The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn Part 2 (2012)

Yes, I watched. Yes, I hate myself for watching.

Let me beam brief pride before I serve raging scorn: “The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn Part II” finally gives us something we have not seen yet seen in this supernatural romance franchise about a young woman torn between moody, control-freak vampire boyfriend (now husband) and moody, control-freak BFF werewolf: Bella (Kristen Stewart) at last forms a personality of her own and the initiative to take action on her own. Finally.

Disclaimer: Bella is dead. She is now a full vampire. So, never mind pride. Lady has a backbone, no pulse. She’s still at home, still controlled. She has to die to get freedom. 

Misogynist.

This last chapter of a two-part flick follows Bella and that vampire soul mate Edward (Robert Pattinson) as they protect their infant child Renesmee from evil vampire overlords who want the young girl dead, lest she turn monstrous. Renesemee is half-human, though, so not a danger, but not quite normal. Her age is a speed train, going to toddler in mere days, and grade schooler within months. She can fly. Read minds. (I guess she can join the “X-Men” movies?) 

Protecting the child from ritual murder is of such importance that Jacob’s werewolf family is willing to put aside its long regional war with Edward’s family and fight alongside them. 

Why? Love! 

But an intermission: See, this flick is still based on Morman conservative Stephanie Meyer’s novels, a woman whose overall view on females have vexed me for years. She writes submissive women, the kind who like to take abuse, and appreciate it, thrive off it. Men control. Women obey. No shades of gray. Meyer must hate being a woman.

In an earlier film, Edward visited Bella on the eve of their wedding, I guess to make sure she behaves, or because he loves her that much … who knows? Jacob once told Bell, “If I can’t have you, no one will.” Bella smiled. Romance, huh? Anti-woman. Meyer’s world.

(Myers’ “The Host” is worse, with a female hero who falls deeper in love with her man after he punches her in the face. Another beau prefers strangulation. Get the theme?) 

I bristled and stewed in those previous movies, but not to the point of turning off the film and walking away in disgust. I did here. I saw it coming, too. 

The scene: Twenty-something wolfman Jacob (Taylor Lautner) stands by Edward near movie’s end and -– referring to the 9-ish Renesmee, a child –- says, “Shall I start calling you dad?” The scene’s a joke. Get it? No? See the 20-year-old Jacob is in love with the little girl and wants to marry her. He wants her body. He thinks about it. Really.

It’s not his fault. It just happened! She imprinted on him, whatever the fuck that means. Actually it means the little girl came onto him, the No. 1 defense of every sick-ass child molester out there. Look it up. I covered crime and this shit as a reporter, and heard it in court. There is no mystery here. Meyer is into child sex and likely was abused. Often.

(My response to any defense that Jacob-Renesemee’s love is platonic/chivalric now and only will grow later into sensual love: No. Director Bill Condon calling the love brotherly-sisterly … does not help. Liar. Even Lautner apparently hated the material, so he says.) 

Sure Bella gets rightly angry when she first hears of this hook up, she goes after Jacob, but, hey, she’s eventually submissive again, them men tell her heel and she does, and this is Myers, and by the climax, Bella is ready to send off child daughter to live with the man of her destiny, her protector, in secret. A true Meyer woman. 

Hell with this. Hell with it. I hate this film. And every message of submission. Child sexual abuse. Prepping girl brides for marriage to older men. None of this is an accident.

As I write, I fume again, I’ll quit. So, yes, the clean camera work by cinematographer Guillermo Navarro stuns, the best work of the franchise, and near any film in 2012. I also had a riotous laugh fest with a long battle royale near the film’s end which is neither a battle, nor a royale, as good guys and bad guys literally rip off each other’s heads in some not-semi-serious fashion that recalls Monty Python at its daftest. It’s really awful. 

