A road trip that builds on Abbas Kiarostami’s “A Taste of Cherry” and Jafar Panahi’s “Taxi,” Jafar’s son Panah has built on his father’s legacy in Hit the Road, a mixture of laugh out loud comedy, sadness, family drama, and serious social/political issues. While the film succeeds in bringing the meaning of the genre “comedy/drama,” into sharp focus, its protest against the repressive regime in Tehran is clear. From the opening scene, however, it is difficult to discern in which direction the film will go and the feeling is that the director may be limited by the authorities as to what he can or cannot say.

As the film opens, an SUV is seen crossing the dry and dusty Iranian landscape somewhere in the Northwestern portion of the country close to the Turkish border. “Where are we?” the mother (Pantea Panahiha, “Exodus”) asks, “We’re dead,” says the youngest of her two sons (Rayan Sarlak, “Gol be Khodi”) from the back seat. The occupants in the car do not seem to be engaged in a death rattle, however, and Khosro, the bearded father (Mohammad Hassan Madjooni, “Latyan”) with his leg in a plaster cast has to continually fend off the rascally intrusions of his six-year-old son. The movie primarily confines itself to the inside of a car and unfortunately our first experience is one of family dysfunction and insults.

The rambunctious, but adorable, boy is described by his father as the “little fart,” the “little monkey,” and a “pest,” but you pays your money and you take your choice. When the boy gets out of the car, he kisses the ground to his father’s protestations and the disapproval of his mother, beautifully played by Panahiha, and the indifference of their sick dog Jessy. While these shenanigans dominate the opening scene, the melancholy sound of Schubert A-minor sonata D. 784 playing in the background suggests that all is not fun and games as does the silence of the older brother, 20-year-old Farid (Amin Simiar). Though exquisite, the Schubert Sonata (used to greater advantage in Robert Bresson’s sublime, “Au hasard Batlhazar”) lends the first touch of sadness to what seems to be a joyous if obscure occasion.

The family does not tell the boy the real reason for the trip, hiding under the pretense that his older brother will be gone for a short time in order to get married. It is clear, however, that the child can sense this is a lie which may be part of the reason for his over-the-top behavior. The mother is also unnerved when she feels that someone is following their car but it is only someone trying to tell them that their coolant is leaking. When the car does make several stops, cinematographer Amin Jafari raises the film’s aesthetic level with engaging scenes depicting the beauty of the Iranian hills and landscapes.

There is one beautiful sequence where the boy lays on top of his father and they are both transported high above the earth into a wondrous panoply of stars. The focus of Hit the Road turns darker, however, as we begin to understand that the mother’s cries suggest that wherever they are headed she will not see Farid again. The film becomes even more enigmatic when the talk centers about bail and a quarantine period and clandestine meetings take place between the car’s occupants, merchants of sheep, and shadowy characters giving directions about where to go to meet up with some other shadowy people.

As he journey progresses, the viewer has an odd feeling of danger, also sensed by the occupants of the car. To cover their feelings, they listen to a popular Iranian song on the radio as if to cover their fear. Although the pop music seems incongruous given the circumstances, it seems to lighten the mood. Later, the little boy asks his dad if they’re cockroaches. “We are now,” Khosro replies, “Whenever you see a cockroach,” he says, “remember that his parents sent him out into the world with lots of hope.” And with that, the director balances humor and serious drama and, in the process, honors the legacy of his father, Jafar Panahi, now forbidden to make movies, while carving out a niche for himself as a young director from whom we might expect great things.

Projections of the future in cinema have mainly foreseen a world where war, disease, and pervasive alienation are the norm. Korean-born writer/director Kogonada’s vision of the future, however, is not a dystopian world where only stragglers from a war or natural disaster remain, or a utopia where problems of climate, medicine, and crime have disappeared. In his remarkable science-fiction film After Yang, his second feature after the masterful “Columbus,” Kogonada sees a world where science is working to enhance the lives of people rather than to develop new tools of destruction.

Based on the short story by Alexander Weinstein, “Saying Goodbye to Yang,” robotics has developed to the point where families can select an android to help with specific challenges of family upbringing such as teaching children about their heritage (a cultural “techno-sapien,”) or a clone to assist in taking routine care of family members or household chores. While the stories that mark Kogonada’s first two films are vastly dissimilar, both films have the same sense of connection, intimacy, and empathy that makes them relevant and deeply affecting.

