Judge Dredd (1995)

Last summer an adaptation of comic strip antihero Judge Dredd lasted about five minutes in theaters despite good reviews. One imagines it was tainted by association with Dredd's previous screen endeavor.

Judge Dredd (1995) is every bit as bad as you've heard. Director Danny Cannon transforms John Wagner and Carlos Ezquerra's satirical creation into a painfully routine Sylvester Stallone vehicle. The movie has moments of camp fun, but it's mostly paint-by-numbers.

Joseph Dredd (Sylvester Stallone) is an elite judge in futuristic Mega-City One, given the power to summarily enforce the law. Dredd's recklessness worries both Chief Justice Fargo (Max Von Sydow) and sidekick Hershey (Diane Lane). After Dredd's brother Rico (Armand Assante) breaks out of jail he frames Dredd for the murder of a journalist. Dredd gets drummed out of the judges while Rico and crooked Judge Griffith (Jurgen Prochnow) scheme to restart the Janus project, creating an army of cloned Judges. Joined by wisecracking convict Fergie (Rob Schneider), Dredd escapes prison and returns to set things right.

Judge Dredd, the comic series, originated in 1977 as a strip in the anthology 2000 A.D. Joseph Dredd became one of Britain's best-known comic book heroes, a vicious deconstruction of the Hollywood action hero. Dredd has super-legal powers to arrest, "judge" and execute suspected criminals. The loose cannon antics of Harry Callahan or Paul Kersey become overt fascism, to a point where even Dredd doubts the system's righteousness.

Logically, Hollywood transformed this dark satire into a heroic shoot-'em-up. Dredd kills people but his main crime is lacking the emotion to connect with Judge Hershey. The Judge system is criticized only insofar as bad guys like Rico and Griffith subvert it. The movie carries over the idea of Dredd and Rico as a "split personality," law as righteous and repressive, respectively. But this intriguing subtext gets lost amidst endless action, shameless scenery chewing and painful Rob Schneider gags.

From a box office standpoint this dumbing-down is understandable, and if Dredd were Lethal Weapon I'd be more forgiving. Given the movie's ostensible pedigree however, it's hard to swallow. Like a warped inversion of Verhoeven's Starship Troopers, Dredd turns a pointed anti-conservative text into a celebration of vigilantism. Call me a hand-wringing liberal, but Dredd becoming a slightly nicer Brownshirt doesn’t seem like a happy ending.

Dredd doesn't offer much else. Cannon keeps things moving briskly but the action scenes are forgettable. Most memorable is Rico's robot henchman, who manages more personality than his human co-stars. There's lots of faux-Blade Runner future imagery that, if not inventive, at least avoids the gaucherie of Joel Schumacher's Batman films. That's qualified praise indeed with Alan Silvestri providing the score… But mostly Dredd isn't painfully bad, just dull.

Sylvester Stallone weathered an abominable patch of films between Rocky III and Cop Land; even Stallone's most avid fans won't defend Cobra or Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot. Predictably, Sly plays Dredd as a bellowing, unemotive, mass murdering meathead. It's bizarre watching Stallone scream "I am the law!" and related outbursts without a fleck of emotion. If Dredd had an ounce of cleverness I might consider Stallone's turn self-parody.

Apparently Sly was determined not to be the film's worst actor, casting two abominable co-stars. Armand Assante gives a villain turn of outstanding awfulness. Assante can be good but not while screeching LAAAAAAAAAW! with spittle gushing from his gnarly maw. I guess 48 Hrs. made action movie sidekicks mandatory, but why must we endure Rob Schneider? It's like having Adam Sandler hang out with The Terminator.

The supporting cast emerges unscathed. Diane Lane is a fetching sidekick though Hershey remains strictly one-dimensional. Max Von Sydow, Joan Chen, Jurgen Prochow, Scott Wilson and Maurice Roeves deserve medals for handling throwaway roles with uncommon skill. Indeed, Von Sydow makes Fargo's disgrace almost poignant.

But even the star of The Seventh Seal can't save Judge Dredd. More than anything else it's boring, and that's one failing Groggy can't abide.

The Last Wave

Peter Weir followed Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975) with The Last Wave (1977). Another exploration of modern society's clash with the supernatural, it falls short of his previous effort.

Several Aborigines in Sydney kill another for violating tribal law. Lawyer David Burton (Richard Chamberlain) takes their case but is frustrated by their refusal to cooperate. Australia is wracked by unusual storms while David has repeated visions of Chris Lee (David Gulpilil), an Aborigine associate of the killers. After meeting Chris and his mysterious associate Charlie (Nandjiwarra Amagula), David grows convinced that the strange events portend apocalypse.

Where Hanging Rock was opaquely spiritual, The Last Wave provides overt mysticism. Weir inundates Australia with apocalyptic weather: hail from a cloudless sky, rains of frogs and oil. These phenomena will be familiar to Charles Fort fans but might have earthly explanations. Less explicable are David's fugue visions of watery death and mental bond with Chris Lee. David seems to have tapped into a primal super-conscious, the Aborigine Dreamtime that places humans on an entirely different spiritual level.

Weir plays up this culture clash, carefully paralleling white and Aboriginal cultures. Where Aborigines see the strange weather as otherworldly portents, a radio weatherman provides meteorological rationales. Both Aborigine and white culture place reverential emphasis on their legal systems and religions. Still, the film ultimately sides with the former: most pointedly, David envisions his radio leaking water during a forecast. The ending in Sydney's sewers removes all doubt.

Why isn't The Last Wave as effective as Hanging Rock? Partly because of its certainty: placing undeniable anomalies in a realistic setting seems a cheat. But there are several story flaws too. Weir unceremoniously drops the killers' fate after a quick trial. He also complicates David's quest with a nagging family; what hoarier device exists than a wife (Olivia Hamnett) who doesn't understand our noble hero? David's showdown with an underground shaman proves laughable. And after earlier visions the last scene isn't as striking as it should be.

Richard Chamberlain channels his limited range into studied, anguished intensity. David Gulpilli seems the ubiquitous screen Aborigine, from Walkabout through The Proposition and Australia. He's thoroughly charming here. More striking still is Nandjiwarra Amagula, a real-life tribal elder who provides mystical menace. Supporting roles go to Olivia Hamnett, Vivean Gray, Frederick Parslow, and Peter Carroll.

The Last Wave is an interesting but flawed film. Despite its intriguing premise and striking imagery, it never comes together like it should.

Prophecy (1979)

John Frankenheimer's Prophecy (1979) is a curious misfire. This potentially decent creature feature sinks under the weight of outsized pretensions, plus one of the dumbest-looking monsters ever.

Fed up with a soul-crushing city job, Dr. Robert Verne (Robert Foxworth) accepts a job with the EPA. Along with his pregnant wife Maggie (Talia Shire), he travels to Maine, where a land dispute between a paper company and local Indians rages. Plant owner Isley (Richard Dysart) blames Indian leader John Hawks (Armand Assante) for the disappearance of several loggers. The Indians blame Kahtadin, a mythical beast protecting their land. Verne discovers that pollution has mutated local wildlife, and that the loggers were killed by a particularly nasty byproduct.

Ken Begg of Jabootu's Bad Movie Dimension pegs Prophecy's primary failing: it's too damn serious. Frankenheimer and writer David Seltzer cram their monster movie with every conceivable issue. Environmentalism is a given, but Indian rights, urban squalor and even abortion get a work-out in the overbaked script. Our hero is introduced treating a rat-bitten black baby in a DC apartment, to give you an idea. Frankenheimer approaches this with utmost solemnity, but when an Indian and lumberjack hold a chainsaw-axe duel, it's hard to buy in.

For all its pretentions, Prophecy doesn't mind employing black-and-white morality. The Natives are Noble Savages out of a Billy Jack movie, and no points for guessing how Frankenheimer portrays the lumbermen. The paper mill's intro is hilarious: we get a two-minute establishing shot while Leonard Rosenman's score blares portentiously on the soundtrack. On the other hand, since Maggie's dumb enough to carry a Kathadin cub around, it's hard to root for the heroes either. 

