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Past Reviews    

Green Lantern

If, indeed, it is true there are only seven original stories in this world, surely the super-hero comic genre’s got a corner on the market on one of them. Now, even the people behind the mounting of this same-old same-old seem kinda bored by it all.

For the blissfully uninitiated, our unlikely masters of the universe (usually men) are plucked from some kind of tragic Earthly childhood. These guys don’t want to be so special, but hey, the Earth needs saving. Their love interests, (who most often need saving too) are initially freaked out by the situation, then, almost bashfully turned on. There’s a small group of buds who deal, one always-an-outsider-anyway who gets his own dose of whatever the potion is and wreaks what he feels is understandable revenge.  Sound familiar?

Here, director Martin Campbell has delivered a perfunctory version of said story: filling in the blanks with the names of the Green Lantern characters. And he has collected a nice group of actors to do so. Ryan Reynolds cuts quite the figure as the dashing pilot Hal who, of course, is The Chosen One. Blake Lively does her best as the girl, I mean the brilliant pilot business brain who loves him. Mark Strong is semi-disguised as a Lantern leader and the wonderful Peter Sarsgaard slips so comfortably into the role of mumbling scientist Hector, he provides the just about the only real spark to this extensively produced production.

Yes, there are tons of effects. Some of them are even good. But they, too, seem to pop up as if on cue, making sure the steady rhythm of the movie is maintained. The biggest disappointment to me was the lackluster artistry of the Big Kahuna, or whatever that billowing bad guy’s name is, who shows up to dominate the universe or something like that at the end. He’s just kind of ugly.

Interestingly, critics were offered screenings in both 2 and 3-D. I went for the 3, not being one to refuse the opportunity to once again, don those lovely glasses. While there were a few nice zoomy effects to be seen, there weren’t a whole lot of them. Perhaps the filmmakers are as tired of having to use this visual gimmick as they seem to be with these stories themselves?

X Men: First Class

Director Matthew Vaughn has shaken the cobwebs off the franchise and confidently delivered this prequel as a first class blockbuster.

After an initial, harrowing set up which takes place in a Nazi death camp, the action quickly shifts to 1962, in an America caught up in a Cold War. Charles Xavier is recruited by the CIA and, tapping in to those mind reading powers of his, he not only gets what needs to be done, but also manages to collect a few more of his own, “special” men and women. There’s a group of young, unfocused people, led by Charles’s sister-y Raven, but the real guts to this group is the difficult friendship between the calm Charles and his polar opposite, Eric, the man whose unique specialty and tortured soul lead him to become the enemy, Magneto. Seeing how the X-Men school developed is pretty cool (imagine watching the founding of Hogwarts!), but it’s this key relationship which gives not just “First Class”, but the rest of the series its most profound punch.

Tapping into the all-too real fears of the time, including the Russians and the Cuban Missile Crisis, is smart: I hope purists won’t get crazy with the obviously revisionist spin here. Of course it’s doubtful World War III was really averted by these mutants, but by allowing this conceit, we sure do get to see some pretty cool special effects.  As a child of the Submarine Capital of the World, I especially got a kick out of seeing what happens to one of them in this scenario. Wheee!

Adding to the first class story, script and effects is the remarkable cast. Maybe James McAvoy doesn’t look like Patrick Stewart (although there’s a pretty cute joke about that), but he’s wonderfully effective as a leader-in-the-making.  All the buzz about Michael Fassbender is well earned: his Eric is suave, pained and pissed.  In the pretty standard role of the bad guy, Kevin Bacon does some nifty stuff. Jennifer Lawrence is appealing as the wanna be normal Raven and January Jones cuts quite the sharp figure as a frosty nemesis.

Perhaps, when fan boys line up the movies in order, there will be mismatches and discrepancies. I hope not. Because watching the early days of the X Men story is great fun all on its own and, hopefully, also as a key part of a newly re-energized series.

The Hangover, Part II

In this world of give-‘em-what-they-want, the team behind the 2009 comedy hit has reconvened to try and do just that. Too bad it doesn’t work.

Part duh, I mean, two, has Bradley Cooper, Ed Helms and Zach Galifanakis joining up for yet another wedding. This time it’s Stu’s (Helms) and the gang has to travel to Thailand for the nuptials. OK; so far, so good. Cooper’s Phil is still a party-hungry animal toting his baby to the tame bachelor bash Stu has organized at IHOP.  Alan (Galifanakis), now self-described as a ‘stay at home son’, is anxious to the point of anxiety not to be left out. Begrudgingly, he’s invited along and we await the good times to roll.

Natch, it all goes terribly wrong and the guys wake up in some yucky hotel room somewhere. Doug (Justin Bartha) isn’t there (he got off relatively easy last time, too, remember) and now, neither is Teddy, Stu’s soon to be brother in law. Oh oh. Conveniently, Chow, played by Ken Jeong, is and he fills the guys in on the fact that they’re in Bangkok before apparently dropping dead after hitting the cocaine a little too hard.

Oh no? What will happen now?

Anyone who saw the original, very funny film knows. But it’s not just the unoriginal scripting that’s a problem here. The few initial jokes that start the film give way to long stretches where I, and the audience I sat with, barely giggled. What I missed most was what hooked me the first time: the real relationship between these guys, who were honestly desperate in Vegas because they had lives, wives, something to lose. All of that has just kind of fizzled out here, leaving Ed Helm’s frantic jumping up and down seem weird. Not that those children-smoking-dope fantasies and surprise sexual encounter with a transvestite don’t give weird a run for its money.

The Tree of Life

Ambitious and imperfect, stunning and overwhelming, profound and perplexing, Terrence Malick’s mediation on human life and our place in the universe is one of the most arguably exciting movies to come along in years.

Told in the most of non-linear ways, this drama focuses, pretty acutely, on a family in 1950’s Texas. We watch their everyday joys and see how, one by one, they try to cope with not just set backs, but the worst of experiences. Slit into this continuing story is a flash ahead to contemporary times, as one of the sons, now grown, spends a key day shaken by his memories. But Malick is not content to do things the usual way. He also insists on trying to put all of this into perspective, allowing for how this family tale fits into the life of the universe itself. What, he lets them think, is their relationship with God and why does the Almighty allow bad things to happen? And, in the grand history of the planet, what does all of it matter?

Phew.

Counterpointing his spectacularly filmed human story is a string of meditative series of images, visual effects I don’t think that have ever been used to this effect in film before (although at several points,  Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Oddessy did pop to mind). We see what Malick and his team (including scientists from all over the world with his veteran special effects people) post as the beginnings of the world. It’s very cool to think of how they accomplished these jaw droppingly exquisite, state of the art pieces, even cooler to sit back and let them wash over you. Of course, that requires patience. And a big time willing suspension of disbelief, which many traditional movie goers are going to have a very hard time doing.

Besides all that, it should be noted that Brad Pitt gives a remarkable performance as the Father; Jessica Chastian, commanding as the Mother. Some scenes may go on too long, some of the allegorical bits may be off-putting. But while the characters in this story are praying for understanding, I, for one, am just thankful there is a place in this world for an outlandishly, outrageously creative and ambitious film such as this.

Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides

I don’t usually like to review a movie through the prism of its budget, but, after spending a reported $200 million, shouldn’t this one be more of a wow?

It’s not that this chapter of the ride-inspired ride of a flick doesn’t have its good points. New director Rob Marshall has brought some new life to the sagging (artistically, if not financially) franchise. Penelope Cruz, as a potential love interest for Johnny Depp, and Ian McShane, the infamous Blackbeard, are fun additions. And, tapping into his theatrical roots, Marshall, who remember brought the musical back to the movies with Chicago, offers up a couple of dandy action scenes, most notably an underwater mermaid sequence that is not just beautiful but downright terrifying as well. Wish there had been more of that quality along the way.

But, alas, that is not to be. The set up for this chapter is land-locked. Captain Jack Sparrow and Barbossa, it seems, are in Londontown, and both assigned to separately seek the Fountain of Youth. While Depp and daddy Keith Richards have a cute moment, the rest of this part of the story is decidedly aimed at the kiddies, with slapsticky humor, if you can call it that. We then proceed to a dullish section, good for taking said kiddies to the restrooms. But things definitely pick up when the legend brings in the mermaids and all that silly repetitive swashbuckling meets its match.

The 3-D effects are ok; so, too, is Hans Zimmer’s swirling score. I liked movie newcomer Sam Claflin (hello!), who is added for a Prince-ly effect. More good news: Geoffrey Rush is given moments to shine (if you pardon the movie-pun) and he does. And then there’s Johnny. Like most of the rest of this series, Captain Jack has been watered down to a more perhaps socially acceptable sort. It’s always great to watch Depp and he’s fine here, but nothing more. Frankly, I liked Sparrow best when, in the first movie, I couldn’t understand half of what he was saying. Now, bowing to the crowd, we discover, it ain’t much.

Bridesmaids

Ask anyone who’s been there: being a bridesmaid is quite the experience. Rich in good intentions, ripe for disaster, I’m amazed no one has centered a movie about it before. But now, thanks to Kristin Wiig, her writing partner Annie Mumolo, Judd Apatow and Paul Fieg, we’ve got a dandy femme-centric, outrageously funny and downright smart comedy that nails one of the most emotionally wrought feminine rites of passage.

Wiig plays Annie, a mid-west woman of a certain age whose best friend forever, Lillian, has just gotten engaged. Suddenly, all those middle of the night booty calls with a marvelously loopy Jon Hamm aren’t so satisfying anymore. And it hurts even deeper that the bakery she so lovingly ran with the ex-boyfriend crashed along with the economy. And who the hell is this new best friend of Lillian’s? The one whose rich husband works with Lill’s intended; the one who can afford to fly the bride off to Paris for the trip Annie always wanted to go on with her BFF? Annie is on a downward spiral. And she’s supposed to be happy Lillian isn’t?

Sure, there’s a lot of over the top silliness here: commercial and too drawn out. But, what makes this movie more than just another fleetingly promising Saturday Night Live skit for the talented Wiig is the wisdom in its very large heart. Real life best buds, Wiig and Maya Rudolph bring an honesty to their scenes that is palpable. Charming Irishman Chris O’Dowd makes Annie’s future seem bright to us, even if she’s a little slow on the pickup. All the women in this movie (including, sadly, the last performance from Jill Clayburgh) are given real characters to play, pretty fully realized even if they are not the center of attention. Outstanding in this regard is the overweight, overbearing sister-in-law, played to perfection by Melissa McCarthy. Even laden with some of the movie’s most potentially embarrassing moments, this assured actress creates a woman to be dealt with and it’s a pleasure.

Everything Must Go

Based on a Raymond Carver short story, this poignant indie has a lot going for it. Not only is there a finely wrought slice-of-life lesson here, but there’s also a wonderful cast playing it out, lead by a surprisingly wonderful Will Ferrell.

Ferrell plays Nick, a sales pro who, in the first moments of the movie, is laid off from his job. After having tried to take some revenge (doesn’t go too well), our hero pulls into his driveway, only to find all his possessions tossed onto the front lawn, the locks on the doors changed. Seems his marriage is over, too. Not a good day. And so he plops into the Barcalounger, slips back, pours himself a few and waits. After all, what left is there to do?

A small handful of people populate Nick’s old and new world, bringing singed memories and maybe even some hope for the future. Essential in this is the new, pregnant neighbor, played with signature elegance by Rebecca Hall. But, while the story is sufficient to keep us engaged and director Dan Rush stages it with a careful lightness, the only real wow here is Ferrell himself. Often, when comic actors, or at least actors who have made their most commercially successful work in comedies, take on a more dramatic role, they over do it, frowning instead of clowning. Ferrell shakes off all that most admirably and gives a performance that quietly, self-confidently pulls us in. His disappointed failure is honest, subtle and at times, even downright dislikeable. Which, of course, makes him ultimately all the more compelling.  Bravo, Will.

Something Borrowed

How annoying is this movie? This watered down chick-flick gives not just chicks, but flicks a bad name.

Based on the best selling novel, what we’ve got here is a cleaned up version of betrayal. It’s a little tacky that 30 year old  buttoned up Rachel would sleep with her BFF’s fiancé on the eve of her wedding, so the ickiness of what made the book more textured than it was sold as, has been polished up for the mainstream movie crowd. It’s ok, you know, because before jumping on each other’s bones in the cab, Rachel and Dex let it slip they’ve been in love with each other since law school. Awww. And come on, we can see Dex couldn’t really love Darcy. I mean she gets drunk (at the surprise birthday party she arranged for said best friend since forever) and wears slinky clothes and well, she kind of looks and acts like, let’s face it, a slut.

The usually terrific Ginnifer Goodwin is swamped here. Not allowed to show the slightest hint of complexity, her Rachel clunks along, sort of romantically holding on in case Dex Does The Right Thing. Or if she and Darcy manage to Rekindle What Made Them Best Best Best Friends. We all suffer through the nonsense, as the gang that seems to loathe one another shares the most perfect Hamptons summer house, eat in fabulous Manhattan restaurants and go for bridal fittings. So fun!!!! Kate Hudson manages to pull out a few nice moments as the Dazzling Darcy, but the only decent charm at all comes from the wonderful John Krasinski, who plays Rachel’s wise man-in-waiting. He’s an actor I probably would enjoy watching in anything. And now I feel as if I have.

The Beaver

Yes, I was fascinated by Jodie Foster’s new, earnest drama, but not for the reasons she may have intended. Were any other actor cast as the depressive alcoholic, intent on self destruction, it would have been easier, or cleaner, to watch the story unfold and review it as such. But Foster brought in her friend Mel Gibson to play the role and it is quite remarkable to watch him act as an angry, bewildered, out of control man.

Walter Black is a chronically depressed husband, father and owner of a toy manufacturing company. Unable to tap into the root of his problems, Walter pushes everyone and everything away, until he is alone in a dingy hotel room, swigging a few before trying to commit suicide. Attempt failed, our anti-hero literally stumbles across his salvation: somebody’s old puppet, a beaver Mel slips over his hand and uses as a mechanism for expressing his feelings. This conceit can only get Walter so far, of course, but while it works, his family, co-workers and the media are not all that unhappy to play along.

Foster not only directs, but co-stars, as Gibson’s anxious wife. Interestingly, it is she who brings the lightest touch here: getting just a bit weirded out in the bedroom, begging the man she loves to go for professional help. The terrific young actors, Anton Yelchin and Jennifer Lawrence are quite fine, too. But all eyes in this movie are on Mel. Sure, his performance is assured and sensitive. Gibson has not been an international superstar for so long just based on his good looks. But I, for one, couldn’t shake the almost overwhelming curiosity of the whole thing I was watching. As filming was taking place, the star was also dealing with his own very public real life domestic drama. And let’s not forget the infamous rage of Gibson’s notorious alcohol infused encounter with an L.A. police officer.(Just as an aside: how did Matt Lauer and Jon Stewart act as interviewers in this movie and not throw down the script and go for what would have been quite the conversation?) Aren’t the lessons learned in this movie ones that might be helpful to the actor, as a man? How can anyone not draw the parallels here?  Could it be that Foster, who has gone on the record as a loyal ally of Gibson’s, made this small, poignant drama about depression and redemption as a gift of love to her friend?

Water for Elephants

Is it damning praise to declare this adaptation a good old fashioned movie? Because director Francis Lawrence’s version of the popular novel is good. And yes, it is old fashioned. And appropriately so.

For those who didn’t read the book, Water for Elephants is a passionate love story, set in the Depression era.  Jacob, a college veterinary student, suddenly orphaned and penniless, finds a new life as he jumps into a passing railcar. Turns out he literally has hopped aboard a traveling circus and he learns quite quickly that world is not all fun and games. Eventually brought in to the “family” and accepted as an intimate of the ringmaster and his animal trainer wife, our young hero enters a dangerous, desperate triangle. Of course, he falls in love with the decent, beautiful Marlena, but he also is all too aware of the power, magnetism and violent power her husband August wields.

