THE WOLFMAN MOVIE REVIEW

After being cursed by delays, The Wolfman, Hollywood’s latest spin on the popular werewolf myth, finally bares its ugly fangs in theaters this week. Predictably, the film is a train wreck of a debacle -- one would expect nothing less from a notoriously troubled production that saw its original director, Mark Romanek, abandon ship just two weeks before the start of shooting -- but The Wolfman’s problems stem less from the late-game addition of helmer Joe Johnston, who at the very least delivered a terrific looking film (its gorgeously eerie Victorian aesthetic, evoking a palpable, exquisite sense of dread, is by far its best feature) than from the misguided efforts of its producer and star, Benicio Del Toro. The Wolfman is the brainchild of Del Toro, an ardent horror fan who conceived the film as an homage of sorts to the low-budget “monster movies” from the ‘30s and ‘40s that he loved dearly as a child. It’s fashioned as a loose remake of 1941’s The Wolf Man, a film that both established Lon Chaney Jr.’s performance as the definitive take on the character and introduced aspects of the werewolf legend now considered sacrosanct. The notion that a werewolf can be felled by an item made from silver, for example, owes its origin to The Wolf Man. But Del Toro feels all wrong in the role of Lawrence Talbot, the prodigal son of a 19th-century English aristocrat whose fateful encounter with a bloodthirsty lycan, the same creature that brutally murdered his brother just days prior, triggers his unwitting initiation into the accursed tribe of feral man-beasts. Del Toro's resume of low-key, understated performances marked by a muttering, often imperceptible delivery in films like Traffic and The Usual Suspects suggests a skill set better suited to playing another famous movie monster, one significantly less loquacious than his character in this movie. Seriously -- the guy should have remade Frankenstein instead. Playing an American-bred (but English-born, we’re told) character in an 1890 setting, looking uncomfortable in period attire, surrounded by such “proper” British actors as Sir Anthony Hopkins and Emily Blunt, and fully annunciating all of his line readings for the first time that I can recall, Del Toro appears hopelessly out of place in The Wolfman. Things only get worse, unfortunately, when Del Toro’s character transforms into the dreaded werewolf. Each time the moon is full, the film transitions, with increasing ridiculousness, from a somber Victorian drama into a hard-core horror flick, replete with grisly shots of torn flesh, exposed spines, and severed limbs. The first overly gruesome attack triggers a kind of nervous laugh, more from the shock than anything else. The second invites an amused, uneasy chuckle, which soon snowballs into an outright belly laugh. And the effect soon spreads to the dialogue, the outrageous gore rendering the film's mannered melodrama strangely hysterical. Of all the Wolfman players, only Hopkins seems to get the joke, reveling in his manipulative mischief as Talbot's inappropriately glib, stoutly aloof father. If only he'd let his castmates in on it.

FROM PARIS WITH LOVE MOVIE REVIEW

From Paris With Love is a volatile hybrid, half Hong Kong action flick, half American spy thriller, fused together in the Dr. Moreau-like laboratory of French filmmakers Luc Besson (The Fifth Element) and Pierre Morel (Taken). As a result of the violent process, some parts emerge oddly distorted: Bruce Willis becomes John Travolta, Matt Damon becomes Jonathan Rhys Meyers, believability becomes an afterthought, and plotting becomes irrelevant. Made up like Ming the Merciless and channeling the hep-cat spirit of Vincent Vega, Travolta stars as CIA Agent Charlie Wax, a brusque, trigger-happy bundle of Yankee hubris summoned to Paris to prevent a potential terrorist plot on a U.N. peace conference. Rhys Meyers plays James Reese, an uptight entry-level operative tasked with ferrying Wax around the city to gather the intelligence needed to thwart the conspiracy. Predictably, the two agents quickly settle into the standard buddy cop relationship: Button-down rookie Reese is appalled by coke-snorting, hooker-banging Wax’s unorthodox tactics, which usually land them in the middle of one huge, stunningly choreographed shootout or another; Wax, in turn, belittles his young sidekick’s naivety and stubborn adherence to protocol. At times Travolta’s action-hero routine borders on embarrassing — like watching your grandmother try to rap — but his exaggerated bravado is not entirely without its charms. He’s by far the most enjoyable part of the movie, skipping merrily through the bullet-strewn Parisian underground, spewing politically incorrect aphorisms in between explosions, reveling in his role as the obnoxious American. Virtually every line he delivers earns laughs — and often on purpose. If only he had a more capable sparring partner than Rhys Meyers, whose range, From Paris With Love sadly reveals, extends little beyond his petulant, amorous act as young Henry VIII in Showtime’s The Tudors. As much as Travolta enlivens the action, the unutterably bland Rhys Meyers deflates it — and he gets the lion’s share of the screen time, unfortunately. Director Morel, who cut his teeth as a cinematographer on such kinetic action fare as The Transporter, does some virtuoso work with the camera, incorporating everyday locales into his exquisitely frenzied set pieces. Dinner at a nondescript Chinese restaurant ends in a massive gunfight; an intimate dinner party launches an extended chase; a routine brothel visit gives way to ... another massive gunfight. If only he'd put as much care into his casting decisions. After each of From Paris With Love’s violent skirmishes, when Reese questions why things went so suddenly — and disastrously — awry, Wax angrily shouts “Don’t you get it yet?” to his hopelessly obtuse partner. At times, I think Travolta is actually pleading with his fellow castmember to wake up, get his act together and stop ruining the movie. It's a doomed effort.

DEAR JOHN MOVIE REVIEW

The phrase “from the author of The Notebook” often provokes instant, visceral reactions from those familiar with the famously sappy 2004 romantic drama, with positive and negative responses strongly divided along gender and marital status lines. It’s one of four films based on the work of Nicholas Sparks, the John Grisham of romance novelists; the other three are 1999's Message in a Bottle, 2002's A Walk to Remember, and 2008's Nights in Rodanthe. The fifth Sparks-inspired romantic epic, opening in theaters just in time for Valentine’s Day, is called Dear John, but it’s so gloomy, so punishing, so unrewarding, it might as well be retitled Dear Job. Not that director Lasse Hallstrom (The Cider House Rules) doesn’t do his best to mitigate the melancholy, infusing Dear John with all the ingredients one expects from a Sparks adaptation: a pair of appealing young stars (Mamma Mia’s Amanda Seyfried and G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra’s Channing Tatum), a charming, camera-friendly southern locale (Charleston, South Carolina -- America’s most polite city 11 years running!), a palette dominated by amber and khaki hues, a handful of wistful flashbacks, and a breezy, anodyne soundtrack. But beneath the film’s gooey romantic sheen lies an inordinately dreary story that repeatedly declares, "No, love won’t find a way, actually.” When he isn’t risking his life for a largely ambivalent country, U.S. Army Special Forces operative John Tyree (Tatum) assumes the equally thankless task of looking after his Asperger’s-afflicted father (Richard Jenkins), who seems incapable of expressing anything other than a sort of pained reticence. One day, happiness arrives in the perky, sun-drenched form of Savannah, a well-bred college student with whom he immediately embarks on a passionate affair, an affair which only strengthens while John is deployed abroad, thanks to their daily ritual of writing cloyingly affectionate letters to each other. But trouble soon arises for John and Savannah when they allow a man to come between them: Osama bin Laden, whose 9/11 attack on the World Trade Center has the secondary effect of initiating the demise of their seemingly indestructible relationship. After John leaves to fight in Afghanistan, Savannah falls prey to the apparently irresistable charms of Tim (Henry Thomas), a meek, cancer-stricken single father of an autistic boy, and soon marries him. (Evidently, stealing another guy’s girl is perfectly allowable if you suffer from a terminal disease. Men, be warned: If your girlfriend starts hanging out at chemotherapy clinics, watch out.) Looks like the terrorists won after all.

