Broken City (2013)

An ex-cop PI with a dirty past gets marooned in a FUBAR infidelity case among city elites that results in murder and corrupted land deals. Forget it, Jake, this isn’t sharp dagger classic “Chinatown.” It’s dull spoon thriller “Broken City” with Mark Wahlberg as the dick working for a NYC mayor (Russell Crowe) who’s up for reelection. Mayor’s demand: “Find my wife’s lover,” but he has more in play. Money. The plot is threadbare. Jake Gittes worked for his info. Suffered. Wahlberg’s hero *finds* the bad guy’s plans printed on giant poster board with bold font at a Dumpster. Good actors have saved worse, right? Not this. Crowe plays the mayor in a cartoon mashup of 1970s’ Lex Luther and Donald Trump, with spray-on can orange skin and a dippy toupee. Wahlberg? Autopilot. Director Albert Hughes smart, too a tone for Wahlberg, too brave for the sorry studio? C

Chinatown (1974)

Halfway through Roman Polasnki’s perfect crime noir “Chinatown,” the femme fatale played by Faye Dunaway bumps a car horn with her head during a moment of distress. The noise startles her and seat mate PI Jake Gittes (Jack Nicholson). It is the coldest punch of foreshadowing I’ve ever seen, and I only noticed it on what may have been my 15^th (?) viewing. The next viewing I noticed a new twist: Gittes’ love of horses. That’s the beauty of Polanski’s tale of 1930s Los Angeles and ex-cop Gittes, who spies on wondering spouses, and wears fine suits. Plot: The wife of LA’s water engineer hires Gittes to bust her cheating husband, except the woman isn’t the engineer’s wife, and when the man turns up dead, Gittes realizes he’s been played. Gittes takes action. Except the cruel joke of “Chinatown” is Gittes is a fool, so lost and clueless the deeper he sinks into ancient familial evil, by film’s end he is left in shock, helpless. Robert Towne gets the screenplay credit, but Polanski wrote the unnerving finale. Polanksi’s direction is as smooth as jazz, with perfect interior car shots. As the villain, John Huston plays a monster for the ages. A+

Veronica Mars (2014)

I went into “Veronica Mars” with not just a blank canvas, but a mistaken impression. I thought the cult hit TV show with Kristen Bell (“Frozen”) followed a high school journalist with a Scooby Doo bent. My error. Bell’s Mars is, in fact, an ex-private investigator who worked as a teen for her father (Enrico Colantoni) who dug dirt in a tiny California town. Now 10 years on, Veronica has ditched the PI life and the West Coast for law and New York City. On the cusp of a big interview, she gets called back home to help an ex (Jason Dohring) accused of murder. Of course Veronica is reluctant to return, but we know she will and we know she will stay, but forget the “we knows.” Writer/director Rob Thomas serves us great characters, a rare small town that vibes authentic, and a slash at the misery of high school reunions. Yes, a reunion coincides with the murder. Far too much? Thomas knows and has fun. The dialogue is playful -- Colantoni has the best lines -- without getting high on its own smoke, a la “Juno.” Not enough to get me on the show, but solid entertainment. B+

The Great Muppet Caper (1981)

“The Muppet Movie” behind him, clearly made for and dedicated to the unbounded imagination of children, literal and those of us north of 39, Jim Henson moved forward with “The Great Muppet Caper” as a 1940s mystery movie that’s honest to God something made for himself, with a wink of genius satire. Once again in the “We’re making a movie” vein, Kermit the Frog (Henson) and Fozzie Bear (Frank Oz) play twin (!) newspaper reporters who get caught up in a diamond heist masterminded by Charles Grodin against his diva sister (Diana Rigg) in London. Along the way, they meet Miss Piggy (also Oz), and end up staying in a hotel populated by other Muppets (Scooter, Animal, etc.), and ride bicycles, drive in a bus, break in into a museum, and skydive. The bike scene blew my 7-year-old mind in 1981, and still does. Henson directs this go-round and it’s just a magical romp that again let’s children be in on the joke, no cynicism. Happiness. Best gag: Kermit teaching a taxi driver (Beauregard) to, well, drive, when the guy does not understand straight from reverse. New films pale. A

Suspicion (1941)

