What We Did on Our Holiday

David Tennant and Rosamund Pike star in What We Did on Our Holiday, a family drama about a separated couple that briefly reunites for their terminally ill grandfather’s birthday. David Tennant nicely plays the slightly loathable, slightly lovable Doug, whose affair set off the whole separation. Rosamund Pike’s Abi is a bit acrid, but easy enough to empathize with. Their three kids, Lottie, Mickey, and Jess, are not the stars of the show, but they’re what make us want to stick with it.

The first half of the film is tight and wry, and family dynamics are sharp and clear against the simple story. Upon the occurrence of a Very Big ProblemTM, though, things fall apart, and the pace goes mental. Attempts at returning to the previous humor and simple family dynamics feel forced after all that. Still, a nice little ride, and the film avoids the temptation to wrap things up too easily.

She's Back -- And Better Than Ever: Bridget Jones's Baby

While a huge fan of Bridget Jones’s Diary, I was hesitant when I heard the premise of the latest installment in the Bridget Jones universe. Bridget’s pregnant and – plot twist – doesn’t know whose baby it is. She must choose between two men, groundbreaking territory. But reviews of its warmth and wit made me take the plunge halfheartedly, watching while doing some writing. Any notion of accomplishing anything quickly disappeared as I was sucked into Bridget Jones’s Baby.

While the plot sounds like silly romcom fodder, the resulting film is indeed as warm and witty as I’d read. It has its silly moments, but this newest Bridget sits nicely in the modern world, 16 years after her classic misadventures. Bridge balances two men, as is her special gift; deals with a new, tyrannical, “hipster Nazi” boss (an amusing and terrifying turn by Kate O’Flynn in her natural no-nonsense Northern accent); and settles awkwardly and tenderly into her new role as mother.

Renee Zellweger and Colin Firth as Bridget Jones and Mark Darcy are exactly who we love them to be, desperately fallible and incredibly likable, just the way they are. Patrick Dempsey’s “shiny new American” is a fun foil. And although he never feels like a real threat to Firth’s Darcy, his character allows for some incredibly tender musings on when to let go of, and when to hold onto the people we love. It’s our great luck that we get to hang onto Bridget and co. for a while longer.

Less is More: The Zookeeper's Wife

The war has come to Poland, and Warsaw Zoo owners Jan and Antonina Zabinski have been done a terrible wrong – but not as bad as what they see happening in the Warsaw Ghetto. Clever and tender – Antonina almost preternaturally so, Jan with a taste of toughness – the Zabinskis find a way to save hundreds of their persecuted Jewish neighbors, using their zoo-turned-pig-farm as a hideout.

The film looks marvelous, and Antonina Zabinski is the sort of woman Jessica Chastain excels at playing: tender, with a sense of strength smoldering underneath. The tenderness abounds, while the strength is much subtler. It erupts in delicious moments, the most interesting of which is her handling of a sexual predator.

Overall a tender film whose power rests in Antonina’s gentleness, its compassionate treatment of victims of sexual violence, and its wise, less-is-more approach. Director Niki Caro uses our collective memory to tell the Zabinsksis’ story almost after the manner of Eisenstein. When buildings burn and ash falls like snow, we remember the crematoria to come. The slaughter of zoo animals reminds us that these are not the only innocents who will be killed. When Jan smuggles Jews out of the ghetto and we see Nazi harassment begin in the corner of the frame, we are anxiously aware that it will continue long after Jan – and us with him – has left.

This is not a perfect movie. Who are Jan and Antonina, besides tender and brave? What becomes of Daniel Brühl’s arresting villain? Who are the brave men and women curled up quietly in the tunnels beneath the zoo, coming out after midnight and living in fear? The film never tells us. But at least it makes us care enough to ask.