WHEN IN ROME MOVIE REVIEW

Firing a rather tepid opening salvo in Hollywood’s annual Valentine’s Day rom-com blitz is When in Rome, starring Kristen Bell (Forgetting Sarah Marshall, TV’s Veronica Mars) and Josh Duhamel (Turistas, the Transformers flicks) and directed by Mark Steven Johnson (Ghost Rider, Daredevil). You read that correctly: Johnson, a guy who gave us two critically-reviled comic book flicks, was tapped by Disney to direct a movie entirely devoid of acrobatic fight sequences or computerized visual effects, the only filmmaking skills for which he’s received consistent praise. Hmmm ... maybe this is why Dick Cook was fired. Bell plays Beth, a high-strung New York City museum curator whose frustration over her barren love life spills over at her sister’s wedding in Rome, where she winds up drunkenly splashing around in the city’s fictional “Fontana D’Amore.” The embarrassing but harmless episode takes a momentous turn, however, when Beth absentmindedly steals a handful of coins from the fountain, unknowingly triggering an ancient Italian curse. Soon she’s romantically besieged by a diverse and highly aggressive group of oddballs played by Danny DeVito, Dax Shepard, Will Arnett and Jon Heder — the very men whose coins she plucked from the fabled fountain. The concept isn’t entirely without potential, but When in Rome’s script takes the quartet of previously funny actors and comedically castrates them, forcing them to survive this creative Dust Bowl on precisely one joke apiece. DeVito, playing a sausage magnate, emits only meat-related quips; Shepard’s self-obsessed model explores the comic possibilities of his washboard stomach; hapless street artist Arnett plasters the city with nude portraits of his unrequited love; and Heder’s wannabe magician mounts a series of botched magic tricks. (In a gag that might have been funny back in 2004, Efren Ramirez, Napoleon Dynamite’s Pedro, enjoys a cameo as Heder’s videographer. He’s this week’s winner of the Jeff Zucker “How Does This Guy Have a Job?” Award.) All of which serves to delay the inevitable coupling of Bell and Duhamel, two likable leads who gamely trudge through material so inane, so bland — and so safe — that it could fit comfortably in one of Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson’s increasingly soporific family comedies. In fact, I’m not even sure if When in Rome made use of the standard PG-13 allotment of one F-word (used in a non-sexual manner, of course). Expect to hear it used liberally, however, by fellow audience members as the credits roll on this middling debacle.

LEGION MOVIE REVIEW

The God of Legion, secular Hollywood’s latest Biblically-inspired action flick, is old-school, an angry, spiteful Almighty with a penchant for Old Testament theatrics. Fed up with humanity’s decadent, warmongering ways, He’s decided to pull the plug on the whole crazy experiment and start over from scratch. Fortunately for us, the God of Legion is also a rather lazy fellow. Instead of doing the apocalyptic work himself and wiping us out with a giant flood, which worked perfectly well last time, He opts to delegate the task to His army of angels — a questionable strategy that starts to fall apart when the archangel charged with leading the planned extermination, Michael (Paul Bettany), refuses to comply. Michael, who unlike his boss still harbors affection for our sorry species, abandons his post and descends to earth, where inside the swollen belly of Charlie (Adrianne Palicki), an unwed mother-to-be working as a waitress in an out-of-the-way diner, sits humanity’s lone hope for survival. Why is this particular baby so important? Is it the one destined to lead us to victory over Skynet? Heaven knows — Legion reveals little details, its script devoid of actual scripture. What is clear is that God’s celestial hitmen want the kid whacked before it’s born. But Michael won’t let humanity fall without a fight. Armed with a Waco-sized arsenal of assault weapons, he hunkers down with the diner’s patrons, a largely superfluous collection of thinly-sketched caricatures from various demographic groups, led by Dennis Quaid as the diner’s grizzled owner, Tyrese Gibson as a hip-hop hustler, and Lucas Black as a simple-minded country boy. Together they mount a heroic final stand against hordes of angels who’ve taken possession of “weak-willed” humans, turning kindly old grandmas and mild-mannered ice cream vendors into snarling, ravenous, foul-mouthed beasts. They descend upon the ramshackle diner in a series of full-frontal assaults commanded by the archangel Gabriel (Kevin Durand), the George Pickett of End of Days generals. Beneath its superficial religious facade, Legion is really just a run-of-the-mill zombie flick, a Biblical I Am Legend. Bettany, an actor accustomed to smaller dramatic roles in films like A Beautiful Mind and The Da Vinci Code, looks perfectly at ease in his first major action role, wielding machine guns and bowie knives with equal aplomb. Conversely, first-time director Scott Stewart, a former visual effects artist, does little to prove himself worthy of such a promotion, serving up some impressive CGI work but not much else worthy of note.

BOOK OF ELI MOVIE REVIEW

Book of Eli, the ambitious, thought-provoking new thriller from brothers Albert and Allen Hughes (From Hell, Dead Presidents), is in many ways an anomaly in modern Hollywood. It’s a post-apocalyptic story that’s neither a remake nor an adaptation; its dystopian future is entirely devoid of zombies or vampires; and its core message, spiked with heavy amounts of faith and religion, borders on evangelical. Oh, and it’s absurdly violent, too. How this movie got made, I’ll never know.

The film is set approximately thirty years after a catastrophic war has decimated the planet, leaving its surface charred and inhospitable to the lucky few who managed to survive. A handful of dirty, decrepit, debauched cities host the last remnants of civilization; in between them, gangs of crazed cannibals, distinguishable by traits similar to those of meth addicts (shaky hands, bad skin, missing teeth, bizarre fashion sense, etc.), roam the bleak, unforgiving landscape, preying upon those foolish enough to travel alone.

Out of this infinite desert emerges a pious, solitary badass, Eli (Denzel Washington), wielding a vicious machete and carrying a rare book which, if placed in the right hands, could hold the key to civilization’s redemption. But in the greedy paws of unscrupulous folks like Carnegie (Gary Oldman), the tyrant of a lawless frontier town, the book can also be a powerful tool for subjugating the ignorant masses. Which is why Carnegie declares a veritable fatwa on Eli’s ass when he learns of his precious cargo, forcing the peace-loving missionary to brandish his blade in the service of the Lord.

Whatever their own religious beliefs, the Hughes brothers should get on their knees and thank God for Denzel, who almost singlehandedly makes Book of Eli’s hyper-stylized, incongruous mixture of B-movie splatter and high-minded spiritual hokum palpable. Together with Oldman, the film’s other fine lead, he imbues the often preposterous plot with just enough credibility to keep it afloat. Seriously, other than Denzel, who else could solemnly recite Psalm 23 in one scene, then go and carve up — literally — a handful of henchmen in the next, without eliciting howls of laughter from a movie audience? The only other actor who immediately comes to mind is a pre-meltdown Mel Gibson. Maybe.

