And boy, does he ever. Beginning literally with the birth of Jim Kirk that is probably the biggest atomic wedgie on “canon” ever yanked in Trek history, Abrams breaks from the need to fit into the tightly-woven mold of five television series, ten movies, and a small library of books, all of which add something to that ever-expanding Trek universe. Screenwriters Roberto Orci and Alex Kurzman have delivered what seemed like the impossible: a brilliant script that fires on all thrusters.

But don’t let the fact that Abrams, Orci, and Kurzman have turned the Trekiverse on its pointed ears fool you into thinking that this is a bad movie. They’ve done a masterful job of making it relevant, exciting, and most importantly — fun. To be fair, though, they had a lot of help, specifically from a young cast where each member fills iconic roles to perfection. Trek fans (including this writer) asked themselves and each other for ages, “Who could play Kirk other than William Shatner?” Well, now we know. That man is Chris Pine.

Pine’s Kirk is young, vibrant, sexy, brilliant, and has the sheer guts and is downright arrogant. To be blunt, Chris Pine is James T. Kirk. Thankfully, he didn’t fall into the trap of mimicking William Shatner’s odd…pauses…betweenthewordsashespeaks. Watch for one particular sequence involving an apple that’s an outstanding homage to a similar apple in The Wrath of Khan.

Zachary Quinto dons the pointed ears as a young Spock, who personifies a younger version of Leonard Nimoy, except for the voice. Oh well, can’t have everything. I do think that Quinto had a little bit of an advantage, though, since Nimoy himself also appears as “Spock Prime,” the older version of the iconic character we all know so well.

The film opens with an explosive sequence that literally has the audience gasping for breath, and introduces the villain, a Romulan named Nero (Eric Bana). Nero is, as Spock Prime puts it, “A highly disturbed Romulan.” That’s about all I can say without spoiling the film, and the fun. He’s not quite as rich of an adversary as Khan was, but he holds his own nicely, and presents a great “galaxy is at stake” threat.

We’re first introduced to Kirk as he hits on the hot chick, and gets into a four-to-one fight, only to end up running into Captain Christopher Pike (Lee Greenwood), who insists that he joins Starfleet. “Shuttle leaves at 0800 tomorrow.” Does the angst-ridden hothead that is Jim Kirk take him up on the offer? Of course he does. After all, he has to join Starfleet to become Captain. Plus, there are so many green women out there!

The third person of the great Trek triumvirate is Leonard “Bones” McCoy (we finally learn what “Bones” means), played perfectly by Karl Urban, who’s been in far too many genre films to list. Among them are two of the Lord of the Rings films and The Chronicles of Riddick. This man gets around. He’s found in McCoy all those elements that make our favorite irascible country doctor as lovable as he is. He doesn’t mimic the late DeForest Kelley. He becomes McCoy.

All of the others are there. Simon Pegg is Scotty, Zoe Saldana is Uhura, John Cho is Sulu, and Anton Yelchin is Pawel… er Pavel Chekov. The late Majel Barrett Roddenberry provided the voice of the computer just before her death in December. Every character has their moment, and their time to shine. Put simply, they’re perfect.

As the eleventh film in the Trek series, Star Trek takes its place among the best of them. Is it better than Wrath of Khan? Well, I’m not sure I’m willing to say that just yet. But it’s darn close. Maybe it’s the fact that Kirk bites into an apple in both films.

The script is tight, the editing is nearly flawless, and the direction is spot-on. Star Trek has joined a few of the recent big-budget blockbusters with its “action in your face” imagery, which sometimes makes the audience wonder what’s happening (think last year’s Transformers). Thankfully, Abrams does a great job in pulling out often enough to let us get a sense of the size and scale of just what the hell is going on.

Diehard Trek fans will take issue with some of the rapid promotions seen in the film, and yes, they seem a little contrived. Certain romances will also take them by surprise, but they make sense. Of course, with the near-religious “canon” turned on its heels (even if it is well-done), some fans will end up in convulsions no matter what. I’m not sure which would be more entertaining to watch, really… a trekker twitch as he complains about the placement and size of the engine nacelles or the aesthetic values of the new Enterprise, or the film itself. To be honest, though, there’s something twisted in my mind that would rather watch a twitching trekker.

