Dirty Harry (1971)

Forty years on “Dirty Harry” still packs a massive sucker punch with Clint Eastwood as Det. Harry Callahan tearing through San Francisco hunting down a serial killer named Scorpio, a bloody rip-off of the infamous real-life Zodiac killer. I can’t imagine the wake this film made when it landed, focusing on a policeman who shoots first, despises authority, and proudly stands as an equal opportunity offender. Yet, with Zodiac never caught, it must have served as cathartic fantasy. It still does. Directed by Don Siegel, the film’s anger at failed authorities, red tape laws that coddle criminals, and crime itself sure as hell resonates now. Every police thriller since has cribbed, stolen, and downloaded the attitude and violence of “Harry,” and every guy has at some point recited Eastwood’s “punk” speech as he stares down killers, bosses, the camera, and the audience alike. It’s one of the seminal performances of film, a modern day Western, with a sheriff who tosses his badge to lay down the law. Also classic: A rocket fast pace, an absolute refusal to show any story outside of the hero’s work, and a seriously frightening villain (Andy Robinson) with no motive other than to kill. A+

Misery (1990)

Director Rob Reiner takes on Stephen King in a funny, dark take of the horror author’s “Misery,” the story every artist must fear: What if you were immobilized and taken hostage by your No. 1 Fan who also happens to be a psychotic lunatic? That’s what happens when world-famous author Paul Sheldon (James Caan) crashes his pretty car during a snow storm, and to the rescue is crazy, lonely, book-loving RN Annie Wilkes (Kathy Bates). You know the rest: Annie infamously swings a sledgehammer when she learns Paul has “killed” his famous heroine, Misery. Crack! Get me rewrite! I loved King’s claustrophobic nightmare book which never leaves Paul’s trapped view. Here, Reiner and screen adapter William Goldman (he also adapted “Princess Bride”) regularly visit the nearby sheriff and his wife (Richard Farnsworth and Frances Sternhagen). While the move kills the suspense, it adds humor as we watch the couples bounce off each other. The casting is genius: Tough guy Caan plays a weak jerk and Bates wins Oscar gold as the deeply insane and vastly sad Wilkes. I loved hating Annie's cock-a-doodie guts. B+

Punch-Drunk Love (2002)

Paul Thomas Anderson’s 90-minute bizzaro romantic fable “Punch-Drunk Love” follows a terribly lonely misfit finally meeting the love of his life. It has everything I love about PTA films, from “Boogie Nights” to “There Will be Blood” –- including the bold realization you are watching a genre film turned on its side -- but on a small and personal scale. It stars Adam Sandler in a loose and heartfelt performance laced with an inner anger that blew me away. He plays Barry, an entrepreneur with possible autism, definite OCD issues, and prone to fits of shocking rage. He cannot contain the boiling hate over his shitty life. Until he meets her, love of his life. Played by Emily Watson. It’s as if Anderson saw Sandler on one end of the cinematic field (“Waterboy”) and Watson on the other end (“Breaking the Waves”) and said, “These two belong together.” I never imagined Sandler could go toe-to-toe with Philip Seymour Hoffman (as a scuz out to ruin Barry) and win, but Anderson has performed a miracle here. That Sandler insists on making “Jack and Jill” crap when he could be making films on this level is nuts. B+

Safety Not Guaranteed (2012)

With a budget well below $1 million, the Sundance Film Festival hit comedy “Safety Not Guaranteed” asks us to be believe in time travel as reality not because of any high-tech CGI gadgetry on screen, but because the lost soul at the center of this remarkable, funny, and wide-eyed cynic-free tale truly believes in his ability to bend science. It’s all he has in his life, his only shot at true happiness. Besides, the film opens with a journalist at “Seattle Magazine,” pitching a profile feature that requires a long-distance trip of several days, and two interns as assistants. That’s far less likely than time travel. 

So, Jeff (Jake M. Johnson) is the journalist, all wrinkled shirts, coffee stains, and beard stubble, intrigued by a newspaper classified ad that seeks a partner in time travel, “safety not guaranteed.” Jeff – highly cynical, rudderless, a bit of an asshole, and much like many a journalist I know – smells a kook, and think it will make for great reading fodder. Or so he claims. His real mission is to get to the tiny Washington state beach front town the ad originated from, and hook up with an old flame from his high school years. 

His interns are a lonely college student (Aubrey Plaza) still crushed by the death of her mother, and an Indian science nerd (Karan Soni) afraid of girls. They track down the ad’s time traveler, Kenneth Calloway (Mark Duplass), a grocery clerk with a throbbing streak of loneliness, regret, paranoia, and gun-love. 

Plaza’s Darius goes undercover ABC News style as Kenneth’s time-traveler companion, trying to get the scoop: Is Kenneth crazy, mentally ill, dangerous, or a true time-traveling scientist. The answers are surprising, endearing, and out-of-this-world-and-time awesome. I won’t dish on why Kenneth wants to go back in time, but the lead up, and his refusal to let Darius see the device leads to great comic highlights (a break-in at a tech firm whilst a major company party is going on) and heartfelt (yes, Darius soon falls for Kenneth and all his quirks, but her own quirks are just as strong life-suffocating). Meanwhile, Jeff’s bid at reunited love goes awry, as it must, and he obsesses about manning up Karan’s nerd. 

Director Colin Trevorrow and writer Derek Connolly paint a small portrait of adults who already are in a way time-traveling, their minds and souls stuck in the past on regrets, things said wrong, and missed opportunities. The final scenes, as FBI agents chase our reporters chasing Kenneth are a blast, and made one college co-ed behind me in the theater near jump out of her chair with a cheer. I agreed, and wanted to cheer that loud.

