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A SERIOUS MAN Unpredictability is a constant in the Coen Brothers canon, but after the heavy lifting involved with the Oscar-winning No Country for Old Men, it wasn't too surprising to see them tackle lighter fare with the quirky Burn After Reading. A Serious Man, however, defies all expectations. In many ways, it feels like a minor effort from Joel and Ethan (a sensation massaged by its modest production values and no-name cast), yet its subject matter is nothing less than man's relationship with God. It's a comedy through and through, yet it frequently carries the weight of a Biblical tragedy. In short, it's unclassifiable – and also one of the best movies of the year. It audaciously begins with a Yiddish fable set in the far past before switching to the more recent past (1967) via the audible strains of Jefferson Airplane's "Somebody to Love." Its protagonist is Larry Gopnik (Michael Stuhlbarg), a Jewish teacher whose life start to unravel for no apparent rhyme or reason. His shot at tenure might get compromised by derogatory (and anonymous) letters sent to the school board, he has to contend with a failing student (David Kang) offering him a bribe, his socially inept brother (Richard Kind) is a nuisance and a leech, and his wife (Sari Lennick) has decided to leave him for "a serious man" (Fred Melamed). A weak-willed individual, Larry seeks answers for his Job-like predicament, but will he ultimately embrace his faith or reject it? The mysteries faced by the picture's audiences are no more clear than the mysteries faced by Larry – small wonder, then, that the film's best (or at least most quotable) line is "Embrace the mystery" – but then the Coens have never been one to do all the thinking for their fans. A dense, ambiguous work that doubtless rewards repeat viewings, A Serious Man examines the place that religion occupies in this stained world and (much like The Box) wonders just how far greater forces should take cause-and-effect when fundamentally decent people are involved. Regardless of how one interprets the results, it's clear that A Serious Man is a celluloid godsend. ***1/2

THIS IS IT A sadness permeates the opening scene in the behind-the-scenes documentary This Is It, but it has nothing to do with Michael Jackson's death. Instead, the sequence – filmed, like the rest of the movie, while Jackson was very much alive – centers on the talented young dancers and singers who auditioned to be a part of the King of Pop's planned series of London concerts. As each person describes the thrill of being included in the Jackson legacy – many of them tearing up as they speak – they comment on how much this opportunity means to them, with a couple stating that this concert even gives them a newfound purpose in their unfocused lives. It's a heartbreaking sequence, considering that Jackson's death meant that none would be able to live the dream that seemed within their collective grasp. It's a smart way to open the film, filling audience members with emotion before the man himself takes the stage to prepare for his mammoth undertaking. After all, many folks (myself included) turned away from Jackson once he made the complete transformation to tabloid freak, and, to be sure, certain audience members are sure to experience a initial wave of nausea as this physical grotesquerie with a dubious history gets ready for his close-up. But then an amazing thing happens. It starts with the music, those generation-spanning hits that have the power to produce instant bouts of affectionate nostalgia. Then there come the dance steps, not as fast and furious as before, but still deft enough to catch the eye. And finally, there's the sheer spectacle, the showmanship that was arguably as responsible for keeping MJ in the light as any other aspect of his carefully built persona. Combined, these element make resistance futile, and for two shimmering hours, all the ghosts of scandals past melt away, leaving in their wake a boy whose only desire is to dazzle. Ultimately, This Is It doesn't quite feel like a documentary, nor does it seem like a concert film. It's clearly a love letter to the fans, but, perhaps more importantly, it's an olive branch to the latter-day critics, cynics and naysayers, all of whom have probably shown up to bury Jackson, not praise him. But the joke's on us. The movie keeps sensationalism and sordidness at bay, and by doing so, it allows us one final look at the Man in the Mirror, an unblemished view that reflects back nothing but a desire to let the music play. ***1/2