But even a miracle worker like Denzel can’t prevent the wreckage wrought by Mila Kunis, a likable enough actress who is disastrously miscast in the role of Solara, a rough-hewn hooker-slave who eventually becomes Eli’s disciple. With her perfect complexion, shrill intonation and Valley Girl cadence, Kunis feels glaringly out of place in Book of Eli's coarse, brutal futureworld — and she can't hope to measure up to the likes of titans Washington and Oldman.

YOUTH IN REVOLT MOVIE REVIEW

Hormones can wreak havoc on the teenage brain, causing it to contemplate all sorts of mischief in its drive to sate its carnal appetite. In the R-rated teen comedy Youth in Revolt, directed by Miguel Arteta and starring Michael Cera (Juno, Superbad) and newcomer Portia Doubleday, the volatile combo becomes downright hazardous.

The “teen” label is highly debatable here, as Youth in Revolt’s hapless protagonist, Nick (Cera), and his impish paramour, Sheeni (Doubleday), are both too quick-witted and hyper-articulate to qualify as mere high school sophomores. It’s the Juno debate: I don’t know if any teens actually talk like this, but if they do, I guarantee none are as sophisticated or attractive as our Nick and Sheeni. No, Youth in Revolt is more like a hipster’s whimsical projection of what his adolescence might have looked like if it weren’t spent buried in an issue of McSweeney’s. And on that level — as a sort of Porky’s for intellectuals — it actually works.

Though his vocabulary is highly advanced, 16-year-old Nick shares one important trait in common with most boys his age: He’d like to lose his virginity, preferably as soon as possible. But his chances seem woefully slim until he meets Sheeni, an attractive girl possessing a mind as sharp as his, but without the nagging insecurity and sexual inhibition. To top it off, Sheeni appears more than willing to escort Nick into manhood; circumstances, however, conspire to thwart them at nearly every turn, driving Nick to increasingly desperate lengths to be joined with her. Egged on by an imaginary wingman, his shrewdly Machiavellian alter ego Francois Dillinger (also Cera), Nick’s actions escalate from mere lies and manipulation to arson and auto theft with startling speed, and he soon earns the attention of the authorities.

With the cops hot on his trail, Nick spends the last third of the film in a sort of hormone-fueled version of The Fugitive, racing against time to crack the case of his virginity before being dragged away to juvenile hall. It’s one of the many odd shifts in tone that plague Youth in Revolt, as Arteta can’t seem to decide between raunchy sex comedy and surreal coming-of-age tale. Thankfully, he’s able to fall back on the talents of Cera and Doubleday, whose amusing and endearing — if suspiciously mature — repartee carries the film.

DAYBREAKERS MOVIE REVIEW

Hollywood’s burgeoning library of vampire flicks gets a bloody new addition this week with Daybreakers, a grisly horror-thriller that adds a dystopian twist to the increasingly well-worn bloodsucker mythos. If Twilight is the Romeo and Juliet of the vampire genre, Daybreakers hopes to be its Children of Men. But hope, as they say, is not a plan. Nor is it a particularly effective filmmaking technique.

Set 10 years in the future, Daybreakers envisions a world in which a nasty plague has turned all but a tiny fraction of the planet’s population into vampires. But instead of descending into the kind of violent anarchy one might expect after such a catastrophic event, folks have adjusted surprisingly well, retrofitting their lives to accommodate their vampiric needs. (Potentially fatal sunlight, for example, is avoided with an elaborate system of underground walkways and computerized sunrise alerts.)

But all is not well in the future vampire world. The supply of uninfected human blood, upon which the civilization depends to survive, is dwindling rapidly, and attempts to synthesize it, led by Ethan Hawke’s reluctant biotech researcher Edward Dalton, have thus far proved disastrously ineffective. (A side effect of the latest blood substitute, for example, is an exploding head. Ouch!)

Dressed in a drab black suit and hat, his alabaster vampire complexion rendered even more pale by his moral objection to drinking human blood (he subsists instead on vastly inferior pig blood), Hawke’s character looks something like a Hasidic heroin addict (see below). Appalled by his company’s lucrative side business of imprisoning uninfected humans in vast blood farms (akin to the warehouses of “batteries” of The Matrix), he revolts against his smoothly sinister boss (Sam Neill) and joins a rag-tag resistance group led by a homespun mercenary (Willem Dafoe) who claims to have discovered the cure to vampirism.

LEAP YEAR MOVIE REVIEW

The majesty of the Emerald Isle is on full display in Leap Year, an opposites attract romantic comedy starring Amy Adams (Julie & Julia, Enchanted) and Matthew Goode (A Single Man, Watchmen). Director Anand Tucker (Shopgirl, Hilary and Jackie), shooting entirely on location in Ireland, takes us on a whirlwind tour of the country’s breathtaking landscape, reveling in its fabled fairy-tale charm.

Pity, then, that such a magnificent setting is so mercilessly defaced by Leap Year’s unrelenting mediocrity. The film’s dubious premise, testing the already loose limits of rom-com believability, casts Adams as Anna, a type-A career girl who flies to Ireland intending to pop the question to her feet-dragging boyfriend on February 29th, aka Leap Day. Why Leap Day? Because, according to some idiotic old Irish tradition, that’s when women are allowed to do such things. (Click here to watch Adams herself try to explain the plot.)

Unfortunately for Anna, weather problems force her plane to land far away from Dublin and her would-be fiance. Trapped in a tiny coastal town with no reliable transportation at her disposal, she enlists the help of a scruffy, abrasive barkeep named Declan (Goode) to drive her cross-country so she can reach her destination by the 29th. And thus begins the traditional rom-com mating ritual of sexually-charged bickering followed by moments of abrupt, awkward intimacy.

While watching Leap Year, I swear I could hear the Irish countryside quietly weeping as it witnessed Goode and Adams slog through the film's succession of trite misadventures, the talented actors straining in vain to manufacture some semblance of romantic chemistry as an assortment of jolly Waking Ned Devine types futilely spurred them on. Oh, if only Greenpeace could have intervened and put a halt to such wanton environmental desecration. It's the worst thing to come out of Ireland since The Cranberries.

AVATAR MOVIE REVIEW

It takes a special film to transform an audience of movie critics, highly-trained skeptics who can dismiss the most painstakingly crafted work with a mere smirk and roll of the eyes, into a bunch of glowing, giddy teenagers, but that’s precisely what happened earlier this week when Avatar, James Cameron’s extraordinary new sci-fi epic, screened for the first time. Count me among the awestruck rabble; Avatar is a truly astounding piece of filmmaking, a leap forward in visual effects artistry that sets a lofty new standard by which future event films will be judged.

Avatar wastes little time before unleashing the spectacle. Perhaps sensing our collective anticipation, Cameron serves up the barest of backstories before shoving off for Pandora, the staggeringly lush planet upon which the film’s futuristic tale unfolds. Through the eyes of Jake Sully (Sam Worthington), a crippled ex-marine who navigates Pandora vicariously through a bio-engineered surrogate (aka, an avatar), we’re introduced to the planet’s boundless, breathtaking collection of natural and unnatural wonders, all created from scratch, rendered with uncanny fluidity, and presented in the most realistic and immersive 3-D ever witnessed on film.

