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It always comes up when people are comparing their most traumatic movie experiences: "the death of Bambi's mother," a recollection that can bring a shudder to even the most jaded filmgoer. That primal separation (which is no less stunning for happening off-screen) is the centerpiece of Bambi, Walt Disney's 1942 animated classic, but it is by no means the only bold stroke in the film. In its swift but somehow leisurely 69 minutes, Bambi covers a year in the life of a young deer. But in a bigger way, it measures the life cycle itself, from birth to adulthood, from childhood's freedom to grown-up responsibility. All of this is rendered in cheeky, fleet-footed style--the movie doesn't lecture, or make you feel you're being fed something that's good for you. The animation is miraculous, a lush forest in which nature is a constantly unfolding miracle (even in a spectacular fire, or those dark moments when "man was in the forest"). There are probably easier animals to draw than a young deer, and the Disney animators set themselves a challenge with Bambi's wobbly glide across an ice-covered lake, his spindly legs akimbo; but the sequence is effortless and charming. If Bambi himself is just a bit dull--such is the fate of an Everydeer--his rabbit sidekick Thumper and a skunk named Flower more than make up for it. Many of the early Disney features have their share of lyrical moments and universal truths, but Bambi is so simple, so pure, it's almost transparent. You might borrow a phrase from Thumper and say it's downright twitterpated. --Robert Horton

This well-acted drama won the Audience award at the 1996 Sundance Film Festival, causing a festival ruckus when several distributors entered a bidding war in response to the movie's positive buzz. When the movie was finally released, audience and critical response provided a sudden reality check: the movie's good to a point, but hardly worth the fuss it received at Sundance. Packing a miniseries' worth of melodrama into 117 minutes, the story centers on a young woman named Percy (Alison Elliott) who served prison time for manslaughter and arrives in a small town in Maine with hopes of beginning a new life. She works as a waitress in the Spitfire Grill, owned by Hannah (Ellen Burstyn), whose gruff exterior conceals a kind heart and precious little tolerance for the grill's regular customers, who cast their suspicions on Percy's mysterious past. The plot unfolds when Hannah holds a $100-per-entry essay contest to find a new owner for the grill. There's ample mystery surrounding the collected money, a local hermit who's really Hannah's shell-shocked Vietnam veteran son, and circumstances that lead the locals to adopt a lynch-mob mentality at Percy's expense. By the time Percy is nearly drowning in a raging river, The Spitfire Grill has taken its melodrama a few steps 'round the bend. Fine acting is the movie's saving grace, however, and newcomer Alison Elliott anchors The Spitfire Grill with a subtle, emotionally involving performance. Thanks to Elliott and Burstyn, you don't have to feel too guilty if you find yourself reaching for a Kleenex as the closing credits roll. --Jeff Shannon

Big news on the Harry Potter musical front: After scoring the first three installments in the series, John Williams has been replaced by Patrick Doyle. Still, Williams never feels far away. His main theme pops up here and there, and a track like "Voldemort," which eloquently illustrates the soul of a blacker-than-black wizard with thunderous cymbal crashes, shrieking horns, tumultuous strings, and a stately finish, firmly belongs in the Williams mode. Overall, Doyle acquits himself well. He can do light when needed ("The Quidditch World Cup," which starts out like some kind of jig), but mostly he's required to be ominous ("The Quidditch World Cup," which ends in martial war chants). Among the highlights are the aforementioned "Voldemort," but also the frantic, overpowering "The Dark Mark." Note that the CD concludes on a jarringly different note with three songs by the Weird Sisters, the group that performs at Hogwarts' Yule Ball. Led by Pulp frontman Jarvis Cocker, the ad hoc band also includes members of Radiohead and Cocker's side project Relaxed Muscle. "Do the Hippogriff" is a fast-paced rocker that somehow comes across like a grungy hybrid of Billy Idol's "White Wedding" and "Dancing with Myself." The other two songs--"This Is the Night" and "Magic Works"--are less obvious, and much better. Still, the contrast between these tracks and the instrumental score that precedes them may not be to everybody's taste. --Elisabeth Vincentelli

You needn't see the film of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone to appreciate the wonder, magic, and fearful chills of J.K. Rowling's phenomenal bestseller in John Williams's outstanding score. Williams typically avoids the source material for the films he scores, but he reportedly derived great pleasure and inspiration from Rowling's first Harry Potter adventure, and created a perfect motif (fully expressed in "Hedwig's Theme") to dominate his score. It's first heard as a dreamy celesta waltz and embellished through myriad incarnations and moods, often with a sinister edge befitting the darker tones of Chris Columbus's direction. Evident are fantastical allusions to Saint-Saëns and Tchaikovsky (among others), and Williams's epic track is "Quidditch Match," a breathtaking frenzy to accompany the film's dazzling highlight. And while Williams occasionally flirts with self-plagiarism (with inevitable variants of his Hook and Star Wars themes), this is nevertheless a richly regal score that brilliantly evokes the mystery and magic of Harry Potter's world. --Jeff Shannon