The Optimist's Best of the Rest

Best Scene Stealer - Rhino in Disney's Bolt "It's a good day to die!!"
Best Comeback - Mickey Rourke in The Wrestler "I'm an old broken down piece of meat and I deserve to be all alone, I just don't want you to hate me."
Best Line - Heath Ledger as The Joker in The Dark Knight "Do I really look like a guy with a plan?"
Biggest Tearjerker - Marley being put to sleep in Marley & Me
Best City Used As A Backdrop This Year - Chicago (The Dark Knight, Nothing Like The Holidays, Cadillac Records)
Biggest Load of Crap - The Happening
Biggest Letdown - Quantum Of Solace
Biggest Surprise - Slumdog Millionaire
Best Movie To Make You Smile - Happy-Go-Lucky
Best Use Of An Actor - Samuel L. Jackson appearing in Iron Man AND The Incredible Hulk as Col. Nick Fury
Best Director - Clint Eastwood (Changeling, Gran Torino)
Most Surprising Role - Anne Hathaway in Rachel Getting Married
Funniest Scene - The "Never go full retard" scene in Tropic Thunder

The Best of the Best in 2008

1. The Dark Knight - Heath Ledger WAS The Joker. Each of his scenes made you believe that there could actually be a psycho like this out there in the world.
2. Slumdog Millionaire - And Indian version of "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire" tells a tale of growing up and doing all you can to find your long lost love. Beautifully done.
3. Milk - Sean Penn does it again in this film about Harvey Milk who was the first openly gay man to be elected to a U.S. Public Office.
4. Tropic Thunder - THE comedy of the year that also had the most controversy with Robert Downey Jr. playing an Australian actor who jumps so deeply into character that he has a pigment augmentation procedure to play a black man. Controversial? Maybe. Racist? Not in the least. Funny? Hell yeah!
5. The Wrestler - Mickey Rourke wins hands down for the best comeback award in my book here as he plays a wrestler that loves what he does too much to give it up. Emotional and entertaining.
6. Iron Man - Robert Downey Jr. comes in second place for best comeback with this movie based on the Marvel comic book of the same name. An origin story done right. Samuel L. Jackson making an appearance as Col. Nick Fury didn't hurt either.
7. Bolt - While the movie is called Bolt it's the hamster Rhino that steals every scene that he is in. He needs his own spin off.
8. Let The Right One In - A vampire movie with a hint of romance. Not too graphic and no scene goes overboard with the dramatics and you get a movie with heart that was well told.
9. Rachel Getting Married - Anne Hathaway in her best role to date. She returns home after leaving rehab to attend her sisters wedding. You actually feel for her character as she tries to make amends at the worst time possible. Dramatic and sad and worth seeing.
10. In Bruges - Who knew that Colin Farrell as a hitman would be this funny? His one liners alone make this one of the surprise hits that most people skipped.

The Worst Movies of 2008

1. The Happening - M. Night Shyamalan should just take a break and reevaluate his whole existence after this crap.
2. Beverly Hills Chihuahua - A movie about talking Chihuahuas? How desperate is Hollywood to make a movie like this?
3. Quantum Of Solace - The hype was built up for months before its release and it turned out to be a colossal flop. Nowhere near as good as Casino Royale.
4. Jumper - Great premise. Had the potential to be SO much better than it was. Samuel L. Jackson in another awful role.
5. The Love Guru - I like Mike Myers. Hated this poor excuse of a movie.
6. 88 Minutes - Al Pacino means great movie, right? Not in this bullshit. Highly predictable and bad acting meant a load of crap at the box office.
7. The Hottie And The Nottie - A movie starring Paris Hilton? 'Nuff Said.
8. Meet Dave - Eddie Murphy still trying to be funny? Sorry, stopped laughing a long time ago.
9. Valkyrie - Tom Cruise in a movie about trying to kill Hitler. I say Yay to that, No to this boring ass movie.
10. The House - Michael Madsen's so-called return? He should've stayed in bed.

Worlds worst dog holds family together

An ambitious young reporter, John Grogan (Owen Wilson), and his wife, Jenny (Jennifer Aniston), also a reporter, move to a Florida, buy a house and adopt a Labrador puppy they name Marley. Marley quickly becomes a rollicking force of nature in their lives.

After getting married on a snowy day in Michigan, John (Wilson) and Jenny (Aniston) Grogan decide to move to Florida. Both journalists, they get jobs at competing local newspapers. They purchase a modest starter house in West Palm Beach, and soon there is talk of a family. John is not sure he's ready for that, so his best friend Sebastian (Eric Dane), a successful reporter who sees himself as an expert on female behavior, suggests he get Jenny a puppy to take her mind off babies. "There's nothing to it. You walk 'em. You feed 'em, you let 'em out now and then." On her birthday, John takes Jenny to a kennel and a 12-pound Labrador puppy picks her out. They name him Marley, and he soon changes their lives with his rambunctious presence Marley is a wild and often out-of-control puppy who chews up everything from pillows to the dry wall to the sofa. Before long, he's grown into a 100-pound dog who creates havoc wherever he goes. They take him to a local obedience school, but the instructor (Kathleen Turner) decides he's the unruliest dog she has ever come across and kicks him out of class for being a bad influence on the other animals. But Marley is a master of living into the present moment. It takes quite a while for the Grogans to learn from him how to live this way without regrets or expectations. John's wise boss at the newspaper, Arnie Klein (Alan Arkin), gives him a column and is very pleased when he turns it into an entertaining commentary on everyday life peppered with stories about Marley's antics. Yet John is not satisfied since in his head he sees himself as a serious news reporter. He is constantly comparing himself unfavorably to Sebastian who has moved on to work for the New York Times. Jenny has trouble staying in the present too. She has planned out her life and is troubled because things are not happening on schedule. When they finally decide to start a family, they have trouble conceiving. Then she has a miscarriage. Eventually they have two sons and a daughter and move to a larger house in Boca Raton. Jenny decides to be a stay-at-home mom but then wonders why all her expectations are not met. Marley & Me is directed by David Frankel from a screenplay by Scott Frank and Don Roos based on the bestselling book by John Grogan. This comedy shows how Marley becomes a catalyst for many of changes in the the Grogans' lives. Marley's exuberance makes it difficult for the Grogans to take a trip because their dog drives all caretakers crazy. He howls and goes nuts during thunderstorms but loves to swim in the ocean and a pool. He turns out to be good with the kids, and even when challenged by stress, John and Jenny admit that the dog is an integral part of their family. He gives as much as he gets. John's yearning to be a reporter takes them to a new job with a newspaper in Philadelphia about the time that Marley begins to slow down in old age. John realizes what a great and glorious companion this slobbering Labrador has been throughout his life. Although he still does some things that make John call him the "World's Worst Dog," most filmgoers will agree that Marley is a wonderful companion with a big love and an enthusiasm for play that is extraordinary. That is why the laughter and the tears that accompany your viewing of Marley & Me will be genuine and heartfelt. A sweet 4 on my "Go See" scale.

The Reader does well on the big screen

When he falls ill on his way home from school, 15 year-old Michael Berg (David Kross/Ralph Fiennes) is rescued by Hanna (Kate Winslet), a woman twice his age. The two begin an unexpected and passionate affair only for Hanna to suddenly and inexplicably disappear. Eight years later, Michael , now a young law student observing Nazi war trials, meets his former lover again, under very different circumstances. Hanna is on trial for a hideous crime, and as she refuses to defend herself, Michael gradually realizes his boyhood love may be guarding a secret she considers to be more shameful than murder.

Is there a point past forgiveness? Are some crimes so beyond comprehension that there are no mitigating circumstances? Those questions are at the heart of The Reader; their existence its biggest problem. The acting, particularly by an outstanding Kate Winslet, is at times inspired. But the relentlessly downbeat nature of the film, along with the prospect of feeling sorry for a woman who worked as a Nazi guard and was at least partly responsible for the deaths of hundreds, is a bit much to ask. Winslet plays Hanna Schmitz, a streetcar ticket-taker who happens upon a boy retching in an alley during a rainstorm. That boy is Michael Berg, whom we will come to know at various stages of his life. The young Berg is played by David Kross; Ralph Fiennes plays him as an adult. This chance meeting will lead to a passionate affair between Hanna and Michael, one that includes not just copious amounts of sex but intellectual stimulation. Hanna likes to be read to and requires it of Michael almost as a ticket of admission to her bed. They grow close, but Hanna is moody, flying into rages. Michael is being kept from friends his age, and when Hanna is offered a promotion, she suddenly disappears. We next see Michael in law school, where his professor (Bruno Ganz) takes his students to the trial of women charged with war crimes - Hanna is among them. She was a guard at Auschwitz and is being tried for murder in the deaths of hundreds of prisoners. Michael is, of course, flooded with memories and struggles with his emotions. Hanna has a secret, one that Michael realizes over the course of the trial. It doesn't absolve her of guilt but it would affect her punishment if she would reveal it. The adult Michael remains morally confused, distant, still grappling with his feelings about Hanna. Fiennes is, as always, quite good, but this part of the film is sterile, cold. Only a late scene, in which Michael meets with the daughter of a survivor (Lena Olin), feels truly alive and is all the more welcome because of it. Kross is good in a tricky role. Winslet is outstanding, particularly given that Hanna is such an unsympathetic character. We never quite feel sympathy toward her, and it's testament to Winslet's skill and confidence that she never really asks us to. For though The Reader costars the gifted Ralph Fiennes and gives a lot of screen time to a young actor named David Kross, it is Winslet's haunting performance that gives the film its success. It is hard to overstate the impact Winslet makes in the trial scenes, even though she says very little. Alternately despairing, distraught and defeated, she allows conflicted emotions to play across her face as she struggles with the life and death decision of which secrets to reveal and which to hide away. From here on in, The Reader is at its strongest, as the film's series of twists that play out over years add to the dramatic and philosophical content. It's also here that The Reader's concerns with the guilt-ridden interplay between generations, with whether it is even possible to come to terms with what people we love have done, gain a sharper focus. Though Fiennes' increased screen time helps the film, he never seems to have enough to do. He and young Kross are also hampered by their involvement with the film's most pat and conventional aspects, including the larger role given both to Berg's future wife and their aforementioned daughter. Fortunately, The Reader is able to recover its focus. Though this remains a reserved film in which the underlying material is stronger than what's been done with it, enough of it has been retained to keep the enterprise on point. Especially when Winslet is on the screen. A strong 3 on my "Go See" scale.