Subpar Alfred Hitchock still outpaces 90 percent of anything made in Hollywood 70 years ago or now. But romance-thriller “Suspicion” is a stiff. I swear Hitchcock was bored making it, because I was bored watching it, and that’s a tall order since “Suspicion” stars Cary Grant and Joan Fontaine. Apologies to the master and stars. History says morality-cop conservative censors –- Hays Code –- killed this tale before film was set to camera. I believe it. Plot: Wealthy gal Fontaine falls in love with wealthy party boy lothario (Grant) who turns out not to be rich, but a gambling, lying, thieving heel who gets away with such deeds because he’s Cary fuckin’ Grant. When hubby’s best pal –- who is wealthy -- eventually (a long eventually) turns up dead, wifey fears for her own life. Cue scariest glass of milk ever. Cue ... nothing happens. Look, some scenes rock -- that glowing milk, the play of shadows as a bird cage -- but this is a slog, and a sexist drudge as it plasters a heroine who must learn to keep her trap shut and not doubt her crap-o hubs. Because he’s Cary Grant. B-

Vertigo (1958)

In 2012 Sight & Sound magazine named Alfred Hitchcock’s “Vertigo” as the greatest film ever made. I though, no, “Strangers on a Train” is better, even just for Hitchcock. Then I re-watched this detective tale again and just got fully sucked in. I was hit with instant amnesia as I watched Saint Jimmy Stewart as cop John “Scottie” Ferguson near fall to his death catching a suspect, quit the force in fear, and then fall, romantically so, for the likely mentally unstable and suicidal wife (Kim Novak) of a college pal (Tom Helmore). The case has Scottie following the woman through San Francisco out to an ancient forest and then a monastery. It ends badly. One hour to go. It’s gorgeously shot and paced, and carried by hits of failed rom-com for Scotttie, sexual tension, and the absolute best film score ever made, courtesy Bernard Herrmann. But what struck me this viewing: Watch the film, pause in awe, and then re-play it your mind from the viewpoint of Novak’s eyes, and witness every damn single scene explode in a new, thrilling light that swoons and slashes. This indeed is Hitchcock’s greatest film, the mind fuck supreme. Fall for it again. A+

Rebecca (1940)

Alfred Hitchcock’s American debut “Rebecca” – based on a bestseller – defines what old timers (and us TCM fanatics) mean with “They don’t make them like they used to.” Four years older than my father, this gorgeously shot black-and-white thriller sucks you in to its tale of romance as a woman (Joan Fontaine) falls for a widower (Laurence Oliver). The man is, of course, crazy wealthy, owning a castle named Manderley, and crazy, haunted by wife No. 1. In what I gather is a sick-twist Hitchcock joke, an old bird (Florence Bates) tells our heroine that Manderley will eat her alive. She’s right. Our nameless heroine is smothered by the stone walls and wealth, the “ghost” of Rebecca, the wife who drowned mysteriously and questionably, and the black-oil stare of the watchful housekeeper (Judith Anderson), who defines wicked. Secrets boil over as our heroine sinks into a mess, her ramrod morality straining against fates I still awe at, second watching. This is exceptional filmmaking, smooth, and with as much dark humor as betrayals, our director taking us innocents for a ride. The cast is flawless, the film endlessly re-watchable. A+

Vanishing on 7th Street (2011)

Hayden Christensen is on the run in the horror/thriller “Vanishing on 7^th Street.” He runs not from cops or crooks, nor space aliens. He runs from a dark cloud that vaporizes all life that it touches. George Lucas with more “Star Wars” prequel ideas? No. More biblical plaque a la “Exodus.” The Roanoke (N.C.) mystery plays a hand. No matter, director Brad Anderson (“Casper”) never tells us. We’re in Detroit at night when thousands of people disappear during a power outage. Only a tiny handful remain: Christensen’s TV news reporter and some stragglers (Thandie Newton and John Leguizamo) and a child. They bicker, fret, and flee the dark. God is invoked, but the majority of plot is set inside a bar. A church sits down the street. The mystery is a doubled-edged sword that leads to a WTF ending with plot holes wide open: The city falls into absolute blot-out-the-sun dark, but the moon shines bright. How? In horror, details matter. Christensen plays well against an endless void. It’s all uphill after Teen Vadar. B-

Shutter Island (2010)

MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD. Proceed carefully.

Before "Shutter Island" began, an Old Spice commercial played on screen. It had some stud mocking average guys, telling women in the audience, "Look at me. Now look at your man. Look back at me. Now look back at your man." The gist of the commercial: Guy on screen is cool, suave and built. Flabby guy in the seat (that'd be me) next to the lady (Jenn!) is not. But, if I used Old Spice I could be like that.

Why am I talking about this goofy commercial in a film review? Hold on.

"Shutter Island" has been sold as the shocker film of 2010, a mind-twisting masterpiece from Martin Scorsese, starring his Gen X muse, Leonardo DiCaprio. The ads proclaim, "Did you guess the ending?" Umm, yeah, I did. Right away, actually. Then I had 2 hours 15 minutes to kill in my theater seat. And I wasn’t happy about it.