Richard LaGravenese’s script strips away some, but not all of the harsh reality depicted in the Sara Gruen’s best seller. The focus here is on love: the love between humans and also between humans and animals. There’s no denying the effectiveness of the performances from the sizzling Christoph Waltz, as well as the quietly magnetic Reese Witherspoon. Robert Pattinson, best known, of course, for the Twilight series, acquits himself very well here, as the struggling young Jacob. But if I, as a viewer, fell in love with anybody, it was Rosie The Elephant, a smart and loyal friend who is often abused by the megalomaniac killer, August. While most of the violence in this story happens off screen, just about no scene ripped into my stomach as the one where Rosie, behind closed doors, is whipped by her furious owner. Psychologists today insist there is a correlation between those who would hurt an animal and those who lash out at people. Never in recent film history has that lesson been made more emphatically than it is here.

Arthur

Why?

Why remake the air-puffed Dudley Moore comedy? Why sharpen its fuzzy edges to drag Arthur into the 21st Century? Why, if you’re going to cast Russell Brand and Helen Mirren as the billionaire in the bottle and his Nanny, don’t you let them go a little wild in their scenes together? Why would you cast the indie quirkster Greta Gerwig and then mash her specialness into middle class mush? And why, oh why, would anyone put the deserving-better-than-this Jennifer Garner in a poky ribbed bustier and have her magnetized to the underside of a bed?

None of the above is necessary. But I think most of us knew that going in. Except the filmmakers, of course. What is really disappointing there, though, is that had they chosen to chuck the remake concept and just make a movie of their own, the talented people who’re on board here could have made a decent original comedy.

Someday, someone is going to tap the potential that is simmering just below the surface of Russell Brand. Try as he does here, and he does, Brand is no Moore: his Arthur is sweet, too, but when Moore betrayed his anger and disappointment, it was a surprise. With Brand, you can see the steam rising from him in nearly all that he does. That’s a good thing, by the way, and makes him all the more promising as an actor. Helen Mirren is fine as Hobson, but there’s no devastating wit at work here, the way it was with the inimitable John Gielgud. I’ve already mentioned the unfortunate circumstances Greta Gerwig and Jennifer Garner find themselves in here, but it is especially sad to see them handled so bluntly by director Jason Winer, who is one of the people who has given us the multi-dimensional and hilarious tv comedy, ‘Modern Family’ and screenwriter Peter Baynham, who gave us the whallopingly original ‘Borat’.

Yes, there are a few laughs here, and a touching moment or two, too. You’ll enjoy them when you catch this on DVD.

Hanna

Now THIS is kick-ass movie making! With snap and verve, Joe Wright has taken a traditional film genre and stood it on its ear.

A terrific Saoirse Ronan stars as a young girl, living in the forest with her father. Are they refugees, survivalists, or on the run? All we are told is that our heroine is feeling it’s time to move on. And there’s a pre-determined plan, involving a button she can push, that will allow her to do so, even if that means she’s leaving alone. I am so tempted to stop there, to allow you the pure fun of letting this story unspool for you as it did for me, when I saw this movie some weeks ago. Since then, however, some television ads I’ve seen give away some of the most tantalizing parts of the plot. Bummer!  Perhaps the producers are nervous about marketing this thriller as too much of a mystery, but I say, try to ignore the spoilers. Let this one wash over you the way it should: while the roots of this action adventure are familiar, the way it unwinds is not. And it’s a hoot to go along on the ride.

All that being said, I will tell you this is one gorgeously made movie. Crackling camera work, clean-as-a-whistle editing and a knockout score from The Chemical Brothers all make this classic story uber-modern. Seth Lochhead and David Farr’s screenplay takes its time,  gradually revealing what it wants to, when it wants to, but never letting us get bored waiting. In support, Eric Bana, Cate Blanchett and especially young Jessica Barden bring just the right touch of intensity and humor. Yes, Hanna is, quite often, funny.

Much can be made of the fact that this is a film about a young female action hero. And why shouldn’t it be? But one of the things I liked the most about this movie is that, one particularly winning dating scene aside, much is not made of the character’s sexuality. She is a fully rounded person: a character with a story and someone we find ourselves caring very much about. And that, especially in the action arena, is a rare enough accomplishment, indeed.

Source Code

A rare popcorn flick that serves up drama you can sink your teeth into, this one confidently opens as a thriller that’s a cut above the rest.

Jake Gyllenhall stars as Colter Stevens, a decorated soldier who wakes up in the body of a Chicago history teacher, riding a commuter train that is about to explode. Eventually discovering he has been “placed” there, by government agents using a special experiment they’ve dubbed ‘Source Code’, it is up to our hero to keep repeating his trip into this other man’s body in order to not only save the train, but, ultimately, Chicago itself from an act of horrific terrorism.

This body visitation stuff has been used before, of course, in tons of sci-fi action flicks. Here, though, the filmmakers are more interested in other things. Even Jeffrey Wright, as the creator of the program, explains it all away in one quick paragraph, laughingly admitting, ‘it’s really complicated’. I, for one, appreciated that. Mention quantum physics and my brain starts to glaze over. It’s juicier to concentrate on what happens to Colter as he zips in and out of this other life and that is what Ben Ripley’s screenplay does, with curiosity and an open heart.

Not that director Duncan Jones has denied us the blood, guts and explosions. Don’t worry: there are plenty of those elements here, too. But as satisfying as they are, it’s the soul of the story and the performances of it that keep Source Code decidedly human. Gyllenhaal brings an irresistible intelligence to his action hero; Michelle Monaghan is really lovely as the woman who’s more than along for the ride. Vera Farmiga de-ices gently as the agent pulling Colter in and out of reality and Jeffrey Wright tries to add a probably unneeded element or two to his genius manipulator.

This is a drama that happens to set in a science fiction arena, not a sci-fi flick that drags up a moral or two at the end. How refreshing.

Limitless

Timing is everything and, in this case, the moral repercussions of this drug-crazed sci-fi-er ring are especially reprehensible.

Bradley Cooper plays a decent, but unfocused novelist. Shaggy and unable to fulfill his book contract, his more together girlfriend (Abbe Cornish) ups and leaves. So, when he accidentally stumbles upon a pill, currently tearing up the black market, which allows him to tap his potential, well, what the hell…he pops it. Within mere seconds, oceans part, nirvana dawns and novel is not just finished but spectacular. Gee, makes a guy wonder what else he could do on this thing. And that stash he stole from the murdered brother-in-law dealer is, after all, just sitting there…

Yes, I know this story has been adapted from a novel. And yes, I see director Neil Burger does keep the enhanced violence humming along. But. Perhaps if the ramifications of this drug dependency were made a tad more realistic, I wouldn’t feel as scummy, rooting for an addict to exploit his next fix. And that’s not all this movie is asking us to do.

Turns out our “hero” doesn’t just make a fortune thanks to these pills, he also gets the old girlfriend back (he’s much more attractive with big bucks in his arsenal) and, after killing off some bad guys (hey, it was self-defense and all easily explained away), he sets down the path toward world domination. It’s OK, though, because in a short sentence or two, we are told this guy has weaned himself off the drug that seems to have wreaked havoc with those “trolls” who, I guess, don’t have his “tiger blood”. And, after having discovered he can’t just make more of the stuff that got him to the big time, this guy is going to put all the other guys who want the stuff in jail, bankruptcy or worse. Winning!

As a science fiction story, where the emphasis is on the concept a pill can tap into the unused potential of the human brain, this all might be kind of, dare I say fun? But the best sci-fi also carries with it a moral: a price is paid or a lesson is snuck in along the way. Here, the upshot is yes, you can use illegal, untested drugs and become all you want to be, bumps in the road to be smoothed over by the drug itself. And then, once you get where you want to go, you can kick it, no problem.

I, for one, couldn’t help but wonder what would happen once our newly clean master of the universe met his first challenge, post-self rehab. That, and how fast could I shower off the scummy sludge I felt watching this so-called entertainment.

Win-Win

 If charm were enough, this slight but very sweet domestic comedy would knock it out of the park.

Tom McCarthy’s newest sets Paul Giamatti as Mike, suburban husband, dad and struggling lawyer. Not wanting to admit his financial difficulties to his wife (the ubiquitous Amy Ryan), he can’t help but take advantage of an opportunity that comes his way: if he accepts guardianship of an elderly client, he can get paid a nice check every month. So what if he puts the guy into a nursing home instead of fulfilling the promise to the court to keep the gentleman at home? Of course, the plot thickens from there. A forlorn grandson shows and winds up living with Mike’s family. And isn’t it amazing the kid’s buried talent is for wrestling, the sport Mike just happens to coach at the local high school?

Leaps of faith abound in this coincidental script. But the actors, to a man and woman, are such a delight, even the most suspicious viewer will begrudgingly go along for the ride. Giamatti is dandy, grounded and calmer than he often appears, and young Alex Shaffer is especially fine. The cast of real character who whirl around them is just great. Amy Ryan, who manages to look different in virtually each role she plays, is a joy here: the local girl who’s matured into responsibility, but never totally abandoned her inner-Jersey. And I loved Bobby Cannavale, as the newly divorced and aimless pal, the guy who shows up at odd hours and manages to not just stay for dinner, but stay in the soul of his adopted family.

With lesser talent mounting it, this slim script would have dissolved into sit-com land. But the winning group of people who’re involved here make this slight sweetie a light, but irresistible entertainment.

The Adjustment Bureau

A romantic action thriller with Inception-like ambitions, this one, sadly, falls short.

Drawn from an old Philip Dick short story, this serious minded science fiction piece has a lot on its mind. Not only has Matt Damon’s New York politician been updated to tap into the wary reputation of so many legislators these days, but screenwriter/director George Nolfi has also taken pains to inject the action with even more profound and pithy moral dilemmas. Seems there’s this Bureau, see, a stern looking bunch who run around in ‘50’s style garb.  They not only manipulate the way the world works, but also how we, as individuals, work, too. Thanks to these guys, there is a plan. Which means there’s no free will.  Accept it, baby. The fact that our pol happens to be madly in love with the “wrong” woman is just one of those pesky details that must, apparently, be “adjusted”. Yet, when the gig is up, and Damon’s onto what gives, he refuses to give in. And that’s when things get a little complicated.

In what is, surprisingly, Matt Damon’s first romantic lead, he, as David, is dandy. Understanding that the way to a woman’s heart is not just through her eyes, but also her sense of humor, Nolfi lets the very funny Damon do his thing and he is pretty irresistible. As his love interest, the always wonderful Emily Blunt manages not just to make us believe she is a professional dancer, but that she is so smitten with a guy she met casually, she’s basically put everything on hold for two years, waiting for him to show up again. Anthony Mackie and John Slattery are forced into weird positions here: they may be in charge, but they don’t seem to have the slick goods to do it all without breaking into an unexpected sweat.

Hall Pass

 Is it redundant to note that this Farrelly Brothers picture is rated R, “for crude and sexual humor throughout, language, some graphic nudity and drug use”? If anything here, the Bros are sticking to their brand. Maybe it’s time they grew up a little bit.

Here’s the set up: Rick and his pal Fred are pretty decent husbands, they think. They don’t cheat on their wives, even though, in their dreams and sometimes, in their actions, they’d like to. But what kind of a movie would that make? So Maggie and Grace, the wives, are driven to the point where they grant the boys a “Hall Pass”, a week off from marriage, where these hot-to-trotters can do anything they want. Wow. What an opportunity.

Sure, this idea has been used before in movies. And to far better effect (Larry David’s birthday present on Curb Your Enthusiasm pops to mind). Here, the adequate idea disintegrates quickly into long, stupid and uncouth scenes, one more so than the other. Now I know this is what the Farrellys often do and they did it quite beautifully in “There’s Something About Mary”.  But compare the hair gel scene in that classic comedy to the supposed “high point” in this one: a young woman, having had one or twelve too many, comes to the guys’ hotel room. Feeling sick, she sits on the edge of the bathtub. She tries to vomit into the garbage pail, but can’t. Relief does come though : in the form of a massive fart, which blows fecal matter all over the bathroom walls. Even the people sitting near me at the screening I attended, if they bothered to look up from their texting, met this denouement with a stony silence.

It should be noted that stars Jason Sudeikis, Jenna Fischer and Christina Applegate do the best they can with what they’re given. Owen Wilson’s got the juicier role and brings a touch of sweetness where he can. The only real relief is the short spin turned in by Richard Jenkins, almost unrecognizable as the boys’ perpetual bachelor/ inspiration. He’s pretty much of a hoot, albeit mercifully in a small dose.

Unknown

 In this wild and wooly world of “fusion” movies, those that combine aspects of every kind of genre available (in other words, something to attract any potential ticket buyer), this one aims to do it all. And, thanks to a cast far better than the script, it almost succeeds.

Liam Neeson does the best he can in the whirly-bird role of Dr. Martin Harris. We first meet him, en route to a conference in Berlin, traveling alongside his beautiful wife, January Jones. Realizing he’s mistakenly left his passport behind at the airport, Martin hops a cab, leaving her behind, checking in to the hotel. But there’s an accident and when he wakes up in the hospital, beautiful wife no longer admits to knowing him, the conference seems to have another guy (Aidan Quinn) bearing the same name and nobody will fess up as to who this alleged Martin really is.

A dandy cast classes up the twisty proceedings. The also beautiful Diane Kruger has her own reasons for helping Martin out, Frank Langella’s got a short, but fun spin and the great Bruno Ganz shows how the standard role of the older mentor who gets in over his head should always be played.

A nifty enough concept carries us along for a good part of this hybrid action/thriller/mystery/drama.

Even when it all spins into some really silly territory, there’s a certain entertainment factor in watching everybody gamely trying to make sense of it all.

Cedar Rapids

How can a movie so rude and crude also be endearingly hilarious? In the case of this slight and sort of sweet comedy, we can thank a handful of actors far better than their material.

Ed Helms stars, in between Hangovers, as an uber-naïve Midwest insurance salesman, sent to the big state wide convention when the guy who usually represents his company dies in an accidental auto-eroticism accident. (Get ready, this is just the beginning.) Tearing himself away from the once a week affair he’s having with his former school teacher (Sigourney Weaver), he gets on the first plane he’s ever taken and nervously steps into the big time of hotels with pools, collegial insurance brokers who’re insuring their own futures and an odd ball collection of new, unexpected allies. We’ve seen most of what happens here before; my only nagging concern is to wonder when the obligatory influence-enhanced silly scene graduated from liquor to crack cocaine. But, I suppose I digress. What makes even that work, to a point, is the very sweet collection of actors playing it all out.

Helms, who it seems just yesterday left The Daily Show for the Hollywood big time, steps into his first real lead with aplomb. But it is his co-stars who really make this thing sing. Isiah Whitlock, Jr, Anne Heche, Kurtwood Smith and Stephen Root reminded me of the generous comedians seen in Christopher Guest’s ensembles. But, for better or worse, it’s John C. Reilly, as the notoriously boorish boy with a heart, Dean Ziegler, who steals the show. Even when he’s making loud, wistful references to various sex acts, Reilly’s sadder-but-wiser self awareness grounds it enough to make us love him, just a little bit.

The Rite

The Rite gets it all wrong. With a lopsided story line, an untested lead actor (no it’s not Anthony Hopkins) and an are-we-there-yet wait for the good stuff to start, this thriller barely thrills at all.

Based on a true story, the movie is actually about a young seminary student, who is played by newcomer Colin O’Donoghue. We see his skepticism about entering the ministry and then, staying there, too. So, off he’s sent to Italy, certainly more fun than the American mid west, to study exorcism. That, we are all told, is supposed to lead young Michael back into the flock. Once ensconced in Vatican City, the lessons broaden to include a tutorial with a legendary exorcist, a priest played with a mix of boredom and relish by Anthony Hopkins. Father Lucas, it seems, has quite the case on his hands. And it’s up to Michael to not just observe, but, ultimately, to save the mentor from his fate.

