My Favorite Movies

This is the movie I have been waiting for since I first became a devoted film fanatic. It takes a perfect distillation of everything I love about truly great cinema (e.g. "the classics"- Godfather, A Clockwork Orange, Silence of the Lambs, etc.)- the depth of emotion, the layered plot, the thematic consistency, the dramatic intensity (ESPECIALLY the dramatic intensity)- and seamlessly fuses with it my favorite genre character of all time: the Batman. The result is the first film based on a superhero that takes itself 100% seriously, never condescending the integrity of its own premise and, in the process, creating a brilliant work of action, drama, and suspense, a crime thriller that just happens to center around a hero in a cape and cowl. As a viewing experience, it's a white-knuckle affair; there is really nothing to prepare you for how powerful this film is, from the shocking intensity of the violence to the dark tragedy of the characters. It's a film that wrings you out, keeping you breathing hard and bolted to your seat, and finally leaving you emotionally drained and, bizarrely, wishing for more. Picking up shortly after Batman Begins left off, we find Bruce Wayne diligently working to bring down the mob as the Batman, joining forces with Lieutenant James Gordon and the newly-elected District Attorney Harvey Dent to stop organized crime in Gotham City for good. Everything seems to be going to plan, until a recent rash of mafia-bank robberies brings to the attention of the mob a criminal called the Joker, a madman slathered in clown make-up who offers to rid them of the Batman once and for all. Suddenly, no one in Gotham is safe, and as the Joker's chaotic rampage through the city racks up more and more victims, Batman finds himself struggling with the moral code he's set for himself in the light of the Joker's limitless cruelty. For his second go-round as the Dark Knight, Christian Bale has got his character down pat, from the vapid playboy facade (that creates some of the lighter points of the movie) to the dark, gravelly-voiced creature that is Batman (who gets much more screen time than Wayne does, actually); but as the real Wayne, who so few are privileged to see, Bruce is deeply conflicted about his double life, torn between the desire to leave it all behind (an opportunity presented by the rising star D.A. Dent) and his need to fulfill his self-appointed mission. Things become even more complicated when the Joker turns his double identity against him, shifting public opinion against the Dark Knight and trying to force him into turning himself in. Working with Batman this time is Harvey Dent, as played by Aaron Eckhart- a public crusader for justice who personifies the hope for a better future in Gotham City. Harvey is a truly good, decent man, trying his best to do the right thing in the mire of corruption and politics, but unfortunately he still is just a man, and every man has a breaking point; Dent goes through a major character arc through the course of the film, one that twists his ideals against themselves and transforms him into a tragic, all-too-plausible monster, and Eckhart plays the descent into darkness phenomenally. The third man of our trio of heroes in this film is Gary Oldman, back for round two as Lieutenant James Gordon. This time, his skills as an actor are put to much better use, as Gordon has much more to do here than before: he is a father, a friend, a cop, and a man of action in this film, and especially near the end his character is put through the wringer, but Oldman delivers like he always does. And then, there's the Joker. There really aren't enough good things I can say about the late Heath Ledger's turn as the Clown Prince of Crime- he IS the Joker. He manages to craft a completely unpredictable character, one that is both amazingly scary and surprisingly funny at the same time (as perfectly captured early on in the film: "How about a magic trick?"). A self-described engine of chaos, everything about him is chaotic, from his often violent actions and statements (he describes several different scenarios for how he acquired his scars, investing himself intensely into each one) to his facial tics and mannerisms; Ledger disappears completely into the role, so much so that it's hard to connect the tragedy of Ledger's death to the character when you're actually watching him (which is both a great relief for the audience and a hell of a compliment to his performance, when you think about it). Even though he has the least screen time of all the principal leads, his presence looms over the entirety of the film (kind of like Thomas Wayne's in Batman Begins, but much more potently), creating a disorienting sense that absolutely ANYONE can die at any moment. As for the rest of the cast, they are all expanded upon from the previous film, and they are ALL fantastic: Michael Caine's Alfred has the unenviable task of keeping Bruce's spirit intact through the pain he's subjected to, Morgan Freeman's Lucias Fox faces up to an ethical dilemma of his own when Batman's quest to fight crime pushes past the boundaries of basic human rights, and Maggie Gyllenhaal, infinitely more pleasant as Rachel Dawes than Katie Holmes was, is stuck in a love triangle between childhood friend Bruce and the handsome, likable Dent. The script is tight and powerful, despite the film's long run time; there is not a single scene that could have been left out, and the intricate plot that's constructed is incredibly elaborate, thematically rich, and deeply engrossing. The character work and dialogue is fantastic: the dramatic highlight of the film would have to be the interrogation room scene between Batman and the Joker, in which we learn a lot about the Joker's twisted ideology and his perceived connection with Batman. The action this time around is astonishing, too; Christopher Nolan, apparently tired of complaints about the shooting style of the fight sequences in Batman Begins, now shoots simple, straightforward angles of the energetically choreographed clashes, making them much more effective. The stunt work and effects are blazingly good, keeping C.G. use to a minimum to maintain maximum believability (they flipped a semi truck. For real. Even seeing it in the trailer doesn't diminish the awe inspired by that moment). The cinematography trades the golden hues of Begins for colder blue tones, which creates a bleak landscape for our heroes to fight in; the music, by Hans Zimmer and James Newton Howard, is electrifying, conjuring the twisted darkness of the Joker while holding true to the heroism of Batman and Dent. All around, the Dark Knight is a quantum leap forward from its predecessor (described aptly by some as the Godfather II of superhero films); Christopher Nolan has really stepped up his game with this one, creating for the first time a rich, deeply layered cinematic experience that centers around a superhero, albeit one that's as flawed and human as any other film protagonist. This is the first superhero film that could rightly be categorized as an achievement in film as an art form, and not simply a commercial venture, and I hope that it gets the recognition that it deserves. Frankly, my only real concern is with how Nolan is going to top it, especially without Ledger around to conjure his magically sinister Clown Prince of Crime anymore (there is no way they can recast that role), but even if this were to be the last Batman film ever produced, I think it would be a hell of a good way to go out. Ultimately, this movie is everything I've ever wanted in a film- it's as simple as that. "Why so serious?"

Not quite a horror movie. Not quite an action movie. Not quite a comedy. Just what is Evil Dead 2, anyway? To put it simply: awesome. Evil Dead 2 is an exercise in style, slapstick, and over-the-top, almost cartoonish violence. Not pretentious in the least, Evil Dead 2 embraces its status as low-budget schlock and, as a result, has a great time going as far out as it possibly can in terms of effects, camera movements, and lighting. While the first film was almost a wrote execution of the "Ten Little Indians" formula (with only five Indians, at that), Evil Dead 2 eschews any attempt at horror with comic hyperbole and, in the latter portion of the film, pure pulp action, typified by our chainsaw-wielding hero, Ash. Bruce Campbell as Ash is the Charlie Brown of horror films- all the shit in the world lands squarely on his shoulders, and you can't help but laugh at his misery. Between the pansy preppy-boy from Evil Dead and the square-jawed he-man of Army Of Darkness, Ash actually has a character arc in this film (!)- though it's obvious in the viewing that character is the last thing on director Sam Raimi's mind. Instead, it's all about pushing the envelope, both in terms of tone and technique. When does horror become comedy? And more importantly, just how much crap can happen to one guy in only two days? As far as acting goes, the performances from everyone involved are so far from believable that just watching them say their lines is hilarious, and yes, that includes Bruce Campbell. Sam Raimi takes center stage in this movie instead, as the film is loaded with camera work that would prove to be the director's trademark. The evil force camera POV returns in a chase scene that just gets better every time I watch it, and Raimi seems to get his kicks from composing the most extreme shots that he can imagine. Lacking almost anything resembling a plot, the movie is more along the lines of a series of sketches set in a cabin, but that only adds to the deliriously disjointed nature of the film. In fact, most of the movie's appeal comes from the main character, who, like the audience, constantly struggles to get his bearings while being bombarded by one freakish thing after another; besides, it's a nice change of pace to see a horror film in which the hero is cooler than the villain. In truth, it's merits can't justly be put into words; Evil Dead 2 is an experience, an experiment with the limits of good humor and taste, and you will either like it right off or hate it immediately. Either way, you'll only know it if you see it.

Batman Begins is the film comic fans have been aching to see since the release of the first Superman movie. It is an epic, well-written, skillfully directed film that, action-packed though it may be, achieves a surprising poignancy that one is hard-pressed to find in most other superhero films. Its greatest attribute is its treatment of the title character; unlike previous takes on Bruce Wayne, who had always been played "close to the vest," never divulging much of his thoughts or feelings, here we are treated to a full and vivid portrait of a man- a flesh-and-blood human being- dealing with the grief and guilt over his parents' murder and trying to find a place for himself in the world. Christian Bale plays Bruce Wayne brilliantly, not brooding as much as previous actors while still conveying grief and anger that never feel forced or artificial. And as Batman, Bale is the first to stray from the monolithic shape with the gravelly whisper; Bale's Batman seems always ready to spring, crouching on ledges like an animal awaiting its prey, and when he speaks, what comes out is a primal growl (good for disguising his voice and scaring the piss out of cowardly criminals). On top of this, each member of the supporting cast is remarkably fleshed out, and the actors portraying them are as top-notch as they can be. Michael Caine breathes life into previously stuffy butler Alfred that never overshadows the hero, but creates a more three-dimensional character out of what, 'til now, has been a British butler stereotype. Cillian Murphy is just plain creepy as Dr. Jonathan Crane, giving a rather small part enough heft to make us wish there was more of him. Gary Oldman plays the Gordon comic fans know and love: a good cop steeped so deeply in the corruption of the police force that he can't resist an offer to help clean things up, even if it comes from a masked vigilante. Liam Neeson is a surprisingly ferocious mentor for Bruce, playing Ducard with both human emotional depth and villainous cruelty- he walks the line deftly, and creates an undeniably charismatic character in doing so. Linus Roache imbues his character of Thomas Wayne with so much likable energy that it truly comes as a shock when the inevitable occurs, and his presence is felt throughout the entire movie. Tom Wilkinson has what looks like a blast as mob boss Carmine Falcone, and Ken Watanabe is a fantastically intense Ra's Al Ghul. Together, these characters create a compelling drama about a man trying to find direction in his life. But when the time comes for action, Chris Nolan does not disappoint, showing us scenes of rapid-fire cuts and frantic movement, in which the Batman is finally presented as he was always intended to be: fast, dangerous, and terrifying. The techniques used for Batman and Crane are like a lesson in horror-movie scares, ranging from the simple guy-comes-from-nowhere camera turn to more modern jump-cutting, film distortion, and audio montage. The climax is an epic conflict with plenty of action, a race against time, and even explosions, but it can essentially be pared down to a battle between a surrogate father and son, tying the themes of the film together brilliantly. Batman Begins is more than just flashy summer entertainment, more than just another superhero flick in an ever-growing lineup of superhero movies. Batman Begins is more than just a good film; it is a great film.

Classic Cameron, at the peak of his career. After the first Terminator was a success, James Cameron moved on to bigger and better things, getting to work with a big (well, HUGE, actually) budget for the first time with Aliens, and honing his visual style and special effects mastery with the Abyss. However, he still had an idea in the back of his mind for a sequel to his first big break, and when he finally set about bringing it to screen, he brought with him all of the skill and craftsmanship that he'd spent the last seven years sharpening. The result is one of the few cinematic sequels to ever surpass its predecessor with flying colors, becoming even more iconic than the first film (and popularizing the use of initials as shorthand for titles). Set eleven years after the first Terminator, Terminator 2 features, appropriately enough, two terminators- a T-1000 sent back in time to kill the ten-year-old John Connor, and an older model T-800 that's been reprogrammed to protect him. At first, the general plot is the same as the first movie, with a race against time between two unrelenting forces as they try to locate John (and later his mother Sarah). But once the three heroes are assembled, T2 becomes a very different movie: thoughtful, introspective, and hopeful. This film puts out a message that is a complete one-eighty from the cynical predestination of the first movie, saying instead that if we try hard enough, we can save ourselves from destruction- our futures are in our hands, no one else's. Of course, that doesn't mean that the action is over, as the final act is a non-stop, full-tilt thrill-ride (a trite description, but a fitting one) with the compulsory shoot-outs, car chases, and explosions, but all are done Cameron-style (which is to say, fifty times bigger than life). The performances are all pitch-perfect; Arnold expertly recaptures the soulless, robotic character of the first film, until a second act revelation (which is fleshed out much better in the extended cut) creates a character arc for him and, ironically, he ends up giving his most human, sympathetic performance ever as the eponymous killing machine. Edward Furlong is totally believable as a ten year old kid- probably because he was a ten year old kid at the time- but one that has a lot of emotional baggage, and one who's really smart (almost too smart) for his age, to boot. Sarah Connor continues the Cameron tradition of strong female protagonists, but with an intriguing twist: Sarah has gone so far as a tough, self-sufficient woman that she can't remember how to feel anything, burying her emotions with discipline and training. Linda Hamilton is brilliant in the part, erasing all memory of the fragile young girl from the first film and disappearing into the role. And Robert Patrick is pure creepy as the murderous T-1000; even without the effects, he would still be a palpably dangerous presence in the film. The script by Cameron is, of course, well-written, featuring his particular brand of informative, economical, yet somehow natural dialogue that tells you the whole story without you even realizing it. The score is a classic, both exciting and ominous, somber and hopeful; its use of natural sound helps to downplay the fact that it was done mainly with synthesizers. The special effects are fantastic, featuring some of the earliest CGI work in a motion picture; but though computer imagery wasn't nearly as sophisticated when the movie was being made as it is now, its judicious and creative use make the shots just as effective today as they were in 1991. And the script (if I may return to it) is tightly-woven and surprisingly thought-provoking, bringing into question the violence that other films have too often taken for granted. This is an action film with a heart and soul; and though the title may suggest otherwise, in the end, it is a story about people.

Most movies from the eighties are indelibly dated with the conventions, fashions, and music from said decade, but there's only one film in which these antiquated elements actually benefit the story. Back to the Future is a film that has been embedded into my mind so strongly that it's almost impossible for me to look at it objectively anymore. Michael J. Fox is Marty McFly in the same way that Arnold is the Terminator, and I take Doc Brown so much for granted these days that I sometimes forget just how brilliant Christopher Lloyd's performance really is. The funny thing, though, is that while I liked part two the best when I was a little kid, I've grown to see that the first Back to the Future is the best chapter out of the trilogy, simply because it's not focusing on the technical aspects of time travel- it focuses on the comedy of a kid from the mid-eighties trying to blend in during the mid-fifties. It's really a brilliant idea, and it's executed amazingly well; the central crux of Marty seeing his parents at his age and screwing up their history is comedy gold, especially since everyone is pitch-perfect for their roles (never has there been a more believable nerd than Crispin Glover's George McFly). The effects are still spectacular, and they ironically make so good an impression that you may come away thinking there are more effect shots in the film than there really are. I also can't help but point out that this is one of the few time-travel movies with a sense of continuity- Marty's trip has definite effects that we can see after he gets back, and the past has elements that we see come to fruition in the future- and it also has the fewest time-paradox plot-holes of any time-travel movie I've seen. Though the ending is, in retrospect, a little too materialistic and "eighties," that goes with the territory: after all, this movie is given an exact date, so instead of making it seem antiquated or obsolete, it actually comes off as historically accurate! All in all, Back to the Future is just a fun movie to watch. It's not angst-ridden, excessively philosophical, or overtly nostalgic; it's an adventure back to a simpler time, and an upbeat look at how the choices you make can affect your life. And it's got a cool car in it!

The best summer movie of 2010? Without a doubt. The best movie of the year, period? Well, we'll have to wait and see... but I'm thinkin' so. Christopher Nolan is fast proving himself to be one of the best directors of his generation; with every film he builds on the experience of the last, technical and creative, to craft deeper and more intricate stories that have significant psychological weight but pull the viewer along at a brisk, exhilarating clip. Nolan trusts his audience to be sharp enough to keep up with him, which is a refreshing change of pace for a Hollywood filmmaker- and this film does not give you a chance to slack. Inception is essentially a heist film, but with a quintessentially sci-fi twist: instead of robbing banks, our heroes break into dreams and steal secrets from the subconscious mind. The first half of the film elaborates on how this is done and what the rules are when slipping into people's dreams, and the second half is an elaborately-staged job- the job to end all jobs, as it is in all heist movies. The movie features some trippy imagery and utterly astonishing special effects sequences, but what makes this movie really work are the character elements of the story, both in the magnificent ensemble cast's rogue's gallery of dream specialists, and in the powerful central performances, particularly that of Leonardo DiCaprio, who moves up in my estimation with every new movie I see him in. The script by Christopher Nolan is fantastically intelligent, but dramatically engaging- and given that this is only the second wholly original script Nolan has written (after Following, his very first film- Memento was based on a short story, Insomnia was a remake, Prestige was based on a book, and Batman Begins... well, you know), it's astonishing just how creative and polished the story and the concept are. People are calling it "James Bond meets The Matrix", and to an extent that's true (it's the first really mind-blowing cinema experience I've had since The Matrix), but that doesn't do the film justice; Inception is more original than that... hell, it's better than that. Movies are rarely this good.

Some viewers have claimed that Inception has a complex, hard-to-follow storyline, but I didn't find it that way at all; on the contrary, the film is very linear in its construction (more so than most of Nolan's films, actually), but it's absolutely crammed full of plot, character, and concepts that are explained at a lightning pace. Overall, it isn't confusing so much as it is dense, but for the attentive viewer, all of the plot threads and character arcs that are introduced culminate into a thoroughly satisfying conclusion. After a cryptic prologue set at the end of the film, we are introduced to Dom Cobb, a professional dream thief (or "extractor"), as he and his partner Arthur try to pull off a corporate espionage job in the mind of Mr. Saito, a Japanese businessman. The mission is a failure, but as they are about to flee from their dissatisfied contractors, they are approached by Saito, who, having been impressed by their skills, offers them a new job: an act of inception, the planting of an idea in the mind of someone else- which, up to this point, has only been accomplished one time. At first Cobb and Arthur are reticent, until Saito makes Cobb an offer he can't refuse: if Cobb can successfully pull off inception, then his criminal record will be wiped clean, allowing him to return to the United States and reunite with his two children. Reluctantly, the two agree, and begin putting together a team- a dream architect, a forger (someone to take on other identities in the dream), and a chemist. But the demons of Cobb's past are catching up with him, manifesting from his subconscious without his control; the specter of his dead wife, Mal, begins showing up in the dream world, hell-bent on sabotaging his efforts and dragging him down into a fantasy world to be with her forever. Needless to say, when the job finally begins, things quickly start to go wrong, and as the team delves deeper into the unconscious mind then anyone ever has before, the stakes prove to be higher than they could possibly have known.

One of the greatest strengths of this movie is the phenomenal ensemble cast that populates it. I used to give Leonardo DiCaprio a lot of flack for being a Hollywood pretty boy when he first started out, but, like Johnny Depp before him, he's quickly distinguishing himself as one of the most talented actors in Hollywood today, and a bona fide leading man, to boot. As Cobb, DiCaprio is the locus of the story, battling both the emotional and physical manifestations of his guilt over his wife's death, while simultaneously coping with a debilitating fear that his world isn't real anymore, that he's slipping into an endless fantasy that he can never escape from. Unfortunately, the only one who can see just how bad it's getting for Cobb is the young new architect Ariadne, played by Ellen Page. While Cobb is definitely the main character, Ariadne is the person the audience most closely identifies with as she's drawn along through the story, asking the questions we would ask and learning the rules of this fictional world. However, she also doubles as Cobb's conscience, working to steer him back onto the road to reality and trying to make sure he doesn't endanger the others on the team; Page is a perfect fit for the role, somehow conveying both youthful naivete and levelheaded wisdom at the same time. The rest of the team aren't developed quite as strongly as our main heroes, so it's mostly the actors that give these characters life- and boy, did Nolan make some good calls with these guys. The always-fantastic Joseph Gordon-Levitt makes a phenomenal impression as Arthur, Cobb's partner and, presumably, friend; Gordon-Levitt is cool in a number of respects, but most literally in the sense that his character is totally professional and unflappable, the controlled counterpoint to the slowly crumbling Cobb. His all-business veneer is also played off of marvelously by the forger Eames, played in a breakout performance (that happily undoes all memory of Star Trek: Nemesis) by Tom Hardy. Eames is very slick and just as unflappable as Arthur, but he's also got a great sense of humor, which really helps to liven many of the expositional scenes near the middle. Dileep Rao also gives things a little variety as Yusuf, the chemist, but he doesn't really get much to do other than deliver exposition (which, after this and Drag Me To Hell, he must be getting really good at) and provide a little light comedy during act three. Ken Watanabe finally gets retribution for his relegation to near-cameo in Batman Begins as Saito, the enigmatic businessman who hires the group for the job and then insists on going along for the ride. Finally, I would be remiss if I didn't mention Cillian Murphy, who plays Robert Fischer Jr., the man they're trying to "inspire". Murphy, whom I know best for playing cold, detached bad guys, conveys a world of pathos in this relatively small role; his character arc, involving a reconciliation with his dead father, is the crux of the entire plot, and while he's only in the film for something like twenty minutes, Murphy manages to make it one of the strongest emotional beats of the movie. That takes friggin' talent.

