The Preacher Man predicts that come this time next week you’ll have had enough of hearing about The White Ribbon. In the week when Roland Emmerich destroys the world (again) and Michael Caine returns to the mean streets of London in Harry Brown, the Palme d’Or winning film from Michael Haneke is going to dominate radio and tv discussions, newspaper and magazine features, not to mention all film-related pub, restaurant and dinner party debates from here to the year end. Even here at Screenrush we’ve bowed to pressure and among our usual offering of wonderful photo features and interviews on the upcoming mega-blockbusters we’re offering our lucky users the chance to win a box-set of the complete film works of this Austrian provoc-auteur!

And so, it may be assumed that this is a film that everyone is going to see. Unfortunately not.

Haneke’s last film, the French-language thriller Hidden caused a sensation amongst critics in the UK and grossed over a millions quids at the box-office, astonishing for a challenging release, let alone a foreign language one, but sadly it seems that The White Ribbon might not replicate this phenomenal success.

The reasons cinema goers, like yourselves, might avoid it is simple: in critics’ attempts to paint this film as something truly important they will invariably focus on its bleakest aspects. While most reviewers - who, at Cannes, hedged their bets, called it a masterwork but steered clear of resounding five star ratings – will refresh their original verdicts, give it full marks and embrace the film’s humanism as something rather new to Haneke’s work, they will simultaneously renew their original disclaimers that this film is not for everyone, that it’s heavy, slow, complicated and unnecessarily long.

Some of which might, and quite understandably, edge you towards the warm and reassuring misery of your local retail-park multiplex where you can collapse into a two-and-a-half-hour embrace with the none-more-soothing John Cusack as he saves the world from ancient Mayan prophecy and mahoosive waves.

But the Preacher Man is compelled to step in your way. He knows that come the day of the The White Ribbon’s release you’ll have probably have heard everything you think you can handle about Haneke’s self-reflexive scattering of knowing nods, taunting nudges, and winking stubbornness to answer the questions that his tightly structured narratives tend to pose; the importance of the setting for this complex study of a feudal Lutheran before the outbreak of the Great War; how the provocative German subtitle (Eine deutsche Kindergeschichte – A German Children’s Story) has been intentionally dropped from the English and French language releases because while Haneke didn’t mind that German people knowing that the film was about a specifically German problem, he didn’t want the rest of the world to assume it wasn’t about their problems too; and how the film’s stark austerity hardly makes its 142 minutes playing time pass in a Bourne-esque blur.

What you might not have heard or been told is that you should, without hesitation, equivocation, criticism, grumble, argument or carp:

GO. SEE. THIS. FILM.

Now, you might not know The Preacher Man - after all his name is disguised and his face is a mystery - and so, he knows you’re thinking, why should you listen to him?  The answer of course is that you shouldn’t.

His is not a closely argued critique or a vaguely enthusiastic thumbs up, and so it is not enough for him to reassure you that as the twenty-first century rolls inexorably on, even as mankind marks twenty-years since the fall of the Berlin Wall, and forty years since it first stepped on the moon, it is not enough for them to simply remember their little successes but rather it’s important to commemorate, investigate, dramatise and analyse our greatest failings. Instead he hopes that you’re piqued by his assurances that this is not just the finest example of film-making skill, ability and prowess you’ll see this year but also in any other year, probably your lifetime; his guarantee that you’ll be gripped by its hinting yet haunting suggestions of the moral decay of the 20^th century; he promises you’ll be humoured and charmed as much as repulsed and terrified; he’s certain that you’ll be endlessly intrigued by the clues to the story’s essential mysteries.

But he also wants to remind you that you’re all – yes all of you - terrible, morally vacuous, aesthetically vapid and that if you’re very very lucky, if you pay your tenner and simply sit and watch this magisterial work of art it might just change the way you look at and see not only the world as-it-is around you, but also the world as-it’s-becoming, as you live in it.

And so, the Preacher Man entreats all you poor, desperate, lifeless, X-Factor watching drones:

GO. SEE. THIS. FILM.

NOW.

