It's been clear for several weeks now that the independent distribution company THINKfilm has been suffering from some money troubles. Around the time the Cannes Film Festival kicked off this month, blogger AJ Schnack assembled reports from various sources that the company owed a lot of money to many different places. Now, Nikkie Finke reports that Allied Advertising Ltd. filed a lawsuit in Los Angeles Superior Court today against THINKfilm owner David Bergstein, claiming that THINKfilm failed to pay for Allied's advertising services in a timely manner, while the distributor pretended that wasn't the case. A serious problem indeed.

It's a little unfair, however, for Allied to complain about THINKfilm's decision to continue doing what they do best -- buying films. The lawsuit says that the company embarked on a "lavish film licensing buying spree at various film festivals around the world," rather than exclusively focusing on paying off debt. It's worth noting that THINKfilm remained fairly withdrawn at Cannes this year, and while they did pick up theatrical rights for Marina Zenovich's Roman Polanski: Wanted and Desired at Sundance, the film already had a television deal in place with HBO. Meanwhile, the company has dropped Battle in Seattle, which it originally purchased at the Toronto Film Festival. The "buying spree" sounds like needless exaggeration on Allied's part. Whatever the case, given THINKfilm's track record (they did guide Ryan Gosling to his Half Nelson Oscar nod), one hopes they'll survive this nasty legal snafu.

Sometimes you walk out of a festival movie and wonder precisely WHY it was afforded a slot in the first place. Not because the movie's a rotten piece of junk, but because it's just kinda ... there. Standard, familiar, predictable, meh. And certainly nothing you'd expect to find at one of the most prestigious film festivals in the world. But then I remembered that Ernie Barbarash's They Wait is a Canadian-produced thriller -- and also that the Toronto Film Festival does like to spread a little love to the local guys.

So that explains why a perfectly watchable but in no way superior little chiller like They Wait earns a spot. Last year it was the surprisingly effective End of the Line, and this year it's the dry but half-decent They Wait. Anyway, here's the plot: Jaime King and Terry Chen are a married couple with a young son named Sammy. They're required to travel from Shanghai to Canada to attend the funeral of a beloved uncle, but poor little Sammy stumbles across an ancient (undead) secret that you'll be able to figure out less than 45 seconds after the plot threads are introduced. It's like "J-Horror Lite," if that works as any sort of selling point.

Noah Baumbach's The Squid and the Whale, a semi-autobiographical film about a Brooklyn family's experience with divorce, was the sleeper indie hit of 2005, and after its success Baumbach shot to prominence as a director to watch. His highly anticipated follow-up effort, Margot at the Wedding, returns to similar themes of family love and loathing; it stars Nicole Kidman as Margot, a high-strung writer who, along with her son Claude (Zane Pais), goes on a pilgrimage of sorts to her childhood home, where her estranged sister (Baumbach's wife Jennifer Jason Leigh) is marrying an unemployed painter (Jack Black) she just met. Baumbach -- who, it must be noted, bears an uncanny resemblance to Adrien Brody -- sat down with us in Toronto to talk about New York, family dynamics and just what's up with all those masturbation scenes.

Cinematical: After Squid and the Whale, a lot of people looked at you as a Brooklyn artist, the way they might look at someone like Jonathan Lethem. Did you have any temptation to make another movie set in Brooklyn, or did you deliberately move away from that?

Noah Baumbach: It wasn't deliberate or not deliberate -- I started writing this movie and it became what it was. It wasn't a response to anything in particular. I feel a real connection to Brooklyn, certainly, because I spent 20 years of my life there, but I don't think of myself as a Brooklyn artist any more than I think of myself as a male artist. I will say that when people would respond to Squid with a kind of Brooklyn-centric reaction I was pleased with that, because obviously Brooklyn means a lot to me.

Like most folks who enjoy the art of screenwriting, I'm a pretty big Paul Schrader fan. So when I heard that the writer / director's latest film would be playing at the Toronto Film Festival, I drew a big, red circle around the title. "You know what it's about, don't you?" a friend of mine asked me, to which I responded "Kinda. Woody Harrelson plays a gay D.C. socialite who covers up a murder and lives to regret it, or something like that." OK, good point: Doesn't exactly sound like my cup of tea, plot-wise -- but hey, it's Paul Schrader.