Certainly, under perhaps a surer hand than director Mikael Hafstrom brings, this could have been a more tantalizing entertainment. There is, after all, the time tested puzzlement of the devil here, plus a handful of good actors (Toby Jones and Alice Braga are among those who show up along the way). And, hey, there’s always Rome. But we spend far too much time on Michael’s back story. I realize the screenplay is based on a book written by Kovak himself, but do we really need to delve so much (or for so long) on his childhood development, his pre-seminary girlfriends, etc? Better for the film that we had entered into the more standard juicy stuff of exorcism earlier on. The day-to-day of Father Lucas’s calling would have been interesting to explore, not just the gory head twirling stuff we’ve seen a million times before. A recent and better example of the genre: the barebones “Last Exorcism”, available now on DVD.

The Green Hornet

Floats like a butterfly, stings like a gnat.

Although Seth Rogan has enlisted many collaborators in this adaptation of the old comic/action series, this mixed bag feels very much like a “Seth Rogan” production. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. In his short time as a major movie star, this unlikely-appearing headliner has created a brand that is accessible, entertaining and much more savvy than it looks. Rogan always seems to be bringing a kind of laid back, everyman –ish  touch to his characters. But not every nebbishy guy out there knows how to rise to the top of whatever situation seems to initially overwhelm him. And Seth pulls it out. With an offhanded humor and style that works.

It works here, too, to a point. In the beginning of this periodic 3-D adventure, which has been directed, it should be noted by Michel Gondry, the tone is hip and fun. Even while the super rich young heir to an L.A. newspaper empire is partying it up, he doesn’t seem like a mean guy. And then, when Daddy suddenly dies and our unprepared hero must take the reins, we’re just as nervous as he is, even though we know he’s been pretty irresponsible about it all up till now. And so it happens, Britt (Rogan) allies up with one of his father’s servants, the super smart self trained engineer, Kato (Jay Chou), who, we are also told,  also makes one hell of a cup of coffee. Together, the two create The Green Hornet, a well prepared (or is he?) superhero, out to save Los Angeles from bad guys like Benjamin Chudnofsky, a dated Godfather played with a sneer and a twinkle by Christoph Waltz. Cameron Diaz shows up about half way through, establishing not just some kind of female presence, but also her place for what, I’m sure, the filmmakers are hoping will be the sequel. There are also some nifty little cameos from Edward James Olmos, Tom Wilkinson and, especially, James Franco. Too bad the fun ends there. A series of overlong and determinedly spectacular (i.e. expensive) fights bog the thing down until we’re done rooting for the good guys, and anxiously awaiting for those scenes to be over already.

True Grit

Putting aside their signature funky smart-aleck style, The Coen Brothers have still delivered what is truly one of the best, most polished and entertaining movies of the year.

A knockout young Hailee Steinfeld stars as Matty, a fourteen year old girl out to avenge her father’s murder back in the gritty old American West. Hiring on the craggy Rooster Cogburn, embodied this time by a game Jeff Bridges, our heroine insists on being right there when her man is caught. She wants him to know why he’s gonna die. Cogburn? Well, basically, he’s out for the money. As is Mr. LaBouef, a Texas Ranger who, also trailing bad guy, partners up with Matty and Rooster. Until he can’t take it anymore. Or when he’s left with not a whole lot of other choice. Matt Damon, as the bigger than his britches Ranger, is a delight, but it’s the unlikely relationship between the girl and her aged mentor that’ll tear your heart out.

Anyone who’s ever seen John Wayne in his Oscar winning role as the whiskey slinging Cogburn can’t help but see shades of that seminal performance all over this movie. It’s not just the same eye patch, the dusty hat or slagging accent, it’s the whole idea of conjuring up a Western at all. The Coens, who’s signature is a wacky-brilliantly-smartly-funny slant, leave that stuff on a side burner for this stab at a cinema archetype: the Western is all-American. And the Coens salute that with affection, pride and passion.

Glorious production values add to this love of the genre and of the land. Carter Burwell’s score will leave a lump in your throat. Mary Zophres’ costumes are true grit indeed. But it’s Roger Deakins’ cinematography that is unabashedly in love with not just the dandy performances, but the land on which they take place. The American West looks great.

It will be interesting to see if this big “movie movie” will make the Coen brothers more accessible to larger audiences, people who were perhaps intimidated by some of their earlier, more arch work. If so, you’ve got to hand it to these movie makers. Not only did they resurrect a recently ignored subset of American film, they may also have injected a whole new set of fans for their own, deserving library.

The Fighter

David O. Russell’s slam to the gut is as much about personal dysfunction as it is about the very real story of boxing.

Based on the true story of title winning prize fighter Mickey Ward, this often devastating drama is the child of its star, Mark Whalberg. After nursing this project to the screen (it took reported years of development  and  several industry rebirths), Whalberg takes to the center ring as the younger, talented brother of a former Massachusetts boxer, now serious drug addict. As it can happen with this kind of remarkably screwed up family, the drama, the excitement, whirls around its most screwed up member, in this case, brother Dickey.  And everybody, even the egocentric mother, takes a backseat to his addiction. It’s an interesting dichotomy. The movie is ostensibly about Mickey, but while its points are made, proving the lopsided balance of a family in crisis, this film is also usurped by two of its other stars, the astonishing Christian Bale, as Dickey, and a wonderful Melissa Leo, smoking as mother Alice.

It’s not that Whalberg doesn’t hold his own: he does. Otherwise, why would I have winced so hard each and every time he is punched, both in and out of the ring? And Amy Adams does her best, all tough and Irishy, as the girl who shows Mickey the love he never gets at home. It’s just that the script, like the family itself, I guess, can’t help but be drawn to Dickey’s wildness. And Bale, who gives hands down, one of the best performances of the year here, commands our attention, too. The only time I could take my eyes off him was when Melissa Leo was also on the screen. Almost unrecognizable, in teased hair and heavy duty makeup, her Alice is not just a force to be reckoned with, but also a stage mother/manager nightmare, giving Gypsy Rose Lee’s Rose a run for her money. My money is on these two very fine actors to be rewarded big time for their remarkable work here.

The Company Men

Escapist? Uh, no. Transcendent? Without a doubt. John Wells’ remarkable drama is very much a chronicle of our times. We all know these aren’t the best of times, but, with a sly intelligence, a refusal to wallow in sentimentality and some mighty fine actors, this is a movie that also makes us dig in and figure out an upside.

Ben Affleck, all swagger and sway, slides into his usual department meeting, bragging about his newest golf score. His bravado is so consuming, our boy Bobby doesn’t even pick up on the tension around him. With no warning, it seems, he’s out. Downsized. Don’t take it personal, kid, it’s all about keeping the stockholders happy. Have a nice life. Shell shocked, Bobby returns to his beautiful house, his beautiful wife, his beautiful children. He’ll land something else. After all, he’s  great at what he does.  Beautiful wife knows it might not be so easy.  So do the kids. And they are right.

In the meantime, Chris Cooper is almost visibly shaking at his desk. He can’t afford to get fired. And yet, he does. What’s a man Phil’s age to do?

And then there’s Tommy Lee Jones. The Big Shot who tries to make it all work, to remember the people who work for him and not just the shareholders. Guess where he winds up.

Wells takes us through each family’s own crisis with a savvy eye and compassionate heart. No one, well almost no one, is a bad guy here: everybody has a reason for behaving the way they do. And nobody gets off easy. Their climb toward reinvention is not easy, but, Wells reminds us, it is possible.

I Love You, Phillip Morris

The least outrageous thing about this movie is that Jim Carrey plays a gay guy.

Yes, the main characters are homosexual. And yes, it does take a minute or two to adjust when Carrey is seen, sweat pouring from his naked body as he is seen pounding away into another man. But even if Steven Russell, the central figure of this love story, had actually been the straight God fearing husband and father he starts out as in this movie, what he does besides all that is far more shocking than seeing him sport a Rocky Horror type drag outfit, or even soulfully kiss another man.

Steven is a con man. And, based on what we are told in this version of a true story, he was a really good one. He impersonated lawyers, won cases, committed credit card fraud, manipulated himself into a massively high paying corporate job and then ripped it off royally. I’m not even going to tell you about his most amazing scam. It’s just too delicious to watch as he pulls it off.

Written and directed by Glenn Ficarra and John Requa (of the underappreciated Bad Santa), this is a movie that relishes its wild side. The victories, be they in court or the arrangement of a wonderfully romantic moment in a jail cell, are as sweet as any you’ll see in a modern day movie. And the performances are a treat. Carrey, who has often impressed with his less commercial efforts, is dandy here, bringing us a very smart man who admits “being gay is expensive.” Equally fine is Ewan McGregor, who brings such a sweetness to his character of Philip Morris, we all fall a little for him.

The biggest buzz about this film has been wondering why it was left, sitting on a shelf, unreleased for over a year. Now that it is finally hitting theaters in at least a few markets, that should change. People will and should now be talking instead about what a nifty little movie this is.

Black Swan

I doubt there’s a woman alive who won’t, at least in some small way, relate to this movie. Because Darren Aronofsky’s psychological drama, set in the hysterically competitive world of ballet, is very much about a woman’s struggle for perfection. And who among us can swear they’ve never had an issue or two with that?

Natalie Portman gives a finely tuned performance as the New York City ballerina, desperate to be cast in the lead of Vincent Cassel’s new version of Swan Lake. Surrounded by women who’ve aged out of the game, or who are equally as ambitious, Nina keeps to herself, barely eating, practicing as much as her body will allow, making other sacrifices she believes are necessary. No one allows her an inch, especially herself. Yet, as we are told from the film’s very beginning, Nina’s icy perfection isn’t long for this world. Just like the Swan Princess she so deeply wants to dance, Nina is doomed.

There are many impressive aspects to this production. All the performances, from Portman’s shattered heroine to Winona Ryder’s washed up superstar, are vivid and haunting. The dancing itself, featuring Portman’s own work, is a treat. And I found Aronofsky’s ambitious conceit: paralleling Nina’s story with that of one of the world’s most classic ballets, inspiring. Yet, I can’t help but fess up. Much of what whirls to a conclusion here is so florid, so overly over the top, I grew impatient and almost put off. Perhaps all the drama is appropriate, given the film’s classical roots. After all, don’t most operas and traditional ballets end with some big dramatic flourish? Whether or not the audience responds to such intensity is often more a reflection of that person than it is the work itself. I’ve never been a big swoop to the finish girl, myself.

Still, I must admire this Swan’s many graceful notes. While the film doesn’t always hit the mark, when it does, it sure makes its point.

The Kings Speech

There are many reasons why this film is so winning: not the least of which is the auspicious timing of its release.

Purposely opening just in time for what the industry deems “awards consideration”, it’s a remarkable coincidence this movie is also hitting theaters just as Prince William has announced his engagement. There’s nothing like a wedding to ramp up attention for England’s Royals and this film, a fine and beautifully made history of that family, is bound to reap the rewards, too. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

The wonderful Colin Firth stars as King George VI, the current Queen Elizabeth’s father. A quiet man never expecting to wear the crown (his elder brother was next in line), he was also crippled by a serious stutter, a speech impediment that kept him from succeeding in the few royal duties he was expected to perform. His wife, gloriously played by Helena Bonham Carter, discovers the most unique of therapists, an Australian part-time actor named Lionel Logue. As embodied by the amazing Geoffrey Rush, Logue is a force of nature who becomes not just the key to the King’s confidence, he becomes the King’s confidant, as well. It was a remarkable relationship, told beautifully here.

As it has been with many historical dramas, there’s not a whole lot of surprise to what we witness. We pretty much know the brother will abdicate for the woman he loves, that George will have to lead his country during World War II and that the little girl playing dolls is the eventually beloved Queen Elizabeth.  It’s how it is told that fascinates and dare I say even inspires. Firth’s chipping away at this complex character is great, subtle stuff. Rush, too, has his quiet moments as the more flamboyant counterpart. What they accomplish together is not just the stuff of legend, but also terrifically moving to watch.

Morning Glory

How can a movie so derivative be so genuinely funny? The Glory in this case comes from the bright, sunny cast, including a luminous Rachel McAdams and a sparklingly grouchy Harrison Ford.

McAdams is the pony-tailed morning TV talk show producer, hired by a wary Jeff Goldblum to steer the exhausted fourth place program (there’s a joke about coming in after that CBS show, whatever the name of it is). Pretty ditsy in her personal life, our heroine comes alive professionally, forging through the malaise and getting the show at least pointing in the right direction. But, after hiring on the very reluctant veteran newsman played by Ford to co-host, along with the durable Diane Keaton, our optimistic energizer bunny may have met her match.

Described as “the third worst person in the world” (after Angela Lansbury: ‘she knows what she did’), this been-there-done-that guy is not at home in the fluffy world of morning tv. He’s contractually obligated to showing up and makes everybody feel his contempt. And the script underscores his very real discomfort with playing it light when there’s real news going on. I loved the fact that, whenever there’s a dumb-bunny segment being aired, the crawl on the bottom of the screen we see informs the audience, if anyone’s reading it, of disasters, crises and fatalities. Playing a character that’s not too far from the persona he presents to interviewers (yours truly included with the likes of David Letterman, who recently said to Ford, ‘I get the feeling you don’t like me’), Harrison Ford delivers his best performance in years. He’s crabby, suspicious, one step ahead of you, dryly hilarious and irresistibly sexy. Keaton, in a supporting seat, is no slouch either, and it’s a delight to see the two of them, sword to sword.

Due Date

With more than a nod to the great comedy “Planes Trains and Automobiles”, this odd-couple road picture still delivers a wacko good time.

Much of “The Hangover” team has reunited here, adding the wonderful Robert Downey, Jr. to the mix. He’s Peter, the control freak, the architect who likes to have everything all plotted out, his way. Yet, after literally bumping into Zach Galifianakis (Ethan, a would be actor with the ambition to appearing on Charlie Sheen’s Two and a Half Men) at the Atlanta airport, and, as a complicated result, winding up on the no fly list, the two opposites must drive together, across country, to get Peter in L.A., in time for the birth of his first baby. Even just from the initial look of these two guys, we all know we’re in for a bumpy ride.

Structurally, director Todd Phillips (who also co-wrote and co-produced) sets it up with the same kind of on again off again zig zag that marks these kind of stories. The wild scenes that must occur are decidedly, though, far more Hangover than the far gentler Steve Martin/John Candy version. This time, there’s drugs, swearing, and law breaking, if that kind of stuff bothers anybody anymore.

No matter how you view the morality of the thing, there’s no question Downey and Galifianakis are a wonderful team. Pissed off and panicky, Robert is spot on funny, too. And may I just say he looks great? Zach, who soared to stardom after his phenomenal turn in The Hangover, is dandy here, too. A wounded puppy, who carries a puppy of his own along for the ride, Galifianakis is fearless enough to make Ethan pretty annoying, smart enough to make him endearing, too. There’s a reason why this comic actor is so hot these days. He’s serving up some pretty great stuff.

127 Hours

May I humbly suggest the term “visceral” be retired from any future film reviews? Because after seeing Danny Boyle’s extraordinary, gut wrenching movie, I can’t imagine any other topping it in the slam to the gut category.

Based on the true story of Aron Ralston, a young mountain climber, this is not obviously the basis of a soaring, exhilarating tale. Because Ralston, as we all pretty much know going in, suffered a terrible accident. While exploring an isolated canyon, deep in the magnificence of Utah, a boulder falls on Aron’s arm. He is trapped. He cannot free himself. And he spends 127 hours, unable to escape the most horrific circumstances. Until, that is, he decides to cut off his arm.  Yet, as he did in Slumdog Millionaire, in  telling this claustrophobic and painful tale, Boyle has delivered a film that is bursting with life. By emphasizing Aron’s humanity and his remarkable, insistent road to survival, with loving flashbacks, glorious camerawork and a wow of a soundtrack, we all “viscerally” experience not just the physical agony of what Ralston went through, but we feel the explosive, magical pull of his life, too.