Fitting. Heads should roll for this ugly, offensive series of films. This is vile shit, upping child molesters, making controlling abusive men romantic. I cannot believe I watched. The most dmaging to women and children Hollywood franchise ever made, and every film a hit. Maybe it America goes all right-wing, Bible-thumper, it will be more popular. F

Gambit (2012)

“Gambit” takes the 1960s Michael Caine Brit caper of the same name –- which I have only seen sections –- and casts Colin Firth and Alan Rickman in roles tailor made for each man’s screen persona. Firth is the charmer. Rickman is the asshole. Firth’s plan: Sell a fake Monet to Rickman’s media tycoon, and get rich. We have Joel and Ethan Coen given screenwriter credit. Don’t believe that PR move. Whatever version they wrote died long ago. Nor should you believe the flimsy animated credits opener that wants us to think “Pink Panther,” but delivers nothing of the sort. Believe nothing about this romp. The main gag has Firth’s hero as a delusional con artist who sees ideas play out perfectly in his mind before reality kicks in. He attracts disaster. A wink at Firth’s unending charisma? No. Director Michael Hoffman pulls the worst gotch’ya ender in history, negating the entire movie. Worst bit: Cameron Diaz channels Jesse from “Toy Story” as a cowgirl at the center of the wonky plot. She’s intolerable. D-

A Liar’s Autobiography (2012)

I love the hell out of Monty Python, the shows, the movies. I can’t get enough, even on repeat viewings. A wildly animated F.U. to the whole biopic genre, “A Liar’s Autobiography: The Untrue Story of Monty Python’s Graham Chapman” wants to be the M.P. version of the group’s founding member and leader’s life story, but it’s a pile of random tid-bits that don’t say much. Crazy fact: I learned more trivia about Chapman’s life and comedy impact in the “Making of…” documentary on this film than the film itself. That’s sounds like a Python satirical sketch. (Skip the movie! Watch the extras!) “Liar’s” never boring and much of the animation stuns – dig the section that represents Chapman kicking booze -- but there’s so little context I never got a hook on the man. A scene big on Python gore has toddler Chapman looking at the bodies of soldiers killed in a WWII plane crash. Why? Did he recall this a haunting memory? Who can tell when we’re told it’s fake? A letdown from a film I expected much from. C+

Red Dawn (2012)

The Red Scare thrived back in 1985 and we knew any day the Russians would attack. Reagan told us. So “Red Dawn” with high school kids (Charlie Sheen!) against Russian soldiers on U.S. soil seemed real. Cold War’s done, remakes thrive, and so we have a new “Red Dawn,” with North Korea as the invaders. It was China -– making sense of the “red” in “Red” -– but Hollywood blinked. A four-year delay and a lot of CGI and edits, and we have American high school kids vs. North Koreans. Even if the villainous actors are still Chinese. And the NK flags/emblems are wrong. No matter, the target audience is NRA sleep-with-your-guns Republicans, the kind who know any foreigner is bad. Fuck the details. Pre-“Thor” Chris Hemswoth is the Marine on home leave who leads his little brother (Josh Peck) and pals into gun battles, moving them from whiners to hard-core SEALs in … days. None of it makes sense. The editing and voice dubs are ugly bad. Peck’s age jumps back and forth. But the action is serviceable, and the stunts strong enough to almost make one forget … really, North Korea? I’d rather believe Martians. C-

ParaNorman (2012)

First off: An admission. I held the real ParaNorman the day after watching Laika Animation kid comedy/ horror “ParaNorman,” the studio’s stop-motion follow up to 2009’s “Coraline.” I was and remain in awe. This tale of a loner boy (voiced by Kodi Smit-McPhee of “The Road”) who can see and talk to the spirits of the dead –- including his own late grandma -- is not as grand, terrifying, or eyeballs-out amazing as the earlier film, but directors Sam Bell and Chris Butler had no room to go up. Oh, well. Naturally, Norman’s powers do not sit well with family or teachers, and when the boy starts seeing tell-tale signs of doom for his witch-obsessed town, every small trace of luck he has vanishes. Next up: Hero time. This creepy cool film bucks rules and isn’t afraid to go edgy as Norman once refers to the “F” bomb without saying it. The attention to detail astounds: Bony fingers peel wood, and the boy’s zombie slippers are a sight to behold. Only the ending sinks with too many story pauses and a complete lack of the grandmom who previously said she’d always protect Norman. Story hiccup? No idea. A marvelous watch. A-

