King Kong

In remaking one of Hollywood's best-known monster movie classics, Lord of the Rings' maestro Peter Jackson brings freshness to the tragedy of a big ol' ape that literally falls for a beautiful blonde.

Ego-driven film director Carl Denham (Jack Black) is willing to do anything -- steal equipment, hoodwink his crew, etc. -- to finish his big breakout movie. He enlists/dupes hungry vaudeville actress Ann Darrow (Naomi Watts), rising playwright Jack Driscoll (Adrien Brody), B-movie star Bruce Baxter (Kyle Changler), and ship captain Englehorn (Thomas Kretschmann) to set sail for an unmapped, rumored destination, the dreaded Skull Island, to shoot the rest of his film. Once arrived, the Island's dangerous tribal population makes Carl momentarily regret his actions. But then he sets his crew to work filming adventures on the Island, which is filled with dinosaurs, giant insects, and a humongous, deified ape. The ape, Kong, runs off with Ann and an unlikely bond between the two forms -- a bond that Carl is only happy to exploit by capturing KongÉ if enough of his crew survives, that is.

While clocking in at three hours, King Kong moves pretty swiftly. There's a few seen-it-so-many-times-I-can't-count passages (like the whole tribal Ann sacrifice thing) that left me yearning for the new stuff, which was well worth the wait. Showstoppers include a delicious, amazingly conceived set piece during which Ann is chased by one horrific creature after another, finding herself in a worse pickle each time she seemingly escapes, and a downright gruesome sequence pitting Carl's crew against an endless army of horrific, man-eating insects. As for the iconic Empire State Building climax, set in a gorgeously, digitally reconstructed 1930s NYC, it's a stunner, and genuinely moving.

Although Kong pretty much looks computer-generated (and is), his emotional range is stunningly rendered thanks to new technology and actor Andy Serkis, whose every movement and expression was mapped with computers and transformed into Kong's. Playing Ann, poor Naomi Watts is a trouper, swung around, dirtied up, and in perpetual emotional turbulence. Black makes his despicable character likable, and on the whole performances are strong. While it's still very much the same familiar tale you've seen, thanks to Jackson Kong is still King. -- Lawrence Ferber

Mrs. Henderson Presents

The British director Stephen Frears has been working -- first in television, then feature films -- since the early 1970s. His tastes are wide-ranging and he adapts himself to fit his material. He's also developed formidable filmmaking skills -- ÒtechniqueÓ -- that come as easily to him as oxygen. He's going to have one hell of a retrospective one day, with films like My Beautiful Laundrette, The Grifters, Dangerous Liaisons, High Fidelity, and Dirty Pretty Things. His latest, Mrs. Henderson Presents, will join that vaunted list. In terms of sheer technical style, it may just be his best.

Starring Judi Dench and Bob Hoskins in top form, Mrs. Henderson Presents follows the recently-widowed title character as she finds herself a hobby at the urging of her cronies. But our Miss Dench doesn't go in for needlepoint, no; it's 1930s Britain, between wars, and the aimless Mrs. Henderson buys a theater in the West End to stage a blend of revues and vaudeville that Vivian Van Damm (Hoskins), her program director, christens ÒRevudeville.Ó It isn't long before Mrs. Henderson discovers -- almost surreptitiously -- her mission to bring a tasteful nudity to the British stage.

The film is a graceful lark, peppered with inspired performances down the line. Especially fine are Kelly Reilly as an English rose that loses her bloom, and Will Young, a singer with a gorgeous high tenor that raises the rafters and spirits of the Windmill Theatre.

Frears' moves the action at a brisk clip. The film has the authentic feel of an old musical, right down to a playful insignificance. Yet as the Second World War happens, the film deepens without losing sight of its entertaining mission. There's no prickly sermon waiting in the wings -- just naked girls, singing and dancing, and the joy of watching professionals at the top of their game. -- Dan Loughry

Munich

I felt guilty watching Munich, the retelling of the dramatic killings of Israelis during the 1972 Olympic Games. And I felt guilty because during two and a half hours I was entertained; in other words, I had fun. And ÒentertainmentÓ and ÒfunÓ are two words that collide with a movie like this. Steven Spielberg and screenwriters Eric Roth and Tony Kushner immerse us in the world of real-life killers, their methods, thoughts, remorses, and accomplishments.

Spielberg forgets his usual visual tricks and personal touches, and strips his moviemaking to the bare bones to start from scratch. And he does it hand by hand with his amazing cinematographer, Janusz Kaminski, whose third Oscar should be a certainty. The set pieces focusing on the team of five members (Eric Bana, Ciaran Hinds, Mathieu Kassovitz, Hans Zischler and Daniel Craig, all impeccable) assigned by the Israeli government to kill whoever was involved in the Munich massacre, are masterfully tense, violent, and concise.

The controversy surrounding Munich -- how much is it true and how much is an invention of writer George Jonas, om whose book Vengeance the screenplay is based -- leads us to understand the labyrinthine complexities of the Israel-Palestine conflict: One never knows who is right or wrong, both sides are heard, and neither is demonized or praised. For that reason, the movie conveys a sense of historical accuracy and moral ambiguity that makes it one of the most disturbing, intelligent, and amazing thrillers in recent memory. -- Josep Jorba