Resident Evil: Extinction (2007) & Death Race (2008)

When I watched "Resident Evil: Extinction," I had no idea it was the third film in a series about a world overcome by zombies. I hadn't seen the first two films, nor did I know it was a video game. I'm 35, and apparently out of the loop.

The film follows Alice (Milla Jovovich of "The Fifth Element"), a genetically altered super warrior roaming the American West. Zombies are everywhere, hatched by some viral weapon developed by an evil corporation. With the first few minutes, Alice has a run-in with a redneck family of humans that are a nastier, rape-minded re-creation of the villains in "The Goonies." Alice dispatches them in minutes. Not too far way, a mad scientist (there's always one of those around, and here he's played by Iain Glen of "Lara Croft: Tomb Raider") seems hell bent on curing the zombie virus, but certainly eyeing world domination. Or obtaining free cable or some such joy.

All this plot roundup is pointless, really. Direct Russell Mulcahy and writer Paul W.S. Anderson are action directors, having made various bad films called "Solider," "Mortal Kombat," "Highlander" and "Event Horizon," among others. A good script isn't to be found among them. It's all explosions. And the action here is cool and bloody as hell. Heads go boom, brains hit the screen many times over, and the makeup crew deserves a huge vacation. There are huge gaps in logic here. One good guy bitten by a zombie takes days to turn, while another turns within hours. But one can't expect logic here. I'm not rushing to see Parts 1 and 3, and the inevitable 4. C+

Anderson also helmed the recent "Death Race" remake. It is equally silly and missing chunks of logic, but it also is huge fun. The fun is Jason Statham, who's fast becoming my favorite action film star. The guy makes Steve McQueen seem quaint and he could rip the Yippee Ki-yay Mother Funka out of Bruce Willis any day. He made "In the Name of the King" watchable on his charisma alone.

Here, he plays Jensen Ames, an ex-racer car driver sent to prison in 2012 for murdering his wife. It's a scam, of course. The warden of the prison (Joan Allen) airs a "Death Race" reality show on TV and the Internet, and makes millions of dollars off it. That's the plot: Jensen must race against other prisoners in hugely violent matches where the bloody death is certain.

The racing and stunts are fantastic. Cars crash, explode and are ripped apart. As are bodies. And it's all twisted, nasty fun of the highest order. An 18-wheeler from hell pays a prominent role and kicks up the action. This is a true guilty pleasure and I'm now wiling to see Statham in anything. Allen too is a huge delight as the meanest, coldest woman I've ever seen on screen. She must have had a blast doing the role.

The film's holes are big: The warden and her lackey are required to suddenly turn dumb for the heroes to win, and the inclusion of scantily clad woman as race car navigators (!) certainly didn't come from the portion of the writers' collective ... brains. Another nit pick: There's a good deal of homophobia in the early part of the film, and the writers don't ever correctly deal with the issue. But making complaints about this film is like whining that the French fries at McDonald's are too salty. The salt is what makes 'em yummy. Like the original, this will be a cult hit. B

Bolt (2008)

"Bolt" isn't Pixar, but this Disney animated film has John Lasseter's hands all over it. And it shows. It's a witty, funny film that makes a tired film plot -- a trio of animals travel cross country to find one's person -- new again. And it has a hamster in a ball. A delusional, spastic, pop culture obsessed hamster who is a laugh riot. Rhino the hamster is found by Bolt, a TV star who is: 1) Lost and far from home and 2) Under the assumption that he's a real super hero. The trio is completed by Mittens, a New York alley cat. The three are trying to get to Hollywood, where Bolt's owner, Penny, lives. I focus on Rhino because he's the best thing in the movie. I'm a movie snob. I turn my nose up at Hollywood fare. But I cried from laughter when that furry thing fogged his ball up from over exertion and Rhino then drew in a happy face. The film isn't ace. I The finale is a bit much. Mark Walton, a Disney animator/writer, voices Rhino. John Travolta is Bolt. Bolt may be the hero, but he's the butt of most jokes and you can hear the game joy in Travolta's voice. B+

Bangkok Dangerous (2008)

With slicked back greasy hair and an ashen face so void of any expression, you're not quite sure he's even alive, Nicolas Cage barely sleepwalks his way through the achingly awful "Bangkok Dangerous." He's a zombie. In need of sugar. Or a new career path. This fro m the man of "Raising Arizona" and "Wild at Heart." Sad.

A 2008 action remake from The Bang Brothers, "Dangerous" follows an expert American assassin named Joe (Cage) who travels the world nailing people for hire. Why? Because they are "very bad." Or so he's told. After a hit at a Prague police station, Joe ends up in Bangkok for one last job (of course) as he pops four targets for one big pay out. Despite his own rules, the ice-cold killer soon plays teacher to a newly-hired assistant (Shahkrit Yamnarm) and boyfriend to a deaf pharmacist (Charlie Young), while (of course) discovering his conscious.

It's hard to pinpoint all the ways this dud film goes wrong. Maybe it's the fact that although Joe claims to never leave anything behind at a kill scene, he always is gloveless. Or that he goes on one mission in a crowded river marketplace in broad daylight and is stunned to learn that tourists are there -- with cameras! Or that the first mission in Prague requires police to bring a vital suspect into an interrogation room with giant bay windows. Also Cage's stunt double has far shorter hair, weighs quite a bit more and looks nothing like Cage.

The film is miserably scripted, shot, edited and acted to the point of pain. Joe's date with the deaf mute, a shamefully written role for any woman or deaf person, has to be the worst film scene in years, and not just because the actors have zero chemistry. Looking constipated and, I kid you not, stoned, Cage as Joe, stammers his way through the meal, stunned at the spicy food. "That's hot, that's real hot," he keeps on saying, bringing to mind a certain hotel heiress with the IQ of a deflated basketball.

But it's fitting. At this point even Paris Hilton's film career looks more promising than that of Cage. His career ended years ago, he just hasn't been told. Hands down one of the worst of 2008. Where's the Cage of long ago? F

Eagle Eye (2008)

"Eagle Eye" is an entertaining flick. It races at a brisk pace and has enough action, stunt work and explosions to keep the mind from wandering, and the always rockin' Billy Bob Thornton is back in a government hard-ass role similar to his cool turn in "Armageddon." But it wasn't even a quarter of the way into this Steven Spielberg-produced movie that I realized I'd watched this many times before, most notably in the classic "North by Northwest" and several Will Smith movies.

Shia LaBeouf (not Cary Grant or Smith) stars as Jerry Shaw, the ne'er do well twin brother of a highly decorated, recently killed Air Force officer (also LaBeouf). The day after his twin is buried, though, Jerry's empty bank account suddenly is flush with money and his apartment is loaded wall to wall with fake passports, explosives and guns. Jerry stupidly takes the cash and handles just about every weapon before his cell phone rings and a cold female voice warns him to flee before the FBI arrives. Meanwhile, a single mom (Michelle Monaghan) receives a call from the same voice, ordering her to take a nearby car and drive away or her young son will be killed. The two soon meet and are ordered to Washington, D.C., with the entire federal government on the hunt.

Without giving away the busy plot's boring instigator, I will say this: I was deeply surprised that Spielberg could be behind such a cliched, obvious twist that a pre-teen could figure it out. Spielberg apparently kicked this plot around for years, before handing it off to helmer D. J. Caruso (who directed La Beauf in "Disturbia"). True to its background, "Eagle Eye" plays exactly as a second-rate idea that's been dusted off and re-gifted. There are far too many gaping plot holes to ignore, and the ending is too implausible to bear. (Spoiler alert: The hero lives, when, in fact, the remains of his bullet-riddled body would fit inside a Tic Tac box had this been real. Also, if the Secret Service were this dumb, we'd cycle through presidents like condoms at a frat house.)

Still, LaBeouf, Monoghan and an awesome Thornton (as an FBI agent), plus some truly great stunt work and car crashes, save the film from a crash and burn. A paper-thin marginal thumbs up. B-

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (2008)

"The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" certainly is a stunner, for the most part. Taking the outline of an F. Scott Fitzgerald short story, the film follows Benjamin Button, a New Orleans native born into a body the size of an infant but with the health and appearance of an 80-year-old who then ages backwards as he grows older.

It's a tragedy, for sure, as Benjamin's body shrinks to that of a toddler's, but his mind is attacked by dementia. If you can't accept that scenario upfront, the film won't work for you. If you go with it, you'll enjoy this quite good, long, deep drama, directed by David Fincher ("Fight Club" and "Zodiac") and written by Eric Roth ("Forrest Gump" and "The Insider").

Brad Pitt plays the title character, abandoned at birth, raised by an African-American woman in a home for the elderly and who eventually sets off on a career as steamboat worker. Along the way Benjamin falls in love with Daisy (Cate Blanchett), who will age as any other person. With its immediate promise of doomed love and certain tragedy, Fincher could have made a film soaked in sentimentality, but for the most part it remains upright. Well, there are two out-of-nowhere scenes involving a dumb hummingbird visiting the two leads some 60s years and thousands of miles apart that smacks of feathers in "Gump" and butterflies in the piece of poop that is "Patch Adams." Alas, as Benjamin chooses a career in boating, goes to war, stumbles into great wealth and longs for a promiscuous dreamer who disappears for long stretches of time, the film echoes "Gump" in several ways. (I never read Fitzgerald's story. For all I know "Gump" may have stolen from this.)

The pluses outweigh the negatives, though. Through flawless makeup and digital altering, Pitt and Blanchett appear on screen in ages ranging from their teens to their early 80s. Button is not a good-two shoes naive like Tom Hanks' Gump, he happily sleeps around, as does Blanchett's Daisy. And both characters take turns committing acts of selfishness. In Button's case, one act is nearly unforgivable despite its common sense. With those marks of true human nature, it's a deeper film than "Gump." Despite its crazy twist, its flaws and those of its characters, "Button" is a winner. B+

The Visitor (2008)

"The Visitor" is a quiet, thoughtful study of a lonely middle-aged widower whose life is re-sparked after he finds two illegal immigrants in his NYC apartment, and soon becomes involved in their plight with the INS. It's also an awesome, even-handed film for liberals who deeply love their country, and still believe that the sign on the Statue of Liberty welcomes foreigners with open, loving arms.

Richard Jenkins, the brilliant character actor of a thousand films ("Burn After Reading" and "Rumor Has It" among them) stars as Walter Vale, an apathetic college economics professor who has been sleepwalking through life probably since his pianist wife died untold years ago. In New York City for a brief academic conference, Walter returns to the apartment he hasn't visited in months. There, Walter surprises husband and wife Tarek (Haaz Sleiman) and Zainab (Danai Jekesai Gurira), he from Syria and she from Senegal, who are living outside the law. Apparently, an "Ivan" has subleased the apartment to the couple, although this is oddly never explained or investigated.

