After Jim Henson’s death, the Muppet troupe spent a couple of decades wandering the pop culture wilderness, trying but mostly failing to get in touch with the magic that once fueled their popularity. They got a big step closer two winters ago, when “Muppet Bohemian Rhapsody,” their first hit viral video, debuted on YouTube. This week they’ve got their first big-screen hit in almost three decades, “The Muppets,” written by and co-starring comic actor and Henson obsessive Jason Segel. “It bumbles along episodically from one thing to the next — hey-ho! — and captures the spirit of Henson’s ‘Muppet Show’ admirably,” writes my colleague Andrew O’Hehir.

The key to their success is the same one that fueled the success of the classic Warner Bros. characters and Matt Groening’s “The Simpsons”: the ability to appeal to several age groups at once. Kids laugh at the pratfalls and silly voices. Adults chuckle at the literary references, pop culture in-jokes, puns and innuendo coded just cleverly enough to go over children’s heads.

Which brings us to this week’s slide show. I’ve spent many an aftermath of a Thanksgiving or Christmas sitting around eating leftovers in a house filled with scampering kids. After a certain point, the adults give up trying to engage them actively (if indeed they were able to rouse themselves from their post-feast stupor in the first place) and pop in a videotape (or later, a DVD). In recent years the tapes and discs have been supplanted by YouTube playlists of stuff that will rivet children and amuse any adult who happens to pass through the room. Since “Muppet Bohemian Rhapsody” debuted, Henson’s characters — as showcased in “Sesame Street,” “The Muppet Show” and various movies — have been our favorite holiday playlist. Consider this slide show a Muppets playlist — a ranked selection of the troupe’s 20 greatest musical moments, spanning the late 1960s through last year. Happy post-Thanksgiving, everybody.

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Woody Allen, whose career will be celebrated next week by PBS’ documentary series “American Masters,” has been making films for so long that it’s a wonder the program didn’t profile him sooner. With 47 directing credits, 68 screenwriting credits, and let’s-not-even-start-totaling his Oscar wins and nominations, he’s a gray-haired machine who gets more done in a decade than most artists accomplish in a lifetime.

A couple of weeks ago, my young son asked me if I had “any more DVDs of John Williams movies.” It took me a second to register what he meant by this. He thought that the prolific Hollywood composer was actually the director of some of his favorite movies, a list that at this point consists entirely of the fantasy, science fiction and adventure films that thrilled me and his older sister as kids and kids-at-heart: “E.T.,” “Jaws” and “Close Encounters,” the “Jurassic Park” and “Harry Potter” and “Star Wars” and Indiana Jones pictures, and many others. I started to explain that Williams was not actually a filmmaker. But then the truth of his assumption hit me: In a sense, Williams is the unnamed co-author of a good many of the films he’s scored. His galloping, wondrous tone promises a particular type of entertainment, and is so recognizable that we can’t think of certain blockbusters without hearing their themes in our heads.

“I believe virtually everything I read, and I think that is what makes me more of a selective human than someone who doesn’t believe anything.” Thus spake David St. Hubbins (Michael McKean), lead singer and rhythm guitarist of Spinal Tap. I hope you share his attitude toward the printed word, because you are about to read my list of essential mockumentaries.

The mockumentary is fiction in a nonfiction wrapper. It’s exemplified by the movie that birthed the above-quoted nitwit rocker, 1984′s “This Is Spinal Tap.” Rob Reiner’s semi-improvised comedy probably would have earned a spot on my list anyhow, but the approach of Nigel Tufnel Day — 11/11/11 — made it mandatory. My other 10 picks are meant to convey the diversity of this hybrid format, which encompasses everything from goofy slapstick and musical comedy to deadpan Americana and white-knuckle horror. Please add your own favorites in the Letters section. And if you’re going to offer a list, make sure it goes to 11.

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“The Simpsons” airs its latest installment of “Treehouse of Horror” this Sunday — a long-standing tradition that lets an already formally daring cartoon show let its imagination run wild. The “Treehouse” segments have been the show’s most reliably inventive during its second decade; while composing this list of my personal favorite segments (not entire episodes) I was pleasantly surprised by how many installments from the later years ended up claiming slots.

What else is there to say? Oh, right: If you’re wondering where “Dial Z for Zombies” is, it’s No. 11, which means it’s not on here. I love it — especially the immortal line “Is this the end of Zombie Shakespeare?” — but I like these just a little bit more. List your own favorites in the Letters section. To quote Marge in “The Shinning,” go crazy.

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This is not a list of the greatest books of film criticism, or film history, or film culture, or anything of the sort. It is simply my personal “short stack” — a list of the 14 film books — listed on 13 slides, with one strategic pairing — that I have read or thought about more often than any others. Some are very old, others were published recently; all meant something to me as a critic and a person. The list is personal and meant to be open-ended, incomplete. It is only the beginning of a much larger list that I hope will be filled out by you in the Letters section.

What books of film criticism or film history have meant the most to you?

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