Utilizing the gorgeous cinematography of Benjamin Loeb (“Pieces of a Woman”) and Alexandra Schaller’s (“Little Voice” TV series) production design, we sense that in Yang’s world, life appears to be comfortable; the city air is clean and a sense of optimism prevails. Yang, a refurbished techno-sapien purchased from a shop that has gone out of business, has been brought into the household of Jake (Colin Farrell, “The Batman”), a tea shop owner, his wife Kyra (Jodie Turner-Smith, “Without Remorse”), and their adopted Chinese daughter Mika (Malea Emma Tjandrawidjaja, “iCarly” TV series) to school Mika about her Asian heritage. At the beginning, Yang is like a useful piece of machinery that is valuable as long as it is functioning then discarded and replaced by a new model.

Kyra is pleased that Yang is helpful in adapting Mika to her new cultural environment but that’s as far as it seems to go. Mika, however, has developed a personal bond with Yang and treats him like the brother she always wanted and feels it deeply when he suddenly ceases to function, even though she is comforted by the goldfish her father bought for her. The main focus of the film is on the attempt to repair the malfunctioning robot and the realization of the impact he had on the family. A visit to the repair shop underscores the complexity of Yang’s operating technology and the difficulty of restoring him to his former self.

With the help of Cleo (Sarita Choudhury, “And Just Like That” TV series) who works at a technology museum, a chip containing snippets of Yang’s memories is uncovered. Visualized through virtual reality glasses and displayed like a field of brightly lit pulsating stars in the heavens, the family connects with people in Yang’s previous interactions, even a possible romantic liaison with Ada, (Haley Lu Richardson, “Support the Girls”). Through these memories, the film brings us closer to what truly matters in life, but each discovery and playback of past relationships makes Yang’s absence harder to accept.

In a poignant flashback, Yang asks Jake how he got into the business of selling tea and what about tea is most important to him. Jake says it is not about the flavor but the process, the smell, the texture, and describes the feeling that tea gives him: a connection to a place and the sensation of walking in the forest after a rain. Yang knows about tea’s origins in China but wishes that this knowledge came with real memories of a time and place. In another memory, when Mika tells Yang that she was bullied in school because she was adopted, he shows her that, like the parts of two trees in an apple orchard that become one, her heritage is an important part of who she is.

Immeasurably strengthened by Aska Matsumiya’s score, an original theme by Ryuichi Sakamoto, and a lovely performance of “Glide,” from the Japanese film “All About Lily Chou-Chou,” After Yang is an Ozu-like meditation on our ability to connect with others. A work of empathy and compassion, Kogonada allows us to recognize that technology need not be a barrier to intimacy and that, despite the inevitability of having to deal with loss, joy is never far away.

For thousands of families in every part of the world, 2020 was a year of grief. During that year, many people lost those closest to them: Mothers and fathers, grandparents, siblings, as well as friends and relatives, victims of a raging pandemic. Filmed prior to the pandemic, however, the efforts of a non-profit New Jersey group, “Good Grief” founded in 2004 to offer support for children and surviving parents who have lost someone close are documented in the remarkable film Beautiful Something Left Behind, winner of the Grand Jury Award for Best Documentary at the 2020 SXSW Film Festival. In spite of the difficult subject matter, the film is filled with elements of joy as well as sadness and the resilience of children.

According to Danish director Katrine Philp (“Home, Sweet Home”), “What we experience in the documentary is this openness. The children in the film are not afraid to talk about their feelings and their grief. They are amazing and brave, and I think we, as adults, can learn a lot from them.” How we process grief is different for each person, but for children whose understanding is limited, death of a loved one can be especially heartbreaking. Even more than others, they are anxious, scared, and confused and needing constant reassurance that they are still loved, though no one can fill the void in their lives. What they slowly and painfully comprehend, however, is that they will never see their loved one again.

Adults try to talk to children about their pain, providing comforting assurances, but ultimately, there is little that can be done except to provide listening and extra hugs. Photographed by her husband, cinematographer Adam Morris Philp (“What We Become”), and edited by Signe Rebekka Kaufmann (“False Confessions”), Philp does not philosophize or attempt to provide answers to unanswerable questions. She simply records the stories of children who have lost a parent or sibling. These include Peter, Mikayla and the siblings Nolan & Nora and Nicky & Kimmy, showing their different approaches in handling grief. There is no narration, dramatic music, or explanation about what we are seeing, only the voices of children mostly under ten years old interacting with relatives and volunteers.