Of course, credit must be extended to Boyle’s co-writer, Simon Beaufoy and A.R Rahman’s score, but none of it would have mattered had Aron not been played by the dazzling James Franco. Playing Ralston as a likeable, but arrogant all-American, it is easy to see how this young man believed he was invincible enough to treat nature like his own playground. Even knowing the trouble that can happen out there, (Ralston was a trained rescuer), this is a guy who takes off on his own, doesn’t tell anyone where he’s going and even leaves some key equipment back in his car when he takes off for his hike. Through the video camera he does tote along, we see as Aron recognizes his faults, regrets the cavalier way he treated his friends and family, and the gritty determination that makes this “visceral” movie not just a singular adventure, but an emotional knockout, as well.

Hereafter

Ambitious to be sure, but this muted exploration of life here and after is one of Eastwood’s rare misfires.

A fine Matt Damon is the most recognizable star in the international cast gathered here. Peter Morgan’s screenplay travels the globe, telling the pretty depressing stories of three people who are haunted by their glimpses of the dead. While George (that’s Damon) sees dead people (he’s a reluctant  American psychic), young  Londoner Marcus is haunted by the ghost of his dead twin brother. And beautiful Marie, a Parisian journalist, can’t shake the near death experience she suffered during the tsunami. None can get on with, or thoroughly experience their actual lives, they are so shattered by what they have seen from beyond.

It’s neat to think that Eastwood has chosen to take on this mystical subject. Mortality is curious to us all, no matter what our age or circumstance. But maybe Peter Morgan, whose earlier and more successful pictures, Frost/Nixon and The Queen were more linear, just isn’t the guy for this kind of multi layered concept. As this movie rolls on, rather bumpily, we all feel a bit hazy. The delicacy of the somewhat similar film, Babel, is missing here, even though Eastwood’s quiet approach tries to engage. It’s nice, but never particularly thrilling to witness these people finally heal their wounds. And the oh-come-on can-you-believe-that happy accidents that lead them to health are a little too pat to wrap up such a sad and profound subject.

The most sparkling element to this ethereal piece of work is the star turn of Belgian actress Cecile de France, a stunning looking woman who wears great clothes and sports an even better hair cut. But maybe I shouldn’t have been paying so much attention to those pretty details, when so much was supposedly at stake, eh?

Life As We Know It

There used to be a plot concept in movies called “meeting cute”. The definition of such has evolved in the past few years to hook several romantic comedies around the wacky world of artificial insemination. Here, the cute boy and girl opposites meet and fall in love after their best friends die and leave them in charge of raising their orphaned daughter. Adorable.

It’s not that director Greg Berlanti has ignored the dramatic implications of such a story line, but, hey, when you’ve got cutie pies Josh Duhamel and Katherine Heigl cast as your leads, why waste time on tears? Shed a few and get on with it! Have affectionate freak outs over poo poo. Make sure your hunky male lead doesn’t shave and your female beauty wears a pork pie hat. Insist that they wait an appropriate month or two before deciding Mr. and Ms. Wrong could be Mr. and Ms. Right, bake some pot into some brownies and hop into bed. If all else fails, you can always show close ups of the baby.

Heigl does the best she can with such material, but hasn’t she played this kind of role ad nauseum? Duhamel is as nice to look at as she is and plays this yawn of a part as well as his material allows. Josh Lucas shows up for a bit as the man who might spoil the inevitable. The funniest one, or at least the actor with the best timing, is Melissa McCarthy, who manages to steal just about every scene she’s allowed in, as the wisecracking snoopy neighbor who just may have it all figured out. Perhaps they should have let her take a look at the script.

Stone

Not to pigeonhole anyone, but it is hard to imagine the man behind the creative and charming June Bug is also the writer who has delivered the pedestrian and mundane script here.

As has happened before, Robert DeNiro and Edward Norton are far better than their material in this mano a mano story. DeNiro is a prison parole officer, counting the days to his retirement. Norton, sporting a head full of corn rows, saunters into the office with an attitude. Yeah, he knows DeNiro ain’t letting him outta there: this is all a waste of time. Cuz, you know it, who’s gonna let an arsonist, you know, one who killed his own blood, go, like free. Know?

Ah, but does this chip on the old shoulder really believe that? That, my friends, is the twist of this not very compelling drama. Turns out both men have more in common than we are first led to believe. And the man who looks to be in charge just may not be after all.

This is not to deny the quality work of the actors. It’s nice to see Frances Conroy back, even if her appearance here is limited to a few key scenes.  DeNiro isn’t exactly treading new waters here, but even at his most been-there-done-that, he’s still worth watching. Norton, on the other hand, plunges in to his role with verve and abandon. He’s sizzling, even when the story around him is not. Which is all the more surprising, considering the sexy and smart presence of Milla Jovovich, who plays Norton’s shall we say adventurous wife. Twitchy and determined, this is a woman whom we are told is willing to do anything and yes, she sure does. But, hey, it’s all for a good cause, isn’t it? Or is it? Problem is, while that conceit keeps the plot rolling along, we don’t really care. Even if it is kinda fun watching these pros in action.

Nowhere Boy

In contrast to so many other salutes to the Beatles and their legacy, this intimate drama focuses on John Lennon’s turbulent teenage years, not just referencing, but explaining so much of what, later, showed up in his music.

This is a tricky road to take. After all, when we see the young boy leaving his home and sauntering past a sign identifying the park across the street as “Strawberry Fields”, who isn’t going to be pulled away a bit, smiling with recognition? Yet, because director Sam Taylor Wood has delivered such moments with a light touch, we do get caught up in the real life drama of the Lennon family. And that drama is stunning enough to carry a film, even if it isn’t about an eventual icon.

As many fans know, young John’s mother, the haunting and haunted Julia, allowed him to be raised by his aunt Mimi and her husband. As played by a stunning Kristin Scott Thomas, Mimi, who previously had no children, stepped up to the task with a firm hand and loving heart. Still, John found his biological mother and forged his own, secret relationship with her.  In many ways, he was quite the handful. The push-pull between these two remarkable, yet flawed women not only makes its impact on the boy they both adore, but also makes for a pretty interesting movie.

Aaron Johnson does a fine job as John, hitting all the notes of teenage angst and swagger. And what Beatles fan wouldn’t be just a little bit sentimental, watching as he and Thomas Sangster (Paul) meet, harmonize and bond over some pretty tragic stuff? As the ethereal and memorable Julia, Anne-Marie Duff is a dazzler, assuring that Julia not only makes her mark on her son, but on us, as well.

The Social Network

Among this film’s remarkable achievements is that fact that it is thrilling without a single gunshot, in your face without the benefit of 3-D.

David Fincher and Aaron Sorkin have created a fascinating and wildly relevant picture, based on Ben Mezrich’s book, The Accidental Billionaires. The story of the unlikely creation of Facebook isn’t just amazing in its surprise, but also in its complexity. Brash genius still can suffer the ramifications of society: or does it?

From the crackling first scene, we know we’re into something special. 19 year old Harvard student, Mark Zuckerberg (played by a near perfect Jesse Eisenberg) is being dumped by the girl he thought loved him because, she complains, dating him is like “dating a Stairmaster”. We can see what she means: Mark is acutely smart, fast and challenging. And he’s not all that nice. So, when he goes back to the dorm and whips up an online misogynistic co-ed “evaluator”, it’s awful and impressive at the same time. When the traffic to the site crashes the university server, Mark knows he’s on to something. So do his kinder and gentler best friend (a wonderful Andrew Garfield) and the Arian dream team twins who try to team with him. We watch as Napster founder Sean Parker (Justin Timberlake) steps in as a somewhat savvy mentor and as the legal and moral repercussions unfold. This story of the creation of one of the most important social phenomenons of our time serves as a remarkable parable for all times. How much does it cost, in dollars and in soul, to set the world on fire? To think of this as a Citizen Kane for the 21st Century isn’t all that far fetched.

It’s exhilarating to watch the actors go through their paces here: and what paces they are. Playing among the smartest people on the planet, these men (and a few women) are pretty awesome to watch. Sorkin, whose rat-a-tat dialogue keeps right up with them, and Fincher, bringing in a Rashomon-type structure, keeps the pacing of it all so fast and sassy, your heart will race, even though this is not, in any sense of the contemporary definition, an “action” picture. Don’t let that stop you. The Social Network is a knockout.

Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps

Just like the Stock Market, this movie suffers from some pretty scary highs and lows.

Oliver Stone has brought his considerable filmmaking skills to this schizoid story of the recent  Wall Street collapse. Perhaps to hedge some bets as to whether audiences would pay to watch this terribly painful story happen all over again, the script swirls around a nice little love story, too. And that’s a problem.

Michael Douglas is back, terrific as ever, as the seminal Gordon Gekko. Just released from prison, where he’d been doing time for the old insider trading trick, Gordon does the inevitable: he writes a book. Wondering now if Greed IS Good, he lectures, autographs, and tries to weasel his way back into the big time. Conveniently, there’s an ambitious young man whose Wall Street godfather has just thrown himself in front of a subway. And, what do you know, the guy is also engaged to Gekko’s estranged daughter.

You can do the math from here. What makes this one work, when it does are, the little tricks Stone throws in along the way. It’s no coincidence the big meetings of the New York bankers are designed to look just like the mob meetings in the Godfather films and the Sopranos. And the art work in Greedy Bastard Josh Brolin’s townhome doesn’t just include a lithograph of Jackie O, but also a Keith Haring painting of a foot stomping on people. His lingering camera, ogling the priceless jewels at a fundraiser at the Met is fun, but no match for the movie’s most glittering scene: where Charlie Sheen shows up, to greet Gordo after all these years. Everybody’s heart pounds there.

Shia LaBeouf is offered the rather thankless role of the young not-entirely innocent here. As his good hearted girlfriend, Carey Mulligan is fine. Next to Douglas, the best work comes from Frank Langella, who makes more out of a few key scenes than the kids do in more than two hours.

Hereafter

Ambitious to be sure, but this muted exploration of life here and after is one of Eastwood’s rare misfires.

A fine Matt Damon is the most recognizable star in the international cast gathered here. Peter Morgan’s screenplay travels the globe, telling the pretty depressing stories of three people who are haunted by their glimpses of the dead. While George (that’s Damon) sees dead people (he’s a reluctant  American psychic), young  Londoner Marcus is haunted by the ghost of his dead twin brother. And beautiful Marie, a Parisian journalist, can’t shake the near death experience she suffered during the tsunami. None can get on with, or thoroughly experience their actual lives, they are so shattered by what they have seen from beyond.

It’s neat to think that Eastwood has chosen to take on this mystical subject. Mortality is curious to us all, no matter what our age or circumstance. But maybe Peter Morgan, whose earlier and more successful pictures, Frost/Nixon and The Queen were more linear, just isn’t the guy for this kind of multi layered concept. As this movie rolls on, rather bumpily, we all feel a bit hazy. The delicacy of the somewhat similar film, Babel, is missing here, even though Eastwood’s quiet approach tries to engage. It’s nice, but never particularly thrilling to witness these people finally heal their wounds. And the oh-come-on can-you-believe-that happy accidents that lead them to health are a little too pat to wrap up such a sad and profound subject.

The most sparkling element to this ethereal piece of work is the star turn of Belgian actress Cecile de France, a stunning looking woman who wears great clothes and sports an even better hair cut. But maybe I shouldn’t have been paying so much attention to those pretty details, when so much was supposedly at stake, eh?

Life As We Know It

There used to be a plot concept in movies called “meeting cute”. The definition of such has evolved in the past few years to hook several romantic comedies around the wacky world of artificial insemination. Here, the cute boy and girl opposites meet and fall in love after their best friends die and leave them in charge of raising their orphaned daughter. Adorable.

It’s not that director Greg Berlanti has ignored the dramatic implications of such a story line, but, hey, when you’ve got cutie pies Josh Duhamel and Katherine Heigl cast as your leads, why waste time on tears? Shed a few and get on with it! Have affectionate freak outs over poo poo. Make sure your hunky male lead doesn’t shave and your female beauty wears a pork pie hat. Insist that they wait an appropriate month or two before deciding Mr. and Ms. Wrong could be Mr. and Ms. Right, bake some pot into some brownies and hop into bed. If all else fails, you can always show close ups of the baby.

Heigl does the best she can with such material, but hasn’t she played this kind of role ad nauseum? Duhamel is as nice to look at as she is and plays this yawn of a part as well as his material allows. Josh Lucas shows up for a bit as the man who might spoil the inevitable. The funniest one, or at least the actor with the best timing, is Melissa McCarthy, who manages to steal just about every scene she’s allowed in, as the wisecracking snoopy neighbor who just may have it all figured out. Perhaps they should have let her take a look at the script.

Stone

Not to pigeonhole anyone, but it is hard to imagine the man behind the creative and charming June Bug is also the writer who has delivered the pedestrian and mundane script here.

As has happened before, Robert DeNiro and Edward Norton are far better than their material in this mano a mano story. DeNiro is a prison parole officer, counting the days to his retirement. Norton, sporting a head full of corn rows, saunters into the office with an attitude. Yeah, he knows DeNiro ain’t letting him outta there: this is all a waste of time. Cuz, you know it, who’s gonna let an arsonist, you know, one who killed his own blood, go, like free. Know?

Ah, but does this chip on the old shoulder really believe that? That, my friends, is the twist of this not very compelling drama. Turns out both men have more in common than we are first led to believe. And the man who looks to be in charge just may not be after all.

This is not to deny the quality work of the actors. It’s nice to see Frances Conroy back, even if her appearance here is limited to a few key scenes.  DeNiro isn’t exactly treading new waters here, but even at his most been-there-done-that, he’s still worth watching. Norton, on the other hand, plunges in to his role with verve and abandon. He’s sizzling, even when the story around him is not. Which is all the more surprising, considering the sexy and smart presence of Milla Jovovich, who plays Norton’s shall we say adventurous wife. Twitchy and determined, this is a woman whom we are told is willing to do anything and yes, she sure does. But, hey, it’s all for a good cause, isn’t it? Or is it? Problem is, while that conceit keeps the plot rolling along, we don’t really care. Even if it is kinda fun watching these pros in action.

Nowhere Boy

In contrast to so many other salutes to the Beatles and their legacy, this intimate drama focuses on John Lennon’s turbulent teenage years, not just referencing, but explaining so much of what, later, showed up in his music.

This is a tricky road to take. After all, when we see the young boy leaving his home and sauntering past a sign identifying the park across the street as “Strawberry Fields”, who isn’t going to be pulled away a bit, smiling with recognition? Yet, because director Sam Taylor Wood has delivered such moments with a light touch, we do get caught up in the real life drama of the Lennon family. And that drama is stunning enough to carry a film, even if it isn’t about an eventual icon.

As many fans know, young John’s mother, the haunting and haunted Julia, allowed him to be raised by his aunt Mimi and her husband. As played by a stunning Kristin Scott Thomas, Mimi, who previously had no children, stepped up to the task with a firm hand and loving heart. Still, John found his biological mother and forged his own, secret relationship with her.  In many ways, he was quite the handful. The push-pull between these two remarkable, yet flawed women not only makes its impact on the boy they both adore, but also makes for a pretty interesting movie.

Aaron Johnson does a fine job as John, hitting all the notes of teenage angst and swagger. And what Beatles fan wouldn’t be just a little bit sentimental, watching as he and Thomas Sangster (Paul) meet, harmonize and bond over some pretty tragic stuff? As the ethereal and memorable Julia, Anne-Marie Duff is a dazzler, assuring that Julia not only makes her mark on her son, but on us, as well.