The Rodriguez family shows us what the holiday is about even if we've seen it before

It’s Christmastime and the far-flung members of the Rodriguez family are converging at their parents’ home in Chicago's Humboldt Park to celebrate the season and rejoice in their youngest brother’s safe return from combat overseas. For Jesse (Freddy Rodriguez) , coming home has rekindled feelings for an old flame, although she can’t seem to forgive him for leaving. His older sister Roxanna, a struggling actress, has been chasing her Hollywood dreams for years with little to show for it. And much to the dismay of their mother Anna (Elizabeth Peña), eldest brother Mauricio (John Leguizamo) brings home a high-powered executive wife (Debra Messing) who would rather raise capital than a child. In the course of one eventful week, traditions will be celebrated, secrets revealed and major life decisions made. It all begins when Anna announces to her children she is divorcing their father Eduardo (Alfred Molina) he shock waves from this familial upheaval prompt Roxanna, Mauricio and Jesse, each in their own way, to reevaluate the past and rethink the future. But when the Rodriguezes learn that one of their own is facing a true crisis, they instinctively pull together: Old resentments are forgotten, familial bonds are re-affirmed and the healing power of laughter works its magic as the family discovers they are much stronger than they ever realized.

The melodramatics in Nothing Like the Holidays won't surprise anyone: The heads of the family (Elizabeth Pena and Alfred Molina) are splitting, one couple (John Leguizamo and Debra Messing) is fighting about parenthood, one son (Freddy Rodriguez) is traumatized by experiences in the military, a daughter (Vanessa Ferlito) has a secret (who doesn't?) and an extended family member (Jay Hernandez) is torn up about a recent tragedy. Luckily, Nothing Like the Holidays is less about that stuff than it is about showcasing the warmth and versatility of its cast. From "I'm divorcing your father" to the impromptu dance party that ends things (as it did in "This Christmas"), the performers never miss a chance to inject surprising behaviors or inventive line readings into their familiar storylines. The result is a dozen likable characters who deserve the happy endings you don't doubt for a moment they'll get. Meanwhile, the biggest gift in "Nothing Like the Holidays" may be the one it gives to Chicago. Dazzlingly lit up and decorated for the holidays, the city is made to look as bright and pretty as a very, very large Christmas tree. The umpteenth holiday-family-gathering film to hit theaters in the past few years, "Nothing Like the Holidays" distinguishes itself from the pack with fine acting. For example, the stock characters of a career-driven, childless couple become decidedly human when played by John Leguizamo and Debra Messing, two intelligent, highly entertaining actors. Leguizamo's open demeanor and joking nature soften his attorney character, Mauricio, and Messing's sincerity wins sympathy for his Bluetooth-addicted, financial whiz wife, Sarah, who is forced to field constant questions from her mother-in-law, Anna (Elizabeth Peña ), about when she and Mauricio will have children. What's nice about Sarah, and what separates her from, say, Sarah Jessica Parker's tightly wound character in "The Family Stone," is that she tries so hard. She learns to cook traditional Puerto Rican dishes, in honor of her husband's heritage, and to greet her mother-in-law in Spanish. But nothing will please Mauricio's mother until Sarah starts reproducing. Though her matriarch role starts out one-note, the talented Peña quickly lends it dimension. Traditional in some ways, Anna will prove a thoroughly modern woman as the film progresses, especially in regard to her husband (Molina, exuding warmth), a well-intentioned man she nonetheless suspects is keeping secrets from her. But Anna also really wants grandchildren. Is that a crime? And she wants her younger son, Jesse (Rodriguez), to be safe from harm. Just back from Iraq, Jesse sports an angry scar near his eye, along with a haunted quality. Rodriguez's nuanced, heart- rending performance elevates just on its own merits. As we see from Rodriguez's wary expression as his character views a banner hung in his honor at his family's Chicago home, Jesse doesn't feel like a hero. He feels lost. But he has not, thankfully, lost his personality, joshing with his brother and struggling-actress sister, Roxanna (Ferlito), and joining them for a night on the town. The interplay between the Rodriguez siblings and their wise-cracking cousin (Luis Guzmán) also provides fun moments. Directed by Alfredo De Villa from a script by Rick Najera and Alison Swan, Nothing Like the Holidays falters on the romantic front. Though Melonie Diaz is appealing as the girl Jesse left behind, the age difference between the actors is striking. She must have been a very young girl when he left her behind. A budding flirtation between Roxanna and Ozzy (Jay Hernandez), an employee at the Rodriguez family's grocery store, never captivates as it should. That's partly because it hinges on a story line involving Hernandez's character that is too clichéd to hold interest. With that said, it all just seems to work and in the end it's quite enjoyable. A hefty 3 on my "Go See" scale.

What a comeback!

Estranged from his daughter (Evan Rachel Wood) and unable to sustain any real relationships, Randy lives for the thrill of the show and the adoration of his fans. However, a heart attack forces him into retirement. As his sense of identity starts to slip away, he begins to evaluate the state of his life -- trying to reconnect with his daughter, and strikes up a blossoming romance with an aging stripper (Marisa Tomei). Yet all this cannot compare to the allure of the ring and passion for his art, which threatens to pull Randy "The Ram" back into his world of wrestling in The Wrestler.

Darren Aronofsky's The Wrestler is not a film about sports but, appropriately, one about the shabbier precincts of show business, where performers sell not only an illusion, but to varying degrees their bodies and souls. Randy "The Ram" Robinson (Mickey Rourke) was a star during the 1980s wrestling boom, but unlike his old sparring partners--his "nemesis," the Ayatollah, now has a car dealership in Arizona--Randy is still at it, a nostalgia act relegated to the margins. Madison Square Garden-sized arenas have been replaced by high-school gyms, pay-per-view purses by a few folded bills passed along apologetically. Though still powerful, his physique is visibly worn. His long, peroxided locks look like a poorly rinsed mop; off-duty, he sports glasses and a hearing aid he touchingly tries to conceal. Randy is not, however, a bitter guy--not when he's locked out of his trailer in Jersey for unpaid rent, not when neighborhood kids wake him from a night spent asleep in his van. He's an avuncular figure to the up-and-coming twentysomethings with whom he wrestles, and they respect him in kind. Some of the film's best scenes convey the backstage tenderness of growth-hormoned giants preparing to pulverize one another for a crowd's amusement, the friendly negotiations between "faces" and "heels" over the crippling good-vs-evil pantomime about to ensue. After a hardcore bout against a pasty sadist, featuring barbed wire, broken glass, staple guns, and other implements of bloody defilement, Randy receives a wakeup call in the form of a beneficent heart attack, a firm signal that it's time for him to do something else with his life. And for a while he does, reconnecting with his estranged daughter (Evan Rachel Wood); taking a day job at a grocery-store meat counter; making fitful romantic progress with Cassidy (Marisa Tomei), a local stripper with a soft spot for martyrs of the flesh. (She describes The Passion of the Christ in awe: "They beat the living fuck out of him for two whole hours and he just takes it." Randy agrees: "Tough fucking guy.") But The Wrestler is no simple redemption tale. Randy may be a fundamentally decent guy, but he is, as his daughter points out, a lifelong fuckup, and sometimes such nebulous flaws are the ones least amenable to repair. The real reason to see the film, though, is Rourke, who gives the kind of performance many of us imagined he would have offered with regularity over the past two decades. Instead, he wandered: into Cinemax bait, into boxing, into a body, at once hulking and defeated, that no fan of his early '80s work could ever have foreseen. Most remarkable, though, is the degree to which Rourke, in a role that could have invited outsized characterization, instead offers modesty and understatement. This small performance, in a small film, is by far the biggest of his career. The film's heart and soul are in Rourke's three-dimensional portrayal of Randy not as a big dumb goon but as a real guy trying to find his purpose in the world. Numerous small touches in his performance (his walk, his voice, his mannerisms) bring the character to life in a way that's incredibly moving, and I don't think there's not a single false or contrived moment of "acting" anywhere in the film. Even his attempt to reconnect with his estranged college-age daughter, Stephanie (Wood), whom he abandoned years ago, doesn't feel like the cliché it could have been. Randy's desire for reconciliation stems from his inner goodness. He's sincere, and he means well. He has a good heart, metaphorically if not physically. One of the film's simplest, most memorable scenes has Randy good-naturedly working the deli counter at the grocery store, jesting with customers and generally enjoying himself. You start to think the same thing he's thinking, which is that he really could leave wrestling behind and live happily as a wage-earner. But once you've been a celebrity, the public will always view you that way. If you have the audacity to leave showbiz, you're a failure. We want you in the limelight, or we don't want you at all. Randy "The Ram" Robinson is struggling with that harsh truth, and The Wrestler brings us along for the heartbreaking journey. A Definite 5 on my "Go See" scale.

Changing 7 lives has never been done this way before

Will Smith reunites with the directors and producers of The Pursuit of Happyness for the emotional drama Seven Pounds. In the film, Smith plays Ben Thomas, an IRS agent with a fateful secret who embarks on an extraordinary journey of redemption by forever changing the lives of seven strangers.

