Since the topsy-turvy election of 2000, many Americans have puzzled over the question: If George W. Bush is as dumb as he sometimes appears to be, how did he ever become President? Though the 2004 documentary “Bush’s Brain” might not necessarily have the answer, it certainly provides an answer, and a pretty substantial one.

Based on the book by James C. Moore and Wayne Slater, Bush’s Brain: How Karl Rove Made George W. Bush Presidential, and made with their avid cooperation, “Bush’s Brain” is a portrait of Karl Rove, the political consultant behind Bush’s election who apparently has become as heavily involved in Bush administration policymaking—international perhaps even more than domestic—as he was with politicking. Compared to “Fahrenheit 9/11,” the film is fairly restrained in its presentation of a story that is frightening enough in its factual details.

Click here for the full review by David Loftus.

Conventional wisdom used to have it that an Oscar was worth an extra million dollars in box office receipts. But that was a decade or two ago, and probably applied only to mainstream feature films.

I saw veteran documentary filmmaker Errol Morris’s latest work, “The Fog of War,” two days after it won the 2004 Academy Award for the Best Documentary. There were only three of us in the audience. Granted, it was a mid-afternoon screening on a Tuesday, but still I have to wonder whether that golden statuette will translate into bigger bucks for this film.

Click here to read the full review by David Loftus.

“Fahrenheit 9/11″ opened with great fanfare across the U.S. on June 26, 2004. It grossed $8 million on opening night, and as I write this, three nights later, news reports peg it as the number one film in the country its first weekend. It broke the record for biggest gross for a film opening on less than 1,000 screens (the record holder was “Rocky”), and had a higher per-screen take than “The Passion of the Christ” on its opening weekend. It remains to be seen whether the initial hue and cry of critics and commentators will inspire or sway the average moviegoer, let alone the electorate. But to have the country buzzing about truth or satire, accuracy or lies, war or regime change (overseas or at home) instead of the latest special effects extravaganza, leather-clad fantasy figure, wizard-in-training, or J. Lo and Marc Anthony, is a welcome change from summers past.

Click here to read the full review by David Loftus.

Try to picture an art piece that cannot be put in a museum, purchased by wealthy collectors, or displayed in a corporate foyer or boardroom – because it disintegrates in less than a day, perhaps even within 20 seconds. Try to imagine executing artwork through the medium of iron oxide chalk, raw sheep’s wool, flower blossoms, leaves and grass, feathers, random sticks and stones, broken rocks, pieces of icicle, green iris blades and red berries, thorns, bracken, or handfuls of snow. Try to fathom the notion that an artist could a take stroll in the woods, along a riverbank, down a beach, and with no tools at all – no paint brushes, no sculptor’s chisels or knives, no canvases or pedestals or quarried granite or polished wood – manage to create unutterably beautiful art from the objects and materials he finds by chance.

Click here to read the full review by David Loftus.

It sounds like the title of a Hitchcock movie. (In fact, it was: the 1945 Ingrid Bergman-Gregory Peck psychological thriller.) In reality, more than half a dozen films have carried this title since 1916, but the 2002 “Spellbound” is both more quotidian (“bound by spelling” as well as “headed for the spelling bee”) and the most refreshing: It’s about the 1999 Scripps-Howard National Spelling Bee.

Director Jeffrey Blitz and his team follow 8 kids between 10 and 14 as they progress from their respective home towns to Washington, DC for the big one. (They originally shot 13 kids, but narrowed their scope to arrive at a very full 95-minute run time.)

Click here for the full review by David Loftus.

In the summer of 1970, the year after Woodstock and Altamont, a crazy collection of future legends of rock and roll took a train across Canada, playing (in every sense of the word) en route as well as stopping for concerts in Toronto, Winnipeg, and Calgary.

The Band, The Grateful Dead, Janis Joplin, Buddy Guy, the Flying Burrito Brothers, and a dozen lesser lights sang, drank, and communed across the map between June 27 and July 4, while cameras recorded the escapade. “This was kind of like a traveling circus,” remembers Ken Pearson, a member of Joplin’s band. “It was a train full of insane people careening across the Canadian countryside,” Dead guitarist Phil Lesh recalls. People got very little sleep, Buddy Guy says, “because every time I went to bed I was afraid I was gonna miss something.”