As with the characters, there are some points here of much regret, mainly Karan’s character – the lonely, giant-eye-glass wearing nerd from India studying science and afraid of women. It’s an awful, old stereotype so over-used in film and TV, it may – if it hasn’t already – surpass the sidekick cliché of the best pal who’s flaming, lisping, cross-dressing gay. Both character types really ought not to appear in any form of art not written by people older than high school age. That said, Duplass gives an amazing performance as Kenneth, twisting audience sympathy and distrust of him around on its head a dozen times over. 

“Safety” may not have big-screen pop! of much-loved time-travel Hollywood blockbusters such as “Back to the Future” or “Terminator,” but it’s brain and heart is bigger, and I’d love to go back in time and re-watch this film for the first time again and again. (And, hey, after the ugly “Men in Black 3,” the science of time travel needs a big pick-me-up.)

Cool fact: The ad that starts this film, which reads, “Wanted: Somebody to go back in time with me. This is not a joke. You'll get paid after we get back. Must bring your own weapons. I have only done this once before. Safety not guaranteed” is real. It was placed in a nature magazine by a man from Oregon a bit more than 10 years ago. When every other film out now in cinemas is a remake or a prequel/sequel, or based on a comic book, it’s a blast to know one fresh idea can shine bright, and be based on a 150-letter ad from a man who may be mental or more genius than we can ever know. A-

Seeking Justice (2012)

“Seeking Justice” has an intriguing premise –- a New Orleans husband in a fit of anguish agrees to have killed the man who assaulted his wife, only to learn he has to commit a hit on his own in reciprocation –- but quickly stumbles. A low-broil Nicolas Cage stars as the distraught Will Gerard, who is confronted in the ER waiting room by Guy Pearce as the devil with the Faustian revenge pact, sporting a scumbag vibe so thick, it chokes the air. Clearly, Will never watched “Ghost Rider,” or heard of Faust despite being an English teacher. So the plot kicks off and the coincidences stack high as everyone -– even those closest to Will –- is in on the game, and our hero sports 007 skills to survive. Directed by Roger Donaldson, “Justice” has that striking “What would you do?” idea upfront, but it’s never in doubt that Will will do right, his wife will believe him, and Pearce will monologue. Once titled “The Hungry Rabbit Jumps,” the film smells of a tedious production that paved over a good, taunt script for tired Hollywood thriller action car chases and shoot outs. C

Freelancers (2012)

Former-drug-dealer-turned-rapper-turned-film-actor 50 Cent aka Curtis Jackson III puts the last of those multi-hyphenates to regrettable use in the awful “Freelancers,” a cops-gone-bad drama that thudded into cinemas and rolled over for dead on DVD within one month. Upfront mystery: How did Robert De Niro and Forrest Whitaker get wrangled into playing depraved NYPD detectives who trade in drugs, murders, and whores on an hourly basis? Jackson plays Malo, ex-crook turned policeman thrown into a corruption ring by his mentor/father figure (De Niro), the former partner of Malo’s real pop, another officer killed years ago. Not a single plot thread or revelation makes remote sense as Malo plays a ridiculous game between police and mafia while balancing several women on the side. Entire sections of this story seem cleaved out to fit a 90-minute running time as we dead end at a finale that has Malo crowing on top of a shit pile not only wholly implausible, but an insulting F.U. lobbed at all law enforcement. I can’t speak of his music, but as an actor here, Jackson has a blank stare reserved for album covers, punctuated by line readings so dull, he seems barely coherent. D-

Lockout (2012)

Guy Pearce is the best thing in the ridiculously over-the-top “Lockout,” a “Die Hard” by way of “Escape from New York” salute that also heavily quotes “Star Wars” and low-grade genre fare a la “Fortress” and its sequels. Eye brows permanently arched and every line delivered with a wry tone, Pearce sells himself as an action star blatantly admitting, “I’m doing this for the money,” before we can argue, “He’s doing this for the money.” The plot: Superman CIA agent Snow (Pearce) is railroaded for dirty deeds and sentenced to a low-orbit prison space station where inmates are kept in comas. But, ye gods! On that very structure, the inmates have taken over and hold hostage none other than the daughter of the President of the United States. Only one man can save her: Snake Plissken! No. I kid. Snow. Also hostage: The one man who can prove our hero innocent. It’s that kind of film. With cheesy special effects, psycho villains so outrageously evil they hinder their own plans, and a free-fall climax that literally and figuratively crashes to Earth, laughs far outweigh chills. Thankfully, Pearce is ring master leading this big top circus. C+

Savages (2012)

Oliver Stone returns with “Savages,” a grisly flick that follows drug dealer best friends who sell California’s most-in-demand weed. Chon (Taylor Kitsch) is scared-by-war ex-military, while Ben (Aaron Johnson) is a hippie botanist with a penchant for mission work. They are yin and yang, with O (Blake Lively), the surfer girl drug addict they share an ocean-side home and bed with, in circle’s center. “Savages” gets to its title fast as a Mexican drug cartel (led by Salma Hayek) busts in with a do-or-die business proposal. This is a nasty and sickly funny production, hallucinogenic as anything Stone has made. Yet gun-shot holes pop loud as a double-barreled ending serves ludicrously tragic followed by ludicrously pat, while much dialogue grinds as when O speaks of Chon: “I have orgasms, he has wargasms.” Huh? Loved: How Hayek and her thugs look on perplexed as the gringos piss away life and family. Hated: Hayek deliciously serves up the notion that the guys love each other more so than O, and the revelation is left dead and forgotten like the myriad bodies that fill this tale. The “Butch Cassidy” references only hinder. B-