Unfortunately the horror angle is equally botched. Mercury creating murderous mutants might pass muster in a Roger Corman flick but Seltzer's long, pseudoscientific explanations are laughable. Characters describe the Kathadin as a chimera, but in practice it's a dessicated bear. Frankenheimer can't even stage decent attacks, preferring faux-artistic details (shots of mutilated corpses set to Brahms) to frights. The scariest scene involves a racoon, a good indicator of the film's quality.

Talia Shire is mostly somnolent, though she goes into Connie Corleone screaming mode towards the end. She's nicely balanced by Robert Foxworth, who bites off dialogue like a hippie Charlton Heston. Armand Assante, Victoria Racimo and Richard Dysart come off as well as the script allows. George Cluetsi's deluded elder makes a tragic figure, at least until his ludicrous death scene.

Prophecy is laughably misguided schlock. Everyone involved treats this story of murderous bear jerky like an Ingmar Bergman flick. Viewers are more likely to treat it like crap.

Prometheus

After two solid decades of mediocrity, Ridley Scott returns to his early work with Prometheus. Ostensibly a prequel to Alien, it's a fine stand alone film. A respectible stab at cerebral science fiction, it falls short of its ambitions through muddled themes and weak characters.

In the year 2089, scientists Elizabeth Shaw (Noomi Rapace) and Charlie Holloway (Logan Marshall-Green) find a cave painting that points to an alien civilization. The Weyland corporation sends them to join an expedition to a far-off planteoid, led by the ice-cold Vickers (Charlize Theron) and accompanied by Lawrence of Arabia-obsessed android David (Michael Fassbender). On this planet they find signs of an advanced civilization: a race they dub the Engineers, who left traces of advanced civilizaton and may hold the key to human existence. However, they've also left a biological entity that threatens the crew's lives - and may have designs on Earth.

Prometheus is Scott's most ambitious film in awhile, creating another remarkable fantasy world. He crafts another remarkable planet scape, with its forebidding deserts, dripping caves and wind storms to rival Alien's gloomy universe. CGI's rarely been used to such strong effect, with or without 3D, especially the alien holograms and David's first visit to the Engineer control room. Only the creature designs are underwhelming - though if you want to see a big alien vagina go down on a hulking, bald white alien, you'll be satiated.

Scott and writers Joe Spaiths and Damon Lidelof populate the script with intriguing ideas. The Engineers prove to have created human life, but may have more sinister intentions. Shaw's meaning of life ponderings are pointedly rebuked by David, himself created by a "higher power": why must they have a reason? This establishes a pointed fact-vs.-faith dichotomy which provides an interesting thematic anchor. These are worthwhile themes, unoriginal but quite provocative. It's frustrating that the movie abandons them in favor of a third act splatter fest.

Possibly this is due to the script, but Scott's mainly to blame. My gripe with Ridley is that his movies rarely realize their full potential. A capable showman, he lacks the tools to make big ideas work. Alien is basically an extraterrestrial slasher, and Blade Runner proves hollow under the gee-whiz spectacle and florid dialogue. His epics Gladiator and Kingdom of Heaven have flashes of greatness but fall back too readily on crowd-pleasing melodrama and violence. Even his best recent film, American Gangster, cribs too heavily from The French Connection to give Scott overmuch credit.

Prometheus continues this disappointing trend. The movie dilutes its drama through an oversized cast, forestalling most character development. The story takes some odd and unnecessary turns in later scenes: one twist involving a character thought dead seems especially superfluous. Like its predecessors, its intellectual pretensions are undermined by a finale which falls back on creepy  monster cliches. The inconsistency in how creature DNA reacts with humans irked me too. The final reels drag on forever, with little of import revealed beyond the possibility of sequels.

The cast disappoints. Noomi Rapace (the original Lisabeth Salander) is supremely bland, having motivation but no depth. For all the horrors she experiences, Shaw remains single-minded and one-dimensional. Worse still is Logan Marshall-Green, whose contributions are limited to significant glances and booze swilling. Idris Elba (Thor) is ill-used, and Rafe Spall (Anonymous) and Sean Harris are beyond annoying. The less said about Guy Pearce, the better.

There are two standouts. Michael Fassbender (Inglourious Basterds) steals the show, mixing a conscious Peter O'Toole impression with shades of David Bowie, creating a character who's smart, efficient and likeable, but not quite human. Fassbender's a really hot property right now: here's hoping he gets to play Harry Flashman, as rumored. Charlize Theron does fine work with an underwritten character, allowing periodic warmth and vulnerability to shine through her icy exterior. Vickers' near-robotic coldness makes an interesting contrast with the almost-human David.

Prometheus is an enjoyable mixed bag. It's Ridley Scott's best film in awhile, and shows that, if he really puts his mind to it, he's still capable of competence.

Alien

In preparation for Prometheus, I gave Alien (1979) a long-overdue rewatch. I mostly remember this movie featuring in an especially annoying film class: we spent nearly two hours debating whether the two-minute scene of Sigourney Weaver in her undies undermined her toughness by defining her as a sex object. Lord deliver us from feminist critics!

Before Ridley Scott became a wildly overpraised hack he at least showed some creative thought and visual dynamism. In its striking visuals, set design and creepy creatures, Alien certainly delivers. Too bad about the story, which segues from eerie stage-setting into Ten Little Indians cliches.

The space freighter Nostromo gets assigned to answer a distress signal on an unknown planet. While exploring, crew member Kane (John Hurt) gets attacked by a strange being. Against the wishes of Warrant Officer Ripley (Sigourney Weaver), Captain Dallas (Tom Skeritt) takes Kane onboard, but he and Science Officer Ash (Ian Holm) are baffled by the creature. Kane seems to recover, but rudely interrupts dinner when a further-grown alien bursts out his chest. The full-grown creature gradually wipes out the crew, with Ripley discovering that their employers consider the crew expendable.

Alien starts on a perfect note. The elaborate sets seem like a grungier version of 2001's endless corridors, adorned by elaborate-yet-plausible technology, its crew not super-smart astronauts but working class spacemen. The gang's early banter has the right naturalist touch, and the Nostromo's descent onto the foggy alien world is appropriately chilling (helped oh-so-much by Jerry Goldsmith's low-key music). These sequences work best, with an interesting atmosphere, low-key yet disturbing, somehow fusing mundanity with futuristic awe.

Then there's the alien, one of the nastiest creatures in all science-fiction. Working with surrealist H.R. Giger, Scott crafts a frightful beast, both a Freudian nightmare and an unstoppable monster. The creature undergoes interesting evolutions, from the octopoid face huggers to the monstrous xenomorph, represented variously by miniatures, models and costumed man. The alien's appearance, with its bulbous head, rubbery body, crustacean appendanges and mouth-within-a-mouth, makes him a uniquely scary antagonist.

Critics make much of Scott's heavy sexual imagery, which in fact becomes obvious and overwrought. The rape metaphor is chilling, with the crew becoming unwilling broodmares for an alien race. The unsettling alien designs add to the disquiet, as does Kane's "impregnation" and Dallas's fate. But the constant genital analogues eventually grow tedious, reaching a low point when Ash rams a porn magazine down Ripley's throat. Subtle Alien is not.

Alien is a haunted house flick at heart, phallic symbols or no. Halfway through, Scott begins the inevitable process of whitling down his cast. Characters crawl down air vents and wander into dark rooms alone, begging to become alien chow. Harry Dean Stanton's character wins the booby prize, chasing a cat all over the ship, through multiple rooms, until the creature finally finds him. The dramatics aren't much smarter than slasher movies where the victim, being chased by a killer, locks herself inside the house. For a B movie thriller this is fine; for an allegedly cerebral sci-fi film it's cheap.

Sigourney Weaver already shows the no-nonsense toughness which made Ripley an enduring heroine. Yaphett Kotto and Harry Dean Stanton provide a hilarious doubles-act as disgruntled engineers. Ian Holm makes an unsettling presence, with ever-so-subtle hints pointing to his big reveal. John Hurt (A Man for All Seasons) eclipses his entire career with the most gruesome movie death ever. Wooden Tom Skeritt and annoying Veronica Cartwright (The Children's Hour) make up the negative side of the ledger.