(more to come)

Part man... part machine... all cop.

It's ironic that a film set in a hypothetical near future would be so unmistakably "eighties", but RoboCop is so perfectly executed that it transcends such superficial criticisms. While you might think, at first glance, that this was an example of high-concept Hollywood at its worst, RoboCop's simple premise and blood-soaked action sequences belie a thoughtful, intelligent film that serves as a meditation on the value of identity and the nature of humanity. This is science fiction at its absolute best, exploring the most fundamental questions about life and society through the exaggerated lens of a future (though not necessarily futuristic) world in which a corporation can literally buy your body and turn you into a machine- which raises the question of whether the same can be done to your soul. When you really break it down, RoboCop has a little something in it for almost everyone. Don't care for the sci-fi or metaphysical philosophizing? Well, it's also a scathing satire of Reagan-era America, where corporate sharks are in control of everything and the criminal masterminds spew the same capitalist jargon as respected businessmen. Political commentary making your head hurt? Feel free to turn your brain off and enjoy the whirling dervish of bloody action this movie tosses your way- action so extreme, in fact, that the film was initially slapped with an "X" rating (the Criterion Collection DVD and the unrated cut restore the more graphic footage that was removed to ensure the film's eventual "R"- FYI, that's the one I own). "Smart" and "visceral" are not two qualities that typically come together in a single movie, but RoboCop manages the feat with seeming ease; the film may look like just another silly sci-fi exploitation flick, but like the character himself, there's an unexpected humanity lurking just below the surface.

As the first American film from director Paul Verhoeven, RoboCop features a lot of the elements that would go on to become his trademarks: social and political satire, unflinching ultraviolence, Ronny Cox as a bad guy, and, of course, faux news breaks that move the story forward- kinda like the one that opens the movie, introducing us to the '80s-style near future and letting us know that Detroit is facing a crime wave... one that the now privately-owned police department is unable to deal with. From there we meet Officer Alex J. Murphy, a Detroit cop reassigned to the besieged Metro West precinct and partnered with hellion Anne Lewis. It's not long before the two find themselves chasing down local crime boss Clarence Boddicker and his gang; tracking them to an abandoned factory, the two rush in without back-up, and Alex ends up cornered by the criminals... who promptly shoot him to death in one of the most graphic on-screen murders in movie history. Murphy's story would have ended then and there, if it weren't for the intervention of Omni Consumer Products, the corporation that owns the police; appropriating Murphy's body as O.C.P. property, they use him as a test subject for an experimental law enforcment program, incorporating his remains into a cybernetic crime prevention unit they dub RoboCop. At first, he seems like the perfect unquestioning tool, programmed merely to "serve the public trust, protect the innocent, and uphold the law", but slowly he is confronted by memories and images that he doesn't understand- ephemeral flashes of the life he once had, and the man he used to be. Driven by his half-remembered past, RoboCop tracks down the men who killed him, only to discover that they have connections with one of the top executives at O.C.P. itself; in the end, RoboCop must face both his destroyers and his re-creators in order to reclaim his identity and reassert his lost humanity.

This film wouldn't be half of what it was if it weren't for Peter Weller's outstanding portrayal of RoboCop. This is the role he was born to play, if for no other reason than that he was thin enough to fit into the suit (they wanted to give the role to Michael Ironside, but he was just too big); through slow, deliberate movements and an artificial, monotone delivery, Weller sells that he's been transformed into an indestructible mechanical juggernaut, before slowly allowing his humanity to creep back in as he rediscovers the man he was. The actor excels in all three roles that are demanded of him, actually: the likable human cop, the platitude-spouting corporate tool ("Thank you for your cooperation. Good night."), and the bitter, disconnected "man" trying to remember the life he once had. Helping him back on the path to his humanity is Officer Anne Lewis, played by Nancy Allen. Lewis is a good cop and a tough woman, and I can't begin to express how glad I am that they didn't try to turn her into a love interest (since that's what Hollywood usually does with the sole female character in any given action movie); instead, she serves as RoboCop's foil, brimming with the vitality and humanity that he's had taken from him. Taken, specifically, by Kurtwood Smith's Clarence J. Boddicker, the crime kingpin of Detroit. Smith has all kinds of fun in the role of Boddicker, reveling in the character's evil nature and giving us a villain we can truly love to hate. (more to come)

OH MY GOD. I've just come back from the first screening of Edgar Wright's new film in its complete form at the San Diego Comic Con, and even though I already had six reviews going simultaneously (my own personal limit at any given time), I had to cut in with this, because I loved this movie so much I have to exalt it. It is the coolest movie I have ever seen. Not the BEST, mind you- I'm not talking about film as art here, this is pure entertainment- but far and away the coolest, most energetically exhilarating movie... EVER. Then again, I may be biased, because this is a film made for people like me- twenty-somethings with a passion for video games- but all reviewers are biased about something, and this movie just knows which of my buttons to push. I warn you, there will be SPOILERS, so if you don't want to know how the movie goes and/or you haven't read the Bryan O'Malley graphic novels, I suggest you stop reading NOW.

Scott Pilgrim vs. The World is a labor of love, a romantic coming-of-age story couched in video game vernacular- and I think it's no exaggeration to say that this is the greatest video game-related movie ever filmed. Edgar Wright has created something decidedly unique: an increasingly surreal world in which your enemies turn into coins when you beat them and where you can come back from death with a 1-Up, yet a world that feels dramatically valid and not just cartoonish for its own sake. That's because the craziness that we see is a symbolic representation of the conflict in the story, the same way that people burst into song in musicals when the emotion of a scene reaches its crescendo and we just accept it- except here, they don't sing, they beat the crap out of each other with giant mallets and flaming swords. I can't begin to tell you how much I prefer the latter. In fact, I don't think I've ever been this enthusiastic about a film after only one viewing! This movie has everything: incredible action, incapacitating humor, genuine romance, affecting drama, a kick-ass soundtrack (seriously, the music is amazing), comic book- and video game references for the geek in all of us, and did I mention action? Because yeah, this movie is LOADED with it. But it never gets bogged down by all this; at its heart, it's all just the story of a boy and a girl, and the perils that you have to overcome to be with the person you love. Only in this movie, those perils are actually out to kill you.

The film concerns one Scott Pilgrim, a 22-year-old Canadian bass player (he's in a band called Sex Bob-Omb) who's currently "in-between jobs", as he rebounds from being epically dumped by his girlfriend a year ago by going out with 17-year-old Asian high-school girl and raving Sex Bob-Omb groupie Knives Chau- which basically amounts to them playing co-op arcade games together and letting her sit in on rehearsals. That all changes when Scott meets the girl of his dreams: Ramona, a roller-skating pink-haired American hipster who's way out of his league. After dumping Knives like a bag of delicious potato wedges (well, actually, slightly before), Scott makes his move at winning over the aloof and guarded Ramona, only to discover to his dismay that if he wants to be with his dream girl, he first has to fight his way through a League of her Evil Exes. You might think that from this point on, the film is just a litany of meaningless action, and you would be half right: the latter half of the movie is nearly all action, but it's far from meaningless. The exes, all of them in some way Scott's better, play against Scott's insecurities about himself and about his relationship with Ramona, and in fighting his way through them, he overcomes those insecurities and weaknesses and becomes a better person for it, all while helping Ramona to put her checkered past behind her and start over fresh with him. This is all subtext, though: the drama is presented as a series of balls-to-the-wall action scenes, each one more spectacular than the last (courtesy of Jackie Chan's team of fight choreographers, so you KNOW they're good!).

Michael Cera plays Scott, who in some ways is like every Michael Cera character we've ever seen, but in other, more important ways is a quantum leap forward for the gawky young actor- like the fact that this time, he actually gets to be cool. Scott starts the film as a woefully immature guy, who gets involved with equally-immature Knives Chau to play video games and bolster his crushed and broken heart, and then starts going with Ramona BEFORE he's broken it off with Knives, only to do so later at the worst possible moment- right after she's admitted that she loves him. Sounds like a jerk, right? But see, the thing is, by the end he realizes what a cosmic-scale douchebag he's been by facing the demons of Ramona's past- people that she uniformly hurt, turning them into bitter, vengeful psychos- and he actually makes it right by working out his problems with Knives and even settling things with Kim (Alison Pill), the band's drummer, whom he dumped in high school. While this is happening, Cera's trademark awkwardness gives way to something that looks rather good on him: confidence. Then, of course, there's the ass-kicking, which Cera actually did a lot of himself, so just for that he gets high marks in my book. Mary Elizabeth Winstead's Ramona Flowers, on the other hand, is a character who's harder to get a grip on, but what's cool is that it's intentional; Ramona projects an attitude of icy aloofness and unflappable cool to hide the fact that she really has a low opinion of herself, and every time one of her exes shows up, the facade starts to crack, little by little. I like Winstead, personally, and I think she does a great job in the role... but the unsung hero of the movie is undoubtedly Ellen Wong as the adorable Knives Chau. Knives is the most bubbly, effervescent character I think I've ever seen in my life, and when it comes to Scott and the band, she's like the personification of a Diet Coke with a Mentos in it- a geyser of seemingly endless enthusiasm. Hell, when Scott tears her heart into little tiny pieces and she becomes a twisted stalker person, it's still just as cute as it is horrifying. On top of these three, the supporting cast is also sterling: Kieran Culkin steals every scene he's in as Scott's laid back gay roommate Wallace Wells (possibly the first major gay character in a movie that isn't an effeminate stereotype); Anna Kendrick redeems herself for being in Twilight as Scott's judgmental sister Stacey; Allison Pill is like a simmering cauldron of suppressed rage as Kim Pine, Sex Bob-Omb's drummer and Scott's long since dumped ex-girlfriend; Mark Webber is a ticking time-bomb of anxiety and self-doubt as Stephen Stills, Sex Bob-Omb's lead singer (My favorite line of his: "Scott will you stop just standing there YOU ARE FREAKING ME OUT!"); finally, Aubrey Plaza takes frigid, loathing disdain to a new level as Julie Powers, Stephen's ex-girlfriend (who absolutely despises Scott Pilgrim).

Then, of course, there's the League of Evil Exes, a motley assortment of jerks and fiends whose sole purpose is to destroy Scott Pilgrim. The first ex, Matthew Patel, is an Indian (Asian, not native American) dance master with mystical powers, and is played by Satya Bhabha; Patel is the most melodramatic of the exes, and Bhabha is funny as hell in the part- especially when things get weird and the fight turns into a Bollywood production number. Next up is Chris Evans as action superstar Lucas Lee, who is absolutely hilarious- his eyebrows are constantly furrowed, and he speaks in an affected tough-guy voice for the whole scene. The fight itself is hysterical, too, as star-struck Scott gets stricken repeatedly by the hardcore Lee before going up against the actor's gang of stunt doubles. Following that, we have probably my favorite ex (it's a tie between him and Evans): Brandon Routh as vegan bass player Todd Ingram, who happens to be dating Scott's ex, Envy Adams (played to sultry perfection by Brie Larson). Todd may be dumb as a sack of hammers (that "cleaning lady on Monday" bit had me struggling to breathe through my laughter), but his devotion to the vegan arts has granted him telekinetic powers that Scott just can't deal with; the resolution to this is ludicrously funny, and it features a cameo from Thomas Jane that I don't want to spoil here. Mae Whitman (who, ironically, played Cera's girlfriend on the television show Arrested Development) makes for a surprise ex number four, the brash, "bi-furious" semi-ninja Roxy Richter (from Ramona's inevitable experimentation phase), who is, again, really funny, and gets into a seriously awesome battle with Ramona and her giant Donkey Kong-esq hammer. Sadly, the Japanese twins Kyle and Ken Katayanagi, played by Shota Saito and Keita Saito, are the only dull point in the cast, mostly because they're completely lacking in personality- neither one of them has a single line (their battle is fought entirely through music and computer animated monsters- which, in and of itself, is cool). That is more than made up for, however, by the biggest bad of them all, Gideon Graves, played by the always excellent Jason Schwartzman. Gideon, the one ex Ramona has the hardest time putting behind her, is the slimiest, smuggest, condescending-iest douchebag imaginable- the kind of corporate hipster-type who pretends to be your best buddy while he's snatching your girlfriend right out from under you. Slick as he is, though, he's also one tough s.o.b., and the final battle between him and Scott (among others) is truly an epically epic finale.

Edgar Wright obviously has a knack for high-energy filmmaking, but even for him the pace of this movie is freaking insane; it's a bullet train of entertainment, tossing out one joke after another like a screwball comedy on acid, and all of them with amazing timing and a keen sense of humor. Yet it never feels overbearing or rushed- the filmmakers take the time to develop the important relationships and characters, and actually resolve the romantic storyline in a way that's both satisfying and believable, if a little bittersweet. And the visuals? Good God, the visuals in Scott Pilgrim are a revelation, transforming the outwardly unassuming world of Toronto, Canada into a living anime video game; Wright elevates formalistic filmmaking to new heights with his measured (yet seemingly spontaneous) compositions, taking the gonzo visual style of filmmakers like Sam Raimi and putting it into overdrive... but only when it serves to heighten the drama of the story. The sheer number of visual gags in the movie are astonishing, though, adding an extra layer to the comedy and making it just that much more potent. Speaking of comedy, the screenplay (based on Bryan Lee O'Malley's comic book) is hilarious, with machine-gun dialogue and spectacular one-liners- and, as I mentioned, a gooey emotional center- all somehow fit comfortably into a two hour run time and driven by the lightning-fast editing. The fight scenes are riveting and intense, thanks both to Jackie Chan's stunt team and the way Edgar Wright covers (and enhances) the action; these are the centerpieces of the film, and they make use of every filmmaking tool possible to knock your f%$#ing socks off. In my opinion, they succeed. This being a film about a guy in a rock band, the soundtrack kicks all kinds of ass throughout the movie, largely eschewing the traditional orchestral score in favor of songs from bands like Metric, Beck, Broken Social Scene, the Rolling Stones, and Sex Bob-Omb themselves, who are actually a pretty awesome band. Hell, even the sound design in this film is freaking awesome, the director using classic 8-bit sound effects from games like Super Mario, Zelda, and a plethora of others to set a strange, magically surreal tone.

While it's certainly an accomplishment simply as a tremendously entertaining film, I feel that Scott Pilgrim vs. The World is a distillation of the attitudes and the culture of twenty-somethings today in the same way that Kevin Smith's Clerks was for twenty-somethings of the nineties. While Clerks embraced the apathy and nihilism of a generation of slackers seeking to obliterate the social mores of the past, however, Pilgrim moves beyond that into the self-constructed world of today's youth, in which the tenants of the past have little meaning and the rules are ours to make up as we go along. It's a fantasy world, sure- born of video games, anime, and rock and roll- but it signals a shift in attitudes towards the optimistic and the positive, fueled by the belief (naive though it may be) that we can make a change for the better in our lives and our world. Dante couldn't decide what or who he wanted in life until it was too late; Scott not only knows what he wants, but he is willing to fight for it, tooth and nail. For perfectly capturing both the vivid feeling and the deeper philosophy of youth as it is today, Scott Pilgrim vs. The World has already earned a spot as one of my favorite movies of all time. Well, for that, and for being one of the funniest, ass-kicking-est, eye-melting-est films of this, or any year. It's the most unique comedy you're likely to come across anytime soon, and I hope it stays that way- sequels or rip-offs would simply diminish the quirky balance this movie strikes between action, special effects, and laughs. Seriously, I'm almost out of positive adjectives here, so just trust me: it's damn good stuff. Movies don't get any more fun.

Alright, embarrassing confession time: I have always been a Star Trek fan. Be warned, my review may be a bit biased.

It's not like I've ever recited Shakespeare in Klingon or dressed as an Andorian for Halloween, but when it came to the big two sci-fi properties, I was always more of a Trek guy than a Star Wars guy. Of course, the movies weren't quite on the same level as Lucas', I had to admit- the first Trek was a bloated mess, and Khan, while fantastic, wasn't as cinematic as Empire; and after First Contact, my favorite of the old films (I liked TNG), the quality took a sharp decline that it never came back from. Like everyone else, I got tired of it. Star Trek had gotten old, and it was time to move on to greener pastures (Serenity being a personal favorite). But leave it to J.J. Abrams to take what might have been the final, pitious gasp of a dying franchise and turn it into something fresh, new, and exciting, taking the very elements that had made the Star Wars films great (before Lucas lost his touch) and blending them brilliantly with the best of Trek to create something unique and interesting. Vibrant, visceral, and intense, Star Trek is a fantastic jolt of summer escapism, with a refreshingly upbeat aesthetic and a spirit of adventure that hearkens back to Star Wars and Raiders of the Lost Ark-- a spirit absent from the cineplex in recent years, but one that is starting to come back with films like this and Transformers.

Set in a Utopian future of space travel and interplanetary harmony, the film revolves around Cadet James T. Kirk and Commander Spock, two men born on different worlds whose lives are ultimately fated to collide. When the USS Enterprise ships out from Earth to answer a distress call from the planet Vulcan, the crew confronts a threat that can destroy entire planets: a starship from the future captained by a man with a vendetta against the entire Federation, and with an unusual connection to both Spock and Kirk. Now with millions of lives at stake, the brash, impetuous Kirk and the coldly logical Spock must find a way to work together to avert impending disaster and save Earth from annihilation.

Actor Chris Pine plays James T. Kirk, the one character in the film who least resembles his T.V. counterpart (which is not a bad thing). Kirk is young and arrogant, but he's also smart, courageous, and self-assured; he has all the makings of a great man, but he sorely needs experience and seasoning. Playing opposite him is Zachary Quinto as Spock, a half-human, half-Vulcan commander whose unwavering adherence to logic is sometimes compromised by his conflicting human feelings. Quinto is an excellent Spock, playing him as much more subtly emotional than Leonard Nimoy portrayed him and thus making him a more dramatically interesting character. The rest of the cast, however, should be given their due credit: Karl Urban is amazingly good as surly Dr. Leonard "Bones" McCoy (forcing me to re-evaluate my opinion of him as an actor), John Cho brings some ass-kicking skill to Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu, Anton Yelchin is immensely likable and full of energy as Ensign Pavel Chekhov (that accent is absolutely spot-on, even if it is absurd), Zoe Saldana brings drive and an edge of fiery independence to Lt. Nyota Uhura (even if it is sort of out of left field when she starts a romantic entanglement... WITH SPOCK), Simon Pegg is bloody brilliant as Lt. Commander Montgomery "Scotty" Scott (who arrives late in the film but makes a great impression), Bruce Greenwood makes a father figure out of Captain Christopher Pike (but a cool father figure- you know, the kind you wish your father was like), and Eric Bana alternates between chewing scenery and getting bizarrely casual with his enemies as the villainous Captain Nero (probably my favorite line in the film is his breezy greeting to Capt. Pike: "Hi, Christopher. I'm Nero."). Oh, and Leonard Nimoy makes an appearance as Spock-Prime, the Spock from Nero's future who helps Kirk out of a bind in the second act. He is, as usual, the only guy who could play Spock... other than Zachary Quinto.