Margaret (2011)

There’s a book yet to be written about the making of “Margaret,” a drama about a Manhattan teen (Anna Paquin) who witnesses, and is undeniably partially responsible for, a NYC bus accident that leaves a woman dead. Seventeen, naïve, and obsessed with all things teen girls are -- clothes, thinking of college, avoiding some boys and chasing others –- the incident throws her world into frantic discord. The more she thinks she’s trying to help, the deeper she sinks, and more conflicted she becomes about morality, adults, the justice system, and what constitutes “fairness.” The film was shot back in 2005 with a 2006 release date penned in, but various woes and legal stops finally landed “Margaret” in a few U.S. cinemas in late 2011. Director/writer Kenneth Longergan has made one hell of a film so wide, big, dark, and brilliant –- as is New York -– multiple viewings are required. It’s a sprawling majestic novel on film, with Paquin again proving her amazing talent from “Piano.” The film runs 2 hours 30 minutes. A longer cut played on one NYC screen in 2012, and I have it on DVD now. I expect it to be on my 2012 Top 10 List. A

Take Shelter (2011)

Michael Shannon is no stranger to expertly playing haunted/tortured outsiders as evident in “My Son, My Son” and “Revolutionary Road.” In the taunt, purposefully slow-paced drama “Take Shelter,” he plays an Average Joe in Ohio named Curtis who works in aggregates, loves his wife (Jessica Chastain, great as always) and dotes on his deaf daughter. All is apple-pie normal until Curtis begins having profoundly disturbing nightmares and visions of violent storms with doom-laden clouds and thick and brownish-yellow rainwater. The dreams/visions grow more intense and Curtis fears schizophrenia, with good reason. His mother was struck with the disorder in her mid-30s. Director and writer Jeff Nichols’ film is a stunner, from the minute details of daily life to the way small towns blanket fear over a person to fit in and be quiet, go to church or else. “Shelter” nails two closing high marks -– Curtis’ meltdown at a public dinner and a tornado alert -– before a devastating two-punch finale, one inevitably sad, the latter forcing the viewer to question all that has happened. Tall and gangly, Shannon’s raging performance here is frightening and fragile. A

Brave (2012)

In Pixar’s “Brave,” red-haired and wild Merida is a Scottish lass who must make that terrible choice that seemingly every other Disney Princess has ever faced: Marrying for duty, not for love. She is no wallflower longing for Prince Charming, though, but a huntress who climbs tall mountains that lord over her Highlands home. When iron-willed mother (Emma Thompson) pushes our heroine to choose a suitor, she bolts. “Brave” is, wonderfully, the first Pixar film to focus on a female lead, but it’s also, sadly and oddly, the first of its films to bear a heavy, unmistakable thumbprint from new parent company Disney. From the princess angle to the heavy lessons, the DNA here is as old as “Snow White.” The plot fully kicks off when runaway Merida encounters a witch who promises to “change” her mother with a spell. What trouble magic brings I will not say, but its resolution is so simple and straight forward, I kept waiting for another shoe, any shoe, to drop. More Hesitant than “Brave.” In true Pixar fashion, the animation stuns, and the voice cast (Kelly Mcdonald plays Merida) is flawlessly chosen for talent, not name. B

The Expendables 2 (2012)

“The Expendables 2” is what the first outing from 2010 -– a surprisingly dull film recreating and saluting the 1980s action flicks of my over-stimulated youth that had its head stuck up the butt of the long-gone decade –- should have been. Teeth-rattling fun, mainly.

In that film, Sylvester Stallone, Arnold Schwarzenegger, and Bruce Willis -– the Holy Trinity of the Action Film Genre -– stood around and made blowjob jokes. The talky give and take was so awkward, it sounded like an investors meeting at Planet Hollywood, and the scene had zero impact. Here, Stallone, Schwarzenegger, and Willis come together and blast apart an army of faceless villains, machine guns popping off endless amounts of bullets. They are joined by Chuck Norris. They’re all after Jean Claude Van Damme. Now, that’s star power beyond my 16-year-old dreams. (Chuck Norris!!!)

Let’s get it out of the way now: “Expendables 2” is ridiculous, from its opening scene to the last frame. It’s a joke. Everyone on screen has a goofy character name, but who are we fooling? Our heroes, joined by “Expendables 1” hold-overs Jason Statham, Dolph Lundgren, Jet Li, Terry Crews, and Randy Couture are basically playing themselves, or at least, our collective perception of the myriad characters they have played on screen since the time of VCR as a common household item and Ronald Reagan as president. When Big Names mattered over the title on the poster, not just the name of the superhero that the film is about. Hell, these guys were superheroes, flat out.

Schwarzenegger drops his “I’ll be back” lines from “The Terminator,” Stallone is called “the Italian,” even though his Barney Frank bears seemingly no relation to a Philly boxer. Willis gets a “Yippe-ki-yay” in there, for “Die Hard” lore. Lundgren’s real-life background as a chemical engineer gets picked up for a series of laughs, right before a tip to the original “Total Recall.” Hilariously, Chuck Norris tells a Chuck Norris joke, and can barely keep a straight face when he dishes it out. 