Alien is a mixed bag. For all its impressive visuals, it's ultimately formulaic. No matter the lavish sets or dick-headed aliens, it's still about a monster jumping out to say boo.

On Ray Bradbury

Earlier this week, legendary author Ray Bradbury passed away at the age of 92. Ever since I first read The Illustrated Man in junior high, I've revisted his stories time and again. While he penned a diverse body of work, including childhood nostalgia and detective stories, it's his science fiction that stands tallest. His prose, beautiful in its simplicity, warmly humanistic and always creative, mark him as one of the genre's titans.

Many eloquent writers have provided wonderful tributes to Bradbury (eg. here, here, here and here). Even President Obama had a few words. I'll thus restrict myself to listing my ten favorite Bradbury stories, with brief commentary and analysis.

10. The Veldt

Few authors write more insightfully about childhood than Bradbury. He captures better than anyone the simple joy of a childhood crush, a swim in the lake, a bowl of ice cream, a dazzling circus or movie. But there's a razor's edge underneath: stories like All Summer in a Day and The Playground shows the casual cruelty of children. In The Small Assassin and Zero Hour, they're unlikely conduits for evil; who would suspect a baby of murder?

One of Bradbury's most famous stories, The Veldt depicts a pair of spoiled children given an amazing room that simulates their innermost thoughts. When their parents grow disturbed by the violent images, they threaten to turn off the room - leaving the kids to plot revenge. In an era where children are practically raised by TV, iPhones and the Internet, it remains distressingly topical.

9. Mars Is Heaven

One of The Martian Chronicles, Mars is Heaven shows a team of Earth astronauts encountering a slice of Americana on the midst of Mars. More amazing still, they encounter what appear to be dead relatives amongst the townspeople. It all seems to good to be true - and of course, it is. Later sci-fi (Solyaris most notably) appropriated this scenario, but none so effective as Bradbury.

8. The Martian

One strand running through all of Bradbury's work is humanism: all of his characters are recognizable as people, with thoughts, fears, emotions and humanity. I suspect this is why Bradbury appeals where other sci-fi authors like Isaac Asimov leave me cold. Technical details and gadgetry generate bore me, just like history buffs with fetishistic love of hardware and uniforms. It's people who make stories interesting, not what they wear or kill people with.

The Martian is especially poignant. An Earth couple are visited by their dead son. Initially all is well until he's revealed as a shapeshifting Martian with a variety of guises. The sense of loss and tragedy in this story is poignant, both for the humans and the Martian himself: he becomes "an image reflected from ten thousand mirrors," losing his identity to the needs of his human pursuers.

7. The Long Rain

Bradbury's imagination goes into overdrive with this story. For sheer visual power, one can't top his description of Venus as "an immense catoon nightmare," everything bleached white by non-stop rain. More powerful still is the feeling of hopelessness, as a team of astronauts slowly goes mad (or worse) searching for shelter amidst the deluge. The ending seems happy enough but there's enough ambiguity to mute celebration. Even if the Sun Dome holds, it's still raining outside.

6. Dark They Were, And Golden-Eyed

An unsettling tale of colonization, where human colonists transform into Martians. This story is wonderfully atmospheric, with an unsettling, gradual feeling of dread that slowly engulfs the protagonist. The ending can't be called unhappy but it is disquieting on multiple levels. Above all, it shows that no matter what names we give a place, it retains its own power.

5. Fever Dream

Occasionally Bradbury eschewed philosophy for straight horror. Fever Dream is his best genre entry, of a child whose illness makes him something other than human. This one touches on every child squirm-point: unsympathetic adults, uncontrollable bodily changes and general helplessness. It's a slow-burning, low-key scare with a bone-chilling conclusion.

4. There Will Come Soft Rains

This simple tale shows a robotic house going about its business after its masters are killed in a nuclear war. This is Bradbury at his most affecting and poetic: "The house was an altar with ten thousand attendants... but the gods had gone away, the ritual of the religion continued senselessly, uselessly." Haunting, poignant and beautiful all at once.

3. The Concrete Mixer

The Concrete Mixer is a study in irony, with commercialism destroying a Martian invasion. This story is marked by the blackest of black humor, where Earth's greatest weapons against unstoppable invaders are soap, beer and hot dogs. "War is a bad thing," claims narrator Ettyl, "but peace can be a living horror." This cynical Martian knows humanity's diet of pulp fiction and sci-fi movies makes them invulnerable to attack. His proof? A sleazeball movie producer named Rick - just like the heroes from Thrilling Wonder Stories!

2. Drink Entire - Against the Madness of Crowds

This melancholy tale gains more resonance the older I grow. The protagonist misses a chance at eternal happiness through a moment of indecision, watching a friend achieve success in his place. Granted, contentment comes from a witch's potion; would that it were so simple! But being doomed to mediocrity is something all of us fear, and lingering over missed opportunities in love, business and happiness something everyone's experienced.

1. Pillar of Fire

Bradbury's greatest preoccupation is the sanctity of literature and imagination. Some of his best stories depict dystopian societies banning books. Fahrenheit 451 is the best-known example, but he returned to the topic time and again: The Fireman, The Exiles, Usher II, On the Orient North. In this context, Bradbury lets go of his humanism, taking revenge on the oppressive monsters who destroy creativity and stifle thought.

Pillar of Fire provides Bradbury's darkest exploration of this theme. A corpse awakens in the future, where "impure" literature has been banned and bodies incinerated as unclean. Aghast, he decides to avenge his vanished society. His escalating series of crimes are disturbing, giving Bradbury a chance to engage in incredible imagery and savage prose. Bradbury takes his argument to an extreme, punishing society (rather than carefully-selected villains) for abetting apathy and censorship. I love Pillar for its sheer daring and nastiness; for my money, it's the best thing Bradbury ever wrote.

* * *

I'll conclude on a more uplifting note, with a selection from Kaleidoscope.  As an astronaut falls to his death, he ponders a last minute redemption:

"He fell swiftly, like a bullet, like a pebble, like an iron weight... objective of all time now, not sad or happy or anything, but only wishing he could do a good thing now that everything was gone, a good thing just for himself to know about.

When I hit the atmosphere, I'll burn like a meteor.

"I wonder," he said, "if anyone'll see me?"

The small boy on the country road looked up and screamed. "Look, Mom, look! A falling star." 

The blazing white star fell down the sky of dusk in Illinois.

"Make a wish," said his mother. "Make a wish."

RIP Ray Bradbury. For enabling so many of us to see the stars, to dream and remember, you certainly fulfilled your wish.

Catching Up With the Avengers: Iron Man, The Incredible Hulk, Thor

Today Disney and Marvel release The Avengers in America. The movie's already done stellar overseas business and Marvel hopes their superhero nest egg, throwing four comic protagonists into one film, pays off. Of course, those heroes have successful features of their own.

This article looks at Iron Man, The Incredible Hulk (both 2008) and Thor (2011). I've already reviewed Iron Man 2 (2010) and Captain America (2011) elsewhere.

Iron Man (2008, Jon Favreau)

Iron Man was a risky investment. Marvel brought one of their more obscure heroes to the screen, starring has-been Robert Downey Jr. Imagine everyone's surprise when Iron Man turned out to be clever and incredibly fun. It's certainly better than 2008's other big superhero movie.

Tony Stark (Robert Downey Jr.) heads Stark Industries, America's largest weapons manufacturer. Tony indulges in a fantasy lifestyle replete with cars, booze and women, while Obadiah Stane (Jeff Bridges) actually runs the company. But a run-in with Afghan insurgents using his weapons leads Stark to change his worldview. With the help of an Afghan scientist (Shaun Toub) and, later, assistant Pepper Potts (Gwyneth Paltrow), Stark manufacturers an iron suit with which to fight evildoers. Soon Stark discovers that Stane is selling arms to the Afghans, and building his own suit for nefarious purposes.

Iron Man is a well-packaged film. Jon Favreau proves a dab hand at action and storytelling, delivering a fast-paced, exciting 126 minutes. The movie works as a self-contained story, admirably breezing through Iron Man's origin, but also sets the stage nicely for future installments: Clark Gregg and Samuel L. Jackson make their first appearances as SHIELD agents, reminding Tony there's "a bigger Universe" out there.

