Pixels (2015)

“Pixels” has a ridiculously great premise that vibes perfect 1980s action/comedy: Aliens attack Earth using as weapons massive “live” incarnations of Atari’s best video games: Pac-Man, Centipede, Tetris, etc. Damn the result. Look, Director Chris Columbus (“Harry Potter” 1 and 2) handles the big VFX scenes with polish: Pac-Man tearing through NYC is too cool and when a soldier is de-pixelated, it scares like classic “Doctor Who." But away from the action, Pixels dies. A dead-eyed Adam Sandler plays an ex-arcade-child-king now miserable, but still chummy with his dork childhood pal (boring Kevin James), now the worst U.S. president ever. Assholes, both. A big joke: Sandler insults a White House intern by calling him “Blue Lagoon.” Because the guy has curly blond hair. I sat blinking. How old is that joke? Sandler and James blunder their way into saving Earth. This Earth doesn't deserve it. The trailer promised a celebration of us 1980s gamers. The movie flogs us as infants incapable of adult decisions. Like hygiene. Or parenting. Fuck every person involved. Last miserable kick: The sexism astounds. When another arcade dork (Josh Gad) sees his dream woman come to life, she cannot speak. Only smile and obey. Offensive. C-

Pitch Perfect (2012)

College a cappella comedy “Pitch Perfect” stands among many a film, from “Mean Girls” to a thousand comedies where the cool outsider joins the team of almost-winners (losers) and puts them over the top for a finale guaranteed to leave you grinning. Certainly, though, “Perfect” has to be the first movie about an a cappella group, although I can’t tell if a cappella equals glee clubs or not. Anna Kendrick -- who seems to de-age every year -- plays cool DJ music masher Becca who ends up joining an all-female singing group, because damn it, she loves music. The group is run by a princess (Anna Camp) destined for a drubbing. The group is stuck in tradition, and they need Becca, who can make music from a cup bopped on wood. They get it. Duh. I liked the music and the way Australian comic Rebel Wilson steals every scene with just a shrug. What I did not like: The cruel Asian stereotypes that I hope are ironic toss-backs to those ’80s John Hughes films (“Sixteen Candles”) that endorsed Asian racism. (God bless John Hughes. RIP.) I’ll be a ca-optimistic. B

The Rundown (2003)

It comes fast, a split-second cameo: Arnold Schwarzenegger walks out of a bar and yells, “Have fun!,” as Dwayne Johnson -– billed as “The Rock” for his wrestling -– struts into a showdown that will have him clobbering most of a football team. Off the bat, director Peter Berg in his second film is planting flags: Johnson is the new Action King and “The Rundown” is a goofy, bone-cruncher flick from 1986. And it is exactly that. Every beat, stunt, gag, and boom is wired to the days of Reagan. Irritation? Yes. Likely the point? Fact. Plot: Johnson is Beck, a bounty hunter sent to the Amazon to retrieve the son (Sean William Scott) of his loan shark boss. In the jungle, his target easily found, Beck gets sucked into a third-world slave camp (free market capitalism!) drama run by an evil baron (Christopher Walken). Skulls crack, you know the rest. Johnson’s charisma is strong as Berg dreams up cackling, chortling myriad ways to put his hero through the ringer. Scott’s Wile E. Coyote irritates and needles Beck in the film’s best unsaid gag: This is a bromance take on “Romancing the Stone,” one of those great ’80s films. B

The Hunger (1983)

“The Hunger” is so ’80s, I felt like popping over to MTV for a full night of music videos and the Moon Man. Drenched in equal parts German techno rock and blood, with sex on top, Tony Scott’s gothic thriller follows a love triangle between a vampire (Catherine Denevue), her undead boy toy (David Bowie), and a NYC doc (Susan Sarandon) who studies aging disorders, ironic as Denevue’s blood-sucker won’t age and Bowie’s poor sap is dying fast no matter how much young blood he drinks. (The couple tutors a neighbor girl on violin; let’s just say Mom and dad deserve a refund.) I won’t dive too much into plot or fates, but I can’t let go the bat-shit-crazy WTF studio-demanded epilogue that takes a stake and a blowtorch to every nuance and act of violence that came before it, all for the hope of a sequel. (Why!?!) It does not help that Scott, being Scott, overloads on smash edits, hellish strobe lights, and making everything so serious. A sex scene with Denevue and Sarandon should not be boring. Scott makes it boring. Hunger is overstuffed from the start. Often, being left hungry for more is better. Is it not? C+

