At the movies: The 50th Annual New York Film Festival.

 For my eleventh consecutive New York Film Festival, I wanted to have a grand experience. I only saw two films I hated, so that certainly counts for something.

 There were so many dazzling moments, I just sort of had to keep my responses internal, barring the occasional gleeful gasp or slack-jawed amazement.

So here's my write-up from NYFF 2012. I hope you enjoy it. There were so many good films that I couldn't fit them all in, so much respect also to Pablo Larrain's No and Damon Packard's Foxfur, which I recommend to all.

At the movies: Greenberg.

Greenberg is the titular subject of Noah Baumbach’s new film, played by Ben Stiller in a way that aims to reaffirm how great he can be as an actor when he wants to be. But Greenberg is also a state of mind; a quasi-narcissistic, neurotic life paralyzed by not only the process of aging but by the way that language, expectations, and alienation have cut us all off from one another.

Stiller’s Greenberg, specifically, is a carpenter who once was an almost-rock star, recently released from a mental institution. He’s come to L.A. to keep an eye on his hotel developer brother’s palatial house while their family takes a several week excursion to Vietnam. He’s not completely on his own, though. He has his brother’s assistant, Florence (the magnificent Greta Gerwig), to rely on, and from this springs an awkward and deeply resonant kind of relationship.

Baumbach builds on the foundations he’s been trafficking in since 1995’s Kicking and Screaming, following the masterful one-two punch of The Squid and The Whale and Margot at the Wedding, and with the input of his wife Jennifer Jason Leigh, who produced and helped develop the story, he’s been able to distill something amazing onscreen.

Nothing I’ve seen all year rings truer than an altered Greenberg talking to a bunch of twentysomethings about the meanness that drives their interactions; “The Chauffeur” in the background, party favors all about, and one man facing the void of modern courtesy.

It will haunt you, even as Stiller gives his best performance in ages and Gerwig shines like a supernova in her first big film. You take joy where you can, but that’s not what drives you. It’s the regret, and the confusion, and yes, the hope.

At the movies: The House of The Devil.

When college sophomore Samantha (Jocelin Donahue, working a distinctively Lynn Lowry-ish vibe) decides to flee her messy dorm room and inconsiderately promiscuous roomate, she finds herself caught between a rock and a hard place. A great apartment is within reach, with a nurturing landlady (horror icon Dee Wallace) and space for studying and living and establishing herself as an independent woman.

But a looming $300 deposit makes things almost insurmountable for Samantha- until she answers an ad for a babysitter for Mr. & Mrs. Ulman (Tom Noonan and Mary Woronov). They're wealthy ($400 for just a few hours), they're weird (apparently able to derive phone numbers without being told), and they're just delighted to have Samantha to their isolated, ornate manse so they can make the big astronomic event- a complete lunar eclipse.

As the film is called The House of the Devil, you would be right to assume that something nefarious is involved. Something diabolical, even. But be sure, this is not an evil house; it is a house to which evil has come. The meticulous joys of this film aren't in its pagan rituals, bloodenings, or SRAS-style underlying fears. The House of The Devil is a film that feels of the 80s, but never explicitly says so.

Donahue's Samantha is a truly great character and a great performance, suitable to stand amongst Heather Langenkamp, Kimberly Beck, Jamie Lee Curtis, and Ashley Laurence as great 80s horror heroines. She's pragmatic, but also has a problem with being impetuous, proving relatable for just about anyone. She even turns on the faucets in bathrooms so no one can hear her cry.

You can jettison your irony at the door to this House, as its slow-steeping spell works best in that part of the brain that understands the dangers inherent in every locked door, in every lie told through a smile.

Indie goddess Greta Gerwig, as Samantha's best friend Megan, is just marvelous- a rich girl with Farrah hair and an appetite for tasty morsels. A marvelous character, she, and like the rest of the stellar supporting cast, helping ground the more concrete aspects of the film in an indeterminate-early 80s milieu that's never jokey or obvious. It's a place out of sync with space and time, this movie, and it wears its deliberate pacing and cautionary heart with both affection and trepidation.

Currently, The House of The Devil is playing theatrically in selected markets throughout the country, though it is available nationwide through Magnet/Magnolia Pictures' VOD program. If you're in Nashville, though, it's coming to the Belcourt Theatre from November 9th through 13th, and it's $1.50 cheaper than VODing it in your own home. Get your 35mm experience on; you'll be glad you did.