Walter kicks the couple to the curb, probably the immediate response anyone would take. But, Walter quickly changes his mind after he realizes Tarek and Zainab will be homeless, hopefully the response anyone with a kind heart (be they Christian, Muslim, Jew or atheist) would take. The full-of-life Tarek, he is the opposite of Walter, plays a tall African drum in a jazz-infused band. Hungry to pick up a musical instrument, Walter shows interest. But just as Tarek is teaching Walter to master the instrument, Tarek is picked up by police for a crap violation. Tarek then is shipped to an INS center in Queens. It's here where this quiet, peaceful drama takes a harsh emotional until the inevitable end.

I don't want to give too much away about this well written film, but Walter's re-birth is beautifully realized and post-9/11 politics are smartly questioned. Once he lets his guard down, Walter finds a new love of people and self that he's probably forgotten or never had to begin with. This film isn't a bash session against America. This movie loves America as much as "Rocky," but is disappointed in its exclusionary policies. It's not all sugar sweet, director/writer Tom McCarthy ("The Station Agent") shows the initial mistrust and uneasiness that comes when two differing cultures meet.

The last scene is the most bittersweet, but uplifting, ending I've seen since "One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest." (Although no where near as good as the golden classic.) Try not to cheer through those tears. Jenkins is amazing. A-

American Gangster (2007)

"American Gangster," the second film to pit Denzel Washington against Russell Crowe, improves with each viewing, although this crime drama never reaches the pinnacle level of "The French Connection" or even "Heat."

In the utterly bad 1995 thriller "Virtuosity," Crowe played a villain against Washington's unorthodox cop hero. Here, Crowe is unorthodox cop Richie Roberts, a Boy Scout on the job but a miserable louse at home, tasked with bringing down Harlem crime lord Frank Lucas (Washington). My first viewing left me under-whelmed as I expected and wanted a gritty, clockwork crime thriller. But this film, directed by Ridley Scott ("Gladiator") and written by Steven Zailian ("Schindler's List"), is more interested in the character and inner-workings of these opposing forces, not just the crime beat.

Crowe once more disappears into a role as the tough but fair police officer so honest he once turned in $1 million after a bust. He's also a bit of nerd, fumbling into a sweaty heap at the thought of speaking before an audience. Ironically, Lucas is a family man who remains loyal to his mother (Ruby Dee) and wife (Lymari Nadal). You marvel at the great heights Lucas could have reached had he been on the right side of the law. But in late 60s/early 70s, such hands were not dealt to American blacks.

I didn't like Washington's performance the first time I saw this, but was instantly won over this time. What I took for lazy arrogance in Washington's acting has turned into admiration for a fine performance of a man completely at ease with murder, selling of drugs and going to church on Sunday. Lucas' eyes, though, open as an army of corrupt NYC cops lays waste to his mansion, looking for money, and his momma slaps him in the face for the vengeance he'll seek. It's telling of Dee's power as an actress in her 80s that she can take a film from the hands of Washington and Crowe, but she does so.

Scott, as with Michael Mann, here becomes a master of detail, and his dramatization of the inner-workings of police and criminals is fascinating although the film wastes too much time on family court sideshows and making Lucas' family out to be Southern hillbillies gawking at big ol' New York. Best shocker: Cuba Gooding Jr. finally lands a meaty part in a highbrow film after years of miserable features so bad they now line the discount DVD bins at Wal-Mart. Let's hope he keeps up this path. A-

Ice Age (2002)

"Ice Age" is a cute but marginal CGI cartoon about a bickering woolly mammoth and a sloth caring for a human toddler while finding his family. The animals fare way better than the humans, in animation and plot. The few sly jokes about evolution, spaceships and mortality are for adults, and will go over the heads of children. The poop jokes are entirely for children, and will bore adults. The star and saving grace of "Ice Age" is a mute, always perplexed primitive squirrel driven nuts by an acorn. I swear the whole film is filler built around him. Ray Romano stars, voicing a woolly mammoth. Far more advanced than Ray. C+

The Boy in the Striped Pajamas (2008)

I've never wanted a movie to end more than "The Boy in the Striped Pajamas," a distinctly original film about the Holocaust. By distinctly original, I mean it's the first film to reduce 6 million dead to mere cliches while targeting children as its core audience. What the fuck?

Written and directed by Mark Herman ("Little Voice"), "Boy" follows German grade schooler Bruno (Asa Butterfield) as he moves just outside the Auschwitz concentration camp in Poland with his family. There, daddy (David Thewlis) happily runs the camp, while mom (Vera Farmiga) is kept in the dark. Soon Bruno sees a "farm" behind the new house, with odd-looking people in "stripped pajamas" living there. Are you laughing yet? Bruno soon befriends one of the odd "farm" boys (Jack Scanlon) who's so sad behind a mysterious electric fence. Before long they're playing checkers. Cute, eh?

I have no doubt that the intentions behind this film are honest, but did anyone bother to ask why any parent would want to show his or her child a film about the Holocaust? Or why that fence remains unguarded all day for months, or why it's so easy for a child with no arm muscles to dig his way under the barrier unnoticed in minutes? The film's most grievous sin, though, is to reduce an entire murdered population to two pitiful characters with little voice and no resolve. Even the Nazis are cut-and-paste, including a bully youth straight out of "The Sound of Music." Taking a simplistic ABC After School Special view of the most heinous crime of the 20th century, "Boy" is the anti-"Night and Fog." The finale is heartbreaking for sure, but by then I was looking for the exit. D-

The Duchess (2008)

Keira Knightley once again stars in a period piece with corsets, drawing rooms and the myriad of problems that beset rich English types in "The Duchess." Here, she plays Georgiana, the Duchess of Devonshire, wife of the unimaginably wealthy Duke of Devonshire (Ralph Fiennes.)

For reasons never entirely explained, Georgiana is the toast of London and the single epicenter of the fashion world. At one point, an announcer bellows that whatever the Duchess is wearing today, all others will wear tomorrow. And I thought, "Why?" That Knightley's wigs look more Marge Simpson or "Bride of Frankenstein" only hampers the problem. (But maybe I'm just being aguy here.)

The film's main drama lies in Georgiana's crushing heartbreak under the Duke's cold indifference, lack of passion and constant affairs. When Georgiana falls for a young candidate for parliament (Dominic Cooper, fresh off the ungodly "Mamma Mia!"), the marriage falls further into misery.

Georgiana is presented as what may be the first feminist, a woman who questions her placement in society as a mere trophy or animal to be bargained over and as a woman who dares to act in the same manner as an entitled male and take a lover on the side. Knightley is good, but it's Fiennes who is the star. His Duke certainly is repugnant, but he's also strangely tragic. The man has no idea what love, joy or morality is, and knows that he doesn't have the mental capacity to ever understand those traits. Fiennes ("Schindler's List") always is good at finding such threads in his villains, and he doesn't disappoint here. Oh, cool fact: Georgiana was the great (times a lot) grandma of Princess Di. Irony, eh? B

Valkyrie (2008)

"Valkyrie" is as dramatically deep as your average brownie and contains a myriad of accents that are, for the most part, not even close to German. But this Tom Cruise-starring dramatization of the failed July 1944 assassination attempt on Adolph Hitler is in line with the great WWII thrillers from the 1950s and 1960s that starred Gregory Peck, William Holden or Richard Burton.

The miracle here is that director Bryan Singer and co-writers Christopher McQuarrie and Nathan Alexander make us want the would-be assassins to succeed despite a minimum of action and a known outcome. (If you're remotely shocked at this "spoiler," turn off the Internet and pick up a friggin' history book.)

Cruise stars as Claus von Stauffenberg, the severely wounded Nazi army colonel who sees his Fuhrer for what he is -- evil incarnate -- and decides to stop him. Through a casual comment here and a few chance encounters, Stauffenberg meets with like-minded German men and the murder-by-bomb plot is on. Cruise, one eye covered by a patch and without the use of his right hand or most of his left hand, is a great Hollywood hero. He never digs deeps into the role as he did in "Born on the Fourth of July" or even "Tropic Thunder," but he's nonetheless solid.

I wish the script presented us with a crisis of conscious or eureka moment for Stauffenberg, but the character is against Hitler as the opening credits roll. It's a big disappointment in an otherwise good film.

Where some people see the lack of German accents as a minus, I take it as a plus. No one tries on a voice they can't carry. Cruise sounds exactly like Cruise, the same with the supporting players Bill Nighy, Tom Wilkinson, Eddie Izzard and Kenneth Branagh. Why is that good? Think of Kevin Costner trying for Brit in "Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves" and try not to wince. Singer ("The Usual Suspects") made a wise choice. B+

Wanted (2008)

"Wanted" is a ludicrous film and its plot might fall apart like melted butter on a second viewing, but this action hit is firing on so many cylinders, I didn't care.

James McAvoy is Wesley Gibson, an office drone with a heinous job and an offensively fat, cruel boss. He also has a whining girlfriend at home who's banging his best friend/co-worker. Wesley pops a dozen or more anxiety pills a day just to keep from losing his sanity. On Wesley's routine visit to the pharmacy, the mysterious Fox (Angelina Jolie) comes up to him at the counter, tells the man his long-absent father is dead, and that the killer -- the best assassin alive -- is lurking right around the corner. Guns explode, cars shed tires and gravity, and the game is on.

Wesley learns he is part of The Fraternity, a mysterious, ancient group of assassins who bring order to chaos throughout the world on the will of a mysterious weaving device. (Am I using the word mysterious too much? I warned you about the logic here.) Wesley, after a grueling training process, learns his main mission is to kill the man who killed his father. Morgan Freeman co-stars as Sloan, the Fraternity's leader.

Director Timor Bekmambetov ("Daywatch") creates a fascinating world that doesn't exist, but it should -- cars knock down and then drive over a bus, and bullets can be fired through insurmountable objects across the entire city of Chicago before finding their target. Oh, and the trajectory of bullets can be bent at will. (So that's how Oswald killed JFK! Finally!!) In one bravo action sequence, Wesley squares off against his enemy on a high-speed European train, which Jolie smashes into with her car. I laughed at the design of the stunt, the mind-bending action and myself for so thoroughly enjoying this nonsense.

The film doesn't have the grand scope and sheer brilliance of "The Matrix," but like "Face/Off" or "True Lies," "Wanted" proves that even the zaniest action film can wow your senses and make you not notice, or even care, if the juggler on stage drops a ball or two. B+

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (2009)

It’s no real shocker that “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince” ties with the third film of the Harry Potter film franchise (“The Prisoner of Azkaban”) as my favorite. When Book 6 – as fans calls it – came out in 2005, I found it to be the giddiest read I had in ages. It was stocked with magic, suspense, action and a tragic finale. It’s my favorite book of the series, a hallmark by author J.K. Rowling, and I’ll get to why in just a minute.