The Last Stand (2013)

Arnold Schwarzenegger action flick “The Last Stand” ends with a car chase through a corn field. Fitting. The whole movie is a retro-80s action flick with Ahnuld taking on the “High Noon” Gary Cooper role: The aging sheriff facing outlaws who have invaded his Western town. Happily, he stands not alone, but with a pack of deputies and locals (including an NRA freak played by Johnny Knoxville). The invader is a drug lord (Eduardo Noriega) who escapes his FBI captors (led by Forrest Whitaker) and speeds in a demon race car toward our hero’s Mexican border town. He shall not pass. Director Kim Jee-woon and we know Arnold is no longer the screen powerhouse he used to be, so the supporting cast is vital for heavy-lifting, none better than Peter Stormare (“Fargo”) as a psycho with an accent like an BBQ-acid-chugging Swedish Chef. The finale blasts old-school over-the-top action while tweaking cowboy cliches, hence that corn field. The politics split with our hero ripping incompetent fed overlords, while stomping ass and shouting huzzahs for all immigrants. B

Rock of Ages (2012)

Worst fuckin’ episode of “Glee” I ever watched. And it lacks anyone half as cool as Chris Colfer. Blockbuster wannabe “Rock of Ages” tosses Tom Cruise, Alec Baldwin, Russell Brand, Bryan Cranston, Catherine Zeta-Jones, and Paul Giamatti, plus two shiny youths -- Julianne Hough and Diego Boneta –- in an insipid mix-tape, mashed-up, lip-sync heavy rock story (sound familiar?) about fame and love that leans slightly more dangerous than “Bye Bye Birdie.” If “Birdie” were set in 1987. That’s the year “Ages,” based on a Broadway hit likely snipped of its balls on its way to the screen, takes place, when Poison, Def Leppard, and Jon Bon Jovi ruled MTV, radio, and record stores. Tone deaf from frame one with a sing-along Night Ranger bus ride, “Ages” sock hops between celebrating rock n’ roll big hair hedonism and giving a mocking F.U. finger to anyone who longs for vinyl records. Not that it matters. Our rock stars here drink, but never get drunk. Flirt and strip, but never screw. Drugs? No. Never. This is Wal-Mart rock, scrubbed clean for the kids who once listened to Quiet Riot, but now vote Romney, and party in PG-13 style. D+

Explorers (1985)

Not sure how I missed “Explorers” upon its release at the height of adventure films starring children, with “Goonies” reigning as king. Joe Dante (“Gremlins”) directs this fantasy about three boys (Ethan Hawke, River Phoenix, and Jason Presson) who create a fantastical bubble that allows them to fly across town and out into space where an alien race awaits. How? Don’t ask. Just dig on the old Atari-level VFX by Industrial Light and Magic. Dante hones in on all things junior high in the “Star Wars”-and NASA-fueled 1985, and it’s a grand memory. Strangely, “Explorers” drags once the trio make first contact, pop culture jokes and finger-wagging lessons repeated ad nauseam. The film could have lost 30 minutes or been made into an episode of “Amazing Stories.” Two hours? No. Presson – who!?! – impresses far beyond Hawke (“Training Day”) and Phoenix (RIP). Watch J.J. Abrams’ “Super 8.” The boy there echoes Presson’s look and character, with an attitude that jumps off the screen. Loved the Charles M. Jones Junior High School joke. “What’s up, Doc?” 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+

Hot Tub Time Machine (2010)

“Hot Tub Time Machine” is utterly, proudly ridiculous. The premise: Four guys jump in a ski resort hot tub and are zapped back to their own mid-1980s bodies. Correction: Three of them do so: John Cusack, Rob Corddry and Craig Robinson. Clark Duke is 20 in present day, and so, should be a sperm. But he’s not. Nothing makes sense here. All this is made OK when Robinson looks directly at the camera and screams the film’s title, with a big smile on his face. His shout says, “You think I’m dumb for being in this flick? Hell, you payin’ money to see it!” It’s a ballsy and hilarious wink at the audience. This is a wild celebration of all ’80s flicks where the bad kids were rich snobs and the heroes were stoners. Cusack sends up his own career, while Corddry steals the whole movie. The humor is so gross, you’ll gag. Even if the end is limp and sentimental, this is kitty nip for anyone who proudly wore a Members Only jacket. B-

Police Academy (1984) & The Naked Gun: From the Files of Police Squad! (1988)

“Police Academy” and “The Naked Gun: From the Files of Police Squad!” are 100-proof 1980s comedy spoofs: Silly gags, slapstick pratfalls and lots of (literal) toilet humor. They ridicule the myriad of police thrillers and grim film noirs that still come out a dime a dozen even now. “Police Academy” was the first to take the self-righteous piss out of the genre, but my compass points toward “Naked Gun.”