Occasionally, Avatar’s technical triumph is betrayed by its maddeningly derivative storyline, which borrows elements wholesale from Dances With Wolves, The Last Samurai and countless similar films about oppressors switching sides and going native. Sent to gather intelligence on the Na'vi, Pandora’s blue-skinned indigenous population, for an Earth-based mining consortium, Jake becomes enamored with the proud, peace-loving natives and their groovy, granola ways. Soon enough, he’s joined their tribe, taken a smokin’ hot native girl for a wife (Zoe Saldana), and organized an army to help repel the encroachment of the rapacious earthlings.

The Bad Guys (Avatar’s moral perspective is as monochromatic as Pandora is colorful) who initiate the assault on the Na'vi are led by a tag team of grotesque, absurdly one-dimensional villains: Parker Selfridge (Giovanni Ribisi) the khaki-lad, bottom line-obsessed corporate administrator of the mine; and Miles Quaritch (Stephen Lang), a bug-eyed, musclebound sadist who commands the mine’s vast security force. As Pandora’s Cortez and Pizzaro, they form a potent one-two punch of arrogant imperialist caricatures, deriding the noble Na'vi with sophomoric slurs like “blue monkeys” and “fly-bitten savages that live in a tree.” Neither would think twice of eliminating them entirely in order to procure the exceedingly rare, obscenely valuable element known as — I sh*t you not — Unobtainium.

Unobtanium? Really? It’s that kind of ham-fisted, uninspired pap littered throughout Avatar that makes me want to tear my hair out. If Cameron devoted a fraction of his time and effort toward improving the script as he spent perfecting the bone structure of the viperwolf (one of Pandora’s innumerable animal species), we might have a bona fide classic on our hands. But in Avatar, story and character development are treated as obstacles, pockets of narrative brush that must be clear-cut to make way for construction of the next extraordinarily elaborate set piece.

And yet, despite its flaws, Avatar represents one of those exceedingly rare instances in which style triumphs over substance — and by a landslide. I don’t know if Cameron has revolutionized the movie-watching experience (as he famously promised) but he’s surely improved upon it.

FANTASTIC Mr. FOX MOVIE REVIEW

Director Wes Anderson (The Darjeeling Limited, The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou) was the subject of a minor controversy a few months ago when an L.A. Times profile alleged that the idiosyncratic auteur rarely visited the London set of Fantastic Mr. Fox, his stop-motion adaptation of the Road Dahl children's tale, preferring instead to issue orders to his crew via email. If the report is indeed true, Anderson’s poor attendance record certainly didn’t detract from the final result. Fantastic Mr. Fox is an utter delight: a lively, endearing comic caper that will appeal equally to both young and old, hipster and non-hipster alike.

Having too often overdosed on self-conscious quirk in the past, Anderson shows admirable restraint with Fantastic Mr. Fox, and the result is undoubtedly his most entertaining and accessible film yet. Admittedly, the film’s old school, retro-style animation does take some getting get used to; younger audience members, raised on a steady diet of cutting-edge Pixar flicks, might even suspect that they’re watching some relic produced before they were born. But their skepticism will quickly fade as soon they’re drawn into the first of several increasingly audacious farm heists mounted by the clever Mr. Fox (voiced with easygoing charm by George Clooney) and his rag-tag crew of woodland critter pals.

Despite its mainstream appeal, Fantastic Mr. Fox retains the distinctive feel of a Wes Anderson film. Clooney and co-star Meryl Streep are complemented by a supporting cast of Anderson regulars, including Bill Murray, Jason Schwartzman and Owen Wilson. The film’s art direction is as stylish and nuanced as its stop-motion animation is precise; its soundtrack littered with the familiar sounds of the Beach Boys and the Rolling Stones. And Mr. Fox’s flair for elaborate, intricately-planned heists is reminiscent of one of Anderson’s earliest and most beloved characters, Bottle Rocket’s Dignan.

In an era of animated films produced increasingly by committee, it’s refreshing to see one that bears the singular style and personality of its director. After watching Fantastic Mr. Fox, I for one wouldn’t be the least bit dismayed if Anderson never made another live-action film again.

PIRATE RADIO MOVIE REVIEW

As the British Invasion stormed American airwaves in the mid-'60s, its conquest of its native land took the shape of a sea-based guerrilla offensive. Broadcasting from ships anchored just outside British territorial waters, a handful of so-called “pirate radio” stations defied the BBC’s strict limits on popular music by blasting the isles with around-the-clock rock 'n' roll. Writer/director Richard Curtis (Four Weddings and a Funeral, Love Actually) pays tribute to that vibrant era with Pirate Radio, a sentimental, lighthearted ode to the renegade DJs who helped British rock find its sea legs.

Curtis introduces us to Pirate Radio’s motley ensemble through the bright eyes of Carl (Tom Sturridge), a naive schoolboy whose godfather, Quentin (Bill Nighy, playing perhaps the hippest sexagenarian in history), owns and operates Radio Rock, Britain’s premier pirate station. Surrounded by a crew of boisterous, impossibly well-dressed musical misfits — all of whom are seemingly modeled after various '60s countercultural archetypes (the mod hipster, the impish lothario, the uncompromising purist, the dazed hippie, the Jim Morrison clone, etc.) — Carl’s unusual voyage of discovery commences in earnest.

Pirate Radio may strike some as reminiscent of another nostalgic paean to the wonders of rock 'n' roll, Almost Famous — not least because star Philip Seymour Hoffman essentially resuscitates his Lester Bangs performance in this film. But Pirate Radio is far less ambitious than Cameron Crowe’s 2000 film, not seeking so much to define an era as to use it as the backdrop for a brisk, buoyant comedy. And in that regard, it succeeds far more often than it fails, thanks largely to the efforts of a talented cast led by Hoffman, Nighy, Nick Frost and Rhys Darby. There are a few bittersweet moments scattered throughout Pirate Radio, but at its core the film a comic coming-of-age story — punctuated by a lively soundtrack loaded with classics from the Who, the Kinks, the Rolling Stones and other seminal bands.

It should be noted that a significantly longer version of the film, titled The Boat That Rocked, debuted in the UK over six months ago. Narrative gaps are evident throughout Pirate Radio, but director Curtis’ decision to pare nearly 20 minutes off the film’s running time for its American release looks like a wise one, as the shortened length still tests the limits of one’s patience. Rock 'n' roll can be many things, but it must never, ever be boring.

2012 MOVIE REVIEW

The ancient Mayan calendar, with its supposed prediction of a December 21, 2012 apocalypse, has long fascinated assorted fringe scholars, doomsday fetishists and George Noory acolytes. In 2012, the audacious new disaster epic from director Roland Emmerich (10,000 B.C., The Day After Tomorrow), it provides the inspiration for a $250 million orgy of destruction, the likes of which has never been seen on the big screen.

Give the Mayans credit: their chosen method for the planet’s demise in 2012 is anything if not imaginative. The earth’s core, we’re told, is being heated to the point of instability by mutant neutrinos emitted by an increasingly malevolent sun. (The Mayans, a civilization that had little use for the wheel, having apparently identified the subatomic particle several millennia prior to the advent of quantum physics.) The initial signs of this phenomenon — sudden fissures on Earth’s surface triggered by ruptures in its crust — are casually dismissed as harmless earthquakes by government officials.

