Today, for the first time, I found myself completely alone in a movie theater.

There have been occasions in the past when boyfriend and I have been nearly alone. The sole audience when the lights dimmed, with only a few others wandering in after the credits. But I went to this movie alone, sans boyfriend, even, and when the lights went up, found myself the same.

And it was a damn shame, because In the Land of Women was a terrific film. It is, in fact, second only to Grindhouse in terms of favourites so far this year.

In the Land of Women finds itself in that certain genre of film that seems, if not new, at the very least, newly revitalized in recent times. That of the disenchanted youth that finds his or herself on the verge of approaching an age that can't quite be considered youthful anymore. Maybe it's just because I find myself approaching this age myself that I enter into these movies with high expectations, and maybe it's my own disenchantment that leaves me frequently dissatisfied with the result (Zach Braff's similar efforts have left me consistently cold).

Given that history, I am pleased to report that In the Land of Women stands alone as the one truly enjoyable film of its ilk. Adam Brody gives a tremendous performance, markabley matured from his time on The O.C.. Despite what the trailers might have you believe, this is no reprisal of his Seth Cohen tenure. Meg Ryan, if possible, is even more stunning and luminous than she ever was; complex and nuanced, sweet and dark all at the same time. The pair are the core, the beating heart of the film, but are ably supported by the rest of the cast.

The movie is short, at a mere 97 minutes, but that, too, is part of its charms. It's concise; a Polaroid snapshot glimpse of a short time in Carter Webb's (Brody) life as he recovers from what seems like a devastating break-up, and when that stage is over, so is the film. I appreciated that about it. Too many movies, these days, seem to drag on with epilogue after epilogue. Here, I was given just enough. I left the movie satisfied, but still wondering what would come next.

And the soundtrack, to borrow a phrase, kicked fucking ass. Each and every song lifted from my own collection. Each perfectly underscoring the mood of the scene, while never becoming a crutch, never outshining the actors.

The film was directed by Jon Kasdan, son of Lawrence Kasdan, and proved once again the old adage that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I've been a longtime admirer of the elder Kasdan's work (Mumford ranks among the top of my list of those little-seen titles that everyone should see), and it is clear that his son has taken careful notes. I can't recommend this movie enough. Go see it.

Even if it means sitting in a theater all by your lonesome.