The different layers of plot twists work well in Chaos Theory, a clever, topsy-turvy story of love and growth. When Frank, a tightly-wound husband, father, and businessman, loses his grip on the dependable, reliable, never-changing aspect of Time, chaos strikes, and he cannot avoid it. I applaud the film for coming full circle. It shows a truly happy marriage reaching a breaking point, but doesn’t stop there—instead, it shows each partner choosing to turn back towards the other, because they have held on to what marriage is about: a deep devotion, commitment, and love that, if given the effort and the time, can weather the worst of storms and come out shining in the end.

If you’re looking for a nonfiction account of immigration issues in the U.S., watch a documentary or listen to Charlie Rose. On the other hand, if your tastes (or moods) gravitate toward movies that are inspirational and affirming, then settle comfortably into your favorite seat (at home or at the cinema) with some comfort snacks and a box of tissues as you enjoy director Patricia Riggen’s latest film, Under the Same Moon. However, if you seek something deeper—a potentially more unsettling but authentic experience chock full of Reality—you won’t find it here. So skip the local Cineplex and volunteer to serve the immigrants in your community instead, and put a face on reality.

Occasionally, a “merely entertaining” film goes beyond entertainment and reaches into innovation; and as hard as 21 tries to reach the realms of thoughtful and innovative, it falls smoothly back into the fairly fun Las Vegas romp one would expect. The “fact-based” film follows a group of MIT students who count cards—a hobby which (under a professor’s guidance) eventually becomes extremely profitable. Unfortunately, the adapted screenplay (based on Ben Mezrich’s Bringing Down the House) squeezes out all the mathematical intrigue (as Barbie famously said, “Math is hard.”). So, while this is no Oceans 11, there is enough to like about this film to keep it squarely in that “entertaining” category. And ultimately, though lacking MIT-level excellence, a solid “B” may still provide an enjoyable time at the movies.

Director Gus Van Sant is no stranger to films about brooding, estranged, and misunderstood young people. His latest film, Paranoid Park,, while not up to the quality of some of his past works (including Good Will Hunting and Finding Forrester) still follows his general thematic bent. Beautifully shot in Portland, Oregon, the film tells the story of a teen skater who is in the wrong place at the wrong time and must face the consequences. I encourage all parents of teens, especially teen skaters, to see this film and talk about it with them. No doubt the skaters will see it and feel as though someone is (finally) speaking their language, taking them seriously enough to talk directly to them via film.

Part documentary, part animated recreation, Chicago 10, in significant detail, brings to the screen the demonstrations as well as the trial of the so called “Chicago Seven” who planned to storm the 1968 Democratic National Convention. Director Brett Morgen tries hard to draw, or, more accurately overtly establish, connections between the anti-war movements of the 60s and the anti-war movements of the current generation. It is a look back that implies that people today seem lackluster in their “outrage” over today’s war. What I found most interesting, however, was that the film showed less emphasis against the war than emphasis on themselves, for their own moment in the sun, and for their own skin.

While the devotion of the two to each other falls flat, the staging and production design are lovely enough to keep one’s attention. The costumes are sumptuous and the sets show a breathtaking opulence. I became fascinated by how Antoinette would button her gloves or tie ribbons in her hair. That’s certainly a nice touch to a film, but points to the fact that the main thrust of the film—the story of the lovers—is lost due to boredom and disinterest in the uninspired and passionless tête-à-têtes. If you’re looking for an Anna Karenina type heated but doomed romance, you are probably better off reading the Balzac… or the Tolstoy.

Teixeira lets us enter the daily life of Brazil, where a certain perfume will cause men to be trapped in a spell, the working class crowds together on the bus, women gossip over manicures, and everyone flirts and hurts each other in turn. This gives the film a sense of doom—that life is vanity and boredom, lacking deep love and commitment. We eat, we drink, we watch TV, our families turn on us and we die. Not a very pleasant picture. That is not to say that a film needs to be pleasant to be good or worthy of something to say. Alice’s House is well-crafted and well-acted for an art-house foreign film, but in the end it lacks a center or a sympathy that helps one to connect with the characters and the story.

The title invites us to be witnesses along with the characters in the film. But witness to what, exactly? is the question. The filmmaker refuses to pass moral judgment on any behavior of his characters; thus we are left to come to our own conclusions. With the possible exception of Manu’s struggling opera-singing sister, this is hardly a likeable crowd. Since the film for the most part ends as it begins, we are left to wonder whether we are witnesses to the sustaining power of narcissism or if we’re meant to be softened by witnessing the beginning of the AIDS crisis.

In 1937, the Japanese, emboldened by their partnership with the Nazis, invaded China, hoping to take over the country. If the Japanese could capture China’s then-capital, Nanking, the country would be theirs. In addition to slaughtering over 200,000 Nanking men, women, and children the Japanese reportedly raped a staggering 20,000 women, In the midst of this horror, a handful of Western expatriates and missionaries realized that if they left the city, there would be no one in any position of power to help those who were not able to flee—the poorest of the poor. The film focuses on three valiant people—the ones who stayed behind.

The film almost salvages itself when Stanley finally fesses up to the girls on a Florida beach at sunset. The actors are understated in a very believable way, and all three of them shine. But even here, the climax of the film, the filmmaking gets in the way as the soundtrack and setting become distracting. Stanley’s words are muted for the soaring score and the sun setting over the ocean. If one of the girls had silently screamed “Noooooo” in slow motion, the film school playbook for “emotional death scene” would have been complete.