“That’s… not…canon…generoddenberry…would…be…spinninginhisgrave…” Yeah, that’d be fun to watch.

But, I digress. The movie is brilliant.

Let’s be fair, though. Every time something comes along as a reboot, it’s instantly met with a lot of skepticism and cautious optimism. I certainly had plenty of both. But now that I’ve seen it, I’m convinced. My skepticism was relieved, and my optimism was honored. Star Trek is back. And it’s one of the best Treks ever. The words “Space, the final frontier….” have never been uttered against a film that was as sharp, action-packed, and completely human. And it’s just gone into warp speed.

Watchmen

Once considered the “unfilmable” graphic novel, Watchmen held a status of reverence which has placed it among the “100 Greatest Novels” by Time Magazine. Unlike most superhero movies, its source material is far less widespread, with a mere twelve issues making up its entire pantheon. Interesting, too, is its rabid fanboy devotion which will surely pick apart every scene with a kind of hair-splitting fervor that’s often reserved for legalistic religious scholars.

Zack Snyder picked up the director’s reins for Watchmen, having wowed mostly-male audiences with the overly graphic 300. Unlike most superhero films, none of its characters are on the lips of the average American (quick, can you recite the complete back story of the first Night Owl?), which makes this film an especially great challenge for any writer or director.

For any film to be successful not only with audiences but critics, it must stand on its own, despite its source material. Watchmen’s greatest faults are highlighted by the faults of any graphic novel, particularly the pacing and storytelling. On the plus side, nearly every scene was filmed as if they were pulled from the panels of its drawn counterpart, resulting in some of the most beautifully rendered images ever seen on film.

For the uninitiated, Watchmen tells a story in an alternate version of 1985 where costumed heroes weren’t the stuff of comic books (that realm was dedicated to pirate stories), but were a part of their recent history. So recent, in fact, that the government (with Nixon still in the White House) had passed a law that outlawed costumed heroes.

The opening credits are easily the most memorable of the film, which establish beautifully the “alternate history” of the movie, costumed weirdos and all. The difference between the heroes in Watchmen and our own comic – er – graphic novel pantheon is that none of the heroes had any real powers, except for one. The lone hero with authentic powers is an-often-naked-blue-dude name John Osterman who calls himself Doctor Manhattan.

The story of the film pretty much follows the source material panel-for-panel with a few exceptions. Edward Blake (Jeffrey Dean Morgan) is thrown out a window, and iconic smiley-face button gets stained with blood. The crime is investigated from the shadows by Rorschach (played perfectly by Jackie Earle Haley), whose deadpan voice and colored-shape shifting mask is far more than just an alter ego.

The film carries Rorschach as he interviews his old pal Dan Dreiberg (Angels In America’s Patrick Wilson) who longs for his past as the gadget-genius Night Owl. When we’re first introduced to Doctor Manhattan (Billy Crudup) in all his CGI-rendered blue, glowing, naked glory, he’s forty feet tall and totally detached from the world in which he lives.

To say more would require several dozen pages and a bazillion plot spoilers, so I’ll leave it at that.

The target of this film is clearly for those who are fans of the original comic series by writer Alan Moore and artist Dave Gibbons. When Moore was asked what he thought of the film, he succinctly stated that he would “never see that (word that rhymes with ducking) movie.” So, there’s not much love there. Not that he’d ever give it a chance.

The rest of us, though, meet the film with a cautious eye, hoping that it won’t completely tear apart the source material, and still have a good movie. The good news and bad news in all of this is this: Indeed the original story is intact. The bad news is that a few points have been changed (some for the good, some not so much). Because of this, die-hard and devoted fans may be up in arms over the film’s changes.

Of course, there’s also the big blue penis, which isn’t nearly as distracting as one might think it would be. See? Male nudity can be done tastefully. Still, I can’t help but wonder if the guys doing the CGI were snickering the entire time while modeling Osterman’s male appendage.

