Indie

The Saw franchise may be more efficient in logging a body count, but The House of the Devil is the kind of film that reminds you how cool it is to settle back and just let the dread soak in.

"Lars von Trier isn't going to talk to a lot of press." Yeah, yeah; yadda-yadda. But just because he isn't talking to us doesn't mean we can't talk about him, particularly about his childhood.

I've got nothing against sports films that exult in good sportsmanship and the triumph of the underdog. But I'm more inclined towards films like The Damned United that scrape past the noble veneer of sports.

Three days, 130 bands, eight stages. Downpours and all, there was no shortage of enjoyed spectacle and divine sounds over the weekend at the Austin City Limits Festival.

A TV writer tries his hand at a feature film. His friend reads the script, thinks it's an ungodly mess of muddled symbolism and Freud 101 anxieties. "Be honest," the writer says.

Michael Almereyda is no stranger to toying with film form. His latest documentary, the deceptively free-form Paradise, is an affecting -- dare I say, paradisiacal -- experience.

"I've been sort of kicking myself for not writing Grizzly Bear's 'Two Weeks. Too perfect," Golstein said. "I'm going to cover it just so I can make myself feel a little better."

Moon is about the vital role that furry slippers can play in mankind's exploration of outer space. And along the way it's about what happens when you meet your own clone.

Ever since Cat Stevens embraced Islam, the West has been clueless when it comes to accepting the former superstar. His latest release, Roadsinger, is a good start in rebuilding that emotional bridge to Stevens.