Iron Man is smart and cynical without descending into dreariness or pomposity. Tony Stark is a spoiled, narcissistic sybarite who perverts the square values of a Superman or Captain America. He finds a cause to believe in but retains his personality quirks, a credible characterization. Behind Tony's back, Stane runs a heinous double-deal that would make Basil Zaharoff blush. This chilling picture of corporate perfidy grounds Iron Man (somewhat) in reality. Tony not only kicks ass but demands corporate accountability, a very 21st Century hero.

Robert Downey Jr. revived a long-moribund career with his effortless performance. He's superb, whether smooth-talking contractors, debating his morality or trading barbs with feisty Gwyneth Paltrow. Stark's transformation from stuck-up pretty boy to do-gooder is perfectly conveyed, Downey sacrificing neither humor or depth in the process.

Iron Man isn't perfect. Opening things in contemporary Afghanistan is gutsy, but Favreau cops out by making the main baddie (Faran Tahir) a Genghis Khan wannabe. Bald-pated Jeff Bridges makes an agreeable corporate pirate but doesn't pull off the transition to supervillain. The action scenes are mostly exciting, especially Iron Man's Afghan debut, but the climactic fight is underwhelming. On the other hand, Stark's press conference ends this successful crowd pleaser on a perfect note.

The Incredible Hulk (2008, Louis Leterrier)

Less successful is Marvel's stab at a better-known hero. Ang Lee's dreary Hulk (2003) failed in its ambitions as a cerebral Hulk-smash. Unfortunately, Louis Leterrier's 2008 reboot is even worse. It's a perfunctory film, existing solely to keep the Hulk in the Avenger line up.

Bruce Banner (Edward Norton) hides out in Brazil after his initial transformation into the Hulk. Unfortunately, a screw-up at the bottling plant where he works leads Banner's nemesis General Ross (William Hurt) to him, tasking elite soldier Emil Blonsky (Tim Roth) to bring Banner down. Banner hooks up with old flame Betty Ross (Liv Tyler), the General's daughter, and tries to cure himself. Meanwhile Emil experiments with Hulk juice, transforming into the Abomination, a creature even more monstrous than Hulk.

Noting the criticisms leveled at Lee's Hulk, Leterrier's The Incredible Hulk overcompensates by being as dumb as possible. Lee's movie had too much back story and not enough action, you say? How would you like lame ciphers and two hours of explosions? Between the repetitive action scenes, nonexistent characters and facile dialogue it's a thoroughly generic, artificial Hollywood product. The Hulk-Abomination showdown is a fun set piece, but too little too late.

Edward Norton reportedly demanded script rewrites and control over the film, hardly endearing him to Marvel. He's been replaced by Mark Ruffalo for The Avengers. Norton's blandness is matched by his costars: even good actors like William Hurt (Robin Hood) and Tim Roth (Rob Roy) struggle with cardboard characters. Robert Downey Jr.'s cameo provides a rare glimmer of life in this misbegotten mess.

Thor (2011, Kenneth Branagh)

Thor raised eyebrows with its unique pedigree: what was Shakespeare auteur Kenneth Branagh doing directing a superhero flick? But Branagh proves an inspired choice, ably mixing character drama with pulp heroics. It's the least action-heavy Marvel film, but possibly the best to date.

Prince Thor (Chris Hemsworth) of planet Asgard shatters an intergalactic truce by attacking the rival Frost Giants. Father Odin (Anthony Hopkins) banishes Thor to Earth, where he meets researcher Jane Foster (Natalie Portman) and her partners (Stellan Skarsgard, Kat Dennings). Jane and Co. try and figure out who Thor is, while the omnipresent Agent Coulson attempts to recruit the demigod. It turns out that Thor's banishment is really a plot by his brother Loki (Tom Hiddleston), who has designs on Asgard's throne.

Thor is an interesting blend of Norse myth, comic book lore and Shakespeare. Thor goes from callow youth to mature leader in approved Henry V style, while Loki's scheming recalls Iago and Richard III. Branagh provides the right level of pulpy seriousness: the character dynamics are credible without breaking the fantasy mindset. The movie goes for humor in the Earth scenes, with Thor getting some fun gags (especially his visit to a pet shop) while maturing as a character. The "warriors three" sidekicks and mysterious sentry Heimdall (Idris Elba) complement Thor nicely. Only the humans fall flat.

Chris Hemsworth makes an agreeable Thor. Besides his chiseled physique, he comes off exceedingly well navigating Thor's character arc. Tom Hiddleston (War Horse) gives a wonderful villain turn, apparently channeling Peter O'Toole. Idris Elba has some brief but effective scenes. Anthony Hopkins hams it up, while Natalie Portman's lame character gets overshadowed by goofy Stellan Skarsgard (The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo) and cute Kat Dennings. Jeremy Renner (The Hurt Locker) cameos, presaging a more prominent role in The Avengers.

Action fans may find Thor disappointing. Branagh realizes Asgard with some wonderful computer designs, and early scenes feature exciting battles with the Frost Giants. But the big Earth-bound set-piece (a robot rampage) is flaccid, and Thor's duel with Loki isn't compelling as it should be. Still, this reviewer finds a character-driven superhero flick sans ponderous angst refreshing.

* * *

Marvel's Avengers films have, to date, been a mixed bag. Still, they can be very proud of making three entertaining movies, superhero flicks that prove fun and intelligence needn't be contradictory. Here's hoping that The Avengers is more Iron Man than Incredible Hulk.

The Hunger Games

Last night, I couldn't get up the willpower to see Titanic, 100th anniversary or no. For my first theatrical viewing of 2012 (!), I checked out The Hunger Games instead, which proved a pleasant surprise. Citizen Kane it's not, but then a reasonably-smart, character-driven blockbuster has its own rewards.

Each year the dystopian state of Panem holds an annual "Hunger Games," where two children from 12 districts compete in a nationally-television gladatorial bout. District 12 teen Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence) volunteers in place of her sister, becoming an instant celebrity. Along with Peeta (Josh Hutcherson) Katniss goes to the Capitol for training, developing feelings for her partner. But when the contest starts Katniss must keep her wits, especially with tough guy Cato (Alexander Ludwig) organizing an anti-Katniss alliance and show boss Seneca (Wes Bentley) manipulating events. Overseeing it is President Snow (Donald Sutherland), who fears "too much hope" may instigate a rebellion.

Based on Suzanne Collins' best-selling novels, The Hunger Games presents an interesting story. Panem's rigid class structure and authoritarian government are integral parts of the story rather than a grim backdrop: the Games are punishment for a past rebellion and a way to keep the lower classes in line. There's a cruel reality show aspect to the affair, with contestants using charm and media savvy to gain "sponsors." When Katniss and Peeta fall for each other the bosses arbitrarily change the games rules to promote them - a decision which ultimately backfires. As the President fears, they become a symbol of defiance to his regime.

Critics are fond of comparing the film to Battle Royale, The Running Man and myriad other sources. But originality has never been a premium for Hollywood blockbusters. Mostly Hunger Games is refreshing for its smart, creative approach to the material. Collins crafts a vivid reality with a strong, beautifully-drawn protagonist, which is highly commendable. It treats its audience with respect, which can't be said for tween tripe like Twilight.

Gary Ross provides solid direction. Interesting costume and set design contrasts the grim prolterian "outer districts" with the decadently-coiffed Capitol. The handheld camera is overused but fits the frantic, violent action scenes perfectly: the chaotic curtain-raising slaughter is especially striking. It's a deliberately paced film, developing its characters and dispensing exposition between killings. The story often strains to keep Katniss alive, arbitrarily twisting game rules and character actions for cathartic purposes. In the film's universe though it's mostly forgivable.

Jennifer Lawrence garnered much attention with Winter's Bone and X-Men: First Class, but this role cements her as a star. Katniss is a lovely heroine, balancing strength and athleticism with personal vulnerability and doubt. Lawrence, with her strength, awkwardness and girl-next-door beauty, gives a sensitive performance that captures both aspects of the character. A fantasy character yes, but a far more appealing one than, say, Bella Swan.