There’s plenty to like with Watchmen, but there’s also plenty of yawner scenes that could have been easily cut. It’s not terrible, but it’s also not great. Yet, I find myself wondering if it could have been any better than it is. Without the decades of encyclopedic material that support the Batman and Spider-Man franchises, Watchmen finds itself in the only frames and stories it knows how to tell. Much to our delight, it’s a decent story, leaving Watchmen well in the category of a successful translation from panel to screen.

There’s Chariots of Fire, Platoon, Driving Miss Daisy, Unforgiven, Schindler’s List, Forrest Gump, Titanic, Gladiator, and The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King. All of these films were massive hits at the box office, and all of them took home the big Best Picture trophy. Others, like 2005’s Crash was a cop-out to the far superior Brokeback Mountain, which many audiences (and Academy members) shunned because of its heavy gay love content.

Slumdog Millionaire is a film about a single question that begs a much greater question. The central plot of the story revolves around Jamal Malik (Dev Patel), who was a winning contestant on the Indian version of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire. The prevailing inquiry is as simple as it is probing:
How did he know all those answers?

• Did he cheat?
• Did someone feed him answers?
• Is it written?

The spool of the entire film literally hinges on very question. Boyles takes the audience back in time when Jamal was a small child in the slums of Mumbai, into the depths of brothels, the pit of disparate orphans, and knocks on the door of the criminal underground. It’s a compelling, complex plot that is sewn together with cinematic brilliance, all to answer whether or not Jamal cheated on his big day.

As I said before, there is a much more relevant question that must be asked: Is it worth all the hype? Slumdog Millionaire has become a critic’s darling, all for a film that still has yet to find a major American audience. Perhaps it’s because most Americans just aren’t interested.

I find myself in a complex position, not knowing very much about India’s history. I’ve read of the horrid conditions of Mumbai’s slums, and the only real interaction that I have with anyone in that country is the same as that of most Americans – the seemingly ubiquitous call centers (which are also featured in the film).

I’ve used words like “brilliant” and “complex,” most of which might suggest to the reader that I liked this film – but the truth is, I really didn’t. I felt as though I was watching the film through the eyes of a director who looked down on the film’s characters, as if he was trying to do a favor by putting these poor little “slumdog” children and young adults on the big screen.

A film like Slumdog Millionaire could have easily have been educational as it would be entertaining, but alas, there’s little to learn about Indian culture anywhere. In one scene, Jamal literally jumps into a cesspool of human waste to get to a popular star. The star signs his autograph for the fecal-covered child (probably out of sympathy). I can’t help but wonder if this is how Boyle (and the rest of Western society) actually views the world’s second-most populous country.

The rest of the film takes the audience through one con act after another, presenting Jamal and his brother as they go down a dark, twisted path of lies, chases, and deceptions, all of which managed to be carefully knitted into just how Jamal got to his answers in the game show.

The overall cast is brilliant, and even though the major roles are all played by three different actors — each portraying different ages — they are seamless. I did think that the child actors had a little more zest in them than their adult counterparts – but maybe it was just that the characters themselves mellowed out a lot as they got older. Even still, they’re still young and lack much of the angst and zeal that young adults have (I don’t think it’s presumptuous to assume that young adults in India have the same awkwardness as they do here in the US).

Ultimately, Boyle has a particular taste for pulling out the worst in his characters, and seems to be attracted to scripts that pull out all the stops in proving just how dark the human soul can be. There’s a payoff (quite literally) at the end of the film, yet even then, I couldn’t help but feel like I had been conned.

For the rest of us, though, this film represents everything that’s not only wrong with modern disaster films, but with American culture itself. DTESS clearly has a lofty series of goals it hopes to accomplish, yet achieves nothing more than one abject failure after another. It’s so bad that I found myself pulling my hair out, wondering why the hell I even bothered.

