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The second world war is one of the darkest tiles in humanity. A time where humanity just swore off the grey war, where the world was witness to the extent of human cruelty. A time where promised was rebirth, redemption and peace. Faith's hand just struck Europe in its most habitual gruesome fashion, the towering debt of a great war and a lost generation towering over it. The world stood still, not because of the Schick, or at least not only because if it but because of what lies beneath. Ahead of what is the world's greatest tragedy up to that time lies an ever more bleak future. Germany was in ruin, having just lost a war, the faith if its people and the power of its empire. Vengeance was sworn for the humiliation. A few years after that remarkably dark period, there was a humble and old couple of German woodworkers. The man goes to cut down big trees and the woman bundles the small branches. Both spending a hard day of work to come to a small house in the middle of the forest where hit soup and a tired old dog await. Never had a child the woman begs all that there is, having forsaken god or never having brought up to date with it. She begs the sky, the wood and even the train gods for a train. And one day the train gods answered her prayers. In that empty corner of the forest, a train pierced through the white winter snow, slowly but surly reaching it's dreaded destination. And one day a baby is thrown from the train only for the old wood woman to pick it up. A heartless thing for some, but not for her. What ensues is a beautifully made tragedy, a tale of humanity: the loving force within it that builds and sacrifices and it's inherently evil side that avenges and retributes. Michel hazanavicius animation film borrows a very comic like style that puts you within the heart of an enchanted forest, together with its peculiar set of characters and the bleak setting of the second world war, it's one of the years finest looking tear jerkers. A beautiful farewell to the illustrious career of Jean Louis Trintignant.

This is my new favorite autobiographical format. For a persona as big and other worldly as Salvadore Dali, no one is better than Quentin Dupieux to relay it. Known for his surrealist film making and very special style, I really was intrigued to see how Quentin Dupieux would fare with an autobiography, especially that of a grand artist like Dali. This movie is very Dali if one might say so: all over the place, highly stylish but with a sure sense of purpose and artistic expression. Multiple actors interpret the eponymous character, actors of different styles ranging from the physical, the tragic to the comedic, a real star studded cast: Gilles Lellouche, Pio marmai, Jonathan Cohen et Edouard Baer. Each single one of them adding nuance and style while staying faithful to the countless live references of Dali's interviews. This is by no means a discovery of Salvadore Dali nor a proper autobiographical film. It is however a celebration of the personna: highly mystical and impossibly entertaining as was the artist. The film is centered around a fictional interview of Dali that never had a chance to materialize, sometimes because of circumstance but mostly due to Dali's eccentricities. This fictional thread is the only anchor to reality in the film, wandering between the corners of the surrealist artists' mind, memories and paintings, an expression of his approach and his art. Quentin Dupieux is on a hot roll after Yannick, and he has been for a while. A wonderful directorial mind that found its style and genre. This movie is the manifestation of how important the medium is to the art: Dali's life could never be resumed in a book or a film, it is a retelling of a unique artistic expression, one that Dupieux has successfully captured through his unique style and ravishing lens without any need for a solid plot or a conventional storytelling.

American fiction, Cord Jefferson's directorial debut and the newly popular best picture nominee, is a satirical comedy-drama that stars Jeffery Wright and Sterling K. Brown among others. It's story revolves around a frustrated writer-professor that is faced with a literary landscape that refuses to accept his highly stylized and complex writings in favor of a sheepishly crafted and offensively stereotypical so called "Black" books, works of fiction that romanticize the violence and crime as a centric trait of the african-american communities. "American fiction" through its satire deals with a myriad of social issues, it opposes Jeffery Wright's character Monk to a reality that does all but accept who he is as a person without judging the color of his skin. The American readers are mindlessly devouring stereotypically violent and delinquent so called black literature mistaking it for edgy and original, suppressing in the meantime black voices like his that only want to express their own selves without any à priori on their race or origin. He views those stereotypes and the tendency of some african american writers to capitalize on that as immorality and wasted potential for black representation even though it is clear that not all of that is pure fiction and dramatization, refusing to reconcile with the reality that both those things could be true.

Beyond all that however lies the best part of American fiction, the trials and tribulations of a man in the middle of a decaying family. This movie is at its core a heartbreaking story of a family in ruins, as distant as it ever was, of lost love and hopeless romance. The tragedy of Monk is that of a lost writer, a man who is convinced he is misunderstood and unappreciated all the while blocking everyone from reaching out. Highly nuanced and with a subtle physicality, Jeffery Wright's performance only accentuated this aspect of the lost character. He delivers a wonderful performance and accentuates the complexity of the themes this movie explores. Sterling K.brown's performance is tragic in all its aspects. The family dynamic is very poignant and edges on tension most of the time. The film's style is very simple, and purposely uncomplicated. It unfolds the story in its rawest form, with no use of visual metaphors and a very light touch of symbolism. What you see with "American fiction" is what you get: the story of a struggle, not only that of racial tension and social categorization, but that of a broken family, composed of broken people that were brought down by life, not because of bad luck or social oppression, but because life brings down even the strong. It is the story of a man trying to make sense of his life among the ruins. And deep down aren't we all.