So even if the film version lacks the book’s overall power -- a final attack by the villainous Death Easters on the beloved Hogwarts School of Magic was excised -- it’s still damn fine cinema. If you don’t know the characters or the main plot thread of the unimaginably successful series of imaginative books, chances are you’re not reading this review. So you won’t get a lot of background here.

As the film opens, Harry Potter (Daniel Radcliffe) and best friends Ron (Rupert Grint) and Hermione (Emma Watson) are reeling from the events of “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.” The evil Lord Voldermort (Ralph Fiennes, seen only in a flashback) has returned to again rid the world of human kind. Dumbledore, the head master of Hogwarts and Harry’s grandfather figure, takes our young hero to a home occupied by retired school teacher Horace Slughorn (Jim Broadbent), a fumbling, haunted man who clings to fame with dug in fingernails. Harry’s famous, so Slughorn latches on fast. Dumbledore knows this. He wants a memory from Slughorn that can spell out unknown mysteries of Voldermort. Harry’s the man for the task.

Meanwhile, the previously under-utilized bad apple Draco Malfoy (Tom Felton) is sent on a dark mission of his own. Unlike Harry, if Malfoy fails in his task, it spells his certain doom. Seemingly helping him is Severus Snape, the greasy black mop-headed professor of dark arts played by Alan Rickman (“Die Hard”). Rickman is so good it gives. One. Goosebumps. Every. Time. He’s. On. Screen. (Rickman clips his words like William Shatner only wishes he could.)

Yet the giddy, side-busting genius of Rowling’s book -- and the film -- is the whole dark, brooding drama is a sideshow to the real trauma of the moment – teen love. In the slyest satire since “Independence Day” (it’s a comedy people, end of discussion), Rowling has her teen heroes act as true high schoolers. Nothing, not life, or death, or the end of existence is as important as finding your soul mate for life. At 16. Snogging is heaven, not snogging (or not snogging with the girl/guy of your dreams) is worse than death. The film is a laugh riot, especially when you watch real teens get caught up in the action, as if it matters. The comedy highlight of the film is Jessie Cave as Lavender Brown, a girl so in love with love, it’s dizzying. Frightening girls like this exist the world over, and I know some in their twenties. Scary.

Director David Yates, in his second film after “Order,” mostly avoids special effects here. The focus instead is on the acting and characters - between Michael Gambon’s Dumbledore as he reluctantly puts Harry in harm’s way, and Rickman’s Snape as he follows the orders of dark and good. All of the teens keep getting better from film to film. But it’s Broadbent who steals the show as a man whose soul has nothing left but regret. The film too, looks like no other in the series. It looks magical, a found relic. Even the lighting is other worldly, some of coming from impossible angles. The credit here belongs to cinematographer Bruno Delbonnel, who has shot mostly French art hose films such as “Amelie.” That was a magical film, and it carries over here.

If there’s any negative here, besides that missing attack scene at the end, it’s the fact that the film’s studio, Warner Bros., has decided to split the final Harry Potter book, “The Deathly Hollows,” into two films. “Half-Blood Prince” the book was a brilliant pause before the big finale. The film also should have been just that. But now it’s relegated, almost tossed off, as just one more kink in the chain. It hurts the film. We have, what, four more hours, maybe five, to go before the end? It’s time to wrap this up.

If Warner can make “East of Eden” (1955) into a two-hour film, they sure as heck can boil Book 7 into a 2 hour, 30 minute, film. Rowling is brilliant, bloody brilliant, but she is no Steinbeck. Nonetheless, this installment gets an B+

Mamma Mia! (2008)

The comedy-musical "Mamma Mia!" is flat-out torture-porn. The vision of Pierce Brosnan, Colin Firth and Stellan Skarsgard singing in glittery, open-chest disco jumpsuits is the most terrifying movie scene I've ever witnessed. Godless. Now I can dig a musical, but this ABBA-fused sing-a-long of a young bride (Amanda Seyfried) longing to know the identity of her father (the three luckless are contenders) has all the charm of an all-singing, audience-participation version of "Hostel" as presented by Tennessee's worst dinner theater. At one point, I thought a group of seagulls was drowning on the beach. Turns out it was the groom's wedding party dancing. Brosnan's singing could spread atheism. You know the quote, "Every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings"? Every time Brosnan sings, an angel is beaten to death with a crowbar then nailed to a cross and set on fire. Meryl Streep, still a stunner at 60, survives the ordeal with her dignity intact. I can't say the same for me, having watched this film. D+

A Christmas Story (1983)

If when I die and I'm sent to hell, I imagine my punishment would have me reliving high school years for eternity. If I'm somehow allowed into heaven, then I hope that up (or out) there, God has a movie screening room playing "A Christmas Story" repeatedly and forever. Just because He loves us.

I adore this holiday classic, which focuses not so much on one boy's (Peter Billingsley) most-memorable Christmas circa 1940, but an adult's rose-tinted memories of his favorite Christmas circa 1940. As with "Monty Python and the Holy Grail," every time I watch this film, and I've seen it dozens of times, my favorite scene changes, or a new detail just strikes me as Best Moment Ever. A new favorite: The mocking deliveryman who really doesn't know what's in the package.

If you don't know the main plot of a boy and his desire for an air rifle, you've been either lobotomized, need to be lobotomized, or you're Amish, in which case you wouldn't be reading this. "A Christmas Story" is simply pure magic and joy, but it's not all whitewash -- the film nails the fear that seemingly every child has of Santa, and has its children being ornery, rude, dumb, mean, disgusting and lovable. Not overly cute Muppets or little cherubs like in "Home Alone" or crap like "Stepmom" from years back.

Putting Christmas aside, every adult has experienced something from this "Story" during their own childhood that they can relate to. I laugh every time Melinda Dillon's gung-ho mom shoves, yanks, pushes, pulls and forces a small boy into his snowsuit ... just so he can walk to school. And the father's profanity, well, let's say, I know well. Billingsley as Ralph is one of the best child performances ever.

Everyone involved -- writer Jean Shepherd, director Bob Clark -- in this film ought to get (or have received for the dearly departed) a free pass to the pearly gates. As far as films go, it is the perfect gift they have given us. A+

Fred Claus (2007)

"Fred Claus" has an original concept for a Christmas movie, a rare commodity indeed. In this comedy, ol' Saint Nick (Paul Giamatti) has an older ne'er do well brother, Fred (Vince Vaughn), who feels, let's say, slighted, by his brother's good work.

Whilst Nick rules the North Pole, Fred is barely scraping by in Chicago as he struggles to keep his girlfriend (Rachel Weisz) and raise enough cash to open a gambling joint in Chicago's finance district. Santa, meanwhile, has problems of his own as he tries to please a fascist efficiency expert (Kevin Spacey) from a never-explained holiday supervising committee. When a freshly jailed Fred comes to the North Pole, Nick's world is in trouble.

It's a funny film, and a sly take on Santa Claus being saddled with the same familial problems that almost everyone has. A climatic blow-up fight between Nick and Fred is particularly amusing, as is a Siblings Anonymous meeting with Frank Stallone, Steven Baldwin and Roger Clinton. But, as different as this Christmas movie is in its own genre, it's still just another viewing of Vaughn's endless take on the overgrown frat boy with a scam in his head but a sack of gold in his heart from director David Dobkin ("Wedding Crashers"). Fred is a bore to watch quite frankly.

There still are plenty of treats in this stocking, though. Giamatti is a magical actor even behind a fat suit and a ton of makeup. Spacey provides a ruler-straight spoof on his boss from "Swimming with Sharks" and Lex Luther from "Superman Returns." (Superman figures in several scenes throughout.) But the hypnotic Weisz is the shining star here as she elevates a ho-hum role to steal the film, and reminds us why the recent "Mummy" film proved disastrous with her absence. B-

Transiberian (2008)

"Transiberian" follows an American couple (Woody Harrelson and Emily Mortimer) in mortal trouble while traveling the famed Russian railroad path in bleak-as-hell winter. The Christian missionary husband and wife are sightseeing after volunteering in China for several weeks. Those plans go to shit after the couple encounters a Spaniard named Carlos (Eduardo Noriega) and his girlfriend (Kate Mara). The screws start turning about a half-hour in. Directed and co-written by Brad Anderson, this thriller is carried by its odes to Alfred Hitchcock and Agatha Christie, and a couple fleshed-out characters, especially Mortimer's recovering addict/nymphomaniac who's still finding her way as the wife of a devout religious man. But, all is put asunder by Harrelson's take on not just a dumb, out-of-his-league American tourist, but the dumb, out-of-his-league American tourist. Using a sarcastic clueless tone of voice, Harrelson's Roy sparks too many memories of the dope he played on "Cheers." An F.U. to Christians. Add in a Hollywood ending, and the film derails. C+

Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008)

"Star Wars: The Clone Wars" is not as bad as I thought it would be, having read countless shattering reviews on this umpteenth film in George Lucas' endless universe. It's just a mere dud, rather than a full disaster. This is surprising as Lucas finally has what he's always wanted after 30 years of making the same movie over and over: No actors to muck things up.

This relatively short (90 minutes) chapter is fully animated (with dull voice talent) and appears to take place sometime during or near the events of "Star Wars: Episode II: Attack of the Clones." Here, Anakin Skywalker -- the future Darth Vadar -- and Obi-Wan Kenobi battle to save the kidnapped son of Jabba the Hut from the future Empire. It's a straight forward plot for a children's film, with some really slick action scenes and space battles that rekindle memories of the series' best moments.

Too bad the animation makes nearly every human or creature into a flat-as-sheetrock being less engaging than the purposefully bad animation in, say, "South Park." Mouth movements are awkward, eyes lack any spark of actual life, and Jabba the Hut is strangely geometric rather than slithering and slimy. Oh, and Anakin is referred to as "Sky Guy" throughout. Why I can't say. An added negative: If anyone thought Jar Jar Binks was an offensive portrayal of African-Americans in the recent "new" trilogy, they ought to see Jabba's nightclub-owning uncle. It is the meanest caricature of homosexuality since the "Police Academy" films ruled the box office. Fanboy students at Bob Jones and Liberty universities, and Klan members, will surely like it. All else will shudder.

Lucas, who truly ought to find a new hobby, executive produces here, having handed the directing reigns to Dave Filoni. The switch off helps marginally. Please, George, retire already! Oh, this is all to be a TV series, which probably will be worse. C-

The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford (2007)

The real star of "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford" isn't Brad Pitt as the famed gunslinger/robber or Casey Affleck as the troubled young man who killed the outlaw. It's Roger Deakins, the cinematographer who lensed another marvelous release of 2007, "No Country for Old Men," along with recent classics such as "Fargo."