The Social Network

Among this film’s remarkable achievements is that fact that it is thrilling without a single gunshot, in your face without the benefit of 3-D.

David Fincher and Aaron Sorkin have created a fascinating and wildly relevant picture, based on Ben Mezrich’s book, The Accidental Billionaires. The story of the unlikely creation of Facebook isn’t just amazing in its surprise, but also in its complexity. Brash genius still can suffer the ramifications of society: or does it?

From the crackling first scene, we know we’re into something special. 19 year old Harvard student, Mark Zuckerberg (played by a near perfect Jesse Eisenberg) is being dumped by the girl he thought loved him because, she complains, dating him is like “dating a Stairmaster”. We can see what she means: Mark is acutely smart, fast and challenging. And he’s not all that nice. So, when he goes back to the dorm and whips up an online misogynistic co-ed “evaluator”, it’s awful and impressive at the same time. When the traffic to the site crashes the university server, Mark knows he’s on to something. So do his kinder and gentler best friend (a wonderful Andrew Garfield) and the Arian dream team twins who try to team with him. We watch as Napster founder Sean Parker (Justin Timberlake) steps in as a somewhat savvy mentor and as the legal and moral repercussions unfold. This story of the creation of one of the most important social phenomenons of our time serves as a remarkable parable for all times. How much does it cost, in dollars and in soul, to set the world on fire? To think of this as a Citizen Kane for the 21st Century isn’t all that far fetched.

It’s exhilarating to watch the actors go through their paces here: and what paces they are. Playing among the smartest people on the planet, these men (and a few women) are pretty awesome to watch. Sorkin, whose rat-a-tat dialogue keeps right up with them, and Fincher, bringing in a Rashomon-type structure, keeps the pacing of it all so fast and sassy, your heart will race, even though this is not, in any sense of the contemporary definition, an “action” picture. Don’t let that stop you. The Social Network is a knockout.

Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps

Just like the Stock Market, this movie suffers from some pretty scary highs and lows.

Oliver Stone has brought his considerable filmmaking skills to this schizoid story of the recent  Wall Street collapse. Perhaps to hedge some bets as to whether audiences would pay to watch this terribly painful story happen all over again, the script swirls around a nice little love story, too. And that’s a problem.

Michael Douglas is back, terrific as ever, as the seminal Gordon Gekko. Just released from prison, where he’d been doing time for the old insider trading trick, Gordon does the inevitable: he writes a book. Wondering now if Greed IS Good, he lectures, autographs, and tries to weasel his way back into the big time. Conveniently, there’s an ambitious young man whose Wall Street godfather has just thrown himself in front of a subway. And, what do you know, the guy is also engaged to Gekko’s estranged daughter.

You can do the math from here. What makes this one work, when it does are, the little tricks Stone throws in along the way. It’s no coincidence the big meetings of the New York bankers are designed to look just like the mob meetings in the Godfather films and the Sopranos. And the art work in Greedy Bastard Josh Brolin’s townhome doesn’t just include a lithograph of Jackie O, but also a Keith Haring painting of a foot stomping on people. His lingering camera, ogling the priceless jewels at a fundraiser at the Met is fun, but no match for the movie’s most glittering scene: where Charlie Sheen shows up, to greet Gordo after all these years. Everybody’s heart pounds there.

Shia LaBeouf is offered the rather thankless role of the young not-entirely innocent here. As his good hearted girlfriend, Carey Mulligan is fine. Next to Douglas, the best work comes from Frank Langella, who makes more out of a few key scenes than the kids do in more than two hours.

Never Let Me Go

This is a hard movie to shake. That’s a good thing, by the way.

Not as devastating as Kazuo Ishiguro’s astounding novel, this heartachingly beautiful film still resonates. Three excellent leading performances capture the souls of the three young English people, tied together by their fates. Keira Knightley digs in to give the most interesting performance of her young adulthood; new movie star on the rise, Andrew Garfield (also of The Social Network and the new Spiderman) is compellingly quirky and affecting. But it’s the remarkable Carey Mulligan (she’s in Wall Street2: Monday Never Sleeps, too) who astounds here. Subtly, she makes the key character of Kathy a disappointed young woman who tries to make a moral life out of what is possibly the most amoral of circumstances.

It’s hard not to give away the secret that binds the characters in this legendary story, but its revelation is so important and so interesting, I don’t want to spoil it for the uninitiated. Know going in to this curious love story there is a reason why the whole thing feels a bit off. We watch in wonderment as young people, full of promise as they are, try to lead a natural life in a wholly unnatural world. The ethics of their situation are immense and, even with an all too pat final scene voice over, profound.  And, unlike a movie that plays with remote possibilities, like, say, Inception, the real life ramifications for this one hit pretty close to home. This is the kind of movie you’ll want to tear into with your friends after having seen it. Be prepared.

The Town

Smart, sleek and undeniably entertaining, Ben Affleck’s sophomore directorial effort proves he’s the real deal.

Based on a novel detailing the almost romantic shifting of the Boston social guard, Affleck has collected a top flight group of behind the scenes and acting talent to tell the tale. Starring as a Charlestown based bank robber with legit ambitions, Affleck gives a finely calibrated performance of gall and heart. Doug is willing to do what he was raised to do, but he also doesn’t want to hurt anybody in the process. His home boys? Not so much. A spectacular Jeremy Renner co-stars as Doug’s alter-ego, a local who’s not going down easy.  The relationship between Doug and Jem is what grounds this movie, paralleling the possible love affair push pull for Doug between Jem’s drugged out sister (a knockout Blake Lively) and the bank manager the crew takes as hostage, the glorious Rebecca Hall. Adding a touch of third world morality is Jon Hamm, furious and determined as the Federal Agent on the case.

There’s a lot going on here, but Affleck balances it all with a masterly, commercially savvy touch. The emotional tugs are offset with some pretty nifty chase scenes, including one of the technically most proficient and cool car chase scenes we’ve seen for a while and, an irresistible culminating heist at Boston’s mecca, the venerable Fenway Park. Any fan of the Red Sox or, I suppose any fan who hates the team, will react strongly, one way or the other, to seeing the foundations of that ball park being blown away with abandon.

Highlights include the lean, economical script, and the impeccable casting. Affleck has not only hired on a nearly perfect team of actors, but then encouraged them to do some of their strongest work. Hamm, his hair a bit greasy and needing a shaping, doesn’t rely on his image to do the talking here. His fury builds as the movie goes along, making his civil servant do-gooer a guy who learns to take all this personally. By bringing Rebecca Hall into this basically Hollywood group, Affleck has, essentially repeated the same kind of creative outreach as he did by bringing Amy Ryan into his Gone, Baby, Gone. Hall is, at this point, an industry fave: her infectious, naturalistic work here should earn her fans in the home crowd, too. The two most surprising performances are, on the page, the flashiest. But both Jeremy Renner and Blake Lively, brother and sister and carriers of the Charlestown traditions, don’t just go for the gusto. They also make sure their inner desperation bubbles simmers throughout. When these two are on screen, you just can’t take your eyes off them.

Eat, Pray, Love

Elizabeth Gilbert’s best selling tome has been dumbed down and glossed up. Fans of the introspective will be disappointed: those looking for decent, escapist entertainment will not.

Julia Roberts takes on her largest role in years, playing the newly divorced Liz. Miserable and disappointed she plunged into a recovery affair (as he’s played by a grinning James Franco, I mean, why not?), the writer takes off, allegedly leaving lots of friends (we only see two) and family (who we never see) behind. She’s going to “find herself”. While gorging on Italian pasta, ashraming in India  and balancing it out  in Bali. Sounds nice.

Ah, but even the best of plans ne’er run smooth. There’s not much wrong with Italy, of course, but things get a little tougher when our girl is supposed to meditate. Facing her real self is frustrating. Enter the wonderful Richard Jenkins, who steals the show as Liz’s straight talking mentor. Once he leaves, she’s off to her next destination: the beaches where she also, as a bonus, will meet up with a wisened seer who she’d interviewed in her “previous life”. He’s very cute, by the way, but hunky Javier Bardem is even better.

Those who worried Roberts was a questionable choice for this role are proven dead wrong. She’s game, glorious and full of the same mega wattage star power she’s always had. You can’t take your eyes off her, which is pretty good, considering most of the scenery she’s got to compete with. Franco, Bardem and Billy Crudup (as the heartbroken husband) aren’t bad, either, although the beauty of all these people reminded me of those Microsoft commercials, where perfectly normal looking people imagine themselves as not only smart enough to come up with the idea of Windows 7, but they’re gorgeous, too.

As written and directed by Glee’s Ryan Murphy, Eat, Pray, Love is nowhere near as navel gazing as it could be, but it also suffers from its lack of real depth. Messages are delivered as Insights. One line of dialogue even refers to advice being served up like bumper stickers. At least bumper stickers stick around for a while, making their point, whether you like it or not.

The Other Guys

How can a movie that can be so very funny also be so very boring?

An odd-couple cop buddy comic action picture (did we leave anything out here?...well, there is a little hint at romance, too; not to worry), pairs Will Ferrell and Mark Wahlberg as the less-than-stellar New York cops. Overshadowed by the dream team of arrogant driven crime fighters (Samuel L. Jackson and Dwayne Johnson), these guys are stuck in the back of the room, doing paperwork and playing computer solitaire. Will’s perfectly happy with that; Mark, not so much. They both have their reasons as we are all to find out as the movie meanders along.

I did laugh out loud a few times at this sporadic goof ball. While the much sneaked Derek Jeter joke does play out as pretty funny, there is a slapped in voice over right afterwards that is even funnier. Ferrell gets to do some very random bits, some of which work and some of which (I’m talking to you, vomit) don’t. I’ve always thought Mark Wahlberg had a hint of funny, even in his most impressive dramatic turns. What he’s asked to do here is basically a spin on his deserved Oscar nominated work in The Departed which, you’ll remember, was often pretty outrageous. No mistake, though, this performance is definitely the “other” one….

Still, it’s nice to see Michael Keaton back, as directly funny as he’s ever been. And the beautiful Eva Mendes does her best with a pretty ridiculous role as Ferrell’s unappreciated wife. And New York City, where this movie was actually shot, looks wonderful.

All that being said, it is especially disappointing to see the whole thing fizzle out in the second half. There’s a segue from comedy to action, along with a foggily written story line. The anger the filmmakers obviously feel toward rich scummy guys is told far more directly and even more entertainingly during the final credits, which, in bold graphics, note some of the more outrageous wrongs behind our current financial crisis.

Inception

It is not that I don’t understand (well, pretty much, anyway) or appreciate the intense ambition of Christopher Nolan’s trip into the world of dreams. But why did a movie designed to blow your mind, leave mine, while originally tickled, ultimately unmoved?

The always terrific Leonardo DiCaprio plays Dom, a thief with a twist. This is a guy who’s learned to steal into your mind while you are sleeping.  After exploring this brave new world just a tad too deeply, and with his wife dead, Dom’s been forced out of America, leaving his two young children behind. He’s aching to go home and when he’s offered one last job, involving dense corporate espionage but also the chance to get his old life back, Dom just can’t say no. As we’ve discovered in real life, men who say they just want their life back don’t seem to get there easy these days and so it goes for Dom.

Nolan has written layer upon layer of story in this sci-fi fantasy, bringing the film to a high plane as it plunges into the depth of the dream life. As someone who cares about film, you can’t help but cheer for his intentions and initial success at achieving them. My particular favorite of the wild concepts cooly mounted is the visual of Paris, the town literally folding in on itself, like the pages of a book. Any movie that can pull that off can’t be all bad, but the steam seems to seep out of this balloon just as we pass the halfway mark.

One of the things that made the original Matrix, for example, so much fun was that Keanu Reeves’s character seemed as perplexed by what he was seeing as we were. That doesn’t happen here. Dom’s been there, done that. He gets no joy from what he’s experiencing and, even if we are supposed to feel his terror, pain or regret, those emotions don’t reach off the screen as easily as do the eye popping effects.

A fine collection of actors, including Ken Wantanabe, Joseph Gordon Levitt (who gets to float around a lot), Marion Cotillard and the outstanding Tom Hardy hang in there in support. An oddly cast, or at least underused Ellen Page mostly gets to ask questions, allowing for a whole lot of explanation to go on. At one point, while all the men are furiously plotting and planning all around her, Page, who’s been sitting quietly watching, interrupts, asking (on our behalf?) for a slow down. “Wait!” she demands. “Who’s dreams are we incepting?” A loud laugh of appreciation broke out in the screening I attended.

Dinner for Schmucks

What was once a sharp French satire is now a goofball comedy with a heart of gold.

Francis Veber’s 1998 The Dinner Game has been given the Hollywood polish. As adapted by screenwriters David Guion and Michael Handelman, and directed by Jay Roach ( of the Austin Powers movies, as well as Ben Stiller’s “Focker” series), this Dinner is now a more accessible and easier film to digest and, at times, even laugh out loud at.

The always appealing Paul Rudd stars as Tim, a decent enough guy who’s on the verge of losing his soul as he sees the potential of becoming a master of the universe banker. Told, in order to secure the promotion,  he must bring a “schmuck” to a dinner designed to entertain the rich nasties, Tim fatefully crashes into Barry, an IRS worker who’s also a passionate part time taxidermist. The fact that Barry is played by the dandy Steve Carell makes all of us have mixed feelings about this BFF from hell. Barry is kind of a schmuck, but, then again, he’s got his reasons.

Even though the initial premise is pretty “messed up” (all probable swear words have been avoided in this carefully produced film), the road we all take isn’t. Silliness and a few sexual spoofs ensue. Interesting that the producers here found it necessary to have the dialogue reflect expressions like “messed up”, which stands out as a shockingly G rated expression, when there is still a pretty randy sex stuff happening, but I digress. It’s all presented as safe, not-so-bad after all stuff and is sure to have you rooting for the schmucks by the predictable end.

What makes this all work are the actors at play here. Rudd and Carell are a wonderful comic pairing. The supporting cast is fine, too, particularly Zach Galifianakis and Jemaine Clement, who takes his plum role as a successful schmuck and rolls with it.

Winter’s Bone

Bleak as hell yet stubbornly optimistic, this low budget knockout is the best picture of the year so far.

Based on Daniel Woodrell’s novel, director and co-writer Debra Granik has already reaped both the jury and screenwriting awards from the 2010 Sundance Film Festival. With care, its theatrical distribution should earn this gem-like marvel even more fans and, hopefully, consideration for awards at year’s end, too. Because, especially as an antidote to all the blockbuster bombs out there, this slim, tough film does its job beautifully: it nails a picture of a slice of American life, draws us into an area where most of us probably never thought we’d want to go, and makes us emotionally invested in what happens there.

Ree is a 17 year old with an awful lot on her plate. Her mother too ill to raise the two youngest kids in the house, Ree has had to drop out of high school and, somehow, make a go of things. Then, a bond bailsman shows up. Seems Dad has put up their house up for collateral and then gone missing. She’d better find him or else she and her family will be put out into the not so friendly Ozark woodlands.

The picture of Ree’s struggle is compelling enough: the journey she makes, trying to get beleaguered friends and family to help her, is even more so. As we all go through the twisted discovery of just what happened, we are reminded things may not be what they seem on first glance. Tough lookers may or may not take care of their own, perfectly nice people may be buried under their own terrible fates. And sometimes we are much stronger than we ever thought we could or would be.

A pitch perfect cast is led by young Jennifer Lawrence, who is simply remarkable as Ree. While this actress does have a few fine credits on her resume, based purely on this performance alone, hers is a rosy future.  John Hawkes and Dale Dickey, primarily character actors, are given a chance to shine here and an unrecognizable Sheryl Lee makes the most of her small role, too.

Commercially,  this is not an easy film to recommend.  Artistically, it’s a no-brainer. Anyone who cares about the future of fine, serious filmmaking will be flat out exhilarated.

