In this film based on a true story, brother and sister Kenny (Sam Rockwell) and Betty Anne Waters (Hilary Swank) have the kind of fierce devotion to each other more often seen in movie lovers or mafiosi. Their connection is undoubtedly forged in a difficult childhood: a negligent mother and a painful separation, courtesy of the foster care system.

When did we first register the greatness of Philip Seymour Hoffman? Was it as early as his turn on that old Law & Order episode in 1991? Was it not until he’d worked his way up to playing the raucous rock scribe Lester Bangs in Almost Famous? Or Truman Capote in Capote? It probably wasn’t when he played Robin Williams’ med-school roommate in Patch Adams.

The Social Network feels like a strange and satisfying blend of two worlds. On one hand, it’s a classic Hollywood screwball comedy in which brainy dialogue ping-pongs with dizzying speed between uber-brainy Facebook creator Mark Zuckerberg and his equally vociferous peer group.

It is an ancient stockbroker, and he stoppeth to shill a book. The grizzled ex-tycoon is Gordon Gekko; his memoir, written after two decades in the clink, is titled Is Greed Good? Viewers of a certain temperament will find this peacocky and specious bout of rephrased backpedaling richly funny—when I did that insider trading, that might have been wrong, perhaps—and they will be rewarded throughout the 133 minutes of Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps with loads more literal-minded bet-hedging.

The world was a different place in 1976 when Carl Jensen, a professor of communications at Sonoma State University, founded Project Censored to highlight important national news stories that were underreported or outright ignored by the mainstream press. Back then, there were few good alternatives to television networks or major newspapers and magazines, and stories omitted from those channels usually escaped public notice. There was no such thing as Google News, no one had ever heard of a blog, and the word “twitter” was associated with birds or gossip.

I'm still here is a portrait of a self-tortured artist in the process of torturing himself—and others.

For a rough idea of what was going through George Clooney’s head when he signed on to The American—apart from the set’s proximity to his Italian villa—look no further than the only other American face to appear in the movie. It belongs to Henry Fonda, shown on a flat-panel television in his entrance to Once Upon a Time in the West, at the moment when the beloved Hollywood icon shoots a defenseless ginger child. Clooney’s mug is getting nearly as rugged and weathered as Fonda’s was in 1968, and he’s also indulging in some subversion of his persona.

The Oath features a story so strange it feels more like fiction than fact. Few news programs or investigations of 9.11 and its aftermath have plumbed terrorism with this kind of insight. It is an eerie moment in Laura Poitras’ all-too-real documentary about the depths of anti-American anger and religious fervor that exist in the Middle East.

Despite the name of SFR’s annual fitness guide, the stories in this issue aren’t geared at extreme perspiration. Well, at least, not entirely.

Last spring, my brother announced his impending Long Island nuptials, and I knew something had to be done—something radical. All my life, I’d noted events in the future and told myself I’d get in shape by the time they rolled around, and had always failed miserably.