The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug (2013)

Peter Jackson pushes on his with his uber-epic 9-hour adaptation of J.R.R. Tolkien’s “The Hobbit” with “The Desolation of Smaug,” a near-three hour action epic that -– behold, wonders –- improves from last year’s “An Unexpected Journey.” That film played crazy indulgent as it OD’d on “Lord of the Rings” nostalgia (Frodo checks the mailbox!) and eye-roll flashbacks. Here we again follow young Hobbit Bilbo (Martin Freeman) now in the middle of his adventure helping 13 dwarves recapture their mountain home from the monstrous dragon Smaug. (Smaug is voiced by Benedict Cumberbatch, making this a love-fest for BBC’s “Sherlock,” where Freeman is Watson to Cumberbatch’s Holmes.) Jackson and his team ramp up the action and add new material including a Errol Flynn-era Robin Hood-like female elf, played by Evangeline Lilly of “Lost.” Despite past grumblings of Jackson re-working Tolkien, this addition is welcome. I can’t recall a single female in the “Hobbit.” This middle chapter still is too long, far too “LotR” obsessed, and I still couldn’t care if most of the dwarves died by dragon fire, but Freeman carries it. He dazzles strong with physical comedy that could stand beside Chaplin. B

After Earth (2013)

“After Earth” must be mocked. How else to react to a sci-fi survivalist tale from once-great director/writer M. Night Shyamalan that is set on a desolated/abandoned future Earth, but one that looks like a commercial for a tropical adventure? (Cities? There are none.) This is absolute unintended comedy, a wonder of miscalculation. Despite MNS’s name, Will Smith is the man in charge as producer and story creator, and it isn’t even his vehicle. The star is Smith’s teenage son Jaden, who had better luck and better support in pop’s “Pursuit of Happyness” and the recent “Karate Kid” remake. The syrupy story has a “Great Santini” father (Will) and his green horn son (Jaden) all angry dinner scowls and then later crashing their space shuttle on said Earth. Naturally, the duo must bond as son serves as the “avatar” hero of his father, whose legs are shattered. Also in the shuttle and now loose on Earth because no space cliché can go untouched: A slimy monster that eats people. I can take hodge-podge films that wink at their theft, but “Earth” is blindly, awkwardly convinced of its own “inspirational” Hallmark gruel. It's just gruel. Younger Smith looks miserable. C-

Red 2 (2013)

The comic-book inspired “Red” from 2010 was an OK blast of time-waster fun, nothing special outside of the delicious sight of seeing classy senior citizens such as Morgan Freeman and Helen Mirren blast off guns and canons alongside Action Man himself Bruce Willis. And it had an Ernest Borgnine cameo. “Red 2” is very much all the same, minus Freeman and (RIP) Borgnine, as a pack of retired CIA killers -– led by John Malkovich -– again run after some McGuffin device as a tarted-up, evil, faceless Big Brother agency chases after them, bouncing bullets and plane tickets for foreign lands back and forth. The sought-after item here is an untraceable bomb developed by the USA lost decades ago and now likely to fall into the hands of terrorists. Anthony Hopkins pops by, making for at least one delicious scene where he and Brian Cox face off. That’s movie geek glory as each man played Hannibal Lector. But that’s it. The rest is paint by numbers and stale jokes. Here’s one: Have you seen the gag about the once cool bad-ass macho man reduced to shopping at Costco just like any consumer? No?!? Well, here’s your chance. C+

The Train (1964)

John Frankenheimer’s World War II “The Train” is a classic beyond compare. Maybe the grimy, sweaty black and white photography gets in the way? No idea. This film is perfect. Burt Lancaster plays French railway manager Labiche, a control freak who reluctantly and then obsessively plays out a suicide mission to stop a Nazi colonel (Paul Scofield) from looting France of its most treasured historic art -- irreplaceable Monets and Picassos, etc. The genius plot trick: Labiche and his fellow saboteurs don’t care a whit about the paintings. This is personal pride, and screwing the Nazis. At the end in eerie imagery, our star and director sternly ask if even one life violently sacrificed to save paintings or any other treasure, land, or national pride, is worth the toll. War is fruitless. Another reason to endlessly love this film: The destruction of a massive rail yard and a three-way way crash between three engines are shot in-camera, single takes. These scenes astound. You can near smell the ash and smoke. Lancaster does his own stunts, sliding down ladders and jumping trains, with Scofield’s villain as one for the ages. Quite possibly my favorite film ever. This is epic film-making. A+

The Phantom Tollbooth (1969)

I am a rabid Chuck Jones fan. There was or is no better animator, with Jones even surpassing Miyazaki and Disney in my book. No man has better drawn the way a dog stretches under a back scratch, or how any being –- man or beast -– can toss an askew glance at a Murphy moment of despair. So when I sat for Jones’ celebrated full-length “The Phantom Tollbooth,” I wanted to bask in childhood glory. Damn. This tale of a snotty child (Butch Patrick, Eddie of “The Munsters”) who drives a magical kiddie car through a magical tollbooth from live-action San Francisco into an animated world, is not just sparkless, it’s a text book lesson in how not to entertain children. It’s devastatingly preachy with slimy goblins warning of the dangers of doldrums, and kings and fairies warning of the sin of using too many words, or not enough, and watch your posture, and don’t complain! Well, I shall, thank you. Remember how cool those “School of Rock” shorts were? This is School of Impatience. The basic plot -– two kingdoms of letters and numbers are at war –- provides endless possibilities, and demands a smarter remake. C+

The Great Dictator (1940) and Dr. Strangelove: Or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964)

The brilliance of satirical pitch and timing of  “The Great Dictator” – from Charlie Chaplin -- and “Dr. Strangelove: Or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb” – from Stanley Kubrick, and starring Peter Sellers – cannot be summed up here. These are worthy of books. I saw these war comedies near back-to-back and sat awed, not just at the performances of their lead actors, but the sheer balls that both projects demanded from their creators. “Dictator” takes on Hitler as a buffoon just as the Third Reich roared into terrifying power, while “Strangelove” lampoons a world where nuclear war was considered a sensible tool to save lives. We have nothing in our present day to compare these films and real fears, so there’s no use fishing for analogies. Chaplin’s movie follows a barber rattled by war and a ruthlessly idiotic dictator, while Kubrick’s tale follows a crazed general (Sterling Hayden) who sets off World War III, rattling the U.S. President and entertaining a mad ex-Nazi rocket scientist turned U.S. war scientist. Chaplin and Sellers are so amazing, it boggles the mind. Watching these classics now, it shows the dearth of comedies we have now in cinemas, “Grown-Ups 2”? No. A+