Deakins' camera moves in and out of focus to recreate the haze of memory, and the opening robbery of a night train is a stunning show of action in the dark, and use of backlight and shadow. Stark and seemingly lit naturally throughout, it is hands down the best-looking film of 2007. It's a breathing, moving Americana oil painting.

Luckily, and quite miraculously, the film itself holds up to these images. Directed and written by Andrew Dominik, this is a work of art, and a deep psychological take on not only two different men, but America itself. As the film opens, Frank (Sam Shepard) and Jesse (Pitt) James have recruited a group of men to rob the night train. In the group are two brothers, Charles (Sam Rockwell) and Robert Ford (Affleck), the latter of who is alternately obsessed, jealous and infatuated with Jesse. Frank wants the hyper, dull man gone, but Jesse takes him in. The robbery is a disaster and the James brothers split for good, with Frank skipping town for the South and Jesse remaining nearby for a brief period with his family under an assumed name.

Jesse keeps Robert Ford with him as an aid, despite the 20-year-old's penchant for asking silly questions and awkwardly hanging about. The catch soon comes to a stomach-punching realization: Jesse is dying from old wounds and a variety of late 19th century illnesses at the old age of 34, and he wants to die. Not slowly in bed, but standing up, and with his skull blown open. And he knows Ford, with enough time, pressure and envy of fame, could be his killer/savior.

The film has a leisure 160-minute epic that takes its time telling the story of the Fords and their relationship with Jesse. This film isn't for the itchy, trigger finger viewer who wants an explosion every minute, and a spectacular shoot out to cap the film. It bears down for long minutes on a person as they sit and contemplate life, or slowly interrogate and then later kill a person. As in "Days of Heaven," the camera may sit idly on a field or a house taking in the view. In one long, wonderful sequence, Robert walks about Jesse's home, touching Jesse's clothes, drinking from his water glass, lying in his bed and imagining himself as the famed outlaw. It's an unsettling scene, tinged with sadness. And the slightest bit of homosexuality.

The stark, authoritative narration by Hugh Ross is startling at first, but it settles in to give extra shading to a scene and add an air of authority. This movie is the first in a long time that feels like I've been reading, or hearing, a fleshed out historical novel about real people and real events. That's not to say every scene felt needed -- one subplot involving a lower-rung outlaw/James cousin and his affair with a married woman played as unneeded. But a second viewing, which I hope to do soon, may change that.

The 40s-something Pitt could be seen as miscast as a 34-year-old, but it works. His Jesse if well past his true age, tired and worn out by crime, murder, wounds, fame, illness and the dead-end life he's chosen. The man is simply tired of living. Pitt mines Jesee's rage and sorrow for all his worth; he also makes a laugh around a table tingle with the dread of violence. Affleck, so good as a P.I. in "Gone, Baby, Gone," is spectacular here. He plays Ford as a lost young man, so hen-pecked and marginalized his entire life he can barely function. Affleck's Ford is difficult to watch: twitters, darting/dodging eyes and stammering abounds, but it's a phenomenal and brave performance.

Is Ford a "coward" as the title suggests? At one point, and at the last possible second, he kills one man to save another. It could be heroic, but it plays more as desperate and panicked. His cowardly crown comes not from his traitorous actions, but from his fear to actually live life for himself. He's a 19th century lonely fanboy, without an Internet connection. When Ford does finally capture a low-rent infamous fame, at story's end, it is hollow. As was Jesse's fame in his own end.

Fame and glory is the over-riding theme here, enforced by the sick tour that profiteers use to show off James' rotting corpse on ice. The violence in the movie is realized with an eye toward absolute realism. The sounds of gunshots are the true quick, light pops of the day, not blasting explosions of most films. Bodies fall like sacks when hit, rather than flying back or somersaulting about when shot, and wounds look ugly. Dead bodies seem to reek. Dominik has crafted a fine film, and I can't wait to see what he has in store for us next.

Nick Cave, who co-wrote the brilliant, dark music score, appears as a musician mocking Ford through a bar room ditty in a darkly funny scene. That man is a god, and for all I know might be God. But a seriously Dark One. This is one of 2007's best and smartest films. I must own this film one day. A

The Day the Earth Stood Stll (2008)

"The Day the Earth Stood Still" isn't the worst of the new wave of environmental-catastrophe themed films to come out of Hollywood in 2008. That crown of thorns belongs to M. Night Shyamalan's "The Happening," with its "You Deserve This!" billboard standing tall over terrified citizens. But this remake of the 1950s classic once again proves that there as many idiots on the political left as there are on the political right. The only difference between the two is that the leftist doesn't claim his or her asinine ideas come directly from a hateful God.

The original version of "Day" centers on an alien who comes to Earth to stop war and promote humanity. This version has an alien (Keanu Reeves of "The Matrix") coming to Earth to save the planet from a polluting, wasteful humanity. Slight difference.

Reeves' Klaatu is difficult to read: Whether killing (and then resurrecting) a police officer, watching whole cities be wiped away by tiny metallic alien gnats or watching a mother and son hug and weep, Reeves has the same blank expression of a stuffed deer. It grows old fast. The weeping mother (Jennifer Connelly of "A Beautiful Mind") is a scientist who takes it upon her self to alternately help Klaatu escape the U.S. military and convince the alien to spare humankind. The son (Jaden Smith of "The Pursuit of Happyness") is an orphan, who is far more trusting of TV and the military than his new mom.

Connelly sells brilliant better than almost any other actress her age. When she talks techno-babble or has command of a massive lab, you buy it without question. The visual effects provide goose bumps, too. The dozens of glowing extra-terrestrial spheres that invade Earth suggest Monet paintings come to swirling life. But, this film isn't about a great actress and great effects. It's about Hollywood banging the viewer over the head with the mantras of "don't pollute," "conserve," "give up technology" and "live frugal" in the guise of a sci-fi adventure. You know, the same Hollywood where most film budgets equal the annual GDP of many small countries. That's like taking lessons in peace and compassion from Dick Cheney.

The emotional ending of the ho-hum script, which never surprises and drags about quite a bit, aims for hope, but spells disaster if the viewer wishes to contemplate it for more than a minute. I get some environmental films, and love them, especially the stellar "WALL-E" with its unabashed hope and optimism. But humanity, the Earth itself, and especially myself might all be happier without this kind of soapbox preaching. After all, if everyone did give up technology -- then, by God, we wouldn't have any more movies. C

Burn After Reading (2008)

"Burn After Reading" is another of the Coen Brother's pitch-dark comedies tinged with Hitchcock drama and brutal violence. One of the DVD Q-and-A features with Joel and Ethan Coen hits the nail on the head plot wise: "Burn" is their version of an "Enemy of the State" genre flick, without the explosions. Or hero.

John Malkovich stars as Oswald Cox, a CIA analyst with a drinking problem and anger management issues who quits his job after being demoted for having a drinking problem and blasting his superiors with an "F"-word-fueled rant that is hilarious. (Does anyone say that word better?) Oz seeks revenge by writing his memoirs, an act that has his cold-as-ice wife (Tilda Swinton) laughing and seeking a divorce.

Soon a CD containing material for the memoir ends up on the floor of a D.C. gym, and then in the hands of two bumbling gym employees (Brad Pitt and Coens regular Frances McDormand) who smell money in a blackmail scheme. Thrown into the mix is George Clooney as a married Treasury officer who's sleeping with Swinton's ice princess, McDormand's sad sack and a host of other women. Dry as ash J.K. Simmons has a priceless, but brief, role as a CIA head honcho bewildered as these inept characters cross and re-cross paths, spilling reams of dark comedy and a good bit of blood along the way.

"Burn" lacks the high-stakes drama of the similarly dark and multi-tiered "Fargo," but it's a blast of witty dialogue and satire, knocking the self-absorption and pure idiocy of Americans (or anyone, really) who feel they deserve and ought to have a better life. The beauty of the film lies in the Coens' insistence of not showing every detail: Much of the hoopla involving the disk is left off screen, and anyone hoping for a final shootout and tall-standing hero will be disappointed.

The cast is clearly having a blast, especially Clooney and Pitt, who share the screen for a nasty split-second spin on a vital scene from David Lynch's "Blue Velvet." Some critics have made hay over perceived sexism in the film, but that's bunk. Yes, the women are cold, or selfish and foolish, but nearly every male is as well. The film has one true person to root for, the kind gym manager played by Richard Jenkins who loves McDormand's character. Alas, this is Coen Territory. Hearts are more than broken. B+

The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor (2008)

I can see why Universal Studios wanted to make a third film in "The Mummy" series for summer 2008. After all, the entire franchise is stylized after the 1980s "Indiana Jones" films, focusing on an archeologist adventurer who repeatedly gets sucked into supernatural shenanigans against historical backdrops. Never mind that the great wit and action of the early "Jones" films didn't transfer, or that Brandon Fraser lacks the unbeatable screen charisma and toughness of Harrison Ford. A rising tide lifts all boats, right? Not so.

Whereas summer 2008's just-OK "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skulls' was skunked by surprisingly bad VFX and grossly over-the-top everything, "The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor" is a flat-out dud thanks to zip chemistry from the leads, a consistently inconsistent script and lifeless action sequences. Now in post-World War II England, Rick (Fraser) and Evelyn (Mario Bella) O'Connell are living in bored retirement whilst grown son Alex (Luke Ford) plays adventurer. Before you can say here we go again, Alex strikes a huge archeological find -- the resting place of a not-quite-dead Chinese emperor (Jet Li) long ago cursed into the next world.

This "Mummy" is full of plagiarisms: The action-stud torch passing from father to son is ripped from "Kingdom," but Luke Ford surely is no relation to Harrison. He's a blank cipher, while Fraser neither looks the part of a middle-aged father nor has the energy to play the central hero. Subbing for take-no-crap, smart-as-hell Rachel Weisz. Bello ("A History of Violence") logs around a come-and-go fake Brit accent like an iron ball and chain, and she acts happy but looks miserable. The producers hired the great Li, only to sub him out for three-quarters of the film as his power-mad warlord morphs from one CGI effect to another. Michelle Yeoh, another of China's great stars, fairs slightly better as a 2,000-year-old witch.

But how, pray tell, can a woman hiding in a Chinese cavern for two millennia learn perfect English? And how can the long-buried victims of Li's ruler learn the same? None of the nonsensical plotting is worth caring about, or even questioning. This joyless joyride, directed by Rob Cohen ("Stealth"), has had it's brains, and joy, ripped out its nose. D

Hancock (2008)

"Hancock" is a surprising disappoint for what it offers: Superstar Will Smith playing a disgruntled, ornery superhero in LA.

