Tomorrowland, Terminator: Genisys, Vacation, American Ultra (all 2015) and more…

Brad Bird’s Tomorrowland (2015) is a fascinating throwback Disney fantasy, one that uses wide-eyed optimism and wonder as its badge, versus the parade of gritty fantasy movies clogging cinemas. The plot: A teen (Britt Robertson) is given a pin that can transport her when touched and the object sets her off to find a recluse inventor (George Clooney). No more details. Yes, the Tomorrowland theme-park ride figures, as do robots, Tesla, and the Eiffel Tower. The movie has a fun kick. But problems galore: Cooney is miscast as a guy who hasn’t left his farm in years, but looks like a Hollywood spa’s MVP. The opening shots have him gabbing endlessly into the camera. That grinds. More so, the plot could have used streamlining to bounce rather than crawl. Story resets vibe like time killers, rather than misadventure lessons. Props to Bird for doing something different, though, and putting young females in the drivers’ seat. B

Left Behind (2014) is the second telling of the Jesus Returns book series that was everywhere during the 1990s. It’s as awful as the 1994 Kirk Cameron vehicle. No. This is worse. Nicolas Cage (!!) plays Rayford Steele (!!), America’s Greatest Pilot, on his way to London and a U2 concert with a Slut Stewardess. Jesus snaps His magic fingers, and all believers and children vanish. The Left Behind go whack. So much is wrong with this shit, it’s bewildering. What kills me: “Left Behind” seems made by wealthy bigoted white American Christians for wealthy bigoted white American Christians. The GOP elite. The people Jesus visited: The poor, criminal, outcasts… none are here. They are background extras, running in panic. Not worth our attention. Or God's. The one black female? Goes gun crazy on an airplane. Bigotry and conservatism together? Shocker. The fate of that U2 concert is more important than those Christ so loved. Goddamn this movie. F

Midway through Terminator: Genisys (2015), a school bus flips a somersault on the Golden Gate Bridge. Why? Because the CGI special effects studio guys said they could animate it. Divorced of any suspense or remote logic, the spectacle of James Cameron’s 1984 classic is fast becoming a faint, lost memory. Our leads in this time-warp sequel/reboot/snore are Jai Courtney (“A Good Day to Die Hard”) and Emelia Clarke (“Game of Thrones”) as the same heroes from the original. They have no chemistry or intensity. They are voids. Hamilton and Biehn killed in the original. Arnold Schwarzenegger appears, and every time Clarke calls him “Pops,” my geek soul died. C-

Vacation (2015) is another reboot/sequel that casts Rusty Griswald (Ed Helms) as the bumbling dad in place of Clark (Chevy Chase), trying to get cross country with wife and kids. Mayhem ensues. Chase and Beverly D’Angelo appear. It’s not terrible, it’s not memorable, if you love penis jokes, enjoy. The prior films are name dropped in a fourth-wall busting opener. Seen the trailer? That’s all. B-

Seven Days in May (1964) comes from John Frankenheimer, my favorite director. This is another of his paranoid thrillers, but does not pack the same punch –- the whole ending is a long lecture -– yet the story resonates. A Pentagon lawyer (Kirk Douglas) suspects his boss (Burt Lancaster) of plotting to overthrow the White House in a War Hawk move meant to push war with Russia to the Kill ’Em All point. Look, I love Frankenheimer, but Douglas’ flat hero pales next to Lancaster’s evil demigod. A slight dip for John F. B+

Jesse Eisenberg and Kristen Stewart re-team from “Adventureland” in American Ultra (2015), a stoner Jason Bourne comedy with Eisenberg as a slug with a mind-wiped CIA past, and Stewart as his devoted girlfriend. This is a ridiculous flick made for potheads, but a bust –- a plot twist comes as the lamest reveal outside of the crap in “Terminator: Genisys.” Props, though, to Eisenberg and Stewart’s unbeatable chemistry. C+

Desk Set (1957) teams perfect co-stars/couple Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn in a workplace comedy that plays goofy tricks with a “super calculator” as a 50-years early precursor to the Internet, daring to replace research staffers. It’s dated, but that very fact is perfect. I laughed so damn hard. A-

The Monuments Men (2014)

