Courage is something most of us would be content to avoid. Though most would concede that the character trait is a venerable one, we all pray occasion never arises to determine whether it's something we actually possess. Two new films challenge our generally cautious species' capacity for courage, both of the ordinary and extraordinary variety.

In Doubt, a sandpaper coarse, puritanically strict nun, Sister Aloysius Beauvier, oversees the goings on in a New York Catholic school in 1964, a time where America is at a crossroads, painfully evolving in all matters including race and religion. The fearsome disciplinarian's connections to people, to education, to her God, all seem to be filtered through a cold, steely outer shell that disallows the investment of any warm sentiment; not love or passion or even reverence. It is as if she, as expressed with brutal conviction by a dominant Meryl Streep, has, either through harsh experience or a natural inclination, removed herself from human bonds. We are then suspicious of her motivations when a gregarious priest named Father Flynn, played with his patented man-beast charisma by Philip Seymour Hoffman, becomes the target of her curiously zealous ire. With a slight nudge from a young, idealistic nun (Enchanted's Amy Adams), Sister Beauvier begins her campaign, her crucible if you will, to deflate and dethrone the popular, possibly predatory, church father. The main issue of Doubt is only superficially (and eponymously) about the inner turmoil commonly known as doubt. In John Patrick Shanely's remarkably sharp and involving drama, based on his own play, first we must figure whether Beauvier's intentions are pure, whether her relentless pursuit of Father Flynn is rooted in virtue, fear, jealousy, or a troubling brew of all three, because while Flynn represents progressive thinking in the church, the tough as nails nun applies a vice-like grip to the old ways. Only if we conclude that she appeals to the more honorable inner-influence, and there is no overtly compelling reason to do so, can we even begin to give credence to the alleged torment of her self-doubt. This is why the multi-layered, yet minimalist film is such a satisfying conundrum (and the reason we must thank the movie-gods for awards season). The audience must scratch and claw at multiple surfaces in order to reach an only subjective (hence, self-revealing) resolution.

The courage depicted in Doubt – that of a woman raging against conformity and the constraints of her sex, her church's fraternal hierarchy, and her damn pedagogical approach - is only perceptible if we choose to believe that she seeks justice. If her mission is merely based in cowardice and a hopeless discomfort with change (or perhaps something even more unseemly like a fear of earthly compassion) the rigid old nun in Doubt becomes a role model only of how not to be. It is astounding how diverse an impression this can cause for a viewer. Beauvier can range from a character we respect and admire, to someone we pity and detest, and maybe revert back again.

My opinion, culled from certain observances, mannerisms, and slight insinuations woven into the film's fabric, is that Beauvier engenders genuine courage and Streep's performance provides inspiration for all of us who encounter battles that we can wage and perhaps win (even against formidable odds) in our own lives, if only we muster the tenacity to lift a heavy, but manageable sword. Doubt's courage is of the ordinary kind. We are presented with its opportunity regularly, present for us either to recognize then ignore, or recognize and act. It is a courage intimidating to project, but it is also the kind that befits and is expected of us. It is the kind that becomes more comfortable and innate with use as the sword, with G-d's help of course, continuously grows lighter.

The courage in Edward Zwick's Defiance is of the extraordinary, super-human, (one would have hoped) mythical type, but while Doubt is a work of fiction, Defiance is the true story of three brothers caring for and defending a forest dwelling community of Jews, hiding from Nazis, (i.e. torture and certain death) during World War II. The Bielski brothers are depicted as common hoods who transformed their thuggish ways into survival skills once the madness forced them from their homes and decimated their family. The two elder brothers, Tuvia (Daniel Craig) and Zusha (Liev Schreiber) begin their crusade haplessly, gaining followers and a reputation by chance, as if the weak and weary Jews were drawn helplessly to their strength, stumbling out of the forest's underbrush and joining the makeshift village. We are never to perceive the Bielski otriad (or brigade) as saints – as they are depicted quite comfortable with taking life – yet they carry the burden of savior (and mother) anyhow. They carry the load in a very Jewish, what-else-is-my-choice way. In the face of extreme adversity and chaos, they become something otherwordly, they dig deep and find spectacular courage, precisely as the circumstance demands. Eventually the brothers butt heads and go separate ways, Tuvia remaining with the forest throng (of over a thousand Jews, eventually saved), while Zusha joins a Russian army unit. They meet up again in a rousing, albeit strangely Hollywood, final battle.

If this story were not documented truth, I would have written it off as manipulative and contrived. So much of the tale, as portrayed, seems impossible to believe, from Tuvia inexplicably recovering his health after being near death to the sturdiness of the forest cabins; from the bizarre concept of "forest wives" to the fact that this band of misfits were not easily discovered and terminated. Very little of what goes on is represented in a credible way, and this applies to the melodramatic acting and clichéd dialogue as well as the corny narrative. Much of Defiance reminded me of those well-intentioned, ingenuously performed school Yom Hashoah programs like Survivor and The Wall where the actors emote like it's a grand ole mitzvah. It is as if the film was cobbled together from bits of Holocaust movie stand-bys in order to play on a loop in Yad Vashem so that as crowds walk by, a poignant moment is always on display. Needless to say, despite the laudable content, Defiance does not stir the spirit. The only time it really builds any momentum is when the Jews in the woods, just before the deathly freeze of winter, begin to find their humanity again, and we see a civilization rising from the horrors just outside the forest walls. There is pleasure in seeing the resilience and life affirming nature of our people. Mr. Zwick, who made the film with every wrong intention (as the title suggests), attempts to sabotage the climatic moment of this interlude, a wedding, by cross-cutting scenes of violence (how original!).

While I unfortunately cannot recommend Defiance the film, its message of overwhelming courage – the kind we hope never to know – must live on. The Bielskis deserve a monument memorializing their response to an enormously bleak situation and unimaginable perseverance. Defiance is not it.