“Police Academy” revels in the “Porky’s” humor that ruled the early 1980s: Bawdy sex jokes, nudity at every chance, and ripping the wheels off of the Politically Correct Bandwagon. The set-up: The mayor of a large city declares that all citizens -- regardless of eligibility -- can join the police force. Naturally, idiots, scum, nerds, dweebs and gun-nuts hear the call of duty. The joke is, of course, that the police head-honchos are more incompetent and the downtrodden losers prevail. The writers dish stereotype gags on every minority group there is – black women, Latinos, gays, women, etc. “Blazing Saddles” and “The Producers” did far worse damage. But those films were finely scripted and hilarious from start to finish, they had and have a reason to exist. This is a stoner hit-or-miss comedy affair, and everything filmed seemingly thrown in. Steve Guttenberg is the wiseass charmer, always thumbing his nose at authority in full Bill Murray-Chevy Chase mode. B

“The Naked Gun” is a quick flick that is glorious entertainment. The “Airplane” Zucker-Abrahms-Zucker team clearly loves the films they mock. More importantly, they love Leslie Nielsen. We open with a stand-alone short that’s even funnier now – 1988’s leading dictators, terrorists and despots meet for lunch, planning to destroy America. Suddenly Lt. Frank Drebin (Nielsen!) lays waste to the room. Ghadaffi gets his ass kicked. Khomeini gets poked. Gorbachev has that weird red mark on his head wiped off. In perfect dead-pan, Nielsen says, “I knew it.” None of this makes sense, but it was every American’s truest dream that year. (Joke’s on us. Nielsen was Canadian.) We then jump into a hilarious, barely-credible-on-purpose L.A. conspiracy involving an evil tycoon (Ricardo Montalban) trying to whack the Queen of England. Every joke is a grade-school bad pun, obvious slapstick or goofy sight gag. But they work wonders, even the lesser jokes. Nielsen sends “Gun” into orbit, how serious he is in every moment. His “National Anthem” is gold. A cure a bad day. A

The Expendables (2010)

If you have not seen “The Expendables,” stop reading now. I’m about to throw a snit fit about the ending to this rehashed 1980s brainless action flick that goes further retro with a 1960s “Dirty Dozen” suicide mission homage. But not a single one of Expendables is … expendable. None. This is a G.I. Joe cartoon, AARP style. A suicide mission flick without a suicide. Like porn without skin, useless. WTF!?!

Director/co-writer/star Sylvester Stallone is Barney Ross, leader of the Expendables, a pack of tough-as-leather American mercenary soldiers out to save a woman and topple an evil Latin dictator. Which they do. Quite easily. Like I said, they all live to clink beers, throw knives and assure each other that none of them is gay, despite the fact that none of them can live with a (eww, girls!) woman. And they constantly talk about each other’s bodies without end, cause all guys do that, right? We are talking “Top Gun” territory here, without the volley balls.

I just sat dumb struck as Stallone missed the entire freakin’ absolute point of the iron-clad, Suicide Mission genre. Heroes die. I remember watching “Dozen” and “Bridge on River Kwai” plus “Predator” as a teen, gripped, thinking … Who will die next? (Alec Guinness! Noooooo! Run Carl Weathers! Run!) There are zero surprises. Zero reasons to pay attention. Zero reasons to call this “The Expendables.”

This is a dullsville. That’s wild to say, with Jason Statham, Dolph Lundgren, Jet Li, Terry Crews, Eric Roberts and Randy Couture among the beefed-up mother farmers, good and bad. (Steven Seagal, where art thou?) Look, it’s not a terrible film. The carnage is over-the-top 1980s bad. Meaning good and bloody. Of the cast, Lundgren has the most spark. A better word: hunger. The former “Rocky IV” boxer looks hungry for new stardom. Mickey Rourke wonders in as an ex-Expendable turned artist, and then wonders out, quickly. Why?