How perfect is that idea? Spider-Man, Iron Man and the Hulk are great guys or potentially great guys who get zapped, bitten, blasted or whatever'ed and do the right thing. Automatically. But what if the would-be hero doesn't give a crap? Or worse yet, makes matters worse when he does try and do good? (Hancock causes more havoc by saving a PR geek played by Jason Bateman from an on-coming train than if he just let the sap die.)

But this Peter Berg-directed sci-fi pic never delivers. The failure is not only because a major plot twist involving the PR guy's wife is obvious just by the name of the actress (Charlize Theron), but by the inclusion of dull as dirt villains and a murky climax set in a hospital. Snoozeville awaits.

The motive for the trio of villains is too juvenile for words: Hancock stopped one of the guys from robbing a bank, and the other two ... well, he shoved one's head up the other's ass. And we get to see that. I bet any fourth grade creative writing class could do better.

It's a shame because Hancock's introduction to moral choices, showers, fine dining, and the correct way to take off and land, and not destroy half the city by accident, all are standout entertainment. A sequel apparently is in the works, and it could well be worthwhile. This first installment is only half a film looking for a worthy conclusion. I hope it's realized. C+

Hellboy II: The Golden Army (2008)

I was stoked for "Hellboy II: The Golden Army." The director/co-writer Guillermo del Toro is one of my favorite filmmakers, having made "The Devil's Backbone," "Hellboy" and the stellar "Pan's Labyrinth." But this sequel to the 2004 film about a demon hero trapped on Earth and doing good for the U.S. of A. is a let down.

It's a visual delight with some of the best makeup and VFX I've seen in years filling, but never overwhelming, the screen. Yet the first film's heart is missing this go round. Is it the near absence of the brilliant John Hurt as comic book hero Hellboy's adoptive father, who appears only briefly in a long and wordy prologue set in the 1950s? Or it that the villain elf Prince Nuada (Luke Goss) is just not that memorable? Nuada certainly wrecks havoc on New York City, notching up a high body count, but he never connects to Hellboy (the brilliant Ron Perlman) the way that the Rasputin character did in the first film.

Worse yet, once I learned that Nuada has an angelic, kind twin sister (Anna Walton) who shares any pain/injury with her brother, well, the ending is apparent. The lack of drama is surprising. The sister falls for Abe (Doug Jones), but that love is never challenged. What if the sister turned sides -- however briefly -- to save her evil brother and Abe was forced to kill her? Or what if Abe saved the villain, thus putting Hellboy in danger? Del Toro certainly offers the visual delights, fantastic mythology and spectacular action he's known for, but I sense we're on autopilot. A bit of a bummer. A great bummer. But a bummer. B

I'm Not There (2007)

"I'm Not There" is a musical biopic of the legendary singer-songwriter Bob Dylan. But not really. In what has to be one of 2007's most original film, director/co-writer Todd Haynes ("Far From Heaven") ditches the well-worn historical re-creation path tread by 5,000 other biopics, and instead creates a truly head-spinning work of art.

"There" is a love letter, tribute and sly take on the persona of Dylan and world created in his folk, electric and religious library of songs. In a casting stunt that works marvels, six different actors play different variations on Dylan, and none of the characters actually are named "Bob Dylan." Trust me, it works.

The personas are Jack Rollins (Christian Bale), a meek folk singer turned star turned born-again Christian; Jude Quinn (Cate Blanchett), a superstar who seemingly hates the press and adoration; Woody Guthrie (Marcus Carl Franklin), an 11-year-old musical prodigy so apt at spinning tales, even his name is false; Billy the Kid (Richard Gere), a self-exiled outlaw living in a mash-up time period of early 1900s and 1960s America; Robbie Clark (Heath Ledger), an actor who played Rollins in a straight-forward biopic and has adopted some of the unsavory traits of the role; and Arthur Rimbaud (Ben Winshaw), a young singer-poet being interrogated by either the FBI or the meanest damn suit-wearing editors ever hired by Rolling Stone.

It's a lot, but as the Dylan-like characters' lives overlap and in the strangest scene -- the Billy the Kid period that carries echoes of David Lynch meets Robert Altman meats Terrance Malick -- literally crash into each other, a multi-layered, conflicted entity of Dylan develops. And I swear, this film isn't just about how Dylan has morphed as an artist and as a man, but it's also how America has evolved. Why else focus so much attention on the under currents of the simmering Civil Rights movement of the 1950s and the cultural explosion of the 1960s, among other areas? After all, as far as Americans go, Dylan sure is one of the most eclectic and original.

Some scenes, such as the concert where Dylan (here Quinn) went electric are created in true fashion, but whole chunks are mere whimsy and dreamlike. Franklin's character shows us how Dylan and many other artists such as 50 cent create false backgrounds as diligently and carefully as they create music, film or paintings. I'm still pondering what exactly the outlaw Gere scenes represent, but they are spectacular, haunting entertainment of an old America pushed beyond the breaking point. Ledger is the most scarred of the Dylan-like characters, watching his happy family life melt away because of his sexual escapades. It's a beautiful performance by Ledger, and another reminder of lost talent. Blanchett has to be the stand out, not because she is playing a he, or because she gets closest to Dylan's mannerisms. Her Quinn clearly is toying with journalists (one is played by Bruce Greenwood) and the audience (onscreen and us), maybe even himself, err, herself. You get what I mean.

In a brilliant move that further separates the idea of a "true" biopic, Haynes actually opens the film with one of his Dylans dead on the slab, ready for autopsy. He then closes with a Dylan death by motorcycle crash. Is it the same character stand-in on the slab? We don't know. "I'm Not There" lets us know that no matter how much we talk directly to or study, research, watch and obsess over a person, we can never get inside their head. Or body.

The film's not total manna from heaven -- a scene with Quinn goofing around with the Beatles, seems irrelevant and a goof, but maybe it's my ignorance of the History of Dylan. (And I am ignorant of music in general.) I don't need to understand every scene to "get" a film. "I'm Not There" is the death knell for the straight forward biopic. It has my head spinning not only on who was or is Dylan, but the endless possibilities of what was and is film. Now, that's movie-making magic. A

Chaturanga (2008)

I saw the fine 2008 Indian film "Chaturanga" at a local university screening, part of a U.S. tour by the film's writer and director, Suman Mukhopdhyay. As with "I'm Not There," it's a film I enjoyed even though I didn't get all of the film's references because of my ignorance of India. But, this is a universal film about one man's struggle to comprehend the most mysterious forces in the world that enrapture, sooth, confound, tickle, plaque, haunt, bewilder and otherwise thrill the male mind: women, religion and logic.

The film is told in four chapters (the meaning of the film's title), as the college age Sachish (Subrata Dutta) leaves religion behind for a fully logical life, then leaves logic behind for a fully religious life, and then takes two more inner-journeys which I won't disclose as it would ruin the film. Sachish's logical journey is marked by twin tragedies, and he flees into exile for a year until his best friend Sribilash (Joy Sengupta) seeks him out in a religious commune. Also in the commune is a young widow (the sublime Rituparna Sengupta) who loves Sachish, who won't budge from his religious trek to return the feeling. The final chapter, told in a time line similar to "The Sweet Hereafter," reveals where the three leads stand some time later.

The universality of "Chaturanga" is its strength. India is shown as a country in conflict with itself politically, sexually, culturally and religiously. Mukhopdhyay has made a beautiful film about how his countrymen and women walk through that conflict. Few American films dig that deeply into cultural and personal fabrics.

The venue I watched the film in was not ideal: The projection appeared to be off a lousy DVD with the blown-out whites and murky darks, while the subtitles appear to be hit and miss. The action onscreen is apparent, so not ever word needs to be understood. Still, the drawbacks did mar my overall enjoyment of the film. Fair to the director? Maybe. Maybe not. I hope to see this again. B+

The Savages (2007)

Philip Seymour Hoffman and Laura Linney are perfectly cast as self-absorbed siblings suddenly tasked with caring for their dying father in the 2007 drama "The Savages."

Written and directed by Tamara Jenkins, this independent film is a rare gem, pulling laughter and tears in the same scene, with its pitch dark humor. And it pulls no punches as it depicts the bitter squabbles and jealousies that divide grown siblings, especially those dealt raw deals by their parents.

Wendy (Linney) is a freelance writer living in New York, bonking a married middle-aged dope. She pops any pill she can get her hands on, and will lie about anything, including a cancer scare. Meanwhile, John (Hoffman) is a college professor who looks like he hasn't seen a bar of soap, a razor or a barber in a decade. He lives in a house covered in research papers and books, and is standing idly by as his Polish girlfriend is deported. She longs to be a playwright; he longs to write a book on Breck. In short, they need to grown up. (The John and Wendy of "Peter Pan" analogy is not subtle).

Tasked with decisions regarding nursing home care, death by right and funeral arrangements for their long-estranged monster-father (Philip Bosco), the two fight, bicker and slowly get to know each other. But the whole way, it's obvious they love each other. Bosco's character is the heart of the film -- an apparently abused child grown to an abused father, and now an old man stunned at his brutal acts, the decay of his mind and how his children turned out. Bosco doesn't have much dialogue, but his character, through the murk of dementia and Parkinson's, watches carefully. As John and Wendy explode in a fight during a car ride, the father turns his hearing aid off, pulls his parka hood over his head and tries to hide from the two messes he's created. It's a magical scene that's brutally sad and touching.

The chunks of dark comedy are not outright funny, but stem from painfully embarrassing moments -- eating from a public desert tray before it's officially served, or being stupid enough to show the racist 1927 film "The Jazz Singer" to a public audience. There's rarely a note in this film that feels false. Linney and Hoffman work so well together, you buy wholesale their heritage. Flawlessly acted and scripted, brutal, funny, sad and in the end uplifting, Jenkins' film runs circles around the hip but clueless "Juno," which inexplicably won the 2007 Oscar for Best Original Screenplay. A-

Kung Fu Panda (2008)

I wasn't keen on seeing "Kung Fu Panda." The previews made it look like a bad "Kill Bill" spoof, and I'm dead tired of the animated spoof genre. So, I was stunned to love this Jack Black-voiced animated film about a hefty Panda who finds his kung fu fantasies coming true. The plot is simple: Chinese Panda Po (Black) diligently but unhappily works in his father's noodle shop until he is inexplicably tapped as the Dragon Warrior by the town's kung fu mystic guru. Tasked with training Po to fight a greatly feared enemy are Shifu (Dustin Hoffman) and the Furious Five (Angelina Jolie, Davis Cross, Jackie Chan, Seth Rogen and Lucy Liu).Black, by the way, seems perfect for animated films. He has an outsized persona that can grow bewildering on screen, but behind a microphone and with a Panda taking the place of his body, he's never been more ... human. B+

Legends of the Fall (1994)

** SPOLERS AHEAD*** I re-watched the 1994 Edward Zwick-directed melodrama "Legends of the Fall" the other day on TV, and despite it being heavily edited and formatted to a square, I had the exact reaction that I did at the theater years back. It's crap.