It’s silly, bloody camp, a throwback film that winks back at the 1980s/90s, and knows AARP men of that era have no business starring in a modern action film, but doesn’t care. Yet, that is the kick. I saw this because of the cast, thinking back to the day when we saw a movie because it was Stallone or Willis or Schwarzenegger. Those days are gone, mostly. Now, we see the Spider-Man movie, not caring who stars, but only because it is Spider-Man. Schwarzenegger says, “We belong in a museum,” ribbing himself before the haters can write the same dismissive remark in a snide review at IMDB. It’s not as gloriously over-the-top singularly enjoyable as, say, “Flash Gordon,” but awful close, and as fully aware of its heightened life as a instant guilty pleasure, without the guilt. Chuck Norris!!!

The improvements are fast, and in the credits: Stallone starred, wrote, and directed the first film, and looked exhausted the entire time onscreen. Simon West, who directed “Con-Air,” takes over the reins here, and Stallone also had help on the screenplay. And the man looks looser here, focused on the subject at hand: Kicking bad guy ass. He’s having more fun, really.

The plot is easy, and -– to my surprise -– throws in what the first film sorely needed, a female protagonist. Yu Nan, new to my eyes, plays an operative of Willis’ shady CIA spook named Church. The mission: The Expendables take Nan’s Maggie to a downed airplane in Albania to extract a McGuffin disk locked inside a safe. What’s on the disc? Not important. A group of vaguely European creeps want it, and get it, and fight is on. It’s that easy.

Starring as the lead villain, Vilain -– yes, go on and laugh or roll your eyes, Vilain! –- is Van Damme, looking mean and scarred after years of drug abuse and a reported heart attack. As with Lundgren in the first film, Van Damme looks hungry for stardom on screen and he dives so fully in to his maniacal, over-the-top (I really cannot say that enough) bad guy, one can’t help but cheer on the actor, I swear.

As with “The Avengers” and its thin plot, the set-up of “Expendables 2” is a means to get to the final battle. Unlike “Expendables 1,” this delivers. No spoiler alert needed, if you have not seen this film yet, these words will make you jump: Stallone fights Van Damme, hand-to-hand combat. It is freaking awesome. Yes, Stallone versus Schwarzenegger might be better, but this is just too good not to witness. Rocky/Rambo versus the Muscles from Brussels is what define high-octane summer films, even purposefully goofy violent.

It’s not rock solid by far. Clearly Jet Li had better things to do, and drops out quickly. As well, Schwarzenegger may not have the big-screen chops anymore, his line readings are awkward, as if he’s pushing too hard to pull off the one-liners of two decades ago. Liam Hemsworth (“The Hunger Games,” and younger brother of  Chris from “Thor”) plays a young Expendable who gives this long spiel of an Army mission gone wrong and an adopted pet dog being slain. It may be the dialogue, it may be Hemsworth’s newness as an actor, but it falls flat. That aside is a rare turn here compared to the overly morose tone that dragged “Expendables 1” down.

A Part 3 is promised, and although the cast may grow even larger and even more starry, I’m happy with this outing. This is a self-aware and knowing go-for-broke blast of fun, a joke that works, by the muscle-bound actors who, for better and worse, defined a decade-plus of action genre filmmaking. This is all perfectly the right amount of too much, and there’s a difference between nostalgic road trip and a tired cash grab. P.S., Chuck Norris!!! B+

Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance (2012)

Endlessly loud, obnoxiously edited, and sporting two (!) scenes of its anti-hero pissing flames, “Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance” is a ridiculously bad reboot/sequel to the equally limp 2007 hit that starred Nicolas Cage as Johnny Blaze, a motorcycle daredevil who is eternally cursed as a demonic stooge with a flaming skull. Film No. 1 neutered the cult-hit Marvel character into popping jellybeans with Cage all wiggy Cage-like. “Spirit” moves the action from America to Eastern Europe, packing along a “Terminator 2” plot: Blaze must save a mother and son who are being hunted by the relentless Mephistopheles (Cirian Hinds). The kid is no John Connor hero, but the Anti-Christ. Yikes! Numbskull directing duo Neveldine and Taylor (“Gamer”) ride “Rider” into the ground with smash and grab edits that ruin every action scene, and unleash a sweaty, over-the-top Cage. The story hints at the Rider being a danger to any sinner -– even the Devil’s poor baby-mama -– but never delivers. Both films’ curse: Ghost Rider’s charcoal stick figure with its impenetrable all-CGI fiery skull makes it impossible to give a rat’s ass about Blaze’s spirit one way or another. Hell with him. D+

Total Recall (1990 and 2012)

If you asked me to name 25 action films from the past 25 years that needed remaking, or even warranted remaking, “Total Recall” would not make the list. Not even on a count of 50 movies. Not by a long shot. And not one of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s greatest hits.

The “silly gorefest” -– as a colleague calls it –- that is the 1990 version of “Total Recall” is a subversive high-comedy of outlandish action indulgence and excess, cranked to 111 and one more. It’s a classic mixing of Schwarzenegger, the unstoppable action giant who ruled the box office, and Paul Verhoeven, the director of satirical over-the-top grisly violent films a la “RoboCop” that wink at film violence and American macho chest-beating even as more shit is blown up and arms are ripped off bad guys. With a one-liner retort hitting every minute. In short, I love it. And watch it at least once a year, maybe twice.

Anyone who likes action or sci-fi film knows the story. Schwarzenegger plays Douglas Quaid, a lug-head TV news addict construction worker who knows deep in his skull he’s meant for something “special,” more so than being married to Sharon Stone. (That in itself is hilarious.) Quaid dreams of Mars every night, and a mysterious woman he knows only in a state of R.E.M. In this romp, Mars is the source of much war and mayhem because of an energy source, a theme of the Middle East relevant 22 years ago, and damn relevant today, post Bushes, H.W. and W.