Click here for the full review by David Loftus.

These days, when you watch a movie and wonder “How did they do that?”, it’s typically a technical question. How did CGI create that dragon, those thousands of Middle Earth warriors, the Chinese swordsmen skipping across a lake, that web-slinger’s battle with Doc Ock? How did they get that incredible angled shot of Victoria Falls (or a bird plummeting a thousand feet)? How did they get those dangerous exotic animals into the same frame with the hero?

With the 2004 surfing documentary “Riding Giants,” “How did they do that?” becomes a different question—or rather, two. There’s the psychological one: Where did those young men get the cojones, never mind the skill, to ride a board down a 40-foot wave, at 35 miles an hour and more, with white foam curling behind, rocks up ahead, and a vicious undertow below? Then there’s a procedural one: Just how did they produce that 1950s video footage of big-wave surfing off Waimea Bay, Hawaii, and how did they manage to live out there, year after year, simply to surf?

Click here for the full review by David Loftus.

A film reviewer for Time magazine since 1972, Richard Schickel has attained the stature of a dean of movie history and criticism. Rather than merely turn in his weekly copy, collect columns in occasional book form, and appear as a guest in other people’s documentaries, Schickel has quietly built a respectable body of studies on film about eminent directors (and more pointedly, writer-directors), as well as a few actors.

Much of this work has been for TV: segments on Hitchcock, Cukor, Hawks, Vidor, Walsh, and Minnelli for the excellent 1973 “documentary miniseries” called “The Men Who Made the Movies,” and more recent projects on Eastwood, Cagney, and Harryhausen. Studies of Arthur Penn and Elia Kazan enjoyed limited release as features, and now Schickel has done one on Chaplin which also is playing in festivals and mainstream houses.

“Charlie: The Life and Art of Charles Chaplin” attempts to present the man’s warts and errors, as well as the film and comic genius, in 131 minutes. Although one suspects it would be impossible to do this completely in anything less than six hours, “Charlie” does an excellent and absorbing job.

Click here to read the full review by David Loftus.

With Errol Morris’ most recent full-length documentary two years in the past and with no new film of his creeping above the horizon, Mark Lewis’ The Natural History of the Chicken performs suitably as a proxy. It’s hard not to draw comparisons between Morris’ films and Chicken, frankly: Chicken combines Vernon, Florida‘s meandering tone, reenactments a la The Thin Blue Line, and bright, vivid visuals that recall much of Mr. Death and Fast, Cheap, and Out of Control. (The last of these three similarities is a gift from God given the state of current non-fiction cinema aesthetics.) And as obvious from the title, Chicken is about one of Morris’ pet topics, animals; Gates of Heaven and numerous episodes of Morris’ television series “First Person” have been about the creatures with which we share this planet. In fact, The Natural History of the Chicken is nearly a parody of Morris’ work but, well, without the parodistic parts.

Click here for the full review by Matthew Prims.

Mysterious Object at Noon, the debut feature from Apichatpong Weerasethakul, is without a doubt one of the most exciting pieces of film I’ve encountered in a long while. Purists may hesitate to label it a documentary as the film melds documentary footage and interviews with fictional footage interspersed throughout. The documentary participants, however, solely supply the fiction with each interviewee contributing to the ongoing story, thereby dictating the content and direction of the film. What emerges is a snapshot not only of life in urban and rural Thailand but also a fascinating view into the collective unconscious of its culture – and, ultimately, by ceding complete control of the film to its subjects, the resulting work stands among the purest of documentaries while simultaneously birthing a marvelous new breed of cinema.

Click here for the full review by Mark Nichols.

Terry Gilliam was the “stealth Python.” The only American in the quintessentially Br-r-r-ritish comic sextet, Monty Python’s Flying Circus (though the Minneapolis native has since taken British citizenship), Gilliam was the least distinctive member: aurally, he lacked the nasal whine of Eric Idle or the perfect stuffed-shirt fustian of John Cleese, and physically he was less recognizable than the rest, partly because he often hid his rough-hewn features under the heavy makeup of old crones and wizened soothsayers. (Remember the keeper of the Bridge of Death who demands the answers to “questions three” in “Holy Grail”?). His labors as an animator also set him apart from the Brits. Much of his work consisted of cut-out drawings and photos moving crazily about the screen, so he didn’t even appear in his own material.

