Top 10 Reasons Why I Love “Flash Gordon” (1980)

10. Hero Flash Gordon (Sam J. Jones) wears a T-Shirt with his own name written on it. In large red letters. Just in case he or we forget his identity.

9. The entire production, from backdrops to flowing gold capes and that Sherwood Forrest planet, looks like a 1940s Technicolor Errol Flynn adventure film, rolled up in a well-read comic book, doused in LSD, and smoked by Salvador Dali.

8. Anytime Timothy Dalton (a future James Bond) gets to play a piss ant, there will be scenery chewing genius. No Brit does hissy fit better. (See “Hot Fuzz” for further clarification.)

7. Only this British/Italian production could get away with so much sexual banter in a children’s film. It’s like an outer space-set child's production of “Rocky Horror Picture Show.” With half-naked birdmen.

6. The delirious soundtrack by Queen. “Flash! Ah-ha! Savior of the universe!” … “Flash! Ah-ha! He’s a miracle!” The best rock-opera comic-book film score ever written.

5. Scenes like this: A co-pilot asks Flash for an autograph for his “son,” Buzz, before immediately being called “Buzz” by the pilot. Also, the across-the-galaxy telepathic scene where Flash, being seduced by an evil princess, tells his new girlfriend (Melody Anderson) to “hang up.” This is comedy done right.

4. As the titular hero, Jones is a block of lifeless granite. No expression. No blinking. And that flat, dull voice of his that sounds dubbed by another guy altogether? It was dubbed by another guy. I love super hero movies where the filmmakers beg you to root for …

3. The villain. Max Von Sydow, who previously played Jesus (“The Greatest Story Ever Told”) and a doomed priest (“The Exorcist”), has never been so good at being this bad as Emperor Ming. (“Are your men on the right pills? Maybe you should execute their trainer.”) Hail Ming!

2. The climatic wedding scene. The best scene in the film, and possibly funnier than the nuptials in “The Princess Bride.” Certainly more fatal. Who knew evil alien space emperors had priests on hand?

1. From the opening credits to “The End?,” this flick strives to be wonderfully, spectacularly, laugh-out-loud, jaw-dropping bad. And it does so brilliantly. Children get a perfect big-screen production of an adventure comic book come to life. Adults get a riotous sex comedy with not a little S&M tossed in. Both get silly action. It’d almost all be offensive, but it’s just too funny. For Greatest Bad Movies of All Time, “Flash Gordon” is the savior of my movie universe. A

Paul Blart: Mall Cop (2009)

“Paul Blart: Mall Cop” made $150 million at the box office in early 2009. Is America that bored? Kevin James stars as the fat hypoglycemic title character who desperately wishes to be a Jersey cop, but can barely stumble though a day at the mall without getting his ass kicked by a laaarge woman. (Every joke focuses on fat.) When gun-toting thieves take over the mall, Blart must grow a spine and save the day, even if it means eating a lollipop off the floor. “Die Hard” was funnier. Like its hero, the movie faints into embarrassing hypoglycemic sugar-starved fits for long periods of its 90-minute running time. Unlike the man, the movie never recovers. C

Insomnia (1997 and 2002)

“Insomnia” was first made as a Swedish/Norwegian crime noir in 1997 with Stellan Skarsgard, and then remade in 2002 as an American thriller with Al Pacino. Remakes suck, right? Well, in a rare miracle, maybe a one-time miracle, the remake is as nearly strong as its predecessor. Both will keep you up at night.

The 1997 film is bleak, moody and has an ambivalent ending that sticks to the inside of your brain. It also packs a powerful example of low-key, but excellent acting from Skarsgard. The 2002 version is equally stark yet takes us deeper into the cracks behind Pacino’s protagonist, and presents a more formidable opponent.