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

Dredd (2012) and Mad Max (1979)

It’s the future, so bring on the apocalypse. I downed cheapo, gonzo 1979 Australian classic (and Mel Gibson debut) “Mad Max” as a fast antidote to “Dredd,” the second cinematic coming of comic book anti-hero killer cop Judge Dredd after the God-awful, terrible 1995 Sylvester Stallone film of the same name that put freakin’ Rob Schneider in the sidekick role. 

(The less said about that debacle, the better. It took me months to recover from just one viewing.)

Is “Dredd” better? By far. Miles. It’s still crap. For myriad reasons. The plot: It’s post-nuclear war U.S. of A., and the whole East Coast is a godless concrete jungle of high rises and crime. The police and courts have been merged into the Judges: Leather-clad, masked cops with guns and a glint to kill. Basically, it’s like present day America except everybody is an unarmed young black man. You can get “judged” and end up in a body bag just for walking. Sorry, I digress. Still on a “FrutivaleStation” kick. Can’t help it.

Anyway, Dredd (Karl Urban) is the best (read: most ruthless) cop in Mega-City (because Metropolis was taken) and we follow him here as he takes on a high-rise apartment tower that reaches for the heavens, but might as well plunge low to the pits of hell. As in 1995, Dredd has a sidekick. And it’s a she, and not Schneider in drag, thank the gods. Helmetless because why stump the fan boy’s eye candy factor, Judge Anderson (Olivia Thirlby) also is a mutant who can read the thoughts of others. Why are there mutants popping around? No idea. 

Dredd and Anderson enter the complex to investigate a grisly drug-related triple murder and within minutes find themselves at the mercy of the building’s ruthless drug lord (Lena Headey). Mama she is called, and she places the building on lockdown and tells every thug ruthless, shitty, one-eyed, tenant over an intercom that she wants Dredd’s head now. From there it’s war, the tenants attack our hero (and the girl rookie) and he shoots, bombs, kicks, scowls, and grimaces his way through the lot to the top.

If One Man Against an War Zone Apartment Complex and the intercom bit sounds familiar it’s because the plot and details were done exactly point-for-point in “The Raid,” an kick-ass Indonesian action/blood fest also from 2012. Literally, this is a replica. Down to camera angles. Everything says director Pete Travis is innocent, it’s a mere coincidence. If it is, “Raid” is still the better film. And Travis has the luck of a rat. “Raid” has a hero that means something and is one hell of a sight to behold, has a human trait, and a reason not to fail. It’s also a spectacular feast of stunts. Seriously, see it.

This has CGI glut, a zero hero with Urban (good actor, no slam, I like him) doing Eastwood as an unkillable tank, and it all means nothing. Absolutely nothing. I get it. Dredd is supposed to be the darker Dark Knight. Great read for a book, I’m sure, bur a lousy watch and with so many wasted opportunities. Dig it: Mama has created a nasty drug that slows the brain to a crawl so every movement feels wicked trippy, lights pop, and rushing water stands still, and the effect is crazy wicked on screen. So let’s see Dredd on that shit, right? No. Dude just kills and scowls. I won’t watch a third film. C 

“Mad Max” I can watch endlessly. You know the plot: It’s the near-future, meaningful authority is dust-bin history, and the highways are open roads of lawlessness akin to old Australia or the American West than anything we’d call the future. Zero horses, all cars. Gibson is Max, a highway cop trying to maintain some order against roaming bikers who steal, rape, and kill for the pure glee. The bikers make the error to wrong Max’s friends and family, and Gibson as Max explodes like a fuel-air bomb in a film that feels not scripted or planned, but captured out of a complete drug-fueled nightmare. Not slow like in “Dredd,” but warp-speed head-rush fast.