Forget what other critics are saying–I’m here to tell you that Will Smith’s Seven Pounds is worth your time…provided you’re in the mood for something off the beaten path. Sony has begged reviewers not to reveal too many details about the plot and I agree that the film is more effective the less you know about it going in. Still, I’d be derelict in my duty if I didn’t offer up at least a thumbnail sketch of what to expect, so here goes: after suffering a horrific tragedy sometime in his past, Ben Thomas (Smith) attempts to atone for his sins by improving the lives of seven strangers, including Ezra Turner (Woody Harrelson) a blind phone salesman for a mail-order meat business and Emily Posa (Rosario Dawson), a beautiful woman with a failing heart. His exact intentions towards these folks are deliberately obscured by an elliptical editing style, which jumps around in time and keeps key details under wraps until the film’s final 15 minutes. But all the pieces of this puzzle do eventually fit together in a climax that I can guarantee, you won’t see coming. Don’t be surprised to find yourself gaping open-mouthed at the screen experiencing an odd combination of shock, horror and amusement. To say that Seven Pounds is an odd film is an understatement—it’s often downright bizarre. What’s even crazier is that the damned thing kinda sorta works, at least on an emotional level if not an intellectual one. Credit for this has to go Smith and Dawson, who wholeheartedly commit to this material and give audiences a central relationship to hang onto even as the story twists and turns on itself. Seven Pounds was directed by Gabriele Muccino, who previously guided his star to an Oscar nomination for 2006’s The Pursuit of Happyness. As in that film, he knows how to goad Smith into letting go of some of his typical Big Willie tics and embody a character entirely unlike his offscreen persona. Ben Thomas may just be the most unlikable person the actor has ever been asked to play and Smith rises to the occasion. Within the first five minutes, for example, we see him berating Harrelson on the phone and then physically assaulting a retirement home doctor. To be honest, the film’s slippery chronology renders a lot of these early scenes baffling. Who the heck is this guy anyway and why is he such an asshole? As the film continues and Smith’s motivations snap into focus though, his nuanced performance becomes easier to appreciate. Dawson also overcomes a rocky start to go on and hit emotional notes we haven’t seen from her before. The romance that develops between Ben and Emily is more than a little absurd—not to mention creepy once it becomes clear where the story is going—but the actors sell it. While I can’t defend some of Seven Pound’s excesses (such as the scene that reveals Smith’s self-imposed fate, which is easily the most insane moment I’ve seen in theaters all year), it’s far from one of the most “crazily awful motion pictures ever made.” I’ve been wrong on these kinds of predictions before, but part of me feels that audiences will respond to this film in a way some reviewers haven’t, but Seven Pounds is a story with an interesting twist at the end, a talented director and a powerful lead actor. However, it isn't a story that will stick with you like truly great films do. The twist will probably shock you, though you may have guessed it by the end, but it won't make you think too much. You'll cry, you'll feel strongly, but then you'll forget about it in a week and won't even bother to pick up the DVD. It is a good movie that misses out on greatness simply because it was never really destined for it. I liked it enough to recommend it. It's different and that's what is needed these days...something different. A 4 on my "Go See" scale.

My trip to Australia was a blast

In Australia, An English aristocrat (Nicole Kidman) inherits an Australian ranch the size of Maryland. When English cattle barons plot to take her land, she reluctantly joins forces with a rough-hewn cattle driver to drive 2,000-head of cattle across hundreds of miles of the country's most unforgiving land, only to still face the bombing of Darwin by the Japanese forces that had attacked Pearl Harbor only months earlier.

Whether or not Baz Luhrmann’s Australia is a great film, it is one hell of a movie. I say that as a compliment. I also note that it’s old-fashioned—and that, too, is a compliment. The word “epic” gets tossed around these days with alarming frequency—to describe every effects-driven, big-budget behemoth that lumbers into town. It also gets used as a barometer of quality, which is even more absurd. Australia truly is epic—and in a good way. In fact, it’s an epic in several good ways. It has the kind of sweep and wide-ranging geographical sense of an epic. The story and the characters are all larger than life. The scope of its ambition knows no bounds. The plot is deliberately simple and very much a movie plot—or perhaps plots. The whole “hate at first sight” that turns to respect and then to love, played by his quintessential movie star leads (Nicole Kidman and Hugh Jackman), is classic Hollywood. So too is the thawing of Kidman’s “ice princess” and her growing attachment to the half-caste little boy (newcomer Brandon Walters), who serves as the underpinning of the film’s concerns about racism in Australian history. The story starts in 1939 when Lady Sarah Ashley (Kidman) comes to Australia to check up on her husband. She thinks he has extended his stay in Australia in order to be unfaithful to her, but when she arrives she finds he has been murdered and their cattle ranch named “Faraway Downs” is in bad shape. The only way to save it is to get a herd of cattle to Darwin Harbor and sell them to the British Army. She enlists the help of her husband’s drover (Jackman) who is reluctant to start such a trek. Plus she has wealthy rancher King Carney (Bryan Brown) doing everything he can to stop her. He wants to get a monopoly with the Army so he can’t have her showing up with competitive cattle. He enlists his worker, Neil Fletcher (David Wynham), to do whatever is necessary to stop the drive. Sarah is also caught up in the plight of a young boy named Nullah . He is part Aborigine and part Caucasian and thus belongs in neither world. The authorities want to place him in a mission home, but Nullah wants to stay at Faraway Downs. Sarah is drawn to the boy and wants to protect him. The cattle drive dominates the first half of the film and the bombing of Darwin Harbor dominates the second. Plus the love story of Sarah and the Drover ties it all together. There is something for everyone in this film and the two hour and fifty five minute running time seems to fly by in an instant.

Luhrmann has combined the elements of the Western and the war movie by dividing the movie into two parts (it really needed an intermission). There are echoes of Gone with the Wind, Howard Hawks’ Red River and even The Wizard of Oz—this last makes splendid sense in context, especially given the film’s open-faced acceptance of Aboriginal magic and mysticism, as well as the fact that for Kidman’s initially uptight Englishwoman, Australia truly is “somewhere over the rainbow.” All of it is used as a background to romance and the framework for at least four magnificent set pieces: a cattle stampede, the delivery of the cattle, a fancy ball and the bombing of Darwin. Kidman is amazing in her role of Sarah, and there is no one else acting today who could have done as perfectly as she does. It seems Luhrmann, who also directed her in “Moulin Rouge,” created the role with her in mind for it fits her that totally. She brings a freshness to the part as well as a strength that Sarah has to have. And her chemistry with Jackman is pitch perfect. Jackman is rugged and handsome as the Drover and matches Kidman in the chemistry department. His acting is not as strong as hers but strong enough. Recently named “the sexiest man alive” by People Magazine, this role proves the title wasn’t some fluke. Waters is the surprise of the film. His portrayal of Nullah is staggering. He narrates the film and is the character who ties it all together. He is the right person for this role and makes an indelible impression. When awards are given out for “best supporting actor” his name should be front and center. Australia is a sprawling, engrossing look at the continent about which we know very little. This movie should make the Australian Tourist Board very happy as it would seem millions will now want to visit there. In the meantime it is hoped million of filmgoers will find out just how entertaining this film is. It deserves to be seen and savored maybe more than once. Who cares if it is almost three hours long – they are three of the most entertaining hours you will exposed to this year. A strong 4 on my "Go See" scale.

Tell me a bedtime story

Hotel handyman Skeeter Bronson (Adam Sandler) gets an unexpected surprise when he discovers that the tall tales he's been telling his niece and nephew are somehow coming true. Hoping to take advantage of the mysterious phenomenon, Skeeter spins one outlandish yarn after another, but the children's unexpected contributions to the stories turn Skeeter's life upside down in the Disney film, Bedtime Stories.

Skeeter Bronson (Sandler) works as a handyman at a hotel once owned by his father (Jonathan Pryce), but now run by Barry Nottingham (Richard Griffiths). When his uptight, divorced sister Wendy (Courteney Cox) goes out of town for four days, she asks Skeeter to help her schoolteacher friend Jill (Keri Russell) look after her two young children Bobbi (Laura Ann Kesling) and Patrick (Jonathan Morgan Heit). But when the bedtime stories he tells the children begin to come true, Skeeter starts to believe he has a chance to change his destiny and replace Kendall (Guy Pearce) as hotel General Manager and future husband to Barry's spoilt daughter Violet (Teresa Palmer). If you like Adam Sandler's loud and bawdy style (or lack of it), you will warm to this lively and undemanding fable that reminds us we are limited only by our imagination. Raining gumballs, galloping on a cherry-red steed, a kiss from a fair maiden and driving in an ancient Greek chariot race are some of the ingredients incorporated into the bedtime stories Sandler's Skeeter tells his young niece and nephew at night, which magically eventuate into his real life. The premise is fine as all the central characters find their way into the stories and the bizarre becomes unexpectedly plausible. It's funny and fresh, and Sandler is nicely contrasted by the lovely and feminine Keri Russell (notable in Waitress) who brings warmth and heart to the proceedings. Director Adam Shankman's biggest questionable decision is to portray Richard Griffiths' hotel owner Barry Nottingham and his heir apparent Kendall as caricatures. It works well enough in the case of Griffiths, but this is not a role that suits the talented Pearce, as he hams it up like a vaudeville boo-hiss villain and unfortunately comes out second best. The two eight year old youngsters are as delightful as they are natural, and it is their impulsive and instinctive re-writing of elements from the nightly storytelling that becomes integral to the plot and story outcome. Russell Brand (who made his acting debut in Forgetting Sarah Marshall), injects his own brand of humor and charisma as Mickey, the room-service waiter with sleep panic disorder and Australian actress Teresa Palmer is impressive as the spoiled-little-rich-girl daughter, engaged to the ambitious Kendall. Youngsters will enjoy the laughs generated by the saucer-eyed guinea pig Bugsy, who tags along with Skeeter and his niece and nephew everywhere. Anything can happen in a story, Heit's Patrick tells Skeeter when he starts to recount a fantasy involving a medieval castle, a king, his daughter and a mermaid. But each story involves elements that connect to Skeeter's own life. And as Skeeter tries to steer the stories to include endings of his choosing, Bobbi and Patrick insist on their own input, with clear thoughts of their own as to whether or not stories can have a happy ending. Don't look for too much realism, but the scene in which Sandler's tongue swells up (after being bitten by a bee) and he gets Brand (wearing a hula skirt and coconut halves) to translate his nonsensical attempts at speech at a formal presentation, is wonderfully ridiculous. There is never any doubt that all will end well - after all, this is a bedtime story, and Sandler, who recently became a father for the first time, reportedly was keen to make a comedy that was family friendly. Good enough for the kids, silly enough for the adults. A 4 on my "Go See" scale, with a happily ever after on top.

This crime was a treat to watch

Hector (Karra Elejalde) is relaxing on a lawn chair outside of his new country home, surveying the nearby hillside through a pair of binoculars, when he catches sight of what appears to be a nude woman amidst the trees. Hiking up to investigate, he is attacked by a sinister figure whose head is wrapped in a grotesque, pink bandage. Fleeing in terror, he takes refuge in a laboratory atop the hill, where a lone attendant (director Nacho Vigalondo) ushers him in to a peculiar scientific contraption. He emerges what seems to be moments later, only to find that he has traveled back hours in time, setting in motion a brain-twisting, horrifying chain of events when he inadvertently runs into himself in Timecrimes.