The script is clever and charming, giving fans plenty of winks (Kirk's dating an Orion girl!) without alienating any newcomers to the franchise. Thanks to the time-travel-centric plot, the film is both a prequel AND a reboot, altering the timeline to suggest the possibility of all-new adventures with the original Enterprise crew without negating the original series. Hooray! The special effects are astonishing, from the sleek exteriors of the brand-new Enterprise as it glides through space before blasting into warp speed to the dizzying orbital skydiving sequence, with Kirk, Sulu, and some poor red-shirted bastard free-falling from a shuttlecraft into the skies of Vulcan and landing on a lazer drilling platform. J.J. Abrams once again proves his mastery of subjective camera techniques, using handheld cameras and an almost annoying amount of lens flares to create a sense of immediacy and reality for the viewer, making everything a bit more exciting. In fact, the whole aesthetic of the film is geared towards grounding the fantastic in relatable modern reality, the result being starships with enormous, industrial engine rooms complete with I-beams and visible rivets, and a bridge that looks and functions like a giant, immersive iPod, albeit with a motorboat throttle to engage the warp drive. The movie has an epic scope, one that the score by Michael Giacchino tries perhaps too hard to live up to at times (the titlecard is steamrolled by brass and percussion), but for the most part it fits the heightened dramatic thrust of the film.

The great thing about this new Trek film, though, is that what really makes it work as more than a spectacle-driven piece of fluff-- the humor, the characters, the ideas-- these things were already there, and had been for years. What J.J. Abrams' Star Trek does is that it gives those elements a new life by reintroducing them in a new and exciting way, bringing it all back to what worked in the first place while contemporizing and reinvigorating the framework of its presentation. That's the beauty of this movie: if you've always loved Star Trek, you're going to love the movie, but if you never gave a crap about any of the old Trek stuff, you're still going to love the movie! Abrams has finally made Trek as good as Star Wars once was, a real cinematic contender that appeals to sci-fi fans and the uninitiated equally. It's a hell of a movie that keeps you invested right up 'til the end and leaves you wanting more. In short, not only is it good, but for the first time since its conception, Star Trek is actually cool. And it's about time.

Not too many movies these days try to be both topical and entertaining. Typically, you find either films that are complete escapist fantasy, which shy away from the ugly truths of real life with a vengeance, or harsh, uncompromising reality, hammering away at you with some unsubtle bit of political rhetoric. What's great about V For Vendetta, though, is that it's placed right between these two extremes; it's a fantastic action-adventure tale set in the future, but its story is laced with political allegory and philosophical contemplation (something which, if you've read any of my other reviews, you know I think quite highly of), and it is not above giving us a first hand look at the uglier side of life. V, our title character, is an unrepentant murdering terrorist, but due to a masterful performance by the always-excellent Hugo Weaving and a cleverly charming and witty script, we come to sympathize with him, and understand his reasons for taking such extreme actions- even though we never see his face! Evey Hammond, played by Natalie Portman, is our main character, and she has the toughest job of the cast, as she transforms through the story from an innocent but weak person paralyzed by her fears- a model for all the people held under the boot-heel of the totalitarian regime ruling England- into a hardened, self-assured young woman with no fear. Portman is perfect in the role, making it her own and pulling it off completely believably. The screenplay, based on Alan Moore's critique of English government in the eighties, manages to infuse modern political relevance to the tale, specifically involving the media's role in government relations, terrorism (and the line between terrorism and revolution), and basic human rights violations . But even with all this going on, the script never strays far from the human element, giving us intimate glimpses of lives effected by tyranny and intolerance, and emotionally investing us in the relationship between Evey and V, doomed though it may be. V for Vendetta is a surprisingly powerful film, made more so by the director's knack for appealing shot and lighting compositions, and the brilliant use of juxtaposition and montage by the editor. It resonates after viewing far longer than most other films coming out these days, and it has the power to stimulate hours of conversation on the myriad of pointed subjects tackled in its two-hour time frame. But mainly the reason I love it is that I never get tired of it; it is an entertaining, thought-provoking, and emotionally powerful film, and, like V and the Count of Monte Cristo, it gets me every time.

Meet Sam, the cutest, most precocious killing machine in movie history. He's the Anti-Claus, the mischievous, trick-or-treating spirit of Halloween, clad in burlap-sack mask and orange footie pajamas and wielding razor-stuffed candy as a deadly weapon (a far better avatar for the holiday than the grossly-overmarketted Jack Skellington); he's also the linchpin of easily the best film about Halloween since Michael Myers first came home over thirty years ago. Writer/director Michael Dougherty's debut feature is a masterful ode to All Hallow's Eve, bringing together all the things we most associate with Samhain (ghosts, vampires, maniacal killers) into a single film composed of four seperate stories interwoven on a dark Halloween night. The stories all have a decidedly Tales-from-the-Crypt flavor of irony to them, turning the viewer's expectations on their heads while keeping them bolted to their seats. The tales are cleverly interconnected and threaded together to make the film more cohesive (than, say, Creepshow, which felt more episodic than cinematic), but the seperation of the stories allows Dougherty to play with a number of Halloween conventions from a wide range of perspectives. The first, and in some ways most obvious vantage point (not that they're in this order in the film) is that of the children, for whom the traditions of Halloween are more immediate and more meaningful. Their story is, appropriately enough, a ghost story: five trick-or-treaters, including a developmentally disabled young girl, venture to a rock quarry to appease the spirits of children killed in the "Halloween School Bus Massacre". As it turns out, the whole thing is a cruel prank played on the handicapped girl... but soon the children discover that the legend behind the prank is all too real. The kids in the story are all pretty good actors, in particular Samm Todd as the misguided prank's victim Rhonda, who is both tremendously sympathetic and just detatched enough to believably be disabled (even though it's never explicitly stated just what her disorder is- I'm guessing autism). Also a standout is Britt McKillip (a girl I loved in the TV show Dead Like Me) as Macy, the group's de facto ringleader, the prank's orchestrator, and a proto-bitch who, well, gets what she deserves. We also get to see Halloween through the eyes of young adults, for whom the whole holiday takes on a more sexual connotation. Again, their tale is a fitting one (think Freddy or Jason) of supernatural creatures: four college co-eds are gearing up for a Halloween party out in the middle of the wilderness. Little do they realize that one of them is being stalked by a mysterious man in black, who plans to make a meal of their virginal friend. Anna Paquin is at the center of the story as Laurie (har har), a twenty-two-year-old virgin trying to find that special someone on Halloween night, and getting more than she bargained for; Paquin is always great at creating wholesome, sympathetic characters, and here the skill works two-fold- as an inlet for the audience to quickly identify with her, and, by story's end, as a brilliant weapon against said audience's expectations. For the mature, settled-down adults, Halloween takes on a different aspect, newly populated with real, terrifying threats- not just to ourselves, but to our children. This brings us to Steven Wilkins, the elementary school principal who also happens to be a serial killer. Mr. Wilkins gives out poisoned or razor-filled candy to trick-or-treaters, and when one gluttonous boy dies on his doorstep, he has to cover it up, burying the boy in his backyard while trying to curtail the suspicions of his next door neighboor. Wilkins, played by Dylan Baker, is sort of a twisted comic figure, a bumbling psychopath trying to hide his handiwork, and his story is the funniest of the four, which is why most of it plays out early in the film; Baker is hilarious in the role as he juggles trying to bury a still-kicking victim with trying to quiet down his energetic, wide-eyed five-year-old son. Finally, there's the elderly, for whom a tide of masked, sugar-craving schoolchildren knocking at the door seems horror enough. This point of view gets the best story of all (saved, appropriately, for last): Mr. Kreeg doesn't celebrate Halloween. He has no jack-'o-lanterns, he doesn't wear a costume, and his dog chases off any would-be trick-or-treaters. But this year, someone won't let Mr. Kreeg off that easily- one sack-faced, pajama-clad boy has had it with those who disrespect the traditions of Halloween, and now Kreeg is at the business end of one hell of a trick. Brian Cox (another X-Men alumnus after Anna Paquin) plays the bitter Mr. Kreeg, the Scrooge of Halloween who hates children and, apparently, even candy (though he's more than happy to steal some from from fleeing trick-or-treaters, even if he won't eat it). The guy's such an all-around jerk and a foul-mouthed dirtbag that it's fun to watch as he's increasingly terrorized by the spirit of Halloween himself, Sam (played by 6-year-old Quinn Lord). Sam is the one constant we see (peripherally) in every story, taking center stage only by film's end; cute though he may be, he's also a vicious little sucker with a freaky jack-'o-lantern skull-face under his mask, and he's not afraid of getting hands-on when he's out of lethal confections (which is both startling and strangely adorable when it happens). The film's script is funny, clever, and tight as a drum, twisting the viewer's expectations back on themselves in unique ways; EVERY STORY has a twist in it, and they all flow around each other seamlessly, creating a singular narrative structure from seemingly disparate tales. Better still, it's all aptly directed and swimmingly woven together in post, so that writing, directing, and editing all seem to coalesce and become inseperable from one another. The movie is like a tapestry, and as such, the whole is far more than the sum of its constituent parts. There has never been a movie that so perfectly paints a portrait of Halloween: the brown-and-gold autumn leaves littering suburban streets dimly lit by jack-'o-lanterns and the glow of a full moon, kids in costume moving from house to house and cleaning up on candy, adults reveling in debauchery and sinister deeds under cover of darkness. Who knows what lurks behind the next door, or around the next corner? Who knows what lies in wait beneath the most innocuous mask? Dougherty knows... and with his debut film, he invites us to take a peek. For a film that's been held up for nearly two-and-a-half years, Trick 'R Treat is most definitely worth the wait.

Oh, we believed, all right. In a decade defined by Watergate, the continuing atrocities of Vietnam, and a mounting national rebellion against authority and an increasingly oppressive socio-political climate, one movie had the guts to stand for Truth, Justice, and the American Way without a hint of irony or sarcasm. Following hot on the heels of Star Wars, the Man of Steel's big-screen debut was- and is- an epic, high-spirited adventure, the absolute gold standard for superhero movies for decades after its release, and a film that's so clearly a labor of love that it's practically stamped on every frame. What's really great about this movie is that, instead of ignoring the climate of cynicism that had been cultivated in cinema for the past decade, Superman posits itself as an ideological response to it, placing its hero in a world not far removed from the likes of The French Connection or All the President's Men and playing against that well-established stark realism for a brilliant contrast between the two aesthetics. The irony of this is that Superman, whose idealism and relentlessly good nature might make him seem hopelessly naive to many of the citizens of Metropolis, is the only character who is portrayed absolutely seriously, while the disillusioned pragmatism of the other characters is played for laughs- a clever strategy, because it makes Superman sort of the audience's perspective on the rest of the world, the identifiable character through which we evaluate the rest (which he maintains even as Clark Kent, his sly smiles and small gestures letting us in on the joke that he's only pretending to be clumsy and oafish... taking advantage of society's preconceived notions to hide in plain sight). Despite a few... problems with the screenplay (i'll get to those), Superman: the Movie remains the ultimate portrayal, in any medium, of the Man of Steel, and one of the greatest adventure-fantasies to ever grace the screen. The film opens on the planet Krypton, as a desperate scientist tries in vain to warn his contemporaries of the imminent destruction of their world. Jor-El, rebuked by his peers and forbidden to leave the planet, places his infant son Kal-El into a starcraft and sends him to Earth just as Krypton's sun goes nova. The craft lands safely in Kansas, where a kind and decent couple discover the child and raise him as their own. Flash foward several years, where we meet Kal, now rechristened Clark Kent, as a teenager in Smallville, just discovering that he has powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men. After his adoptive father dies of a heart attack, Clark discovers a mysterious crystal- a piece of the craft he arrived in- that leads him to the arctic, where it grows into a massive crystal palace: the Fortress of Solitude. Here he learns all about his heritage and how to master his powers, and after twelve years of study, Clark sets out to Metropolis, becoming a reporter for a great metropolitan newspaper and concocting a mask of impentirable meekness to ensure his anonymity. But when fellow reporter Lois Lane finds herself in mortal danger, Clark reveals his true nature to the world: in a flash the reporter is gone, and in his place stands the red, blue, and yellow figure of Superman! Filling in those big red boots, of course, is Christopher Reeve, and actor who so quintissentially embodied the qualities of Superman that even now it's hard to seperate the image of the man from the character itself. Reeve projects an immutible confidence as the Man of Steel that makes you believe that he actually IS bulletproof, but is tempered with an easy charm and an earnest innocence that is somehow worldly, not naive (as if he was aware of the depths of humanity's darkness- and he certainly acknowledged it- but still ultimately believed that mankind was inherently good, and could be, well, redeemed [yes, he's a Christ figure. Secular Jesus. Deal with it.]). More impressively, however, he creates a Clark Kent through body language, a subtle slouch in posture, and a higher octave speaking voice, that you actually could work next to every day without once suspecting that the most powerful being on Earth was sitting right across from you; for once, the glasses are just an accesory, not a disguise. Playing opposite Reeve (both spectacle and bispectacled) is Margot Kidder as intrepid reporter Lois Lane, the feisty-yet-jaded yin to Superman's yang who, in this incarnation, is a chain-smoking working girl, a sort of avatar for urban life in the 1970's, who knows all the angles and sniffs out bullshit for a living. Kidder plays her with manic energy; Lois is a woman on the go 24/7, and that's the way she likes it- which is why she finds Clark Kent (slow, fumbling Clark) so unappealing. Superman, however, is a different story; the romance between Lois and Superman is the dramatic crux of the movie, and it is executed wonderfully as a sort of screwball-comedy, His Girl Friday courtship, with the hard-nosed Lane turning to butter every time the Man of Steel locks his cobalt-blue eyes on her. The Flying Sequence is the unquestioned centerpiece of the film, a majestic, romantic flight through the clouds that somehow never feels overwrought or cheesy, even with Kidder doing a lyrical voice-over through half the scene. But while the love story dominates the majority of the film, you can't have a hero without a villain, and in this film Superman faces off against Gene Hackman as Lex Luthor, the personification of all the worst qualities of humanity. Keeping with the thematic conceit of the film, Lex is kind of a clown, dressing in cheesy plaid suits with ridiculous "wigs" and referring to himself as "the greatest criminal mind of our time", but beneath it all there's a current of genuine menace that Hackman brings to the part- a mean-spirited cruelty that he disguises as wit and sarcasm (an interesting reversal from Clark Kent). The part is definitely a little overdone (the Abbott and Costello-ish relationship with Otis is sometimes a bit much- sometimes- and WHY does he have an evil underground lair?), Hackman makes Lex into a perfect foil for the Man of Steel, exploiting his seemingly only weakness- overconfidence. Last but not least (first-billed, in fact) is the legendary Marlon Brando as Superman's father, Jor-El, who, for the latter part of the film is portrayed as a giant floating head (which seems somehow appropriate). Brando is good as the wise alien scientist, lending the film's opening some serious gravitas (balanced nicely against the incredible Terrence Stamp-but more about HIM later...) and anchoring the more fantastic elements of the story to the tone of the rest of the film. That tone is set by director Richard Donner, the strongest guiding force behind the film, who somehow manages to evoke three distinctly different styles in the film- the quasi-biblical science fiction opening, a nostalgic portrait of rural America, and a modern urban comedy- that mesh together as a complete, integrated story. His camera moves in slow dollies and pans, giving a sense of scale and grandure to his big scenes, and his color palettes are rich and vibrant, from the bright blue skies and amber fields of Kansas to the deep browns and grays of Metropolis, against which Superman pops out like a beacon (the cinematography by Geoffrey Unsworth is phenomenal; I can't say enough about the visuals in this film). Production designer John Barry gives us a Krypton that still looks majestic and awe-inspiring today, set against an Earth grounded in realism; the flying effects are still impressive, even to today's jaded viewer... with the occasional exception (did anyone EVER buy those young-Clark-running-home shots?); and John Williams crafts a score that captures everything we love about Superman in a single, powerful title march (the score is so good that it was re-used for every single sequel with virtually no thematic changes- a cheap move, but surprisingly it works). The script is the area in which the movie fumbles worst; the climax makes the ridiculous assertion that, by flying around the planet so fast that he reverses its rotation (which would more likely rip the atmosphere to shreds than make the world spin backwards), Superman can TURN BACK TIME, which he does only to save Lois just this once (and yet, while the nuclear bomb clearly still hits the San Andreas Fault, the fissure that forms under Lois's car and killed her the first time DOESN'T HAPPEN the second time around. Go figure). Add to this the most mind-blowingly stupid scene in the film- Lex Luthor's deduction of the existence and effects of Kryptonite (try to follow his steps in reason without getting a splitting headache)- and you have a movie that has some definite problems with logic. Be that as it may, the fact remains that Superman is the patriarch of all superhero films; without it, there would be no Batman, no X-Men, no Spider-Man, and certainly no Dark Knight or Iron Man. More than that, though, Superman: the Movie was a landmark in popular film, its hero held in the ranks or Rocky Balboa, Darth Vader, Indiana Jones, and the shark from Jaws as an icon of pop culture and a herald of a new, brighter era in cinema- for better or worse. The film is a love letter to a character who had been around for nearly forty years (now nearly seventy-five), a story that took the ideals of its hero and contrasted them with a world rendered in ever darker shades of gray... making those ideals stand out that much more. Of course, it's not a political picture; Superman: the Movie is escapism at its finest, and adventure about a man who can fly, who bends steel in his bare hands, and who always tells the truth. It's hard to say which it was of those that was hardest to accept in the decade the film was released, but audiences believed every minute of it- and we still do.

The first time I saw the Matrix, I felt like it literally blew my brains out of my skull and all over the wall behind me. That's how good it is. It's one of my favorite action/sci-fi films ever. The Matrix gets a bad rap these days, what with the overblown sequels that came out in 2003, but when the original first came out in 1999, there wasn't a person who saw it that didn't think it was revolutionary. I remember walking into the theater on that Friday night, having no idea what to expect, and coming away bursting with energy, my thoughts abuzz with possibilities- this was the first movie that blew my mind. The first Matrix is an original, exciting, engaging film that, though it indulged itself in metaphysical philosophizing, never actually lets that get in the way of being a roller-coaster ride of a movie- in fact, it uses that same philosophizing to enhance the experience by getting you thinking about the world around you, and it introduces concepts that you may never have even considered before about the nature of reality. The key to the whole thing is how wonderfully paced it is. It begins with Thomas A. Anderson, a computer programmer who knows that something is wrong with the world, but he just can't put a finger on what it is. As he tries to seek out the truth, however, he is pulled into a world that gets stranger and stranger, his search for answers only bringing him more questions. It isn't until the end of the first act that Anderson, a.k.a. Neo, starts to get his answers, but even when he learns the ultimate truth of his reality, the road ahead twists and turns in ways you never see coming- and the questions continue to mount. What the Matrix had going for it was suspenseful illusion- things are not as they seem, and we find the world around us peel apart in new and unexpected ways that actually make us re-evaluate the way we see the world (the sequels consequently devoted themselves to telling us the mechanics of the illusion, and everyone lost interest). Another thing that sets this movie off from its predecessors is a mischievous sense of fun concerning its premise (after all, how did machines know what Tastie Wheat tasted like?)- the Matrix has a blast tearing down your preconceptions of reality and toying with the possible significance behind things unsuspecting people would dismiss off-handedly. Keanu Reeves is an alienated yet sympathetic hero, unlike the overly-somber and uptight character that Neo would become; he's the everyman, the audience personified, and he speaks for us best with the utterance of a single syllable: "Whoa." Laurence Fishburne conveys both wisdom and style, starting off as the all-knowing guide to the world behind the world but slowly being fleshed out into something bordering on a dedicated disciple and a religious fanatic. Carrie-Anne Moss redefined ass-kicking heroines with Trinity, who never once has to be rescued (and in fact does a few of her own), and Hugo Weaving... well, Hugo Weaving is good in everything he does, but he is particularly effective here as the coldly calculating Agent Smith, the first A.I. villain who not only shows emotion, but actually struggles to restrain his hatred of humanity in front of his peers. The special effects haven't lost their sheen over the years, the action sequences are far more intense and investing than any of it's bastard wire-work progeny, and the cinematography is much more subdued than the saturated greens of Reloaded and Revolutions. But above all, the Matrix has a story that can still inspire a sense of wonder and adventure... that is, in those who are willing to find it.