Whole sections of “Max” are incomprehensible and wreck loud, but few films -– especially chase ones -– have ever felt more in the moment. It vibes like a tale that had to be made or writer/director George Miller and his star would just die. And for all the story’s debauchery, Miller shows little blood or gore. It’s just over the camera frame’s edge, way deep in our skull, and that is scarier than anything anyone can put before our eyes. Gibson is young and scary fanatical, is that acting? A-

The Possession (2012)

A girl on the cusp on puberty is possessed by a demonic spirit and spills familial terror as her soul goes dark and her body gyrates in inhuman forms. Familiar? “The Possession” is another spawn of diminishing returns and scene-for-scene re-dos from “Exorcist,” the demon queen of spiritual horror. Here, the girl (Natasha Calis) happens upon an antique wooden box with Hebrew engravings at a yard sale. It calls to her, quite literally. Daddy (Jeffrey Dean Morgan) quickly obliges daughter’s purchase as he wants to soothe her woes as he and mom (Kyra Sedgwick) sign divorce papers. (If the real horror on screen is divorce then it is badly, badly handled.) Emily is taken hold by the box and starts to splinter, distant, silent, and prone to stabbing dad with a fork. All this leads to a finale involving exorcism and a man of God, here a rabbi rather than a priest. (Jewish reggae star Matisyahu plays the role, oddly tone deaf.) Every scene here was done better in 1973, save one: Morgan as the desperate father begs a room full of religious elders for help. One old crow coldly replies, “It is up to God.” That’s chilling. The rest… C+

Jack Reacher (2012)

In “Jack Reacher,” Tom Cruise is the coolest guy in the room who’s miles ahead of everyone else, can fight five guys no sweat, and when he walks by -– even at a Goodwill –- every woman swoons. The college girls, too. Yes, Cruise may be “playing” Jack Reacher, but really he’s spinning on his own ego. And since Reacher is one of those secret Army guys with no personality or background, why not let Cruise do so? He is the main attraction. Sorry Lee Child books fans. Here, Reacher investigates a mass murder carried out by an ex-Army sniper who we know is innocent because we saw another man (Jai Courtney) do the deed. Fear not, Reacher/Cruise will down every villain, right up to the one-fingered evil Blofeld cousin (famed director Werner Herzog) with an agenda so uninspired 007 would yawn. Not Reacher/ Cruise. He coolly threatens, scowls, and drives a Chevelle in a kick-ass car chase that’s a riotous hoot. All of this is carried out as a massacre plot that shies at the shock of violence to get a kid-friendly PG-13. But post-Sandy Hook, when a movie killer targets children, why are we not looking at an automatic R rating? B-

Alex Cross (2012)

Halfway through watching a shocking dull and vacant Tyler Perry sleepwalk his way through playing James Patterson’s famed detective “Alex Cross,” the actor who should be playing the role arrives for a cameo that kills. Giancarlo Esposito. You know his face. “Breaking Bad.” “Usual Suspects.” He scorches screen as a mob boss called on by Cross as the stalwart detective sinks to “Untouchables” methods to bag the psychotic assassin/kick boxer/artist (!!) who killed his wife. That’s the main plot, set up by a starved-looking Matthew Fox (“Lost”) as the thrice-talented loon slow-tortures and kills a woman and then goes gonzo across Detroit in a mysterious spree that leads to a massively unsurprising conspiracy of typical James Patterson pedigree. But forget the forgettable plot. Back to Perry. Love or hate his “Madea” films, he is undeniably entertaining, and can own a screen. Here, he’s outclassed by furniture. A stiff on moving legs, sans zombie makeup. Is he tired? Put off by the rough (but PG-13) material laid out by director Rob Cohen? I have no idea. “Cross” opens DOA, and save Esposito’s blip, stays a flatliner. D