Click here for the full review by David Loftus.

If “Spellbound” was the 2003 documentary that showed how you can thrill an audience and inspire cheers without having to spend millions on CGI special effects and elaborate costuming and sets, “Winged Migration” evoked awe sans X-Men, Spidey, or Neo battling three dozen Agent Smiths.

Is it possible to fill 98 minutes with flying birds and not bore an audience? Skeptics should remember that it’s been done with two guys yakking over dinner (“My Dinner With Andre”) and even one guy sitting in a chair and talking at the camera armed with nothing more than a glass of water (Spalding Gray’s various filmed monologues). In contrast, this film has a cast of thousands, even hundreds of thousands, and they come in an astonishing array of colors and shapes.

Click here for the full review by David Loftus.

For years we’ve been hearing about inflated numbers on the NASDAQ, and venture capitalists who throw astounding amounts of money at young people with nothing more than promising ideas. Startup.com tells the inside story of one such adventure.

A pair of high school classmates, ten years out, propose to start an Internet company that will help citizens deal with local governments. They call it “govWorks.” It will enable people to go online to register their motor vehicles, pay parking tickets, and do all the other nasty little things municipal and regional governments require of them. As one of the young entrepreneurs explains, the vertical market is $585 billion, and parking tickets in New York City alone generate $500 million.

Click here for full review by David Loftus.

Critics never seem to learn. Most of Kubrick’s films had detractors, and his final film, Eyes Wide Shut (1999), was no different. “It’s his eyes, I’m afraid,” wrote Owen Gleiberman in Entertainment Weekly, “that seem to have been wide shut, and his movie that wears a mask.” Maybe. But critical opinion has always lagged behind when it came to Kubrick. Look up 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) in the average movie guide. Most call it an innovative masterpiece and forget to mention that a number of critics hated the film when it was released. Kubrick’s films have often been groundbreaking, controversial, and misunderstood. But critics who dare to question his artistry usually have to eat their review.

Click here for the full review by Ronnie D. Lankford, Jr. 

Paradise Lost begins with the disturbing images of the brutal murders of Stevie Branch, Christopher Byers, and Michael Moore, three second-graders. Discovered in a ravine in Robin Hood Hills in West Memphis, their bodies had been bruised and mutilated. A frantic search for suspects turned up Jessie Misskelley, Jr., Damien Echols, and Jason Baldwin, three local teenagers. The ensuing hysteria would be fueled by the belief that the occult had played a part in the murders, and that Echols was a member of the occult. Through interviews with parents, lawyers, and the accused, Paradise Lost gives the viewer a front row seat to the hysteria and mayhem surrounding these murders.

Click here to read the full review by Ronnie D. Lankford, Jr.

As contests go, this sounds easy: Just compete with two dozen other folks to see who can keep his hand on a pickup truck the longest. The promotional event known as the “Hands on a Hard Body Contest,” hosted by Jack Long Nissan every year in the east Texas town of Longview (125 miles east of Dallas, 60 miles west of Shreveport, Louisiana), turns out to be a surprisingly grueling event.

Click here for the full review by David Loftus.

Opening shot: the rear of a large trailer, doors opened wide to show a red velvet curtain at the tailgate and lining the rear wall, with four large, shiny, uneven vertical pipes just inside. A tall, wiry, balding man walks up, steps over the red velvet front, sits down, and begins to play. Yes, it’s a calliope, and he pumps out a sweet, jaunty tune.

As the scene slow fades and the blurred images of children on a carousel replace it, a voice says, “I saw the ferris wheel for the first time when I was a kid and I knew … I wanted to chase ferris wheels until they threw the dirt on my face.”

Click here for the full review by David Loftus.

Arguably more cinema vérité than documentary, D.A. Pennebaker’s Don’t Look Back follows four weeks of Bob Dylan’s solo acoustic tour across England in 1965. Virtually absent are the standard documentary conventions of archival or interview footage. Nor is the film a concert picture, with very few live numbers captured in their entirety, and more than half of the film following Dylan backstage and between gigs. Instead the camera acts solely as a fly on the wall and for 96 minutes the viewer watches Dylan ongoing evolution as performer and personality. Here’s hoping he’s evolved since.

