The Book Thief (2013)

World War II drama “The Book Thief” is not for me. It is intended for teen girls familiar with fantasy and romance, not familiar with the Holocaust. “Thief” -- based on a YA novel -– wants tragic and magic as it follows every crushing blow -– death, illness, bombing -– with an immediate balm, often so fantastically out of place, it made me laugh. In disbelief. It is narrated by “Death” (why?) in a voice not different than Gandalf or Dumbledore, assured words pouring bright magic over the terror of Hitler’s Germany. The titular character is Liesel (Sophie Nelisse), ferried to rural Germany to live with childless peasants (Emily Watson and Geoffrey Rush). On the way, Liesel’s brother dies. Cry not. Rush’s new poppa is Mr. Rogers kind. Liesel steals a “criminal” book from burning, and is seen by the wife of the head Nazi. Fear not. Kind frau lets the girl steal books from her own home. The town is bombed. Scores die. Fear not. Liesel is found, adapted, loved, and saved. In two minutes. I know “Thief” must speak gently to and not horrify its young audience, and I get that, but I still cringed. Sage narrator, gorgeous cinematography. Cringe. C-

Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides (2011) and Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003)

I watched “Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides” twice in one week to truly understand how much of an empty-headed, empty-hearted letdown it is, a dull gray shadow of its first outing, “Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl,” one of the most fun Big Hollywood Tent Pole Movies of 2003 and the past decade.

That was a deserved Hollywood blockbuster: The thrill of seeing undead men walking on the ocean floor in moonlight to take a ship, Geoffrey Rush’s gleefully nasty villain who, I swear, I wanted to win because he was so … rotten good, Johnny Depp as Captain Jack Sparrow, a swashbuckling conman hero with eye-liner who took part in the action yet remained aloof, a comedic Puck-like character from Shakespeare. With an undying thirst for rum, rum, rum. And rum. It was as if Depp said, “You want me to headline a Hollywood summer film? Alright, stand back.” The cast and characters (including Orlando Bloom and then-unknown Keira Knightley as the hero and damsel in distress) seemingly had no idea how to contemplate the actor Depp or the character Jack, and in once hilarious scene Bloom all but breaks the fourth wall to make sport of Sparrow/Depp.

“Black Pearl” was and remains a fun blast. No one knew it would work. It did. Massively. (Rush was robbed of a Best Supporting Actor nomination, fact.) The film remains endlessly rewatchable, just to pick out the shifts and squirms in Depp and his pirate self. The inevitable sequels disappointed, they had nowhere to go but down, but they limped along nicely enough. This? This fourth sequel? Third sequel? Shit, does it matter? No. I have thus far avoided talking about it have you not noticed? It hurts my cinematic brain.

Depp is back, and the center stage as Jack Sparrow, the first mistake in this Rob Marshall-directed (he made “Chicago” and “Nine”) crapper that has no spark, no center, or soul, or logic. (Gore Verbinski helmed the first three.) Even hair-brained Hollywood logic, by which I mean the “Don’t think, enjoy” mantra is gone. Depp looks deeply sullen and uninterested from the start as he badly impersonates a London judge then – must I explain? – gets mixed in with a former flame (Penelope Cruz) and the nastiest pirate of all, Blackbeard (Ian McShane). It is McShane who gives some pulse to this mess, which leaves Bloom and Knightley behind for another couple two boring to speak about, and I say that knowing the dude plays a Christian missionary and the lady plays a genuine mermaid. How that can be boring, I’ll never know, but the writers behind this film make it so.

The whole darn lot is after the Fountain of Youth, and the climatic fight over it – involving pirates, Brits, the Spanish navy, those mermaids and zombies, yes, zombies – plays like an AARP promo. Arthritic, with bad-lighting, and lots of mugging. I mean sorry-ass smiles, not robbery, unless one counts the price of a movie ticket or DVD. The filmmakers whip up so many switcheroos that the endless double crosses become redundant echoes of “Gotch’ya!” In one ugly spot, Sparrow pulls a mutiny prank that gets an innocent man executed (by flamethrower!) at the hands of Blackbeard. Sparrow just shrugs it off. The scene is all kinds of wrong, bad for Jack and the series.

No scene is more boring and overlong than an early sword fight between Depp and Cruz, shot in pitch dark and from angles so unpleasant and haphazard, even a child would know we are watching stunt doubles piss about in a second-unit action scene. The once-rousing “Pirates” music by Klaus Badelt, Depp’s comedic timing, and the way he once slipped in and out of the action like an armed drunken court jester, is all off, as is the supernatural kitsch. We get zombie pirates, massive ships (the Black Pearl!) shrunken and captured in rum bottles, and voodoo magic. None of it is explained, and all of it reeks like half-assed script ideas abandoned whilst cameras rolled.

Rush returns (again!) as Barbossa, but that joyously evil glimmer he showed in “Black Pearl” is gone. Rush is here for the paycheck and the vacation in Central America, same as Depp. Having seen Depp slump through “Rum Diary,” I’m not too shocked, but Rush is usually above that. The first film played like a wild card gag, while “Stranger” lacks strangeness and magic, it is a lifeless bore, so dark (and in useless 3-D) I thought the big-screen TV we recently purchased was off kilter.