The Raid: Redemption (2012)

A fact Hollywood does not want you to know: American action films pale in comparison to their foreign counterparts, and “The Raid: Redemption” –- made in Indonesia -– is a prime example. The plot is bare bones but all the better for it: A skittish SWAT unit raids a high-rise slum apartment building to nail the drug lord who rules from a top floor. The cops must battle goons, killers, and drug-fueled tenants at every inch and on every floor. The daddy-to-be rookie officer (Iko Uwais) who finds himself leader of the unit has a secret up in the high-rise, and I guess that’s where that “Redemption” part comes in. Director /writer Gareth Evans, a Welsh transplant, has made a film that neatly excises all dialogue from the genre, and focuses on the most intense martial arts fight I have witnessed, including a three-way between Uwais, and two of the drug lord’s henchmen that may defy physical logic with its horrific beatings, but must be seen. (Really, see this. Now.) Logic and continuity errors pop up, but that does not diminish this film as a treat that kicks American ass. Pure adrenaline. B+

Holy Motors (2012)

Well into 2013, and I finally found my gem of 2012, the mind-fuck cinematic glory I cannot shake. “Holy Motors” cannot be broken down or glossed over. My attempt will fail. It’s about acting and role-playing not just of movies, but in life, the roles we carry happily or reluctantly -– familial, professional, artistic, or criminal. The film centers on a man known as Oscar (Denis Lavant) who rides in the back of a limousine where he takes on a slew of successive personas: A beggar woman, a deformed lunatic, a dejected father, and so on, as the film leaps film genres and lives, all in Paris, all in one day. The man even kills himself -– his others -- twice. What is French writer/ director Leos Carax going for? I have no idea, nor any idea who “Oscar” really is. This is a trek as crazily impenetrable the second go-round as the first. That’s what I want in a film, to get lost in the unknown. The purposefully bizzaro finale is a blatant scoff at any who dare try and crack the mystery. And, yes, there is a better 2012 male lead performance over Daniel Day-Lewis in “Lincoln.” Mr. Lavant. A

Stolen (2012)

If Liam Neeson from “Taken” showed up in Nicolas Cage’s my-daughter’s-been-kidnapped thriller “Stolen,” the movie would have lasted 15 minutes. But he doesn’t. Cage plays Will, a master thief who sees life get worse after an eight year stint in prison. Case 1: Cops are on him like creepy on a Southern politician. Case 2: His presumed dead ex-partner (Josh Lucas) is out for revenge, snatching said daughter. The plot centers around taxi cabs. Lucas’ thug tools around in one. Will steals another. Why? No idea. Up against the always unhinged Cage, Lucas seems to have taken the villain role as a one-up challenge. After the prologue, he sports greasy surfer hair, a lazy eye, shaving scars, rotten teeth, an emphysemic cough, and a fake leg. He screams and growls every line. If this freak dropped into a “Pirates of the Caribbean” film, he’d get strange looks. Cage reacts by talking Swedish. Seriously. The climax of this Simon West flick one-ups the actors with a fight to the death not seen since “Freddy vs. Jason.” At an abandoned amusement park. Zany. Crazy. Terrible. Laughable. Grotesque. Better than the “Taken” sequel. C-

The Man with the Iron Fists (2012)

When hip-hop guru RZA (aka Robert Diggs) scored Quentin Tarantino’s “Kill Bill,” he apparently liked what he saw on set so much he opted to star, write, and direct his own martial arts entry, “The Man with the Iron Fists.” 

