Writer-actor-director Tom O'Brien is not from Massachusetts, that much is clear. With his perfect diction and skin unweathered by sea spray it's a little hard (this from someone who grew up on the coast of Maine) to imagine him as the protagonist of Fairhaven, a buddy dramedy that premiered this week at the Tribeca Film Festival. O'Brien plays John, an aimless bachelor still living in his hometown and working on a fishing trawler. We learn early that he wants

Spanning ten years through the late Nineties Keep The Lights On by Ira Sachs (Forty shades of blue, Married life) chronicles a doomed relationship spawned from a one-night-stand. In a dingy New York bedroom Erik trolls the phone sex lines looking for a score. His efforts lead him to a man named Paul in Chelsea, who’s looking for the same. Soon thereafter, it is revealed that our real antagonist is Paul, a straight and square young man by day

Here are some pics from a short film which will [...]

One of the numerous titles to be screened at this [...]

Alex Gibney's riveting documentary "Catching Hell," part of ESPN's "30 for 30" film series, centers on the ruthless scapegoating that high-strung, frenzied fans of ill-fated sports teams often resort to. It's about the ugly side of underdogs, about understandable but misplaced rage at avoidable—yet consistent—failure.

No sports movie will likely achieve the psychological depth that "Catching Hell" does any time soon, or the pathos. The variety of subjects Gibney interviews is staggering—from sportscasters to authors like Scott Turow to former Boston Red Sox and Chicago Cubs players. And they all share a common, hilarious humility, the instinct for anticipating the death knell that's been sounded at all too many near-victory playoff and World Series games.

During Game 6 of 2003's National League Championship Series, Steve Bartman, a meek, turtleneck-wearing Cubs fan, tried to catch a foul ball hit by the Florida Marlins' Luis Castillo, accidentally blocking Cubs' outfielder Moisés Alou from retrieving it. There was one out in the top of the 8th inning and the Cubs were up 3-0; Alou's catch would have left the Cubs—who had not won the World Series since 1908—four outs away from entering the Series.

As noted by Gibney (pictured), several other blunders—a botched double play, a wild pitch—led to the Marlins scoring eight runs that same inning, defeating the Cubs. Yet ultimately, Bartman became the fall guy for keeping this long-doomed team from winning.

“Marathon Boy” follows the unbelievable story of Budhia Singh, a boy born into the crushing poverty of an Indian slum, sold by his destitute mother, and rescued by a judo coach who runs an orphanage. The coach, Biranchi Das, soon discovers that then-three year-old Budhia has a prodigious talent for running. Jumping on what he sees as a huge opportunity both for himself and the children who depend on him, Das promotes Budhia to the Indian media as a boy wonder, an expression of the unquenchable Indian spirit. By the time he is four, Budhia has run twenty half-marathons and 48 full marathons.

Buoyed by Budhia’s inexhaustible willpower Das stages one hell of a publicity stunt: a 42-mile run, which could set a new world record.

Director Gemma Atwal does a masterful job, in this HBO production, of allowing the story to play out in front of her without prejudicing it.

No actor has mastered the art of muttering obscenities under his breath more expertly than Dennis Farina. In “Get Shorty,” “Snatch” and other films about low-life criminals, Farina, with his eagle-eyed glare, Charles Bronson-like mustache and clenched-teeth diction, has stolen every scene he’s in merely by spouting off an array of expletives. “The fucking airport,” he barks at a cab driver in “Get Shorty,” disgusted at being put upon to give simple directions. His every eyebrow twitch, stiff-necked shrug and sarcastic overemphasis on every word—as if he’s already explained what he’s saying three times—deliver the message: “I don’t give an inch for you—you give an inch for me.”

Happily, Farina’s signature macho style is put to good use for much of “The Last Rites of Joe May.” But the film, directed and written by Joe Maggio, stretches Farina’s range to an unexpected level: for the first time, he’s showing genuine hurt and weakness, with astonishingly powerful results. Joe May certainly bears the same hostility and bitterness as Farina’s other characters, but he’s a man with a conscience, a soul, and his brooding takes on a tragic dimension.