Teeth grinding abounds. We get the villain’s obligatory and endless half-mile run to the escape helicopter, helpless woman in tow, and, by God, did any one – CIA included – get a memo that it’s 2010, not 1984? No one even has a Word Processor. Motion sensors? Oh, wait, what, David Lee Roth quit “Van Halen”? Damn! You don’t say. See what I’m sayin’? And can we get a Linda Hamilton/Sigourney Weaver shout out? No. This film is Rush Limbaugh approved. Women are near mute with submission.

Now the worst part. “The Expendables” delivers a scene featuring the Holy Trinity of 1980s Action Stars: Stallone, Schwarzenegger and Willis. It falls flat. Set inside a church, Willis is another CIA goon, pitching the suicide mission to the former Rambo and ex-Terminator. The scene took months to schedule and film, by all accounts. Yet, it plays slapped together, uneven and meanders to a crap ending. Schwarzenegger plays it awfully sarcastic. Stallone appears exhausted. Lastly, Mr. John McClane suggests oral sex all around. (Huh? Oh, yeah, homophobic jokes were funny 30 years ago, too.) No one does it. There’s a sequel coming, though. Maybe one of our heroes will get blown away. One way or another. C

Predators (2010)

A marvelous opening: A body falls from the sky, thousands of feet in the air, and suddenly comes to freaked-out life. The man – it’s Oscar winner Adrien Brody -- panics, screams, flails his legs and arms, and then his hands find and yank the ripcord to the parachute on his back. Just in time. The chute opens, and the man crashes to the ground of a jungle. Boom -- the title card “Predators” screams across the screen liken an out-of-control fireball. To paraphrase another 1980s-born action franchise, "Yippee-ki-yay monkey farmer!"

This, I thought, is the bad-ass sequel I’ve long wanted for 1987’s “Predator,” the bloody way-cool Arnold Schwarzenegger action flick about tough men in a jungle, hunted by and hunting a massively big, killer alien with a squid face. (“Predator 2” was an absolute dud and is not relevant here. Thank goodness.)

Produced by Robert Rodriguez (“Desperado”) and directed by Nimrod Antal, “Predators” plays on that theme, with a heaping of “Guys, where are we?” intrigue from “LOST” and the classic “The Most Dangerous Game” short story. The “guys” are seven men and one woman, all military Special Forces, assassins, gangsters, mass murderers, war criminals and … a clean-cut surgeon from California, plucked from their lives and dropped on a jungle planet with several moons and a sun that does not move. Alice Braga, Danny Trejo and Topher Grace round out the cast.

In line with its first sibling, the characters die one-by-one as the aliens attack. I was stoked for some summer fun. But halfway through, this fire goes out of this hell ride. It stays out. In a tip to Marlon Brando’s crazed Col. Kurtz in “Apocalypse Now,” Laurence Fishburne (who starred in that war classic) pops by for a cameo as a stranded survivor gone native, and whacked. But here’s the deal: Larry’s fat. I mean I-think-the-SOB-ate-Keanu-Reeves-after-that-last-shitty-Matrix-movie huge, and his character just fails. He’s a joke. Then Rodriguez pops a character reveal so ludicrous and clichéd, I and the entire audience burst out laughing. The movie never recovers. I sat there bored.

As the moral-free “hero” of the piece, Brody might not be “Ahnuld” tough but he brings a keen intelligence to the story, and I dug Braga’s character, this is a warrior woman who has never seen high heels. High hopes dashed fast, that’s the score here, though. Final thought: “Predator” gave us two future U.S. state governors. Any political leaders here? Sit down, Topher. Sit down. C+

The A-Team (2010)

“The A-Team” is a great B-movie, full of stunts and action so outlandish they make “The Rock” seem as dead serious as “Schindler’s List.” I expected nothing more. This re-make is, after all, based on a 1980s TV show so silly even at age the age of 10, I knew I was watching candy corn being pelted at my noggin. Case in point here: Our heroes “fly” a tank -- falling from the sky -- by blowing off shells in exact succession. The vehicle crashes in a lake, and out it rolls, without a scratch. Candy corn? No. This is the TV show after it injected a bag of liquid sugar, and downed 10 5 Hour Energy shots.