The Allied movement to save masterpiece artworks from Nazi theft or torch in the closing days of World War II already inspired 1964 classic “The Train.” That superb movie churned on tense action, ditched talk to the curb, and let the audience decide if a man’s life –- or that of an entire village -– was worth the price of a Renoir. Paint on canvas, or culture? George Clooney’s “The Monuments Men” takes the American view of the same mission with a deep love of square WWII dramas, and gives us a definitive answer that, yes, art is worth dying for. It’s spoken. Aloud. Repeatedly. Clooney directs and stars along with Matt Damon, Bill Murray, and Cate Blanchett, among others, and all are solid. Watch war-weary Murray listen to a home-made record from his daughter and try not to get goose bumps. But, man, we don’t much of a look at the art that these men and women are spending their lives on. The why. If you want to see the art at the dramatic center, hit the Web, Clooney’s camera is shy. My love of “Train” may be biased. Marvelous ending with Clooney’s real pop. B

Gravity (2013)

“Gravity” is exhilarating, the most damn entertaining, breathless film this year. The promos promise an outer space-set drama about two astronauts (Sandra Bullock and George Clooney) caught adrift in space after a freak debris incident, their shuttle destroyed and crew members dead. It is that and a survivalist-horror film drenched in the gut-punch notion that surviving in space means having to continue to face life’s cruelties on Earth. The lean plot is near required as director Alfonso Cuaron (“Children of Men”) plunges us into a 90-minute shocker that could break with too much filler. Among his sharpest onscreen moves: Simultaneously pitching “Gravity” as a near-wordless silent film of old, but shining new and large with spectacular, game-changing CGI, cinematography, and sound. He casts us adrift above the Earth, awed with wonder at our home and shocked by the absolute black void of space, and then miraculously takes us inside our hero’s space helmet with not a single edit. Bullock rips into her role -– raw, wounded, and shell-shocked –- deserves every award coming her way. As does Cuaron and co-writer/son Jonas who spin a perfect final scene uplifting in every sense of the word as it literally inverts the title. A+

The Descendants (2011)

I will ramble on ... Alexander Payne’s awesome “The Descendants” pulls the rug out from our under feet in a quick minute as we open on a beautiful woman water skiing. Cut to black. A narrator tells us the woman – his wife -- lies in a coma following a boat crash. This story should be happy. We are in Hawaii, paradise to us in the mainland U.S.

But Matt King won’t have it. “Paradise can go fuck itself,” he says in a voice over. Bitter and angry, full of new-found reality.

Matt is an attorney whose plate runneth over: His wife is dying; he’s the title holder of a family trust worth millions of dollars, and his cousins want to cash in; he is now the sole parent of two daughters, but has never been much of a father. A final bomb: His teenage daughter reveals a shocker: “Mom has been cheating on you.”

In the hands of most film directors, this book-to-film story would be a downer, but Payne is a master of stories about men trying to cope with out-of-control lives (see “Sideways”) perfectly balanced on a wire of harsh drama and sharp comedy. This is his best film yet, and the hero is George Clooney, playing a man whose life is in shambles.

Every scene is perfectly written and plays between genres. After Matt is told of the infidelity, he takes off running in beach shoes to confront his wife’s best friend. The gag is hilarious. Yet Payne and his co-screenwriters, Nat Faxon and Jim Rash, follow it with a brutal scene as Matt tears into the friend with full-on rage and fear – “Did she love him?” There are three dozen such perfect scenes, quiet, wordless scenes, too.

Robert Forester plays Matt’s father-in-law, seemingly the stereotypical asshole always decrying the man his daughter married. But Payne is smarter than such a one-note joke. He shows an old man drowning in turmoil, too weakened to even cry, over his daughter, and his Alzheimer’s stricken wife. This attention to detail is set on every character, especially the daughters, played by Amara Miller a child not fully aware of her mother’s demise, and Shailene Woodley as a troubled teen who must now become a “mother” to her sister.

I’m way past my 200-word count, but it’s so rare to see a Hollywood film this mature, a product of make-believe and paradise that tells us such notions are mirages. There are no good answers, only temporary balms such as ice cream and Morgan Freeman’s soothing voice. A

Ides of March (2011)

See “Ides of March” for its standout cast. Ryan Gosling. George Clooney. Paul Giamatti. Philip Seymour Hoffman. Jeffrey Wright. Evan Rachel Wood. A Giamatti and Hoffman face off? How cool is that? They need a better movie. This grim political drama should torch the screen. It barely sparks a flame. It’s about a suave campaign director (Gosling) devoted to his governor boss (Clooney) who is eyeing the presidency. And then – bam! – our hero learns his boss is a loose cock. Shocker? Not to the audience. But to Gosling’s Stephen Myers, yes. In modern America!?! Go on, watch. See if you can pick up motives I did not. Why does the governor reek of a trite symbol and not a person, and his wife (Jennifer Ehle) barely human at all? Did Wood’s intern eye Stephen with an agenda? She must have. How can anyone as smart as Stephen still believe in the whole candidate-savior crap at age 30? The dialogue should sting “Sweet Smell of Success” style, but it slumps. Clooney directs, with grey skies, dark bars and kitchens. Shakespearean? No. Melodrama? From start to finish. The high grade is for the cast alone. B