Ohhh, yes. This is one of those movies that I can put in at any time and enjoy just as much as when I first saw it. Featuring some of the Saturday Night Live A-list during their primes, backed up by a few members of Canada's SCTV, Ghostbusters is like the longest and funniest sketch that never appeared on either show. Essentially a parody of a number of blockbuster horror films from the era (Poltergeist, the Exorcist... other stuff...), Ghostbusters turns the mystical plane of the supernatural into a nine-to-five grind, focusing on three scientists (Murray, Aykroyd, and Ramis) who, after being booted from their offices at Columbia University, start up a business devoted to "paranormal investigations and eliminations"- i.e. catching ghosts for ridiculously high prices. The first half of the movie is devoted to the perils of starting such a highly specialized business venture (with equipment that would cost a king's ransom to procure), while the second half, marked by the arrival of average-Joe Ernie Hudson, is about the day to day hassle of catching ghosts, the bureaucratic entanglements that would result from developing such a radical new science, and, y'know, saving the world. What makes this sucker tick, however, is a perfect mix of perfect elements: a clever, witty script by Ramis and Aykroyd, proper use of the vast stage that is New York City (so much so that the film is indelibly identified with the area- it couldn't have been set anywhere else), and brilliant chemistry among the leads. Bill Murray, in a part meant for John Belushi, is just sleazy and sarcastic enough to love as Peter Venkman; Dan Aykroyd plays the overzealous, excitable nerd Ray Stanz as if he was one (and I'm fairly certain he is, considering what his concepts for this sounded like before he had any outside input); and Harold Ramis is so much fun as the perpetually stoic Egon Spengler that you couldn't picture anyone else in the part. And the supporting cast is more than up to matching them: Sigourney Weaver underplays Dana Barrett as a perfect counterpoint to Venkman ('til she's possessed by a dog), Rick Moranis is about as over-the-top as he can get as nerdy Louis Tulley (especially when he's possessed by a dog), Annie Potts turns apathetic, bitchy receptionist into an art form as Janine Melnitz, and Ernie Hudson's Winston Zeddemore helps to ground things as a phenomenal straight-man for the group (but he has some of the best lines: "Since I've joined with these men, I have seen shit that would turn you white!" "Ray... when someone asks you... if you're a god... you say... YES!" "... That's a big Twinkie."). There is so much about Ghostbusters that is classic- every other line is quotable ("Sorry, Venkman... I'm terrified beyond the capacity for rational thought."), the effects are still spellbinding, and you'll be damned if you don't find yourself humming that theme song after the movie's over. Haven't seen it before? If the answer is yes, then don't hesitate another second- WATCH THIS MOVIE!

There's a pretty funny story about how I first came to see The Evil Dead. You see, back in the day, when I was a wee lad of twelve or thirteen, I happened to catch Army of Darkness on USA one fine afternoon, and I fell in love with it instantly. The humor, the adventure, the vestige of spookiness without any serious horror (I was terrified of horror films at the time)- it just clicked with me. Well, imagine my surprise when I found out that Army was actually the THIRD in a series of films about the Deadite-blasting hero Ash, but that the first two went by the name "Evil Dead". Well, being a fan, and also a stickler for chronology, I decided to go out and rent the FIRST one. "Shock" does not do justice to what I was feeling by film's end. This movie traumatized me so badly that I wouldn't seek out Evil Dead II for another FOUR YEARS. For this alone, I am deducting a half-star from my score.

Now that I'm older and much more tolerant of scary movies, though, I can see in The Evil Dead a perfect example of low-budget horror, a film that builds a relentless atmosphere with inventive camera usage and fantastic sound editing, and can scare the crap out of you at a moment's notice with a deranged demon attack. Sure, the acting is beyond sub-par, the film quality is grainy and blurry (which sometimes works to its advantage), and the make-up and effects are oftentimes transparent, but ultimately, the first Evil Dead is like a dose of distilled terror, a shock to the senses that sticks with you long after it's over. Headlined by a motley cast of (at the time) nobodies, the film features the first recorded cinematic appearance of the great Bruce Campbell, appearing as his most famous character, Ash.

Fans of the other films might be dismayed to find that, in this film, Ash is just an average college kid, a reserved everyman who falls to pieces as his friends are transformed, one by one, into vicious, bloodthirsty undead creatures. He actually seems the farthest thing from a hero for most of the movie, too terrified to attack the monsters at first and displaying a bizarre weakness to overturned shelves (he gets trapped TWICE in less than twenty minutes)- he actually seems more like he's the panicky guy who might make a break for it near the end of the film and end up zombie food. You could be forgiven for thinking Scotty, played by Hal Delrich, was the hero, given that he saves Ash and company more than once and kicks a fair amount of ass early on, but ultimately the guy turns out to be too much of an asshole to live ("An animal? An ANIMAL?!? HA HA HA HA HA- that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard of! Jesus Christ..."). Ash's eternally-lamented-for girlfriend, Linda (as played by Betsy Baker), makes for a kind of cutesy love interest for Ash, but as a Deadite, she's top-notch creepy, playing her demented china-doll look to the hilt and chanting a sing-song taunt that you'll have trouble getting out of your head. Shelley, played by Theresa Tilly, doesn't have such a stand-out demon trademark... no, she just gets stabbed through the back with a foot-long dagger, gnaws her wounded hand off like an animal, and spews milk and blood shortly before getting hacked to pieces by her boyfriend Scotty. So yes, she has the most graphically violent scene of the film going for her, but before any of that, she's just kind of... there. As the main Deadite baddie this time 'round, though, we have Cheryl (Ellen Sandweiss), Ash's sister (!) and the mysterious fifth wheel of the group who's apparently just there to take in the scenery. Unfortunately, the scenery takes an unusual shine to her, and as a result, we get the most tastelessly exploitative scene in the film (and possibly all of cinema history): the Tree Rape scene. What a way to start the movie. Following that, however, she makes for a gloriously psychotic demon presence in the film, calling out horrible, demonic taunts from her prison in the cellar, and the final battle with her is fantastically gripping and suspenseful.

Like all of Sam Raimi's films, the camera plays as big a part in the story as any of the actors, and here we see him stretching his creative muscles as far as they can go, giving us such extreme shots as the "between Ash's feet shot", with accompanying pivot-foot-wipe to the next shot. The last act, in particular, bears the stamp of Raimi's direction boldly, filled with Dutch tilts, overhead shots, bizarre angles, and sight gags that build the dread of the scene to a dramatic crescendo (with one of the Evil Dead franchise's patented mirror gags). The sound editing on this film is absolutely phenomenal, I must say; the use of silence, coupled with the juxtaposition of slavering, undead growls and moans magnifies the movie's impact a hundred-fold. The lighting is moody and atmospheric, if a bit on the cheap side; the same can be said of the score, which sometimes elevates the film to spooky new levels, and other times descends into synthesized cheese. The make-ups for the monsters are sometimes quite convincing, even if you can see the actress's thumb sticking out from her monster glove or the seams on the prosthetic appliances every once in a while, and the all-white contacts are used to great effect, giving us soulless ciphers where our characters used to be (there's something really terrifying about losing someone's eyes...).

If you're a fan of either of its subsequent sequels, the likelihood is that you'll be just a bit disappointed with this paired-down, less comedic entry into the franchise, but as a horror film that stands on its own, The Evil Dead is a one-of-a-kind experience in visceral terror. I may have become jaded to the ways of scary movies, but even now, this is a film that can chill me to my very bones; a film not to be underestimated.

THIS is what the Star Wars franchise used to be like, back when they were, y'know, good movies. Before I saw this film, I didn't really know much about Joss Whedon, nor did I particularly give a crap. I'd seen the Kristy Swanson abomination that was Buffy the Vampire Slayer on TV several times when I was a kid, and so I made sure to steer clear of the later TV show, its spin-offs, and anything else created by Whedon as the years went on (including a rather unappealing-looking sci-fi series called Firefly that Fox hyped to death and then put out to pasture- I only watched Star Trek TNG, thankyouverymuch). Finally, after hearing his praises being sung for nearly a decade (and growing more than a little sick of it), I finally relented, obtaining a copy of the only feature film he had ever directed- I figured it was as good a place to start as any. In a span of just under two hours, I went from a closed-minded cynic to a full-fledged believer. Serenity is easily the best science-fiction film of the past decade (well, second best at least, after 2009's Star Trek), a funny, exciting, even occasionally frightening film that doesn't pull its punches and keeps its audience firmly on the edge of their seats for the entire run time. It's a film that has heart, and knows how to use it. The characters are all clearly defined and inherently likable, making the relationships that much easier to get into, so when they're ultimately thrown up against seemingly insurmountable odds, we're cheering for them all the way.

The story is set in a future that is like a cross between the Old West and the Far East, evoking shades of Blade Runner and Star Wars in equal measure; this dichotomy is further expressed in the strangely gritty, retro filmmaking style (zooms and shaky cam shots abound) that contrasts the futuristic subject matter and the slick cinematography style. The beauty of the film, though, is in its simplicity; by making the central story of this sprawling space film an intimate, character-driven piece about people just trying to get by on the fringes of society, Whedon has created a movie with more resonance than the last three Star Wars films combined. The backdrop of the universe is laid down quickly and concisely so that we can move forward with the plot, which hits the ground running: Simon Tam and his sister River are fugitives from the Alliance, a domineering interstellar government that used the girl as an experimental guinea pig and which will stop at nothing to re-acquire her- or kill her. To evade the long arm of the Alliance, the Tams have hitched a ride on a smuggling ship called Serenity, where they find a temporary refuge among the crew of criminals and cast-offs. Little do they know that the Alliance has dispatched a nameless, tireless Operative to find them, whose unquestioning loyalty to said Alliance has made him a dangerous and remorseless adversary; little do they also realize that slight, unassuming River Tam has been engineered into a five-foot-six killing machine, and that there's no way to know what will active her. Now the only hope the crew of Serenity has is to discover what secrets River Tam possesses that make her such a threat to the Alliance, and ultimately, they must decide just how much they are willing to sacrifice to protect her.

The cast for this movie is absolutely terrific- if you haven't seen the T.V. show, they're fresh faces, all, and it makes it easier to identify with the characters when you don't think of them as actors. Nathon Fillion is Captain Malcolm "Mal" Reynolds, a former sergeant in the Independent army and leader of our plucky band of heroes. The Independents fought for (yup, you guessed it) independence from the Alliance in a Civil War of sorts, and were summarily crushed into oblivion; Mal, scarred by his experiences, is a man who believes in nothing, a good man who hides behind a mask of swagger and mercenary heartlessness to survive (if the words "Han Solo" start creeping into your head, feel free to ignore them). Fillion excels in the role, allowing the character to be both thick-skinned and vulnerable, and keeping a sense of humor without compromising the character or making him a buffoon. The only other character as well-developed as Mal is would be River Tam, the seventeen-year-old living weapon played by Summer Glau. River is an enigma through most of the film: trapped somewhere between mentally disabled and hyperactively perceptive (she's both a savant and a psychic), our first glimpses into her mind through dreams and flashbacks are distorted and out-of-context, and as a result we really have no idea what's motivating her. As the film progresses, though, it becomes apparent that River is indeed a victim, an innocent girl haunted by images that she can't make sense of herself, turned into a tool by the government but struggling to reclaim her humanity (don't even THINK "Logan". Just don't). The rest of the characters are well-constructed, but aren't developed as much as the principle two (because hey, there's only so much you can do in two hours)- still, they each have their moment to shine: there's Adam Baldwin (no relation) as Jayne, the brainless heavy/mercenary soldier of the group, whose questionable morals make him something of a wild card but who is mostly played for comic relief; then we have Gina Torres as Zoe, a tough-as-nails war vet/warrior woman who, for some inexplicable reason, is married to Alan Tudyk's Wash, the snarky, wise-cracking pilot (a relationship that doesn't seem like it would work until you see the two characters in a scene together alone- at which point the marriage-chemistry is astonishingly apparent); Jewel Staite plays Kaylee, the perpetual optimist and perennial ray of sunshine who just happens to be an insanely talented engineer (something that's funny about the crew of the Serenity is that, while the ship is a junker, it somehow is run by the most talented crew in the galaxy- the best pilot, the best mechanic, etc. Funny how it just happened that the best people for every job all ended up on one ship, eh?); Sean Maher is Dr. Simon Tam, River's clean-cut, hyper-protective brother, who's thrown away his entire future as a physician to rescue her from the Alliance; and finally, Morena Baccarin plays Inara, a Companion (read: prostitute- but in the future, prostitutes are respected persons of status) and former crew member who rejoins the ship and becomes Mal's girl Friday, bantering amidst thick sexual tension. The villain, Chiwetel Ejioror's unnamed Operative, is another model of contradictions: unflappably soft spoken and polite, the Operative is a man who does monstrous, terrible things all in the name of an idyllic greater good- like a sociopathic Superman, but with a katana instead of super powers.

For Joss Whedon's maiden voyage as a director, the guy does seem to know what he's doing. The film makes use of some sporadic shaky-cam and '70s T.V.-style zooms to give the action some immediacy (a tactic J.J. Abrams also employed quite well in Star Trek), and Whedon works to integrate C.G. and practical effects for maximum believability. The script is tight, incredibly funny, and it has an amazingly deft touch with exposition- it tells you everything you need to know to enjoy the movie without having seen a single episode of Firefly, yet it never feels like you're being spoon-fed information (except, of course, for the opening narration that establishes the history of Serenity's sci-fi universe, but cleverly enough, this monologue is couched as an elementary-school history lesson). This being a Joss Whedon screenplay, the characterization is sharp and the dialogue is hilarious, but the writer's not afraid to let things get serious- or to kill off beloved characters at a moment's notice. The cinematography toes the line between futuristic monochrome (all blues and greens, like in The Matrix) and bleached out sepia (giving it that old-photograph flavor that all westerns have), enhancing the stylistic contrast of the film; the score by David Newman continues the pattern by juxtaposing musical textures from all over the place: folksy acoustic guitars, Asian ambiance, sci-fi synth elements, and a traditional orchestral score. The special effects, while quite good, are not necessarily the most awe-inspiring science-fiction effects ever put to film (this is a film with a modest budget, you know), but the fact is, they don't have to be- Joss Whedon is a filmmaker who knows (like George Lucas about thirty years before him) that the effects are only there to help tell the story, and and so he only uses them as much as is absolutely necessary (unlike the George Lucas of today). Still, the space battles are epic and raw, as are the fight and action sequences- with the exception of River's fight choreography, which is beautifully orchestrated and devastatingly executed; I don't know who did the fight work, but the fact that they convinced me that a 95-lb teenage girl could take on a room full of drunken smugglers is a testament to his (or her) abilities.

The television show Firefly was incredibly popular among science fiction fans, but regardless, it was canceled after less than one season by Fox, because they didn't really know what to do with the quirky, unusual space-western. Then, though the sheer power of the fans' outcry, the show was resurrected for the big screen, the end result being a film acclaimed by critics and loved by fans, but one that failed at the box office; again, I think it's because Universal really didn't know how to market the unusual breed of film that is Serenity- it doesn't fit into the clear-cut genre molds that all movies are supposed to fall into. Because of that, I didn't get around to watching this film, or appreciating the talents of Joss Whedon, for a very long time, and I honestly have to say that I regret not giving the movie a chance sooner. Serenity is a fun mixture of action and comedy, space adventure and western suspense, with just enough drama and pathos thrown in to make the whole thing potent. And unlike most of the recent science fiction films to come out in the past decade or so (in particular a certain prequel trilogy that will remain unnamed here- you know, the one directed by George Lucas that tainted the fond memories of a legion of ardent, devoted fans), the film is full of interesting, enjoyable characters who we actually care about the well being of, and who give the story its heart and soul. Don't be fooled by the misguided promotional materials that might have you thinking that this is just another cold, sterile, esoteric science fiction film; Serenity is a warm and welcoming movie, drawing you into a world lived-in and well-worn that might just remind you of the better days of space cinema. If you've never seen anything done by Joss Whedon before, go ahead and see it. He might just surprise you.

This is it. The mother of modern horror. The progenitor of the entire slasher sub-genre of scary movies. The $325,000 independent film that would go on to make $47 million (making it the most successful independent film in history for a long time) and launch the career of its then-unknown star, Jamie Lee Curtis (whose subsequent involvement with other horror films would ultimately label her Hollywood's "Scream Queen"). Inspired by Hitchcock's Psycho, and the foremost inspiration for Wes Craven's Scream, John Carpenter's Halloween is indisputably a milestone in cinema history, a perfect symphony of scares that knows how to build up the two things you need most in an effective horror film- suspense and atmosphere. Not nearly as reliant on gore and ostentatious kills as the imitators that followed it, Halloween is instead permeated by a creeping sense of dread, illustrated most clearly by the famous opening sequence shot from the point of view of the killer- a sequence that takes its cues from classic German expressionism, using the camera to push the viewer into places they don't want to go. Hell, even the opening credits create a feeling of impending doom! Carefully crafted by Carpenter to drag you deeper into its thrall, Halloween is like the coolest campfire story ever told, building up the tension ever so slowly and culminating in one of the greatest horror showdowns in movie history- not to mention the most chilling, ambiguous ending EVER. The score is unforgettably creepy, the characters are just broad enough to be funny but just defined enough for us to fear for them, and the camera is wielded by a master of the cinematic form- in every conceivable way, Halloween is the pinnacle of horror cinema, not to mention a landmark in independent filmmaking and absolutely mandatory viewing on All Hallow's Eve.

What's nice about the story is that writer/director Carpenter knows how to really work a fairly simplistic premise for maximum dramatic effect. The film opens on Halloween night, 1963, where we see a teenage girl murdered by her six-year-old brother- the formative moment of the legend of Michael Myers. Flash-forward fifteen years, and we see an adult Michael escape from a high-security mental institution right under the nose of his doctor, Sam Loomis, on the night of his transfer to a prison hospital. Meanwhile, in Haddonfield, young Laurie Strode is leading the ordinary life of a teenager in small-town U.S.A.- dropping off keys to her father's properties, hanging out with her friends Annie and Linda after school, half-listening to incredibly hokey classroom lectures about fate- but she soon becomes aware of a mysterious figure following her while she goes about her day. As Dr. Loomis arrives in town, enlisting the aid of the local sheriff to track down the psychotic killer, Laurie shows up at her babysitting job on Halloween night, little suspecting the danger that lurks nearby... watching... waiting. Soon Laurie's friends start to go missing, and the little boy she's babysitting begins to freak out, claiming that he sees the Boogeyman watching them from across the street. Finally, Laurie goes over to check on her friends... and what follows is like a funhouse payoff to all the mounting tension of the film, followed by one of the most harrowing stalking monster sequences of all time. And then there's that ending, man... (the effect of which is better if you don't watch the inferior sequel that picks up right where the first left off.)

Jamie Lee Curtis was the apotheosis of the teenage virgin archetype as Laurie Strode. With her shin-length skirt, books held up to her chest, and quiet demeanor, Laurie was a character pure as the driven snow: good with kids, averse to drug use or drinking (though occasionally giving in to pressure from her friends), responsible to a fault, and an all-around goody two-shoes. In the realm of horror, Laurie Strode was as good as invincible- no writer/director would have the balls to kill a character as wholesome and likable as she. Thankfully, though, she could still be menaced but good, and that's where Nick Castle comes in as Michael Myers, a.k.a. "the Shape". Castle was just a friend of Carpenter's who wandered on set and was assigned killer-duty 'cause they needed someone to fill in the mask, but his calm, deliberate motions and almost mechanical mannerisms (not to mention the now cliched post-kill head-tilt) managed to infuse the Shape with a good deal of spookiness (well, that, and the disturbing-as-hell sanded-down William Shatner mask that they used for the character- a mask that they never quite managed to duplicate in any of the subsequent nine sequels). Still, most of the actual development of Michael's character comes not from the actor, but from a combination of Carpenter's creepy camerawork and the melodramatic rantings of Donald Pleasence as Dr. Sam Loomis. Loomis is an incredibly fun character because he's probably the worst doctor in movie history- he spends the entire movie trying to hunt down and kill his own patient. Thanks to Pleasence, though, what could have been an exceptionally silly or boring role is instead good, schlock-y fun; the fact that someone as seemingly grounded as Pleasence is telling us that Michael is a pure, unreasoning force of evil conveys just how dangerous the character really is. (more to come)

Ahhh, Army of Darkness. Of all the Evil Dead films, this is by far the most popular, most well-known film, and the cult following that surrounds it is astonishing. Frankly, if you're reading this, chances are you probably already like the movie. If not- if you are one of those few people who has never SEEN Army of Darkness, but have HEARD of it, I will say this: it is hilarious. Not a horror film in the slightest, AOD is a medieval swash-buckling adventure, loaded with slapstick and sight gags, and bristling with monster effects, stop-motion, and front-projection shots (some of which have not aged well). Our one-handed hero, Ash- no longer the frightened victim of Evil Dead or the hardened survivor of Evil Dead 2- is now a full-blast matinée idol hero, full of witty one-liners and quick with a shotgun; this time, he finds himself a fish out of water, trapped in the thirteenth century thanks to the time-portal climax of ED2, and since he's the only character we spend any meaningful amount of time with, he carries the movie. Let me just put it this way: if you like sword-and-sorcery movies, the Three Stooges, or if the idea of a man replacing his hand with a chainsaw just sounds really cool to you, then you have to watch this movie. If not, well, watch it anyway.

