(G, 80 minutes)

The theme for most nature documentaries has always been the same: nature is beauty; nature is wild; nature is life and death. One of the great highlights of a nature film is its complete portrait of life, its amazing triumphs and heart-aching losses, and the undeniable connection of the two. March of the Penguins, following in the same cinematic steps as Winged Migration, is an emotional, honest documentation of a year in the life of emperor penguins.

Antarctica, more often an exaggerated image in our mind than a fully visualized reality, stars as the otherworldly backdrop in Penguins. Fall has come, and the emperor penguins begin their annual journey from the sea to their ancestral breeding grounds atop the Antarctic ice. The penguins, coming from all directions, march single-file across a landscape so barren that nothing else survives. Similar to flying migratory birds, the penguins follow their unknown sixth sense, drawn to the location of their own birth.

Director Luc Jacquet and narrator Morgan Freeman wisely personalize the penguins from the start, giving them personality and emotions far beyond our expectations. While scientists have argued for years about the ability of animals to have emotions, watching Penguins it is without a doubt a part of a penguin’s life. Watching a father be reunited with his chick or a mother grieve over her loss, the emotions are sharp and intense for both the penguins and the audience.

The real-life drama of the penguins is beautiful, heart-wrenching and ultimately life-affirming. Humanity, as much as we argue against it, is not much different than animals of the wild. The loss of life for a penguin is no less painful than the loss of life for any creature, including us. In the film, the audience connects with the penguins precisely because we can identify with them on so many levels. Penguins earns its perch as one of the best films of 2005.

(PG-13, 116 minutes)

Steven Spielberg. Tom Cruise. Science Fiction. Aliens. Explosions. A Hollywood agent’s wet dream is a reality this July. For the first time since 1982’s E.T. (still the fourth highest grossing film in U.S. history 23 years later), Spielberg has fully returned to his specialty: aliens on Earth. Except this time, the cuddly aliens are out and the mean aliens are in for the mega-budget spectacular War of the Worlds, based on the 1898 H.G. Wells novel.

Tom Cruise plays Ray Ferrier, a quasi-deadbeat dad who manages to see his kids just enough to think he is being a parent, but not enough to actually know anything about them. He’s the epitome of bad parenting: cocky, arrogant and simple-minded. He works at the shipyards, makes a decent living, but is clearly unable to fully care for anyone but himself. When the kids’ mother and stepfather head to Boston for the weekend, they leave their disapproving children with their father.

As the kids settle in, a large electrical storm blows in. Ray, along with his daughter, Rachel (Dakota Fanning), is outside when lightning strikes nearby. As people rush out into the streets, all electronic equipment has stopped working. Stranger yet, down the street, there’s a strange hole in the ground where a bunch of lightning has struck. People move in to look, the music darkens and the ground shakes from below. So begins the invasion of Earth.

Spielberg has always been a master of audience manipulation (which some find to be his main fault, but I find is his best skill). From the moment the audience lays eyes on the tripods, an overwhelming sense of terror develops. When people start getting vaporized, which sounds cheesier in writing than it actually is when watching it in the film, the pure horror of what is happening unfolds. The destruction is on a grand scale, and you are struck with a simple question: What would you do and where would you go?

Cruise, who has been in the news a little too much lately, was born to play Ray. It’s as if his characters from Top Gun and Magnolia merged into one bitter concoction (make sure you see Magnolia if you haven’t already… it’s Cruise’s best film by far). Ray, who only learns to be a father when he fears he might lose his family, becomes the man he was meant to be when faced with the simple task of keeping his family alive.

Leave it to Spielberg to take a story larger than life and shrink it down into a nice package of what’s wrong with family in the 21st century. Regardless, it’s the only way the story could be told for the audience to actually care about what is happening. Taking a cue from past films, the “less is more” approach, Spielberg brings the tripods in waves, allowing the audience to calm down just enough before jolting us again with Ray’s reality. The sheer scale of the attack is graphic and mind-blowing. Even the lack of blood and gore can’t keep the viewer from shuddering, which isn’t to say the film works completely.

As has been said before, a film’s true value is the story. Even though Spielberg never falls short of material, the film falls apart at the end. Quite a few questions go unanswered, and not in a good way. What are the red vines supposed to be? Was Tim Robbins’ character even necessary? Why is the ending so disappointing? In any case, the film is classic Spielberg, even with an all too-pretty ending. While still a must-see on the big screen, War of the Worlds just doesn’t fight hard enough in the end.

(PG-13, 84 minutes)

Stereotypically known as the “ghetto,” South Central Los Angeles fulfilled its own destiny in April of 1992. An outraged community fell apart, killing people, destroying businesses and homes, and literally turning their neighborhood into ashes. Primarily African-American, Latino and Korean, life in this part of Los Angeles has always been difficult. The riots were the ugly head of all that was wrong, both with South Central and the city as a whole. Racism, poverty, unemployment, police brutality, racial profiling; it all boiled over that year when a jury, comprised of no African-Americans and one Latino, read “not guilty.”

Regardless of the guilt or innocence of the police officers involved, it was the tipping point for a community that had been kicked and kept down for decades. In his first feature film, Rize, director David LaChapelle (not to be confused with Comedy Central’s Dave Chappelle) documents a unique form of dance that developed in the streets in the aftermath of the riots.

In an attempt to come up with an option that did not involve the gangs of South Central, Tommy Johnson (Tommy the Clown) invented clowning, and its later offshoot, krumping. A type of dance influenced by African tribal dancing, clowning and krumping is reminiscent of break-dancing, but with more movement, passion and style. As if the dancers were plugged into an electrical outlet, clowning and krumping is pure energy and expression, and it is a way of life for the dancers involved.

As we are introduced to Tommy, in full hip-hop-style clown makeup, we discover that the “clown” in clowning is taken literally. The makeup, like a mask, allows the dancers to let go and become something more raw and exhilarating. As clowning progressed, it evolved, and many of Tommy’s students broke off and developed krumping. And with two styles in place, the film documents the friendly but passionate dance competitions between the “gangs” of dancers.

The film works best when it focuses on the creation of clowning and krumping and its effects on those who practice it. Inspiring and amazing to view, the dancing is a spiritual experience for its participants. Constantly evolving, the dancers challenge each other both physically and emotionally. This is true performance art, and at one point when one of the dancers passes out due to exhaustion, it hits the audience how much energy the dancers put into their art.

Rize does stray at times, particularly near the end. When the dance competition is finished, the story strays from the dancing, which had been the only focus for the first hour. It’s difficult to fault the director, though, as he clearly has a love for his subjects. The film’s soundtrack is all hip-hop, and even if you aren’t a fan, you’ll find yourself getting into the beats and dancing. Stunningly shot, Rize might be the most fun you’ll have watching a documentary this year.