Akin to “Bill,” this entry is soaked in 1970s cinema with yellow-splatter-font credits and lots of blood and wonky theatrics to make it all retro. RZA is the titular hero, a runaway U.S. slave in late 1800s China, working as a blacksmith who gets mixed up in a gold theft involving a clan leader (Byron Mann), a whorehouse madam (Lucy Liu), and a Brit knife/gunslinger (Russell Crowe), plus 99 other characters I dare not list. Hence the title, our hero loses his hands but comes back punching. 

RZA is high on an admirable labor-of-love vibe, but “Fists” is fugly and scattershot, with blitzed editing that ruins every fight scene. There’s no majesty or cool factor to the choreographed violence, just chopped-up limbs and blood, and almost all CGI on the latter. 

Worse, as an actor, RZA confuses lifeless with stoic, and that leaves a massive hero hole in a 95-minute film that feels kitchen-sink garbled and amateurish. D+

Deadfall (2012)

“Deadfall” is a snowy thriller more generic than its title. Eric Bana and Olivia Wilde crack the plot open as Alabama sibling thieves gunning for Canada because all criminals adore good ol’ Canada.

Plans go bad. The couple crashes their ride in wintry Michigan, kill a cop, and split ways, but not before bro eyes sis’s ass. She likes it. Ick. Brother kills a Native American, loses a finger, saves a woman and child from a bad dad, and has a shootout with police. Sister hooks up with an Olympic ex-con (Charlie Hunnam) on the run to his parents (Sissy Spacek and Kris Kristofferson) for Thanksgiving. 

Stick a pack of monks in a room and they’ll guess how this drama -– from Oscar-winning director Stefan Ruzowitzky (“Counterfeiters”) -– will end: Buckets of blood and trite family confessions over turkey. 

Character arcs roam random, but not more than Bana’s accent which starts Forrest Gump goober veers Australian and ends bland American. 

Worst crime: Casting Kate Mara (“127 Hours”) as a deputy marginalized as a useless girl dolt by her sexist peers, then writing her character off as a useless girl dolt. Awful. D

Universal Soldier: Day of Reckoning (2012)

“Delirious Lynchian mind-screw” doesn’t come to the mind when one sits for an action flick (and fifth in a series) starring Jean Claude Van Damme and Dolph Lundgren, but that exactly is “Universal Soldier: Day of Reckoning,” a skull-smashing, gun-heavy treat. 

Director John Hyams (son of Peter) daringly switches-up the concept of the first (and awful) film about slain U.S. soldiers genetically reengineered as unstoppable warriors, and plops them right in the U.S. of A., playing on Tea Party paranoia, government black ops, and “Apocalypse Now” showdowns with Van Damme as Kurtz, ghoulish in heavy makeup. 

The plot follows a man (Scott Adkins) who awakens from a coma nine months after watching his family slain by mysterious intruders. Grieved and lost, he obsesses over the attackers. He’s also hunted by seemingly unkillable men who unexplainably like his own body can grow back appendages after they are chopped off. 

The less you know the better, because it’s a kick of a nightmarish journey with hidden meanings about NRA kill-or-be-killed addictions so off kilter from this typical genre, I wanted more. The junk dialogue and headache-inducing strobe-light effects are easily forgiven. B+

Rust and Bone (2012)

The moment “Rust and Bone” –- an erotic and harsh French drama from director Jacques Audiard (“The Prophet”) -- lost me: Marion Cotillard, who wowed Americans in “Inception” and is back in her native language, stands triumphantly upon prosthetic legs, holds her arms out Jesus-style, and smiles into the sun as Katy Perry’s “Firework” blares in her memory and our ears. Screech.

Cotillard is Stephanie, a screw-authority, sensual whale trainer whose life is derailed when one of her “pets” chomps off her legs. Seriously. Only in France. 

But hold tight. Stephanie is a secondary character to Ali (Matthias Schoenaerts), a single dad fucking and torching his life away, brawling for cash in a fight club. He dotes on his son when not angrily throwing him across a room. 