The American (2010)

At one point in “The American,” George Clooney’s cold-hearted assassin desperately asks his handler, “How did they find me!?!” Clooney’s Jack is talking about the relentless thugs gunning for his ass. I thought, “Cause, damn, man, you the only fhking American within 300 miles.” Indeed, killer-for-hire Jack is the only apple pie eater hiding out in a tiny Italian village. Every resident spots Jack from a mile away and yells, "Bonjorno American!" His enemies can’t not find him. (Why the hell not stay in Rome? I've been there. It's easy to get lost.) Jack is rightfully paranoid, frisky and ready to give up the job, but not before assembling a rifle for a mysterious hit-woman (Thekla Reuten) who -– as does Jack -– digs butterflies. Directed by Anton Corbijn, the photographer famous for U2 album covers, “American” recalls a dozen old French or Italian dramas about the thug who emerges from his self-made hellish life just before the clock stops. The film is nearly saved by gorgeous camera work and Clooney’s performance, all cold, raw and grounded. B-

The Men Who Stare at Goats (2009)

“The Men Who Stare at Goats” is a spineless stab at the war satire genre -- war is irrational, why try and rationalize it? -- created by “Catch 22” (book) and “M*A*S*H” (film). “Men” skips bloodshed, offering a high (literal) concept story – the use of mind-control warfare and psychic drugs against the enemy.

Ewan McGregor is reporter Bob Wilton who flees an imploded marriage to Kuwait circa 2004. Bob’s hope: Write an epic story, become famous and win the missus back. His ticket is Lyn Cassady (George Clooney), a Special Forces operator who claims he can burst clouds and kill goats with his mind. As Bob and Lyn drive (alone) into Iraq, they meet kidnappers, IEDs, Kevin Spacey and a secret base.

The best satires give us a hook -– people to care about, a maddening danger, or an edge, they also allow us characters unaware they are the butt of a joke. (Everyone is dead serious in "Dr. Strangelove," after all. Classic.) You can see the actors smirking here. This amounts to a piss-poor Coens knockoff with Clooney as the heroic idiot, Jeff Bridges rehashing Lebowski, and Spacey going gaga for Twizzlers. “G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra” had more to say about war. (Clooney pal Grant Heslov directed, not the Coens. Or Kubrick.)

Every joke is a near-decade late: If you thought LSD gags died out with Timothy Leary, you’d be wrong. As for the McGregor/Jedi jokes, who wants to recall those prequel films? D+

Up in the Air (2009)

“Up in the Air” may not quite be the best movie of 2009, but it is the best movie about 2009. Director Jason Reitman, fresh off “Thank You for Smoking” and “Juno,” delivers a dark comedy/drama/satire martini that burns deeper and harder than his two previous efforts combined by showing just how far off course America has become. Its witty banter is the floating olive.

George Clooney – never better, and that’s saying a lot – plays Ryan Bingham, a professional hatchet man. He doesn’t lob off heads as in “Sleepy Hollow.” He destroys the livelihoods and jobs of thousands of Americans year in/year out. He works for an Omaha- based company that is hired by other companies that don’t have the balls to lay-off their own employees in person. Hellish? Hardly. For Ryan, no greater joy comes from swiping a hotel access key card or packing a suitcase. Well, there is one: His own voice. Ryan is an inspiration speaker who encourages his audiences to ditch homes, cars, family albums, friends and family itself. They weigh you down, he says. And if you’re slowed by weight, you die.

It’s apparent from the start that Ryan is due for a wake-up call not given by the front desk. This comes in the guise of two women: A lover and a potential protégé. The first is a fellow air travel addict played by Vera Farmiga (“The Departed”). Her Alex tells Ryan, “I’m you, but with a vagina.” The second is a young up-and-comer (Anna Kendrick) at the Omaha office that has a grand idea: Why not fire people on Web cam. If it saves money, it must be good. Ryan makes it his mission to teach this woman the ropes and save his own “life” (job) as he knows it.

It’s a double joke that the company is headquartered in Omaha. It’s the heart of America, and yet hell for anyone with a love of fast, large cities. (Can you blame Ryan for never wanting to remain there?) But that’s not the film’s clincher. In a documentary-like move Reitman has ordinary Americans who really have lost their jobs appear on screen to vent, yell and weep.

“Up in the Air” is shot full of hot blood, depicting a country that marks success by the bottom line and stock prices, where brand loyalty has become a full religion. That every character, line, joke and shock is rendered perfectly is a treat. That Clooney makes Ryan actually likable and a person to root for … well, I can only say “wow.” So, wow.