To describe the plot is to give away the trick to a certain extent. It begins with a middle class Spanish schlub named Héctor (Elejalda) at the end of a not particularly good day. His wife (Candela Fernández) goes out to rustle up some dinner while he sits in the backyard with a pair of binoculars trained on the nearby woods. Suddenly, he spots a nude girl (Bárbara Goenaga) sauntering through the underbrush. Moving closer to investigate, he is set upon by a terrifying man whose face is wrapped in bandages and who has apparently killed the girl. He chases Héctor through the woods to the odd scientific laboratory on the other side, where -- wouldn't you know it -- groundbreaking experiments against the laws of God and man are taking place. Héctor soon finds himself sent one hour back in time, giving him a chance to save the girl if he can act quickly enough. The middle third suffers from a strange sort of lethargy, as the chronologically displaced Héctor moves through the same sequences from a different perspective and we see the answers to various mysterious hooks set up during his initial journey into the woods. As an intellectual exercise, it's vaguely interesting, but it lacks the urgency required to really grab us. Vigalondo, however, is far too smart to simply leave things at that. What at first seems to be just narrative acrobatics is actually prep work for the last 20 minutes: a brilliant series of reversals which sets the whole film on its ear. I daren't reveal the specifics here, but its corkscrew structure elevates the premise to another level: providing not only the right sense of closure but also an intellectual dilemma that maintains its fascination long after the house lights have gone up. Timecrimes will mostly likely reward multiple viewings immeasurably, making it a shoo-in for the midnight cult circuit and/or feverish home viewing. Beyond the structure itself, Vigalondo maintains a pair of secret weapons to help keep his scenario sharp. One is the notion that Héctor understands his position completely and that -- if he doesn't behave in certain ways at certain times -- he could literally destroy the universe. It brings a dose of bizarre levity to the proceedings as he engages in a number of false starts and tries to remember the way things should have gone when he wasn't paying especially close attention the first time around. The other is the surprisingly ordinary quality of the time machine itself. It looks like an industrial storage vat: a bit technical, but nothing a 30-minute training seminar won't clear up. The process of time travel is instantaneous and fireworks-free; Vigalondo's shooting style conveys a sense of normality belied by the surreal sight of Héctor stalking himself. The lack of special effects ironically heightens that plausibility, rendering the storyline reasonably airtight. All that comes in addition to the smart pacing, dark humor, and a sense of humanistic tragedy which Timecrimes deploys in expert fashion. In the end, it really has nothing more than a clever idea, but by spinning that oyster into such a rich and varied stew, Vigalondo signals his ability to handle topics considerably more complex. On the other hand, that would mean not making fun little gems like this one... and what a terrible shame that would be. The result is something truly unusual -- a time travel film that doesn't feel forced or overly illogical. There are still times during Hector's trio of trips where we scratch our heads over perceived fallacies, but the movie appears to anticipate them, and then offers up rational and realistic answers. While many might balk at the notion of science subverted for what ends up being one man's personal problems, there's no denying Vigalondo's skill as a storyteller. Here's hoping that the inevitable American remake (rumored to be helmed by Canadian master David Cronenberg himself) can live up to the devilish delights manufactured here. A smart well crafted mystery. A solid 4 on my "Go See" scale.

WTF? Moment : After being stabbed in the arm with a pair of scissors (by himself) he finds a first aid kit where he proceeds to bandage up his arm. Later on after having a accident (where again it's himself that hits um...him), he has a huge gash on his forehead. He decides to use the bandage from his arm where he then wraps his whole head (creating the bandaged guy that he saw earlier) and it appears that the bandage has increased in length. We see that he has enough to wrap his head, create eye holes a little nose and still have a bit of bandage hanging. If he had that much wrapped on his arm wouldn't his arm look like he was Popeye on one side? LOL

Yes, Man!

In Yes Man, Jim Carrey stars as Carl Allen, a guy whose life is going nowhere—the operative word being “no”—until he signs up for a self-help program based on one simple covenant: say yes to everything...and anything. Unleashing the power of “YES” begins to transform Carl’s life in amazing and unexpected ways, getting him promoted at work and opening the door to a new romance. But his willingness to embrace every opportunity might just become too much of a good thing.

In Yes Man, a surprisingly winning comedy based on Danny Wallace's book about a closed-off man who says yes to everything. That man is Carrey, as Carl Allen, a junior loan officer at a bank who, after the break-up of his marriage, becomes a loner of the first order, preferring nights alone with rented videos to spending time with anyone. He says no to everything, be it a guy handing out fliers for local bands to customers applying for small-business loans. His best friends Peter (Bradley Cooper) and Rooney (Danny Masterson) has little success in drawing him out, but a chance meeting with an old acquaintance, Nick (John Michael Higgins) leads him to a seminar with cultlike overtones led by Terrence Bundley (Terence Stamp) - the cult of yes. In a scene downright creepy for its attention to snake-oil salesman detail, Carl agrees to say yes to everything, a decision that at first seems disastrous but, as one might expect, leads to bigger and better things. First and foremost is his meeting Allison (Zooey Deschanel), a free-spirited sort who performs with a band with the inspired name Munchausen by Proxy that seems to be at least half performance-art ensemble. She also leads a class in jogging photography - that is, not taking pictures of joggers, but taking pictures while you jog. Whatever. If you get caught up in details in a movie like this, you may never get out alive. The point, rather obviously, is that it's important to open yourself up to possibilities, something that Carl was closed to in his former, nay-saying life. So now he's fighting in bars, taking flying lessons, learning to speak Korean. And he's enjoying life with Allison, his membership in Persianbridefinder.com notwithstanding. Actually, his relationship with Faranoosh (Anna Khaja), his would-be bride, is an example of what makes the movie work. It could be a one-off joke, but it's not. Director Peyton Reed doesn't abandon her, but works her into several scenes; Reed trusts the audience to play along and accept her presence. It makes the movie a lot funnier, and a lot better. That's the secret to the film's success, in fact - Reed sells the absurdity around the margins completely, which tones down Carrey's performance by comparison. Rhys Darby, for instance, plays Carl's boss, a pathetic sort who hosts social black-hole events like Harry Potter-themed costume parties. OK, fine. What elevates Yes Man isn't the losers on parade at the party, but the never-introduced little guy wearing a Dobby outfit who sits through showings of the Potter films, never removing his mask. He's always just sort of . . . there, at the edge of the screen, and if you bother to notice, it eventually becomes really funny. Deschanel is charming enough, but playing a free spirit in a film with Jim Carrey is a tall order. Yet Carrey comes off more genuine than usual, finding the humor in Carl's transformation without overdoing it (much). Is Yes Man worth the trouble, then? One word, Yes! A 4 on my "Go See" scale.

Frost gets the best of Tricky Dick

In 1977, three years after the Watergate scandal that ended his presidency, Richard Nixon (Frank Langella) selects British TV personality David Frost (Michael Sheen) to conduct a one-on-one, exclusive interview. Though Nixon believes it will be easy to snowball Frost, and Frost's own team doubts their boss can stand up to the former president, what actually unfolds is an unexpectedly candid and revealing interview before the court of public opinion.

Political thriller Frost/Nixon is one of the best and most surprising movies of the year. Adapting Peter Morgan's hit play could have been deadly - two men, one microphone, lots of dialogue - but Ron Howard gives us a masterclass in Hollywood storytelling. It's about bringing a liar to justice - or is it about forgiveness? That's one of the more controversial aspects of the film: some will feel it lets Tricky Dick off the hook. Even after he has gone to the grave, the lies keep coming. It's true that he becomes a pitiable figure by the end but who's to say that's not a reasonable version of the truth? The movie, adapted from Peter Morgan's stage play, co-stars Michael Sheen (Frost) and Frank Langella (Nixon) reprising their stage roles in the film. Morgan became interested in the subject after watching a biography on Frost. He was “driven by this image I had of these two men,” Morgan said. “The glamorous Frost, 54,000 feet up in the air, going backwards and forwards over the Atlantic on Concorde. And Nixon, a man living, metaphorically, in a cave, withdrawn and in disgrace.” The movie begins when Frost, an Australian TV talk show host, is losing his ratings. After watching a news bit about Nixon, Frost gets an idea about doing an onscreen interview with the ex-President and making him openly confess to his crimes in the White House. Negotiations begin, backers come and go, and Nixon waffles about agreeing to the interview. Hollywood agent Irving “Swifty” Lazar steps in to represent Nixon and demands a whopping $600,000. Frost, having exhausted every angle, finally agrees to put up the money from his own till and borrowing from his friends. Sheen is exceptional in the film. In addition to courting a young woman (Rebecca Hall) he meets on the Concorde during the negations, Frost appears anxiety ridden every moment of the months it takes to cinch the deal. With his eye set on the prize of people tuning to hear Nixon’s only confession, he appears almost blindsided to the real possibilities of what could happen. Howard takes us inside Nixon’s own compound, La Casa Pacifica—Nixon’s Western White House in San Clemente, California to film some of the story. This is where Nixon spent years hiding from his disgrace while enjoying a game of golf, pacifying his anger in one-too-many drinks or recollecting the important meetings with world leaders that took place there. Langella portrays every one of these moments impeccably. “I was determined not to do an impression,” Langella said. “I looked in him for the thing I look for in every character I play: What is his soul about? What is his inner heart and mind about? You really can’t play a ‘politician,’ a ‘musician,’ a ‘serial killer.’ You don’t play the title. Everybody’s a human being, and everybody has a soul, a heart and a mind.” The real drama of the film begins when the interviews are finally set for 1977. Both Frost and Nixon have their trusted teams, each assuring the men they will be the victors. At the meeting cinching the deal, Langella is so compelling as Nixon, it’s hard to believe he’s not the real man as he tells Frost, “And I shall be your fiercest adversary. I shall come at you with everything I got. Because the limelight can only shine on one of us. And for the other, it’ll be the wilderness…with nothing, and no one for company but those voices ringing in our head.” Frost’s producers (Oliver Platt, Sam Rockwell and Matthew Macfadyen) are like kids in a candy store planning the show. Each segment of the interview they tape assures them Frost makes Nixon look like week-old ground beef. Nixon’s former presidential staff member, Col. Jack Brennan (Kevin Bacon), is spear-heading Nixon’s team. He set the conditions of the interview and has no qualms Nixon can hold his own against the wily Frost. The men become the bull and matador in a worldwide rink. Frost wants Nixon to admit his guilt and apologize. Nixon believes he can control the interview and plans to do nothing of the sort. But the camera becomes a mirror to Nixon, and we all know, we can’t hide anything in a mirror. Morgan’s screenplay is brilliant in the way it actually turns Nixon into a sympathetic character, but also in building the drama. As each interview segment unfolds, close ups of the two men feel so real, I was held spellbound in my seat. Frost/Nixon is not only an historical update for those not around during Nixon’s years, but a must-see incredible film. A smart 4 on my "Go See" scale.

A beautifully tragic cadillac

Cadillac Records chronicles the rise of Chess Records and its recording artists. In this tale of sex, violence, race and rock and roll in Chicago of the 1950s and 60s, the film follows the exciting but turbulent lives of some of America's greatest musical legends.