Surprisingly, very little of the blame can be squared against Keanu Reeves, who plays essentially the same character he’s done for the last dozen or so films. Distant and aloof? Check. Emotionless? Check. Superhero powers? Check. Acting ability? None needed. Perfect! He seems to be drawn to roles that have a not-so-subtle messianic nature to them – to the point that I’m beginning to wonder if he has a certain ego issue. Look for that oh-so-obvious walking on water. Yeah. He’s here to save the earth, but not the people on it. Hallelujah.

In this film, Klaatu (Reeves) comes to earth to warn humanity of its evil and destructive ways, and only Helen Benson (Jennifer Connelly) and her stepson (Jaden Smith) stand in the way of Klaatu and his plan to wipe out humanity. Before he can say anything, he’s shot, comes back to life, and then subjected to interrogation under the watchful and suspicious eyes of Defense Secretary Regina Jackson (Kathy Bates).

Since the comparisons to the far-superior original are all-too obvious, it’s important that we understand just how seriously this film missed a classic opportunity of speaking out against some of the greatest political evils in our day. In 1951, the original DTESS was birthed during the height of the McCarthy era, and the darkest days of the cold war. Americans were conditioned to fear anything remotely communist, and the late director Robert Wise crafted a story that spoke in volumes against not only the threat of nuclear annihilation, but against the reigning communist hysteria of the day.

Not so with the 2008 DTESS. The US is at the precipice of a potential slide toward a similar xenophobic mania (where instead of communism, we have a fear of anything that isn’t “normal:” Hispanics, Homosexuals, Muslims, Democrats, Liberals, you name it). Many of us are on edge after a series of horrifying terrorist attacks over the last few years, and are told we have to be vigilant against an enemy whose face we many never really know.

As this year’s election has shown, we are a country that is more divided than we’ve been in the last sixty years. Even with a near limitless canvas of emotional and political fodder available, none of these facts ever even come to the mind of scriptwriter David Scarpa. Instead of being our own worst enemy, we’re put at the brink of extinction because we’re slowly killing the environment.

Yeah, you read that right. This film is little more than a collective orgasmic fantasy for the entire environmentalist movement.  Here, we have an alien force that’s about to wipe out humanity – to save the earth from humanity. It’s so separated from any semblance of reality that there’s no possibility of reprieve – from the script or from the story.

It’s as if Scott Derrickson, the film’s director, saw this incredibly inept script as a great way to update the “big bad robot” from the original. There was clearly no coherent thought of whether or not there should be any MESSAGE to this film, but after all, who wants to be taught anything these days?

If there’s anything at all to praise in the film, the visuals are what we’ve come to expect in today’s blockbusters, and there’s a certain glee we all have when we see major cities leveled as only CGI can deliver. However, there’s just something about how our world comes to the brink of destruction. Possibly the only person who’s really worth watching is Jaden Smith, who clearly got his acting chops from both of his parents (Will Smith and Jada Pinkett Smith). Quite simply, he’s brillaint, and is a breath of fresh air in an otherwise hopeless film.

Speaking of fresh air, when the giant robot (yeah, here’s an uncharacteristic-for-me spoiler because it’s just THAT bad) turns into a series of microscopic robotic baddies, it forms a destructive cloud that wipes away everything in its path. I don’t know if this would be called “Big Bad Robot Flatulence,” but it sure seems like cinematic flatulence to me. After all, it literally begins by slowly peeling away layers of glass. It’s as if the great big film deity in the sky said to its audience, “Come here and pull my finger.” Like the bored audience we are, we pull that imaginary finger, only to be be bombarded with a film that should never have been made, let alone released.

When I say that this film completely ignores the grit of the original, and that it misses the point entirely, I can think of no finer example than that of the character of Professor Barnhardt (John Cleese). Cleese’s character is little ore than a throwaway scene that only sets up another chase scene. It’s worth pointing out that his predecessor in the original film was Sam Jaffe, whose scene nearly ended up on the cutting room floor.

The cause for this potential omission? Jaffe was blacklisted, and accused of being a communist. The producers reluctantly decided to leave the scene and the actor in the film because he and his character were so essential to the story.  Because he was labeled a possible communist, Jaffe wouldn’t be in another film again until the late 1950s.