This update takes the same characters and general plot, and injects high-end CGI effects and comic-book violence. As before, the “A-Team” is comprised of four Army rangers framed for a crime they did not commit. We have John “Hannibal” Smith (Liam Neeson, replacing the late George Peppard), Templeton “Face” Peck (Bradley Cooper, in for Dirk Benedict), B.A. Baracus (Quinton “Rampage” Jackson, taking up Mr. T’s mohawk) and “Howlin’ Mad” Murdoch (Sharlto Copley, picking up the crazy from Dwight Schultz). The men are un-killable, quick on wit and have exact timing for every movement down cold. And they smoke. Big fat cigars.

The first 10 minutes of film are a mess as director Joe Carnahan and his crew of screenwriters needlessly spell out how the A-Team met in Mexico after a two-man job by Hannibal and Face goes wrong. It includes a meet-cute involving B.A. and Hannibal that involves a gun and mutterings about fate that plays weirdly homoerotic. Thankfully, the film kicks snaps into focus post-credits as the men get their gym socks pulled over their heads after a mission involving stolen U.S. mint printing plates goes terribly wrong. You can figure out the rest: The team breaks out of prison, nail the bad guys, commits unfathomable wreckage, smile and smoke cigars. End credits. No spoilers here.

In the hands of lesser actors, the film could be an abysmal failure. But Neeson has made far worse films (“Taken”) shine on charisma alone, and he makes Peppard seem old and, well, dead. Ditto for Cooper, playing up his “Hangover” charm as clever womanizer Face. Jackson holds his own, even if he can’t top Mr. T’s boldness. But who could? Copley, so good in “District 9,” is sacked with the least interesting role as pilot Murdoch, and still glides by on funny voices. It ain’t his fault. Carnahan and the writers never tap into the character’s rattled brain, and he spends the climax literally on his ass, a bag over his head.

The OTT climax? It makes the flying tank escapade seem quaint, yet dazzles. Throwing shots at this film is like ripping a child’s drawings, the stray marks and inanity of it all is the point. Any try at figuring out the triple-crossing gaggle of villains only kills more brain cells. These are action scenes strung together en masse. And that’s OK. That was “The A-Team” in its glory days of old. This isn’t the summer movie of 2010, but it’s a placeholder. And like its source, it’ll probably play well on TV. More like "The B Team."

G.I.Joe: The Rise of Cobra (2009)

Upfront admission: Much of my childhood was dedicated to Real American Hero G.I. Joe and evil terrorist organization Cobra. I do not lie when I say hundreds of hours of my life and that of younger brother James (now serving in the U.S. Army) were dedicated to this Hasbro toy line/cartoon series/comic book mini-world. James was the good guy, collector of G.I. Joe. I happily volunteered to collect the villains. I was a serious Hasbro acolyte. For the love of God, I scripted war “battles.” I made character charts. James must have rolled his eyes the whole time. Poor kid. End admission.

“G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra” is a dull-witted, DOA live-action take on the popular 1980s pop culture icon. What looked great in pen and ink to my childhood eyes is wretched in real big-screen life. Terribly so. It can’t even sink/rise to the level of “Flash Gordon” genius awfulness. I was dead bored at the 90 minute mark, and had a half-hour more to go.

For those not in the know: the G.I. Joes are America’s (international in the film) leading military force. The Cobras are a nonpolitical/ nonreligious/ nonsensical terrorist group bent on world rule. G.I. Joe’s mission: Stop Cobra. The story: As the film literally is about Cobra’s origin, we have shady international arms dealer James “Destro” McCullen (Christopher Eccleston of “Dr. Who”) as the main baddie, fighting for control of a set of nano-mite warheads that expel tiny metal-eating robots. That he built. Among the metal victims: The Eifel Tower. Leading the Joes is General Hawk (Dennis Quaid). Battles ensue. That’s it, really.

The half dozen writers and director Stephen Sommers (“Van Helsing” and two of the “Mummy” films) try to spruce up the script with laughable character back stories. For instance, good guy Duke (Channing Tatum) once was engaged to wall flower turned deadly villain Baroness (Sienna Miller) before her brother Rex (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) – Duke’s BFF -- died in battle on his watch. (All the characters have code names.) Each flash back -- some taken from the comic books, some newly created for film, it doesn’t matter -- is not only a relentless bore but a time killer.