Ahh, but they know better. In fact, the President (portrayed without a hint of irony by Danny Glover) and his advisers became hip to this neutrino business years ago, but chose not to inform the public for fear of the panic that might ensue. What they fail to realize, despite the pleadings of the film’s requisite Lone Voice in the Wilderness (Chiwetel Ejiofor, bringing kind of a sad dignity to the proceedings), is that the lethal process is accelerating far faster than anyone could have predicted. Personifying the government’s pompous intransigence in the face of obvious calamity is Oliver Platt, who plays the President’s Secretary of Douchebaggery.

And what a gorgeous calamity it is. First come the super-earthquakes, which send Los Angeles plummeting into the ocean. Then the volcano beneath Yellowstone Park erupts in spectacular fashion, blanketing North America with a massive cloud of poisonous ash. Not to be left out of the eco-gangbang, killer tsunamis join the party, bombarding much of Asia and the Indian subcontinent with tidal waves the size of Mt. Everest. Emmerich’s breathless CGI onslaught is truly unprecedented in its scope.

Beyond the awe-inspiring carnage, however, there’s precious little to distinguish 2012. John Cusack leads a bloated cast that largely phones in a succession of forgettable roles. The conspiracy-themed script is painfully trite, rife with cliches and devoid of any and all subtlety. Its heavy-handed message, urging unity across class and cultural lines, feels superficial and soulless. Even the film’s visual effects — doubtlessly 2012’s greatest asset — occasionally come off as distractingly fake. The film even feigns a gallingly faux subversiveness, toppling Christian landmarks like the Vatican and the Christ the Redeemer statue in spectacular fashion, while avoiding Islamic monuments entirely. (We brought it up in our interview with Emmerich — click to hear his eye-opening response.)

All of this clocks in at a bewildering two hours and forty minutes, well beyond the acceptable length for such an empty-headed disaster flick.

You’ve been warned.

THE FOURTH KIND MOVIE REVIEW

Paranormal Activity’s unlikely run atop the box-office chart may have come to an end, but the moviegoing public’s nascent fascination with otherworldly phenomena — the unfriendly variety, in particular — shows no signs of waning. The Fourth Kind, a supernatural thriller from writer-director Olatunde Osunsanmi, represents Hollywood’s latest attempt to capitalize on this peculiar trend.

Paranormal Activity and The Fourth Kind are very different movies, to be sure, but they share the same basic approach, employing gritty, documentary-style footage to convince us that what we’re watching unfold onscreen is more “real” — and thus more convincing — than the typical glossy Hollywood thriller.

But The Fourth Kind goes far beyond Paranormal Activity in its effort to establish its legitimacy. In an unprecedented — and exceedingly ballsy — maneuver, star Milla Jovovich begins the film by breaking the fourth wall and addressing the camera directly. In a lengthy monologue, she introduces herself as “actress Milla Jovovich,” explains that she’ll be portraying real-life psychologist Dr. Abigail Tyler, and declares that the documentary footage scattered throughout The Fourth Kind is authentic, recorded during a sleep-disorder study conducted in Nome, Alaska, a few years ago.

Why Nome? Because, we’re told, its citizens are afflicted with an unusual number of nighttime sleep disturbances, the bulk of which are accompanied by terrifying visions of hostile, alien-like creatures. Nasty fellows, these extra-terrestrials are, taunting and tormenting and probing their victims as they lie helpless, paralyzed with fear. Some of the otherworldly visitors even have the audacity to take possession of their somnolent subjects, using them as vessels to deliver ominous warnings to Abby and her colleagues. Speaking in ancient tongues with voices horribly distorted, they demand that she end her research.

But Abby won’t listen to them, and her persistence effects increasingly dire consequences. One of her afflicted patients kills himself and his family; another is paralyzed after levitating during a harrowing hypnotic episode; finally, the aliens set their sights on Abby herself. One might be tempted to dismiss these episodes as merely the hallucinations of a badly traumatized woman — the classic unreliable narrator — if it weren’t all captured on video.

For those willing to buy into The Fourth Kind’s claims of authenticity, the experience is at times genuinely terrifying. But after a while it becomes increasingly obvious that the film’s documentary sequences are staged — and often badly so. Director Osunsanmi brought a clever idea to the table, but he didn't quite have the skills — or the actors — to pull it off, and the result feels like an elaborate cinematic con job.

THE INVENTION OF LYING MOVIE REVIEW

The Invention of Lying starts out really strong but turns serious, finds religion, and forgets the laughs. Ricky Gervais co-wrote, co-directed and stars in the film which is set in a world where no one has ever told a lie. The premise is intriguing and the first half hour or so isn't pure genius, but it's highly amusing. In the first few minutes Jennifer Garner's utterly brutal assessment of Ricky Gervais' chances of scoring on their first date is uncomfortable yet funny. She's out of his league in every way and because there's no fudging on the facts, she lets him know it in no uncertain terms. That's entertaining.

But the premise gets old and the honesty is too mean-spirited after a while to elicit many laughs. Points for trying, but the execution is just slightly off in Gervais and co-writer/co-director Matthew Robinson's rookie effort.

The Story

Can you even imagine a world where every single person tells nothing but the truth? Nothing is sugar-coated and no one's feelings are spared. I don't think that's a world I'd want to live in, that's for sure. Even commercials and feature films only spout facts. You should buy Coke because it's famous. Pepsi's good when they don't have Coke. You get the point.

Gervais plays Mark, an unfortunate, unpopular, unlucky screenwriter saddled with having to bring the 1300s to the big screen in an entertaining - yet truthful - way. The Black Plague isn't the most lighthearted of stories and Mark's on the verge of being fired on a daily basis, until one day his boss really does pull the plug on his employment situation. Jobless, practically broke, and with an ailing mom in a nursing home ("A Sad Place for Hopeless Old People" according to the building's sign), Mark heads to the bank to pull out the last of his money. But while talking to the bank teller he makes the discovery of a lifetime - he can lie.

Rob Lowe and Tina Fey in ' The Invention of Lying.'

Since no one else on Earth can do this, Mark has a hard time convincing even his closest friend, Greg (played by stand-up comedian Louis C.K.), that he can speak something other than the truth. Mark tells him he's a Black Eskimo, invented the bike, and has only one arm, and Greg believes every word of it. Flabbergasted, Mark finally realizes he can make a lot of money using this new power and also do a lot of good. As his mom's taking her last few breaths, he comforts her by telling her she won't just be slipping away into nothingness. This sets in motion a chain of events that has people across the globe hanging on Mark's every word.

The Cast

Taken separately, Ricky Gervais and Jennifer Garner were both fine in their roles - Garner's deadpan delivery of some outlandish lines during the film's first 10 minutes was absolutely hysterical. But together there's zero chemistry. Supporting performances by Rob Lowe as Gervais' rival at work and for the heart of Garner, Louis C.K. as Gervais' frumpy best friend, Tina Fey as Gervais' not supportive at all assistant, and Fionnula Flanagan as Gervais' sick mom are all terrific. There's also a batch of big name actors appearing in cameos who all liven up the film during their brief but memorable moments on screen. The cast isn't really at fault in this one; it's the material that lets them down for the last half of the movie.