I just figure after Taxi Driver, American Gigolo, Raging Bull, The Last Temptation of Christ and the highly-underrated Light Sleeper, Mr. Schrader has earned the benefit of the doubt. And yes, that's taking into account his last few screenplays. But it turns out my friend was right: The Walker is about a gay rich guy who lives off his family's money and acts as a friend / companion / alibi to many of Washington D.C.'s most important housewives. Carter Page plays canasta with swanky gals played by Kristin Scott Thomas, Lily Tomlin and Lauren Bacall -- and they all seem to love their amusingly non-threatening companion. But when one of the ladies' lovers ends up dead, Carter starts lying to the police to protect his "friends" and quickly discovers his true place in the beltway hierarchy.

Lovely to look at and packed with some solid doses of charm and wit -- but sorely lacking in historical accuracy and romantic chemistry -- Gillian Armstrong's Death Defying Acts tells the story of a brief but (mildly) interesting relationship between Harry Houdini and a beautiful con woman in the summer of 1914. How much of the film is actually factual I have no idea, but I do know that Harry Houdini looked more like Gene Wilder than Guy Pearce, but hey ... this is full-bore Hollywood fantasy all the way. Only some of the names are unchanged to keep you interested.

So, fine: Guy Pearce as Harry Houdini. I'll bite. And the guy delivers a fine and firmly affable performance; I just never really bought him as THE Harry Houdini. As the single mother with a flair for fake fortune-telling, Catherine Zeta-Jones is just as lovely as ever. Her character isn't given too many shades to work with beside "sneaky" and "doe-eyed," but the gal oozes old-school movie-star vibes whenever she walks across the screen. And young Saoirse Ronan makes for a plucky little sidekick / daughter, just in case you happen to bring your kids to the movie.

You know how certain amusement park rides (usually the really scary or herky-jerky ones) have warning signs that say "Look, if you're pregnant enough that you can rest a mug of coffee on top of your belly, then you're definitely not allowed to get on this ride"? I'm paraphrasing there, but already you get my point: Certain rides are too physically strenuous for pregnant women to deal with. Well, I'd like to propose that the ferocious French horror flick À l'intérieur (aka Inside) get one of those signs. Bottom Line: Not since Rosemary's Baby has there been a film to freak out the preggos. I think my water broke three times during À l'intérieur.

Another question: You know how Japanese horror took the film festivals, the arthouses, and the remake machine by storm a few years ago? I was generally underwhelmed by most of those movies. But this new wave of freaky French fright flicks? Dang, all of a sudden I'm a big fan. From Calvaire and Haute Tension to new arrivals like Frontiere(s) and À l'intérieur, I'm starting to think the French take their horror fare very seriously. And I know it's popular nowadays to dislike the French, but if they keep offering imports like this one, I may just pull a Johnny Depp and purchase a palace in Paris.

The plot is a wonderfully stripped-down affair: An extremely pregnant young woman (who recently lost her husband in a terrible car accident) is scheduled to have her baby the next day. So her plan is to spend Christmas Eve alone at home -- miserable gal that she is -- and then check into the hospital in the morning to give birth. Sounds simple enough. Unfortunately there's this outrageously crazy psycho bitch who's entirely convinced that our heroine's unborn baby ... is hers. And let's just say our villainess is not averse to getting her hands (ahem) dirty while extracting the unborn child. That's pretty much it: Two women, one night, several unlucky bystanders, and more fake blood than Herschell Gordon Lewis ever dreamt of.

At last year's Fantastic Fest I caught a flick called Broken, which I thought was an interesting if somewhat flawed piece of ultra-grungy survival horror -- but still a solid enough movie to make me wonder what newcomer Adam Mason would come up with next. So I'm pleased to note that Mr. Mason's latest effort, a tale of demonic insanity entitled The Devil's Chair, is a marked improvement over Broken -- which is still worth seeing, by the way, once it hits DVD next month ... but only if you're a serious horror freak.

Anyway, Mason's second effort is a gore-drenched tale that focuses on a strange chair that's located in a horrible old lunatic asylum. We open with a horny young couple of lovers who (very unwisely) decide to do some drugs and have some sex in the abandoned loony bin -- but when the pretty young gal sits down in the DEVIL'S CHAIR, all sorts of splattery hell breaks loose. Poor Nick is then shipped off to a (functioning) asylum for about four years. And then a powerfully short-sighted psychology professor signs some papers, springs Nick from the nut-house, and demands a guided tour of the home of the demonic chair.