Circa 1914 in the American West, a father (Anthony Hopkins) and his three grown sons are hearty ol' patriots until the youngest brother (Henry Thomas) brings home a woman (Julia Ormond), an act that spells tragedy in all CAPS as she soon falls for middle mega-stud brother (Brad Pitt), and then settles for the practical and eldest bro (Aiden Quinn). That comes after after Thomas' innocent self is butchered in World War I and Pitt's stud goes off the mental ranch.

That final grisly, err, grizzly, scene still plays as a punch line to a Monty Python sketch. Worse, the quasi-junior-high-Shakespearean dramatics are made more comedic by crap acting from Hopkins, who squints and blabbers like Popeye's grouchy poppa. With God-awful music, slo-mo cinematography and ABC-daytime soap dialogue, "Legends" seems made for the Oxygen channel, which is where I re-watched it. C

Raising Arizona (1987)

Of the Coen Brothers' zany "doofus" comedies, "Raising Arizona" remains the funniest. (I always prefer their darker fare.) There are some stand out moments in this film about a ne'er do well repeat offender (Nicolas Cage) who falls for the jailer (Holly Hunter) who takes his mug shot time and time again after a series of arrests. The hi-jinks kick into gear when the barren couple hatches a plan to kidnap one of five sons born to wealthy furniture salesman (Trey Wilson, stealing the show) named Nathan Arizona. This romp has some classic moments: 1) The kidnapping scene in which Cage juggles five toddlers is a highlight in the actor's spotty career, and 2) The shot of poor Nathan Jr. left sitting in his baby seat in the middle of a highway is priceless. (This is a Coens film, and not for the faint of moral.) The plot relies much on dumb Midwesterners doing dumb stuff, and there's little depth, but "Arizona" is loose, fast and perfectly strange. A-

Speed Racer (2008)

In the big-screen version of "Speed Racer," the Wachowski Brothers (Andy and Larry) turn a simple cult-hit Japanese cartoon into a live-action mess burdened by an impossible script and eye-popping visuals that prove tortuous after 2 hours and 15 minutes. Emile Hirsch ("Into the Wild") plays Speed, the teen who only feels alive when stomping on the accelerator. I could explain the busy plot involving evil CEOs, gangsters, ninjas, flesh-eating fish and blah blah blah, but I don't have the stamina. Know that I have sinned, though: Speed's kid brother and his pet monkey are so friggin' irritating, I began to think murderous thoughts that no one should ever have about a kid or a monkey. Brothers Andy and Larry wowed film lovers back in 1999 with "The Matrix," but soon turned out one mediocre sequel and a deadly dull finale. Blue, red, green, whatever ... I'm done taking their pills. C-

Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian (2009)

Once again, the displays and mannequins of a museum come to life during the dark hours in “Night of the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian,” a sequel to the family comedy hit starring Ben Stiller.

In the first film, Stiller’s Larry Daley lorded over (or patrolled, take your pick) the New York Museum of Natural History. There, a magic ancient tablet brought to life all on display at the historic landmark. It was goofy fun with roaring dinosaur bones and fighting dioramas, even if Stiller coasted – again – on his tired performance of a good-hearted dope who must rise to the occasion and be a good-hearted half-dope. But, by gosh, it had Dick Van Dyke and Mickey Rooney getting their villain on. Seeing those guys break (oh so gently) bad was giddy fun in the vein of Disney’s 1970s best.

Here, we get Stiller at the Smithsonian in Washington, D.C. As in the first go-round, all the displays come to live as the tablet is moved from one museum to another. The cool: Paintings, including a Pollack, come to life, as does Amelia Earhart (played wonderfully by Amy Adams, fast becoming a favorite actress). And there’s a toss-away cameo by Darth Vadar and Oscar the Grouch, both wanting to get their villain on. But as the main bad guy we have Hank Azaria (“Heat” and a regular on “The Simpsons”) as a lisping Egyptian warlord bent on ruling …. not much. Azaria is funny for awhile, but his banter with Stiller and then Owen Wilson (as a diorama cowpoke) grows tired.

It doesn’t help that Stiller consistently reminds us that none of this hoopla matters because once the sun comes up, waxen villain and good guy alike will fall still. Well, why not sit the whole film out and wait for sun up? Then chop the wax head off the bad guy, or dress him up as Lady Bird Johnson just to mess with his manhood. (Plenty of jokes already abound concerning a tunic being a dress.) Most films are pointless fun, but for the lead character to literally say it on screen is a kick in the shorts. Silly “cameos” by the Jonas brothers are pointless, at least to anyone older than 11.

Adams wins the film major points with charm and 1920s-era know how, pushing it nearly to a win. More films, especially those geared toward children, could use female characters and actresses such as her. That said, the first outing is the better. C+

Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen (2009)

Michael Bay out Michael Bays himself in “Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen.” And that’s not a compliment.

When the end credits rolled on this 150-minute marathon of confusing CGI robot smack downs, massive explosions, fart and pot jokes, and gratuitous girl butt and booby shots, I was exhausted. Not mentally. There’s nothing mental about this film. No, my eyes ached, my ears ringed and my head bobbled about on my sore neck. And days later I’m still not sure if I can tell Megtatron from Starscream.

Who are those guys? Not that Michael Bay really cares, but they are part of Decepticons – a villainous alien robot species bent on wiping out Earth. The Autobots, meanwhile, are the righteous counterpoint – good robots dedicated to saving all life. Both robotic teams “hide” among us by disguising themselves as cars, trucks, planes, construction equipment, coffee makers and anything else big or small, mechanical and electronic.

But, if you’ve seen the first “Transformers” film from 2007, you already know this. And you know Optimus Prime, a robot that can turn into a Peterbilt tractor trailer, is leader of the Autobots and friends with Sam Witwicky (Shia LaBeouf), a California teen. You also sure as heck know those gratuitous girly butt and booby shots belong to Sam’s girlfriend, played by Megan Fox. I can’t remember her character’s name. Not that it matters either. Bay certainly doesn’t care about her name, or anything Fox can contribute, other than standing still while a ground-level camera pan focuses in where her shorts meet her crotch.

The first “Transformers” was silly high-octane action flick stuffed with the clichés of Bay’s past films -- slow-mo action shots of people running, roving cameras swirling around gap-mouthed actors, and hard-core war porn celebrating all things tough and American. But it also was infused with that “what’s next?” magical spark wonder that gooses so much science fiction. I liked it, despite my movie snob self.

But “Fallen” is missing that spark. It’s burdened with those Bay clichés, all cranked to 100,000, driven from start to finish with a relentless pace that never allows the film to breathe or the viewer (or even characters) to take in the scope of what’s happening. This plot follows exactly that of the first: The Decepticons want an ancient thingamajig hidden at a world landmark that will give them great power over the Autobots and the universe. Rather than Megatron leading the evil charge, though, there is The Fallen – the “first” Decepticon, a cross between The Emperor in “Star Wars” and Lucifer. (Yes, Optimus Prime gets his savior moment.)

So, what does Bay care about? He is a “shot” director. By that, I mean he only cares about setting up the coolest single camera shot ever put on film, with no concern for how it contributes to the story, or character development or anything else on screen. If it looks cool, it goes in. Sunsets in this world last hours. This is why the endless action montages don’t matter worth a gigabyte despite everything CGI looking impressive and shiny. Almost nothing adds up or gels, and I’ll be damned if I could tell the Autobots apart from the Decepticons during any given fight. I’ve never seen an action film where I spent more time figuring who’s kicking whose butt, rather than staring in awe of how that butt is being kicked.

As the robotic faces and bodies are interchangeable on our heroes, so are most of the personalities. Only Optimus and Bumblebee (a Corvette here, despite the name) stand out among dozens of metal characters, each one more irritating than the previous. As for The Fallen, he has to be the biggest let down in my recent film memory, even out-disappointing Darth Maul who went belly up in George Lucas’ “Star Wars: Episode I: The Phantom Menace” before you could blink. Actually, I take that back. At least you could tell Darth Maul from the scenery. The personalities of a band of U.S. soldiers also are equally flat. If they all died, I wouldn’t care.

But that’s typical Bay for you. All pulverizing shock and awe with nothing to back it up.

One kicker I can’t get out of my head: Early in the film, the Decepticons send a robot spy in the guise of a sorority party girl to track Sam. The girl certainly looks real (Bay’s camera probes her body as it does Fox’s. Seriously, this man must base his whole concept of women on old Van Halen videos), so this means the villains have perfected the art of mimicking humans – flesh, weight, skin tone, saliva and organs. Not just creating 4-D holograms of motorists and pilots. And once sorority robogirl is decimated, the point is never brought up again. It just falls by the way side like so much in the film (how ‘bout that satellite?). It could have goosed the hell out of this franchise: What if … oh, never mind. I’m nit-picking script points and not thinking of that sweet orange-hued closing shot of a sunset, with our heroes on the deck of an aircraft carrier.

Sure was pretty. And in slow mo. And meaningless. A true Michael Bay moment. D+

Gran Torino (2008)

I wanted to love “Gran Torino” – an angry film directed by and starring Clint Eastwood, one of my cinematic heroes since I was old enough to watch and follow movies. But I can’t love this.

Eastwood plays the racist, hate-spewing, agnostic Korean War vet Walt Kowalski who is grumbling, grunting and muttering his way through his final years. The occasional sentence comes out thusly: “Get. Off. My. Lawn!” Walt hates his remaining family, who hate him right back. A Ford driver and worker all his life, Detroit-bred Walt only can say “grrrr” at the sight of his son in a foreign car. That the son sells said foreign car model is all the more bothersome. Walt also nearly kicks the collar off a young pastor’s neck, despite the man’s attempt to warn our man of hell and damnation.

Walt, of course, is due for a change of heart. These things happen in movies. And that change comes in the guise of the Hmong family that moves in next door, and the local punk gang that targets the innocent. All are cardboard flat characters.

Much of the film is cardboard flat, though. Eastwood’s face never breaks through that angry rock motion, even as the film draws to its inevitable “he’s really good inside” conclusion. Yes, Clint Eastwood kicks ass, locks and loads and … I won’t give too much away.

Even the worst of Clint Eastwood is better than 90 percent of the films released in any given year in Hollywood’s history, and his one-note performance still is mesmerizing. You never forget for a second that this is a masterful star and director at work, despite the so-so script.