One minor old-time fan nitpick: The silent, black-masked Snake-Eyes, by far the most interesting character in the comics, is here relegated to Lassie status. He points, waves jazz hands, and everyone gets what he’s saying automatically. Even engineering techno-babble. He doesn’t bark, though. It’d be funny (and interesting) if he had.

The film obviously is made for young boys, as are the “Spider-Man” and “Iron Man” films, and I have no doubt my 7-year-old nephew would salivate at the underwater climax. And I’d feel bad for him, because one day he’ll realize he’s been suckered by Hollywood suits spending the GDP of a small country ($170 million) in order to … what? Sell toys. Numb us?

Like the “Transformers” sequel (also based on a Hasbro toy), there is nothing there here. “Iron Man” had Robert Downey Jr.’s tortured soul to ground it. “Spider-Man” had a love for New York City. The explosions, Paris in ruins, characters who die, everything in “Joe” is empty.

Despite the budget, the CGI effects pale next to an average Wii game. Bad dialogue (“The French are very upset!”) and flat (Tatum) or over-the-top acting (Gordon-Levitt under all that makeup) kill any chance of mild enjoyment. D+

Conan the Barbarian (1982)

I saw “Conan the Barbarian” as a child. Loved it. It was grisly violent and had nude women. What more could a boy ask for? Well, I’m 35 and pickier. Arnold Schwarzenegger plays the title role of an ex-slave hell bent on killing those who massacred his family. Standard Greek drama/comic book fodder, can’t go wrong, right? Wrong. John Milius’ direction is painfully haphazard (an orgy has all the spark of a cricket match; a final battle fares no better) and the script (co-written by Oliver Stone!) reeks. In the early stages of mastering English while learning how to act, the film stops dead every time Ahnuld opens his mouth. He’s come a long way since, that’s for sure. James Earl Jones speaks at length, adding some validity as the lead villain. Sadly, JEJ resembles a KISS groupie. And his henchman? “Spinal Tap” roadies on horseback. The swords and weapons appear to be tin toys. The entire affair rings just as hollow. C-

The Thing (1982)

"The Thing" is classic John Carpenter. Cheap, fun and nasty, it asks no more of its audience than to watch carnage rip a cast of characters limb from bloody limb. "Alien" in Antarctica, the Thing, or things, is/are a shifting alien presence that viscerates an isolated group of U.S. scientists, doctors and pilots at an Antarctic research camp. Kurt Russell is the stoic, fearless leader, with support from later '80s TV staples David Clennon, Wilford Brimley and Richard Dysart. Brimley is the standout as an unhinged pathologist. You'll never eat Quaker Oats again. Unlike "Alien," there's no character development. That's OK. This is quick, nasty, giddy, grisly fun and the frigid ice and air is as deadly as space. The highpoint has a man's head sprouting other-worldly eyes and spider-like legs as it crawls off his burning corpse. Props to the pre-CGI effects that still scare and Ennio Morricone's glorious score, which vibrates with high strings, low horns and pure dread. Gore galore, and a dark ending. Love it. A

We Own the Night (2007)

"We Own the Night" is a strange beast. It follows two brothers, Bobby (Joaquin Phoenix) and Joseph (Mark Wahlberg), on opposite sides of the law in 1980s New York City. Bobby does drugs and works for Russian gangsters as a nightclub manager. Joseph is married, a father and New York vice cop, just like dad (Robert Duvall). Joe and dad fight for Bobby (who even has ditched his surname) to go blue, but he relents, and resents family and God. I knew exactly where the film was headed, but its journey and surprises along the way to that predetermined destination had me riveted. Chart this to the strong, bloody and honest script and direction by James Gray, who seems to know a lot about the turmoil between fathers and sons, and the acting.

Wahberg has never been better, and Phoenix is excellent as always, a true character actor who wouldn't be caught dead in "Transformers 6." Duvall has more energy here than he has had in a decade. When the three of these men are together, it feels like family, not like three guys showing up on a set pretending to love (hate) each other. The violence is relentless, and a car chase during a rain storm in the middle of the film ranks high as one of cinema's best. This film feels real with its locations, music and the depiction of the always stunning cult-like loyalty that cops have for one another. This is epic, mingling biblical and Shakespearean tales, into a small crime/family story, and it improves on repeat viewings. A-