I digress. A subway car ad promises Quaid an “ego trip” to Mars courtesy of the company Rekall. See, the trip is all in your head. The ultimate virtual reality Stay-cation, if you will, before the Internet. Quaid jumps like a starry-eyed child into buying a silly 007 “Spy Game”-extras package the Rekall used-car-salesman slick prick offers. Mr. Slick promises Quaid by the end of his “vacation,” the latter will have saved the planet, killed all the bad guys, and scooped the hot girl. “Sign me Up!” Quaid practically drools.

Of course, Quaid wakes up just as his dream session is to begin, realizing his cover as a secret super-spy from none-other-than Mars has been blown and everyone is out to kill him in an intergalactic conspiracy that focuses on him as the most important man in the galaxy. “Get your ass to Mahz,” Quaid -- who isn’t even actually boring construction worker Quaid, but a resistance fighter named Hauser -- says and does. To himself. The rest is relentless action, mutant aliens, and gasping for air on the red rocky dust outside.

It’s that moment where Mr. Slick promises Quaid he’ll be the hero that “Recall” really hits its glorious hands-down genius cruising speed as several more bit-players throughout the film tell us exactly what will happen, what has happened, and mock the whole affair. One character, a lab tech, gives away the final scene in a barely audible aside. Later, a fat, blandly pale geek openly calls “Bullshit!” on the entire plot to Quaid/Schwarzenegger’s face. Not just of this film, but every action film ever made, since time began. It’s akin to hearing a film critic second guessing the movie as it plays on screen.

Stone – before “Basic Instinct” -- is just amazing here, veering from sympathetic “wife” one second to banshee-wild killer psycho the next. There’s this devilishly funny ongoing joke that Stone as an evil spy posing as Quaid’s Earth-bound spouse “enjoyed” her assignment quite well, and her husband –- the bald, skinny main enforcer for the whole intergalactic conspiracy against Quaid –- isn’t happy about it, not with his ambiguously gay henchmen sidekick snickering aloud. Michael Ironside as the villain is genius at playing evil and slow burns as you see him thinking, “What if she… ?!?” Talk about nervy humor.

Let’s not forget how good Schwarzenegger is here, how smart for him to completely lampoon his Macho Man box office streak, even dressing in drag, and do it so smoothly and effortlessly, that I dare say 90 percent of his fan club never even picked up on the joke. He helped shepherd this film into reality, even suggesting the mastermind spy posing as a day laborer track. The man’s never been better, period. Fact. Even in “Terminator.”

Bonus points: The whole production could be, most likely is, a trippy head trick. Is all the action inside Doug’s head, as Rekall promised? Decide for yourself. I think so, going back to the pasty fat guy and all his predictions, and that final scene where the sun light hits like bliss. Or a lobotomy. But that’s the real cool factor here, satire included -- this is an action film worthy of fun debate. “Inception” plays like a head-trippy grand-nephew. if you want to ignore it, or cannot see it, the film still is an “A”-grade blast.

Which brings me to the remake. Now in theaters, playing in PG-13 safe non-glory, as I write this. Or, actually, it is bombing in theaters as I write this. Two weeks out.

Actually, hold off a minute, “Total Recall” – both of them – is (umm, are?) loosely (very loosely) based on the Philip K. Dick classic short story, “We Can Remember It for you for Wholesale.” In it, an office drone type has dreams of spy adventures on Mars, and like Quaid goes to a virtual reality company named Rekal for the same spy dream package. Quail -– not Quaid, the surname name of the hero from the book was changed in 1990 to avoid political association with then-VP Dan Quayle -- also wakes up as his dream implant begins, realizing his cover as a Big Brother-type assassin has been blown, and all hell breaks loose. The kicks come fast. Super-kick: Quail has many bizarre pasts hidden deep inside his noodle, now back from the void. Dick ends his story quick and open, leaving the reader to go fan fiction in his or her head. It’s a corker, and could make a damn fine and faithful movie one day, a sci-fi offspring of “Memento,” with an unlikely nerdy hero. 

So, why the Star Circle Planet Number Sign Exclamation Point did the movie studio – Sony, the dicks who just remade “Spider-Man” after a mere decade for crying out loud  -- and director Len Wiseman (of the “Underworld” series and the shitty and soulless “Live Free and Die Hard”) virtually ignore every chance to go Dick and go smart with a whole new tale, with a whole new title? Money? Cluelessness? Laziness? What the hell ever.

I purchased my movie ticket hoping/thinking surely this isn’t a point-for-point rehash of what Schwarzenegger, Verhoven, and Stone did so perfectly damn well, and with miles of wit. But that it is, sans wit, and a stone-cold serious and heavy-handed rehash with no purpose or comment on today’s world or movies. It not only rips off every single plot twist and kink from the 1990 version, but also stands a clear forger in spirit and look and design of “Blade Runner” and its dystopian, post-world’s-end set and mood. “Blade Runner,” by the way, is its own mind-trippy sci-fi classic film, and based on a Dick story. Also ripped off: “Fifth Element,” with its ultra-packed, multi-layered cities stretching up into the air, and the cult film “The Cube” with shifting elevators. There are more films aped, too.

So, on a future Earth near ruined by chemical warfare, Douglas Quaid (Colin Farrell) is a factory worker who builds “I, Robot”-type law enforcement robots, living in what we consider Australia and working in daily shifts in what we consider England. Do not ask about the commute, it has to do with an elevator that runs through the Earth, and the entire thing is just flat laugh-out-loud ridiculous, and the writers forget the rules of the contraption as the film slogs on. Those robots, by the way, are striking similar to the Storm Troopers from a certain George Lucas film series. Shocker, I know.