Click here for the full review by Mark Nichols.

My expectations for The War Room were all wrong. I had assumed that if a camera crew could go behind the scenes of almost any political campaign it would reveal the cynicism at the bottom of contemporary American politics. Behind the scenes, after all, is where focus groups decide a candidate’s positions and consultants package the candidate’s best image for public consumption. So any behind the scene’s documentary had the likelihood of producing a very cynical film.

Click here for the full review by Ronnie D. Lankford, Jr.

This three-hour scientific spectacle was the BBC television event of the year in late 1999. It garnered an estimated 52 share, meaning more than half of all the TV sets that were switched on in England tuned to the show when it aired (roughly 19 million viewers). The following April, “Walking with Dinosaurs” made only a little less of a splash in the U.S., on the Discovery channel.

The program made use of the very latest in paleontological knowledge and theory as well as animation techniques, combining computer graphic animation, animatronics, and live location shots from the California State Parks and the Bahamas to Tasmania and Chile into a (nearly) seamless whole that enthralled its viewers. Its sly “storytelling” approach to dinosaurs’ lives made it something more—and perhaps less—than a true-life nature special or scientific study: more to the average viewer, less to the hard scientist and dinosaur aficionado.

Click here the full review by David Loftus.

“Best Cinematography” is an Oscar that probably means very little to the average citizen who watches the annual Academy Award broadcast to find out who got Best Actor and Best Film. It means a lot more to industry insiders who know the value of the work, and is a winning buzz-subject for outsiders who want to sound knowledgeable.

But most of us could name only a handful of greats off the top of our head: Toland, Nykvist, Willis, Wexler. Visions of Light, a co-production of the American Film Institute and NHK, the Japan Broadcasting Corporation, attempts to heighten the general viewer’s understanding of cinematographers and their work. It offers more light than substance, perhaps, but is a lovely 95 minutes nonetheless.

Click here for the full review by David Loftus.

The shooting death of a police officer is a sensational subject. Most audiences would expect a documentary made about a police officer’s shooting death to be sensational also. But Errol Morris’ The Thin Blue Line is not sensational in any traditional sense. Instead, it is a masterful film that slowly reveals a hidden universe by simple allowing everyone involved—criminals, judges, police officers, and witnesses—to talk and then talk some more. Slowly, the viewer is pulled into the surreal world of Randall Adams (the accused), David Harris (the accuser), and a small Texas town’s justice system.

Click here for the full review by Ronnie D. Lankford, Jr.

When I first heard about a filmmaker who had shot video for two years while working at Columbia House corporate headquarters, I assumed that he was using a hidden camera. I was wrong. He showed up for his first day of work with a video camera, and when no one objected to being filmed, he proceeded to bring it to work everyday for the next two years. His name is Chris Wilcha.

Using the video he accumulated while working in the Columbia House corporate culture, Chris Wilcha created the film The Target Shoots First. His experience forces him into a personal examination of what it means to be part of a music corporation when your roots are punk and your perceived goal isn’t to advance through the corporate ranks.

Click here to read the full review by Joshua Davis. 

On Thursday, June 7, ITVS will present Store Wars, an assertive program that explores what happens when the mega-store Wal-Mart comes to town. This hour-long program will speak to millions who have seen a Wal-Mart arrive and radically alter their neighborhood; it will also speak to millions of others, many who are unaware that Sam Walton’s mega store is coming to their neighborhood soon, like it or not. Store Wars covers the fallout that occurs when a large corporation—Wall-Mart—decides to open a new store in one small town—Ashland, Virginia.

Click here to read the full review by Ronnie D. Lankford, Jr. 

“It’s amazing what you can endure when you must.”

Violinist Nadja Salerno-Sonnenberg speaks those words in Speaking in Strings, a documentary that traces her rise to fame through interviews, concert footage, and clips from various television appearances. While the quotation is used to describe Salerno-Sonnenberg’s life, I found it doubly meaningful as enduring this film was a trial in itself.

Click here for the full review by Mark A. Nichols.