How tragically ironic that the new Barnhardt scene could have easily been discarded. Hell, the whole movie could have been discarded, and we would have been saved the temptation to pull the big bad robot’s finger. But then, there are those among us who have to pull just to see what happens. For everyone else: you have been warned.

For those who aren’t familiar with the story, Harvey Milk was elected to the San Francisco Board of Supervisors in 1977, and led the gay rights movement in that city. He was a business owner, running a small camera store in the Castro district, which is still a major American gay mecca. He served in his post for eleven months before being gunned down by a fellow former Supervisor who had just killed San Francisco Mayor George Moscone moments earlier.

The film succeeds on many levels, most notably with Penn’s performance. He is so absorbed by the character, that it’s easy to forget that we’re watching an actor, not the real man. What’s more, the supporting actors were all at their best, each one taking on a special role in the film.

As the opening credits rolled, the audience is reminded — or introduced — to the modern history of the gay rights struggles in the 20th century. Not too long before the gay pride parades and festivals was a time when the only place gay men could gather was in bars or clubs, and were always at risk of being invaded by police. “Offenders” would be dragged off in paddy wagons en masse. Later, it would be Anita Bryant and her “Save the Children” group that would be the face of the enemy of the gay rights movement, who spread her vitriol with a smile and a song.

After this onslaught montage of the images of the tyrannical majority, we’re introduced to Milk and his new boyfriend Scott Smith (Spider-Man’s James Franco) as they make the decision to move to San Francisco. Penn clearly provides the shape and face of the film, but it’s Franco who provides the heart and soul. In the two men, you see a genuine relationship, one that’s rarely — if ever — shown on screen. They cook, they clean, and they had their struggles. Even after they parted, they remained friends. As bizarre (or disturbing) as some readers might find it, the chemistry between the two men is genuine.

The key points of the film, as would be expected, revolve around the many campaigns and political events in which Milk participated. His first race was in 1973, and met with a political cold shoulder, even from the gay community. It was then that Milk and Smith were both long-haired hippy types, but Milk’s leadership was becoming evident. Later, he learned to build alliances, including with the Teamsters union.

His decision to become a serious candidate in 1975 involved a number of major changes, including a haircut, suits, and a more clean-cut image overall. He quickly earned the respect and support of those around him, as well as those in organized labor. It’s during this time that the film shows his rise to leadership in the community.

Milk’s supporting cast is a diverse blend of rising stars and seasoned pros. Speed Racer’s Emile Hirsch fills the oversized glasses of Milk’s protégé and longtime gay activist Cleve Jones (Jones later conceived the AIDS Memorial Quilt), and Lucas Grabeel of High School Musical fame takes on the role of photographer Danny Nicoletta. Victor Garber (Titanic fans remember him as Thomas Andrews) portrays Milk’s greatest ally, Mayor Moscone. Finally, Josh Brolin (W.) fills the proud-yet-disturbed shoes of Dan White.

One key scene which showcases Milk’s leadership is an impromptu gay rights march after a critical election. The film places the march after a 1978 vote to repeal gay rights in Wichita, Kansas. The actual event, as photographed by J.M. Pritikin, actually took place earlier in June of 1977, after the election in Miami-Dade County. That vote struck down a gay rights ordinance in that city and was the result of the fever-pitch campaign by singer Anita Bryant.

While the film’s success is in its cast, script, and overall historical accuracy, the one drawback is its direction and composition. Director Gus Van Sant has put together a capable film, yet his own composition choices border on the jarringly irritating. A few scenes scenes are out of place, and some points of history, including the march after the Dade County election are casually changed for the sake of dramatic flow. This is the flaw of a great many biopics, and Milk is no exception.

Despite its flaws, Milk is clearly a film worth viewing; not only for the stellar performances of the cast, but for its bird’s-eye view of 1970’s gay rights history. It’s a pity that it was released after this year’s election, since it retells the struggle of another California voter initiative – proposition 6 – which would have called for the state to bar gays and lesbians from being teachers. Unlike this year’s proposition 8, a ban on gay marriage, that proposition failed dramatically.