The ending is way too neat, defies logic, and is way too ABC After School Special. Worse, “Gran Torino” never really cracks through and fully explores some major issues inside Walt’s mind and soul, ones that haunt America’s mind and soul even now. But it gives our hero (is he a hero?) a Jesus pose so over-the-top, even the good Lord’s eyes must have rolled when cameras did the same on location. Hmm, did Jesus ever cock a gun, and mutter, “Get. Off. My. Lawn!”? B-

Drag Me to Hell (2009)

After running himself and the audience tired with “Spider-Man 3,” Sam Raimi is back in disgusting, tongue-in-cheek horror form with “Drag Me to Hell.” This movie is a righteous hoot, a 90-minute reason to throw an actress in all sorts of jeopardy and mud and goo for shocks and laughs. Pure giddy bloody fun, start to finish. I loved it, every silly over-the-top moment.

Allison Lohman stars as a young bank assistant manager Christine, looking to climb the corporate ladder and make money. But to climb, she has to make some rough choices. Such as foreclosing on an old woman’s home. An ancient, evil, nasty, slimy, rotting gypsy woman with a dead eye and a soul’s curse on her lips. Lorna Raver plays this hag, and was robbed of an Oscar nomination. All those uppity twits, they missed this glorious take. See, Christine is going to hell, pronto.

Raimi, who came to fame on the “Evil Dead” films, knows how to make a scene that scares the hell out of audience, and yet make it laugh hysterically at the same time. There’s no better scene this year than when the old hag attacks Christine in a Honda in an underground parking deck. Dentures smashed out, the hag literally gums at Lohman's jaw, trying to … Eat her? Suck her soul? … I laughed aloud as I gripped the arm rest and squirmed in disgust at the saliva. Gobs of it. Strings. Nasty ass scene. Loved it.

Scenes like that abound – especially as Lohman is spewed with blood, gore, embalmer’s fluid, mud, maggots, and a fly crawls up inside her nose. To top it off, Lohman has the best game face I’ve seen since Quentin Tarantino put Uma Thurman through hell in the “Kill Bill” films. “Hell” is proudly dumb, and has Justin Long as a male lead for Christ sake, but Raimi’s antics are so on target, so far out bizarre and cheap and nasty fun, any sins and faults are washed away. It is Heaven, for twisted jokesters. A-

Reign of Fire (2002)

The most shocking moment of “Reign of Fire,” a preposterous, but fun men-versus-dragon action film, comes mid-way when tanks roll up to a castle in a futuristic burnt-out England. Matthew McConaughey pops out of a vehicle, and with a shaved skull, blood-shot eyes and a cigar in his mouth, the surfer boy delivers a kick-ass performance. Is this the same guy who regularly backseats to his white teeth and chiseled chest in everything from "Sahara" to 10 so-awful-they-hurt rom coms? Yep.

McConaughey holds his own against an equally bad-ass Christian Bale as an Englishman desperately and pointlessly holding onto a ragtag lot of widows and children. All are hunted by the dragons that rule the earth, unwittingly unleashed on the world when Bale was a child. This ain't plot heavy, folks. The action is a spectacle, though, and that’s all you ask for in a film where nearly every line is delivered in that tough guy, make-a-speech bravado. Alas, "Reign" smokes out with an outrageous plot twist that would make Darwin double over in laughter if Darwin were still alive. And as the film rattles and races to its sign-posted end, a  tough-as-nails female soldier suddenly turns damsel in distress … for no solid reason than the film needs a damsel in distress. Ho hum. C+

Quantum of Solace (2008)

***SPOLIERS AHEAD*** After the extraordinary high of "Casino Royale," one of the best James Bond films since the early days of Sean Connery, the new "Quantum of Solace" is a huge letdown. This isn't even a full film, really. It's the didn't know it was missing last act of 2006's "Casino Royale" stretched to nearly two hours and sapped of the spectacular, new Bond magic that Daniel Craig showed in his first outing.

Here, Bond is out to kill every single person involved with the death of Vesper Lynd (Eva Green) at the end of "Casino Royale." That's it for plot. This "Death Wish" mission means Bond taking on the mysterious international terrorist organization known as Quantum. We're promised, but never told or shown, what these people are up to, or who runs them, or why they even exist. They're just dead meat filling screen time. It makes one miss Blofeld.

For reasons not worth explaining, Bond sets his beady eyes and pistol on Dominic Greene (Mathieu Amalric), a rather dull but nasty Euro-businessman who claims to be an environmentalist, but has his eyes set on Bolivia's fortunes. Greene's big caper? He's stealing the country's water and forcing a drought. Sigh. Double-O-"Chinatown." But that's not the saddest part of this 007 entry. Every action scene is edited into oblivion, from a confusing opera house shoot out to an overblown finale at a desert hotel in Bolivia that explodes for no sensible reason. That last fight has Greene going Hulk and smacking Bond around. How's that?

Can all of this be laid at the feet of director Marc Forster, who is debuting in the action genre after making the dramas "Monster's Ball" and "Finding Neverland"? Or on the stunt people who seem to have script control? Whatever the case, there's no 007 charm here, or logic or labyrinth spy thrills, or even a story. Craig brings the same stellar charisma here from "Casino Royale," but he's not given much to do except scowl. This reboot needs a reboot. Stat. Let's hope the next film is better. C

Days of Heaven (1978)

If Terrence Malick were put in charge of the world, this would be a better place to live. Seriously. Who else makes a war film ("The Thin Red Line"), and shows us the effects that bombs not only have on people, but birds and trees?

"Days of Heaven" is a late 70s classic film from this classic director/writer, who ought to work more. If you know Malick, you know that he isn't necessarily interested in the linear mechanics of plot or expository dialogue. The viewer needs to fill in some holes and suggestions that would otherwise kill the pace of Malick's art. His films movies seem like visual poems or glimpses of a person's memory, fragmented, but nonetheless beautiful (or scary).

Richard Gere plays a Chicago factory worker, who in a fit of rage, attacks his boss and then flees to Texas with his "sister" Abby (Brooke Adams), and a young friend (Linda Manz). They eventually find work on the endless fields of a dying wheat farmer (Sam Shepard), who soon falls for Abby, not realizing her "brother" is her lover. (Set in the early 1900, at the height of the Industrial Revolution, unmarried lovers were considered prime sinners in Christian America, hence the lie. Malick does not judge his characters.) The love triangle is, of course, doomed to a violent end.

The story is almost secondary to what's on film: the sight of two lovers looking at each other, then washing each other, or workers tiling in the fields, or giant polluting farm machines replacing those human hands. The film's climax involves hordes of locusts and a massive fire that burns the land, and it's breathtaking to watch.

One can't describe a Malick film; you just need to experience it. Every shot is an Andrew Wyeth painting come to life, and even without a lot of dialogue or character depth and motivation, "Days of Heaven" feels more alive than 99 percent of the films out there. The cast is marvelous, and Gere has never seemed more hungry and alive on screen than here. Shepard is equally amazing, and quite frankly one of the most sympathetic characters in the film. A+

Hannibal Rising (2007)

"Hannibal Rising" does what the film versions of "Red Dragon" and "Hannibal" could not before it. It turns Hannibal Lector into a joke, and makes "The Silence of the Lambs" -- one of the greatest suspense-horror films ever made, and a high point in feminism on screen -- into a launching pad for a most mediocre collection of films. (Harris fucked Lector in the books, too, a retreat from his well-deserved "Silence" fame.)

Lector, the greatest modern book and film villain, has gone a long way down since the psychiatrist terrified Jodie Foster and America in 1991. Anthony Hopkins isn't even in this prequel installment, having mumbled his way through the pointless Lector prequel, "Red Dragon" (a remake of the far superior, Michael Mann-directed "Manhunter" that preceded "Silence" by several years and starred Brian Cox as Lector.)

In "Rising," novelist Thomas Harris and director Peter Webber (who the fuck is he?) take Lector back to his childhood and launch this demonic monster as a sad-eyed sympathetic orphan. Then they turn him into a vengeful Jason Bourne, minus the chiseled chin. Batboy, if you will. The gist: Poor Hannibalbaby, orphaned by war, sees his kid sister eaten by cannibalistic WWII soldiers. The boy is forced to eat portions of baby sis. Sick, yes, and wholly unnecessary. That the plot revolves around Lector growing up to enact revenge on these monstrous men destroys any suspense; anyone might do the same. Me, you, Mister Rogers. Kill 'em all. His targets are easy villains. If one of his victims were a sympathetic born-again Christian, peaceful Islamic convert, or otherwise reformed man, it might have created a whisper of suspense. But there's nothing. Not a drip of suspense.

As young Lector, Gaspard Ulliel is so utterly not terrifying, he's forced to hold a flashlight under his face to make creepy boo faces. Like a campfire, back in the Cub Scout or church camp days. Please. Lector is supposed to be the ultimate boogieman of our nightmares, the human monster who wants to pick you apart piece by piece intellectually before he does the same physically. We should fear him; this film asks us to cheer for him. My pick for the worst of 2007. An utter disaster and franchise killer. Harris is Judas. To his own dark imagination. Blame the book, avoid the movie. D-

The Devil's Backbone (2001)

"The Devil's Backbone" is an earlier film made by Guillermo del Toro, who's fast becoming one of my favorite directors after "Pan's Labyrinth" and the kick-butt "Hellboy" films. In this 2001 release, he tells the story of an orphanage in 1930s Spain, ripped apart by civil war. Children, magic and war -- it's a theme.

The orphanage is stuck in the middle of the carnage, and in the middle of the orphanage is a vertical unexploded bomb -- smashed into the ground years before. The bomb is dormant, and the orphanage itself seems to be barely functioning. Into this world, young Carlos (Fernando Tielve) is dropped. His father is dead, and no mention is made of his mother. He' an average child -- he likes toys, comic books and marbles -- but here, there's little room for childish play. He's bullied by Jaime (Inigo Garces), an older boy, and then visited by a mysterious, creepy-as-hell child ghost that seems to be falling apart.

There's much more in this ghost/war story, but to reveal too much would spoil surprises. What can be said is del Toro captures the horrors of children forced to grow up too soon with vivid detail, especially those who are lost and looking for a parent/guardian. Not as deep or fantastical as "Pan," this film nonetheless has a lot going for it, including the softening of Jaime and the beautifully realized and haunted adults. I don't know where del Toro finds his child actors, but Hollywood should start dipping into his pool.

