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At the beginning of this year, I had a pretty good idea that Peter Jackson's final film adaptation of Tolkien's trilogy would be a given for my year-end top-ten list. Still, I was not making any rash decisions and would not give The Return of the King praise if it was undeserved.

To say that my initial instincts were dead-on would be a monumental understatement. Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King is hands-down the best film I have seen this year. No other film on my current list comes close. Despite the enormous strengths of the previous two films, it is in this masterful conclusion that the emotional intensity, plot developments, and character arcs come pouring off the screen in a marvelous inundation.

The vision which Jackson and cinematographer Andrew Lesnie cast upon the besieged kingdoms of men and the growing plight of Frodo, the ringbearer, is uncompromisingly bleak. The lighting of The Fellowship of the Ring was lushly colorful and richly variegated, and despite the perils, the tone was not at all grave. With The Two Towers, the colors became increasingly desaturated, eliciting a much more grim and foreboding air.

In this film, the vibrancy has returned, only this time, there is heavy use of bright neutrals (whites and grays) and almost fluorescent greens. This vibrancy is not at all inviting, but instead invokes feelings of isolation, barrenness, and worst of all, hopelessness. As strange as it may sound, there is an agonizing darkness to these bright hues.

In talking with a friend, shortly after we had both seen the film, we concurred that The Return of the King is also the most Peter Jackson of the three films. Several of his previous outings (Meet the Feebles, The Frighteners, and Heavenly Creatures) had a penchant for the surreally gory, grotesque, and downright ugly, and it is in this Lord of the Rings movie (much more than the first two) that the phantasmagoria and horror-saturated imagery is at its most unrestrained.

In terms of story, things start out slowly, but only because things are being set up for an explosive, relentless climax. And oh my, what a climax! Some have called the Battle at Helm's Deep (from The Two Towers) one of the greatest battles ever put on film. In actor John Rhys-Davies' own words, "You ain't seen nothin' yet".

Maybe a little comparison might help. Helm's Deep was attacked by 10,000 evil Uruk-Hai soldiers and defended by a few hundred men and elves. In this film, the attack on the human city of Minas Tirith and the Battle of Pelennor Fields combine to pit the many combined forces of good against 200,000 Uruks, orcs, trolls, and corrupted men. The cinematic result is heartstopping, jawdropping, and completely engulfing. And once again, the creators have taken measures to ensure that CGI work acts as an enhancement, not as a sole force.

This is certainly the most violent and disturbing of the three films, and several horrifying images in the battles push the PG-13 rating as far as it can go. Honestly, I thought the film strayed into R-rated territory several times. This is not the fun-filled, innocent, child-friendly, family film the promoters might want you to believe it is. The emotional pitches that Jackson hits deserve comparison with the most brutal moments in dehumanizing war films. As an example, I can tell you that the fun-loving, bumbling hobbit, Pippin (played by Billy Boyd), goes through especially painful changes and has a vocal solo that made me gasp and hold my breath.

The acting for this film is by far the most difficult, and the cast of The Return of the King gives a collective performance that is simply incredible as an ensemble piece. Not often does a collection of performances result in something greater than the sum its parts, but such is unquestionably the case in this film.

There are several individual performances of note, however. As the white wizard Gandalf, Ian McKellan displays more authority and strength than the previous two films, and he has some moments during battle that will have you ready to leap from your seat (although not as much as Orlando Bloom's shining moment when his Legolas performs a maneuver that makes his surfboard move in The Two Towers look pathetic).

Legolas and the dwarf Gimli (John Rhys-Davies) are still relegated mainly to their smile-inducing comic relief roles, but in context, this provides a perfect complement to (and sometimes, a welcome relief from) the ensuing chaos and devastation.

In the role of the heir to the throne of Gondor, kingdom of men, Viggo Mortensen must display more acceptance of Aragorn's fate as king, and the Aragorn we see in The Return of the King is a far cry from the reluctant ranger we first met in The Fellowship. His performance easily communicates the growing, steadfast self-confidence Aragorn develops.

As Merry and Pippin, two hobbits who have journeyed far from home and have since lost the innocence and care-free nature of hobbits, Dominic Monaghan and Billy Boyd move beyond the comic-relief and supporting nature of their parts in the other two films and turn in wonderfully effective performances that require them to step forward and be leads for a short time.

The primary newcomer to this film (if you don't count his appearance in the extended edition of The Two Towers) is John Noble, who plays Denethor, steward of Gondor. His performance is menacing and reveals a man who may have good intentions, but is nonetheless clouded by an obsession with his family's claim to power and a broken psyche that has been perverted by the strife his people have had to endure. The scenes in which Denethor is at his most unbalanced are some of the most powerful in the film.

My favorite of the performances, however, belongs to the trio en route to Mordor. As the morally ambiguous Gollum, Andy Serkis gives a fantastic performance that is even darker and more frightening than his work in The Two Towers. As the hobbits Frodo and Sam, Elijah Wood and Sean Astin have some scenes that tear at the heart. (By the way, some of these scenes generated sniffles from several people around me). Frodo's degraded emotional and physical state is captured perfectly by Wood's contorted facial expressions and awkward movements. Meanwhile, Sam's unwavering loyalty to Frodo is tested, and Astin's work is amazingly poignant.

Like the other two films, The Return of the King has three hours of central story, but there is also a twenty-minute epilogue that chronicles events following the War of the Ring. This epilogue constitutes seventy pages (about one-third) of Tolkien's book, and therefore twenty minutes is actually quite short. So if you hear from critics (and you will) that the film "does not want to end" and goes on for too long, just know that you are listening to someone who has not read the books and is throwing shortsighted criticism at Jackson for a characteristic of Tolkien's work (which, by the way, I have no problems with).