When Nick Fury, head honcho of S.H.I.E.L.D., showed up in Tony Stark's living room at the end of 2008's Iron Man and brought up the subject of the "Avengers Initiative", he, and the producers and filmmakers, were making a promise. A BIG promise. They were promising us something grander, something exponentially more complex, ambitious, and entertaining, than the wonderful film we had just seen. It was a ballsy move on the part of Marvel Studios, a fledgling company just finding its footing. But some four years and four intermediary films later, the time has finally come to live up to that promise... and Marvel Studios has. BIG TIME.

The Avengers is like a concentration of all the best qualities of every superhero movie that's come before into a single, perfectly distilled blockbuster. It's got humor, it's got drama, it's got enough action to give Michael Bay a raging stiffy, and-- as is becoming signature with Marvel films-- it's got enough humanity at its heart to keep us invested, even when things get really ridiculous and there are space aliens and giant mechanized dragons flying all over the place. All of the characters are given due exploration and development, all of them prove critical to the plot (a mean feat, given that two members of the team are little more than a glorified sharpshooter and a spy), and the relationships they form are endlessly entertaining-- thanks largely to writer/director Joss Whedon and his remarkable knack for composing clever dialogue and witty banter. If this movie doesn't propel Whedon into the big time, I don't know what will. The man is in top form here, juggling subplots and characters left and right and not only combining them into something coherent, but something downright riveting. For a film with a two-hour-twenty-minute running time, it never feels ponderous or padded; it's a solidly entertaining, crowd-pleasing movie-- the wet dream of fanboys everywhere, but still totally accessible to the casual viewer. And best of all, it does exactly what it should do as a team movie pieced together from several disparate franchises: it builds on the separate stories of each of the principle heroes, in ways that add new dimensions to the characters without feeling forced or perfunctory. This isn't just a big, pointless get-together for all these characters-- this is a continuation of their own stories, and by the end of it, each of them has grown somehow from the experience. So basically, it's Captain America 2, Thor 2, Incredible Hulk 2, and Iron Man 3 all rolled into one... and in the end, it really is as good as all of those franchises combined.

(more to come)

Let's get something out of the way right now: this is one of my favorite horror films, if not my absolute favorite. Freddy Krueger is a character that used to freak me out when I was a youngster, but the one thing that I could always say to myself was the tagline of (ironically) another Wes Craven movie, the Last House on the Left: "It's only a movie!" But this is a movie that asks the question, "What if it's NOT just a movie?" What if there is something behind the images on the screen, something darker and infinitely more dangerous? And what if the only way to stop this thing- is to watch the movie? Set in the real world, New Nightmare gives us a glimpse at what lies behind the Nightmare on Elm Street films, both literally (we see the actors, producers, and director as themselves making the movie) and figuratively (in the darkness personified by the character Freddy Krueger). In fact, this is a movie rife with metaphor, literary references, and my favorite element for any horror movie- atmosphere. When it's daytime and the real world is in full sway, the camera is little more than an observer of reality, almost giving it a documentary feeling. But when the line between reality an films begins to blur (as the line between dreams and reality blurred in the first Nightmare), the haunting strains of the score cue up, the lighting becomes more dramatic, and the feeling of impending danger begins to seep into the film, creating a suspenseful build-up to methodically unfolding terror. What's great is, for the first half of the movie, this could be little more than a psychological thriller- Heather could be imagining all of this, and the movie has a foot firmly in reality. Then, slowly, the supernatural suggestions become demonic threats, and the new, deadlier, and decidedly less funny Freddy is introduced. Craven returns Freddy to his bone-chilling roots, carving away the wisecracking spoof of other films to get back down to the dark, scary monster under the surfice. And in sort of an ironic twist, the evil of Krueger is warping poor Dylan, played to cute-creepy perfection by Miko Hughes, so the only one who can protect him is Heather, a part of the industry that gave Freddy form in the first place. Still, throughout the movie, Craven promotes the cathartic benefits of horror films, and the need for them to give shape to the darker parts of human nature. Intriguingly, New Nightmare is a thesis on the role horror movies play in society (at the same time as being a far better one than any other Elm Street sequel), a re-examination of a creator's first great work, and a more literal prelude to his later exploration of the line between films and reality. New Nightmare is reportedly Wes Craven's favorite work, and with good reason- this is Craven on his A-game, creating a layered, intellectual story that's still an entertaining piece of film. It's not the garish, spectacle-driven mish-mash that Elm Streets two through six were- it's a horror film for the thinking man. And a scary one, at that.

A classic that paved the way for all that came after it. While many heap praise onto Frankenstein as the premiere monster movie of the Universal era, it isn't often noted that Dracula came first- that, in fact, it was Dracula's success that encouraged Universal to make Frankenstein in the first place. Of course, Dracula is not without its flaws: it had no score to speak of, as director Tod Browning was unused to the sound equipment needed to create one; it becomes abysmally slow in the middle of the film, as we trade the vast and ominous sets of the Count's castles for a Victorian drawing-room for one third of the picture; and actor David Manners is about as expressive as a Ken Doll in the role of Jonathan Harker. But the main draw of the film lies in its eponymous main character, and Bela Lugosi does not disappoint. Every movement, every look, every pause in speech- all come across as coldly calculated, even as the Count oozes charm and behaves almost annoyingly polite. The distanced eeriness of Lugosi's portrayal is starkly contrasted by Dwight Frye's Renfield, a role played with such gleeful relish that he can't help but steal every scene he's in. While it has it's problems, Dracula is a landmark in cinema history, and a genuinely entertaining voyage through the superstitious, shadowy places where brave men fear to tread.

It has long been my opinion that directors that write their own screenplays put out the best cinematic works, and the Terminator is a shining testament to that belief. Having only directed one prior film- Piranha 2- rookie filmmaker James Cameron wrote a screenplay inspired by a hellish fever dream, and set about the arduous task of bringing it to the screen himself. What resulted was a film that turned Cameron into a hot director, turned Arnold Schwarzenegger into an international superstar, and turned monosyllabic, gun-toting bodybuilders into the newest trend in low-budget filmmaking. With a story that unfolds slowly enough to build suspense and tension in the beginning, but revs up into a taught action spectacle for the last two acts, Terminator is a well-written, perfectly paced thriller with just enough science fiction to make the premise (and the antagonist) believable, but not so much that it bogs down the audience with techno-babble or cheats them with last minute miraculous plot devices. Arnold plays the part that he was born to, and one that is perfectly suited to him; his stature and build convey a sense of menace that most actors would have to work for, and the minimalism and monotone delivery of his dialogue dehumanizes him perfectly. Michael Biehn is convincing as Kyle Reese, a hardened and shell-shocked soldier from the future; he pulls off the character's intelligent desperation excellently. Linda Hamilton is strange to watch as the skittish 80's girl Sarah Connor, especially if you've seen T2, but she pulls off her dramatic arc well, and you can see her evolving into the character she would later become. And hey, watch out for Cameron-patsy Bill Paxton as a spiky-mohawked punk, alongside Shao Kahn himself, Brian Thompson! And the effects, ministered by the great (but at the time relatively unknown) Stan Winston, are still impressive to behold- in some cases, it's still hard to figure out how they did it! Underneath all the action and the effects, however, there is a powerful human story, about the value of a person's life and the impact that anyone- no matter how seemingly significant- can have upon the future. Stranger still, this story is anchored by a love story between Kyle and Sarah, which could easily have come off as cheesy and contrived, but is thankfully made believable by the earnest performances of Biehn and Hamilton. And during each stage of production, Cameron personally had a hand in every aspect of the making of the film, from lighting and editing to the special effects and the design process- Cameron designed the entire T-800 chassis himself! Though the original Terminator rings a bit false at times (Ginger and Sarah pre-Terminator seem just a bit too fake, but then again, it was the 80's), it is nonetheless a fantastic viewing experience, skillfully blending elements of horror, sci-fi, drama, and suspense thriller together to create a movie that defies categorization. It is the singular vision of one man- a man who would go on to make some of the greatest motion pictures put to film, a man who has contributed more to the field of motion pictures in twenty-odd years than some filmmakers do in a lifetime, and a man who's only directed ONE movie in his entire career that he didn't write himself.

... It was Piranha 2.

This movie is, and always was, a personal favorite of mine (it is, according to available record, the first movie I have ever seen). Though watching it now, I can perceive flaws in Tim Burton's third (and largest, at the time) foray into studio filmmaking, Batman has always been more of an experience than an intellectual exercise in film-going. The scope of this picture is immense, spanning huge sets and sound stages that are supplemented with matte paintings to appear endless and intimidating. The plot is almost incidental to the film's style: a mysterious vigilante dressed as a bat has been prowling the streets and rooftops of corrupt cesspool Gotham City for a just under a month, scaring the crap out of petty criminals before beating the crap out of them. While breaking up a raid at a chemical factory, the Batman sends a mob lieutenant tumbling into a vat of waste, from which he emerges with white skin, green hair, and a permanent smile. Calling himself the Joker, the man takes over the organized crime of the city and sets his sights on the murders of every man, woman, and child in Gotham, and only one man can stop him: Batman. Michael Keaton's gruff, whispering Batman was a revelation, the first popular shift away from the Adam West characterization. His Bruce Wayne is moody and brooding, too- a man uncomfortable in his own skin, whose neurotic compulsion to fight crime in a bat-suit prevents him from having anything close to a normal, happy existence. His Batman is dark and reserved, popping in and out of the story and commanding the scene once he arrives, and although he could barely move in that suit, he manages to project an air of power and menace whenever he appears on screen. Nicholson, on the other hand, is so perfect for his part that it's scary, pulling of a deadly and maniacal Joker with ease (despite being many years older and a few pounds heavier than the Joker is traditionally portrayed). The only problem with his portrayal is that it's literally impossible to separate the character from the actor, as the Joker seems like nothing more than Jack Nicholson's id unleashed; the part can never be entirely convincing because you never forget who is playing him. Kim Basinger comes off as the odd woman out, a lone bastion of down-to-earth sensibility in a totally out-there production; it works well enough, I suppose, but her most important dramatic beat comes off as hackneyed and stale, and I can't help but wonder how Sean Young would have done in her stead. Michael Gough, a mainstay from the Hammer horror days, gets a small but fantastically stuffy part as Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce's confidant and trusted manservant (a role that would carry him through all of the successive sequels). Billy Dee Williams also gets a small but fun part as Distict Attorney Harvey Dent, a role that should, by all rights, have lead to his playing Two-Face in a Batman sequel; the only really important scene he has is a banquet with a strong Citizen Kane vibe, but it does make me wish he had gotten another crack at the role later. Visually, the film has Tim Burton's style without nearly as much of the personal signature that his later films would develop; the art department is definitely in charge here, with Anton Furst's set and production design in the forefront, and everything is grimy and industrial, creating a hell of urban decay that would win the design team an Oscar. The compositions are clear and engaging, and the lighting is like something out of film noir, with high-contrast shadows and conveniently placed shafts of light (and oh, how I do love it when they pull a Lugosi and highlight Batman's eyes during the darker scenes). The score, by Danny Elfman, is pure cinema gold, with a resounding, powerful, hum-able theme that weaves through the music and sticks with the viewer; easily, it's one of the best scores Elfman's ever done (if not one of the best scores EVER), and it established him as one of the premier film composers in the industry for over a decade. The script is the focal point of a typical Hollywood creative tragedy; the original screenplay, written by Sam Hamm, was a fantastic piece of storytelling, with clear, sharp characterizations and a tight, engaging plot (and yes, I HAVE read it, and it IS that good- Tarantino reportedly called it one of the best scripts he'd ever read). During the writer's strike of '88, however, Hamm couldn't be on-set during the shooting of the film, and as a result, rampant on-the-spot improv and overnight rewrites by the director and producers wreaked havoc on the film, turning the third act into a convoluted mess and transforming the Joker into the murderer of Bruce Wayne's parents (a move which, while dramatically interesting, infuriated comic fans, and is still a point of confusion for casual viewers, especially if they've ever seen Batman Begins). Sure, these improvs did add some great moments to the film (such as the classic "I'm Batman" line, which was originally scripted as "I am the night"), but they also robbed it of a great deal of credibility, particularly when Alfred allows Vicki into the Batcave for a last minute, horribly written romantic interlude before the climax. The insertion of Prince's songs take some steam of of the film, Batman kills a few to many people for anyone who knows anything about the character, and the aforementioned resolution to the Bruce-Vicki relationship makes NO SENSE WHATSOEVER, but Burton's Batman is still as entertaining as when it was first released. The new Batman franchise helmed by Christopher Nolan may be more critically acclaimed, but ultimately, it will never be as iconic or as groundbreaking as Tim Burton's pass at the character. All they needed on the poster for this film was a logo. That just about says it all.

Kevin Smith's films tend to be fairly similar. For the most part, people stand around and talk; they talk about relationships, about comic books, about Star Wars, and everything in-between, and it is through these unending conversations that the plot is moved forward. Dogma, however, represents a radical departure from this motif; behold, a Kevin Smith film with- ACTION SEQUENCES! Gasp! Things actually HAPPEN! People go places! There are special effects, even! And sure, these things do make Dogma a somewhat more exciting movie than, say, Clerks. But the fact is, Kevin Smith makes films that are about two things- sharp characterizations and witty repartee- and Dogma has this in spades. Linda Fiorentino as Bethany Sloane is a perfect portrait of a faithless Catholic, living in quiet desperation as a lip-service church goer until she gets run over by a busload of spiritual revelations. Ben Affleck and Matt Damon as Bartleby and Loki, respectively, are like a finely-tuned comedy act- Loki's the clown, Bartleby's the straight man, and they bicker like a married couple- until halfway through the movie, Bartleby makes a dramatic character swing that turns him into a tragic villain with true pathos; Damon is unrelentingly likable as the smite-happy Loki, and Affleck shows surprising range and believability as the sensitive-cum-megalomaniacal Bartleby. Alan Rickman is absolutely brilliant as Metatron, the voice of God- he's certainly the only actor with the gravitas to believably portray a member of the highest choir of angels AND the comic timing to deliver Smith's razor-sharp dialogue, and to top it all off, he has moments of warmth that make him a much more well-rounded character. Salma Hayek as Serendipity has no such moments, unfortunately, and comes off as a somewhat two-dimensional expositional character with spectacular breasts- the muse is an intriguing concept, but not much of an actual person (which gives her line "I used to be an abstract" a decidedly multi-layered meaning). Jason Lee as Azreal gets to turn his snide delivery up a notch portraying a villain (a demon, no less), and though he's still funny, there's definitely a new undercurrent of bitterness that makes him less likable that usual. Finally, Chris Rock, while he hardly stretches himself as an actor, is still incredibly funny as the thirteenth apostle Rufus, and Jason Mewes and Kevin Smith as Jay and his "hetero-life-mate" Silent Bob are funnier than ever (perhaps my favorite moment in the film would be the foul-mouthed Jay coming face-to-face with God herself). More than being a playground for his new characters, though, Dogma is a scathing satire of organized religion and Catholic mythology, deftly handling material that few other movies would dare to touch upon. It was heavily picketed during its theatrical release by the Catholic church (and a bunch of other ones, I think), but Smith manages to have some fun about the whole controversy with a pitch-perfect disclaimer at the beginning of the film, which clarifies the movie's status as a comic FANTASY while poking a bit of fun at anyone who might take his work too seriously. Sure, Dogma has its childish moments (a great deal of them, actually), but it's that grounded and humorous perspective that allows Smith to broach such sensitive subjects without a moment's pause. Once again, Smith has written a movie about the relationships between people, even if some of them aren't strictly people, but more than that, he's written and directed a personal statement about having faith and finding your place in the grand scheme of things. A must-see for any Smith fans, highly recommended for anyone with a sense of humor and an open mind, and, in my opinion, required viewing for Catholics.

Existential comedy. It sounds like a contradiction in terms, when you think about it- people contemplating the vagaries of existence hardly sounds like the makings of a laugh riot. And an existential comedy based on Hamlet, one of the most famous stage tragedies in theatre history, sounds even less feasible. But somehow, probably due to the incredible wit of writer-director Tom Stoppard and the fantastic pairing of Gary Oldman and Tim Roth, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead manages to overcome its potential shortcomings, achieving a level of philosophical sophistication that is belayed by its lighthearted sense of humor. From seemingly out of nowhere, we are greeted by two riders, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern- friends who find themselves wandering aimlessly with no memory of who exactly they are (or more specifically, which is which), where they've come from, or where they're going. Finally, they come across a rabble of traveling actors (slash prostitutes), or "Tragedians", led by a nameless Player, and shortly thereafter are stranded in the castle of Elsinore, watching as the events of the play Hamlet unfold mystifyingly around them (and trapped within the span of those events) while the Player alludes to truths that neither man can understand- that they aren't the architects of their own fate, and that they are simply bit players in a far grander story. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are a comic duo who are a lot like Laurel and Hardy, Ren and Stimpy, or, most accurately, C-3PO and R2-D2 (inconsequential characters weaving through an epic tapestry). Rosencrantz (or Guildenstern), played by Gary Oldman, is an innocent, simple character, taking simple pleasures out of his situation and never really looking past the immediate (though he often shows startling flashes of insight that catch us off guard, such as with his preponderance of death at the end of act two). He's sort of a childlike character, and the fact that Gary Oldman is able to channel that so convincingly is astonishing (especially considering the number of evil bastards he's played); he really keeps the film from getting too morbid and serious. The straight man to Oldman's clown, Guildenstern (or Rosencrantz), played by Tim Roth, is a more analytical, hot-headed guy who finds the inexplicable nature of their situation infuriating and is consistently exasperated by his more obtuse companion. While it's not as fun of a part as Rosencrantz (or Guildenstern), Roth does get some good bits as the brighter of the two wits, and all of the dramatic beats originate with him (especially by the end). The pair find themselves subject to the whims of a reality that they have no memory of or control over, forced to take their situation for granted in the hopes of finding a deeper meaning to their presence or, at least, a way out of it all. The key to this would seem to be the mysterious Player, played by Richard Dreyfuss, a burlesque character who mocks their search for truth and seems to be the orchestrator of their situation (even if he, too, is bound by his own part- or parts- in it). Dreyfuss is fun as the all-too-knowing showman whose whole existence is defined by his craft (hence his lack of a proper name), a seemingly obscene character (especially after his first scene) who is blunt and uncaring- representative, maybe, of an indifferent world. The funny thing is that the play (upon which this is based) seems to tackle the idea of "what do Rosencrantz and Guildenstern do between their scenes in Hamlet" from a sort of ironic standpoint- that what their doing between their Hamlet scenes is trying to justify their own existence until another scene crops up (in which they are suddenly playing the parts assigned to them naturally and unquestioningly). The fact that these are characters defined solely by what's been written about them makes it interesting when they become befuddled by the gaps in their information (such as who is Rosencrantz and who is Guildenstern, since, in their Hamlet scenes, they are virtually interchangeable) and question exactly where it's coming from. The script is unbelievably good, filled with machine-gun dialogue that toys with the basic structure of language with zeal and wit; it poses some heady philosophical points wedged between almost incomprehensibly fast games of Questions between our heroes. Technically speaking, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead is a simplistic film: while a lot of the film is shot on location, the sets stand out when they do appear (particularly the boat set at the end of the film) as, well, sets- the film feels enclosed at times, like it's on a soundstage. Also, the few effects that pop up are far from convincing, but then, that's probably not the point (we see during the Tragedian's faux-Hamlet performance how even the most rudimentary effects can be effective). The cinematography is pretty decent, playing very naturalistically (firelight is the only noticeable source for any non-daylight); the compositions are also decent, sticking to standard two-shots and close-ups (it's actually quite proficient, considering that this is playwright Tom Stoppard's directorial debut); editing-wise, the use of juxtaposition is excellent, especially to show the jump between performance and "reality". Overall, it's sort of a bittersweet tale, which skirts the edge of tragedy and comedy at the end, but its very premise makes it impossible to feel too disheartened when the inevitable finally happens (after all, it's in the bloody TITLE- it shouldn't come as a big surprise), because, as the film establishes, neither Rosencrantz nor Guildenstern really have a life outside of the one Shakespeare created for them, and technically they are reborn each time someone watches the play/movie- which, considering the sharp, clever humor at work here, should be quite frequently. It's a thinking person's comedy, a self-referential exploration of the nature of life and death itself. That, and it's damn funny.