The story of how the blues became popular and gave birth to rock and roll begins at a dingy bar on the rough South Side of Chicago in 1947, where an ambitious young Polish emigre, bar owner Leonard Chess (Adrien Brody), hires a talented but undisciplined blues combo that includes quiet and thoughtful guitar prodigy Muddy Waters (Jeffrey Wright) and impulsive and colorful harmonica player Little Walter (Columbus Short). Fascinated by the sound of the music - and eager to cash in on the record burgeoning record business - Chess arranges a recording session for Waters. Waters' early recordings start moving up the R+B charts and receiving heavy play. Chess treats his musicians like family -- he buys them a Cadillac when they record their first hit record -- although the line between business and personal sometimes causes conflict with his increasingly talented and successful stable of artists. After backing up Muddy on his early recordings, Little Walter becomes a star in his own right, but his quick temper and loud manner often run him afoul of friends and the law. He also finds that the only woman he can talk to is Muddy's girl, Geneva (Gabrielle Union), who struggles to remain loyal despite Muddy's poorly concealed affairs. Big Willie Dixon (CEDRIC THE ENTERTAINER), a songwriter and bandleader, also is a key member of the Chess Records family, as is Howlin' Wolf (Eamonn Walker), an intense and proud blues singer who develops a musical rivalry with Muddy. But it's not until 1955 when a Chess artist finally "crosses over" into the realm of mainstream ("white") America - a skinny guy from St. Louis named Chuck Berry (MOS DEF), whose dynamic "duck walk" and catchy, country-tinged tunes mark the birth of rock-and-roll. When Berry is arrested and jailed at the height of his career, Chess finds another talented performer to cross over singer Etta James (Beyonce Knowles), an emotionally scarred young woman whose vulnerability tempts Chess' loyalty and concern in unexpected ways. As rock-and-roll grows more popular, the Chess artists find themselves revered by a new generation of musicians, but they have also each earned and lost a small fortune on booze, women and the high life, and their addictions begin to take their toll. Even as tragedy befalls, their music and their spirit remain strong: as the sixties wind down and Leonard Chess gets out of the record business, the blues live on. Martin's movie chronicles a transformational moment in popular music and culture. Before being eclipsed by the other performers, Jeffrey Wright registers powerfully as bluesman Muddy Waters, Mos' Def duckwalks as country-to-rock crossover dream Chuck Berry, and Beyoncé wails her heart out as soul singer Etta James. But among these scene-stealing headliners (who include Adrien Brody as the label's "ears," Leonard Chess), the knockout is Eamonn Walker, positively feral as blues sensation Howlin' Wolf. Musician-songwriter Willie Dixon (Cedric the Entertainer) provides the narration quilting together the story that spans 1941 to 1969, from Muddy Waters migrating to Chicago from Mississippi to Leonard Chess' sale of the label to his artists. (In the interest of narrative pruning, Martin entirely eliminated Philip Chess, Leonard's brother and partner, from the story.) The real-life Chess was a contradictory and complicated figure, not unlike Jamie Foxx's Curtis Taylor of Dreamgirls, suggested by Motown's Berry Gordy. Dreamgirls was critical of Curtis' shady deals and artistic backstabbing. But Cadillac Records (which takes its name from Chess' habit of buying his artists fancy cars with their royalties instead of giving them the money outright) is mystifyingly neutral about Chess, who bribed disc jockeys and cooked the books. Brody plays Chess as a slightly crooked but well-meaning musical cheerleader without fully emerging as a character. Cadillac Records is a toe-tapping experience where the music rather than the actors dominate. This undermines Wright's performance and advantages that of Beyoncé. The film boasts a soundtrack that includes the actors performing Muddy Water's "Mannish Boy," Howling Wolf's "Smoke Stack Lightning," Chuck Berry's "Sweet Little Sixteen," and Etta James' "At Last."As the legendary James, beset by drama and drug addiction, Beyoncé delivers - if more powerfully as actress than as a soul thrush. Etta James was a complex woman in the '60s and '70s — incredibly talented and haunted at the same time. There are many demons behind those famous recordings, and Knowles gets it. Etta's story would be better told in another film, surely. A good film that may've been better in individual stories, but still quite enjoyable. A rockin' good 4 on my "Go See" scale.

I Doubt you will hate this film

In Doubt, it’s 1964, St. Nicholas in the Bronx. A vibrant, charismatic priest, Father Flynn (Philip Seymour Hoffman), is trying to upend the schools’ strict customs, which have long been fiercely guarded by Sister Aloysius Beauvier (Meryl Streep), the iron-gloved Principal who believes in the power of fear and discipline. The winds of political change are sweeping through the community, and indeed, the school has just accepted its first black student, Donald Miller. But when Sister James (Amy Adams), a hopeful innocent, shares with Sister Aloysius her guilt-inducing suspicion that Father Flynn is paying too much personal attention to Donald, Sister Aloysius sets off on a personal crusade to unearth the truth and to expunge Flynn from the school. Now, without a shard of proof besides her moral certainty, Sister Aloysius locks into a battle of wills with Father Flynn which threatens to tear apart the community with irrevocable consequence.

The marvelous Meryl Streep is frighteningly good as Sister Aloysius, the fire-breathing principal of a 1964 Bronx parochial school in John Patrick Shanley's powerful but stagy Doubt Streep will no doubt score her record 13th Oscar nomination as Best Actress for Sister Aloysius, who declares war on the parish priest, Father Brendan. Played by Philip Seymour Hoffman, Brendan appears more than ready for the battle.Already suspicious of the priest's embrace of the Vatican II reforms in his liberal sermons, the archly conservative sister - who finds ballpoint pens a newfangled abomination - senses ammunition when the naive Sister James (Adams) tells her that the school's first black student, an altar boy, returned from the rectory with the smell of alcohol on his breath.Sister Aloysius quickly concludes that her nemesis behaved improperly with Donald Miller (Joseph Foster II). And so might a contemporary audience that has heard countless stories of sexual abuse by priests over the past decade.But Shanley's Pulitzer-winning play - which he has adapted for the screen and also directed - is called Doubt for a reason. The movie's crux is Sister Aloysius trying to pin down the charming priest - and it's impossible to figure out from the text or Hoffman's skillful performance whether he's guilty as charged or merely the victim of the sister's witch hunt. Father Brendan admits taking a special interest in the boy, who is in a difficult situation because of his race. But he's admitting nothing, even as the sister's efforts to compel a confession escalate.While Hoffman is warmer here than in any previous screen role, Streep (stepping in for Cherry Jones, who created the role onstage) dominates the proceedings except for a single amazing scene.It involves not the priest, but a conversation between the sister and the boy's mother (Viola Davis) as they walk outside on a winter day.The mother announces a revelation that stuns the seemingly unflappable sister into momentary silence - and, in her single scene, Davis acts Streep right off the screen. Shanley works overtime to convince us of the story’s cinematic possibilities. The wind violently blows as Sister Aloysius’ suspicions grow. The camera is held at skewed angles when Father Flynn faces accusation. During one extended scene in Sister Aloysius’ office, there is a lot of fussy business over the window shades, which flood the room with interrogating light. Such intrusions are distracting, which may be why Streep goes big – she’s competing, in a sense, with the director. Sister Aloysius is a showy role - the quintessential tyrannical nun – and Streep goes with it. She makes her entrance viciously hushing the children during one of Father Flynn’s sermons, and soon she’s treating Father Flynn like one of those students, taking him into her office and turning the screws until he confesses. But does he have anything to confess? Doubt leaves us in doubt, thanks to Hoffman’s remarkable performance (by far the best in the film). Even as incriminating details mount, Hoffman gives Father Flynn so many layers we begin to wonder if he may be innocent – if his “spirit of compassion,” as he calls it, has been misunderstood. Doubt is less a story of sexual abuse within the church, then, than one of lesser, more insinuating sins: intolerance, impropriety, gossip. This is hands down one of the year’s best – as some awards groups are claiming – yet its central conundrum is still a riveting one: At what point might vigilance cloud our moral vision? A Chilling 4 on my "Go See" scale.

Believe in Despereaux

Once upon a time, in the faraway kingdom of Dor, there was magic in the air, raucous laughter aplenty and gallons of mouth-watering soup. But a terrible accident left the king broken-hearted, the princess filled with longing and the townsfolk despondent. All hope was lost in a land where sunlight disappeared and the world became dreary gray. Until Despereaux Tilling was born... A brave and virtuous mouse, Despereaux is simply too big for his small world. Though tiny, wheezy and saddled with comically oversized ears, Despereaux refuses to live a life of weakness and fear...believing he was destined to be celebrated in the tales of chivalry he so adores. When he's banished from his home for not following the rules that society expects of a mouse, Despereaux befriends fellow outcast Roscuro, a good-hearted rat who can't bear to look in the mirror and hopes to live far from the grim underground of his kind. While Despereaux begins his noble quest to rescue Pea--a princess who can't see beyond her distorted view of the world--his pal Roscuro receives a painful rejection from her highness that sets him on a course of self-destruction. Along their parallel adventures, the two encounter colorful characters from a serving girl who wishes to be a princess to the evil leader of the sewer rats, who plots revenge on humans from his fiefdom in the subterranean shadows he relishes but Roscuro can't abide. From the highest turrets of the glittering castle to the dankest dark of Dor's sewers, friendships will be tested as Despereaux and Roscuro embark upon a journey that will change the way they look at their world--and themselves--forever. In this tale of bravery, forgiveness and redemption, one tiny creature will teach a kingdom that it takes only a little light to show that what you look like doesn't equal what you are. This is The Tale of Despereaux.