Both versions have the same set up: The murder of a teenage girl in a small burg near the Article Circle (Norway in 1997; Alaska in 2002) demands the experience of a big-city homicide investigator (Skarsgard; Pacino). Each town is experiencing what is known as midnight sun, therefore it is blazing daylight 24/7. The lack of darkness wrecks havoc on each detective’s already damaged psyche, and all senses crumble. Fast. A fatal FUBAR shooting during a stakeout empowers the respective murderer above the policeman and derails the investigation.

1997: Skarsgard plays Jonas Engstrom, a man with no apparent emotional attachment. When he speaks to a high school classroom about the need to bring forth information about the murder, he does so blandly. The only certainly in life, he tells the students, is that they will never see their dead classmate again. He shoots a dog point blank with a pistol. He shoots his partner. It gets worse. Engstrom also has eyes and hands for young girls. The man is repugnant, immoral, and the killer (Bjorn Floberg) quickly sniffs that trait out. As the investigation further crumbles and sleep alludes Engstrom, he becomes more cut off emotionally, stone silent, his pupils and his psyche shrink into nothing. Yet he’s still obsessed with the case, solving it to prove he can, to snag a better job, or to bring the killer to justice, or maybe all three. Director/co-writer Erik Skoldbjaerg creates a powerful and disturbing film, exploring the moral lines men cross, knowingly or unwittingly. A

2002: Christopher Nolan directs Pacino as lead detective Will Dormer and Martin Donovan as his partner, Hap Eckhart. Dormer is no junkie for young girls, but he is a shady, “F” the rules veteran cop about to barbecued by I.A. back in L.A. When Eckhart dishes that he’s going to sell Dormer to the bosses, their friendship shatters. On the stakeout for the killer, Dormer shoots Eckhart. By mistake? No. Just before firing, Dormer changes guns. That’s the murky ice pool that Nolan and screenwriter Hillary Seitz pushes us into. Pacino is all jitters, off-kilter senses and dropping eyelids. As in “Memento,” where the protagonist had no memory, Nolan plays with flashbacks, senses and truths. Images of past and present sins haunt Dormer like a killer. And Pacino looks hunted. Robin Williams, creepy as hell in a fine performance, plays the killer and game master. The definitive ending, good as it is, doesn’t forge inside the head as does the original’s murky question mark. And Hilary Swank's young cop is under-written, and a bit eager college girl for my taste. But, wow, a great film in its own right. A-

The Hurt Locker (2009)

*Update 29 March 2010. Third viewing.

No film in 2009 hit me as hard as “The Hurt Locker” did, and stayed with me as long. I’ve seen “Locker” no fewer than three times, waffling back and forth between the sheer magnitude of its emotional and gritty depiction of war and the jarring factual errors throughout. I first gave the film an “A” and had it at the top of my 2009 Best List. Then it fell, with a “B,” off the list. The third viewing, I was blown away again. What a great film, flaws and all.

What better recommendation can I give a film than to say it is, quite literally, unforgettable. Unshakable.

Since my third viewing, “Locker” has won Best Picture, Best Adopted Screenplay and Best Director. So, if you’re a film buff, you well know the story. Directed Kathryn Bigelow, who made once kick-ass action films such as “Point Break” and "Near Dark,” this nonpolitical (thank God) war film follows a U.S. Army bomb disposal unit in Baghdad in 2004, when the situation was grim as hell. To put it mildly, and non-politically.

In a white-knuckle opening, the unit (led by Guy Pearce) finds itself tracking an IED. The team must dismantle the bomb with careful precision, or risk leveling a city block. You can see the gears cranking away behind Pearce’s eyes as he carefully prepares his mission. It’s a near impossible task.

Unlike almost any previous war, though, the enemy here can be anyone within proximity, old or young, shopkeeper or bystander. And they need not carry a gun. Cell phones detonate bombs. Kites signal attacks or any myriad of deadly messages. A guy with a video camera is filming not for pleasure or YouTube, but for study in warfare. Like those football game reels that teams watch before meeting an opponent. The enemy. All this, or near all this, is communicated in 10 minutes. Maybe less. Brilliantly.

