the measure of a man?  For Arason and especially for Mitchell, I guess the answer is yes.

Does Hjartarson get his final member? Surprise ensues and the suspense builds, and eventually we learn the outcome. Meanwhile, don't miss the comic-book adventures of Elmo, shown during the end credits. These are a hoot, and for the most part, so is this movie.

From Drafthouse Films and running a thankfully short 72 minutes, The Final Member opens around the country this Friday, April 18 -- in Austin, Dallas, Houston, New York, Phoenix, Seattle and Yonkers, with more cities to follow in the weeks to come. To see all currently scheduled playdates, click here and scroll down.

Jem Cohen's well-praised MUSEUM HOURS opens in Los Angeles at Laemmle theaters

TrustMovies missed the New York City debut of MUSEUM HOURS, the new film by that highly independent, American-by-way-of-Afghanistan filmmaker Jem Cohen, so he is happy to have caught up with it in time for its Los Angeles premiere. The only other film he had seen by Mr. Cohen -- yes, he's a man, even if his first name, Jem, may throw you a bit -- is Benjamin Smoke, a very odd combination of the ramblings of an AIDS-infected fellow who has some very fine music to share. Still Cohen, shown below, has made some 45 films, even if a majority of these are shorts, so he appears to be a name to reckon with. Museum Hours should add greatly to that reckoning.

Basically, the film tells two stories that, for a time, become one. They are those of a museum guard named Johann (Bobby Sommer, below) -- at the (from the looks of it here) quite impressive Kunsthistorisches Art Museum in Vienna, where the selection of paintings by Bruegel, among others, is wondrous -- and a middle-aged Canadian woman, Anne, visiting her ill cousin in Austria whom she has not seen in decades.

When she arrives, Anne (Mary Margaret O'Hara, below) finds that her cousin has lapsed into a coma. With little money and a lot of time on her hands, Anne goes to the museum where she meets Johann on his job, a conversation ensues, and an odd, quiet friendship begins.

I don't recall thinking this so much about Benjamin Smoke, but with Museum Hours, the quality that most shines through is discretion, a refusal by the director and indeed of his two main characters to barge into anything. They keep their distance (though they are courteous, even direct when necessary) and so does the director, with his camera -- gliding some times, stationery at others -- that takes its sweet time even pulling in for a close-up on these two.

Even when the movie's single "event" takes place, this discretion finds an outlet that is all the more moving for not being in our face. Even so, we do learn quite a bit about these two, most of it discursive, though it still adds up to "character," as we've come to understand the word.

In the film's most "actionful" scene, a tour guide, beautifully played by Ela Piplits, at right, challenges her group of art tourists to find the real subject in various Bruegel paintings. They do, with her help -- all except for one fellow (an American Republican, one suspects), who keeps insisting that a painting's title is its real subject, despite the several excellent hints from the guide of other possibilities the painter may have had in mind. This scene bursts with intelligence and real art appreciation, the kind that informs and makes us aware of the part that history and era -- the painter's and our own -- play in that appreciation. This scene could be taken out intact and played on YouTube as an object lesson on the work of Bruegel.

Just to be clear, Museum Hours is very slow-paced. You'll need to come equipped with your own set of standards and an appreciation of art, museums and personal histories to fully engage with the film. Yet the rewards are just as great.

From a charming fantasy switch from nudes-in-art to nude onlookers to Cohen's ability to capture peasant faces in life, just as Bruegel did in art, the movie quietly "rocks." Then, near the finale, the filmmaker lets us look at life in the way we look at art -- not in the ham-fisted manner of a Warhol but of someone who appreciates both and can distinguish them from each other -- but who can also turn the one into the other.

Museum Hours, from The Cinema Guild and running a lengthy 108 minutes, opens this coming Friday, August 16, in the Los Angeles area at Laemmle's Royal, Playhouse 7 and Town Center 5.
To view all currently scheduled playdates, with cities and theaters, click here.

Andrew Shea's PORTRAIT OF WALLY: an art theft that spawned yet more thieving

Combining some of the history of The Rape of Europa with the mystery and investigative skills of The Art of the Steal, the new art documentary directed by Andrew Shea and titled PORTRAIT OF WALLY concentrates on but a single piece of art -- the portrait of the title, painted by Egon Schiele in 1912 of his mistress, Walburga "Wally" Neuzil -- and its long and tortuous history involving steal after steal after steal.

Willi Korte, the researcher and investigator who co-founded the Holocaust Art Restitution Project, calls the final steal involved here, and the one concentrated on by the filmmaker, "The case out of all art restitution cases that has shaped the discussion for the forthcoming years." How we get to that case involves the original steal by a Nazi named Friedrich Welz in 1939 from the Jewish Viennese art gallery owner, Lea Bondi, to whom the painting of Wally originally belonged.

When, in 1997, "Wally" suddenly surfaced, on loan from the Leopold Museum in Austria to New York's Museum of Modern Art, the heirs of Lea Bondi asked MoMA to hold the painting in New York. MoMA refused and a court case was begun that lasted 13 years. It's that case, how it was handled -- along with who was involved -- and its final resolution that make up the meat of the movie. And a full meal it is.

We see and hear a wide range of people, from newscaster/journalist Morley Safer to New York City D.A. Robert Morgenthau, art historians to museum honchos, art collectors to Bondi family members. Filmmaker Shea, shown at left, is not one to raise his voice: The documentary seems quite evenhanded and fair. But Shea also allows everyone to voice his or her opinion, and some of these are surprising in their condemnation of powerful institutions such as MoMA and National Public Radio and then-political figures like Alphonse D'Amato. The section involving radio journalist/critic David D'Arcy -- who also co-produced the documentary -- and his shoddy treatment by the cowardly NPR is eye/ear-opening.

The evidence amassed against the museum consortium here in the U.S. and NPR, as well as against Austria's Leopold Museum and its "founder" Rudolf Leopold is daunting. Little wonder that most of the real villains of the piece -- MoMA, Ronald Lauder, Alphonse D'Amato and NPR -- declined to be interviewed, while everyone else proved more than willing.

By sticking with this single painting, its history and the history of all those who circled around it, the movie proves an intelligent and surprising foray into the world of high-end art -- and a more vital and immediate experience than even The Rape of Europa. And by allowing us to see that the museum responsible for a fascinating show like Marina Abramović: The Artist Is Present (a documentary about which will open here next month) is also responsible for an unnecessary 13-year-long court battle in which that museum was morally and legally bankrupt (well: nobody's perfect), the film does us all a service.

Portrait of Wally, 90 minutes, from Seventh Art Releasing, opens this Friday, May 11, in New York City at the Quad Cinema. To view upcoming playdates, theatrically and festival-wise, click here, and then scroll down the left hand side of the screen that opens up until you reach Calendar Events. Eventually, too, the film should make it to DVD.