The other teen actors are fairly one-dimensional: only Amandla Stendberg's Rue stands out. The adult cast is more interesting. Woody Harrelson and Elizabeth Banks (W.) have an hysterical doubles-act as District 12's harried "mentors." Stanley Tucci (Captain America) nabs a choice role as a glad-handing talk show host. Donald Sutherland gets some brief but effective scenes as the sinister President. Other roles go to Wes Bentley (The Four Feathers), singer Lenny Kravitz and the ubiquitous Toby Jones.

The Hunger Games exceeded my expectations by being a smart, well-crafted thriller. Its huge box office success makes sequels inevitable which in this case has promise.

Rise of the Planet of the Apes

Rise of the Planet of the Apes (2011) was a pleasant surprise. Unlike another "reboot" of the hallowed science fiction franchise, it pays respect to the original while standing on its own merits as a rip-roaring blockbuster.



Scientist Will Rodman (James Franco) is obsessed with finding a cure for Alzheimer's after his father (John Lithgow) comes down with the disease. He tests a genetically-engineered virus on apes, causing them to become super smart - but also super-aggressive. Will raises chimpanzee Caesar (Andy Serkis) as a surrogate son, but despite Will's affection Caesar can't help noticing he's very different. Ending up in an animal shelter after attacking Will's neighbor, Caesar asserts himself as the leader of and begins planning a jailbreak.



Basically a remake of Conquest of the Planet of the Apes (1972), Rise is a very thoughtful and interesting film. The original films had a lot of Civil Rights baggage that comes off strongly even in this film: the very human Caesar can't understand why he's treated as a pet, and his hardening in captivity makes for compelling character development. Giving each of the apes distinct personalities helps, and the mixture of photo-real CGI and telling character moments sells the potentially silly presmise. We don't really care about the boring humans, but the apes are certainly worth our attention.



Rupert Wyatt delivers wonderful crisp direction, allowing the plot to unfold at a brisk pace. The film is fairly subdued but Wyatt's action scenes are exciting, especially the cops vs. chimps battle on the Golden Gate Bridge. Writers Rick Jaffa and Amanda Silver write in some interesting wrinkles to the plot that tie into the original films (and set up potential sequels). The computer and motion-capture effects are simply incredible: the apes are shockingly photo realistic, but also far more credible than Avatar's space kitties.



The human cast is boring. James Franco (Milk) is decent but it's hard to buy his character's moral indignation; can a man who tests an experimental drug on his dad complain about "unethical" research paractices? It's nice to see the breathtaking Freida Pinto (Slumdog Millionaire), even in a completely superfluous role. Tom Fenton (Harry Potter) has the unenviable task of mouthing hallowed Charlton Heston lines, which he does poorly. The one interesting performance is John Litghow (Footloose), who invests his underwritten character with emotion and gravitas.



Of course, the real star is Andy Serkis. Serkis is a master of motion capture, having already created Gollum and King Kong for Peter Jackson, but he takes it to a whole other level here. His Caesar is a truly remarkable creation, both visually and personally: his transformation from goofy adolescent to ferocious avenger is beautifully rendered, making him a surprisingly compelling protagonist, "human" but believably a chimp. If modeling a computer-generated simian counts as a performance, Serkis deserves an Oscar.



Rise of the Planet of the Apes is a fun popcorn film. It's easy to swallow the shallow human characters, goofy wonder drug Macguffin and overbearing homages to the original for the cool chimps and exciting action.

Fahrenheit 451

Francois Truffaut's 1966 film adaptation of Ray Bradbury's dystopian novel is a hard film to address. It gets the novel's themes across well-enough, but the pretty pictures and optimistic tone are completely at variance wtih Bradbury's vision. The result is an interesting film that might be better if it weren't based on a classic novel.

Guy Montag (Oskar Werner) is a fireman in a dystopian London where books are outlawed and burned. His wife Linda (Julie Christie) has surrendered entirely to the super-materialistic society, and Guy himself doesn't think much about his work either way - even though he's up for promotion. But a chance encounter with a chatty young girl, Clarisse (also Christie), convinces him that there might be something to this book business. Soon Guy starts to read and feels an urge to rebel, though he must find confront his domineering boss (Cyril Cusack) first.

I'm a big fan of Ray Bradbury, but I find Fahrenherit 451 a middling work. Bradbury is more concerned with the loss of literature and thought than politics, a recurring motif through his work (The Exiles, Usher II) and the film retains this theme. The closing scenes with the "Book People," devoted to memorizing great books for posterity, really brings the author's love of literature to life, and the constant burning of Melville, Sartre, Kant and Cahiers du Cinema (ha!) becomes painful to watch. Even if derivative of Huxley's Brave New World, Bradbury's depiction of a media-saturated culture, obsessed with television, music and visual gratification, rings strikingly true today. Books may be meaningless, as the Captain sneers, but they encourage thought and creativity; Linda's insipid interactive TV games and pill-popping encourages staid conformity and sloth.

The film remains faithful to Bradbury for the first hour or so, but goes way off the rails towards the end. Clarisse was a minor (if important) character in the book, but in the film she's unaccountably bumped up to co-star and love interest. Key elements like the Mechanical Hound (a poison-injecting police dog), and more importantly a perpetual world war, are excised entirely. Though we do get cops whizzing around in jetpacks, which is fun. Losing Bradbury's grim, apocalyptic finale, Truffaut goes for a cheerily optimistic ending that just doesn't fit.

Francois Truffaut, one of the New Wave's leading lights, provides fine direction that somehow seems wrong for the material. With the help of Nicolas Roeg's gorgeous Technicolor photography and Bernard Herrman's rapturous score, Truffaut mounts a strikingly beautiful production, which works against the story's grim atmosphere. If ever a film cried out for stark black-and-white photography, it's this one; and yet Truffaut creates so many beautiful, striking images (especially a closet bookworm's (Bee Duffel) sacrifice, and the burning books curling like flower petals) that I'm loathe to part with the Technicolor.

The cast is a mixed bag. Oskar Werner makes a rather bland and one-note hero. Julie Christie (Doctor Zhivago) is good in both her roles, though the need for a dual performance is never made clear. Cyril Cusack (The Day of the Jackal) steals the show as a particularly loathsome bureaucrat. Anton Diffring (Where Eagles Dare) does little more than glower menacingly from the sidelines, but Bee Duffel (A Night to Remember) makes a strong impression in her tiny part.

On the whole, I'm not sure what to make of Fahrenheit 451. It's a beautiful film with a story that oughtn't be beautiful - that's what we call a conundrum.

The Truth is Out There

Back in high school, I was an obsessive fan of The X-Files. Though too young to catch the series on its initial run, I watched re-runs on Sci-Fi, TNT and FX religiously, and for a time it was an all-consuming passion. Watching Mulder and Scully investigate the paranormal, run afoul of the Cigarette-Smoking Man and his international conspiracy, and uncover the truth about extraterrestrial life, was the most thrilling thing in the world for me until I moved on to slightly more mature fare like The West Wing. Think a paranoid '70s conspiracy thriller - say, All the President's Men - with aliens thrown in, add two likeable, attractive and intriguingly mismatched leads, and you've got one heckuva show.

Thanks to Netflix, I've recently gone through the series again, and remembered that the series spawned two feature films. I'd seen The X-Files (1998) a few times already, but like all sentient beings I completely ignored I Want to Believe (2008). Until now. In lieu of reviewing a drippy romance for Valentine's Day, I present a dual review of the X-Files films.

The X-Files (1998, Rob Bowman)



Released at the height of the TV series's popularity (if not quality), The X-Files (aka Fight the Future) was a major blockbuster event in 1998. Series creator Chris Carter and Co. engage in the Herculean labor of making the show's labrynthine, inscrutible "Mythology" comprehensible to lay viewers and newbies, resulting in a mixed bag of a film.