That’s the thrust of this film, back in my mind as one of the year’s best, and the tension never lights up.

Pearce’s character is slain within the first few minutes. And his replacement is William James (Jeremy Renner), a hot-head thrill seeker who does not grind the gears in his brain. The gears ain’t there. He just goes. No questions, no hesitation. He’s an adrenaline junkie, and if bombs or snipers don’t kill him and his unit mates (Anthony Mackie and Brian Geraghty), then that recklessness might. He loves war.

It’s a great character, the "Rebel Without a Cause" of today, and he is fully explored when James returns home – briefly – for a stay with his son and girlfriend (Evangeline Lilly of “Lost”). James can rip apart a bomb-laden car with shocking disregard for safety. It’s natural. Yet, picking cereal at a grocery is difficult. It’s a helluva tricky character, and Renner ("The Assassination of Jesse James") pulls it off with grace and cool. The guy is a star.

If the film states that American soldiers may have changed, possibly hooked on violence, it’s with good or understandable reason. The rules of war have not just changed. There are no rules. This is beyond urban warfare. Children are sliced neck to groin, and planted with C4 explosives. Or they might be trained to kill. Business men are kidnapped and strapped with bombs, and their pleading brings out sympathetic American soldiers to help. Or they might be trained to kill, and are great at acting. No one knows for sure. And “Locker” provides no answers.

How can anyone deal with these pressures and not fall apart? (This U2 lyric comes to mind: “I’m not broken, but you can see the cracks.”) That James has become addicted to this life is the true horror the film, and the riddle that wraps around your brain.

At the same time, writer Mark Boal makes sure that James is not representative of all U.S. soldiers. The soul of Pearce’s careful, concerned bomb disposal engineer seems to hover long after the character is killed. As well, Anthony Mackie's soldier is upright and brilliant. The younger unit member is scared for his life, and those of others.

Bigelow shows all of this with no need to politicize or point fingers. It blows my mind this woman is not cranking out quality films every year, especially in a world where Michael Bay has unlimited budgets and freedom, no matter if the end result is pure garbage. She deserved the Oscar. And more.

I know the film is not realistic of modern fighting and bomb disposal units in Iraq. And this is with my zero knowledge of combat. I'm a liberal weenie. My brother is the soldier, now in Iraq, God love him. I well know bomb disposal guys don’t clear buildings or play the part of sniper team. Other people have those tasks. For damn sure I know soldiers don’t ever sneak off buildings. And bomb units don’t go out alone on missions. Ever. Death, jail, capture or any number of terrible fates await such actions.

The film skates awful close to the dreaded territory of “CSI” and “Law & Order” that bastardize criminal investigators with false sci-fi equipment and cops who go ape freaky during suspect questioning.

The direction, acting, editing, cinematography and the drama all still excel. And it’s human truths scream real, too. Many classic films, war or crime, have taken liberties, while reaming true to the conflicting, changing human spirit, and they are on my all-time favorites list. Certainly “Platoon” skated close to more of a symbolic, Faustian story than absolute realism. Hypocritical? Bullshit? Maybe. I won’t say I’m not the first and full of the second. But I can’t shake this film. It’s too good. It's flat out, indeed, one of the year's best and most important film. Faults and all.

Many cameos up the star quota of the film: Pearce, Ralph Fiennes and David Morse. That their roles don’t distract is further testament to Bigelow. And Renner. A

The Stepford Wives (1975 and 2004)

More than 30 years on, the 1975 version of “The Stepford Wives” packs a huge punch. Unless you were raised under a rock or you actually are a Stepford Wife, you know the plot to this classic pitch-black Ira Levine satire: A married couple (Katherine Ross and Peter Masterson) and their children move from New York City to a seemingly perfect Connecticut suburb known as Stepford.