The Bottom Line

Gervais and Robinson take on organized religion, even going as far as to create new Commandments (with pizza boxes substituting for stone tablets). That actually worked for me, though it's likely to polarize audiences. At least Gervais and Robinson go there and don't back off. Kudos for that.

Jennifer Garner and Ricky Gervais in 'The Invention of Lying.'

However, as the bluntness of the characters seems to escalate, The Invention of Lying takes on a real mean tone, and it didn't need to. The Invention of Lying has a great premise but the execution stalls, losing momentum as it chugs to a romantic comedy cookie-cutter type ending. It all just wears thin after a while. There are definitely funny moments, particularly in the first half of the movie, but not enough to sustain the comedy throughout its 100 minute running time.

Still, it's not a bad movie, just one that doesn't provide as many laughs and as much entertainment as you'd hope given the film's set-up and great start.

JULIE AND JULIA MOVIE REVIEW

Hitting theaters near the end of a summer movie season filled with explosions, over-the-top action and general silliness, Julie and Julia is a delightful, tasty treat for adults. Julie and Julia is cooked to cinematic perfection and filled with terrific performances from the entire ensemble cast, led by Doubt co-stars Meryl Streep and Amy Adams. The story - like the delicious food served in Julie and Julia - will satiate moviegoers looking to fill up on a full-bodied film for their box office dollars.

Julie and Julia, though based on two true stories, plays out as a tale almost too good to be true. Julia, as played by Streep, is so completely engaging and so loved by all who come in contact with her that she seems like the creation of a very imaginative mind rather than a flesh and blood women. Julie, on the other hand, is a timid, can't accomplish anything young woman who, with the help of a famous chef she's never met yet leans on daily, blossoms into a determined, self-reliant woman. What Julie learns from studying Julia takes her from handling phone calls from relatives of victims of 9/11 to juggling interview opportunities and book deals. It would seem the story of Julia and Julie's strangely intertwined lives could only spring from a screenwriter's pen, but Julie and Julia is based on the real lives of these two captivating women.

The Story

Stanley Tucci and Meryl Streep in 'Julie and Julia.'

Julie and Julia is culled from two books. One book tells the story of Julia Child as she transitions from the bored wife of a diplomat stationed in France to student at the famed Le Cordon Bleu school to cooking teacher and ultimately cookbook author and star of her own TV show. The second book was written by New Yorker Julie Powell, a cubicle-dwelling government worker who, back in 2002, decided to stir things up in her life by cooking all 500+ recipes in Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking over the course of just 365 days. And in addition to tackling Child's recipes, Julie charged herself with creating and updating a blog based on her daily adventures in the kitchen. Julie had a history of not completing things, but was determined to see this year-long experiment through to the end. Fortunately, she had an understanding, level-headed husband on her side to steady her when the going got rough (i.e. when she had to kill lobsters, poach eggs, and perform other hazardous duties) and a strength of spirit she didn't know existed until she followed Julia's lead.

The Cast

Although Powell's book dwells, as expected, more on her own portion of the story, the film divides its time fairly equally between Julia's story and Julie's. Meryl Streep plays Julia as a gigantic woman with a real gusto for life, showing her to be as passionate about eating and cooking as she is about her loving husband, Paul (Stanley Tucci). It's a joy (not of cooking but of watching) to see The Devil Wears Prada's Streep and Tucci reunite onscreen as a happily married couple who absolute adore the ground the other walks on.

Amy Adams has a tougher row to hoe playing a struggling woman trying to find herself in a world that doesn't care in the least if she succeeds. Even at lunch with her closest female friends, Adams as Julie is put down, her life brushed off as trivial. But as Julie sees her universe expanding as the number of readers commenting on her blog increases, Adams takes Julie from shrinking violet to a strong woman in her own right. And if you're like me, you're going to walk out of Julie and Julia wondering who Chris Messina is and where he's been hiding. As Julie's husband, Eric, Messina is a revelation.

The Bottom Line

Meryl Streep in 'Julie and Julia.'

Julie and Julia isn't just a movie for foodies, although I'll warn you now not to go to this movie on an empty stomach. Restaurants immediately adjacent to theaters screening Julie and Julia are likely to see an uptick in business from people driven crazy by the mouth-watering dishes on display in Julie and Julia. And if you don't know how to cook...well, I need to stop for a moment to let you know where I'm coming from in the culinary skills department. I once ruined a skillet attempting to cook a grilled cheese sandwich. The result was an inedible disaster and a pan that looked like someone had held it under a space shuttle as it was taking off. That was a few years back and I'm better now, but I'm still far from feeling comfortable around the kitchen. If it's microwaveable, I'm all good. Anyway, Julie and Julia made me want to rush out and whip up a souffle or some exotic beef dish. It also made me long for more films of this ilk, movies that don't need tricks, gimmicks or special effects to compete in theaters.

It's so refreshing to see strong female characters drive a story. Streep and Adams don't share a single scene in Julie and Julia, but they do share the ability to engage the audience. Together though separate, these powerful actresses make Julie and Julia a scrumptious moviegoing experience.

KNOWING MOVIE REVIEW

If I'd have known Knowing's last half an hour was going to play out the way it did, I wouldn't have wasted my time watching the first hour and a half. Knowing takes an interesting premise and all but destroys it with a final act that's, at select moments, jaw-droppingly ludicrous. Knowing's loaded with possibility, but flounders its way to a disappointing conclusion.

It's not Nicolas Cage's fault Knowing doesn't work. Cage, who can and usually does go overboard in scenes meant to convey stressful situations, actually keeps himself reined in. It's the script and the effects that are totally out of control.

The Story

It's 1959 and a classroom full of elementary school students is busy drawing pictures to insert into a time capsule to be buried in the school's courtyard. The students draw pretty pictures of robots and rocket ships and other items representing what they believe the world will look like in 50 years when the capsule's opened. But there's one student, Lucinda Embry (Lara Robinson), whose drawing is unlike the others. Lucinda's hearing voices and those voices are telling her to write down numbers that, on the surface, look to be totally random.

Nicolas Cage in 'Knowing.'

Flash forward 50 years and astrophysicist John Koestler (Cage) is a widower raising a super bright 10 year old son, Caleb (Chandler Canterbury), who's wise beyond his years. He's also a sensitive boy with a hearing problem which causes him to use a hearing aid. He's not deaf, as John points out, he just hears things jumbled sometimes and the hearing aid helps him sort the words out.

When the time capsule is opened at a special ceremony, each member of Caleb's elementary school class is handed an envelope containing one of the drawings done 50 years prior. Caleb receives Lucinda's paper, which he finds fascinating enough to take home instead of leaving it at the school as instructed.

John, who has a bit of a drinking problem, downs some booze and strangely enough, that helps clear up the meaning of the Lucinda's numbers. John becomes obsessed with the idea that the paper actually lists major incidents in which people have died over the past 50 years (including 9/11). And, of course, there are three catastrophes on the paper that haven't yet occurred and John believes he can stop them from happening. To do this he tracks down the now deceased Lucinda's daughter, Diana (Rose Byrne), and granddaughter, Abby (Robinson, again). As they attempt to put the final pieces of the puzzle together, strange men watch their houses and whisper bizarre things into Abby and Caleb's ears.