With the X-Files shut down, FBI Agents Fox Mulder (David Duchovny) and Dana Scully (Gillian Anderson) have been reassigned to an anti-terrorist unit. They uncover a bomb at a federal building in Dallas, but are unable to prevent it from going off. As they face censure and reassignment from the FBI, Mulder runs into Alvin Kurtzweil (Martin Landau), who claims to be an old friend of his father. Kurtzweil tells Mulder that the bombing was a government cover-up, intended to hide the appearance of the alien "Black Oil" in rural Texas. The Oil has mutated, not only controlling human minds but using their bodies to gestate aliens, and the shadowy Syndicate led by Strughold (Armin Mueller-Stahl) and the Cigarette-Smoking Man (William B. Davis) is at a loss how to combat it. Mulder and Scully are soon on the case, with Scully placed in imminent danger and Mulder forced to track her to, literally, the ends of the Earth.

The X-Files hits on all cylinders as entertainment. The modest, story- and character-driven show flees the gloomy woods of British Columbia for epic locations in America, North Africa and elsewhere, going from a creepy thriller to a full-bore blockbuster. Pumped full of action, effects and intrigue, it's designed to keep most viewers engaged even if they're confused as hell about what's going on. Until the overwrought (and overlong) conclusion in Antarctica, the film remains solidly entertaining throughout.

X-Philes will find much to like, and much to quibble with. David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson are in top form, bringing their incomparable wit and chemistry to the big screen intact. Exchanges like Mulder's "panic face" warm the cockles of this fan's heart. Mulder and Scully still hadn't hooked up yet, so we're treated to the usual smoldering, unresolved tension capped with a "near-miss kiss." On this score, no real complaints.

Not surprisingly, though, the movie stumbles in trying to make sense of the Mythology. The Black Oil already underwent mutations on the show, from a mind-controlling substance to some sort of toxic pathogen, and now it undergoes another transformation into Alien-like ET beasts. The virus-transmitting bees from earlier seasons are present in a different form as well. We should note that, though the film was shot between the fourth and fifth seasons, it wasn't released until after the fifth, leading to inevitable plot holes and inconsistencies with the series. Nothing we learned in Season 5 (save Scully's remission from cancer) is really relevant here, and the plot directions the film takes are conveniently ignored in later seasons.

Rob Bowman was the series's most prolific director, whose TV work never translated into big screen success (Reign of Fire, Elektra). A pity, as he shows a real flair for the cinematic here, handling a massive production very well. There is extensive location shooting, lots of creative action scenes and some gobsmacking set design (especially the Antarctic alien base). The sheer scope of the thing allows it to be more than just a two-hour episode of the series. Mark Snow gets to expand on his usual moody stylings with an appropriately epic score.

The other series regulars get the short end of the stick: the villainous Smoking Man, Mulder and Scully's testy boss Skinner (Mitch Pileggi) and the goofy Lone Gunmen (Tom Braidwood, Dean Haglund and Bruce Harwood) show up long enough for X-Philes to recognize them and then bow out. The exception is John Neville (Billy Budd), whose change of heart is genuinely affecting and his sacrifice quite poignant.

The film's "guest stars" are ill-used. Martin Landau (North by Northwest) gets a solid character, his Kurtzweil a shadowy informer in the mould of Jerry Hardin's Deep Throat and Steven Williams' X. Armin Mueller-Stahl's (The International) Syndicate leader isn't around long enough to register, and Blythe Danner (Meet the Parents) plays a one-note FBI bureaucrat. 1013 regular Terry O'Quinn (The Stepfather) shows up just long enough to die.

The X-Files is a flawed but admirable attempt at bringing the show to the big screen. It's certainly miles better than...

The X-Files: I Want to Believe (2008, Chris Carter)



Fast-forward ten years. The X-Files has been off the air for six years, long after the show "jumped the shark" via three hideous final seasons. Dip in quality aside, the show's viewership had dissipated by the finale, and certainly by 2008 interest in The X-Files was slim-to-none. The question arises: Who exactly demanded this film be made? Not the audiences who flocked to see The Dark Knight instead. Not the critics who excoriated it. Not the X-Philes who largely shunned it.

I Want to Believe's cold reception is, sadly, well-deserved. It offers precious few treats for X-Philes, and offers little but a routine and convoluted thriller for the lay viewer. The weak story, boring characters and virtual absence of anything really weird doom I Want to Believe to failure, a belated rehash of a long-cancelled show that few cared to revisit.

A number of women in West Virginia, including an FBI Agent, have gone missing without a trace. FBI Special Agents Whitney (Amanda Peet) and Drummy (rapper Xzibit) call on Mulder, still for the crimes alleged in the series finale, and Scully, now a practicing medical doctor, call on them for expertise. Seems a pedophile priest Father Joe (Billy Connolly) claims a psychic connection to the victims, and Mulder and Scully try and determine his credibility - and find the victims - while becoming increasingly attached to the case.

The main pleasure I Want to Believe offers is seeing what Mulder and Scully are up to post-X-Files. Duchovny sports an Al Gore beard for much of the film, Anderson wears her hair long and Mitch Pileggi's still bald. More to the point, Mulder and Scully seem to have an off-and-on relationship, and "shippers" get to see the couple cuddling in bed. Their lost child, William, is mentioned only in passing and it seems that, despite mutual attraction and love, their relationship remains frustratingly complicated. On its own terms, however, the film is pretty shoddy.

I don't object to the film's jettisoning the "mythology" for a standalone story, which was so ridiculous by the final season (the Terminator-like "Super Soldiers"? Scully's part-alien baby? Gag) that a film would probably be Ed Wood quality. But Carter just can't make this story interesting. The Russian surgeons' transplantation experiments (shades of Sergei Bryuhonenko?) are creepy but not really X-Files material, and their completely one-note characterization doesn't help. Similarly, Father Joseph's psychic abilities are sketchy at best and make the paranormal claim highly dubious. Too much time is spent on Scully's efforts to save terminally ill boy Christian, a hopelessly maudlin and cloying subplot that adds nothing to the film. Ultimately, the film is a failure as both an X-File and a thriller.

Duchovny and Anderson are in fine form, rekindling their old chemistry and passion. As before, the supporting cast is poorly used. Mitch Pileggi reprises his role as Skinner only briefly, but at least he plays a key role in the story. Billy Connolly's psychic priest is an underdeveloped character hedging this side of stereotype (Catholic, Irish and a pedophile? Saints preserve us!). Amanda Peet and Xzibit are one-note and terrible, respectively, as the agents who bring Mulder and Scully in.

Them!

By far the best of the '50s "radiation-mutated monster" flicks, Them! (1954) is a pleasant childhood memory. AMC always showed this movie in a loop around Halloween and the ten year-old me gobbled it up, watching it every chance I got. I was pleasantly surprised to see that Them! holds up to adult viewing; more than goofy fun, it's a surprisingly smart and enjoyable sci-fi flick that stands among the genre's best.

New Mexico State Trooper Ben Peterson (James Whitmore) encounters a girl (Sandy Descher) wandering through the desert in a catatonic state. Things grow more alarming still when Peterson finds her family's trailer ransacked - and when his partner (Ed Blackburn) is killed by the same creature. Joined by FBI Agent Graham (James Arness) and entomologists Harold (Edmund Gwenn) and Pat Medford (Joan Weldon), Peterson investigates the crimes, only to find them caused by a colony of giant, irradiated ants! The authorities quickly annihilate the nest, but several queens manage to escape, taking off for parts unknown. Our heroes race against time to locate any potential nests, hoping to head off an apocalyptic threat - all while maintaining the strictest secrecy.

Them! deftly plays on the two biggest preoccupations of post-WWII science fiction: nuclear holocaust and Commie paranoia. The hideous effects of Hiroshima and Nagasaki and the onset of the Cold War terrified Americans with the dual threat of imminent destruction and insidious menace. The Japanese released Godzilla the same year as Them!, creating a cultural icon - and a slew of imitators. Other beasts, from humans (The Amazing Colossal Man) to grasshoppers (Beginning of the End) to, hand to God, a killer tree (From Hell it Came) were unleashed by radiation, each creature sillier than the last. Even the larger budgeted pictures like Tarantula and The Deadly Mantis are hokey and cartoonish. In this regard, the intelligence, craft and quality of Them! is a refreshing surprise.