While this film is unquestionably about gay men, Van Sant wisely focused the story on the lives of the people and their work. Here, we see gay men portrayed as normal as we’ve yet to see on film. It’s a story about struggle, passion, frustration, and ultimately about tragedy. Clearly, it’s a film that reaches out to all audiences. Sadly, many in this area will pass it by, assuming it’s only for the gay community. It’s a film that tells the story of courage in the face of great opposition, something to which everyone can relate.

Just as Harvey Milk worked hard for all of the people in his city, Milk is reaching out to the rest of us. No matter what side of the closet you’re in, or even if you care about closets, it’s a story that’s worth telling. Its message of hope, genuine honesty, and integrity is what drove Harvey Milk, and is a driving force for those who still struggle for equality today.

Since I haven’t read the book and I’m not a teen girl, I guess I’ll have to confess that I’m squarely in the third category of the intended target of the film. It’s a pity I didn’t like the film nearly as much as my partner, but I guess it’s more his kind of movie. Yes, plenty of girls and young women will drag their dates and boyfriends into the movie, but this is unquestionably a vampire-boy-chick-flick. Think Interview with the Vampire without Tom Cruise’s Lestat and throw in the “I’m not afraid to be close to a bloodthirsty predator” emo girl, and you’ve got Twilight.

What makes the film work is that it, like Troy, recognizes its target audience, and knows what they want: love story that has the sap oozing through each frame of the film, all-too-beautiful male stars who stir the hearts, plenty of unrequited passion, and enough tension to keep their interest. Throw in a few shirtless men and a good fight scene where one baddy vamp fights the good-guy vamp over the girl, and you have a fan-pleasing masterpiece. It’s too bad the rest of the audience isn’t all that interested.

Twilight is unapologetic in catering to its fans, and mixes in plenty of intrigue to set up for the damn-near inevitable sequel. In the film, we’re introduced to Bella Swan (Kristen Stewart), who moves to Forks, Washington to live with her dad after her mom remarries. Just as she’s settling into her new school and meeting new friends, she takes notice of the overly-broody (there’s that word again – notice a pattern here?) Cullen family, including bed-hair heartthrob Edward (Robert Pattinson from the fourth Harry Potter film).

Eventually, Edward reveals himself to be a vampire who only goes after animal blood instead of humans (think of it as tofu for vamps), so she falls for him. Plenty of dialogue of “but I’m a monster!” and “No, you’re not!” ensues, which gives way to some of the most frustrating bedroom scenes ever put to celluloid. “I can’t!” “Yes, you can!”

It’s a classic exploration of teen frustration and sexual desperation, leaving both characters and audience wanting the two lovers to just get it on and get it over with.

While Twilight is nowhere near the territory of a great film, it certainly isn’t a bad one. I was pleasantly surprised that minor characters weren’t disposed of as vampire food, and Michael Welch (Stargate SG-1 fans will remember him as the younger version of Richard Dean Anderson from one episode) steals every scene he’s in as Mike Newton, the silly jock who has the hots for Kristen.

Catherine Hardwicke, whose last major film was another pretty-boy gathering, Lords of Dogtown (2005), has clearly respected the source material and given Meyer’s novel a fair screen presentation. Twilight is a film that’s destined to rake in the cash, but leaves out almost half of the filmgoing audience from the first scene.

While Edward has been seventeen “for a while,” it’s obvious that nearly anyone who’s much older than seventeen may well be left behind in the film’s moody perpetual adolescence. But for those among us who still have a taste for the dramatic and a hope that we too will meet a powerful, bloodthirsty monster who can’t bear to lose control yet swoops in to save the day (and pull the dent out of the truck), then this is definitely the film to see.

Bolt, directed by the dual team of Byron Howard and Chris Williams, tells the story of the title pooch who lives in a world where he actually believes that he is a super-powered dog with a constantly endangered master named Penny (Miley Cyrus), a girl whose father is kidnapped by the deliciously evil Dr. Calico (love those evil kitty references, especially when they’re voiced by Malcolm McDowell).

In true Disney style, all of the animals can talk when they’re not around humans, so Bolt ( voiced by John Travolta) is able to share verbal jabs with his feline nemeses (who are in on the act — they love to taunt their co-star, even though it’s all a TV show).