Staff and volunteers at “Good Grief” engage children in group sessions where they discover that their feelings are valid, though each child expresses their loss differently. Some are unusually expressive while others find it hard to even talk, though the suffering is etched on all their faces. The program also provides activities for grieving children, some acting out their parent’s deaths by recreating their story in a sand tray using miniature figures and pieces, others expressing their anger and pain in a “volcano room,” taking care of their teddy bear in a pretend hospital bed, and, as a community, sending balloons and lanterns to the sky to reach their loved ones in what they refer to as heaven.

Filming children can be a challenge as they can go from one emotion to another in a short period of time and tears are always just under the surface. According to Philp, “Grief is not a linear process. It’s much more like fragments. And sometimes you’re happy and everything is good, and the next moment you’re sad. So I wanted to also to work with the structure of the film, and be inspired by the voice of the children.” Talking about the death of her father during filming, Philp says, “Feeling my own grief while filming the families . . . made complete sense. I fully understood what the families were going through and the challenges they faced.” During the shoots Philp moved from Copenhagen to Morristown, NJ, with her husband, and their two children.

“We wanted to be closer to the families we were filming,” she says “and be able to tell their stories in their own pace, when they were ready.” The past year was traumatic for many, and Philp hopes that Beautiful Something Left Behind encourages viewers to talk directly about their emotions and reach out to people who are struggling. “I think that we need to be there for each other, care for each other, and show all the compassion that we can,” Philp says. “Because when you’re in grief, it is so isolating. It can be such an isolating feeling if you’re not sharing it with anybody. I really hope that this film will make us all braver when we encounter people who have lost, and not be afraid of talking about our emotions and sharing our experiences.” Combining deep sadness, smiles, laughter, and yes, moments of joy, Beautiful Something Left Behind provides catharsis for the children and the viewer, opening our hearts just a little wider.

Rian Johnson’s Knives Out gleefully embraces these tropes, creating a lively whodunnit in the classic style of “Murder on the Orient Express” and its ilk. Johnson further enervates his film with a modern sensibility, ensuring that Knives Out is far from dusty or old-fashioned. The discovery of deceased Harlan Thrombey (Christopher Plummer, “All the Money in the World”), bestselling mystery author and publisher, leads to an initial verdict of suicide. Nonetheless, police detectives Lieutenant Elliott (LaKeith Stanfield, “Sorry to Bother You”) and Trooper Wagner (Noah Segan, “The Mind’s Eye”) begin their investigation, aided by the enigmatic private detective Benoit Blanc (Daniel Craig, “Spectre”). The subsequent interviews create a picture of an extremely dysfunctional extended family as well as a multifaceted series of events that preceded the death of Harlan.

There is great fun to be had watching the various characters declaring their innocence, even though they are not being accused. Their defensiveness speaks volumes about their fundamental insecurities and discomfort over any questioning of their privileged positions, making the film a damning indictment of the 1%. Linda Drysdale’s (Jamie Lee Curtis, “Halloween”) withering matriarch and Richard Drysdale’s (Don Johnson, “Book Club”) would-be alpha male offer differing attempts at authority, Richard’s bluster easily overcome by Linda’s supercilious sneer (not that the investigators are fazed). Walt Thrombey’s (Michael Shannon, “The Shape of Water”) spineless non-favorite son and Joni’s (Toni Collette, “Hereditary”) modern-day hippie provide a further contrast, one desperate to please while conspicuously hating that he does so; the other projecting a blasé attitude that is as transparent as it is flamboyant. The younger generation are represented by Meg (Katherine Langford, “Love, Simon”), a fairly hopeless hope for the future and Jacob (Jaeden Martell, “It: Chapter Two”), a contemporary neo-Nazi. Meanwhile, the oldest generation, Great Nana Wanetta (K Callan, “Midnight Clear”) is an amusing if incomprehensible observer. Ransom Thrombey (Chris Evans, “Avengers: Endgame”), sporting some very fine knitwear, offers a sarcastic and cynical commentary on his fairly despicable family, his forthrightness a refreshing contrast to the dishonesty of his relatives.