If nothing else, The Tale of Despereaux will be an achievement in at least one regard. It demonstrates a way to do computer animation without relying solely on the shiny, plasticized versions of the world popularized early on by Pixar and now adopted completely in the Dreamworks camp. Based on an illustrated children's book, Despereaux feels hand-drawn but better, cartoony in all the right ways and lushly, perfectly stylized. Whether the convoluted story matches the gorgeous animation is another question. A small fable told on the large stage of a fantasyland castle, Despereaux is much more than just the story of its titular mouse. Like an interspecies game of telephone, the story follows a series of misunderstandings and prejudices among many residents of the kingdom, including the narrator herself (Sigourney Weaver). The film is adapted from four different books by Newberry Award winner Kate DiCamillo, and the choppy narrative structure is probably a result of all that condensing. Still, as an all-ages holiday diversion Despereaux will be hard to beat. Dor is the kind of fantasy kingdom in which princesses talk to mice, rats have an organized community, and soup is a cause for annual celebration. Roscuro (Dustin Hoffman) is a shipbound rat with a culinary nose who arrives in Dor on the day of the great soup unveiling, when the king's chef serves the entire kingdom his latest concoction. A series of mistakes later, Roscuro lands in the queen's soup bowl and scares her to death; the king goes into a deep depression, the chef is rendered obsolete, and all rats are banned from the kingdom forever. After all that exposition, we finally meet Despereaux (Matthew Broderick), a tiny mouse with outsized ears and dreams to match them. His parents (Wililam H. Macy and Frances Conroy), along with the school principal (Richard Jenkins), encourage him to be timid and meek like other mice, but Desperaux dreams of chivalry and swordfights and courtly love. His dreams all come true when he meets and befriends Princess Pea (Emma Watson), left lonely by her father's depression and desperate to be rescued. But a lonely servant girl named Miggory Sow (Tracey Ullman) is so jealous of the princess that she aims to kidnap the princess and take her place, and she eventually finds an ally in Roscuro, who wants to escape exile in the rat kingdom and be welcomed by the princess the same way Despereaux is. It's way too much plot for such a brief children's movie, especially including the back stories for characters like Miggory and a castle guard and whole scenes between the chef and a man made of vegetables. They're the kind of subplots that become comfortable detours in a book, especially when told with such imagination, but in the film they take away from the story's central drive. Despereaux and Roscuro run up and down in the castle, go through exile and salvation and wind up at the center of a rat-style gladiator event, and it's enough to try and keep up with those two. It's a shame that the elegance of the animation and the storytelling don't match up, since Despereaux makes for such a nice throwback to "once upon a time" and "far, far away." I'd nearly forgotten, after Enchanted and the Shrek movies, that there's a genuine delight in settling into a story with jokes that don't derive from pop culture references, and themes that aren't a reflection on anything particularly real. So while the elegant escapism that apparently made the book such a treasure doesn't quite translate to the screen, Despereaux remains its own quiet kind of achievement, an entertaining throwback absent irony or pretension. An enchanted 3 on my "Go See" scale

TDTESS is worth the IMAX treat

In The Day The Earth Stood Still, renowned scientist Dr. Helen Benson finds herself face to face with an alien called Klaatu, who travels across the universe to warn of an impending global crisis. When forces beyond Helen's control treat the extraterrestrial as a hostile and deny his request to address the world's leaders, she and her estranged stepson Jacob quickly discover the deadly ramifications of Klaatu's claim that he is a friend to the Earth. Now Helen must find a way to convince the entity who was sent to destroy us that mankind is worth saving--but it may be too late. The process has begun.

While the new version, which stars a punch-line-ready Keanu Reeves, is likely to make audiences pine for the meta-irony of "Mystery Science Theater 3000," it's not a complete failure. It will shock few to learn that Reeves is uniquely well suited for the role of Klaatu, the alien life form that takes on a human body to warn earthlings of the coming apocalypse unless they change their ways. In the original, Klaatu's message was antiwar, and although "The Day the Earth Stood Still" conveys an unmistakable critique of reflexive military responses to things we don't understand. After landing in Central Park in a glowing bluish orb, getting shot and escaping his U.S. government captors, Klaatu makes his mysterious way through the New York metropolitan area like a one-man electromagnetic jamming device, GPS and Inconvenient Truth. Helping him along is a Princeton astrobiologist named Helen Benson (Connelly), whose young stepson, Jacob (Jaden Smith), thinks Klaatu is the enemy and keeps trying to get him busted. Meanwhile, the real star of both versions of the movie, a gigantic robot named Gort, has been confiscated by the authorities after trying to save Klaatu's life. In 1951, the intergalactic golem was a silvery, rather clunky attempt to reflect a time defined by the sleek lines of industrial designer Raymond Loewy. Here, the leviathan is matte black, with one single, penetrating red eye, wreaking havoc on all who cross its path like a piece of public sculpture run amok. There are very few surprises in "The Day the Earth Stood Still," whether viewers have seen the original or not. In fact, the most genuinely shocking thing about the remake is that director Scott Dickerson resists the more-bloated-the-better fad and doesn't overreach. While a big deal is being made that the film is being shown in IMAX theaters, little of the movie lends itself to that technology's bigger-and-louder aesthetic. Still, "The Day the Earth Stood Still" earns points for efficient storytelling, and Derrickson has cast some terrific actors in those supporting roles, including Kathy Bates as the secretary of defense, John Cleese as a Nobel Prize-winning theorist, and TV dreamboats Kyle Chandler and Jon Hamm as Pentagon apparatchiks. Those Imax-friendly bells and whistles finally make their presence felt in the last half-hour of "The Day the Earth Stood Still," when Gort unleashes its fury and a swarm of malignant, metallic locusts descends upon the Earth like a swiftly metastasizing scourge. Reeves, echoing his role as Neo in the "Matrix" movies, again hits his marks with impassive blankness as a transcendent, Christlike figure of sacrifice and redemption. Through it all, the filmmakers adamantly withhold any and all potential for unintentional campiness. Even the original's best-loved piece of dialogue, "Klaatu barada nikto," has been quietly excised. Solemn, sober and efficient, "The Day the Earth Stood Still" -- much like Klaatu himself -- gets the job done and moves on. And Robert Wise, far from spinning in his grave, has no doubt simply shifted position for an untroubled eternal rest. An outworldly 3 on my "Go See" sacle.

Grumpy Old Dirty Harry

Hardworking Oscar winner Clint Eastwood releases his second film in 2008 (after THE CHANGELING) with this drama. Eastwood also stars as Walt Kowalski, an older man who holds onto his prejudices despite the changes in his neighborhood and the world around him.

Everyone has at least one friend with a racist grandparent. They’ll scream and shout about how the Mexicans are moving into the neighborhood or bitch about the white devils down the street. They’re not out there actively wearing clan hoods or marching in hate demonstrations, but they’re not above dropping the occasional racial slur. Many people tend to excuse racism among the elderly as a product of the way they were raised. “My granny’s from a different time,” your friend will tell you after spending twenty minutes trapped in her kitchen while she blames the Jews for 9/11. “She’s not a hate-monger, she just doesn’t know any better,” your friend will say. Until now, that’s an excuse I’ve never really bought into. But Eastwood makes a rather compelling case for it in his new grandpa gets revenge flick Gran Torino. At 78, perhaps the only actor in the history of American cinema to convincingly kick the butt of a guy 60 years his junior, the hard-headed, snarly mouthed Clint Eastwood of the 1970s comes growling back to life in Gran Torino. Centered on a cantankerous man who can fairly be described as Archie Bunker fully loaded (with beer and guns), the actor-director's second release of the season is his most stripped-down, unadorned picture in many a year, even as it continues his long preoccupation with race in American society. Highlighted by the star's vastly entertaining performance, this funny, broad but ultimately serious-minded drama about an old-timer driven to put things right in his deteriorating neighborhood looks to be a big audience-pleaser with mainstream viewers of all ages. Stewing in the poison of a half-century of post-traumatic stress disorder, Clint Eastwood's ornery bigot Walt Kowalski, the antihero of this western-like tragicomedy set in a contemporary Michigan suburb, sits on his front porch pounding cans of PBR and bemoaning the influx of "zipperheads and gooks" in his formerly white neighborhood. He is everybody’s angry, racist grandpa crossed-bred with gun-toting Mr. Strickland from Back to the Future. His wife has recently died and he’s the last white person left in an old neighborhood which has long since been repopulated with immigrants. We never see Walt’s life with his wife, but he speaks of her with reverence. Presumably she was a stabilizing influence. Without her he’s anger, bitterness and loneliness personified; a sour-faced ogre who seems to hate everyone and everything around him. He sits day after day on his porch guzzling beer, scowling at his neighbors and calling them the most vicious ethnic slurs imaginable. His relationship with his greedy, selfish family is little better. After a long life Walt has no tolerance left for laziness or fools. “Pussy!” he snarls whenever someone fails to live up to his expectations. He wouldn’t be out of place running into the street, firing off a shotgun and screaming “slackers!” at passing children, and at first it seems that a bitter, fed-up, racist husk is all that’s left of craggy-faced old Walt. Walt may have a low opinion of the world, but he’s a man of principal and character. When gangbangers rough up the quiet Hmong (people from Southeast Asia) family next door, he drives them off with a rifle in a classic, Eastwood, badass standoff. His grateful neighbors don’t buy it when he growls that he simply didn’t want them on his lawn, and Walt wakes up the next morning to discover his porch littered with gifts. Walt isn’t interested in their friendship at first, but eventually he starts to see some value in Thao and Sue (Bee Vang & Ahney Her), the Lor family’s well-behaved kids, a marked contrast to his own self-absorbed grandchildren. Soon even he gets sick of all the constant loneliness and Walt accepts an invite to dinner where he develops an affinity for Hmong food. In another film, this is the spot where hard-bitten racist Walt would be magically transformed into old softie. The movie would end with him weeping and perhaps reconnecting with his son. Well forget it. That never happens in Gran Torino and maybe that’s why it’s so damn good. There’s obvious affection between Walt and his neighbors but he stays the same unforgiving, bitter, aged badass he is at the beginning of the film. Rather than them changing him, he sets out to change them by taking Thao under his wing and working with him to build character, to turn him into a proper man. Soon it’s clear that Walt loves Thao and his family, his loneliness is satiated, but he goes right on calling them “chinks” and “spoonheads”. It’s not out of malice, for Walt that’s just the way it’s always been. Thao and Sue look past it, recognizing they’re only words. They’ve seen the good in him and it outweighs whatever it is that makes him such a cynical old man. If there’s any change in Walt it’s that his tolerance for the thugs and gangbangers who accost his friends has become even lower. He sets out to protect Thao and Sue. His way of protecting them is by packing a pistol and refusing to put up with crap. Imagine every butt-kicking, unflinching character Clint Eastwood has ever played. Now imagine seeing them in their twilight years, wrinkled, haggard, on death’s door, and spitting in the face of death one last time to help a friend. As Walt lets Thao and Sue in, he starts to care. The more he starts to care the less he can stand to let the scum continue to rule his neighborhood. He loads his weapon and stands up. Clint Eastwood’s performance as Walt is his best work as an actor in years, a return to all of the things that made him great as a younger man. He’s brilliant and imposing, shocking and so over the top he’s often funny. Unfortunately the rest of the movie’s cast isn’t quite up to the task of going toe to toe with them. They range in acting ability from bearable to plumb awful. Christopher Carley is the film’s worst offender as a concerned neighborhood priest and the gangbangers Walt takes on never manage anything better than thug stereotypes. Bee Vang and Ahney Her fair better as Thao and Sue also there is John Carroll Lynch who will have you laughing out loud in the back and forth scenes in the barbershop, it’s Eastwood that makes Gran Torino so compelling. Gran Torino is a movie you must see. The PC police will almost certainly lambaste it, attempt to dismiss it as clumsy and cry out in shock at Eastwood’s willingness to portray a man so filled with hate and intolerance. I will say that I thought that the racial slurs were a little too much at times, but Gran Torino is smarter than it seems and it’s broader, funnier, and more straightforward than you’d expect. This is the Clint Eastwood we all remember in a perfect final performance. He’s riding off into the sunset scowling, snarling, and spitting blood. Go and see this movie. It's the last time you'll see Clint on the big screen.