Freddy Krueger used to scare the ever-loving shit out of me as a kid. The filthy fedora pulled down over a hideous face of burned flesh, the rusty-looking clawed leather glove, even that damn red-and-green sweater- something about this character simply paralyzed me with sharp, mortal terror. I seriously had nightmares about this guy throughout my early childhood, ever since I was six and woke up to my teenage aunt watching a horror movie marathon at midnight- and trust me, Freddy Krueger is the last guy you want to have nightmares about when you're a kid. How do you convince yourself it's not real when the whole f*%#in' thing is supposed to be happening in dreams to begin with?!? How can you ever feel safe if you think something is trying to kill you in your sleep? And that is the ultimate genius of the concept of this movie, the primal fear that turned Freddy into a pop culture phenomenon and spawned a litany of inferior sequels: the dream that can kill you. It's such a brilliant idea that it seems ridiculous that nobody thought of it sooner, but that's the thing about a good idea- once it's there, it's kinda hard to imagine a world without it. It helps, of course, that the first movie's execution is practically flawless. This is a dark, atmospheric- I almost want to say gothic- horror story couched in the colorful facade of 80s suburbia (a brilliant contrast that underscores a major theme of the film- denial, repression, and secrets); it's spookier than it is violent, and it actually feels more like a ghost story than a slasher film, something a bunch of kids might recite over a campfire to scare each other... albeit with a lot more gore. It was one of the first movies that successfully blurred the lines between reality and fantasy, creating a world where you're sometimes not certain what is a dream and what is actually happening- but in a clever reversal, it's in dreams that the danger is most real and imminent. And while it may not have had the overblown tableau dream sequences of the later films, the first Nightmare conjures up some really creepy, unnerving imagery- subtle, surreal stuff, like that damn goat at the beginning, the leaves blowing down the school hallway, or the hall monitor with the Freddy glove and sweater with blood on her face. And what's best about these dreams is that the characters behave as if they are actually dreaming- they don't question their bizarre surroundings, but are rather moved further along against their wills- that is, until Freddy shows up, and it becomes a fight for survival. The story should be a familiar one by now: a group of teenagers are having restless nights, each plagued by a spate of disturbing nightmares, but it's not until they discover that they're all dreaming about the same horrible person- a man with burned skin, wearing a red-and-green sweater, a fedora, and a glove with razor-blades welded onto the fingers- that they start to suspect that the dreams may have a grim significance. It's when her friend Tina dies in her sleep from mysterious, claw-like cuts that Nancy, a smart, level-headed girl, begins to realize that the figure in their dreams is more than just a figment of their imaginations, and that the threat he poses is very real; she soon discovers that he is actually Fred Krueger, a child murderer whom the parents of Springwood burned to death after he was released on a technicality. Now the ghost of Krueger is back for vengeance, preying upon the children once more in the one place their parents can't protect them- in their dreams!

The hero of the film is Nancy, the wholesome teenage girl played by Heather Langenkamp. Nancy is a girl-next-door type; smart, affable, pretty but in a wholesome way (gosh, I really can't think of a word that better describes her- she's wholesome, dammit!). She's also one of the most well-developed heroines in slasher cinema, maturing throughout the movie into a clever, resourceful young woman in a far more natural progression than your average teen scream queen. She has to be a strong heroine, though, because the villain she faces is one of the most evil characters in movie history: Freddy Krueger, as played by the inimitable Robert Englund. Before he would degenerate into the wise-cracking anti-hero of the later films, Krueger was the boogeyman among boogeymen, a twisted, sadistic maniac who reveled in the carnage he caused and was genuinely frightening. Englund lends the part such a high energy that the character commands your attention whenever he's on-screen, and his malefic presence lingers even afterward, filling the movie with a sense of dread for the moment when the characters shut their eyes again and invite Krueger's inevitable return. This being Freddy, though, he has much more personality than the typical slasher mook, complete with a sick sense of humor that started out much darker than it would later become. Krueger was a totally original stalker for the horror genre, imitated innumerable times but never once bettered, and it was Robert Englund who really made that character pop. Englund's performance is bolstered, however, by the fantastic cast this movie has, which includes, of all people, Johnny Depp in his first film role as Glen, Nancy's boyfriend. Glen is supposed to be a jock, but it's laughable to see a teenaged Depp with feathered hair and a cut-off football jersey (was everyone gay in the eighties?), so they toned down the jock angle considerably- here he's just a good-natured teenage everyman going along with his crazy girlfriend's ideas without ever actually believing her. Amanda Wyss plays Tina, the girl we think is the main character before she's horribly killed in the first act; Wyss isn't in the movie for long, but she creates a likable character that it's shocking to see dispatched so brutally (she really has the most spectacular death in the film). Nick Corri as Rod... eh, he didn't make so good an impression on me. John Saxon's Lt. Thompson, however, is a fantastic incredulous-authority-figure, Nancy's father who refuses to believe what's happening until he's finally confronted with it; on the other hand, Nancy's mother Marge, played by Ronee Blakely, is a bizarre figure, a liquored-up, breathy-voiced weirdo who degenerates from a stern mother to an incompetent drunk during the course of the film (her mannerisms are overly dramatic and just creepy- it's like Nancy's mother is an old Western prostitute or something).

Wes Craven's direction is just gritty and rough-around-the-edges enough to make the movie unnerving, but it's significantly more polished than his work on Last House on the Left (which looked like a snuff film) or the Hills Have Eyes (which looked like MST3K fodder). Nightmare oozes a gothic atmosphere that plays against the bright facade of eighties suburbia, giving the impression of a dark, shadowy world lurking just beneath the surface comforts of house and home- kind of a hallmark of the Reagan era, from what I've heard. Craven, as writer and director, builds a suspenseful ghost story filled with characters that we care about almost immediately, so when he gets around to killing them, each death has a greater impact than a hundred generic Jason slashings. He also keeps the audience on its toes by blurring the lines between dreams and reality in a trickier way than had ever been done on film before- so sometimes you don't even realize the characters are dreaming until something downright bizarre happens (well, now you kind of do, but only because the sequels abused the conceit pretty badly). The effects are cheap, but effective- sure, Freddy's stretch-arms look silly today, but that spandex-wall bit over Nancy's bed in the first act has never once been bettered in ANY horror film in my opinion, and it was just a lighting gag! And the score- sweet Jumbalia, I love that score! The fact that it's synth doesn't diminish the penetrating creepiness of Charles Bernstein's melodies on iota; the man created easily the second-most recognizable slasher theme in cinema, next to Carpenter's minimalist Halloween tune (third, if you want to count Bernard Hermann's shrieking violins in Psycho). Hell, it even excuses the daft pop song that no one remembers from the end credits- "Nightmare", by 213, as chintzy an eighties tune as you'll ever hear. Well, almost excuses it.

It sometimes surprises me to watch films from the eighties when I'd only seen their sequels before. If you've only seen Lethal Weapon two, three, or four, then Lethal Weapon one is almost shockingly gritty and noir-ish, not like the cartoony sequels at all. The later Rocky movies were about patriotism and achievement, but the first one was a more urban and dejected tale about making your life mean something. And while the last few Nightmare on Elm Street films were goofy and laughable, the first is dark and creepy, with a sense of originality that hasn't been obliterated by familiarity. Freddy Krueger as a character has transcended his movie-villain status to become a cultural icon, sure, but the same really can't be said of his filmography; it's really only this, the first of his franchise of films, that has stood the test of time and remains as engrossing and universally relatable as it was when it was first released. Sure, the special effects are somewhat outdated, and may not seem as convincing as they once did, but Craven never relies on them enough for that to make a difference, instead conveying the surreality and the horror of his scenes through his lead actors. But the best thing about Nightmare on Elm Street is that, even after all these years, it still has the power to entertain, and even to frighten- an honor which many vintage horror flicks could never lay claim to.

I'm gonna be upfront here: I love the Green Lantern character. Been reading the comics since junior high. In fact, after Batman, he's probably my favorite superhero... so you have to understand from the outset that I am totally, irrationally biased towards this character, and you probably shouldn't take my opinion too seriously if you're looking for an objective review. In fact, you might as well stop reading this right now.

For me, Green Lantern was a blast! It's an uncomplicated summer action blockbuster, with good performances across the board and some amazing special-effects spectacles. Director Martin Campbell has stayed fairly close to the source material here, creating a film about a hyperbolic battle between the forces of willpower, as embodied by the titular hero, and fear, both internal (the self-doubt and insecurities nursed by the protagonist) and external (personified in the forms of our two main villains). The fun, adventurous aspects of the film play to Campbell's strengths as a director, and the action sequences we're treated to are exciting and eye-popping. This is the first movie since Avatar that I've seen in 3-D, and boy, was it worth it-- this is a beautiful-looking film filled with oceans of stars and glimpses of colorful alien worlds, rendered with millions of dollars of computer graphics that don't really look all that realistic, but do look amazing. The movie does have some huge problems, though, all of which stem from the script-- the "plot" is non-existent, the sheer quantity of exposition is overbearing, and the dramatic aspects of the story are often very poorly executed-- but somehow it still manages to be an entertaining and crowd-pleasing sort of film, one that introduces a new (and mythologically complicated) hero to the broader landscape of pop culture awareness with at least moderate success. I only hope, however, that if they do a sequel, they get some better writers to work on it.

If you're a fan of the comics, you know that the Green Lantern universe has an insanely complex history behind it, and for the most part this movie stays true to it (sometimes to the narrative's detriment). See, millenia ago, the immortal Guardians of the Universe harnessed the green energy of will and weaponized it, creating a legion of power ring-bearing space cops known as the Green Lantern Corps (did I just lose you? Too bad-- the movie opens with an expository monologue just to explain this to us). One of these cops, Abin Sur of Sector 2814 (that's our sector, BTW), defeated and imprisoned a creature called Parallax that fed off of the yellow energy of fear; years later, Parallax manages to escape and cuts a swath through the universe, killing several Lanterns and mortally wounding Sur. Sur escapes to the planet Earth and passes his ring on to Hal Jordan, a cocky but gifted test pilot, before he dies. Hal doesn't know what to make of the ring or the strange lantern that comes with it at first, but after accidentally using it during a street brawl, he is transported to the world of Oa, home base for the Green Lantern Corps, where he is... ah... grown a uniform and put through his paces by veteran Lanterns Tomar-Re, Kilowog, and Sinestro. After his "basic training" is over, Hal returns to Earth, uncertain if he wants to bear the responsibilities that the ring entails. Unfortunately for him, a scientist named Hector Hammond has been infected by the power of Parallax, turning into a horribly deformed psychic/telekinetic sociopath; even worse, though, is that Parallax, a force capable of wiping out entire planets, is headed straight for Earth. Can Hal overcome his insecurities in time to face down fear itself? Well, duh-- the movie's not called "Massacre in Sector 2814", after all.

A lot of people were bitching early on about the casting of Ryan Reynolds as Hal Jordan, fearing that the film was going a comedic route (there was a script in the early 2000s that would have featured Jack Black and giant green prophylactics), but I'm relieved to say that those fears were unfounded. Reynolds, while a little snarkier than his print counterpart, totally embodies the roll of Jordan: a charming, hyper-confident jet jockey and ladies man à la Chuck Yeager or Maverick from Top Gun. In fact, the movie's biggest flaw is that it takes this extremely self-confident character and forces him to wallow in doubt and self-pity for half the film, which sucks the life right out of the proceedings; it also doesn't help that his character isn't developed very deeply (beyond the knowledge that he saw his father die in a plane crash), and we never get a good idea of what the guy really wants or why he decides to stay on with the Green Lantern Corps. But despite having little to work with, Reynolds brings the rakish flyboy to life and gives him a fun, witty edge. Playing opposite Ryan is Blake Lively as Carol Ferris, a fellow jet pilot, the boss's daughter, and Hal's oldest friend/almost girlfriend. Lively has decent chemistry with Reynolds, particularly when the two banter-- it sincerely feels like she really has known the guy since they were kids. She's also a fairly strong female lead in her own right, though she has little to do but act as Jordan's literal wingman (wingwoman?), get into danger, and give him a pep talk when he's feeling blue. A much more developed character comes in the form of Hector Hammond, played by Peter Sarsgaard. Starting out as a geeky biology professor, Hammond (through a series of well-acted transformation scenes) becomes a bulbous-headed misanthrope who seeks to destroy the people he envies; while his motives for turning mustache-twirlingly evil aren't entirely clear, you do sense that this is a guy with a tremendous amount of insecurity and self-loathing, and Sarsgaard makes the transition from likable schmuck to slimy telekinetic creep as smooth as possible. But by far, the strongest (har har) performance in the film comes from Mark Strong as Sinestro, the most respected member of the G.L. Corps. Sinestro doesn't care for humans, so he and Hal are at odds immediately; it's a shame that he isn't given more screen time with Hal, because the deliberate, controlled Strong makes for a fantastic foil for Reynolds' inexperienced hero, and the one training battle the two have is the highlight of the film (but hey-- that's what sequels are for). Other entertaining performances to be found here include Geoffrey Rush and Michael Clark Duncan as the voices of Tomar-Re and Kilowog, respectively, Temura Morrison as the doomed Abin Sur, and Taika Waititi as Hal's friend and pseudo-Kumar Tom Kalimaku.

And now we come to the film's great Achilles' Heel (which, I'll admit, is more of an Achilles' Torso): the script. This is a terribly written film, with huge chunks of narrative and monologued exposition, ineffectually developed characters with non-existent motivations, and an awkwardly-structured plot that occasionally forgets that it's supposed to make sense. I'll give the screenwriters props for drawing upon Geoff Johns' superior work on the character, as well as the classic Emerald Dawn origin story, but they aren't nearly as capable of storytellers as the books' creators were. But here's where Martin Campbell comes into it. Campbell is one of my favorite directors-- a craftsman rather than an auteur, whose best films have always been filled with excitement and romance... but whose strengths lie more in the "down-to-Earth action" field rather than the "sweeping space opera" category. Through sheer skill and experience, Campbell is able to salvage about three-fifths of the film, just in terms of entertainment; but the more solemnly outlandish aspects of the story suffer from his lack of experience with the genre, and even he can't save some of the more ponderously dull scenes in the script. As a result, the tone is a bit choppy, alternating between smirking adventure and dull, angst-y seriousness with alarming suddenness. At least the action sequences escape unscathed, managing to be exciting and effective, C.G. overabundance notwithstanding-- which leads me to another possible point of contention: the C.G.I. Green Lantern is LOADED with computer effects; but unlike the ridiculous excesses of such films as, say, the Star Wars prequels, a lot of its usage here makes sense. After all, the character's power is that he can conjure anything he wants out of light energy, right? So everything he does or creates with the ring is a computer generated image-- including his very costume, which is portrayed not as clothing but as a second, sinewy skin made of emerald energy; it's a clever conceit that looks phenomenal in the finished film (despite some early advertising footage that looked a little dodgy). The excellent computer effects and gorgeous cinematography give the film a rich visual flair, at least; engaging or not, it's always a feast for the eyes. Finally, I have to say that I'm disappointed in James Newton Howard's score for the film. Amounting to little more than mood music, it has no major themes or memorable motifs, and indulges in electronica and guitar riffs more than any superhero movie ever should.

Green Lantern is, in terms of quality, an average superhero movie-- not entirely bad, but not really all that good, either. It's a clumsy effort to bringing the comic book hero to life, with a thematic through-line (will vs. fear) that gets hammered relentlessly into your head and a plot-driven storyline that doesn't make a lot of sense. But that doesn't mean it's not an entertaining movie. On the contrary, Green Lantern is a pure popcorn flick-- a dazzling, crowd-pleasing spectacle filled with action, humor, and the best fish-person simulacra money can buy. I don't see why other reviewers are so harsh towards it, other than that they may have expected more than the film was able to deliver (perhaps because The Dark Knight has raised expectations of comic book movies to ridiculous new heights); but judging the end result as it is, rather than as we would have wanted it, Green Lantern does have enough going for it to earn the cost of admission. And for a Green Lantern fan such as myself? Seeing Oa, the Guardians, the Green Lantern Corps, Sinestro, and Hal-freaking-Jordan on the big screen? Well, I've gotta say-- it's more than I ever could have hoped for.

There are some movies that I like because I appreciate the technical mastery needed to make them, and there are some movies that I just like because of the story that they tell- Memento, however, is a rare case of both being true at the same time. Memento is one of my favorite films, and has been since my first viewing of it. Of course, the most popular element of Memento's style is how the story is told- two sets of intertwining chapters, one set in black and white that tells a linear, straightforward story (one composed mostly of expositional voice-over), and the color chapters that recount events in reverse order, eventually converging with the black-and-white chapters to complete a slowly-unfolding mystery. But this storytelling style, confusing though it is for a casual viewer, isn't an arbitrary stylistic choice made by a frivolous director- rather, it is born out of the way the main character sees the world; Leonard Shelby, the protagonist searching for the man that murdered his wife, has no short-term memory, and so his only clues to what is going on around him are the notes and pictures he makes for himself- which, because of the narrative style, become the only way that WE can piece together what is happening, as we are as in the dark as Leonard is. With a fantastic cast (none of whom we can trust, turning from helpful to malicious with each passing chapter), a brilliant script, a simple, yet clever premise, and an engaging mystery, Memento is a detective story unlike any other, and a new benchmark for film in general- a hell of a start for writer/director Christopher Nolan (commercial start, that is; I haven't seen The Following yet, but I've heard good things about it, too).

I never really saw Rocky until the day I first saw Rocky. I know that sounds weird, and it doesn't sound like it makes much sense, but it does when you consider that, until I actually saw it, I always thought I pretty much HAD seen Rocky. I thought I had the whole thing down; the training, the boxing, "Adrian!"- vicariously through other sources, I had pretty much heard the entire ending of the story, and I was convinced that I knew what it was a ll about. Then, of course, I got around to actually WATCHING it. What a difference it makes. Rocky is not a high-spirited, flag-waving, rah-rah movie like some would have you believe it is; in fact, the first act of the movie is almost entirely an urban drama, filled with desperate people living at the end of their respective ropes. Rocky is one of those guys. He's a boxer- not a great boxer, but an okay one- who's past his prime and trying to keep an optimistic outlook on life. Stallone plays the role with humanity and pathos, which surprised the hell out of me since up 'til then I had only seen him as a snarling killing machine (but later, when I saw First Blood, I found a pleasing combination of the two. The first is the best there, too). His awkward, burgeoning romance with a reclusive pet-store employee is touching and realistic; he forges a connection with the shy Adrian that is so believable that without it, I could never have seen the climactic shouts as anything more than I did before: a joke. When Rocky inevitably gets his big shot, of course, I had expected the film to become what I feared- a parable about winning. But again, shock awaited me as the complications of his big break are actually explored: how do his blue-collar friends react? How is this anything more than an exhibition? How does the training affect his personal life? Unlike the sequels, nothing in this movie feels forced. Everything evolves organically from the characters, who, thanks to the stellar supporting cast, never come off as anything less than real people trying to survive in a cold and indifferent world. The ending, which has been satirized to death, amazingly still packs its punch after all these years, and it never stretches your sense of disbelief like some movies do. Rocky is a quintessential American classic, a tale about working hard and earning respect, partly from others but mainly from yourself. This is a movie you have to see at least one time before you can pass judgment on it, because I promise you that it's better than you may think it is. It's not a sports movie, it's not a cookie-cutter '80's movie- it's just a fantastic movie. Period.