The epilogue of the film, just like with the book, allows for celebration and rejoicing, but also a lingering sense of mourning, irony, and pain. Jackson gets the tone of the final five minutes absolutely right, and I doubt that anyone who has grown to love these characters will be able to keep a dry eye.

This is an astounding film, and without a doubt, a landmark in film history. Taken together, The Fellowship of the Ring, The Two Towers, and The Return of the King represent one of the greatest collective works of cinema ever made. Yes, you heard me right. No, I am not exaggerating. The Lord of the Rings easily represents the greatest cinematic fantasy work of all-time, but it also embodies much more than that.

Jackson's endlessly fertile imagination has shown that the "impossible" can be done and that sometimes, it is worth taking risks (Thank you, New Line). I don't think there will ever be a time again when a work of film extends beyond the nine-hour mark (ten, if you count extended editions), and yet manages not only to keep its audiences engrossed, but also successfully create compelling characters that people will be reluctant to say goodbye to.

After only one viewing, I consider The Return of the King the best film of 2003, and still, I feel I have not even begun to grasp how truly superior the work is. Bring lots of tissues, and be ready to hold your breath and gape your eyes in awe. This is one for the ages.

Godfrey Reggio's Koyaanisqatsi (1983) is a film with no actors, no storyline, and no dialogue. The only things we see during the experimental documentary's 87 minutes are natural landscapes, images of cities, and real people going about their regular lives. Yet from the very beginning, when we see the title of the film appear in blood-red characters and hear the voice of a bass soloist chanting the title like an incantation, it is difficult not to be swept away in captivation.

Filmed between 1977 and 1982, Reggio's film was noticed by directing great Francis Ford Coppola who eventually agreed to finance the project and give it chances for distribution. Minimalist composer Philip Glass was optioned to compose the score, and the result was, quite simply, astounding.

Koyaanisqatsi is a collection of familiar images presented through tinted lenses (figuratively speaking). The experimental nature of the project can be seen in the reduced and augmented speeds of images, the use of carefully manipulated edits, and the use of Glass's score to create ambience. There are times when the film exhibits an almost surreal quality more indicative of a twisted, futuristic, dystopian sci-fi epic than of our mundane world.

This is, however, what makes Koyaanisqatsi so successful. In presenting our world in a disquieting, unflattering light, the film forces us to ruminate on our place in the universe and the consequences of many of our actions. The film starts with serene, austere images of mountains, oceans, and forests, and the repetitiveness of Glass's score does not bore us nor call attention to itself, but simply washes over us, entrancing us and instilling a sense of tranquility.

It is not long before the untainted images are replaced by nuclear power plants, highways, skyscrapers, rubble, fire and ash, and hoards of ant-like beings (humans, of course) scurrying through modern urbanity. Most times, humans are filmed at low-frame settings (making for faster speeds), and as a result, they seem frenzied, compulsively making their way through the cities in a manner that seems more conditioned than voluntary.

Glass's score responds by heightening its tension and adding a semi-brutal nature to its repetitiveness. It is somewhat aversive, but at the same time exhibits a humorous and mocking quality. By cramming together so many images of humans behaving more like lab rats than higher, thinking beings and increasing the satirical nature of the score, the film invites us to consider just how depersonalized, mechanized, and out-of-control many aspects of our life are.

The conclusion of the film contrasts against the blackly comic nature of the previous section by instilling a sense of mourning and warning. As such, there is undoubtedly a political and environmental component inherent in this film, but this is the aspect that is, in my mind, most often misunderstood. Many critics (mostly detractors) have interpreted Koyaanisqatsi as a call to action, an invective that demands that we atone for the rape-like pillaging the human race has thrusted upon the natural environment. Following from this, these critics claim that the film's message is that we would enjoy the planet more if we were not here at all, thus presenting a contradiction, since we would not be here to enjoy it.

In my own personal view, the flaw here resides in viewing the film as a tirade and a call to action. I find Koyaanisqatsi very clearly to be not a cry for reform, but a demand for awareness and meditation. There is an inevitability in the actions of human beings and their disregard for the care of their surroundings, and the wonderful thing about this film is that it forces you to experience the consequences and at least take notice of what each of us is contributing. It does not let you get away with indifference and nonchalance.

For me, however, the political component is less important than the stylistic component, which is one near and dear to my heart: the use of music to enhance the forcefulness of images. I acknowledge the fact that some will not be able to stand the repetitiveness of Philip Glass's score (and it is very repetitive at some points). But if one can consider the motive behind the repetition, the music ceases to be oppressive and becomes sublime and entrancing. The score adds impact to an already stunning array of unforgettable images, the details of which I will not go into, so that one may see the film with fresh eyes.

I saw Koyaanisqatsi for the first time at a performance in which the visuals were projected onto a giant screen with the soundtrack being supplied by Glass and his ensemble, who had come for a live performance. I had barely made it in time, since I struggled to find a parking space and was drenched from running in the rain. The moment the film started, however, all of the accumulated tensions in my body completely dissipated. It was not at all a cerebral experience, but an instinctive one in which I enjoyed the images and sounds for their own sakes.

When I left the performance, I was in a hypnotic daze, transfixed by what I had just seen. My initial impressions haven't changed to this day. I loved this film, and while the political and environmental concerns it addresses are important, what really makes this film for me is the instinctive, visceral power of its images and sounds. Koyaanisqatsi maroons its audience in an alternate version of reality that sheds disturbing light on our lives, and yet at the same time, it produces an unforgettable cinematic experience that is pervasively engrossing.