Lawns are perfectly manicured, houses impeccably clean and orderly, fantastic casseroles are the norm, even the sunlight is perfect, and almost every wife does nothing – literally nothing – but please their husband’s every single whim. The men laugh about it. Something’s wrong, and it ain’t the water.

Like “Rosemary’s Baby” – another Levine book turned film, and my favorite horror movie of all time – “Stepford” is a tale of women suffocating under the rule of men. Ross (“The Graduate”) is a brilliant heroine – she loves her family without question, but like any person who loves herself, or himself, she wants to be fulfilled in her own right, to be remembered. And she will bust your head with a fireplace poker if pushed too far. Even if she loves you.

The soul-killing husbands are scary because they are so matter-of-fact. As the film marches toward its dark ending, Ross pleads, “Why are you doing this?!?” The cold reply: “Because we can.” If it doesn’t boil your blood – woman or man – then you need to check if you still bleed. A-

I vividly recall the 2004 remake. Like a bout of tuna-inspired food poison. This version trades in the dark nature of the original for an ungodly fluffy comedy topped by a script so awful and contradictory, I still can’t believe I watched it to the end. A career worst for Nicole Kidman, who takes the role played by Ross in 1975, as well as director Frank Oz. F

X-Men Origins: Wolverine (2009)

“X-Men Origins: Wolverine” is not a disaster. It is miles ahead of the lifeless dud “X-Men: Last Stand,” the finale in an otherwise stellar film series that concerns superheroes born with their powers, Mutants. But this is far from razor claw sharp. It is dull, all CGI razors, no steel, or that whatzit metal in our titular hero.

If you’re an X-Men fan, you know the details on Wolverine (Hugh Jackman). He has the ability to heal, doesn’t age, and can grow deadly sharp claws from his knuckles. Impressive, eh? After a long-ass set up, this prequel rockets to post-Nam America as Wolverine – a.ka. Logan – finds himself working for renegade Army colonel Stryker (a ho-hum growling Danny Houston). Crimes are committed. Bodies piled high. Logan quits in disgust. But half-brother Victor – a.k.a. Sabretooth, who has very similar powers with an evil streak -- loves the job. Liev Schreiber plays this role. If you are lost at all these names, just quit reading, save yourself the trouble, film and review are for fan-boys, and I presume the review is better, eh?

So, blah plot blah, Logan – having never seen a conspiracy movie or read a comic book – midway through the film stupidly commits to becoming a super soldier, and his bones are filled with a crazy-strong liquid metal that will make him not just unkillable, but the bane of TSA agents. This is where Wolverine truly is “born.” The film version of Wolverine, anyway.(More on that in a minute.) In an act so dumb it made me groan, Stryker, the obvious bad guy who Logan trusts like Mother Duck, loudly announces that he will erase Logan’s memory and make the mutant his bitch. Post surgery. We get lots of these logic lapses that occur for no other reason than they must for the plot to grind on. So, plot, Logan escapes, and seeks revenge.

“Wolverine” lacks many things, other than logic. But what this PG-13 flick most needs is blood. Grisly, eye-popping blood. I read piles of Wolverine comic books with our anti-hero slicing through armies of ninjas, the Hulk, or any number of opponents with animalistic glee. Wolverine was bloody, dangerous, unpredictable, and that was a nasty, fun thrill to read. Red blood was forbidden by censors, so comic book artists poured blobs of black ink onto the page to represent Wolverine’s wild carnage. I got that ink on my fingers.

Don’t get me wrong. There’s action aplenty and Jackman is game and wildly buff. A climatic fight involving Wolverine, Sabretooth and a Frankenstein-like Deadpool (Ryan Reynolds) has a somewhat cool Three Mile Island meltdown meets “Star Wars” mash-up that zings and pops. It’s a hint of the wild menace that should have been there from the film’s start. But back story should have been put on the back burner. C+