I have never been much of a James Bond fan. To me, Bond has always been bland, two-dimensional, and uninteresting, and his movies almost always suffered from the same problem: too much convoluted storytelling, way too many convenient gadgets, and no character development whatsoever. By movies' end, Bond was exactly the same as he had been at the beginning of the film, the conflict of the movie forgotten as easily as if it had never happened, and Bond would be no better for having gone through it. But now- FINALLY- we have a Bond movie that tries to be more than just another Bond movie. Casino Royale is the first movie that deals with Bond as a person, rather than a tuxedo-clad superhero. He makes mistakes, he falls in love, he can be captured or beaten, and he has exploitable flaws. Daniel Craig is also the first Bond to convincingly fight his way out of situations without a gun (a move seemingly made in reaction to Jason Bourne, but a good move nonetheless); in this movie, James Bond can kick ass. The opening sequence is a treat for film fans, using very retro camera angles and stark black-and-white to evoke a decidedly noir-ish 1950's-60s atmosphere, in respect of the original novel's Cold War publication date (strangely, it reminded me of Dr. Strangelove). The film starts off with a heavy dose of action, primarily with an astonishing free-running chase set in Madagascar. When we move on to the card game in the Casino, however, tension becomes the name of the game, and Ian Fleming's spy-game novel shines through best here. The addition of an action sequence at the end of the story is a bit gratuitous, but the epilogue of the film is both exciting and bittersweet. But what stuck me the most about this Bond film is that, in the end, Bond has learned something from his mission, and Bond has grown because of it- though whether it has been for the better or worse is a choice left to the audience- as it should be.

Halloween is, creatively speaking, a tough act to follow, and nowhere is this more obvious than in its sequels. Following that one fateful All Hallows Eve in 1978, it seemed like everyone was trying to recapture the lightning-in-a-bottle that John Carpenter had shown us, but when it came to bringing back Michael himself, there didn't seem to be a way to do it very well. After all, Myers was a character that we feared because we almost never saw him- but by the end of the first film, we had seen Michael. What point was there in hiding him anymore? Because of this, the directors of consecutive Halloween films rarely worried about concealing Michael's presence or evoking an atmosphere of dread, instead hoping that his sudden appearance on screen would scare people in the same way that Jason's shocking visage did; and in removing the vital elements of mystery and atmosphere, they lost the key ingredient in what made Halloween work so well in the first place. Thank God for Steve Miner- ironically, it was the director of Friday the 13th parts Two and Three that restored Michael to his mysterious roots. Halloween H20 is by far my favorite of all the Halloween sequels. It is the only film of the seven made that not only gets what made the first film work, but doesn't fail on the execution of these traits- something that can't be said for the only other comprehensible sequel in the franchise, Halloween II. What sets this film apart from the others is that, like movie one, it spends more time building up the suspense of Michael Myers' deeds, gingerly stringing us along and throwing a few false starts our way until its finally ready to cut to chase. And unlike previous sequels, which tried desperately to explain why Michael is who he is, this movie once again cloaks his motivations and his machinations in mystery, rendering him almost as a specter of death rather than a human being. While one could argue that its dramatic style and cinematic look have been riffed from the Scream movies (which the poster is a glaring testament to), this is hardly a point against the film as it uses this (at the time) new cinematic style to bring Michael back from the brink of mediocrity. But even more prominently (and perhaps a bigger indicator of the influence of Scream), this is the first Halloween sequel that refuses to condescend to its audience- its main characters are intelligent and multifaceted, the events of the film actually registering with them and affecting their actions (which I believe is called character growth- gasp!), and most astoundingly of all, it has a sense of continuity, building its story on the foundations of the first two films and creating a richer, more complex narrative arc because of it! New characters are introduced- my favorite moment has to be Josh Hartnett's John punching Michael in the face (about time somebody at least TRIED that, but it's no excuse for what happens in the sequel)- old characters finally get some closure (and not just Laurie Strode; the opening of the film ties up the one loose end from one and two), and Michael's story (excluding any and all poorly contrived sequels) comes to a definitive, and satisfying, conclusion.

I love movies that defy most conventional categorizations. When a movie is cross-pollinated with different genres, the film tends to be less predictable and more entertainingly unique than some of its more formulaic genre brethren. This is certainly the case with Grosse Point Blank, which has elements of drama and surprisingly visceral action, but is ultimately a romantic comedy about some very unusual people. John Cusack plays Martin Blank, a professional hitman who's having some career problems of late. After blowing a high-profile hit, Blank is forced to take a job in his old hometown of Grosse Point on the weekend of his ten-year high school class reunion; having left without a trace ten years ago, Blank slowly revisits the places and the people that he knew before he chose his career, including his old high school love Debbie, whom he abandoned without a word on Prom Night. Unfortunately, he's not the only gun in town, as a rival hitman is determined to force Blank to either join his mercenary union or retire... permanently. What makes this film so damned interesting is that it portrays everyone through the lens of a romantic comedy- fairly well-rounded, everyday people- despite being loaded with characters that, in an action movie, would be played as larger than life. Cusack as Blank is great as a hitman with, while not exactly morals, a set of scruples, who starts to have a bit of a nervous breakdown as his reunion forces him to take stock of his life. He plays the character as cool and collected, actually projecting an underplayed menace to the guy that comes off really well, but while he's all business when he's working (and he can be pretty coldblooded, as we see later in the film), he still becomes personable and relatable when he wants to, and we see that, to him, killing is just a job that he never bothered to put any real thought into. The role shows that John Cusack is much more versatile that one might think him from watching his previous films, while also playing into his established strengths. Minnie Driver plays Martin's ex-girlfriend Debbie, and the two do have a fantastic chemistry together. Driver's Debbie is a smart, fun woman who does DJ work at the local radio station; she's still hurting from that one, horrible Prom Night years ago, and we see that she's struggling to reconcile her anger at Blank with her reawakened attraction to him (she pulls this off quite well). Unfortunately, things only get worse when she finds out what he does for a living. A hell of a surprise in the movie is Dan Aykroyd, of all people, as Grocer, Martin's chief professional rival. Grocer is even more coldblooded than Blank, with a prescription drug habit and a sick sense of humor. Ackroyd plays him unflinchingly as a slimy, two-faced dirtbag, but also gives him that perfect touch of the ordinary that actually makes him more dislikable than, say, a Hans Gruber, Machiavellian type. Jeremy Piven once again gives a fun, thankless supporting role as Martin's former best friend Paul, Alan Arkin has a short but sweet role as Martin's therapist Dr. Oatman, and Joan Cusack plays Blank's nasal, fowl mouthed, no-B.S. secretary Marcella (who speaks in hushed tones only with Blank, mostly out of intimidation and some respect). Appearing almost as an afterthought (particularly near the end of the movie) are two N.S.A. agents played by K. Todd Freeman and the always enjoyable Hank Azaria, who function sort of as the C3P0 and R2-D2 of the film. The script is incredibly good and wonderfully funny, laced with all kinds of witty banter and sharp, character-based humor (a big plus with me). And because all the characters are grounded and down to Earth, it only follows that the action sequences be down to Earth as well, and that is what sells them to me. The shootouts are all intense, but based around common sense (find cover, don't try to fly out into the open to get a shot in), and they're all no-frills, showing the violence of gunplay as well as the excitement. The one sequence that I loved most, however, is the hand-to-hand fight between Martin and the dog-faced Swedish assassin: it's brutal, it isn't polished or glamorized (the characters actually throw punches that miss, which makes the fight seem more real and desperate), and the hero takes as much of a beating as he gives out. The ending of the film, while in a way following the tried and true romantic comedy formula, is still filled with a wonderful moral ambiguity that takes good and bad out of the equation, leaving the viewer (and the characters) with just the people involved. It's kind of a bizarre movie, though it may not seem so much so at first glance, but it's a great movie that I feel is vastly underappreciated, mostly because the story doesn't fit easily into any set category. Definitely one of the funniest films I've yet seen, a fantastic low-key action movie, and a personal favorite all-around, the film is definitely greater than the sum of its genres.

Silent films are hard to sit through. It's something that most hardcore film lovers would deny, of course, but the fact is, silent movies are often slow, monotonous, and difficult to pay attention to (especially for a modern viewer, who's been weened on television commercials and music videos)- it's just a result of a lack of stylistic and dramatic advancement of the art form at the time. So it always impresses me when I watch a silent film that not only doesn't bore me, but succeeds in holding my interest for an extended period of time. Potemkin is one of these movies, Caligari is another, but of all the silent films that I've seen, my favorite is Nosferatu. Nosferatu is a strange movie, filled with strange-looking people that do strange things. I still haven't determined if the actors erratic behavior and bizarre appearances are because the film is German, because the film is silent, or if they are an actual creative choice made by F.W. Murnau, but no matter which is true, it lends the film a distinctive style that makes it just as creepy today as it must have been in 1912. Even though this leaves us with no one to relate to- Hutter, our preposterously upbeat hero, never acts like a real human being for one second- it helps to divorce the film from reality, and that is where the film's historical significance lies. Nosferatu is one of the best examples of German Expressionism, and it's also the only one of its kind that was shot on location, instead of on a soundstage. Thus, it is the surreal and oft-inexplicable behavior of our leads that brings this to the realm of Expressionism- that, and the famous use of Count Orlock's shadow whenever the dread Nosferatu strikes. Orlock, incidentally, is one of the best-looking vampires committed to film, and the aged film stock only serves to mask the seams of his make-up- it really looks like he has fangs, pointy ears, and talons. The film also creates a great sense of moodiness through its interesting camera angles, its use of Gothic architecture, and its strange and disquieting effects (some of which haven't aged terribly well). Overall, Nosferatu is a creepy, entertaining film; it is a movie whose power lies in lingering, disquieting visuals and a pervasive sense of mood. It's not a film for anyone with a short attention span, but those willing to slow down and enjoy the film at its own pace will be well rewarded.

Death. Needless to say, it's a pretty serious topic. With the philosophical impact that its subject matter immediately has on the viewer, and bearing in mind the deeper metaphysical questions raised by the film itself, I have to admit that I'm not entirely certain if I'm qualified to review a film like the Seventh Seal. It's one of those timeless, immortal, and (inexplicably) world-renowned films that have, to me, surpassed the realm of simple cinematic criticism; it's like a monolith of a movie, great and intimidating, taken as a given rather than as an expression of creative intent- or (in this case) an astute observation of the natural order, and society's way of coping with it. After all, everyone has to die, sooner or later, and we spend a great deal of our lives dreading its inevitable victory over us, trying to find ways to put it off for as long as possible. Most people have faith in some form of afterlife, a continuation of our existence beyond the morbid finality of death, but the fact is, there is no physical, tangible proof to support this claim, which begs the question: are we kidding ourselves? Is death really the end? Strange as it may sound, I LOVE these sort of questions, philosophical quandaries that can never truly be answered, yet are constantly debated, both with others and with ourselves. The Seventh Seal is a cinematic representation of these quandaries, a journey for the characters, the audience, and the filmmaker, the late Ingmar Bergman, that never really comes to any conclusions about the bigger questions (as there can never truly be answers to them until it's too late), but strives desperately towards them nonetheless. Filled with wonderful symbolism and metaphor, it is a film that stimulates thought and conversation (something too few films do these days), and an intriguing observation on the natures of life, death, and faith that never takes any sides in the debates it raises. In the film, a weary knight is returning to his homeland, dejected and questioning his faith, after a long and purposeless crusade. He and his squire soon meet with a band of traveling performers, a jealous blacksmith and his promiscuous wife, and a mute woman as they make their way to the knight's castle. Along the way, ominous portents of doom become prominent as a plague ravages the countryside, and it becomes clear that an end, if not the end, is coming. As the disillusioned and questioning knight Antonius Block, Max Von Sydow is wonderful, bringing a deeply felt desperation to the role as Antonius quests vainly for truth. Block, it seems, can no longer subsist on faith- he now yearns for knowledge, for assurance and fact, and he exhausts every avenue, even going so far as to question a condemned witch about Satan, in the hopes of finding it. Of course, the film's most iconic and prominently symbolic scenes concern Block's attempt to beat the Grim Reaper at chess, a fantastic metaphor for Block's (and Man's in general) attempts to forestall the onset of the inevitable (Block's ultimate goal being to accomplish one truly meaningful deed in the remainder of his life). Death, in this case personified perfectly by Bengt Ekerot, is a cold fellow, impassive and unemotive, but with a touch of a dry, dark sense of humor that makes him all the more chilling. He occasionally comes off as smug and condescending, but only when someone tries to cheat him- it's appropriate that he would act so, considering that he's the one being that can never be cheated. With the knight during his sojourn is his squire, a cynical and faithless man named Jöns (played by Gunnar Björnstrand). The squire is, in many ways, the voice of reason and fact, pointing out the bitter truths of reality to those who will not ultimately listen, but he is also a character with no hope, instead laughing and reveling in tragedy with a morbid and sardonic sense of humor. On the opposite end of the spectrum, we have Jof, Mia, and their little boy, who COULD be metaphors for Joseph, Mary, and Jesus, or they could just be metaphors for the love of life and faith in the divine. Jof, played by Nils Poppe, is a constantly cheery performer who occasionally entertains spiritual visions that, of course, his wife doesn't believe in (and, of course, are real. Apparently). Seeing in them a quality that is precious and important, Block makes his meaningful deed the distraction of the Reaper at the chessboard, thus allowing the family to escape unnoticed and, ultimately, for life to persevere, even if his own must end. The film's final scenes, in which Death finally catches up with the band of travelers as they reach their destination, are a sombre and thoughtful finale, with the characters arguing amongst themselves about the nature of death even as they greet it, Sydow's Block praying for salvation while the others face death resignedly (save the one mute girl who greets the Grim Reaper as she would have a returning love). The resolution is somehow melancholy, yet full of hope- as a film about death must, it ends full circle with the continuation of life. Not as intimidating as it had seemed before I sat down and actually watched it, Bergman's film is a preponderance on death, certainly; a meditation on the nature of dying and the possibility of a God and an afterlife. But at the same time, it is a reaffirmation of life, a call to live to the fullest and to enjoy the strange and wonderful experience that is living while we still can. It recognizes that answers about the afterlife can never come as long as we are still alive, and so it reaches the only conclusions it logically can: Death is inevitable, and so we must make the most of the time we have left, and focus on what is good about life. It's a simple point to make, and one that has been made numerous times since this film was released (and an incalculable number of times before), but like all good, solid bits of universal wisdom, sometimes we need to be reminded of it.

Unforgiven is a movie that takes all of the trappings of the traditional Western- the damsels in distress, the heroic outlaws, and, most of all, the thrill of gunfighting- and casts them in a light of moral ambiguity never seen before in a Western. The story breaks down the romanticized ideals of the past, bringing us situations and characters that we've all seen before but making us face the raw, unpleasant truth behind them. In this film, the line between the good guys and the bad guys is hazy at best, no one is innocent, and violence is a way of life. Our hero, Clint Eastwood's William Munny, is a retired gunfighter who could easily be any of the cold-blooded outlaws Eastwood has portrayed in his long career. With Munny, however, the film takes on a strange angle- that of a love story, despite the fact that Munny's wife is dead when the film opens. Munny is dead-set on staying reformed, not necessarily because he wants to be, but because of his devotion to the memory of his wife. When his best friend (Morgan Freeman) manages to convince him to join him in pursuit of a reward for the lives of two men, Munny's protestations take on a desperation that shows that, no matter how hard he tries, he has seen and done too much; he is marked for life, and will never be rid of the darkness inside of him. Eastwood shows us the cost of leading a life of violence, and doesn't shy away from the effects that this violence has on everyone it touches. Gene Hackman plays a lawman who long ago gave up on trying to find justice, instead using violence to ensure a semblance of peace, and succeeds in becoming both despicable and believable; Morgan Freeman as Munny's best friend and another former bandit is a far cry from the relatively wholesome parts Freeman usually plays, but because it's Freeman, you can't help but like him. By the end, however, Eastwood takes center stage once again, and he gives his vengeful gunslinger one last ride before drawing the curtain on his famous Western persona in a melancholy, but thoroughly satisfying, conclusion. Unforgiven is both a deconstruction of the Western genre as a whole and the final word on Eastwood westerns in particular. It is a morally-complex film that never takes the easy way out in its depiction of murder, and it leaves the audience with something to think about once the credits have rolled, and a new way to look at the films that have come before. One of the greatest Westerns ever filmed.

GENERAL. ZOD. The very mention of the name is enough to bring a smile to the face of any Superman fan. Never before in cinema history has there been a villain as megalomaniacal- as egotistical- as prone to referring to himself in the third person- as Zod. Plenty of super-criminals have expressed the desire to take over the world; Zod ACTUALLY DID IT. After the phenomenal tease of the character played out at the beginning of Superman: the Movie, it was obvious where the filmmakers were set to go with the sequel: a titanic, superpowered battle royale between the Man of Steel and the three Kryptonian criminals, Zod, Ursa, and Non. Even better, though, the second film works to add a new dimension to the character of Superman himself, approaching him with more evident humanity by taking his relationship with Lois Lane to the next level. This particular outing in the franchise benefits (for the most part) from a combination of filmmaking styles: the epic scope and colorful sense of Americana of former director Richard Donner (who'd shot most of the sequel during the production of part one), and the more down-to-Earth British sensibilities of newcomer Richard Lester, whose dry wit is frequently an asset (Clark Kent has some great moments this time around) and occasionally a hinderance (I find his portrayal of rural Americans insultingly juvenile; "Holy skunk-sweat", indeed). Whatever your position is on the whole Donner/Lester debacle (which I won't get into in THIS review), it's impossible to deny that the final product of their haphazard collaboration is a solid sequel that manages to one-up its predecessor in a number of ways, and while it's not a perfect film (far from it, actually), it is a hugely entertaining action-adventure movie, the apotheosis of the pretensionless superhero film. With an opening credits sequence that serves as a recap of the previous installment, Superman II hits the ground running, with the Man of Steel averting a terrorist attack in Paris. Disposing of a nuclear weapon in the terrorists' possession by chucking it into space, Superman inadvertantly releases General Zod, Ursa, and Non from the Phantom Zone- each of whom gain all of Superman's powers as soon as they're freed. Meanwhile, Clark Kent is having troubles of his own, as Lois Lane is slowly closing in on his secret. Before long, Lois discovers that Clark is actually Superman, and the two fly off to the Fortress of Solitude for a romantic rendevous. Torn between his duties as Earth's protector and his love for a human woman, Superman, blinded by his feelings, sacrifices his powers to be with Lois... just as the trio of Kryptonian criminals descend upon Earth, leaving a trail of chaos and destruction behind them. Now, with the world on the brink of annihilation, how will a powerless Superman ever hope to defeat the greatest threat the Earth has ever seen? Despite creative shake-ups behind the camera, virtually the entire principal cast is back for Part II, with Christopher Reeve front and center as the Man of Steel once again. Reeve continues to excell as both the confident, charismatic Superman and the bumbling Clark Kent, and the line between the two is pretty well defined- even when we see Superman in Clark Kent's clothes. The character is fleshed out much more this time, though, transforming the slightly authoritarian Superman of the first film into a more human character by focussing on his love for Lois Lane and their burgeoning relationship. Now that we know what he can do and what he stands for, it's his personal vulnerabilities that make the story interesting, and discovering those, we become more invested in seeing him overcome them- this time, we root more for the character than for the concept. Playing opposite Reeve once more is Margot Kidder, returning for her second go-round as Lois Lane. Suffering, I suppose, (if that's the right term) from a real-life smoking habit (even her character smokes like a damn chimney), Kidder is noticably emaciated and her voice is much more shrill than in the first film, but Lois is still feisty and sardonic, even if she's not as up-beat under Lester's direction as she was under Donner's. The scenes between her and Clark are screwball comedy gold, and her love scenes with Superman are just as solid- if not as blazingly flirtatious- as before; ultimately, though, Lois is just a footnote to the bigger things going on around her, and the tragedy is that she knows it... a sentiment perfectly captured by Kidder in her final scene with Reeve, by far the best contribution to the film Richard Lester provided. Her only chance at happiness with Superman is crushed, ultimately, by the timely arrival of the three criminals from Krypton: the mute, brutish Non, played to comically menacing perfection by Jack O'Halloran; the sultry and malicious Ursa, wonderfully played by Sarah Douglas as something of a playful femme fatale; and, of course, General Zod, flawlessly played by Terrance Stamp (who, for some reason, gets last billing in BOTH Superman movies). Stamp plays Zod as pretty much the exact opposite of Superman: an absolute, irredeemable bad guy, the personification of egotism and the lust for power, and (getting back to the biblical symbolism of the first film) the Lucifer to Jor-El's God and Superman's Jesus (which I guess makes Luthor the Anti-Christ by default). What's really fantastic about this character is that he bounces between scenes of overplayed malevolence ("Come to me, son of Jor-El! Kneel before Zod!") and smooth, underplayed menace ("I see you are practiced in worshipping things that fly. Good."), and Stamp is at home with both of these extremes, creating an unbelievably arrogant and strangely charismatic presence the makes him (to fall back on a cliche) a villain you love to hate. Stamp's Zod simply OOZES evil- so much so that it turns the returning Gene Hackman's Lex Luthor into a mere comic foil for the Kryptonian trio (poetic justice given Lex's treatment of Otis, his own comic foil). Actually, Hackman didn't sign on to come back for the sequel- all of his scenes were shot by Richard Donner, with a body double and voice impersonators used to smooth the transitions between Donner's original scenes and Lester's revised ones. But regardless of a few strange digressions with his character (the most obvious being during the climax), Hackman gets to play his twisted mastermind to the fullest, even though this time, in trying to manipulate General Zod, he bites off more than he can chew. The composite Donner-Lester script is, on the whole, surprisingly coherent. Here again, however, is where some of the film's biggest faults lie: thanks to the omission of Marlon Brando's Jor-El from the film on financial grounds ($3 million for three weeks was bad enough, but asking to be paid twice was pushing it), there's never any proper explanation given for how Superman gets his powers back at the end of act two, as Jor-El was to be instrumental in his son's re-empowerment. And speaking of powers, apparently they don't have Superman comics in Great Brittain, because Richard Lester seems to have no concept of what exactly the Man of Steel's powers ARE, throwing everything from telekinesis to teleportation to intangibility into the pot; and while the amnesia-inducing super-kiss may've had some basis in Silver-Age comics lore, I suppose, there is no excuse for turning Superman's S-shield into a giant cellophane net that dissolves shortly after contact with its target. That's just stupid. The special effects are at least as good as the first film's, with improvements in some areas and weaknesses in others (the use of animation sticks out glaringly); the movie's twelve minute battle-royale in the streets and skies of Metropolis is the highlight of the film, bringing together all the effects techniques from both films into one massive, pulse-pounding action sequence, which suffers only occasionallt from flying-toy shots and a dummy Zod being whirled in circles. The cinematography is decidedly bi-polar, flipping from the muted color schemes of the Lester material to Geoffrey Unsworth's more vibrant palette, but the mix is effective since the Lester scenes are more subdued anyway, and the Donner scenes more operatic. The score is just a re-orchestration of the first movie's, rearranged by Ken Thorne to fit the new scenes, which is a tragedy, because I would give half my liver and a kidney or two to hear John Williams' composition of a General Zod march theme (I'm a Williams enthusiast, so sue me). While it may not be as good as the first film (a position that is highly debatable, and I've found myself on either side of the argument from time to time), Superman II is easily one of the best sequels ever made, and probably the most underrated action film of the '80s. They say heroes are defined by their villains, but Superman has always been an exception to that: a mythically powerful hero with a rogues gallery that, compared to Batman or Spider-Man's, was pretty pathetic. Superman II is the movie that finally created a threat to match the Man of Steel, and, in a way, a villain that was defined by his hero- General Zod, along with Ursa and Non, the only forces ever able to overpower, if not necessarily out-think, Superman. They are the perfect opposites to Reeve's perfect hero, and that alone is quite an achievement.