Valkyrie almost made me cry...it was that boring

The July 20th Plot on Hitler's life is one of the most heroic, but least known episodes of World War II history. Severely wounded in combat, Colonel Claus von Stauffenberg (Tom Cruise) returns from Africa to join the German Resistance, and help create Operation Valkyrie, the complex plan that will allow a shadow government to replace Hitler's once he is dead. But fate and circumstance conspire to thrust Stauffenberg from one of many in the plot to a double-edged central role. Not only must he lead the coup and seize control of his nation's government--he must kill Hitler himself in Valkyrie.

In a country in the grips of evil, in a police state where every move is being watched, in a world where justice and honor have been subverted, a group of men hidden inside the highest reaches of power decide to take action. Based on the true story of Colonel Claus von Stauffenberg and the daring and ingenious plot to eliminate one of the most evil tyrants the world has ever known. A proud military man, Colonel Claus von Stauffenberg (Cruise)is a loyal officer who serves his country all the while hoping that someone will find a way to stop Hitler (David Bamber) before Europe and Germany are destroyed. Realizing that time is running out, he decides that he must take action himself and joins the German resistance. Armed with a cunning strategy to use Hitler's own emergency plan - known as Operation Valkyrie - these men plot to assassinate the dictator and overthrow his Nazi government from the inside. After a long takeoff, "Valkyrie" finally takes flight as a thriller in its second half but never soars very high. Bryan Singer's long-awaited account of the near-miss assassination of Adolf Hitler by a ring of rebel German army officers on July 20, 1944, has visual splendor galore, but is a cold work lacking in the requisite tension and suspense. Cruise himself is a bit stiff but still adequate as Col. Claus von Stauffenberg, the handsome, aristocratic officer whose disenchantment with Nazism, the Fuehrer and the war finds sympathetic ears among a sizable number of military bigwigs at a time when the tide has turned against Germany in the East and an Allied invasion is expected imminently in the West. As if the filmmakers felt the need to show modern viewers who might wonder why they should emotionally indulge Nazi authority figures, the opening is swathed in Stauffenberg's feelings about how Hitler and the SS are a "stain" on the German army and his coincidentally contemporary desire for a "change" in the country's leadership. Shortly after entering these sentiments into his diary while serving in Tunisia in 1943, Stauffenberg is badly injured and loses his right arm, the last two fingers of his left hand and his left eye; with a black eyepatch, he still looks quite dashing, even if executing a Nazi salute with a prosthetic arm might appear rather irreverent. Slowly letting his sympathies show, Stauffenberg is introduced to a circle of powerful men, many of them old-school army officers whose conservative notions are closer to those of the Kaiser of their youth than to the rabid ideology of Hitler and the SS. Script unfortunately erases many of the interesting personal and political nuances pertaining to these men, notably the urgent belief of some that, with Hitler gone, they could join with the United States and Britain to beat back the Soviet Union and prevent the Bolshevization of Germany. What is perhaps most amazing about the plot is that so many people were involved and yet it was never detected with any certainty. Among the central figures: Major-Gen. Henning von Tresckow (Kenneth Branagh), first seen trying to kill Hitler by sneaking a bomb onto the Fuehrer's plane; retired Gen. Ludwig Beck (Terence Stamp), a longtime Hitler opponent at the center of the military-civilian conspiracy; Gen. Friedrich Olbricht (Bill Nighy), another veteran resistance figure still in a position of authority; Gen. Erich Fellgiebel (Eddie Izzard), whose role in charge of communications at Hitler's Wolf's Lair compound in East Prussia would be crucial to the plot's chances; and the most equivocal figure, Gen. Friedrich Fromm (Tom Wilkinson), commander in chief of the reserve army in Berlin, and a cagey operator who artfully turns a blind eye to the conspirators' activities while remaining cautiously loyal to the Reich. As it finally takes shape, the plan hinges not just on eliminating the Fuehrer but on implementing a coup in Berlin. To this end, Stauffenberg has the brilliant idea of turning Operation Valkyrie, the code name for a measure enabling the reserve army to take control of Berlin in a national emergency, to their own purposes. Stauffenberg, thanks to his access, will place a bomb in a briefcase underneath the large conference table during a briefing at Wolf's Lair, while his associates in the capital will implement the government takeover as Stauffenberg flies back to Berlin. An ambitious plan, to be certain, one in which details large and small go wrong. Putting it on the screen in a clean, classically derived style, Singer is careful to make sure everything is clear to the viewer and emphasizes the sometimes daunting physical reality of things, such as the difficulty Stauffenberg, with only three fingers, has in cutting the thick metal wire necessary to set the bomb's fuse. Once Stauffenberg has set off the explosion and cleverly slips away, convinced Hitler couldn't possibly have survived, the picture's grip strengthens somewhat as the coup, initially delayed, ultimately stumbles forward. Due to interrupted lines, no one in Berlin knows if Hitler is alive or dead, and the film's single haunting scene shows a room full of female communications operators slowly raising their hands, one by one, to indicate to their supervisor that they have received some news -- the Fuehrer is dead. It isn't long before evidence to the contrary comes through. The reserve army, which has rounded up the SS and gone to arrest Goebbels (whose name Cruise for some reason makes rhyme with "nobles"), is told to stand down, and the tables are turned on the conspirators after a few heady hours. And Germany has nine months of devastation to look forward to. Story's fascination, ironies, missed opportunities, implications and what-if aspects invest Valkyrie with automatic appeal for anyone interested in history in general and World War II in particular. But a nagging feeling persists throughout that the film should be more gripping than it is, and that the men involved could have been revealed with more complexity and dimension. Cruise makes Stauffenberg a stalwart, flawed and honorable man, but reveals little sense of his stellar intellectual, artistic and family background. The star's neutral Yank accent contrasts with the British voices that surround him but, truth be told, it is more the Anglo intonations coming out of the German characters that sound oddly disconcerting. Of the character actors, Wilkinson most impresses with his robust presentation of an intriguingly Janus-like figure. David Bamber carries off a pretty plausible portrait of the declining Hitler in a handful of scenes. Although it would have looked like inappropriate stunt casting in this context, the suspicion nonetheless persists that the contemporary English-speaking actor who would make the most interesting screen Hitler is former Singer cohort Kevin Spacey. By the end credits, I was bored and wishing that I had walked out 10 mins into the movie. I just didn't have any compassion for any of the characters even after they were all caught and executed. I just wanted the movie to be over. It felt like a total waste of my time, but the trailer looked good and we all know that sometimes all the best parts are in the trailer. A saddend 2 on my "Go See" scale.

Benjamin Button's case turned out to be quite beautiful

“I was born under unusual circumstances.” And so begins “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button,” adapted from the 1920s story by F. Scott Fitzgerald about a man who is born in his eighties and ages backwards: a man, like any of us, who is unable to stop time. We follow his story, set in New Orleans from the end of World War I in 1918, into the 21st century, following his journey that is as unusual as any man’s life can be. The film tells a grand tale of a not-so-ordinary man and the people and places he discovers along the way, the loves he finds, the joys of life and the sadness of death, and what lasts beyond time.

There's no way to watch David Fincher's odd sentimental ode, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, without thinking of its cinematic cousin and spiritual ancestor, Forrest Gump. Like that Tom Hanks blockbuster, Benjamin Button deals with a good-hearted simpleton (Brad Pitt, in the title role) who journeys far and wide to discover overstated truisms about living and dying. Like Gump, Button's got a sweet-but-stern Southern mama (Taraji P. Henson), and an enduring love interest (Cate Blanchett) that accompanies him through the chapters of his life. The two films share a strange magic realism, stretching the bonds of credulity without caution. Most importantly, both films are shamelessly designed to tug the heartstrings of mainstream audiences, while simultaneously appearing highbrow enough to garner some year-end awards.