Stay for the end credits: A laid-off man contributed a song – recorded on an old cassette player (you can hear the beautiful hiss) – about the pain of losing a job and being lost “Up in the Air.” Bitter, angry and hopeful, the song is like a second martini to knock you flat. A

The Fantastic Mr. Fox (2009)

With “The Fantastic Mr. Fox,” Wes Anderson has made not only a jewel that pays homage to 1960s stop-motion classics such as “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” it looks as if it were made 40 years ago and stored in a wine cellar until now. As the characters move and speak, you can see odd ticks that seem old-fashioned but flourish with personality. Anderson, director of the infinitely smart and cool “Rushmore,” has turned Roald Dahl’s classic story into a clever heist comedy, a coming of age tail (bad pun intended), and a satire on – get this – real estate markets and capitalism run amok. Anderson’s “Fox” is played as a live-action film, envisioned by the smartest, coolest kids in art class. How many other animated films’ have scenes involving lawyer consultations and the woes of new home repair? The voice cast -- George Clooney, Meryl Streep, Bill Murray, Owen Wilson and Jason Schwartzman – are a delight. Another high mark in a year of stellar animated films (“Up,” “Coraline” and “Ponyo”). A

Burn After Reading (2008)

"Burn After Reading" is another of the Coen Brother's pitch-dark comedies tinged with Hitchcock drama and brutal violence. One of the DVD Q-and-A features with Joel and Ethan Coen hits the nail on the head plot wise: "Burn" is their version of an "Enemy of the State" genre flick, without the explosions. Or hero.

John Malkovich stars as Oswald Cox, a CIA analyst with a drinking problem and anger management issues who quits his job after being demoted for having a drinking problem and blasting his superiors with an "F"-word-fueled rant that is hilarious. (Does anyone say that word better?) Oz seeks revenge by writing his memoirs, an act that has his cold-as-ice wife (Tilda Swinton) laughing and seeking a divorce.

Soon a CD containing material for the memoir ends up on the floor of a D.C. gym, and then in the hands of two bumbling gym employees (Brad Pitt and Coens regular Frances McDormand) who smell money in a blackmail scheme. Thrown into the mix is George Clooney as a married Treasury officer who's sleeping with Swinton's ice princess, McDormand's sad sack and a host of other women. Dry as ash J.K. Simmons has a priceless, but brief, role as a CIA head honcho bewildered as these inept characters cross and re-cross paths, spilling reams of dark comedy and a good bit of blood along the way.

"Burn" lacks the high-stakes drama of the similarly dark and multi-tiered "Fargo," but it's a blast of witty dialogue and satire, knocking the self-absorption and pure idiocy of Americans (or anyone, really) who feel they deserve and ought to have a better life. The beauty of the film lies in the Coens' insistence of not showing every detail: Much of the hoopla involving the disk is left off screen, and anyone hoping for a final shootout and tall-standing hero will be disappointed.

The cast is clearly having a blast, especially Clooney and Pitt, who share the screen for a nasty split-second spin on a vital scene from David Lynch's "Blue Velvet." Some critics have made hay over perceived sexism in the film, but that's bunk. Yes, the women are cold, or selfish and foolish, but nearly every male is as well. The film has one true person to root for, the kind gym manager played by Richard Jenkins who loves McDormand's character. Alas, this is Coen Territory. Hearts are more than broken. B+

Leatherheads (2008)

The football comedy "Leatherheads" is a throwback film to the vaudeville era when the exact turn of a phrase and a wide-eyed actor or double take could carry a film, without fart and masturbation jokes.

Directed by and starring George Clooney, with assist from Renee Zellweger, John Krasinski and Jonathan Pryce, the film certainly does entertain. It tells the story, how true I don't know, of the beginning of professional football in post-World War I America. At the time, only college football mattered, and a National or American Football League seemed as ludicrous then as a DVD or nanotechnology would.

Clooney plays Dodge Connelly, who has plans on turning the idea of pro football into reality on the shoulders of war hero and Harvard college student Carter Rutherford (Krasinski). Zellweger plays a Chicago newspaper reporter sent to pop the war hero's balloon; it appears he's not all he can be.

The film plays its comedy well, but there's far too much cutesy in-joke eye-winking getting in the way for the character banter to fully come alive. The vaudeville-era films I've seen were and are funny because they earned every laugh with a slight poke in the ribs. "Leatherheads" tackles the viewer for a laugh. Sometimes less is more. Still, it's enjoyable as a quick forgettable laugh. B-