So, yes, Steph and Ali need each other. For redemption, for fuck-buddy sake, because these romances happen in movies, and fellow lost-soul hook-up drama “Silver Linings Playbook” was too happy.  

The cast is divine, the pain real-ish, but never serve up Perry in a serious film, and never cast firework Cotillard as a tortured, legless woman whose journey to redemption boils down to coveting a good orgasm. Disappointing. B-

Seven Psychopaths (2012)

Martin McDonagh hit orbit with feature film debut “In Bruges,” a crazy good and crushing mob film about two killers dealing with a hit gone bad. In “Seven Psychopaths,” the writer/director spins further out onto the edge, tearing apart Hollywood clichés of serial killer thrillers, revenge flicks, and mob tales. He cheekily revels in those same tricks. 

Colin Farrell is (get it?) Martin, a bloke dead set on writing a screenplay titled “Seven Psychopaths,” because the title sounds cool. He has not gotten past the title. His useless best pal Billy (Sam Rockwell) steals dogs and then claims rewards from the distraught owners. 

When Billy foolishly swipes the puppy of a ruthless mobster (Woody Harrelson),  barking and scratching ensue. Mob style. We get car chases, shoot-outs, and demigod Tom Waits playing a lunatic, which is what Waits does best. Christopher Walken goes sublimely off-the-charts. 

Hooked yet?

McDonagh toys with film-goers' expectations from the first scene, burning plot rules and the long-held traditions of downing women and upping violence. Even if the climax stalls, “Seven” is a needed kick to the film-goosed brain. The cast is aces, especially Rockwell. A-

The Raven (2012) and Me and Orson Welles (2009)

Two famously eccentric American artists who burnt fast and hot get the fictional film treatment in “The Raven” –- with writer/poet Edgar Allan Poe playing super sleuth over a series of murders related to his writings –- and “Me and Orson Welles” -– with the actor/director as scoundrel muse to a plucky “High School Musical” hero. 

As Poe, John Cusack does that arched-eyebrow John Cusack thing he always does, and he’s flat out wrong in the role. The plot is a grisly rehash of “Se7en” stitched onto a carbon copy of Guy Ritchie’s “Sherlock Holmes,” with a villain that’s dull as rag paper. Worse bit: Poe is shown playing with a pet raccoon. Director James McTeigue thinks he’s still filming “V for Vendetta.” Fawkes that. 

“Me” focuses on a teen drama protégé (Zac Efron) as he cons his way into a gig at the Mercury Theatre for the renowned staging of “Julius Caesar.” Christian McKay plays Welles as madman, genius, romantic, cad, screw-up, and artist, and brilliantly crushes every scene, but with “Tiger Beat” poster boy Efron in the lead pining for a smirking bored Claire Danes, the film sinks. 

Poe and Welles would torch these films. Raven: C- Welles: C+

Amour (2012)

Michael Haneke’s “Amour” is the painfully grim picture of Parisian octogenarians struck helpless as the wife suffers a series of strokes and tumbles into the purgatory of dementia, lost under a thick sheet of ice. 

Anne (Emmanuelle Riva), the wife, was a piano teacher. In the first scenes, her eyes and spirit vibrate with light as she and her husband (Jean-Louis Trintignant) attend the concert of her former pupil. It’s at breakfast she has her first spell. Her eyes go vacant. I saw that vacancy in the eyes of my grandmothers. This film crushed me. Georges, the husband, cares for Anne every moment, feedings and diapers. Strain breaks him. Guilt shames him. He stretches his love over the widening chasm between himself and her. 

Haneke has made a film about love and honor that defies, but cannot overcome an ultimate horror -- joyful love turned to torture as one half of a beautiful whole withers. No hope. Only an absence of help, cure, or god to end the misery. Our leads are amazing, creating a fully realized couple surrounded by an apartment brimming of a shared life. Riva was robbed a Best Actress Oscar. An exceptional work. A