Them! really belongs in a class of more sophisticated science fiction: The Day the Earth Stood Still, Invasion of the Body Snatchers, It Came From Outer Space. The film depicts a Cold Warrior's wet dream: a super-efficient government, with local authorities, G-men, soldiers and scientists cooperating seemlessly to eradicate an unstoppable threat. Secrets are ruthlessly kept - Fess Parker's amusing character is incarcerated for "knowing too much" - but our heroes are nonetheless concerned with the human cost: Medford refuses to gas the sewer system while two children are held "hostage" there (shades of Rio Grande?). The Communist analogy isn't especially apt - can you leak intelligence secrets to ants? - but then sci-fi is rarely concerned with literal interpretations.

There's plenty for the less pretentious filmgoer to enjoy in Them!, too. It plays more as a thriller than a horror film, with an atmospheric, creepy, noir-inspired opening: a catatonic girl wandering through the desert, the wrecked trailer, and the cop slain by an unseen monster strike a jarring note from the word go. The ants don't even appear until half-an-hour into the film, heralded only by eerie chirping noises; the story is just as concerned with its investigation and explanation of the ants as its scares and thrills. The movie embraces its serious tone, allowing its fantastical plot to feel grounded and frighteningly real: the science is silly but convincing enough, the ants aren't ridiculously large and can be killed by conventional firepower.

If the film weren't such a top-notch effort the serious tone might backfire, but veteran Gordon Douglas helms a superb production. Douglas makes excellent use of a respectable budget, creating a tense, richly-paced show. Douglas and photographer Sidney Hickox mix nice location shooting with gritty, and stage impressive subterranean action scenes in an ant's nest and LA's sewers. The film won a well-deserved Oscar nod for Special Effects: the Warners studio artists craft full-sized hydraulic model ants that beat the pants off the era's superimposition and stop-motion efforts. Bronislau Kaper's creepy score is also notable. The movie was heavily influential on later efforts: its plot structure and clearly inform Jaws, while the Alien films appropriate the scenes of soldiers combing through the ant's nest.

The excellent (if not A-list) cast is another pleasant surprise in a genre reliant on hams like John Agar and Peter Graves. James Whitmore (Battleground) is excellent, his Everyman cop an appealing and sympathetic protagonist. James Arness's (Hondo) stiff G-Man is more in-line with the genre's usual heroes. Edmund Gwenn (Foreign Correspondent) is amusingly eccentric and Joan Weldon more than holds her own. The supporting cast includes an interesting assortment of character actors, including Fess Parker (TV's Davy Crockett), Willis Bouchey (Sergeant Rutledge), Ann Doran (His Girl Friday), Dub Taylor (Bonnie and Clyde) and a pre-Star Trek Leonard Nimoy.

Them! proves, if nothing else, that a movie about giant, radiation-infused ants needn't be cheesy nonsense. It's both fun and thoughtful, a wonderful bit of vintage entertainment.

Inception

Watching Inception (2010) is like being bludgeoned to death with an ice mallet. In sadly predictable fashion, Christopher Nolan takes the film from an interesting beginning to a painfully convoluted and unsatisfying finish. The result is a film that thinks it's a lot more clever and complex than it really is.

Dom Cobb (Leonardo DiCaprio) is an expert at stealing ideas from people's minds via their dreams. Will doing such a job on industrialist Saito (Ken Watanabe), Cobb's cover is blown, and he and sidekick Arthur (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) are shanghaied into doing a different job for Saito: to plant an idea in the head of rival businessman Robert Fischer (Cillian Murphy) and bring down his business empire. Cobb and Arthur assemble a new team, including weapons guy Eames (Tom Hardy), a chemist/sleep expert (Dillip Rao) and an architectural student (Ellen Page) to pull it off. Things quickly become complicated when Cobb's own memories of his wife (Marion Cotillard) begin interfering with the dreamworld, and when heavily-armed "security" forces show up to wipe our protagonists out.

It must be said that Inception starts off very well. The first 80 minutes or so are engrossing and promise a superb movie. There's lots of talk and exposition - it wouldn't be a Nolan film if there weren't - but the talk is interesting, and we have a nice cross-section of characters assembled for the job. The concept of the movie is fascinating, and the early scenes of dream-exploring create high hopes for the main story. It's set up as a cerebral heist film with a sci-fi twist, and by God it looks like it will be fun to go along for the ride.

Once the actual job gets under way, however, Inception begins to unravel. By the time we've penetrated a third level of reality, the movie has devoured its own tail, only to keep going until it bursts out its own stomach. The pace becanes schizophrenic, trying to balance long dialogue scenes with action and the layers of reality are awkwardly juggled. The dreams themselves, aside from a few nice bits early on, are flat and bereft of wonder: compared to Shutter Island's bizarre phantasmagorias, Inception's aren't remotely convincing and undermine the facile musings about "the nature of reality." Nolan falls back on action movie cliches to pad out the run time, with a shoot-'em-up finale that wouldn't be out of place in a Die Hard or Bond flick. Nolan spends half the film building up our expectations only to steer it off a cliff.

Perhaps most irritating of all is the screenplay. Nolan's hamfisted homilies in The Dark Knight got a bit grating, but didn't seriously detract from the film. Unfortunately, Inception is largely sunk by its script, a shining example of obvious storytelling. Everything is spelled out in the most excrutiating detail: backstory, key plot points, everything that's going on. The twist involving Cobb could have been interesting were it not handled with awkward, clunky and long montages and monologues. It's not that the film is confusing or hard to follow; far from it, with everything hammered into the audience's skull, even the densest viewer can fully grasp what's going on. A complete lack of humor or ambiguity and one-note characters don't help either. Nolan either needs to acquaint himself with the concept of subtlety, or get someone else to write his movies.

Nolan's direction is mostly good. The action scenes are a mixed bag: some are creative and interesting - Arthur's zero-gravity showdown with dream-world thugs - others more banal and generic, though at least we're spared obnoxious shaky cam and quick-editing. The pace is a bit uneven, with the movie awkwardly balancing action and exposition within the same scenes, but flows reasonably well. A major weak point is Hans Zimmer's strikingly banal score: the talented composer who gave us the scores for The Lion King, Crimson Tide and Pirates of the Caribbean has been reduced to repetitive, mind-numbing mixtures of insistent strings and loud electronic noise.

Nolan does his ensemble cast few favors, though a few manage to shine. Leonardo DiCaprio has the only meaty role and he nails it, even if his Cobb comes off as a watered-down variation on his Teddy Marcus from Shutter Island. Joseph Gordon-Levitt (500 Days of Summer) and Tom Hardy (Black Hawk Down) are good, and Ellen Paige (Juno) divests herself of her usual obnoxious persona. Marion Cotillard (Public Enemies) mostly has to be sad and pretty, both of which she nails. Michael Caine, Cillian Murphy and Ken Watanabe mostly bring baggage from previous Nolan films. Pete Postlethwaite (In the Name of the Father) and Tom Berenger (Rough Riders) are squandered in the tiniest of bit parts.

Inception is ultimately a big, fat, mindfucking disappointment. That it starts off so well makes its ultimate mediocrity that much more frustrating.

Jurassic Park

After spending the '80s trying to establish himself as a "serious" director, Steven Spielberg returned to his blockbuster roots with Jurassic Park (1993), arguably his best film since Jaws. Spielberg boils Michael Crichton's jargon-heavy best-seller down to the crudest component parts - scary dinosaurs attacking humans - and creates a well-crafted, absorbing bit of matinee fun.

Scientists of the InGen company have found a way to create genetically-engineered dinosaurs. John Hammond (Richard Attenborough) creates a dinosaur theme park, and invites several experts along for a tour: paleontologist Allan Grant (Sam Neill), paleobotanist Ellie Sadler (Laura Dern), and his grandchildren Tim and Lex (Joseph Mazello and Ariana Richards). Things go awry when greedy programmer Dennis Nedry (Wayne Knight) steals embryos to sell to Hammond's competitor, sabotaging the computer system to affect his getaway. Soon the dinosaurs are on the loose, and our protagonists find themselves under attack by a variety of vicious creatures.