Penny longs to share her real world with Bolt, but her agent (Diedrich Bader) won’t have any of it. He insists that Bolt lives in his imaginary world where he really has those wicked cool superpowers. No one, it seems, is willing to risk their hit show on the chance that Bolt will figure out that he is really just a regular ol’ dog.

When Penny is “kidnapped” on the show, leaving Bolt barking in frustration, the story begins a by-the-numbers, but effective journey where Bolt must discover not only the world around him, but the reality of his “powers” as well. He manages to have himself shipped to the corner of Broadway and 42nd street in New York City, which is a world as foreign as it is staggering to the naive star.

Along the way, he meets a few pigeons (a few of the brightest points of the film), who then lead him to their own nemesis, a lanky kitty terror named Mittens (Susie Essman). Bolt, convinced that she is in the evil gang run by Dr. Calico, strong-arms her into a U-Haul truck to begin the long trek across the states. Eventually, they’re joined by a big-mouthed, and even bigger-bellied hamster named Rhino (Mark Walton).

Bolt’s journey is not only to find his master, but also to find that he doesn’t really need superpowers to be a hero, culminating in a fiery climax where the danger is as real as his love for his favorite human.

While the story itself is a little simplistic and formulaic, Williams and co-writer Dan Fogelman have crafted a film that does reaches its target audience without talking down to them, and manages to keep adults entertained at the same time. Yes, it’s a good film, and even borders on “great,” just not quite.

One of the film’s strengths is that the 3D projection is stellar, and doesn’t treat the 3D as a gimmick, but allows it to enhance the storytelling. It’s one of the few times in recent years where the story does not rely on the 3D. If you have a chance to see the film in 3D, then don’t miss the opportunity.

Bolt does answer one telling question, though: What happens when Disney makes a film without Pixar? Well, here it is. Like Meet the Robinsons (2007), Bolt falls short of even Pixar’s worst films (but for the life of me, I can’t think of any of their movies that could be called average, let alone bad. It’s a little like saying that a round diamond is less glamorous than a faceted one). Suffice to say that it’s certainly no Pixar film, and lacks that magic touch that’s so often seen in films like Toy Story, Ratatouille, Wall-E and Monsters, Inc.

Suffice to say that Bolt is much better than Madagascar 2, and certainly provides a great time at the movies. Kids everywhere will enjoy it, and will rightfully find its place on DVD shelves all across the country in a few months. Until then, it’ll be a perfect excuse to make another trip to the megaplex this holiday season.

Clearly, Craig’s performance as the womanizing sexist bastard who happens to be the world’s ultimate assassin is turning heads, with some critics even daring to commit the ultimate blasphemy by suggesting that Craig’s bond even outshines Connery’s.

This is not to say that Solace is a great film. In fact, even though it’s nearly non-stop action from start to finish, there’s very little time for the audience to breathe. Solace begins mere minutes after the events of Casino Royale, so if you haven’t refreshed your memory by watching Royale lately, you’re likely to be both confused and bewildered by the opening sequence of the film, if not the film itself.

In this, Quantum of Solace’s primary glaring flaw is darn-near unforgivable: it assumes that the audience has seen its predecessor. I don’t ask a lot of good action films, but at least tell me what the hell is going on. Every good film should stand alone on its merits. The moment your audience is forced to scratch their collective heads, they’re too busy playing catch-up to truly enjoy the film.

This is a far different kind of confusion than is presented by great storytelling, by keeping the audience guessing as to what will happen next. Quite simply, this is shoddy storytelling that keeps them guessing as to what just happened! Solace has joined a myriad of other films in a fad that keeps the camera so tight into the action that much of what’s on screen is little more than a barely discernible blur, something that Transformers (2007) suffered from as well. It seems as though director Mark Forster has picked up a few of his action cues from Transformers‘ Michael Bay. Believe me, this is not a good thing.