"The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" represents a richly satisfying serving of deep-dish Hollywood storytelling. This odd, epic tale of a man who ages backwards is presented in an impeccable classical manner, every detail tended to with fastidious devotion. An example of the most advanced technology placed entirely at the service of story and character, this significant change-of-pace from director David Fincher poses some daunting marketing challenges, even with Brad Pitt atop the cast. Strong critical support will be needed to swell interest in this absorbing, even moving, but emotionally cool film, which is simultaneously accessible and distinctive enough to catch on with a large public. Using precious little of the story save the central aging conceit, Roth's version ranges from World War I into the 21st century and creatively uses New Orleans as its base, with sojourns to distant corners of the globe. Scripter could have chosen to make the central figure a more exceptional, active character -- a doer of great things, or an intellectual with an acute awareness of his unique condition. Instead, Benjamin is a passive sort to whom things happen, a trait by no means an impediment to audience involvement. Death pervades the film and Benjamin's life, but in a matter-of-fact, rather than depressing way; if you're raised among oldsters in a retirement home, death is never a stranger. Framing story is set in a modern hospital room, where the fading Daisy (a recognizable Cate Blanchett under heavy makeup) has her 40ish daughter Caroline (Julia Ormond) read to her from the diary of her late dear friend Benjamin. Benjamin is born of the armistice and is lovingly raised by a black attendant, Queenie (Henson), at the rest home. An establishment awash in the gentility of the Old South, the place is ideal for a child who, with his bald pate, cataracts, deficient hearing and need for a wheelchair, fits right in with the other occupants. When he's 12 and looks about 70, Benjamin meets a resident's lovely red-haired granddaughter, Daisy. Daisy will zig-zag in and out of his life from then on and eventually embody his emotional touchstone. With a solicitous stranger he doesn't know is actually his father (Jason Flemyng), as well as with an African pygmy (Rampai Mohadi), Benjamin gets a taste of the outside world, including the pleasures of the flesh at a bordello. He also befriends hard-drinking tugboat captain Mike (Jared Harris) and, in time-honored tradition for a young man, goes to sea. In one of the film's most bewitching interludes, Benjamin, who has begun to realize he's looking younger, has an affair in Murmansk with the sophisticated Elizabeth (Tilda Swinton), from whom he learns what it is to be loved and desired. Pic's action highlight is a startling nocturnal encounter between the tug and a Nazi U-boat that has just sunk a troop transport. Safely back in New Orleans after the war, Benjamin becomes reacquainted with Daisy, now a rising dancer and unashamed sensualist who comes on a little strong for her old friend. But after his father dies, leaving him his button factory and entire estate, Benjamin follows Daisy to New York, where he sees her dancing the ballet in "Carousel," then to Paris, only to continue being rejected by the headstrong young woman even after she suffers a terrible tragedy detailed in a suspense montage that by itself reps a dazzling display of directorial savoir faire. Much of the film's romantic and philosophical posture hinges on Benjamin and Daisy getting together at the right time, and they do so in an entirely satisfying way; by the time of consummation, with Brad Pitt now in full physical glory and Blanchett at her womanly peak, they -- and the audience -- are more than ready for it. But their passion is all the more pointedly ephemeral due to the consciousness of being headed in opposite physical directions. The necessary acceptance of this fact produces a sincerely and genuinely earned sense of melancholy about the transitive nature of love and life. Complete with rich images and symbols, the features opening and closing symbolic sign, a huge clock. When the saga begins, daisy tells us that the clock was built by a craftsman named Monsiuer Devereux (Elias Koteas) as tribute to hi lost son, a WWI fighter. After that, Devereux simply disappeared, but not his creation, which decorates the glorious New Orleans train station. At the end of the journey, after hurricane Katrina hits hard, the last image in the movie is of the same clock, washed by water, crushed on the floor. Very well shot, wonderfully acted. An all around treat. This is one of my favorites of the year. A warm 5 on my "Go See" scale.

Give the guy a Nobel. He just made an interesting movie

In Nobel Son, Barkley Michaelson (Brian Greenberg) is in a deep life rut. He's struggling to finish his PhD thesis when his father, the learned Eli Michaelson (Alan Rickman), wins the Nobel Prize for Chemistry. Barkley and his mother, Sarah (Mary Steenburgen), a renowned forensic psychiatrist, now have the ill-fortune of living with a man-eating monster whose philandering ways have gotten less and less discrete. As if Barkley's world is not bad enough, on the eve of his father receiving the Nobel, Barkley is kidnapped and the requested ransom is the $2,000,000 in Nobel prize money. Needless to say, Eli refuses to pay it and so starts a venomous tale of familial dysfunction, lust, betrayal and ultimately revenge that proves that payback is a bitch. In the words of Michel De Montaigne, the 16th century philosopher: "There is more barbarity in eating a man alive than in eating him dead."

Professor Eli Michaelson (Rickman) has just been awarded the Nobel Prize in chemistry. The endowment transforms the prof's already insufferable narcissism into outright arrogance. For the rest of Michaelson clan, the Swedish coronation only adds insult to injury. Helmer Miller and co-writer/wife Jody Savin, whose work has tilted toward the sweet and sentimental, here throw themselves into twisted villainy with gusto. Even the good characters, like Mary Steenburgen's Sarah, Rickman's long-suffering wife by night and a forensic pathologist by day, harbor unexpected depths of deviousness. Michaelson's callow son Barkley (Bryan Greenberg), sole offspring and bitter disappointment, is finishing up his thesis on cannibalism and trying to subsist on a measly paternal stipend of $35 a week. After a date with a weirdo poetess named City Hall (the irresistibly sexy Eliza Dushku), he is kidnapped. Enter Thaddeus James (Shawn Hatosy), abductor, mechanical genius and advanced chemistry autodidact, claiming to be Barkley's illegitimate half-brother (What?). Thaddeus alternately threatens and convinces Barkley into joining him in his multimillion-dollar kidnap/extortion/revenge plot against their father. It seems that Eli's womanizing has gotten the best of him when back in 1984 he slept with his so-called best friends wife, thus producing Thaddeus. The plan goes on without a hitch until Thaddeus decides that he wants more. He wants Barkley's life. First he starts by taking his girl, then he kills neurotic renter of the garage apartment, Gastner (Danny DeVito), who just happens to be recovering from his Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, to move in with the family. From there, Barkley talks to the only person who has always had his back, dear ol' mom.

With more story twists than a designer pretzel -- including an anonymous amputated thumb and a gratuitous corpse in a bathtub -- the adrenalin-fueled pic thankfully slows to a halt after only a few to many loop-de-loops. This is one to make you think. You'll go "Huh?", "What?", "Ah, Okay...", but you're meant to. It's got mystery and action and comedy as well. Alan Rickman is at his best here as the professor who's head gets too big when he wins the coveted Nobel Prize for Chemistry....Oh wait, he was a pompous ass before he got the award as too. LOL The cast works well together, Hatosy as the mischievous half brother that comes out of nowhere, Steenburgen as the devoted mother who loves her son, and Dushku as the wierdo poet/artist who has quite a few problems of her own. Even the supporting cast feels right at home in this crazy world. DeVito is downright funny as the neighbor that not too long ago left the nut house for treatments of OCD. Here he tries to live day to day without flipping out and he plays the character well. We also have Bill Pullman who plays the Detective/Family friend who without a doubt has a crush on mother, Sarah. It was a very intriguing ride to say the least and I wasn't disappointed. I say go and see it. This gets a 3 on my "Go See" scale.

DAMN! Look at Van Damme now!

In JCVD, Jean-Claude Van Damme is Jean-Claude Van Damme. Losing his roles to Steven Seagal and a custody battle over his young daughter, the international action hero is struggling to maintain relevancy on levels both professional and personal. But when Jean-Claude walks into a bank to withdraw his attorney fees and is suddenly in the thick of a heist, is the haggard superstar orchestrating the stickup? Or is he simply a hostage, as trapped by fame as he is by criminals, who happens to know a couple of take-down moves?

JCVD may not be the first meta-musclehead movie, but it's certainly the most surprising. Of all the rippled hunks bone-breaking their way through the last 20 years of action films, Jean-Claude Van Damme would seem to be the least self-aware. A bantam fighting cock, "The Muscles From Brussels" has postured, preened, and kickboxed his way through 30-plus movies, almost all of them dreadful. Never has he intimated he can act; never has he hinted that he's even in on the joke. Don't be fooled by its action-ready premise; JCVD isn't quite the latest kickboxing carousal from the Muscles from Brussels. It's something even better: a sad, seriocomic meta-movie that may recall BEING JOHN MALKOVICH or one of Charlie Kaufman's many other ontological curios in the minds of some viewers. But, while both JCVD and MALKOVICH examine the strangeness of celebrity through the lens of absurdist self-referential filmmaking, and both films choose a fascinating, quasi-alienating aesthetic of vibrantly muddy mid-tones, JCVD dresses its dankness in glaringly blown-out lighting effects that acknowledge a topsy-turvy world in which artifice sits just upon reality. It also assumes the opposition of its Kaufman counterpart by being the one to look at fame from within (which is ironic, since it isn't the one that features people entering an actor's head and peeping though his eyes). Buzzily hilarious, JCVD is a personal, deeply felt film. Van Damme's delivery of a Fellini-esque soliloquy about the angst of fame could've resulted in the action star coming across as a crybaby. Instead, the speech, in which he breaks the fourth wall and expresses his ironic frustrations, is revelatory and heartbreaking. It starts off with a bang: a four-minute tracking shot that follows the star as he's filming an absurdly overheated battle scene - Get the Uzi! Grab the machete! Toss the grenade! Set that extra on fire! - before ending with the perfect Murphy's Law capper. Maybe director/co-writer Mabrouk El Machri is proving his movie-geek bona fides but he quickly downshifts, showing Van Damme sitting in court, sighing as his ex-wife's lawyer proves the star's unfitness for child custody by reeling off the methods in which he has dispatched onscreen villains over the years. Cut to Brussels, where a disconsolate Van Damme drops into a bank branch office to make a withdrawal and is caught up in a real-life robbery. Outside in the street, the cops, the hostage negotiator (François Damiens), and the growing throngs are convinced the star has popped a screw and gone outlaw. Inside, the robbers can't believe their luck. The sadistic gang leader schemes how best to use their A-list hostage, while the inside man - a true fan - just wants Jean-Claude to demonstrate his high kick. It walks a tightrope of knowing parody, earning laughs from the inherent cognitive dissonance involved in movie stardom. Everyone keeps remarking that Van Damme's shorter than they expected; the locals criticize him in theory then turn into fawning idolators as soon as he's right there in front of them. The star, aware that he's reached his sell-by date, crumples with despair when he hears that Steven Seagal has cut off his ponytail to win a role they both coveted. The craziest thing? Van Damme proves that he's a pretty decent actor, at least when he's working in his native French. It might seem like has the easiest role in the world - he has to play himself as a terrible actor - but it's usually the easiest roles in the world that are the most demanding, and Van Damme plays his character with a dead-eyed weariness that is honestly very moving at times, particularly during a monologue late in the film where he expresses his frustrations at being nothing but a star of shitty action movies, and not even being good enough at that to justify the love he receives for it; in this scene, we see Jean-Claude Van Damme weep openly, and that is something that you just don't expect to see. No, it's not the best performance in the world, but it's also light-years beyond anything else we've ever seen from this actor, and since the very concept of JCVD hinges on Van Damme playing himself well as an incompetent, it's a weirdly exciting thing, too. This movie's greatest trick is that it's a highbrow treatment of a lowbrow subject (plus, the movie is spoken almost entirely in French), which is always good for a blast of irony. El Mechri shoots in a kind of metallic gray, which deliberately undercuts the plain, clean look of Van Damme's action films, but also invokes violence and hopelessness. He pulls off a neat trick toward the end, playing on Van Damme's status as a hero, but also calling attention to the film itself. Regardless of how anyone takes it, JCVD will definitely throw a new light on Van Damme as a celebrity; he seems like less of a joke now. In the movie, he appears tired and sad and frustrated, which makes him less a cartoon and more like a guy you'd like to share a beer with (he's more of a movie star). It may even cause a cult revival of old Van Damme films. Go and see this one. It may just surprise you just as it did me. An ass-kickin' 4 on my "Go See" scale.