Solitary Man

Early on in this nifty little film, a young man calls Michael Douglas’ character a “dickwad”. Guy’s got a point.

Ben, a fifty something car dealer, is the kind of guy who cheats on his wife, won’t let his adult daughter call him “Dad” in public and beds the 18 year old daughter of the woman he’s now dating. And, oh yeah, let’s not forget the scam that banished him from the BMW franchise family forever. Not exactly your standup citizen, but, considering what we’ve been hearing about some real life business people lately, Ben is also a creation that’s been ripped from the headlines.

With the dearth of smart films for adults in theaters, Solitary Man serves up a much needed option. Ben may be a very unlikeable man, but, as written by co-director Brian Koppleman and played by a superb Michael Douglas, he’s still pretty darn compelling. Channeling the kind of characters he played in Wall Street and the under appreciated Wonder Boys, Douglas has a knack for finding the inner souls of the  initially soul-less. He taps the same magic this time around: reeling us in and repelling us just the way he does with the people who fall for him in the script.

And what people they are: half the fun of watching this movie is getting to see Douglas play with his top flight group of supporting actors. Susan Sarandon may not have too many scenes (too bad, by the way), but she is vividly wonderful as Ben’s ex-wife. Same goes for Mary-Louise Parker, who brings her signature quirky take to the role of Ben’s used and abused lady friend. Your heart goes out to the long suffering daughter Susan, a sympathetically sturdy  Jenna Fischer and you’ll be fascinated, too, by the English actress Imogen Poots, whose adolescent fury unravels the shaky house of cards Ben thinks is so cool.

Date Night

The toughest movies to review are the ones that fall somewhere, safely, in the mid-range of success. They’re neither brilliant or bad, just bland. Date Night is a perfect example of bland.

The usually winning Tina Fey and Steve Carrell play Phil and Claire Foster, a “normal” married couple, living with their rather obnoxious two kids in safe, suburban New Jersey. Threatened after their friends announce an impending separation, Phil decides to ramp up their weekly “date night”, daring to go into New York City and try for a table at the city’s hottest new restaurant. Of course they’re too square to even get into the place  (allowing for the oft-repeated scene of the too cool for school desk person treating the bridge and tunnel types with chic distain), they, living dangerously, snap up someone else’s reservation. When they are handily escorted out, mid-risotto, a seemingly unstoppable night of wildness begins.

Most of the spiraling silliness of the script plows along, thanks to director Shawn Levy’s snappy timing and the lead actors’ willingness to try anything, including the obligatory painful sex dance at an after hours club. (Happy we didn’t have to spend too much time with everybody there!) And a handful of name actors show up and jazz up some cameos scenes. Mark Wahlberg plays a pumped up super-spy, who interrupts his sex session with a hot Israeli girl to help the floundering (i.e. boring old) married couple. James Franco taps into his funny side to steal a second or two as a drug dealer with plans. The supporting star who adds the most sparkle is Taraji P. Henson, who, as a pooped but smart cop, might be giving an audition for the newly available role as Captain on Law and Order.

Still, with all the talent involved, it is surprising this date isn’t more fun. A couple of nice moments aside, this surface-y action comedy feels all to desperate. If you were to see it on an airplane, for free (do they give anything for free on airplanes these days?), it would serve as a middling diversion. Pay for it and you’re going to wish you’d spent your date night doing something else.

City Island

Especially as an antidote to all the awnery big budget blasters out there, City Island is a real sweetheart of a movie.

Andy Garcia stars as a working class New Yorker, still living in the small island off the Bronx where he grew up. Sure, he’s pretty happily married, got two good kids and a decent job as a prison officer. But he just can’t ignore his inner yearnings. So, off to acting classes he goes. Down in Manhattan, where the world, and his mysterious scene partner, are just so much more interesting. Or, are they? Seems like our boy’s not the only one with a secret or two brewing.

Written and directed by Raymond DeFelitta, City Island bears the irresistible charm of the neighborhood in which it is set. A small low key place with great seafood restaurants, this is as close as you can get to a New England fishing village in New York City. But, as I’ve been told by some of the endearingly colorful locals, you don’t want to mess with its people. And that, shall we say strength of character, is the heart of what City Island is all about. While the patriarch may have fantasies of a more glamorous life, we know his dedication to his family. He loves his awkward teenage son, worries about his all too beautiful college co-ed of a daughter (played with obvious chemistry by Garcia’s real life daughter, Dominik Garcia-Lorido), opens his heart to the son he never knew and even is kind of crazy, after all these years, about his screaming mimi of a wife, the absolutely divine Juliana Margulies. He’d better be, or we all know she’ll kick his butt. (Or threaten to: no physical violence here, thank you!)

Emily Moritmer has a nice turn as an acting class friend, but it’s Margulies who takes her role and runs with it. She’s sexy, smart, hot tempered and hysterically funny. While the movie around her is an undeniable charmer, Juliana gives it a dimension that’s really memorable.

Greenberg

Noah Baumbach’s newest serio-comedy is many things, but the word that I keep coming back to is brave.

In this artistic/economic environment, of course it is brave to make a small, somewhat sophisticated  film; even more brave to make the lead character a grumpy, vulnerable sort. And, sure, it’s brave for Ben Stiller to take on the role of Roger Greenberg, fresh from the institution, not really ready to take on the job of house sitting for his brother in L.A. And, how brave is it to cast, as his leading lady, a virtual unknown: an actress with some indie cred, but no real commercial track record yet?

Anyone familiar with Baumbach’s work wouldn’t be surprised by any of this. Taking the not so easy road is what he does, paying off, I think, the most with his simply breathtaking The Squid and the Whale. The results of this effort aren’t as much of a solid knockout, but there are, indeed, some really nifty rewards here.

Stiller is quite fine as Greenberg, a could-have-been rocker who’s now better at building things. His job, for now, is to rebuild his life, after suffering a meltdown serious enough to hospitalize him. When his far more together brother heads off to Vietnam to work on some real estate development there, it just makes sense for Roger to move in for a while, take care of the family dog and make sure nothing happens in the house. You just know this isn’t going to go smoothly.

But Baumbach’s subtle touch takes us gently along for the bumpy ride. Even when we expect pitfalls, they surprise us. Roger is a guy who cannot drive, but assumes he’ll find his wings in Los Angeles. When he tries to reconnect with old friends, he slowly unearths truths about his relationships with them that he never expected. And when he meets his brother’s assistant, the somewhat fuzzy Florence, he can’t help but be wary as he’s awkwardly falling in love.

Some of the dialogue is dandy: some is all too psycho-babble. That may be appropriate stuff for the newly released mental patient to spout, but it’s too sticky for us watching him to take as wise and rewarding. And Roger’s revelation is a bit stark, too. He’s, frankly, more fun when he’s being neurotic, but not as neurotic as when he’s high at an impromptu party with some weird young people.

And then there’s Greta Gerwig: an actress whose performance as Florence the Assistant, is so fresh and honest, you have to blink to make sure she’s not just some young intern plucked off the set. Like she does in the movie, as everything swirls successfully or not around her, Gerwig keeps her cool and delivers a star making performance.

Sex and the City 2

The air has left the balloon, ladies.

What started out as a highflying confection, perched steadily on stiletto sharp heels, has deflated into a sad, puffy mess.

The four New York gals about town have pretty much settled into their adult lives. Charlotte is determined to enjoy her perfect family, Miranda’s trying to balance her work and home life, Samantha’s in menopause and Carrie, well, Carrie is still contemplating her navel. I mean writing books about the profundities of life. And her newest tome, reflecting the survival of the first year of marriage, is debuting just as this chapter of the franchise does, too. Because, after all, Big finally said yes. So Carrie got her man, her closet and life must be good, right? Oh yeah:  not so fast.

There is purposely something for everybody in this bloated update. Our gay BFFs tie quite a knot, which gives director/writer/producer Michael Patrick King a promising platform in which not only to support the legalization of gay marriage, but also to stage what could be the most politically correct over the top wedding of them all. Even Liza Minnelli shows up to perform. And yes, she is to die. (Good for you, Liza) It is at said wedding Carrie begins to realize entering the second year of married life MEANS SOMETHING and, suddenly, Big(the ever charming Chris Noth) and his desire to hang out in the gorgeous apartment she’s just about finished decorating magnificently aren’t so much fun any more. Poor baby.

Charlotte does find some relief from her insistently screaming baby when her nanny takes over. But wow: look at the un-bra’ed boobs on that lass. THREAT ALERT. Miranda’s boss is a bastard and Samantha has reverted to Suzanne Somer’s hormones to try and maintain her mojo. And we thought the oil spill in the gulf was serious.

Sarah Jessica Parker, Kristin Davis, Cynthia Nixon and, especially Kim Cattrall, who is given some pretty dicey stuff to say and do, hang in there, doing their best to make these at best uninteresting women something likeable. They’ve got their work cut out for them. With friends like these….

Of course, there was always a strong shot of fantasy injected into this series, which made its counterpoint of life lessons not only easier to take, but also more fun. Here, Samantha lands the quartet a freebie junket to Abu Dhabi which she insists they attend in repayment for all those children’s birthday parties she’s had to sit through. This obviously serves up lots of opportunities for commentaries on the treatment of women the Mid East, the seduction of wealth and money shots of great clothes. All of which are mentioned, but never really explored.  Maybe women won’t flock to this SATC for its moral code, but even Patricia Field’s costumes are mostly disappointing here.

There surely will be all sorts of snickers when the box office receipts are reported for this movie. “What do the critics know, anyway?”they will scoff. It is not my job or intention to deny anyone a good time or a decent chance at success. It is my responsibility to explain my disappointment with what I see and remind filmmakers that next time they can and should make something better.

Robin Hood

Think you know all about the legend of Robin Hood? Ridley Scott wants to fill you in on every bloody detail.

Set as a prequel to the fun part of the story, where Robin and his merry band go taking from the rich and giving to the poor, this great looking saga sets out to explain why Robin was so driven. History fans might find all of the detail, including an early run in with Richard the Lionhearted (a short lived Danny Huston), intriguing, but Scott and his writer, Brain Helgeland, amp it up considerably for 21st century audiences, with visceral fight scenes, bringing us up close and personal with the intimate battle strategies of the 1500s. Posing as Knights, Robin and a few friends talk their way on to an England bound ship, in the hopes of getting home and rid of the sitting King. Of course, the course of history ne’er runs smooth: winding up in London, the boys meet up with said young King earlier than expected and, thanks to a deathbed wish fulfillment, take a trip to Nottingham, where Robin is taken in by a formerly wealthy family, desperately in need of a man around the house, in order to keep title to the land they might lose to pay off back taxes. Feminists and tea baggers take note.

OK: all that established (phew), the two hour and twenty minute film settles in to hint at more familiar territory. We get to know (a bit) the goofy guys who make up Robin’s gang, mostly as they woo ye olde wenches and bring up the rear as Robin does his thing. The political and social history surrounding all this is balanced with more lighthearted scenes like lots of singing and dancing, drinking and making merry. It’s the stuff of all those Renaissance Fairs that dot the country nowadays. Fans of these things know who they are.

While solid actors such as Mark Strong and Oscar Isaac turn in strong, serviceable performances, it’s the movie stars showing up along the way who stand out in this muddy crowd. Max Von Sydow shows all the kids how it’s done with a few memorable speeches; William Hurt, who barely gets to do anything at all, still steals the screen whenever he’s on it. Cate Blanchett, as the not-maid-anymore Marion, is just terrific, making the absolute most of every second she’s got, breathing spit fire into each and every scene and mere glance.

And then there’s Russell Crowe. Saddled with the all back history of his beleaguered hero (major Daddy issues at work here),  the usually magnetic actor is hampered by the weight of it all. Only when he’s, at last, flirting with Blanchett does he show the charm that makes him such a special talent. We all know Crowe can sword play and stand tall, lots of other actors in this piece do that, too. If Scott is going to re-team with Crowe to play Robin (and there are some who might question his age for that character in the first place), let Russell be Russell.

Iron Man 2

Big, empty and dying: is it Tony Stark or the Iron Man franchise itself?

Well, yes, Stark, embodied by the dandy Robert Downey, Jr., isn’t feeling particularly great. That gadget in his chest may be saving the world, but it’s screwing up Tony’s blood counts something fierce. So he hands off his empire to Pepper (Gwyenth Paltrow in reprise), tells the US government to suck it and prepares to celebrate his final birthday by destroying his gorgeous Malibu manse. In the meantime, a very pissed off Mickey Rourke is hired  by business archrival Sam Rockwell to build a perfect roboresponse to the previously invincible Iron Man. Oh oh.

Director Jon Favreau has taken great pains to insure Justin Theroux’s script doesn’t get bogged down by silly matters like mortality. Sure, Tony may be facing the end, but that’s not going to stop him from racing in the Le Mans or playing with his incredibly nifty toys. And those scenes, along with an end blow out designed to thrill the video game crowd, are what make Iron Man well, Iron Man. Downey’s gazing soulfully into the mirror ain’t gonna cut it here.

Running a long two hours, there are serious sags in the fun here. But a few twinkling scenes pop things up considerably. Love Garry Shandling as the Senator who’s not afraid to speak his mind, even if it’s quietly. And Scarlett Johansson takes over the archetype female character in this chapter (Pepper has graduated into the big time), which she handles gamely.

In one of this uneven movie’s best scenes, Tony Stark informs us that he, through Iron Man, has privatized world peace. Watching this entertainment mere blocks from where a car almost exploded in Times Square, I’m hoping he’s right.

Casino Jack and the United States of Money

If  Alex Gibney’s documentary on the notorious lobbyist Jack Abramoff  is a little dense, it’s with good reason. This now convicted felon mover and shaker played his power in a lot of arenas. And his story is not an easy one to tell.

Gibney recounts the complicated dealings of this religious and driven man with almost a comic bent. But this is not funny stuff. Called the most corrupt man in America, Abramoff was the kingpin behind many damaging plots. Ultimately, he was brought down by equally zealous reporters and prosecutors, but not before he brought down, with him, so many others, including (but not limited to) Dancing with the Stars star and former House Majority Leader Tom DeLay and former Congressman Bob Ney.

Interviews with several of the players involved are historically interesting and should serve as a record in trying to avoid such disasters in the future. Ney, in particular, seems convincingly humbled and open to sharing what wooed him toward personal and professional disaster.

It is all about the money. We knew that, of course, but it is remarkable to watch the house of cards Abramoff thought he built grow and, ultimately, crumble thanks to the greed of the hungry here. What Gibney does best is show us why that greed, in some cases, exists. And that’s not as mercenary as we might think.

Congress members are a house divided. Not just politically, but attention-wise. They are elected to do their job of representing their districts. But they also know that, to keep that job, they must always be thinking ahead to the next election. And, most importantly, how they are going to pay for it. Because all politicians need money, and lots of it, to pay to run and it’s awfully tempting to make a compromise with some lobbyist when there’s some big contributions being thrown in to sweeten the deal.

A quick slate at the end of this picture reminds us the Supreme Court recently upheld the laws that allow this kind of corporate/financial influence to continue. While that makes this film all the more relevant, it also makes this spun “comedy” into one of the most terrifying morality tales in years.

Green Zone

Here’s a list of things I didn’t understand about this movie.

Drawn from a non-fiction account of life in Baghdad’s Green Zone, written by the former Bureau Chief from the Washington Post, why did the filmmakers (including the journalist himself) choose to fictionalize things, ignoring all the pithy little details of the original book, shaping things instead around one hell of a soldier, a guy who knows there are no WMDs and who’s out to prove it? This, in case you don’t get it, is a rhetorical question. Of course, the people who made this decision thought no one would want to go see a movie about the hard truths of Iraq. This decision was probably made just as one of the producers of the Oscar winning Hurt Locker was standing on New York City streets, offering free tickets to passersby, just to insure another week’s run in theaters. But, still, why did they choose to dumb down what is a very complex and fascinating real story?