This Quaid – carbon copy to 1990 Quaid -- also is unhappy with his life. Wants something more, a thrilling adventure as a spy. On his commutes, he reads Ian Fleming’s James Bond book, “The Spy Who Love Me.” (O.K., I admit, that is funny.) This Quaid also dreams of Mars, spies, and a mysterious woman (Jessica Biel here). He wakes up next to Kate Beckinsale, and is still unhappy. Off to Rekall, he goes, too. You know, the rest.

The changes upfront are several but not enough: There’s no getting of ass to Mahz. This story is Earth bound. In so many ways. The wife and enforcer bits have been combined, so Beckinsale plays both Stone and Ironside. She’s good, but when paired against Biel, I could not tell the woman apart. All the gotch’yas and double-crosses remain intact. I longed for one major change, a zag where the 1990 version zigged. This isn’t a movie. It’s a product birthed by bean-counters who know the teens out there know no better, and sucker film fans such as myself will pluck money down to see the film of the week.

Look, Farrell is a fine actor. Ever see “In Bruges”? I love that film. Here, the gods bless him, Farrell -– all reaction -- is lost amid the $200 million special effects and art direction, another cog in the wheel. Any actor could have played this part. (The 1990 version demanded Schwarzenegger.) He just can’t compete. Schwarzenegger -- all 600 pounds or whatever of him -- held the screen. Easily.

Some bits stand out -– a literal hand phone that is Owellian to the max, mainly -– but every other minute is a reminder that if one is going to remake a brilliant, witty classic of action cinema, you better have enough guns and guts off screen as you do onscreen. This retread wimps out with no guts at all, PG-13, indeed. And to think, a few months ago, “Conan the Barbarian” also was remade. I have forgotten that, too. Why the hate on Ahnuld? Oh, and, Hollywood, do not touch freaking touch “Kindergarten Cop,” please. Never. OK?

The 1990 version: A. The 2012 version: C-

The Fall (2008) and Mirror, Mirror (2012)

Indian-born director Tarsem Singh’s gift of visual story-telling is near unsurpassed. He goes bolder and bigger than most filmmakers dare dream. Yet, his movies mostly are cinematic affairs for the eyes, with the brain left to defend for itself. “Cell” (2000) and “Immortals” (2011) fall in those categories. So goes it with two other of his films I watched back-to-back: “Mirror, Mirror,” a new take on “Snow White,” and “The Fall,” a fairy tale possibly aimed at adults who prefer movies weird and wireder.

“Mirror” only pretends to be a subversive take on the famous Grimm Fairytale as the opening minutes has Julia Roberts as the Evil Queen going all snarky on her Fairest of Them All step-daughter (Lily Collins), during a voice-over with some wildly cool stop-motion animation. I thought we were in for a dark cinematic upside-down cake treat: The story of a misunderstood queen about a poison-apple princess brat. But, no. It’s the same story told by Walt Disney and onward, but made so bright and fluffy, and with such movie set fakery, it smells of some flippant meta-movie joke against ticket-buying parents.

Only one scene involving marionette assassins after Snow and her dwarves hypes eye-popping Tarsem magic. The rest of the running time is dull as slush. Yes, Roberts has a hoot dishing one-lines and cruel judgments with a wide smile, but she’s never playing anything else than some inner-joke take on her apparent prima-donna spoiled movie star self. I can only guess her direction likely consisted of, “Just be yourself! But more!” 

Collins is drab, and -– cruel to say, I know -– not a bit fair. When she’s onscreen, the film dives, even during an early ball scene where Collins wears a white goose dress that strangely echoes Bjork’s Oscar outfit from 2000. Did Robert stipulate in her contact that she had to be the fairest and best-dressed on the set? One wonders. 

As the Prince, Armie Hammer (“SocialNetwork”) throws himself forehead deep into the role of a buffoon. At one point, he plays puppy love. Literally. Barking, panting and whining. I felt bad for him. C-

“Fall” is a fairytale adventure set inside the unlimited mind of an imaginative, wildly curious 6-year-old girl. It’s lovely to look at, a film unlike any that I have ever seen. Yet, that’s the kicker of this epic in-every-sense-of-the-word story. Director/co-writer Tarsem spent four years in two dozen countries making his film and every bit of work is onscreen. It’s all and only visual. It’s a shame “Fall” is not a solid film to put all the senses to work. 

The setup: Circa 1914, a movie stuntman (Lee Pace) lays bedridden at a Los Angeles sanitarium, injured after an onset incident has left him unable to walk. Riddled with anger, and heartbreak because his Hollywood girlfriend has left him for another man, Roy decides on suicide. He befriends a young girl (Catinca Untaru), herself recovering from a broken arm, and tells her a long, twisting tale about four adventurers (Pace among them, as The Masked Bandit) each seeking a kill-or-be-killed revenge vendetta against an evil king (Daniel Caltagirone, also playing the “another man.”) 

Untaru’s youngster listens, and we see the visuals inside her head played out on screen, including her mistaken rendering of an “Indian” as a warrior from India, not Roy’s intended stereotype of a Native American. There’s action, adventure, kidnapping, sword-fights, swimming elephants, an assassinated monkey, castles, desert landscapes, and lush jungles, all peopled by workers and residents surrounding the girl at the hospital. There’s Charles Darwin, too, a swashbuckling hero. Less-than-honest Roy has a hidden motive as spins his tale: He wants his young friend to bring him morphine pills from the supply closet. That’s his path to suicide bliss. 