The Cast

The kid actors – Robinson and Canterbury – aren't annoyingly precocious and are fine young performers. And Rose Byrne does a decent damsel in distress to Cage's 'I'll protect my son at all costs' action guy. Byrne adds a lot emotionally to the story, an important element as Cage, despite the fact he apparently loves his son, comes across as mildly detached.

The Bottom Line

Are we just going through the motions as our fate is already determined, no matter how desperately we want to change our future? Knowing does address that question but with a very unsatisfying resolution. It tosses out half a dozen red herrings along the way, two or three of which would have been much more intriguing to follow than the ultimate conclusion to the film.

Nicolas Cage in 'Knowing.'

The pacing's off, which is disappointing as I never found that to be an issue with director Alex Proyas' previous films (Dark City, The Crow, I, Robot). I was also disappointed with the way the huge action set pieces were integrated into the story. It felt like someone had this great vision of plane and train crashes and just had to find a way to work them into a feature film. Why Cage's character acts and reacts the way he does at times doesn't make the least bit of sense, unless the point is to just push another action scene into Knowing.

Knowing's a film that never seems to figure out what it wants to be, but it goes here, there and everywhere in one big hurry. Riddled with problems, Knowing isn't likely to impress anyone but the most ardent Nicolas Cage fans. But even those may be hard-pressed to endure the ending without letting out a laugh or two.

THE LAST HOUSE ON THE LEFT REVIEW

There are r-rated movies (ones that show some skin and/or sex), R-rated movies (ones with a mix of sex and violence and bad language), and then there are R-rated movies (ones that push the envelope, usually in the direction of graphic violence). The Last House on the Left, the 2009 version of Wes Craven's first movie, is R-rated in no uncertain terms. The violence of The Last House on the Left is cringe-inducingly raw and downright nasty. Last House is strictly an adults-only film, and then only for adults who can handle intense and brutal violence, including a particularly horrific rape scene.

The Last House on the Left is not a film for everyone (but other than Pixar's products and a few other G-rated offerings, is there really such a thing as a film for everyone?). So what do you need to know going into The Last House on the Left to determine if it's for you? If the first paragraph of this review sent up a caution flag but you're still interested, then The Last House on the Left might be something for you to check out.

It's not a fun movie and there are scenes you'll be tempted to watch through your fingers. It's not educational. The revenge plot plays out fairly straightforward once the movie hits its stride half an hour in. After the kidnappers take their victims into the woods, The Last House on the Left delivers an unwavering, unremitting hour of some of the most terrifyingly real moments you'll see in a horror/thriller.

The Story

Based on the 1972 film that launched the careers of Wes Craven and Sean Cunningham, The Last House on the Left has a fairly simple plot. Krug (Garret Dillahunt) escapes from prison aided by his brother Francis (Aaron Paul), girlfriend Sadie (Riki Lindhome), and teenage son Justin (Spencer Treat Clark). Then Justin's left alone in a hotel room for a few hours so he heads into town and picks up two teen hotties – Mari (Sara Paxton) and Paige (Martha MacIsaac) - with the promise of pot waiting for them back in his hotel room. However, their partying is interrupted when dad, Francis and Sadie show up and spoil their good times.

Aaron Paul, Garret Dillahunt, Spencer Trent Clark, and Riki Lindhome.

Krug's face is plastered all over the news, but Mari and Paige haven't been paying attention to that so initially they have no clue how much trouble they're in. But their bad luck - and bad judgement - quickly becomes evident when Krug and his crazy cohorts make it clear the girls won't be going home anytime soon. Taken against their will, the young women are horribly abused and left for dead. Then in a wicked twist of fate, the foursome shows up on the doorstep of Mari's parents' house. Only after they've welcomed in these strangers and given them refreshments and a guesthouse to sleep in do the parents figure out these strangers they've helped have brutalized their 17 year old daughter. And once they come to that realization, the gloves come off and the parents are out for revenge.

The Acting

Monica Potter and Tony Goldwyn go from being caring parents to tigers protecting their young in a totally believable, utterly realistic manner. One second they're serving coffee and chatting about the weather, and the next they're using any manner of household objects as weapons. Go parents!

Sara Paxton's normally seen in lighthearted fare but with this role she proves there's a lot more to her than teenage romantic comedies. Garret Dillahunt (Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles) sports almost black hair (in order to make him look more evil?) and delivers a creepy, fascinating performance as the leader of this little crew of criminals. Riki Lindhome makes Sadie into a chick you'd never, ever want to encounter in a dark alley or a brightly lit street, and Aaron Paul (Breaking Bad) is incredibly good at playing a hideous, delusional killer. Spencer Treat Clark as Krug's conflicted son lucks out and doesn't have to take part in the vicious attacks. Clark's fine as Justin, a teenager with more than his fair share of issues.

Sara Paxton, Tony Goldwyn and Monica Potter in 'The Last House on the Left.'

The Bottom Line

The Last House on the Left is probably not a film you'll buy on DVD after watching in the theater. One screening of this is sure to be enough for anyone. And for those familiar with Craven's version, there have been a few changes made to make this The Last House on the Left flow a little smoother than that 1972 film, and to ramp up the stakes once the parents discover they're harboring their daughter's attackers.

Absolutely harsh, unflinchingly brutal, and unrelentingly intense, this The Last House on the Left is a crisp, provocative, tension-filled remake that lives up to the original. It doesn't pull punches, doesn't cave in to horror movie clichés, and though the rape is one of the most disturbing ever depicted in a film, the payoff is there down the road – if your stomach's strong enough to hang in there and not give up on The Last House on the Left.

LAW ABIDING CITIZEN MOVIE REVIEW

Law Abiding Citizen asks you to not question its leaps in logic in order to get into its violent tale of revenge. And if you're willing to not analyze the plot, to not shake your head in wonder at the series of twists and turns the story takes, then Law Abiding Citizen's not a bad action thriller. But it takes a lot of sacrifice on the viewer's part to allow it to be so.

From a convicted killer's fast-track to the lethal injection chamber, to the intricate, time-consuming maneuverings of a man out for revenge, Law Abiding Citizen isn't going to win any honors for the most coherent, logical plot ever written. However, as action films go, the pacing's fast, the basic premise is fine, and Gerard Butler gives it his all in a darker role than usual. Strangely enough, Law Abiding Citizen's a fun ride, though it feels a bit bizarre to call a film loaded with violence and murder "fun."

The Story

We don't know much about the Shelton family before two ruthless home invaders break into their house, stab the father, and rape and murder the mother and young daughter. Clyde (Butler), the father, is badly wounded but survives, only to see one of the killers get a mere slap on the hand in exchange for testifying against his cohort in crime. Clyde argues and tries to persuade Assistant DA Nick Rice (Jamie Foxx) into turning down the deal, but Nick doesn't feel he can get a conviction at trial. Nick's all about his conviction record as he's very political-minded and always looking out for number one, even if it means a brutal murderer gets to serve just a couple of years behind bars.

Gerard Butler shows some skin in 'Law Abiding Citizen.'

Flash-forward 10 years and the one who didn't make a deal is set to die by lethal injection. Something goes horribly wrong and instead of passing on relatively peacefully, the chemicals cause him to be wracked with pain and die a horribly gruesome death. But that's just the beginning of all the deadly shenanigans. The killer who got off easy is found chopped up in dozens of pieces. The most likely suspect in both of these killings? Clyde Shelton.