And how did this guy (played by the always watchable Matt Damon) manage to go rogue, slithering away from not just the smarmy government architect (Greg Kinnear), but also the “other side”, the CIA, across the hall and under the leadership of the blowsy Brendan Gleeson? Everybody wants our hero’s help, but nobody seems to be able to find him? Please.

And just what was with that snappy clothing change for our guy? Ushered surprisingly into a palace suite, he finds a dandy, perfect fitting outfit awaiting. Or did he carry that with him, tucked away in a pocket as he was sweating up a storm while grilling suspects on the Baghdad streets, just, you know, in case? Small point, I know, but this kind of Hollywood pretty clothes thing happens all the time and it’s about time somebody said something.

As if all of this suspension of disbelief wasn’t going far enough, this one killed me. Why, at the end of the movie, when the real story is broken, does a duped big time journalist smile? She’s been scooped, baby! Proven wrong, a dupe for the administration, fed a line. And she smiles? Didn’t a real newspaperman write this?

A real director, Paul Greengrass, of the Bourne movies, does jazz all these things up considerably. His hand-held, jittery camera work helps keep things exciting, even if we don’t buy the rest of it all for a minute.

Alice in Wonderland

Like Alice, Tim Burton uses his trip down the rabbit hole to reassert his “muchness”. There is much to look at, as a result, but not much about which to wonder.

Using the classic story as a starting point, Burton and company spin, essentially, their own adaptation. Great (and not so great) directors have been doing the same with, say, Shakespeare, for years. Here, Alice (Mia Wasikowska) is 19 and just about to be married off to a wealthy but pretty icky young man. Budding feminist that she is, despite the pressures of her family and Victorian era social structures, our Alice is not too thrilled. So, when a bouncing rabbit beckons, she’s off, falling into what we all discover is a place she has been before.

There’s never been any question Burton is one of our most visually compelling filmmakers .As expected,  his vision of Wonderland is initially tantalizing, and impeccably mounted. The bulbous Red Queen’s froggy court is grand, Tweedledum and Tweedledee are eggishly appealing. But it’s the Mad Hatter, brought to vivid life by the singular Johnny Depp, that’s the centerpiece of this ohso surreal place. Sweetly mad but wonderfully protective of Alice, this Hatter whips up some great headpieces and, when imprisoned, inspires Alice to find her inner mojo.

All of this is presented, in some theaters, in 3 – D, the newest “must-have” for studios to pump up theatrical attendance. The effect here is neat, but occasionally fuzzy and nowhere near as sharp as Avatar. It’s probably not Burton’s fault, but it’s comparisons like this we all knew were coming when James Cameron’s state of the art precision debuted just months ago.

While much of this “Alice” is downright interesting, it is not a whole lot of fun. This is not a fairy tale for children: it’s much too violent for that. And Burton’s signature sense of the macabre doesn’t leave a whole lot of room for emotional engagement from us, either. It’s fine to interpret Wonderland with a lemony twist, but what happened to the tale’s timeless and irresistible sense of awe?

Brooklyn's Finest

Intense. That’s what Antoine Fuqua does best and his fast cutting, depressed cop story is nothing if not intense.

A handful of good actors show up here, playing New York City police officers, stuck in particularly gritty jobs. Ethan Hawke, assigned to a grisly drug bust group, loves his family and can’t help but wish he was earning enough to buy them a better house. Don Cheadle, undercover, questions his own integrity when walking that thin line between good and bad guy. And Richard Gere, bloated and beat up, can’t wait till his last day on the job. We’ve seen all these guys before and in better movies, but these three smart actors manage to inject something inherently watchable to each of them here.

You also, of course, know pretty much what’s going to happen to them. Pretty, happy endings don’t make action pictures, do they? But Fuqua, whose best work was the nail biting Training Day, has a way with keeping us on the edge of our seats anyway. And, as he did with the Oscar winning Denzel Washington in that film, he also manages to elicit something strong, almost unexpectedly fresh, from his actors. Here, the biggest (and happiest) surprise is Wesley Snipes, whose terrific film presence has been abused in dumb cartoony vehicles the past decade or so. In a supporting role as a recently paroled drug kingpin, returning with an unsure bravado to the neighborhood, Snipes digs in to give his best and most promising performance in years.

Shutter Island

Up for having a master filmmaker mess with your head? Then this is the movie for you.

Channeling his inner Hitchcock, Martin Scorsese taps into the Gothic hipness of Dennis Lehane’s psychological mindbender. The equally game Leonardo DiCaprio stars as U.S. Marshall Teddy Daniels, summoned, along with his new partner, played by Mark Ruffalo, to an eerie offshore psychiatric hospital when one of the patients, a brilliant and beautiful young murderess, has gone missing. During a hurricane. Teddy is onto the weirdness of the place early on; Scorsese, through a marvelously static opening sequence, enhanced with Robbie Robertson’s dandy score, sets us up for some bizarro stuff, too. There’s more going on in here than meets the eye: or is there?

The impeccable Scorsese is clearly having a ball, tapping into the kind of stark, Cold War era fear that runs through the most profound of thrillers. Everything is remote, suspicious, yet nothing clear or distinctly threatening. As he weaves through a colorful cast of characters to interview about the case, Teddy becomes more and more muddled. He is, after all, trying to get the truth out of crazy people. Isn’t he?

Unfortunately, as the story winds on and on (like most of Scorsese’s work, this one runs on just a tad too long), the fun fizzles. We discover the truth and, as written in the original novel, that truth is nowhere near as entertaining as is the trip getting there.

Still, there is a lot to enjoy here. For the most part, the savvy production values shine. And the supporting cast, including the terrific Max von Sydow, Patricia Clarkson, Emily Mortimer, Michelle Williams, and Ben Kingsley, are right on the money. Not earning co-starring credits, but delivering dandy work all the same, are Jackie Earle Haley and Robin Bartlett. While we, and the movie, are exhausted by the end, the ride to it is a real trip.

The Wolfman

While some legends never die, maybe there should be a moratorium called on those incessant unnecessary big screen remakes of them. Because when all you can deliver is an expensive, effect-heavy horror flick that’s just plain boring, it’s time to rethink things a bit.

Joe Johnston’s insistently classy spin on the classic Victorian rich-guy-bites-those-who-feed-him tale goes for the wrong goal. There have been very few really lush gore fests that have actually ripped the heart as well as scared the bejesus out of people (Francis Ford Coppola’s Dracula pops to mind, but that was, let’s face it, helmed by the master of engrossing lush himself). We’re usually better off with a leaner, meaner spin: one that remembers horror movies are supposed to be fun. The fun is lost in the all-too-thick sauce here.

Benicio Del Toro stars as the black sheep of a wealthy English family, called home when his brother goes missing. Turns out, there’s something viciously attacking the local citizens: something that rips into the flesh with gusto, just about once a month, when there’s a full moon. Hmmm....I could make a joke about those monthly blues, but I’d be the only one having a good time. The chunky script, credited to Andrew Kevin Walker and David Self, takes itself and its story much too seriously for anything purposely light (although the audience I sat with did seem to find a few moments of unexpected hilarity). Like Del Toro, the supporting stars, all fine actors, aren’t given a chance to shine. Hugo Weaving is the detective on the case; Emily Blunt, the brother’s widowed love. Anthony Hopkins does have a few effective moments as the wacky Dad, but we’ve seen him do these same line readings before. I suppose it’s kind of like “if it ain’t broke don’t fix it”, but Hopkins has too much to offer as an actor to be straightjacketed into delivering repetitive performances.

Valentine's Day

Charm will only get you so far. In this case, even the most charming (and huge) cast can only do so much with this corny compilation.

For this ensemble, Garry Marshall has collected a sweet bushel full of actors he’s worked with before and some who are new to the family. Julia Roberts, Anne Hathaway and perpetual Marshall go to guy, Hector Elizondo show up, along with newbies including, but not limited to: Jennifer Garner, Jessica Biel, Topher Grace, Jamie Foxx, Shirley MacLaine, Queen Latifah, Taylor Swift and, in her feature film debut, Taylor Swift. The intertwining Los Angeles based love stories pretty much revolve, though, around Ashton Kutcher, who spends his Valentine’s Day running his florist shop and in between the two loves of his life. As he discovers The Meaning of True Love, so do all the rest of these characters. The hope, I’m sure, is that we do, too.

It’s not that I’m not a mushball when it comes to these kind of things. I’ve watched reruns of The Love Boat along with everyone else. But when the expected silliness is “enhanced” (?) with embarrassing scenes of the very talented Anne Hathaway speed talking her way through phone sex, a mother asking some nuns to hold her baby for a second with the warning “You should know we’re Jewish”, and a worried mother calling to the naked boy running from her daughter’s bedroom, “Cover your ho-ho”, well, need I say more?

The surprise, if there is one here, is that just about all the starring performers come through with enough durable sweetness to make all of this grow on you. A bit. Show winners like Julia, Ashton and Jennifer falling in love and, come on, resistance is futile. But just when I thought I’d fallen for this not so great valentine, I was shaken right back into reality. Ambitious reporter Jamie Foxx runs off to a press conference, hoping he can nab “an exclusive”. Word to the wise: press conference and exclusive: that’s a contradiction in terms.

From Paris with Love

John Travolta kicks that pesky schizophrenic script out of his way to serve up yet another, perfectly entertaining badass. This time, bald and pierced, he steals the show as CIA special agent Charlie Wax, an “unconventional” CIA special agent who shows up to partner with an ambitious play by the rules operative, played decently enough by Jonathan Rhys Meyers.

Director Pierre Morel, teaming with producer Luc Besson, keep the rather pedestrian story line filled with enough shoot’em ups and car chases to not only secure an R rating, but also to keep audiences who enjoy this kind of thing happy. While I lost count of the number of bad guys blown away about half way through the 95 minutes of this movie, there is a body count estimation thrown in: Wax, getting quite the chuckle out of it, believes he’s downed at least one guy an hour, over the last 24 hours. Even I can do that math. It should be noted, though, those scenes are smartly choreographed and edited. While the audience I watched with was pretty civilized about the whole thing, I could just hear in my head a wilder crowd, swearing with delight while having a bloody good time.

Travolta, too, seems to be having a lot of fun. Shaving his head, donning a few earrings and a remarkably supple leather jacket (which never seems to restrict his athletic action), his Wax is a guy, for the most part, who’s a few steps ahead of everybody else and digs it. Why should he fill his new partner in on what he’s doing, when it’s so much more fun to mess with his head? But, as the script wanders from slick action to warm odd couple buddy stuff, we not only lose the smarts, but the edge, too. It’s much more, well, maybe not much, but at least a little more interesting to watch these two different lead characters go at one another than to share giggles and wine over dinner.

Edge of Darkness

The most interesting component to this Mel Gibson vehicle happens off screen. After all, the script must have had something to make Gibson, who’s been pretty busy not acting lately, choose to return to work on camera after seven years. The production notes state Mel thought the story was “intriguing”. I’m not buying it. Because, at least in how it turned out, this is a totally thrill-less thriller.

Based on what was a popular British miniseries 20 years ago, the edgeless “Edge” is now set in Massachusetts. The only adult daughter of a single father, who happens to be a Boston detective, is quickly gunned down upon her somewhat mysterious visit home. While it’s natural to think she was just the collateral damage on an intended attack on her dad, he knows better. She must have been involved in something.

Off we go on a standard, dully told chase. There’s a not so trustworthy boyfriend, the malevolent boss, a  sitting duck of a well intentioned friend. That would all be ok, if it were staged with finesse. But director Martin Campbell brings none of the gritty elegance or sense of timing he infused in Casino Royale this time around. That’s especially curious, considering this is Campbell’s second go at the project: he directed the miniseries, too.

And then there’s Mel. Perhaps he just wasn’t all that into what he was doing here, but, in the past, Gibson has given some fine performances in productions that were and were not so great. In this picture, he’s all facial expressions. There’s no use of the rest of his body; the arms often just hanging there, lifeless. I was far more intrigued as to what was behind that disconnect between body and head than I was by anything else in this all too ordinary movie.

The Book of Eli

Ready or not: here it comes. The first kick ass apocalyptic action flick, designed for both the comic book and True Believer set.  Well, you can’t say this decade in movies hasn’t started out with a bang!

Denzel Washington brings a remarkably intriguing gravity to the mysterious role of Eli, a man left roaming the devastated landscape of America, some 30 years after a religious war and blinding flash. The few survivors, and their scrappy, if uneducated offspring, are wreaking havoc, scrambling for whatever’s left. But Eli has a mission. He’s taking his book, yes, it’s the Bible and headed west. Nothing’s going to stop him, either. He’s amazingly invincible, but, boy, what trials he’s to endure!

Frankly, as the Hughes Brothers’ camera first panned the opening scene, allowing us to watch as a cat munches a fly crusted corpse, I was pretty miserable. Just what we need: yet another end-of-the-world gross out. But, shrewdly, Gary Whitta’s screenplay won’t just settle for the standard. Thanks to Washington’s star wattage and acting smarts, we find ourselves drawn to this strange traveler. And once he bumps into Gary Oldman’s megomaniacal fellow reader, things really begin to get interesting. For sure, there’s tons of heated action, but there’s a chilling moral struggle that’s just as much a part of the reality here, too.

I’m not going to oversell this, but, I, for one, was surprised at how this movie grew on me as it forged along. I found myself actually caring about Eli and impressed at how ambitious the story line and production values were. And no, I’m not going to give it away, but, yes, there is a goodie bag of an ending that just might knock your socks off and give you a lot to think about as you head back into this paralleling bone chilling cold of 2010.

Sherlock Holmes

It’s not going to rock your world, but Guy Ritchie’s take on the classic detective series has got a lot going for it. Most notably, of course, it’s got Robert Downey, Jr. and that’s just fine with me.

Downey is a perfect fit for a modern day revival of the venerable Arthur Conan Doyle series. Sliding almost effortlessly between wide eyed curiosity and snarling superiority, Downey gets the push-pull of the Detective perfectly. He also understands the man’s vulnerabilities: his depressions, substance dabbling and very real reliance on his best friend, the good Dr. Watson. And Jude Law brings just the right touch of irritated understanding to that character, torn between sticking with his irresistible friend, or going legit and getting married. Not to worry: Holmes has his lady, too, a smarty pants not so good girl played gamely by Rachel McAdams. It’s also nice to see Eddie Marsan show up, in a decent supporting role.

While the story here is pretty average stuff, the set design and effects are of a higher caliber. No movie currently in theaters is going to match Avatar for knocking your socks off with the look of the thing, but Sherlock’s no slouch, either.

All the while I was screening this determinedly fun for the family kick off to what was obviously conceived as the first in a series, I couldn’t help but think of one of my favorite TV shows: House. Not just because Gregory House, like Sherlock Holmes, solves crimes while ticking people off, but because House, also like Sherlock, has his Watson: Wilson, played marvelously by Robert Sean Leonard. I would think fans of any of the procedural programs, the CSIs or even Law and Orders, would go for the process stuff that’s at play in this movie. But, at its most elementary,  my dear, this Sherlock is very much like Dr. House: neurotic, brilliant and great to watch, from a distance.

It's Complicated

Really? Complicated? Nothing so complex going on here at all, in what is essentially another chapter in the Nancy Meyers brand.

In Nancy world, middle aged women are smart, a little soft around the middle and charmingly, just a little bit insecure. Not about their professions, mind you: those have been successful enough to afford said women great clothes, substantial cars and, most notably, the most fabulous houses. It’s the love life part that’s got our ladies a tad dizzy. But not to worry: scratch the surface and all these size 10’ers are really irresistible to the most yummy of men. And there are lots of supportive girl friends who are happy to drop everything and gather round for a glass or two of an excellent pinot noir to cheer on the inevitable.