See, DiCaprio plays Teddy, a U.S. marshal who looks like he just stumbled off the red-eye flight from L.A. to Boston, having slept wrapped in a laundry sack in the luggage berth. His tie looks like a wet, dead goose around his neck, and his hat is crap. He looks homeless. As the 1954-set film opens, Teddy is on a ferry and meets his out-of-the-blue new partner, Chuck (Mark Ruffalo). The men are on their way to Shutter Island, a water-locked New England asylum for the criminally insane, to investigate the apparent escape of a child murderess. The men briefly discuss the case. Then Chuck calls Teddy "boss." Boss. And I knew the whole film. In three minutes.

Why? (OK, I'm getting to my Old Spice point now.)

Ladies, gents, Look at Ruffalo. Look at DiCaprio. Look back at Ruffalo. Now look back at DiCaprio. Now look at me. In what reality would Ruffalo ever call DiCaprio "boss"? Other than by sarcasm or to make DiCaprio think he's the "boss." See, Ruffalo's Chuck is cool, suave and built, with a tie so sharp it could slice bread. Ruffalo's Chuck is older, dapper, shines wisdom and could own Leo's Teddy. Teddy is not Chuck’s boss. Not by a mile. And Chuck would never call Teddy such.

A lot of critics and movie fans love "Shutter" because it's directed by SCORSESE and stars DICAPRIO, that is, the greatest living American film director and the best American actor of Generation X. Not me. This film, all moods and rain and pounding, dread-filled music, is a disappointment. Even with the Hitchcock themes and Euro-horror nods and rogues gallery of former movie villains and serial killers as red-herring co-stars (Ben Kingsley, Max Von Sydow, Jackie Earle Haley, John Carroll Lynch and Ted Levine among them) the movie fails to provide goose bumps.

As I said, Teddy and Chuck are out to find a deranged female patient who mysteriously vanished from her high-security cell. The men attempt to solve the how, where and why, as the creepy nice higher-ups who run the rock island (Von Sydow and Kingsley) do everything they can to hinder the case. Meanwhile, touchy, twitchy Teddy is having nightmares about his dead wife (Michele Williams) and his WWII Army days when he helped liberate a Nazi death camp. Not ironically, Teddy knows two things: His dead wife's killer is on the island and the goons running the place are doing brain experiments, because they’re Nazis. Or Commies. (I can’t recall). Teddy knows people know things, and he wants to save the day and be the hero. The boss. See?

Scorsese is a brilliant director, and he places scenes in dark, dank, cave-like cells with panache, and the nightmare sequences have this crazy feel that’s just left of a Dali painting come to life. The full cast is marvelous, with awesome people like Levine ("The Silence of the Lambs") showing up to steal the film.

So it's not all bad. This all would be mostly passable, even with me knowing the big shocker secret.

But "Shutter" also is a cumbersome, heavy-handed ride filled with loooong scenes of people talking about this guy they met who knows this other guy who knows a secret. At one point, Kingsley goes all Glenn Beck-drooling mad and whips out a freakin' diagram (!) for Teddy (that is, us) explaining names. At that point, I didn’t care. And I don't care if Internet bloggers point out a last-minute, blink-and-you-miss-it shocker. So there. (I imagine reading the Dennis Lehane novel that inspired this film is infinitely more interesting, or so I hope.)

If this were an M. Night Shyamalan film with Bruce Willis, I'd be OK. My expectations would be lower. But Scorsese, he of "Goodfellas" and "Cape Fear," and DiCaprio, with Scorsese's "Gangs of New York" and "Aviator" behind him? Sorry. "Shutter" is a massive letdown. Not even Old Spice can make this flabby bird into a stud. (See how I wrapped around to that left-field beginning?) C

Surveillance (2009)

Jennifer Lynch -- daughter of David -- directs “Surveillance,” a grisly mystery set in a speck of a New Mexico town. The film opens with some daddy trademarks … coffee pouring, small town landscapes and shocking violence, but Ms. Lynch spins toward “Se7en,” with solid “B” movie intensions. The plot: FBI agents (Bill Pullman and Julia Ormond) arrive in a small town to help local police investigate a mass murder. The sun-baked cops are snarky, and at least two are psychopathic. The film is tense, dark and stuck in my head all night. Red herrings abound as almost every character is over-the-top nuts or appears to have secrets, and that hurts the film. Whether you catch the ending before Lynch pitches it depends on what weirdo has your attention. I missed it. What won me: Pullman and Ormond in black suits, white shirts and oozing badass appeal. Great actors. B