The Guard puts an Irish twist on the fish-out-of-water trope of a sophisticate adrift in the surprisingly complex boonies. Think of the many movies in which a big-city doctor (lawyer or policeman) finds himself in some backwards backwater where all his clever techniques are useless and he must learn the down-home local way of doing things to save the patient (exonerate the accused or catch the bad guy) with a heavy Irish accent and an occasional dose of Gaelic.

In this case, Don Cheadle plays the sophisticated FBI investigator Wendell Everett, dispatched to a small town in Ireland on the trail of international drug dealers who may be making a delivery on the coast there. He is forced by circumstance to partner with the town’s policeman or “guard” Sergeant Gerry Boyle (Brendan Gleason). Boyle is unimpressed with Everett’s work ethic and proceeds with his weekend getaway with two lovely prostitutes from the city, leaving Everett to canvas the town on his own with predictably unproductive results. The two stars provide enough charm and chemistry to carry the relatively lightweight movie on their shoulders.

Based on the story of screenwriter Will Reiser‘s own struggle with cancer, 50/50 combines humor and pathos without being overly sentimental or maudlin. Joseph Gordon-Levitt plays Adam, a 27-year-old reporter for a public radio station in Seattle, whose back pains turn out to be due to a rare form of cancer.

The movie’s title gives his odds of recovery as well as reflects the uncertainties of life in general. Adam’s illness becomes a catalyst for change in his relationships and his approach to life. It does not take long, for example, for him to realize that his girlfriend is a fair-weather friend. His best friend Kyle, played by Seth Rogan, on the other hand, is a true friend, even if sometimes his efforts to help miss the mark. Kyle determines that some casual sex would be excellent medicine for Adam, and it’s a sweetly perverse (a phrase that characterizes most Rogan roles) outing that ends up with the two of them heading home with two women to try some of Adam’s medicinal marijuana. But the reality of a painful back tumor did not factor into Kyle’s planning. The movie has just the right amount of Kyle: in leading man doses I’ve found Rogan to become grating. Here he provides good comic moments without dominating the story of Adam’s journey from a well-ordered life into one characterized by uncertainty.

Anna Kendrick plays Adam’s hospital-assigned therapist Katherine, a student in training who tries the techniques she learned in class out on Adam, her first patient. As she tries to help him deal with the misery of chemotherapy and his mortality, Adam helps her learn her future trade. Adam’s parents, a protective mother (Anjelica Huston, compelling, but not an obvious choice to play Levitt’s mom) whom he has kept at a distance, and a father with the first stages of dementia, provide the third leg of support, with Kyle and Katherine, for Adam. His journey is, in large part, learning to recognize and accept this support. Even without a diagnosis of cancer, it is an uncertain world. Adam discovers the joy in that uncertainty. What comes next may be wonderful. And when it isn’t, he has people to lean on.

Who would have thought in the post-Avatar era, where movies are sold based on the enormity of their effects and explosions, that a true silent black-and-white movie could be made? The Artist is a playful throwback to the silent era about a silent film star’s struggles at the dawn of the talking picture age. Jean Dujardin plays George Valentin, a classic screen hero openly modeled on Rudolph Valentino. When the talkie era begins, Valentin, with his winsome grin, pencil moustache and loyal sidekick (a Jack Russell terrier), refuses to accept the end of the era he dominated. At the same time, the plucky Peppy Miller (Bérénice Bejo) whom Valentin inadvertently discovered, is a rising star in the new talking pictures. Valentin has an understandably difficult time accepting this change in fortunes. But it’s only understandable to a point. Valentin still has the adoration of not only his dog, but a faithful driver and servant (James Cromwell) and Peppy herself, who admires Valentin’s work and apparently the man himself.

The style of the movie, the brainchild of writer and director Michel Hazanavicius, is true to the golden age of silent movies. He filmed it at 22 frames per second while movies are projected at 24 frames per second now, resulting in all the action running roughly 10% faster than normal. This replicates the jerky feel of the older movies which were shot at the stuttering rate of 16 frames per second. He keeps the old 4 to 3 aspect ratio and even grays out the corners of the image to replicate the imperfect projectors of the time. The actors also ham it up a bit, conveying meaning without words but instead with big grins and exaggerated gestures. John Goodman is particularly fun as the movie producer, initially of Valentin’s hits and later of Peppy Miller’s talkies. It has a nostalgic charm and is fun to watch. However, spoken dialogue is able to convey far more nuance of emotion as well as more information about plot as well as the inner life of characters. Absent this, the characters’ motivations remain only superficially portrayed. Valentin’s insistence on spiraling down the drain of despair ultimately becomes frustrating and, for me at least, unbelievable. It is my only complaint and thanks to the film’s accelerated pace, short-lived, as the action (and style) ultimately saves the day and the movie.