Arrested for both murders, Clyde goes face to face with Assistant DA Rice as Rice tries to get him to confess to the killings. And Clyde actually says he'll confess if Rice agrees to an utterly ridiculous demand - bring him a comfy mattress for his jail cell and he'll say he killed the men who murdered his family. Once that demand's met, Clyde reveals he has more to say if Rice is willing to make more deals. Rice says he is only because what Clyde has to say involves the potential deaths of other people involved in the prosecution of his wife and daughter's murderers.

As Rice quickly finds out, Clyde won't be happy until he's exacted revenge by killing everyone associated with the case. And, Clyde's not just a grieving husband and father. No, he's a man on a mission with the tools to carry out dozens of killings from inside his jail cell. Clyde will only find his need for vengeance satiated when the entire criminal justice system has paid for letting killers off easy, and that means ADA Rice has to figure out just how Clyde's able to mastermind all these killings (including bombings and a remote controlled assassination of Rice's boss and mentor) before Rice's own wife and daughter become victims of Clyde's brand of justice.

The Cast

Gerard Butler was originally interested in playing the part of the Assistant DA, but opted instead for the role of the widower out for blood. That's a good choice on Butler's part as he's played so many romantic leads and good guys in the past, mixing things up shows audiences he does have a completely different set of skills. Yes, he does get to show off his fabulous body, but there's so much more meat to the role than just what's revealed in that brief but memorable scene. Butler's nasty and ruthless as Clyde, and you root for him despite what he's doing to - in some cases - basically innocent people. Clyde's this puppet-master manipulating an entire city, and Butler pulls off the part so well, it appears he relished the opportunity to get down and dirty with this ruthless and driven character.

Gerard Butler in 'Law Abiding Citizen.'

On the flip side, there's Jamie Foxx who portrays Nick Rice as a smug, self-centered prosecutor completely obliviously to how his actions (or more accurately, inaction) affect the citizens he deals with. We're not meant to support Rice at the beginning of the film, but Foxx tries to at least make him semi-human and not completely loathsome. Still, Butler's characterization of the wronged father makes him the one we pull for throughout the film, despite the attempts by Foxx, screenwriter Kurt Wimmer, and director F Gary Gray to woo us to Nick Rice's side later in the game.

The Bottom Line

Law Abiding Citizen is not the slickest thriller ever put together. It's not the most intelligent indictment of the judicial system ever put forth in a feature film. However, director F Gary Gray said he's not trying to preach to the audience, he's just trying to entertain. Gray wanted Law Abiding Citizen to be a wild ride, and that it is. You root for the guy who's killing people long after you really should - it's that kind of movie. For all its faults, Law Abiding Citizen is a ride worth taking.

The violence is intense, the action is over-the-top, and the big plot twist late in the film will likely take you completely by surprise. Law Abiding Citizen isn't everyone's cup of tea, but if you like your films gritty and raw, it's one you'll find fairly entertaining.

MONSTER vs ALIENS MOVIE REVIEW

I know Jeffrey Katzenberg and James Cameron and a host of other assorted filmmakers want me to like 3-D, but I'm not buying into the hype. I find wearing the glasses and waiting for something to appear to lurch from the screen more irritating than entertaining. But 3-D's not going away anytime soon if Katzenberg and his ilk have their way, and it was in that frame of mind that I sat through Monsters vs Aliens in 3-D and IMAX.

Monsters vs Aliens is beautifully animated, and even the muted colors you see through the annoying 3-D glasses are sparkling enough to enliven the screen. And the voice cast, which includes Reese Witherspoon, Seth Rogen, Hugh Laurie, and Will Arnett, do infuse their characters with more personality than the dialogue should allow them to. Yet fun seemed to be missing from the whole production, making Monsters vs Aliens just a run of the mill animated family movie and nothing more – even with all the so-called bells and whistles attributed to 3-D films.

The Story

Susan (Witherspoon) is ready to say I do to her narcissistic weatherman fiancé when out of the clear blue sky falls a meteorite. Despite the fact she's dressed in her wedding gown, Susan trudges down the hill to get a closer look. But getting up close and personal with a meteorite on your wedding day is never a good idea. The substance contained inside the meteorite causes her to mutate into a 47 foot tall woman at the most inopportune time (as she's poised to exchange vows with her creepy husband-to-be).

The Missing Link (Will Arnett), Dr Cockroach (Hugh Laurie) and B.O.B. (Seth Rogen) in 'Monsters vs Aliens.'

The military shows up (don't ask how they knew they'd be dealing with an out-of-control bridezilla), captures this now gigantic woman, and locks her away in a secret government holding facility alongside other 'monsters'. These other monsters are used to being locked away from the public as they've been caged up for decades, but Susan (newly renamed Ginormica to match her enlarged status) is immensely unhappy and willing to do anything to get out and go home. She's even willing to have Dr. Cockroach (three guesses what he looks like and the first two don't count) experiment on her to see if he can return her to her normal size.

But when Earth is threatened by first a robot from outer space and then a squidish alien who calls himself Gallaxhar (voiced by Rainn Wilson), the caretaker to the monsters, General W.R. Monger (Kiefer Sutherland), suggests letting the monsters free to take on the aliens. And so the battle begins as Ginormica, the gelatinous one-eyed blob known as B.O.B., Dr Cockroach, a Swamp Thing look-alike called The Missing Link, and the gigantic insect labeled Insectosaurus are the people of Earth's only hope. And yes, there's a lesson in there about how it's okay to be different.

The Voice Cast

Seth Rogen sounds like Seth Rogen – which isn't a bad thing - as B.O.B., a blob with a tiny brain who falls hard for a jello dessert. Hugh Laurie plays doctor once again as an overgrown cockroach whose mad cackle sends shivers down Ginormica's ginormous spine. And Will Arnett gamely gets into the character of an amphibious creature who thinks too highly of himself and of his fighting skills. Reese Witherspoon, tackling her first animated feature film role, starts out playing Susan with a perky voice and a bounce in her animated step before transitioning into Ginormica's much more authoritative voice. Witherspoon's warmth comes through, and Susan/Ginormica springs to life thanks to her engaging, energetic delivery.

Ginormica (Reese Witherspoon) and The Missing Link (Will Arnett) in 'Monsters vs Aliens.'

The Bottom Line

Monsters vs Aliens is a step backwards in storytelling, compared to the studio's own Shrek film franchise or any Pixar production. Where Pixar excels is in delivering a compelling, entertaining plot along with fantastic visuals and humor. Monsters vs Aliens left out the entertaining plot and jumped straight to trying to impress with its 3-D action.

There are some fun moments in Monsters vs Aliens, but they are too few and too far in between to make Monsters vs Aliens a must-see (in 3-D or in 2-D). That's not to say youngsters won't laugh and squeal over this animated family-friendly film. There's enough action and enough cool-looking characters to check out to keep the under 12 crowd interested throughout the short running time. But adults are going to get fidgety waiting for Monsters vs Aliens to wind to a close. Pixar's set the bar high and DreamWorks Animations' Monsters vs Aliens doesn't come close to being able to leap over it.