The New York Film Festival, held every year at Lincoln Center, continues to be the most prestigious and, not incidentally, the best of the half a dozen or so U.S. film festivals. In its eleventh year, the festival has settled into a definite personality: it is everyone's slightly eccentric, goodhearted aunt, the one who grooms herself in the arts and stages soirees that are unavoidable, a little silly but almost always pleasant.
As usual, this year's screenings—which concluded last week after a marathon 16 days—introduced a worthy film or two, surveyed what is...
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