This time, it’s Meryl Streep’s turn to star as Nancy’s woman on the verge. A divine baker and loving mother to three grown children, our heroine lives what she thinks is a perfectly nice life in the most wonderful house in Santa Barbara. (Nancy’s ladies always live in expensively cool, but never ostentatious places). Then, after running into her ex a few times, like at the building where his and his new wife’s fertility clinic is, she begins to feel those old feelings. Said girlfriends urge her to get, shall we say, physical, with someone. Anyone. But, at their son’s college graduation, turns out the revived attraction is mutual. And away we go.

Streep, as always, elevates her material here. Alec Baldwin, paunch and all, is as funny as he can be in this played out role. And Steve Martin, neutered down for his sweet third wheel part, is, well, sweet, too. All even survive potentially embarrassing sex and pot smoking scenes.

As is also an essential in Nancy world, there are moments of self doubt and introspection. Those flashes used to signal something savvy in the Nancy brand; here, they are stuck in as if by habit.

Fans of Meyers’ films won’t be miserable or anything watching this movie. It is ok. Enough. But, those of us who remember the smarts of Diane Keaton pushing a baby carriage in a business suit, or the heart rendering basketball scenes between Steve Martin and his daughter, will yearn for something more. Until then, the Meyers brand is alive and full of nifty decorating tips.

Nine

Coming off his spectacular Chicago, Rob Marshall has hit the wall with this musical version of Frederico Fellini’s autobiographical 8 ½.

Nine, as a Broadway show (first staged by the genius Tommy Tune), has been a hit several times. A whirling dreamlike fantasy, enveloping a legendary director coping with writer’s block, this string of show stopping numbers was charming, sexy and sad. As a film, where we watch a tremendously self-absorbed man twirl between nine key women in his life, the fun is sporadic. At best. And the magic, the ethereal other worldliness of the piece, hardly ever reaches off the screen to pull us in.

Daniel Day Lewis stars as Guido and, for me, his casting is an essential problem. There’s no denying Lewis’s talent and he is game here: going for broke, singing and dancing. But Lewis’s signature intensity brings a gravity to Guido that, while it may be attractive to some, can also be a ton of work for others. We’re supposed to love this guy, through all the stuff he pulls. And here, that’s not so easy.

Still, there’s a glorious bevy of women surrounding him, at least in the story. Penelope Cruz is luscious as the sexy mistress, Judi Dench, terrific as his costumer, Kate Hudson snappy, playing the American journalist come for her interview. Nicole Kidman and Sophia Loren aren’t given all that much to do and neither is Fergie. However, when the pop star sings, which she does extremely well, she puts all the other vocal performances to shame. The best performance in this uneven collection is that of Marion Cotillard, who is stunning as Guido’s patient and not so patient wife. This Oscar winner, who also stole the show away from Johnny Depp in Public Enemies, just gets more impressive with each new turn.

Avatar

Imperfect as it is, Avatar is still essential viewing for anyone who cares about the future of the movies. Because Jim Cameron’s visual epic presents effects we’ve never seen before,  not just offering thrills but setting the bar for the genre: making your daddy’s special effects now just a pretender in today’s new world.

Yes, there is a story here. Jake Sully, (Sam Worthington) a former Marine, now confined to a wheelchair, is recruited to Pandora, an otherworldly outpost where there’s a mineral to be mined that just could save the Earth. Because the environment on the alien world is toxic to what we call people, the humans must go through some kind of complicated scientific process, allowing them to temporarily adopt Avatar bodies, infiltrate the natives and get that much needed ore. That’s the plan, anyway. When Sully is reborn, his first emotional awakening is to the pleasure of being able to walk again. Then, as he is taught the spiritual lessons of the indigenous Na’vi, and, of course, he meets the beautiful local princess, our hero must decide which of his two worlds is worth saving.

If only Cameron had invested 1/100th of the creative energy he and the animators from Peter Jackson’s WETA Digital company put into the look of the thing toward the script, boy, what this could have been. But, as obsessed with perfection and knock your socks off visuals as the Avatar team is, they also allowed for a pretty formulaic storyline to hook it to. We’ve seen this plot countless times before but, who knows, maybe that was the thinking: we don’t have to take our eyes away from the dazzle to worry about silly little things like memorable dialogue.

OK, so it isn’t perfect. But those effects are amazing. I found myself audibly gasping at the sparking 3-D, the beautiful floating mountains, those incredible horses and flying Banshees. And the actors, all CGI’ed, look pretty cool, too. Visually, the movie seems to top itself, scene after scene. Technology buffs can have a field day here, wondering what happened to make all these remarkable breakthroughs. But I, for one, was just as entertained, not constantly asking, “How’d they do that?” but just simply marveling, “wow: they did that!”

Crazy Heart

Sometimes you don’t have to reinvent the wheel to steer right into the heart. Scott Cooper’s Crazy Heart does just that.

We’ve seen the story of the washed up country singer many times before. But never have we seen Jeff Bridges play it. And it’s been worth the wait. As the struggling Bad Blake, Bridges brings a slow hum of anger to his alcoholic has-been. Bad knows he’s too talented to have wound up playing bowling alleys, puking up the booze he scored from the star struck small town liquor store owner. And yet, here he is. Haranguing his agent, Blake finally gets an offer to open for a younger, bigger star. But there’s history between these two and, as desperate as he is, Bad just can’t get out of his own way.

Then, in walks Maggie Gyllenhaal. She’s there to interview him, but we all know what’s gonna happen here. And it’s good, too. But is Bad a good enough man to keep it going?

Full confession: I have always loved watching Jeff Bridges’ work. From the quintessential Dude, to the wide eyed Starman, Bridges’ has always endeared me with his ease, confidence and smarts. There’s always much more going on in his performances than what immediately hits the eye. And his Bad Blake is no exception. This is a guy whose fury is a slow burn: when it explodes, he’s afire. But, when he’s performing, you know he knows he’s home. His surprise at falling in love is even more enchanting to behold. And, in perhaps her best work to date, Gyllenhaal is just as winning. She had me from the minute she appeared on screen. It’s always nice to see Robert Duvall show up (he produces, also), but perhaps the biggest surprise here is Colin Farrell, who, in a small but key role, doesn’t just keep it grounded and interesting, but, heck: he sings too! And well!

Which leads us to the music. T-Bone Burnett, whose film credits include the spectacular music of Brother, Where Art Thou?, has done it again. There’s not a lot of songs here, but what there is, is great stuff. Kind of like this small, but shining movie.

The Lovely Bones

When I first heard Peter Jackson was to direct the film version of this delicate best seller, I was, shall we say, surprised. After all, he of Lord of the Rings and King Kong fame, is not known for his light touch. However, when I saw the actual movie, I got it. Jackson wanted to play with heaven.

In case you don’t know, The Lovely Bones was a hugely popular novel about a murdered teenager, watching as the world below tries to comes to grips with her death. While it certainly enraptured those comforted by the idea of our ability to maintain some sort of relationship with those who have passed away, the book also was notable thanks to its delicate handling of what is a perfectly awful situation. Let’s not forget a young girl was brutally butchered before all the heavenly fun could begin.

Jackson never lets us forget. Fran Walsh and Philippa Boyens screenplay veers the story right toward the murder. We spend as much time with young Susie before her untimely demise as we do afterwards, insuring we are as  devastated as are her parents when she is lured into the underground crime scene. Once Susie does ascend, Jackson, who has told the story up till that point with a surprising traditional approach, goes for broke. His dreamscape of what heaven looks like is as imaginary as are any of the sets in the Rings pictures. But, almost dazzlingly bright, especially in contrast to the dim look at Earth, we almost feel as if we need sunglasses to watch.

Young Saoirse Ronan, who was such a smash in Atonement, does a fine job as the child, stuck in a netherworld, hoping for revenge upon her killer. And as that horrifying sicko, Stanley Tucci gives an astonishing performance. It’s not just his look that he’s changed, it’s his voice, his walk, his attitude. As fascinating as it is to see his work, I, for one, found myself cringing every time he was on screen. The movie seems weighted toward him, which not only doesn’t follow the book, but also dumbs the piece down, making it almost like an ordinary who done it, albeit with very fancy art pieces about what’s upstairs.

Invictus

Clint Eastwood has developed an almost ego-less directorial style that is quite remarkable: he stands tall, tells the story and gets out of the way. With Invictus, Eastwood’s got quite the story to tell.

When Nelson Mandela was elected the first black President of South Africa, he inherited quite a mess. (Sound familiar, anyone?) Given a political mandate, the leader was faced with the legacy of apartheid. Even the blacks and whites in his own administration didn’t trust each other. How could the country succeed when its own citizens carried the intrinsic fear of their fellow countrymen? Mandela, savilly, began to notice the whites’ concerns about their future paralleling their disappointment in the national rugby team. Recognizing an opportunity, he decided to do something about that.

Yes, Invictus is a movie about the South African team winning the 1995 Rugby World Cup. But, of course, it is also about so much more. Told almost in bullet points, we see how Mandela came upon his inspiration, nudged the team’s captain toward success both on and off the field, dealt with his own personal heartaches, went to international summits hours after collapsing from exhaustion, had an eye for the ladies and relished being in the spotlight of his people. The only time Eastwood gets emotional is when he allows a few unnecessary songs to play, telling us all too specifically what we should be feeling. The film would have been much better off had he taken a few extra minutes to fill in the blanks, give us all a little flavorful downtime in between chapter headings.

And yet, you can’t help but do the math yourself, watching this true and inspirational story. It is remarkable to see Mandela’s brilliant political instincts at work, even when those around him are trying to get him off his oh so determined track. And, thanks to two fine leading performances, we do get the emotion of the thing. Matt Damon has served up two very different, excellent characters on screen this year. He’s just great in The Informant and he’s as far from that guy, but equally as terrific, here. And then there’s Morgan Freeman as Mandela. And yes, he is every bit as good as you’d think he’d be. Freeman and Eastwood, after several spins around the movie dance floor together, are clearly on the same page. Be the man. And when the man is as strong, smart and interesting as Nelson Mandela, being that man is pretty remarkable all on its own.

Up in the Air.

It’s almost impossible to imagine this bittersweet love story hitting the screen at any other time in recent history and yet, word is, director Jason Reitman started adapting Walter Kim’s novel about the frequently flying some five years ago. The world, as you may remember, was a pretty different place then. Today, this story of people who are hired to fire other people brings a timely punch to the gut that, almost by accident, adds a resonance that’s hard to shake.

George Clooney has been suave and charming in movies before (in probably all of them, actually), but he has hardly ever brought the sense of vulnerability he betrays here. Women will swoon; guys will admire his got-it-all-figured-out shtick. After all, his impeccable Ryan isn’t just really great at laying off the laid off, he’s also amazing at working the system. The business travel system, that is. This is a guy who’ll do anything for the mileage, who knows how to always book the swankiest room and the where the free breakfasts are. He’s got goals: to make the airline’s top flying rank and to be invited to present his theory of life (it’s got something to do with an empty backpack) at the best convention going. But then two women show up. There’s Alex (Vera Farmiga), a woman who confesses she’s just like him, but “with a vagina” and young Natalie (Anna Kendrick), the smart kid who’s trying to revamp the company’s system and therefore, ruin Ryan’s oh so well organized life.

Good taste precludes me from telling you what happens. But I’d love to talk to you about it. What is admirable about the three main characters in this film is how beautifully drawn and acted they are. The supporting characters? Not so much. But there is a conversation to be had about what makes both the women, very compelling cookies, do what they do and I’d love to have it. But not now: gives too much away.

It is, however, perfectly appropriate to share just how smart, sad and true much of this movie really is. Clooney gives his most complex romantic performance to date, Farmiga and Kendrick make their co-leading ladies as interesting and of the moment as is the rest of the best of this very grounded movie.

Everybody's Fine

In this remake of a 1990 Italian film (Stanno Tutti Bene), Robert De Niro stars as the recently retired widower, living a lonely life in upstate New York. It sums up a lot to say that this former maker of telephone wire, the material that carries communication between people, cannot communicate with what’s left of his own family. Some might say poetic. Some might say, “oh please.”

Most of the people who attended the screening I went to left the room choking back tears, confessing shyly out of the corner of their mouths, “You don’t understand. That’s my father!” And for those who can relate to this crisis upon crisis melodrama, there will surely be affection for the old guy. After all, when DeNiro wants to turn it on, nobody can wrench the heart strings better. He even got me loving the young Don Corleone, when he just gazed at his ailing baby son. Remember? So you can just imagine how it works now, stooped just a bit, grizzled puffy cheeks, trying to get someone to talk to him as he waits for a train to see the children who were all too busy to come see him. Even after he bought the steak and the most expensive bottle of wine the grocery store sold.

Turns out, of course, there’s more to it all than just that the kids weren’t interested. There’s a Problem. And it’s a big one. Bigger than the unmentioned divorce, the disappointing career choice, the sexual screwups that are the everyday stuff of his estranged family. And let’s not forget: Dad’s got his own problems. What with the bad lungs and heart, after all.

Kate Beckinsale, Sam Rockwell and especially Drew Barrymore each have some lovely moments, playing one on one with the legendary star. And perhaps as a holiday film, bringing out the violins and hankies before heading off to a family reunion isn’t such a bad thing. But while everybody in this film might be fine, I can’t help but think that everyone in the audience would have been better served with a little less schmaltz.

This Is It

Irresistible on so many levels, this rehearsal documentary delights, fascinates and frustrates.

There’s no question Kenny Ortega has done a remarkable job, piecing together footage shot as part of the concert, during rehearsals and for the planned behind the scenes teaser that, I suppose, was going to be released to promote the tour. Even though he had a lot to work with, it couldn’t have been easy. This film, like the tour itself (in Michael’s words), is primarily designed to please the fans. In fact, an early title slate says just that: this is for the fans. And they, no doubt, will be pleased. Sure, we get the weepy, prayerful tryouts, the costumers backstage showing us how they sew buttons on Michael’s Beat It jacket, but this film is very much about Michael himself, or, as we all come to call him, MJ.

And MJ is a knockout here. Even when he, in an effort to save his voice for the actual performances, tones it down or did I see some lipsyncing going on?, Jackson was at his most magnetic. Even in people filled shots, where he is with tons of dancers, musicians or production people, your eye just automatically goes to Michael. He was, and I guess still is, that kind of guy.

He was also the kind of guy who couldn’t, it seems, sit still. Maybe he doesn’t sing each number, but he sure does dance to them. While standing, discussing choreography, the feet are moving; the hands are too. And when he puts it all together, moonwalking, crotch grabbing, jumping, flying across the stage, watch out: what an incredible performer Michael Jackson truly was.

Of course it is sad this film had to be made, that the actual concert could not have gone on and had that work speak for itself. But it should be noted that the timing of a release of this kind is pretty auspicious. The public loves behind the scenes stuff, as long as it’s limited and prettied up as it is in, say, the Idol programs or on the new tv hit, Glee.

And that is precisely the level of artistic insider stuff we get here: we get one shot of some dance masters yelling, a few seconds of Jackson complaining his audio feed is too loud, a glance or two at Ortega shooting the new Thriller film that was to be displayed on the screens during the live performances. But just as often we get reaction shots of off-stage dancers, watching in awe: thrilled to just to be in the presence of the Thriller himself.

We don’t need to be told this was a superstar, blowing away his fellow artists with the flick of his wrist, do we?

For those morbidly interested in the physical stuff: yes, Michael looked great. Healthy, but pretty thin. Of course, you do all that dancing, it’ll take some poundage off you.

What I found the most interesting was that in this, his announced last hurrah, Jackson seemed to put away the creepy stuff. Gone was that eery falsetto speaking voice. Here, he analyzes, conducts, encourages and dominates with a very sure tone. The contrast between his “normalcy” and his almost other worldly talent makes his very special gift all the more remarkable.