At the movies: The Shrouds.

 David Cronenberg is back, and that's how we like it.

At the Movies: Cave of Forgotten Dreams 3D.

Ideally, the movie I'd most like to see in 3D is something like Werckmeister Harmonies. Long takes, sustained tracking shots, not much cutting at all, immersive spaces. Well, Werner Herzog once again leaps ahead of the curve, using 3D technology to map out one of the most fascinating secrets in the world, the Chauvet Cave in France, where undisturbed wall drawings dating back tens of thousands of years represent the first human artistic endeavors still preserved.

Unlike the majority of 3D films currently in theatres, Cave of Forgotten Dreams finds actual physical space way more fascinating than computer-generated vistas or effects sequences (and that's not a slight on 3D tech- I enjoy the added dimension when it's done well). There are moments, drifting along in these deep, enclosed spaces, that one can't help but feel something more than real. It's rare that history can be this visceral without wars or some form of betrayal involved (doesn't that sadly sound like modern life as well), and Herzog, with his magnificent voice, takes us through a meditative look at the human artistic impulse.

Calling this the best use of 3D film technology so far is limiting- Herzog certainly understands the mechanics of how the eye works, using langurous fades rather than abrupt cuts, allowing depth to resolve itself on the viewer's terms. But it seems to me that 3D is best when it comes to realness; I love being immersed in something actual (part of this, I'm sure, springs from my 'puppets>computers' aesthetic). And with all the alien worlds and fntasy spaces that steroptic film presentation has tried to bring us to, I've never been as transported as I was by this film, to a secure little portal into the past.

Also, the fact that 3D film options can include something like this is very encouraging (especially for local audiences). Take a chance and timeslip back into your own genetic history, won't you?

At the movies: Public Enemies.

Michael Mann, since embracing the Viperstream HD camera (a system he helped develop) a few years back, has been the aesthetic innovator for non-celluloid filmmaking (and if you don't believe me, check out Collateral or the ridiculously underrated Miami Vice), and despite some initial concern that the HD look would draw viewers out of Public Enemies' 1930s setting, Mann finds that masterful balance (think what David Fincher did with Zodiac) between the medium and the message.

It's weird, because I've read several reviews of the film which make reference to security cameras and the television show Cops in analyzing the look of Public Enemies, as if sharply-photographed displays of crime are somehow proprietary to those grungy examples. Mann has always been a remarkable visual artist, and with this film, he continues to establish the aesthetic capabilities of HD cinematography.

Based on the true story of the legendary Depression-era bank robber John Dillinger, Public Enemies serves up a classic American archetype (the antihero who cultivates a folk following while confounding authority) in a story that feels all too relevant given our own uncertain economic predicament. And it's in Mann's emphasis that we learn something rather fascinating about John Dillinger the man. He's a creature of routine- he has style, and verve, and he knows how to orchestrate things, but watching his bank robberies are amazing specifically because of the efficiency with which they are undertaken and executed. Dillinger brags that he can rob a bank in a minute and forty seconds flat, and Mann keeps to that timetable, avoiding fetishy extrapolations and cutting to the meat of the situation- it's glorious.

And Johnny Depp, at least momentarily free from his pirate obligations, plays John Dillinger and gets to the issues and uncertainties at the heart of American fame masterfully. He's great at what he does, understanding publicity and persona in an almost deconstructive manner. It's just sad when crime passes him by. As crime gets more organized and starts making its money on a nationwide scale, Dillinger's brand of hustling seems, well, quaint.

At the same time, though, the beginnings of what would eventually be the FBI is deciding to up its technological game as well, using wiretaps and torture and coordinating information in new and expansive ways. Under the directorship of J. Edgar Hoover (Billy Crudup, crying out for a spin-off film) and Chicago division head Melvin Purvis (Christian Bale, with nary a Terminator in sight and gloriously alive), we see the beginnings of the cop/criminal escalations that are still with us today.

Like all Michael Mann films, this boils down to the continued isolation of a man just trying to do his job and uphold some kind of personal code. The Dillinger/Purvis duality is built out of contrasts, but we see in them an absolute commitment to their own paths. The drama is internal, inexorable, and we feel it continuously. No one can stage a siege like Mann, and the film's centerpiece is a late-night raid on a Wisconsin retreat. Hats cut through the night, gunsmoke clings to the ground like eldritch fog, and nothing burns brighter than muzzle flash, nothing darker than freshly spilled blood.

"Bubba wouldn't hurt me."

There's been a lot of gloom and doomery about how DVD is already a dead format. But then you get news like this.

And everything seems just a little more right with the world.