To a small Dutch town filled with characters known by such names as Crooked Finger, Loony Lips, and the Mad Madonna, Antonia returns with her daughter Danielle after 20 years away. Covering the next 40 years, Antonia's Line looks at the matriarch and her offspring, stretching out to her great-granddaughter, Sarah. A whimsical story with fairy-tale conventions, this movie deals with the cyclical nature of time as well as the strength of women. While this is not just a "woman's movie," men are regulated to the background in a story that tells of women breaking free of traditional roles. Surprisingly, this movie achieves a light-hearted tone while tackling serious subjects: small-town prejudices, rape, and suicide. Yet the drama's comedic heart shines through as Antonia collects a rather odd assortment of people, outsiders who become part of her extended family. Winner of the Academy Award for Best Foreign Film, Antonia's Line is moving and beautiful, imparting a sense of hope and joy to the viewer. -Jenny Brown.

Ben-Hur scooped an unprecedented 11 Academy Awards® in 1959 and, unlike some later rivals, richly deserved every single one. This is epic filmmaking on a scale that had not been seen before and is unlikely ever to be seen again. But it's not just running time or a cast of thousands that makes an epic, it's the subject matter, and here the subject-Prince Judah Ben-Hur (Charlton Heston) and his estrangement from old Roman pal Messala (Stephen Boyd)-is rich, detailed, and sensitively handled. Director William Wyler, who had been a junior assistant on MGM's original silent version back in 1925, never sacrifices the human focus of the story in favor of spectacle, and is aided immeasurably by Miklos Rozsa's majestic musical score, arguably the greatest ever written for a Hollywood picture. At four hours it's a long haul (especially given some of the portentous dialogue), but all in all, Ben-Hur is a great movie, best seen on the biggest screen possible. -Mark Walker.

This tearjerker by Australian filmmaker Scott Hicks is a surprising story about real-life classical pianist David Helfgott, an Australian who rose to international prominence at a very young age in the 1950s and '60s, and suffered a psychological collapse after enduring years of abuse from his father (Armin Mueller-Stahl). Hicks has three very fine actors portraying Helfgott at different stages of his life, including the adorably wry and goofy Noah Taylor (Flirting), who takes up the character's teen years, and Oscar winner Geoffrey Rush, giving a great performance playing the musician as a schizophrenic adult. Despite the Helfgotts' compromised psychological health, Shine is hardly a depressing experience. If anything, the story is really about how long one person's life can take to make glorious sense of itself. Sir John Gielgud, in golden form, plays Helfgott's teacher. The DVD release presents the film in its widescreen format, and also includes a Q&A with director Hicks and Rush's Golden Globes acceptance speech. -Tom Keogh.

This 1995 Glyndebourne Festival Opera production uses an orchestra of period instruments but modern costumes. Scenery is virtually nonexistent, lighting is garish, without fine nuances; the title character, excellently portrayed, is an unshaven, disgusting brute. And in spite (or perhaps because?) of all this, the effect is overwhelming. It is a feminist Don Giovanni, calculated to change radically the way people view this, the greatest and most ambiguous of operas. The visual minimalism, reinforcing Deborah Warner's often brilliant stage direction, focuses on what Don Giovanni is really about: the story of a compulsive serial rapist (also a murderer) who uses his position in the ruling class to deceive and victimize women. The singing is excellent, allowing for one or two small imperfections inevitable in any live performance, but the acting and staging are what make this production very special. Outstanding in the superb cast are Juliane Banse (Zerlina), John Mark Ainsley (Ottavio), and Adrianne Pieczonka (Elvira). -Joe McLellan.