It's foretold early that these children quickly will become men, and will have to fight and take control of their lives to survive. The darkness visited on these children, and likewise the girl in "Pan," certainly would never be found in an American film. "The Devil's Backbone" is that rare magical combo of heart-breaking and uplifting. The title's meaning is explained in a scene creepy, sad and hilarious. A

Polar Express (2004)

"The Polar Express" is the traditional Christmas-season kick-off movie in our house. My wife loves its joy, innocence and animation. Me, I'm a Scrooge. See, it's the damn eyes. I can't get past the lifeless, dead-as-a-marble stare of every CGI character in this Robert Zemeckis-directed tale of a boy who travels to the North Pole. I'm not a total hater. The story is fantastic for children, especially with the brilliant Tom Hanks providing most of the voices, and the music by Alan Silvestri is pure joy. I love whole chunks of the animation, including the train's journey up and down mountains, across frozen bodies of water and through a wonderfully designed elf village that looks like a New England factory town. But watching CGI department store mannequins attempt feeling is not my idea of Christmas magic. Bah humbug. C+

Get Smart (2008)

"Get Smart" is a goofy-fun spin on the TV classic, with the hilarious, deadpan Steve Carell taking over for the late Don Adams. The plot is the same: Agent 86 Maxwell Smart works for Control, a top-secret U.S. government spy agency tasked with defeating the evil conglomerate Chaos. Here, Smart is teamed with Agent 99 (Anne Hathaway, also dead pan funny) to hunt missing nuclear materials in the former Soviet Union.

The investigation and hunt is peppered with the same slapstick comedy, tongue-twister jokes and bawdy humor that made the show wildly funny, including a scene where Smart wakes up after an accident and discovers that 99 has dressed him in a tuxedo, and traded his briefs for boxers. The action is bigger here than the TV show, but most of it manages to stay in the shadow of comedy.

Alan Arkin steals the film with just a few scenes where his old guy plays tough, or nearly dies at the end of a swordfish. Terence "Kneel before Zod" Stamp plays the villain, perfectly menacing and hilarious. James Caan appears as a U.S. president who can't quite pronounce "nuclear" and continues reading a book to children during a national disaster. B

Toy Story (1995)

"Toy Story" was the first feature length film from Pixar, and remains the studio's best film. It's my favorite animated film, save only "Pinocchio."

I was inspired to dig this film out from my DVD collection to enjoy it again after watching the new masterpiece from Pixar (now part of Disney), WALL-E. That 2008 release, like this 1995 release, doesn't rely on humans as the catalyst, but seemingly inanimate objects that are full of life. The story: pull-string cowboy Woody (Tom Hanks) is Andy's favorite toy. The boy's whole imagination revolves around Woody's adventures. All this changes when Andy receives Buzz Lightyear (Tim Allen) for his birthday. With one swoop of the arm, Woody is tossed to the floor and Buzz gets the prime real estate: Andy's bed.

So seemingly simple, but director John Lasseter and his team dig deep into this story about rejection, growing up and adopting to change. I could wax on about how the toys represent children and Andy's playing is parental love, but that's all apparent. What continues to dazzle about this film is the new world that Pixar created, both within the story and from the technical animation standpoint. I never noticed, or maybe I forgot, the subtle way the animators introduce the viewer to the toy world as seen through Woody's eyes -- sliding down a banister, being swung around in a chair, placed aside for pizza. It's a perfect intro before Woody first stands up and speaks with Hanks' voice.

As far as these toys are concerned Andy's room, with its scuffed up walls and floors and general disorder, is the world, and the rest of the house and outside the window is a mix of outer space and Dante's Inferno. All of this is captured in rich detail: Andy's cloth, the sheen of plastic, wall scuffs, etc. (OK, the humans never looked real, but this is ground-breaking work nonetheless.) The film opens a thousand what if questions, as every kid I know thought their toys came to life, too. It makes you think back to the time a toy seemingly disappeared or moved from a spot between times you came into the room. Did little brother get to it, or did it move on its own? Lasseter also has the guts to put surprising wrinkles into his characters. Woody is petty, controlling, heroic, daring, funny and caring. Buzz is egotistical, heroic, dumb and, yet, the more sympathetic of the two leads. Andy, a sweet boy who loves his toys, is paired against Sid, a young toy torturer who lives next door. There's no reason to believe these two kids ever met, but their two sides of the same coin. And I had both their traits. But even in Andy's innocence and goodness, he does toss Woody aside to play with Buzz, and it's something every child has done. And adult. The way Andy mixes his toys together, Woody versus Mr. Potato Head, and Sid dissects and reassembles his toys, is spot on.

More than any animated movie, this film not only captures a slice of childhood, it captures what it's like to be a child, and how children see the world. How a lost toy is the absolute pinnacle of soul-crushing heartbreak. Likewise, the joy of opening a gift as a child is perfectly captured. And, yet, we know that Andy will one day leave all this behind, just like American children (and adults, too) left cowboy series behind for space dramas during the days of Sputnik. It's this magical, sad and wonderfully joyful foundation that makes "Toy Story" a classic. A+

Tropic Thunder (2008)

"Tropic Thunder" certainly is the busiest action-comedy-spoof in ages. Aping Hollywood egos and serious war films such as "Platoon" and "Apocalypse Now," it has a cast and budget that rivals those two classics plus a dozen more epics.

Star, director and co-writer Ben Stiller is Tugg Speedman, an action film star on a career nosedive after he starred in an Oscar hopeful about a "retard" titled "Simple Jack" that not only crashed and burned, it seemingly offended half the known world. Speedman is now starring as Four Leaf Tayback in "Tropic Thunder, a hellish take on the real Tayback's experience in Vietnam. The film has a first-time Brit director (Steve Coogan), two wild co-stars -- an Australian method actor named Kirk Lazarus (Robert Downey Jr.) who's made up in black face, and a comedic drug addict (Black Jack) trying to go serious. Both are gods in their own minds. But the cast soon find themselves hunted by real Southeast Asia killers in a real war after a funny mix up kills the director.

The film is wildly offensive and all over-the-map, not only making fun of on-set ego fights and productions, but zipping back and forth to Hollywood to dig at a kiss ass agent (Matthew McConaughey) and an immoral studio executive (Tom Cruise). But nearly every dig feels true (even if it isn't), from the self-importance of film actors and Hollywood in general to the way whites would like to think they know how it is to be African-American. Alas, Black returns to full Tasmanian wild-eyed devil mode, while Stiller continues his happy "loser" character he's played to death for for the past decade. The clear champs are Cruise and Downey. Both under heavy make up, Cruise looks like he's having the time of his life, while good ol' Iron Man continues to show he's the best actor of his generation. Downey's every line is classic.

The film is a bit too hectic to win absolute love, and the best comedic bit is the quickest and most quiet. In a spoof trailer at the film's opening, Downey as Lazarus and Tobey Maguire as Tobey Maguire play monks in love, fondling each others' ... rosary beads. Hilarious. B

Twilight (2008)

Based on a the first installment of a gazillion-selling book series about teens, love and blood-sucking vampires, the entertaining "Twilight" follows Bella (Kristen Stewart) as she moves to a tiny town in Washington to live with her police chief dad. At her new high school, Bella is met with the greeting that all newcomer students get -- either hyped-up overly sincere glad-handing or cruel scorn. yet, not.

One person grabs her attention -- the pale, brooding Edward Cullen (Robert Pattinson), who sticks close to his adopted brothers and sisters, all pale, all strangely silent, all cultish-like. Later that first day, Bella walks into biology class and as she stands in front of a fan, her scent is blown toward Edward. He acts as if stricken by mustard gas. They are, of course, destined to fall in love.

Catherine Hardwicke, who made the stunning, intense "Thirteen," nails the insecurities and stuttering flirtation that make up much of teen life and love ... in the context of a film that has a teen girl falling in love with a century-old teen vampire with "Seventeen"-cover ready hair. (You either roll with it, or you don't.) Among the subplots is a war between Edward's fangy family, who won't kill humans, and another pack of vampires, who enjoy murder. One of the evil types sets his sights on Bella's blood, and Edward must safe her. Naturally. This drama ends in a unholy weak climax inside a ballet school full of mirrors. This lazy "Enter the Dragon" business hampers the film, but doesn't derail it.

Before long we're back on the romance, which could end blissfully, but surely won't. I can't speak of the adaption from the Stephanie Meyer novel, but the film is a nice mixture of Shakespearean theatrics and displays of love, and Anne Rice stripped clean of blood and sex, all for young teens who still believe in soap-opera-scribbling-on-a-notebook-cover teen love, and not adult love. I mean, the guy sparkles. No, I mean, he really sparkles. in daylight. Y'know, this ain't realism.

The two leads are game, and sell charisma by the bucket load. Hardwicke's roving, sweeping, swooning camera not only follows Bella and Edward's romance, it seems to be it. Floating and sweeping around forests. The surreal vampire baseball scene is a hoot, a stripped down version of Quidditch from that other best-selling cultural movement. All fawning aside though, this ain't "True Blood." Now that's true bloody entertainment. A brilliant slice of undead life. B

Barton Fink (1991)

The title character of "Barton Fink" -- a twisted "comedy" from brilliant brothers Joel and Ethan Coen -- finds himself in hell, but disguised as World War II-era Hollywood. Fink (John Turturro) is a World War II-era New York playwright on the cusp of a single hit and is whisked away to Hollywood to work in "pictures."

If anyone has any doubts about the distaste that the Coens have for Hollywood big shots and big money, this is the answer. They hate the place. Fink is hired to write a script for a wrestling movie, and is quickly told that the plot, characters and tone is irrelevant, as long as he includes a dame or an orphan. People love dames and they love orphans, he's told. When Fink suggests why not both, he's given a stare of death by his new boss (the hilarious Michael Lerner). If Fink's job seems hellish, his hotel truly is a pit of fire and sulfur. The hotel clerk (Steve Buscemi) is a twig of a man, who appears covered in dust. Every inch of the hotel also appears covered in grime, untouched since the turn of the century. Even the sick green wallpaper is peeling off the walls. Then there's his neighbor, an insurance salesman (John Goodman) who won't stop talking. Not that it matters. The Coens aren't easy on their lonely writer, either. He claims to write for and about the common man, like Goodman, but he really only cares about himself.

A baffling twist comes midway through this comedy, one that could only work in a Coen Brothers film. Or Hitchcock. From there this seemingly broad, neat Hollywood satire (and hotel comedy spoof) turns dark and hot. And I do mean hot, as the hotel becomes an inferno. And unlike badly done CGI films, the flames here appear (are?) real -- the actors swelter and turn red in the blistering, flaming heat. This is a genius film: you don't see the end coming, but when it does it's sadly ironic, and every line bleeds quotable classic. (One complaint: "What's in the box!?!")

The Coens have never made a truly awful film, but their misfires -- "The Hudsucker Proxy," "Intolerable Cruelty" and "The LadyKillers" -- all skated in line with big-studio Hollywood fare. Or close to it. The winners, be they comedy or not -- "Fargo," "Miller's Crossing," "Blood Simple" and the new classic "No Country For Old Men" -- fell far outside the Blockbuster route. I'm probably grasping at straws to say that Fink represents a Ethan/Joel mash up if the brothers ever turned Hollywood hack or New York sap, but they still have their soul. Thank goodness. A