It all mostly sounds very similar to a children’s film, certainly the plot is childlike, but the graphic violence is tough, and the film takes a hard-to-swallow tearjerker finale far too dark and violent for anyone younger than, say, 14. Who knows who Tarsem is targeting with all this doom and gloom, and redemption, and irony of life, and celebration of silent film. Not children. Not art house adults who would snicker at the heroics. My only guess, this is a film by Tarsem for Tarsem, and we are the incidental audience. 

Watch it for images, the dance sequences, the roving, flowing camerawork. Every shot is worthy of a picture frame. Just don’t expect a “Tree of Life” life-altering experience. Cool bonus points: Most of the scenes between Pace (poor sap starred in “Marmaduke”) and the adorably hard-to-understand Untaru are improvised, the actor playing quick off her rambling talk and mistaken readings that only a child can provide, unscripted. It works beautifully up into the film’s tone goes crocodile tears. Bravo beautiful effort, though. B-

The Amazing Spider-Man (2012)

A lifelong obsessive acolyte of Spider-Man, even I know the world has no need for another origin tale of Marvel’s web-slinger, 11 years after Sam Raimi’s “Spider-Man” hit theaters and five years since “Spider-Man 3” spun box office platinum but pleased no one. Yet, here crawls “The Amazing Spider-Man,” with director Mark Webb (“500 Days of Summer”) and star Andrew Garfield (“Social Network”) giving us the same story beat for beat. High school nerd-slash-orphan. Sci-fi spider bite. Responsibility lecture. Uncle Ben shot. A scientist/mentor mishap, and a super villain born. Big fight. Cue “SEQUEL!” green flag. Oh, green. Rather than the Green Goblin, we have the monstrous green Lizard, played by Rhys Ifans as a human and ugly CGI as a “garh!” freak. Garfield clearly loves the character in and out of the Spidey duds. Yet, the writers make Peter a literal “Footloose” skater boy, and short-shift Spider-Man’s many powers, trying to make the story … grittier? Realistic? Eh. Even with a new cast and better special effects than in 2002, this Marvel fan is unAmazed. I love seeing Spider-Man in a movie, but this franchise needed to swing forward, not backward. B-

Hysteria (2012)

“Hysteria” is a mostly daring, often hilarious satire, more commentary on history, than actual deed-for-deed, word-for-word history. In 1880s London, the city’s poor are loathed and considered trash by the rich. To help or mingle with them is status quo cultural sin. Women, damn. Women are thought to suffer from hysterical delusions, and if they speak out too loudly, demand change, and a right to their own (gasp!) body, then they face institutionalization. 

More than a handful of good ol’ U.S. Republicans will recognize these traits as the glory days of all humanity. The Romney-Ryan ticket approves, certainly. (Add in blatant hatred of homosexuals.) Indeed, “Hysteria” shows a time best forgotten. Or satirized. Not re-lived.

The big tongue-in-cheek focus lays on the invention of the portable electric massager that gave any woman a right to her own pleasure. We follow a young doctor (Hugh Dancy) who is vile enough to not only wish to help the poor, but recognize the science of germs, who is tossed from job after job for his beliefs. 

So, he bounces into the employ of a physician (Jonathan Pryce) who treats hysteria, the catch-all phrase for the female symptoms I described above, you know, dissatisfaction. Here the film turns riotously funny because the “treatment” at this time means literally having a doctor manually massage a female client to climax, for her to be relived of “unwanted” thought. Hilariously, the endless workload distresses Dancy’s Mortimer Granville to near disability, or what we call carpal tunnel syndrome. More hilariously: Watch how the older female clients of the physician practically rip apart Granville with their eyes. Enter the vibrator, which our hero doctor sees in another device worked on by a rich (and very liberal) friend. 

The old physician, by the way, has two daughters: One demure and colorless, by force, the other, headstrong, willful, and ready for a fight. Maggie Gyllenhaal plays the latter. Yes, trouble brews. When Mortimer foolishly calls her a “socialist” for wanting to help the poor, leaving her own privilege behind, the audience nodded knowingly.

The brew goes flat -- dare I say limp? -- at the end, though. The climax of courtroom speeches and declarations of love is old, and far too Hollywood, umm, rigid for an English film made about breaking boundaries. That grinds loud and old. But I could not help but dig watching the way “Hysteria” parallels our own time, and how far some of us want to go back. We need another shakeup, STAT. B+

Madagascar 3: Europe’s Most Wanted (2012)

Who knew Dreamworks’ animated adventure-comedy "Madagascar" (2005) would churn out two sequels and a cartoon series? The first movie was solid fun as four Central Park Zoo animals -– a lion (Ben Stiller), a zebra (Chris Rock), a giraffe (David Schwimmer) and a hippo (Jada Pinkett Smith) -– and a pack of penguins made a break for freedom and ended up in, well, Madagascar. The sequel was a cash-grab mess. "Madagascar 3: Europe's Most Wanted" is marginally better as our heroes make a break for, well, Europe, as a means to get back to NYC. They join a circus train and bring on the wrath of a rabid animal control officer (Frances McDormand). The animation veers from wildly imaginative (Rome!) to a 3D gonzo neon acid trip for children too young to know the meaning of acid trip. As with most Dreamworks works, the movie relies on sight gags, but the creators trash their best idea: A tiger who can jump through a wedding band. McDormand’s villain is a hoot, yes, but the sight of her taking a saw to the hero lion’s neck veers close to Daniel Pearl territory. B-

The Raggedy Rawney (1988)