But the true center of the drama and the viewer’s anchor character is Marta Cabrera (Ana De Arma, “Blade Runner 2049”), devoted nurse to Harlan and the last person, presumably, to see him alive. Marta is the first major character that the film introduces, and her innocent looks and seeming naïveté are immediately endearing. Marta exhibits what appears to be genuine compassion and conscience, these traits distinguishing her from the Thrombey/Drysdales as surely as her social, racial and national status. Marta’s in-depth knowledge of the family in general and Harlan in particular instantly attracts Benoit’s attention. Furthermore, Benoit rapidly suspects foul play, but as he declares in his molasses thick accent, it is hard to eliminate suspects.

The film’s set up is ripe for intrigue, including the fractious character relations and the turns and swerves of the mystery, at one point given physical form with a thoroughly incompetent car chase. Johnson skillfully interweaves these elements, peeling away layers of deceit and resentment as Benoit and his reluctant partner Marta (whom he dubs “Watson” to his Sherlock Holmes) fill in the hole at the center of the “donut,” as Benoit describes the mystery. Witticisms like this abound in Knives Out, both in terms of writing and direction. The dialogue is razor sharp, the cogs of the narrative interlock like a finely tuned Swiss watch, and Johnson’s direction smartly propels the viewer along at just the right pace.

The extensive cast are all on fine form, belying the common belief that the more fun people have making a film the less fun it is to watch. Curtis and Johnson’s jostling for dominance makes them a great double act, while Collette turns in a bravura display of middle-aged ditziness. Shannon is a delight in his cast against type role, as he typically plays menacing and imposing figures. Here his large frame seems compressed by the repression and frustration of Walt, unable to express himself even in moments of abject fury. There is something of a contest in terms of chewing the scenery, but Daniel Craig wins hands down, his laconic Benoit showing flashes of impassioned engagement, both for the mystery but also for human compassion, especially in relation to Marta. De Armas matches her more seasoned co-star point for point, her large eyes expressing fear and vulnerability, yet with a steely resolve so we doubt her commitment to Harlan and his legacy, as well as basic human decency. The double act between Benoit and Marta provides an emotional heart to the drama, ensuring that it is neither a cold piecing together of facts nor a knockabout farce. Instead, Knives Out is an engaging journey into intriguing characters and a mystery as richly textured as the grand mansion where it all takes place. It is also very funny as, while it would be misleading to describe the film as a comedy, there is a great deal of humor, from the bickering of the family to the absurdity of their wheeling and dealing, and a recurring gag about a gag reflex that never outstays its welcome.

On top of, or perhaps beneath, all this wry structuring and flamboyant performance, Knives Out offers sly satire. The neoliberal appearances of the Thrombeys/Drysdales rapidly give way to self-interest and patronizing attitudes, as they regularly treat Marta as a servant and their actual servants like dirt. Topics including feminism, the environment, immigration and white supremacy are thrown around with equal contempt, as the extended family’s interest quickly turns to the matter of inheritance. Beautifully, Johnson does not allow the politics to overwhelm the drama, integrating his social commentary into plot pursuance and character development. Recurring tropes of actual knives, food, game pieces, dogs, and coffee mugs pepper the film, all carefully slotting into place with never a wasted moment. Come the end, the viewer is likely to feel a delightful sense of glee, their intellect exercised and their ribs tickled. We know who has done what, not least that Mr. Johnson has done a damn fine movie.

I have been a fan of Skyler ever since “Santa Clarita Diet,” where he plays the sensitive, lovable nerd with aplomb. He doesn’t deviate much from that characterization here, now taking on the role of a sensitive, lovable artist. Tony is part of a big, bustling Italian family, and feels that the expectation required of him is to go to business school and help run the family business. However, it is clear from the get-go that art school is what he wants. The film sets this up quickly from the beginning, and Gisondo does a good job of communicating his quiet passion through subtle looks of yearning, while having to deal with his parents’ dismissal of his art as a mere hobby.

This is where love interest Beth (Madison Iseman, “Annabell Comes Home”) enters the picture. Beth is dealing with a loss in agency in her love life, given her mother’s interference and her boyfriend’s objectification of her. So when she meets Tony during a double date of sorts, she is drawn to the way he converses and thinks about the world, as well as the way he cares about her views and opinions. We find ourselves rooting for the two the moment they start talking to one another, each one encouraging the other to want more for themselves, which is done is a really genuine way.

