Charade (1963)

This. THIS is what “Tourist” -– the dull-flat romantic caper with Johnny Depp and Angelina Jolie -– wanted to be, and failed. Starring Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn, with assist from George Kennedy, James Coburn, and Walter Matthau, twisty-turny, tongue-in-cheek thriller/comedy “Charade” follows a new divorcee (Hepburn) whose Parisian rich ex-husband turns up dead before the legal papers can be signed. Woe for her, because $250,000 is missing, and the cops and the crooks know in their blood Ms. Hepburn has it. Enter Grant’s slippery admitted conman who switches identities quicker than he does clothes, and this film -– directed by Stanley Donen (“Singin’ in the Rain”) -– is a hoot of 1960s cool/suave. The turncoats, betrayals, and reveals are played for suspense and laughs, alternating one after the other, none better than when a parade of men stalk into dead hubby’s funeral, studying and abusing the corpse, making sure he’s dead. Grant is old enough to be Hepburn’s father, but the “ick” factor is joked away, with Hepburn on top, so to speak, even if some of the “you’re-just-a-girl” shtick is sexist. Doesn’t distract, though, from this cinematic shell game. Hepburn shines, as always. B+

Moonrise Kingdom (2012)

Ten minutes into “Moonrise Kingdom,” I realized I had my fill of Wes Anderson, the Gen X darling filmmaker who tells tales of quirky hipsters and outsiders using ironic air quotes peppered with hip art deco sets and hip costumes. I’m sick of all of Anderson’s hipness. The guy aims and fails for some aura of New Wave French film with a story about pre-teen love birds (Jared Gilman and Kara Hayward) on the run from parents, police, and Khaki Scout Troop leaders in 1960s New England. To woo youngsters, Anderson tosses in fires, floods, storms, impaled dogs, and so much forced acting from famous actors (Bill Murray, Frances McDormand, Bruce Willis, and Edward Norton among them), that it all feels like the over-the-top high school play that closed out “Rushmore,” a damn fine film. Yes, Jason Schwartzman appears. So does Bob Balaban as a narrator who changes camera lights. The obnoxious music score almost drowns out the realization that the central arc of Hayward as a beauty hip (again!) to Euro culture falling for a sad nerd is bullshit. Anderson’s kingdom of cool -– I loved “Fantastic Mr. Fox” -- has gone tepid. I’m out. C-