Bob Hoskins’ retirement due to severe illness put me in a slump, so I’m on a kick to watch his films. His big-screen directorial debut “Raggedy Rawney” is an anti-war drama about a band of European gypsies (led by Hoskins) circa maybe World War II -- the exact country and conflict is left unknown to us -- who come across a shell-shocked AWOL soldier (Dexter Fletcher) who has disguised himself as a mute woman, smeared crazily with makeup to appear as a mix of witch/raccoon/Ziggy Stardust. Hoskins’ Darky accepts the waif as a rawney, a mad woman with mystical powers. The boy plays along, falls for Darky’s teenage daughter (Zoe Nathenson), and avoids the army he deserted. It’s an intriguing film, co-written by Hoskins, of a culture alien to most Americans. Characters, even incidental ones, are given great quick shades. But some plotting is heavy-handed, and I still can’t see how the clan continue to not see through the sexual ruse. Hoskins naturally rules the film, playing rage, joy, heartbreak, and distress like no other actor. The inevitable final scenes hit hard. B

The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn, Part 1 (2011)

It’s too easy to pick on the “Twilight” films. What started out as an entertaining supernatural romantic fantasy for teenagers in 2008 quickly grew boring, trite, and, I can’t say this enough, cringingly anti-woman as we follow a Washington state high school girl (Kristen Stewart as Bella) fall enthralled to her century-old-stuck-as-a-teenager vampire fiance (Robert Pattinson as Edward) and yet remain mooned over –- literally –- by her werewolf best friend (Taylor Lautner as Jacob). 

The whole scenario is utterly ridiculous, but that’s fantasy, right? The screw? At every turn, and evermore increasingly here, Bella becomes less of a full-fledged intelligent human being that happens to be a woman, than a near mindless submissive girl robot. (Is there anything more ... boring?) She has absolutely no plan, thought, or choice outside of her devotion to her dreamy fang man, and ensuring his happiness. I mean, can she hold a job? I’m not certain. Bet she can vacuum. Bella might be the flattest main female character of a major Hollywood franchise ever put to film. Bella is the anti-Ripley.

This overlong film adapts the fourth book in the series, and only part of it as the studio knows how to ring a few more million dollars from smitten fans known as Twi-Hards. Here, Bella is 18 and ready to marry Edward for he won’t do the deed until they are wed, old-fashioned values and all, and she wants to do the deed. And become like him, a vampire. (That’s commitment.) They do marry, and director Bill Condon (“Gods and Monsters”) stages the wedding with romantic delirium –- forest, leaves, amazing dresses and tuxes that would make any romantic swoon, and there is camera work to die for. (That’s the great Guillermo Navarro as Director of Photography. He shot “Pan’s Labyrinth.”)

Condon and his writers then take us on the only-in-a-movie fantasy honeymoon in South America, on a private island, and there the trouble begins. Eddie -– can I call him that? -- is concerned he’ll hurt Bella during sex with his super-vampire strength, but she’s OK with getting hurt, up to the point where she becomes pregnant. Abnormally “Rosemary’s Baby” pregnant. For her love of Edward, Bella commits to baby, much to his woe, and the anger of Jacob, who, like Bruce Banner, is always angry.

By now ridiculing a “Twilight” movie equals crushing a 14-year-old girl’s spirit because she talks too much on the telephone with her friends. The movies are silly romance popcorn entertainment. I get it. And teenage girls like to talk on the phone. Some things cannot be changed. They are what they are. So, I went for comedy at this viewing, from the way Pattinson can’t hide his contempt for the material that is below him, to the way Lautner makes looking angry so painfully hilarious, and a scene in which Lautner and his extended family carry on a full-blown scream-fest squabble as werewolves, making for the worst voice-over live-action scene I can recall seeing in a Hollywood film of the modern era. 

I will say this, “Part 1” is splendidly art-directed. Toward the film’s end, as Edward’s vampire family prepares to square off for full-on CGI/wirework war against Jacob’s werewolf family, at the former’s house, all for the life of Bella and her Vambaby, I just loved the “Architecture Design” look of it all. The massive windows looking out into the endless trees. Drama? Pfft. This is a family that, facing attack, leaves their glass doors wide open. Military strategy? The family fails. Home buying? Absolute genius. 

Not genius, not by a long shot, is the arc of Bella’s story. Maybe I never will. I have griped before about Bella’s absolute lack of any life interest or counsel, and the befuddlement only continues here. She spends her pre-wedding night alone, except for a visit by Edward, who I suppose is only checking in on her. Control is so romantic. Almost stereotypical to a bad 1800s marriage, he has friends to celebrate with. She? None. Zip. Zero. Bella’s only friends, helping her along the way to the big day and the baby crisis are Edward’s family, his “sisters.” Her pop, her mom, all are kept at least at arm’s length, if not a few thousand miles apart. (At least the father is concerned. By telephone.)

Actually, sorry there’s one. Jacob, the heartbroken, mooning werewolf guy who shows up at Bella’s wedding and yo-yos from all smiles and hugs to throwing the girl around, violently shaking her, and screaming all within mere seconds. Luckily, ol’ Eddie is there to save her. He’s always there. I suppose we should all be thankful he is such a nice guy.

I keep wanting Bella’s policeman father to come in and get her out. Or, actually, for Bella to finally walk out on her own, wake up and save herself. Take up industrial engineering. Ride a bike cross country. Apply to, I don’t know, college, even community college. The last scene proves me wrong again. She remains ever flat and in love. And, I get it, or not, it is all fantasy, supernatural romantic fantasy. Not real at all. C-