The plot is thin and the characters ciphers, but Spielberg makes Jurassic Park into a near-perfect adventure film. As with Jaws and Raiders of the Lost Ark, the movie is a collection of set-pieces strung together with a bare strand of story. Spielberg makes each scene play out like a theme park ride (hmm), with its own unique thrills: a T-Rex attack, the acid-spitting Dilophosaurus, a truck plummeting out of a tree, climbing an electric fence, hiding in the kitchen from hungry Raptors. It's not a terribly deep film, aside from some musings about Man playing God etc., but that's all for the better: unwarranted pomposity made its immediate sequel, The Lost World (1997), virtually unwatchable.

Dinosaurs are perennially popular with children, and Spielberg creates a perfect mixture of awe and wonder, interspersed with terror. A brilliant mix of animatronics and CGI by Stan Winston and Co. brings the dinosaurs to frightening, vibrant life. The impressive sound design, mixing various animal sounds into terrifying dinosaur roars and growls, also deserves mention, as does John Williams's beautiful, awe-inspiring score. The arrival at the park, where Grant and Co. first encounter a grazing Brachiosaurus, is a surprisingly beautiful moment balanced by the attack scenes later in the film. The T-Rex is a terrifying force of nature, but the intelligent, human-sized Raptors are far more frightening. With creatures like this, we can be glad that dinosaurs are no longer around.

Sam Neill and Laura Dern have fun with paper-thin characters, but acting honors go elsewhere. Richard Attenborough is wonderful, giving Hammond the perfect blend of cheeriness, arrogance and pathos. Jeff Goldblum's neurotic mathematician provides most of the film's humor and steals every scene. Bob Peck is good though Muldoon comes off as a watered-down Quint from Jaws. Wayne Knight (JFK) and Samuel L. Jackson (Pulp Fiction) have amusing supporting roles. Joseph Mazello and Ariana Richards are onhand as the requisite annoying kids whose computer skills improbably save the day.

Steven Spielberg would eventually gain acclaim as a serious director (Schindler's List, Saving Private Ryan), but Jurassic Park shows that his greatest talents lie towards mass entertainment. This is not a bad thing: in an era of disposable summer drek, we could use more directors like Spielberg.

Iron Man 2

I wasn't a big fan of the original Iron Man (2008), which was a Robert Downey Jr. away from being a routine effects-laden blockbuster. Its sequel, however, improves upon it in every conceivable way, creating a fun, exciting and entertaining adventure.

A year after the events of the original, Tony Stark (Robert Downey Jr.) has more or less created world peace with his Iron Man suit. But enemies external and internal threaten: the US military wants his technology, rival arms dealer Justin Hammer (Sam Rockwell) schemes to dethrone him, and Stark's his health deteriorates through repeated use of his suit. And lurking in the shadows is Ivan Vanko (Mickey Rourke), son of a Russian physicist from whom, Ivan believes, Tony stole his Iron Man plans. Tony must call on his assistant Pepper Potts (Gwenyth Paltrow), buddy Colonel Rhodes (Don Cheadle), and agents of the S.H.I.E.L.D. organization (Samuel L. Jackson, Scarlett Johansson, Clark Gregg) to thwart Vanko and Hammer.

Iron Man 2 is enjoyable primarily because it's so fun. When the modus operandi of superhero flicks is to be dark and (*cough*) realistic, it's refreshing director Jon Favreau opting for a more traditional take on the genre. It's the hero that's unconventional, not the method of storytelling. Forget the hamfisted preaching and moral quandries of The Dark Knight and Watchmen: Iron Man 2 knows that people want superheros to kick some ass and save the day. It doesn't hurt that the film clocks in at a lean, fast-paced 125 minutes, not overstaying its welcome for a moment.

Iron Man 2 deftly balances plot, character and action. Justin Theroux's script is superb, with not an element out of place. Tony's dissolving health and personality are well-portrayed, becoming a flawed character of believable depth. Most of the supporting cast have to make due with impressions: Vanko and Hammer come off the best, along with Natalee (Johansson), convincing. The movie is, of course, bristling with effects-laden action scenes, but they're miles better than anything in Transformers or like films. CGI comes with the territory these days, and one can only hope it's done well, as it certainly is here.

Robert Downey Jr. was the original's saving grace, and he's even better here. Stark's character is significantly expanded, and Downey does a good job wrestling with the character's inner turmoil while maintaining his outward humor and eccentricity. The gorgeous Scarlett Johansson makes the most of her mystery woman character. Mickey Rourke (The Wrestler) and Sam Rockwell (Frost/Nixon) make a great pair of villains. Samuel L. Jackson (Pulp Fiction) and Garry Shandling have fun cameos. Don Cheadle (Traffic) does what he can in a thankless role (inherited from Terrence Howard) but Gwenyth Paltrow has even less to do than bfore.

Iron Man 2 is probably as good as a summer blockbuster can get. It's well-crafted, fast-paced, exciting, and, most of all, fun. And that's really all you can ask from this kind of movie.

Terminator 2: Judgment Day

James Cameron's Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991) is perhaps the perfect Hollywood action movie. A bit long in the tooth in its 154-minute cut, it's nonetheless a wonderfully-constructed thrill ride, a perfect mixture of action and special effects.

A decade after the original Terminator, two Terminators are sent back in time. The T-1000 (Robert Patrick), a shape-shifting "liquid metal" assassin, is assigned to kill John Connor (Edward Furlong), an adolescent punk living with foster parents. The T-101 (Arnold Schwarzenegger), the original's antagonist, is sent back to protect him. The two break Sarah Connor (Linda Hamilton), now a tough, half-crazed survivalist type, out of a mental institution, and the three go on the lam. They kidnap computer researcher Miles Dyson (Joe Morton) in an attempt to sabotage development of SkyNet. But the T-1000 is not far behind, and lots of shootouts and fights follow.

The Terminator (1984) was an interesting mix of slasher movie and shoot-'em-up action flick. Following the lead of his Aliens, Cameron goes all-out action for the sequel. The movie has a fairly complex (if logically suspect) plot, but it's basically an excuse for a parade of jaw-dropping action sequences. And what action sequences! A film with two indestructible robots shooting each other could become tiresome, but Cameron makes sure each action scene has something new to offer. From the opening bike-truck chase to the slugfest in the steel mill, the film makes every scene unique and exciting, with brief bits of exposition to provide occasional breathers. With the possible exception of Speed, no other film has done non-stop action so well.

Stan Winston's visual effects are beyond amazing. Twenty years of CGI advancements still haven't surpassed the T-1000, a truly terrifying villain. He has astonishing shape-shifting abilities, disguising himself as humans, morphing his arms into daggers and crowbars, hiding on linoleum floors. Other touches - his meshing with metal surfaces, the foil squibs on his "wounds" - are equally inspired. The original Terminator was terrifying enough, surviving as he did gunfire, explosions, fire and car wrecks, but this guy is literally indestructible. The opening future battle with stop-motion Terminators is a bit cheesy, but the nuclear holocaust scenes are believably horrific.

T2 shares many of the same faults as the recent Avatar, a film this reviewer disliked. The movie's pseudo-profound musings on humanity come off as childish, and the characters are paper-thin. Certain plot points are suspect (eg., why wasn't Liquid Metal Guy sent back in the first film?). Lame jokes - Arnold's trying to be human and shooting cops in the legs - are beaten into the ground. But it's all part of the Cameron package. And unlike The Blue Kitty Movie, the story, action scenes and effects more than compensate for its faults.

Arnold Schwarzenegger is at his best. In his prime as an action star, he deftly mixes monosyllabic toughness with self-effacing humor - something his later films would forget. Linda Hamilton is excellent; she makes Sarah's transformation from meek victim to tough survivalist completely believable. Edward Furlong is obnoxious but does well with John's complicated character arc. Robert Patrick is suitably intimidating in his rather limited role. The best performance is Joe Morton: despite limited screen time, his Miles Dyson comes to the closest to an actual person.

Terminator 2 is about as good as Hollywood blockbuster filmmaking can get. Its weaknesses are of fairly minor importance; in every area that counts, T2 excells.