Produced with assistance from George Lucas and Steven Spielberg, Dreams is an omnibus of eight short stories and parables that spell enchantment at every turn. The opening story, "Sun Under the Rain," emerges from director Akira Kurosawa's personal memories, as a child (whose house is modeled after Kurosawa's childhood home in Koishikawa) witnesses a fox's wedding ceremony in a magical forest. The Garden of Eden motif continues in "The Peach Orchard," while Lucas's ILM special effects group shines in the glorious "Crows" segment, in which an art admirer finds himself living within the paintings of Van Gogh (played with concentrated energy by Kurosawa enthusiast Martin Scorsese). In the idyllic closing fable, "The Village of the Watermills," a centenarian claims that "people nowadays have forgotten that they are also part of nature. " The equally wise Kurosawa reinforces the old man's claim through these vivid but ultimately life-affirming tableaux. -Kevin Mulhall.

The life of an English schoolmaster may sound like dry stuff, but To Serve Them All My Days finds engrossing drama and dry wit in the most ordinary of circumstances. David Powlett-Jones (John Duttine), a young Welshman, returns from the trenches of World War I disillusioned and suffering from shellshock. Accepted as a teacher at an elite boy's boarding school called Bamfylde, Powlett-Jones fears he won't last-but the faith of the headmaster who hired him (Frank Middlemass) proves well-founded. Powlett-Jones immediately flies in the face of convention, fighting with a pompous science teacher (Neil Stacy), speaking out in favor of socialist reforms, and finding a mixture of discipline and empathy with the boys he teaches. Over the course of his 20-year rise through the ranks of Bamfylde, he finds and loses love with several women (Belinda Lang, Kim Braden, and Susan Jameson); one of the greatest strengths of To Serve Them All My Days is how fully realized these women are, each strikingly individual and self-directed. The writing and acting are impeccable, always cutting to the most engaging aspect of every scene, yet grounding every conflict in a rich understanding of character and circumstance. Even the minor characters are made vivid and distinct, and the realities of life-politics, sex, mortality-are handled frankly and honestly. In fact, To Serve Them All My Days demonstrates the best aspects of a miniseries, taking the scope of 13 episodes to map in detail a human life, with all its victories and disasters. Truly a pleasure to watch; of particular note is Alan MacNaughtan as a sardonic fellow teacher, whose ironic observations and close friendship with Powlett-Jones give the series a good dose of both humor and compassion. Based on the classic novel by R. [+]

The third of Eric Rohmer's Four Seasons romances follows the indecision of a young man who juggles three women during his final summer between school and work. Drifting along the beaches of Brittany while waiting for his commitment-shy girlfriend, Lena, to meet him, Gaspard (Melvil Poupaud of Diary of a Seducer) becomes fast friends with pretty waitress Margot (Amanda Langlet, the grown-up Pauline of Pauline at the Beach a decade earlier) and has a fling with Margot's aggressive and sexy friend Solene before Lena finally shows. By then, Gaspard has inadvertently committed himself to all three women. It's a lovely portrait of awkwardness and ambivalence set against the gorgeous land and seascape of Brittany, and populated by pretty young performers. This, the most understated of Rohmer's sex farces, carries a bittersweet sting, but little of the emotional effervescence of his best films. While these characters are no less pretentious or vulnerable than his other lovers (who all seem to be emotionally at sea), Rohmer just skims the surface of their emotional revelation. His greatest achievement is the evocation of young adults caught between their teens and 20s, with little real experience but full of easily sidelined ideals. In the best Rohmer tradition, the circular conversations and solipsistic monologues are neither glib nor pretentious, merely the immature but sincere ramblings of vulnerable youth playing adult games. -Sean Axmaker.

The Oscar®-nominated film Tristana continues a devastating critique of social convention by director Luis Buñuel (Belle de Jour, That Obscure Object of Desire). Beautifully photographed in Toledo, Spain, the story is splendidly acted by Catherine Deneuve (The Last Metro, Belle de Jour) and Fernando Rey (The French Connection), in perhaps their finest roles. Rey is Don Lope, a liberated but hypocritical aristocrat who seduces his beautiful young ward, Tristana (Deneuve). Given the opportunity, she flees with her lover (Franco Nero, Camelot), but illness forces her to return and, later, marry Don Lope. The result is a tense union in which Tristana slowly gains the upper hand.

Yasujiro Ozu's economical style reaches its zenith in this deceptively simple 1953 story of an elderly couple in rural Japan who go to visit their married children in Tokyo. Chishu Ryo (Ozu's favorite performer) and Chieko Higashiyama star as the aging parents who find a cold welcome waiting for them from their two urbanized children, too busy with work and their own lives to pay them any attention. After a miserable trip to a noisy spa, the mother spends a pleasant night with the widow of their other son (who had died in the war) while the father drinks the evening away with old friends. But on their return trip, the mother falls ill and the family reunites one last time at her sickbed. Within this simple framework, Ozu creates a quiet but profound drama of the changing face of Japanese culture and the loss of traditional values in modern society. Described by critics as Japan's most "Japanese" director, Ozu's style by this time had become firmly established: the entire film is shot from an unmoving camera 36 inches from the floor (the point of view of an observer kneeling on a tatami mat), edited in a subtly off-center manner and paced at a placid tempo. Ozu's graceful style, understated direction, and rich evocation of character creates an elegantly realized world of dignity in the face of disappointment and loss. -Sean Axmaker.