A fifth (!) “Pirates” is in the works, but I hope it’s a chest never opened. Beyond McShane and employing hundreds of CGI geeks and model makers, this third sequel (that hurts typing that again) has no reason to exist other than to have made hordes of money. (Which it sadly did.) Jump the shark? Jump off the plank. Captain Jack should quit the sea, and retire. To the ocean floor. Black Pearl: A On Stranger Tides: C-

Green Lantern (2011)

It’s not easy being green. Not for superheroes. Marvel unleashed two ehh “Hulk” movies during the past decade. This past January’s “Green Hornet” big screen adaptation? Ten minutes in, I was done. Now comes DC’s “Green Lantern,” the galactic human cop with a magic ring. It has heroics, action, distressed damsel, kooky villain and the glowing alien costume. Top notch CGI for the most part. But the movie evaporates, the smirk plastered on its face fading to a yawn.

Ryan Reynolds is the smirking face, Hal Jordan, the reckless careless daredevil fighter jet pilot who is the first human to be “chosen” to join the Green Lantern Corp, a Homeland Security for the universe, made up aliens big and tiny in skintight outfits. Everyone ia straight, I gather. The magic ring allows the Lanterns to make real anything in their mind – giant fist, airplane, sword … you get the idea. Why Hal? Because he is special inside. Aww. And he has daddy issues. Or that’s what I gather. Hey, ring, why not Chuck Norris?

The Green Lantern’s enemies are two: One a gigantic massive cloudy Smoke-Monster-from-“Lost” floaty thing with the head of a shrunken E.T. that devours planets. (A cousin to Marvel’s Galactus?) The second is Hector Hammond (Peter Sarsgaard), a geeky college professor-scientist infected by Smoke Monster, and turns “evil.” I use quote marks, because Hammond is more a tortured sad sack Son of Elephant Man lashing out under an opium-high fit. His problem? I gather he has never kissed a girl. He also has daddy issues. Sarsgaard starts off in nerd makeup, and soon disappears behind latex as Hammond gets crazier and uglier.

Neither of these antagonists holds enough ballast to carry the film, and sure as heck Reynolds never provides the steely nerve of a true hero ala Christopher Reeve. Or even the guy who played Spider-Man. There’s no drama or force of pulsating danger, or anything close to the (temporary) death of Lois Lane in “Superman” that smoked my brain as a child. The climax is rushed and sloppily edited. It’s as if director Martin Campbell (who made “Casino Royale”) didn’t believe in the material. Or was it the studio that doubted?

Supporting players Mark Strong as Green Lantern Corp leader Sinestro, along with Geoffrey Love as an alien man-fish, and Michael Duncan Clarke as a bulging trainer, are just terrific. As his name indicates, Sinestro has a nasty future in Green Lantern’s life. He is the anchor, the gravitas this film series needs. I loved his every scene. Hammond? Needed counseling. The script could have used some doctoring, too. C+

The King's Speech (2010)

I feared “The King’s Speech” might be another ho-hum British drama about excessively privileged white people battling a hardship that 85 percent of the world’s population would kill to have. I was wrong. It’s damn smart, surprisingly funny, and proudly uplifting. King George VI (Colin Firth) had an untreated speech impediment mostly hidden from public. But as Nazis called for war, George had to lead not with a sword, but with a calm and commanding voice. Smartly portrayed, Firth’s king knows that when he speaks, it will result in lives lost. He wants to be worthy of his people. This is about them. Not him. Geoffrey Rush is the speech therapist who helps George find his voice. (I swear it's not corny. Square, yes. Oscar bait, yes. Corny, no.) The lessons make for solid buddy comedy and social satire as the two bicker and learn to say the “F” word. Firth has Oscar clips galore, but it’s his quiet scenes that impress, such as telling bedtime stories. This was intended as a play, and its dialogue –- witty and strong –- is as good as any stage production I’ve seen. A-

The Warrior’s Way (2010)

Samurai warrior/cowboy mash-up “The Warrior’s Way” swings wide. Its goals are high: The grandeur and grit of classic 1960s epics by Sergio Leone and Akira Kurosawa, the mystical vision of “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon,” and the violent, other-worldly feel of “300.” Plus slapstick comedy ala Looney Tunes. It fails on every level. “Warrior” is uncomfortably, offensively bad.

Here, a lone samurai warrior (Jang Dong Gun, as blank as a paper lunch bag) cuts down his familial enemies, but spares the life an infant girl. For his act of mercy, he is hunted by his own, and flees to Dust Bowl America. There he finds a derelict circus town ruled by outlaws (led by Danny Houston). If you’ve ever flipped past a Clint Eastwood film, you know what’s next. No cliche is left untouched.

There’s a woman, of course, an Annie Oakley orphan played by Kate Bosworth as if she were channeling Jesse from "Toy Story." The town’s mayor is a black midget (Tony Cox) named 8 Ball, who has an “8” stamped on his head. Racist much? Geoffrey Rush gets top billing and sucks up scenery as the town drunk, a former gunman with a broken heart. He gets in a few laughs.

Director Sngmoo Lee demands laughs for his violence. Bosworth’s cowpoke is tied to a bed for gang rape and the camera zooms in on her spread legs. Later, a pistol is held to the infant’s head. Laughing yet? Houston is at the crux of each scene, wearing a “Phantom of the Opera” mask. As for this CGI world, nothing feels remotely real or even ironically significant. This is a first-draft VFX reel in need of help. The fights are eyesore bad, every one. D-