Because Feast of the Seven Fishes is a romantic movie of sorts, we require a complication or obstacle. For Beth it’s the undefined state of her relationship with her boyfriend, while for Tony, it is ex-girlfriend Katie (Addison Timlin, “Sleeping in Plastic”). Gisondo and Timlin have great physical chemistry together — in all their scenes together, we feel like voyeurs about to witness a full-on make-out session at any moment. It is clear that Katie hasn’t moved on from the relationship, and though Tony still has feelings for her, he is further along on the path of moving on. Timlin does such a great job as Katie, her vulnerability showing in moments when she is alone, especially since she has such an isolated family life. Losing Tony also means losing his family, which is certainly hard to deal with during Christmas.

His sprawling Italian family are such fun to watch on screen, with Joe Pantoliano (“From The Vine”) as Uncle Frankie and Lynn Cohen (“The Vigil”) as Nonnie particular standouts. Pantoliano is protective of his nephew Tony and the movie humorously tries to insinuate that he might be involved with the mob. Nonnie is still reeling from the loss of her husband despite the years that have passed, and Tinnell does a great job at contrasting the past with the present. In the past, choice and autonomy was not a readily available thing. As immigrants, they did what they could to survive in a new environment, and the jobs that were taken on was to feed mouths and put food on the table. Nonnie didn’t experience a regular courtship with her husband, with her picking him out from a line of men, yet she grew to love him and created a life with him.

It is different for Tony because he gets to live out what others before him could not. This is the whole point; the struggles of the ones before allow the future generations to live better lives. Tony martyrs himself because he feels he has to, but towards the end comes to the realization that he should have trusted in his family more.

Feast of the Seven Fishes is a movie with a lot of heart, swirling with emotion and nostalgia, using the Christmas setting to great advantage. It is the kind of movie that feels like a warm beverage on a cold day, soothing and warm, wrapping you in a tight embrace of family and love — what more could you ask of a Christmas movie?

Based on a play by J.C. Lee, the student (Kelvin Harrison Jr., “It Comes at Night”), whose complex African name was changed to an Americanized version, was brought to the U.S. as a seven-year-old boy by his liberal-minded, adoptive parents Amy (Naomi Watts, “Ophelia”) and Peter Edgar (Tim Roth, “The Hateful Eight”) after he had been trained as a child soldier in the East African country of Eritrea. After years of therapy, Luce has become a straight-A student, member of the debating team, and star athlete at the Arlington, Virginia high school and is held up as an example by the mostly white school administrators and teachers, an example he struggles to live up to.

As the film opens, the ingratiating Obama-like Luce delivers a speech expressing the agreed-upon values of the society into which he has been brought, but any personal connection is seemingly buried under a storm of well-meaning clichés about the value of education in determining future goals and the support he has received from his parents and teachers. According to the director, “Luce is like a kid with a sports car who doesn’t have a license to drive yet. He’s incredibly smart, but he’s still trying to figure things out.” Luce’s paper on Fanon and the “discovery” of illegal fireworks in his locker by history teacher Harriett Wilson (Octavia Spencer, “Hidden Figures”) changes the dynamic, however, and evokes the unthinkable idea that violence may be lurking behind the student’s charm and good looks.

Whether Wilson, who is also black, is overreacting based on racial stereotyping or has discovered a significant fact is left, (like numerous other threads) for the viewer to make a choice based on their own particular set of assumptions. As Luce’s credibility is called into question, even his supportive parents begin to question their son’s veracity. At a conference Harriett calls, Amy will not give any credence to the possibility that there exists a dark side to her son, but Peter is more than willing to consider the growing evidence and does not hold back his regrets that he and Amy did not have their own children.

Luce steadfastly maintains that the teacher, despite being black, has it out for him and DeShaun Meeks (Astro, “Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk”), a track and field star who lost a scholarship because weed was found in his locker by the aforementioned teacher. To add to the growing confusion, Harriett has to deal with racist graffiti plastered on the window of her home and the trauma of her mentally ill sister having an encounter with police in a scene that should have been left on the cutting-room floor.

There is also the hint that Luce committed sexual assault against his girlfriend Stephanie (Andrea Bang, “The Prodigal Dad”), a rumored incident that Wilson exploits in her class as an example of the #MeToo movement. While Luce is buoyed by strong performances, and Onah’s purpose to inspire self-reflection in the viewer and have them embrace the film’s ambiguity is admirable, the characters are more symbolic than real and the narrative piles on to the point where a coherent message other than — “you decide” — would have been welcome.