From Chocolat to Eat Drink Man Woman and Willy Wonka And The Chocolate Factory, food in films has always gone down a treat. The latest food-frenzy feature to hit the big-screen, Julie & Julia, attests that once again meal movies can successfully satisfy all range of appetites. The film has all the right ingredients; Meryl Streep and Amy Adams lead an all-star cast that includes the likes of Stanley Tucci, Chris Messina, and Linda Emond - plus an amusing appearance from Jane Lynch.

Written and directed with the sharp and effortless wit of Nora Ephron, Julie & Julia is a story of two halves. The first follows that of Julie Powell (Amy Adams), an unfulfilled, unhappy New Yorker who finds comfort in cooking and, at times, her husband. Whilst searching for something to fill her time, Julie decides to start a blog, charting her progress as she attempts to cook all 524 recipes in Child's legendary foodie tome, Mastering The Art Of French Cooking, in 365 days. Needless to say, it's not one to be seen on an empty stomach.

Halfway around the world and half a century earlier, Julia Child (Meryl Streep) is strolling the streets of Paris, equally restless and in search of a purpose. The American finally finds fulfilment in a cooking school, and, with the help of a few Frenchies and an obliging husband, she set out to write her no.1 best-selling cookbook.

If you're worried that such a synopsis should leave you hungry for an actual plotline, fear not. Whilst there are few obstacles facing either character, save a few feminist and marital issues, the film keeps us glued thanks to some stunning performances and mouth-watering visuals.

Streep is unquestionably the special spice that gives the film its distinctive kick. Undaunted by the task of playing one of the most celebrated and unique women of the past century, Streep pushes ahead with enormous gusto, producing a big, bolshie performance. Portraying a woman 20 years younger than her and eight inches taller (how?), Streep digs deep into her character in a way that goes far beyond impersonation.

Despite their smaller roles, the male performances are equally as impressive and Stanley Tucci comes close to stealing Streep's spotlight. As Child’s husband, Tucci injects Paul’s otherwise bland and cardboard character with life and a lot of love. Messina manages the art of supportive husband, dealing with the difficult and often whiney Julie.

Whether you're a Streep devotee or just plain foodie fan, there's no doubt Julie and Julia will whet your appetite, men and women alike. With news that Streep Tease, a new all-male LA show comprised of nothing but Meryl monologues, is soon to open, the Queen of Camp is sure to reign for some time yet. Bon Appetit!

Charlotte Balnave

For those who still haven’t picked up the book or watched the trailer, the story centres on Henry (Eric Bana), a Chicago librarian who has a genetic disorder that makes him time travel involuntarily. He meets Clare (Rachel McAdams) at various times in her life, and the two must fight to maintain their intense relationship in the face of his condition.

The strength of the film comes down to the verity of the performances. This is real love - the stuff of Darcy and Elizabeth, Rhett and Scarlett, Kate and Leo – and there is not a moment when you don’t believe absolutely in Henry and Clare’s passion and desperate need to be together. Effective turns also come from Henry’s father (Arliss Howard), his best friend Gomez (Ron Livingston) and the young Clare (Brooklynn Proulx), but they are never more than bystanders to McAdams and Bana’s consuming on-screen chemistry.

Not without its flaws, there is the occasional moment of unrealistic sentimentality, such as when Henry travels back in time and meets his mother, who seems totally unperturbed by a male stranger acting oddly and overly friendly on the train. But considering the complexity of the raw material and the scope for an adaptation of this magnitude to go very, very wrong, Time Traveler’s deserves a hefty pat on the back, if only just for not royally screwing up a much-loved novel. It’s also easy - too easy - to pick apart and criticise any small discrepancies in the plot that come about because of the complications of time travel. The cause and effect conundrum could have you staring at a blank wall for days trying to make sense of it all… but why bother? Better just to take the flight of fancy and enjoy the film for what it is.

I’m not a big crier, in fact in all my movie-watching days there have only ever been two films that have brought on the waterworks, but The Time Traveler’s Wife had me welling up and trying to conceal my sniffles from a roomful of journos for a good 20 minutes as the film came to its close. So, if it can get the girl who has been affectionately(?) referred to as ‘dead inside’ on more than one occasion to shed a tear or two, it must be doing something right.

Georgine Waller