I don't like animated movies. Sure, animation's great for Bugs Bunny and Saturday morning, but I've always felt that feature length cartoons don't really qualify as films, theatrical release or no, because they almost uniformally lack the subtlety and nuance of live-action films- after all, when your only creative limit is what you're able to draw, why bother with something like subtlety? Interestingly, I have also never been a fan of Wonder Woman. Unabashed comic junkie and raging geek though I may be, Wonder Woman is one of the few major superheroes- besides Aquaman and maybe the Fantastic Four- that just never really appealled to me; her origin is convoluted, her motivations ar hazy, her powers are ill-defined, and her costume (aside from being a bit skimpy for a feninist icon) makes no sense- why would an Amazon dress in red, white, and star-spangled blue? So taking these facts together, one would think that an animated Wonder Woman movie would would have about as much appeal to me as reading the Complete United States Federal Tax Code from cover to cover. One couldn't be more wrong. Wonder Woman, as it turns out, is the best superhero movie I've seen this year, with a script as solid as bedrock and a cast that can actually do good voice-work (I can't tell you how many dramatic animated features I've seen have just been killed by poor casting). The direction in particular appeals to me: unlike many other animated films, this is a movie that allows the story to unfold at a natural pace, taking the time for character moments and dramatic beats without going too far in the other direction- that is, building huge, minute-burning pauses where the characters just stare each other down or grunt (GOD, I hate Dragonball Z). Refreshingly, the movie also doesn't seem overly censored- in fact, the violence on display is somewhat shocking for an animated feature, with stabbings, beheadings, broken necks, and plenty of bloodshed on hand (even if the swords never get any blood on them). Overall (and please forgive the brazen oversimplification), the movie is like an intriguing cross between Superman and 300 with strong (but thankfully not overpowering) feminist overtones; it is a deftly crafted origin story that draws you quickly and completely into the character whom I once found shallow and uninteresting. The story opens in ancient Greece, during a fierce battle between an army of men and mythical beasts and a clan of Amazonian women. Their leader, Queen Hippolyta, bests the army's commander- Ares, the God of War himself- in combat, but before the final blow can be stricken, her hand is stayed by Ares' father, Zeus. While Hippolyta is furious that she cannot avenge the deaths of her people, she is granted instead a reward by the goddess Athena: an island paradise, Themiscyra, hidden from the world of man, where she and the Amazons construct a utopia free from the ravages of time and the deceit of mankind. There, she is granted another blessing- a child, fashioned from clay and given life by the gods, whom Hippolyta names Diana. Flash-forward a few millenia to the present day, when Air Force pilot Steve Trevor is shot down over the middle of the ocean and accidentally crash-lands on Themiscyra, where she is captured by the Amazons, including the now-grown Diana. Deciding that the best course of action would be to to return the pilot to his home, the Amazons hold a contest to determine who will be their emissary to "Man's World", and despite her mothers attempts to bar her from competing, Diana enters and emerges the victor. Unfortunately, as the contest is held, an Amazon turns traitor and unleashes the shackled god Ares from his prison on the island. Now Diana must find the God of War and stop him from bringing forth a plague of misery and death upon Man's World. The cast would be first-rate even for a live-action adaptation; for a cartoon, it's astonishing (continuing the current trend of putting well-known actors together into animated ensembles- another Pixar innovation, if I'm not mistaken). Playing Diana herself is Keri Russell, an actress that I've only seen in a couple of things (she had a brief but important part in Mission Impossible III, and she also was the main character in a TV show called Felicity, which I only saw advertised), but who I think was a great choice for the part, and probably could have played it in live action. Russell's voice is both youthful and confident, which makes Diana an intriguing hybrid of a naive princess and a proud warrior; the "warrior" part is particularly important, because this is a character who isn't afraid to spill blood to win the day, who actually kills a number of opponents in the film (thus distinguishing herself from both Batman and Superman, who are both, ironically, more pacifistic), and who we have to believe is capable of not only holding her own against mythical creatures and even gods, but can emerge ultimately victorious. Of course, a main character so serious needs a lighter foil, which we get in the form of Nathon Fillion as womanizing test pilot Steve Trevor- another casting choice that would have worked just as well in real life. Trevor isn't just a sounding pole for exposition, like he is in the comics- he's the comic relief, a tactless oaf who has to introduce Diana to the conventions of Man's World, all the while guilelessly hitting on her and giving her about the worst first impression of men she could possibly get. Nathan Fillion is a funny guy in live action, and I was relieved to find that it carries over into animation; he has some of the best lines in the movie, not to mention my absolute favorite moment in the film: "Of course. Invisible missiles. Hardy-flippin'-har!" The supporting cast is equally spot-on- Rosario Dawson's Artemis in particular is exemplary- with the sole exception of Alfred Molina as Ares, God of War. I like Alfred Molina, true, and I think he's a good actor, but his voice isn't quite suited to the ominous, looming deity the animators have represented; I think a silkier, more elegant voice actor would have been more appropriate- someone who conjures thoughts of ancient mysticism rather than regal pomp. Regardless, the cast comes together seamlessly, and play well against each other (even though they were recorded seperately- how ironic). The direction is quite skillful for an animated feature- Lauren Montgomery has an excellent sense of pace, somehow condensing the most convoluted origin story in comic books into a brisk, entertaining first act. The story evolves smoothly, naturally, and cinematically, the action sequences benefit greatly from the influence and inference of the epic battles of 300, and time is taken for dialogue scenes that don't necessarily contribute to furthering the plot, but do reveal character. The script does have its plot holes, unfortunately. Wonder Woman's invisible jet is never given a moment's explaination, despite the fact that the Amazons are living in the Bronze Age (it's a simple enough fix, though- if it had been Trevor's jet, mystically modified, it would have been clever and logical). Scenes also seem to have been omitted, like a bridge scene from the defeat of Deimos to the trek to the gates of Tartarus- you know, just a short little, "Oh, by the way, the gates of Tartarus are in Crete, and I know this because I'm an ancient Greek" kind of scene. And why, if Ares is a Greek god who regains his powers in Greece, does he travel to America to wage his war on mankind? Must Washington D.C. be ground zero for every major international conflict in movies? But since these are all minor nit-picks, things that seem motivated more by moving the story forward quickly than from any lack of actual consideration, I can't be too critical- it IS only an animated film, after all. And for all the points neglected, there are two incongruous elements of the character's backstory that are explained concisely and entertainingly (the star-spangled costume is specifically to honor the nation Diana is visiting as an emissary? Why, that makes perfect sense!). With twenty to fifty minutes more to flesh out the narrative, it could have been seamless, but I'll take what I can get. The art direction is also quite impressive for a direct-to-DVD feature, and the animation is smooth and fluid (which really helps the viewer to get into the spirit of the movie- nothing kills a cartoon movie more than scrimping on the animation). The score is surprisingly good- given an epic landscape to evoke on a direct-to-DVD budget, composer Christopher Drake creates a suitable musical backdrop that's operatic, ancient, and adventurous, bringing more credibility to an already solid production. The completed movie actually rivals a number of Warner's live-action superhero productions- probably because, being an animation project, it can bring to the table the grand scale of the character's adventures without an accompanying enormous price tag, so the producers have no real reason to interfere with the story or set pieces. Probably the best thing I can say about this film is that, when it was all over, I finally had a grasp on the character of Wonder Woman: I knew who she was, what she could do, where she was coming from, and most importantly, I wanted to know where she was going. It's a perfect inlet to the character and her history, but more than that, it's a fun, action-filled movie, the sort of thing you would pay eleven bucks to see in theaters if it was in live-action, and you'd probably see it more than once at that (I pity the poor filmmaker who has to top this whenever they get around to actually doing a live-action film). I came into this movie skeptical and unenthused; by story's end, I was excited, enthralled, and I most definitely wanted more. Bravo, Montgomery and company- you've turned me into a fan.

T.V. movies are not supposed to be this good. Usually, a movie made for television is shallow and forced, with shoddy acting, poor production values and no style. The Incredible Hulk telefilm, on the other hand- aired in 1977, just a year before Superman: the Movie- is so well crafted and marvelously executed that, were it not for a few budget tells, stylistic choices, and its full-frame presentation, I would fully believe it to be a motion picture (and, on many levels, it even out-does the later film adaptation of the character- though not with its effects, of course). The story concerns David Banner, a research scientist who is searching for the key to superhuman strength after a car accident takes the life of his wife, whom he wasn't strong enough to rescue from the wreckage. Discovering a potential link between a DNA irregularity and gamma radiation, Banner tests his theory on himself, bombarding himself with gamma rays and mutating his genetic structure. Now, when he is overcome by anger, he transforms into a large, green monstrosity with incredible strength, a creature that may be the key to everything he's been searching for... or it may be a curse that will tear his life to pieces. Bill Bixby plays Dr. David Banner as a good, likable man who is followed by his own dark cloud of anger and grief, a fog that keeps him from seeing all the good things he still has in life. He also has something of a temper, which we can see simmering in a number of scenes before his experiment- Banner is angry at the world for taking away his wife, and the gamma radiation merely gives his rage form. Working with Banner on the project is Susan Sullivan as Dr. Elaina Marks, a smart, warm woman who clearly has feelings for David, but can't seem to get through the veil of his grief,, instead settling for being his close friend. Sullivan and Bixby have great chemistry together, and the scenes between them are playful and light, evoking a long, comfortable working relationship that may have blossomed into something more under different circumstances. The primary obstacle between them, namely David's grief and rage, is personified in the creature played by Lou Ferrigno (who is never formally referred to as "the Hulk" in the film). Ferrigno cuts quite an intimidating figure as the Hulk, even with the fright wig and huge forehead/nose appliances. He manages to come off as just less than human, and when he needs to be scary, he does the job ably. Finally, there's Jack Colvin as investigative reporter Jack McGee, the pain in the ass who snoops around to find out just what's going on with the giant creature for his news rag. Colvin is bizarrely dated with his brown suits and Elton John sunglasses, and for some reason he's dubbed half the time, but as a persistent, somewhat annoying foil for Banner, he does a great job. What works best about the film is its ability to establish mood and suspense. The subdued opening credits sequence, topped off by that wonderful quote ("Within each of us, ofttimes, there dwells a mighty and raging fury"), creates an ominous tone from the get-go which filters through the movie brilliantly. It culminates in the first transformation scene, set at night in a rain storm, which feels almost like a sequence from a horror movie. Alternately, the movie also builds up suspense masterfully, particularly starting with the gamma injection scene and building all the way up until that first transformation; the director uses audio montage to pile the stresses in Banner's thoughts on top of one another, while each instance of flaring temper makes the viewer try to guess when he's finally going to snap. The shot compositions are really clever (especially with the camera viewfinders during the interviews), the editing is superb (I love the little muted flashes of David's rage that pop up from time to time). Sure, the director has a nasty, television-bred habit of zooming excessively, but it's not as bad as some other shows to come out of that era. The music can also be pretty corny, especially when the Hulk shows up (cue the bongos!), but for T.V. in the seventies, it's not half bad- at least it's not all synthesized. And okay, the effects are sometimes pretty hokey, too (like when the Hulk changes back to Banner in front of Elaina), but they aren't driving the story anyway, so it doesn't matter. What drives this film is good, well done suspense, wonderful character development, and the occasional burst of bodybuilder fury. It doesn't rely on the superficial aspects of its story, instead focusing on the heart of the tale; because things like good storytelling, sharp characterization, and human drama don't cost all that much, the film succeeds with only a fraction of the budget of some major motion pictures. The truth is, the Incredible Hulk is one of my favorite movies because it has everything that most cookie-cutter blockbusters don't, and while it's not technically a film, it's still far better than many of its cinematic counterparts.

Does the term "fantastically fantastic" sound too ostentatious? Not to me, it doesn't. No, after seeing this movie for the first time, I would have to say that I've found in it one of the greatest movies I've ever seen, a perfect example of what I feel film is at its best. Having seen a fair share of prison movies in my life- none of them terribly palatable to me- I was shocked to find in the Shawshank Redemption a prison film that actually had me contemplating the deeper ramifications of living in a jail cell: the time lost, the day-to-day life, the routines that make it impossible to return to the outside. On top of that, it has a resonant philosophical message about hope that makes it an extremely optimistic movie, despite taking place in one of the least optimistic settings that one could conceive of. Based on a novella by Stephen King, the film is about Andy Dufresne, a young banker who is tried and wrongly convicted of the murders of his wife and her adulterous lover, and is sentenced to two terms of life imprisonment in Shawshank Prison. It's there that he meets Red, the man who would become his best friend, as he slowly uses his talents with numbers and with people to gain the respect of his fellow inmates and the corrupt administration; but life on the inside is tough for anybody, and the hardest thing to hold on to is the knowledge that there's more to life than the walls surrounding you and the hope that you might one day return to it. Dufresne is a smart man, but quiet and inscrutable, making him a difficult character to get a handle on- play him too mysterious, he becomes ominous and foreboding, play him to harmless, he becomes weak and uninteresting. Tim Robbins finds a great balance between the two, creating a meek and unassuming character whom we soon learn has a number of unexpected layers; a man whose wheels always seem to be turning, though more often than not we aren't privy to what's going on inside his head. While he's primarily a man who, by his own admission, is difficult to read, Robbins knows exactly when to animate him, giving him just a hint of a smile or a defiant flare in his eye that becomes all the more dramatic from his usual placidity. We gather what we do about Andy, however, from Red, Andy's best friend and the narrator of the story, as played by Morgan Freeman. This being, of course, Morgan Freeman, the role is brilliantly well played: Red is a man who's adapted to prison life perhaps a bit too well, a man who "knows how to get things" and has connections with pretty much everybody on the inside (and a few people on the outside, too). He, in a sense, is the true main character of the film, as he is forced to question his own beliefs by the examples set by Andy, and ultimately becomes a "changed man" because of it (ironically after his knee-jerk protestations to this effect fall on the deaf ears of the parole board for something like forty years). He also, as I mentioned, narrates a good part of the film, and Freeman's deep voice and conversational manner make the voice-overs work much better than they might have (voice-over is usually a terrible storytelling device for a filmmaker. Just look at what it did to the theatrical cut of Blade Runner). The villains of the film are truly repugnant excuses for humanity, making the hole that Andy is stuck in that much more bleak: Warden Norton, played by Bob Gunton, is a cold, slimy bastard who hides behind a facade of righteousness and Christianity (very Bible belt), and his right-hand man, head guard Heywood, is played by Clancy Brown, who ALWAYS seems to play a borderline sadistic strong-arm type, though never so much as he does here. The film uses crane shots incredibly effectively to establish a massive scope, and the fluid camera motion is used to great effect in certain scenes (the moving camera shot as Heywood holds Andy on the edge of the roof makes the scene both dramatic and dynamic) without calling too much attention to itself; the cinematography is fairly plain and drab grey, but with occasional hints at an idyllic, golden world lurking beyond the walls of the prison. The style of the film itself is keyed into that same sense of despondent realism, but with hints of a better, happier world beyond what we are seeing. What really makes the film work is that it never strays too far into either extreme. It manages realism without excessive grittiness, a major stumbling block with most "real-world" dramas (especially those dealing with criminals); it's real but it's clean, it hurts at times but it's not a miasma of torture. At the same time, the polished "happy ending" never gets too out of hand because it's balanced by the prior tragedy of the movie, making it feel more like a welcome respite from darkness than a candy-coated crowd pleaser. The script for this film is, in my opinion, phenomenal; while the film moves languorously through a two-hour-twenty-minute run time, the plot is still tight as a drum, bringing together all the relevant plot threads of the story into a thoroughly satisfying (and, in my case, completely unexpected) conclusion. There's a lot going on sometimes, but the film never loses its audience to incomprehensibility, and the climax is a fantastic payoff to the gradual build-up of the story. I also loved that there's plenty of symbolism to the tale, as well, such as the elderly Brooks' pet bird Jake, whom Brooks initially only takes in 'til he's big enough to fly, but ends up caring for until he is sent out of prison himself, or the harmonica that Andy gets for Red when he learns that Red used to play one. Hell, the very setting of the film can be seen as a metaphor for fear, if you want to get really abstract about it, and that makes the film interesting- that is, how many levels you can watch it on. So many people have referred to this as one of the best movies out there that it's hard to recognize that not everyone feels that way. I can't help but notice, however, that many of the reviewers who gave the movie sub-par rankings have tastes that range towards the darker end of the cinematic spectrum- the works of Tarantino and Scorsese, who create cold, heartless worlds where human life means next to nothing. Don't get me wrong, or anything- I like Scorsese, and I LOVE Tarantino, but their work is world away from this kind of movie, so it's not hard to see why the fans of their work would have such a different reaction to this. Ultimately, the whole thing is subjective anyway; there's no such thing as a perfect movie, a flawless film that can be universally claimed as the greatest ever made- or even just one of the best. I guess what it all comes down to is a matter of taste, really: do you like your masterpieces to be with hope, or without it? Me, I've always been the foolishly optimistic type, so I usually go for the former; and when it comes to films about hope, I have never seen a movie as good as this one. It's well-crafted, terrifically performed, and well-executed, a model of studio filmmaking at its finest. I'd say that deserves the term "fantastically fantastic", wouldn't you?