Eerily reminiscent of a bloated, faith-based television pilot that failed to get picked up for prime time, One Fall is the kind of movie you can’t just take on faith: you’re too in awe that its canned sentimentality made it to the big screen at all. It’s the kind of movie in which the heated conversation between two brothers finally having it out after years of rivalry is capped off by a slap-wrestling match and underscored by oompah circus music to remind us that the slapping is supposed to be funny. We need the reminding.

Cinema is the most thoroughly modern (and commodified) form of ritual, a time-bound rapport between the living viewer and a material image, which itself bears a false pretense of life. It’s pretty interesting, then, that Silent Souls is a film about two men who, in response to a death, decide to take a few days’ break from the industrial world, so as to perform the rituals of an ancient culture that barely still exists. It’s a casual affair: they simply get on the road, with little fuss, sharing memories to pass the time.

In the past few years, I have become very interested in the so-called mumblecore genre. Out of all the films that comprise such a “movement,” Joe Swanberg’s stand out for dealing with sexuality in the new millennium in a raw yet mature way. From the early experiments of Kissing on the Mouth to the claustrophobically intimate Nights and Weekends, Swanberg has tackled these issues with an honest, naturalistic style.

Sam Peckinpah’s films beg present-day Hollywood to remake them. He was, after all, “Bloody Sam,” the man credited with introducing graphic violence to unsuspecting Americans and who is likewise credited with turning that violence into art. But ever since egregious violence became de rigueur in big American movies (Conan: The Barbarian, Saw, etc.) the degree to which it’s done artistically has dropped like a stone (see Nicolas Winding Refn’s Drive for at least one good example of violence done right).

Loosely based on the events that led to the December 2008 riots in Greece after the tragic death of a 15-year-old student by the hands of two policemen, Wasted Youth is the first feature by director Jan Vogel, who shares credits alongside Argyris Papadimitropoulos. Taking place in a single day, Wasted Youth develops itself in a twofold narrative, and it does so with a few noticeable contradictions.

Like David Fincher, director Bennett Miller has a crisp talent for streamlining broad issues that are usually only understood by geeks and/or experts. Like Fincher, he insists on perfection in the look and structure of his films. Like Fincher, he focuses on obsessive personalities who do what they feel they have to do despite any consequences. But unlike Fincher, he refuses to take a pop outlook on the cruelty of life. Where Fincher has put his obsessives (Robert Graysmith, Mark Zuckerberg) through enormous pain, Miller is much more sympathetic, if not the greater director.

The Vicious Brothers (25-year-old filmmakers Stuart Ortiz and Colin Miniham) have publicly stated that their “intention with Grave Encounters was to try and take things back to a time when horror films didn’t play by the rules, weren’t afraid to disturb and to offend, while simultaneously pushing the boundaries of the ‘found footage’ style with a high level of technical sophistication and wit.” I definitely applaud the gusto with which they approached their feature debut, and sure Grave Encounters is undeniably technically well-made, but to say that it doesn’t play by the rules w