And then all splattery hell REALLY breaks loose. Suffice to say that not only do our main characters come across the mysterious chair -- but at one point or another they all decide to sit in the thing! (Gah! Morons!) Seems that this chair acts as a rusty and clamp-laden portal to another dimension in which a ravenous demon resides. To say much more would spoil some of the fun -- but it's not like The Devil's Chair is a densely-plotted affair. Matter of fact, it's quite refreshingly simple and straightforward. You'll get a few slick surprises along the way, but The Devil's Chair is not out to re-invent the wheel ... just to give it another bloody little spin.

One thing you'll probably notice if you watch a lot of festival movies is this: When you dig beneath the big-time, A-list, "gala titles," you come across a lot of medium-sized flicks that come from relative newcomers -- but feature some great work from veteran actors. Renny Harlin's Cleaner is one such example: It's a so-so movie that's probably worth seeing just for the performances of Samuel L. Jackson and Ed Harris. Brad Furman's The Take is another one of those flicks: It's got a passably compelling story, a half-decent screenplay, some nifty touches from a young director ... and a lead performance by John Leguizamo that's really quite excellent.

Written by Josh and Jonas Pate (Deceiver), The Take opens by introducing us to a firmly middle-class (but entirely admirable) nobody: Felix De La Pena (Leguizamo) is an armored truck driver who gets kidnapped and shot in the head during a vicious robbery. Against all odds, Felix survives and (with the help of his devoted wife Marina) slowly starts down the road to recovery. But Felix isn't the same man anymore. Although he's still able to walk, talk, drive and otherwise function pretty reasonably, he's also quite a bit "slower" in the head ... plus he's now fostering one nasty little temper. Meanwhile the brutal crook who led the robbery (Tyrese Gibson) is busy tying up a bunch of loose ends -- and you just know the two men are bound to butt heads again.

A potentially compelling film noir story delivered in an irritatingly bright and overzealous package, Cleaner has two very excellent things going for it -- and their names are Samuel L. Jackson and Ed Harris. If you're a serious fan of either actor (and if you're not, you should be), then you'll definitely want to rent Cleaner once it (eventually) pops up in your local theater video store. Beyond the contributions from Jackson and Harris, however, there's very little worth talking about where Cleaner is concerned.

We start off with a potentially juicy concept: Sam Jackson plays a 'hazardous waste cleaner' who gets framed for a murder he (probably) didn't commit. And when I say 'hazardous waste cleaner' I mean that this is the guy who'd come to your house to eliminate the gore if someone happened to have their brains blown out in your living room. So things look pretty promising at the outset: We've got a great actor playing a strange role and doing a fine job of it -- and then the plot kicks in.

Seems that our "cleaner" has just cleaned up a murder that the police know nothing about. And even if they DID have a clue, they'd probably be thrilled about it because the victim was a stool pigeon who was about to blow the lid off some serious police corruption charges. So when Cleaner guy realizes that he forgot to return the house key, he's distressed to learn that The Wife (Eva Mendes) knows nothing about any bloodshed in her living room. But, oddly enough, her husband has just gone missing. (dun dun dunnnnn)

There are some films that simply defy description. There are some films so packed with extra-colorful weirdness that you could write 1,000 words and still not cover it all. And then there are films like Hitoshi Matsumoto's Dai Nipponjin (aka Big Man Japan) -- which is most assuredly a combination of those two descriptions. I could rattle off the film's catalog of lunacy (and I will) but it still wouldn't adequately explain how outlandishly, amusingly WEIRD the thing is. Definitely one of those "not far all tastes" imports, but if you're a fan of Japanese action flicks, monster movies and strangely amusing mockumentaries ... then this is one you're going to want to search for.

Here's the basic gist: Masaru Dai Saito is the host of a Japanese reality show in which he (literally) transforms into a giant club-wielding butt-kicker whenever his homeland is visited by another freaky monster. And this happens a lot. So much, apparently, that the chaos and destruction are old-hat by now -- and our poor hero has trouble bringing in any television ratings at all. (Not even the corporate logo tattoos plastered across his gargantuan belly seem to be helping much.) Earth-shattering battles with "Squeezing Baddie" and "Jumping Baddie" do little to impress the masses, but when a nasty new RED "baddie" appears on the scene, it looks like our sad-sack do-gooder is about to hit the big-time.