In a nutshell, Solace begins with a rapidfire car chase in the streets of Siena, Italy, who’s busy trying to escape the very well-armed henchmen of Mr. White, who happens to be in the trunk of his Aston-Martin. Once he delivers his bounty to interrogation, Bond and M are caught in the middle of traitorous deception, which sends both Bond and the audience around the world to Bolivia, where he must infiltrate another organization with an environmentalist front, also as an assassin, all in the attempt to find out who killed his girlfriend from the first film. Along the way, he meets Camille (Olga Kurylenko), who has a grudge of her own to carry.

Together, they’re hot on the trail to shut down the seemingly ubiquitous Quantum, an organization that’s hell-bent on some kind of world domination thing (is there any other kind of evil organization in Bond films). Quantum is run by the rather unimpressive Dominic Greene (Mathieu Amalric), who for the moment, has his eyes on a piece of desert property in Bolivia.

Dame Judi Dench returns as M, who always manages to be a bright spot in any film she appears in; even though she spends much of Solace scowling at Bond or her other MI6 underlings.

Of course, there’s plenty of technology and gadgets to keep our favorite MI6 double-0 agent happy, and yes, he manages to find time to bed a couple of babes.

Quantum of Solace disappoints on a number of levels, most notably that it retreads on the tired old vengeance story line, which almost never makes for a good film. The last time we saw vengeance as a key plot point in a bond film was back in 1989 in the Timothy Dalton-era Licence to Kill, which was arguably a low point in the series.

Thankfully, Solace doesn’t dip to that kind of lowbrow filmmaking, but it never manages to rise above mediocrity, and is riddled with almost as many wasted opportunities as with bullet holes. Neither good nor bad, Quantum of Solace presents the best Bond actor since Connery in a story that’s nowhere near the calibre of its star. Perhaps we could have stood to wait a year or two for a better script.

Like a lot of films that languished for years in development hell, Journey met with its own bumps and twists, but those two major obstacles would have to be dealt with. In what is a classic modern avoidance tactics, script writers Michael Weiss, Jennifer Flackett, and Mark Levin chose to simply bypass both by referring to a world of “Verneians,” where certain people believe that Verne wrote his book based on fact, not fiction. Although I’m tempted to find out if such a group of people really exists, it’s just not that interesting an idea to pursue, so I’ll just move on.

Such illustrates both the success and the flaws of the film. By not giving into the challenge of adapting a 19th century story to the 21st century, director Eric Brevig is able to work free of any imposing need to meet expectations. This is a good thing, since clearly expectations are not really that high to begin with. Journey is Brevig’s first film as director, and took the helm with more than two decades of experience as a visual effects supervisor of a wide range of films including effects-heavy films like Scrooged (1988), Total Recall (1990), Hook (1991), Peter Pan (2003), and The Day After Tomorrow (2004).

After reviewing his past experience, I’m convinced that Brevig has gotten off to a nice start as director, and capably carried the film through a predictable, formulaic conclusion. While I could be easily tempted to say that being predictable and formulaic is a bad thing, it really isn’t. This film is already light years ahead of a few other major big-budget disasters (Speed Racer being one of them), and it’s nice to have a good, mindless popcorn movie that’s actually somewhat entertaining.

The 3D element of the film is what makes the film both succeed and fail, which isn’t nearly the contradiction that one might think it is. Its success is in the shock and awe that only 3D can bring, with all of the theme-park ride elements one can expect. The action carries our heroes (and us) through deep tunnels, a mine cart ride that is a near-complete recreation of the similar scene in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (1984), and of course, plenty of creatures to both delight and fright its audience.

The failure of Journey is that it falls into the same trap that so many 3D films have in years past – in relying on the 3D visuals in an attempt to flesh out a very two-dimensional story. It is simplistic in its very nature, and has the distinction of being a film that requires no cognitive reasoning whatsoever… in fact, it’s better if you shut down your brain while you watch it.

The story follows Professor Trevor Anderson (Brendan Fraser) as he and his estranged nephew Sean (Josh Hutcherson) follow a path laid out by his missing brother Max (and Sean’s father) into the center of the earth. They’re led by Hanna Ásgeirsson, and manage to find the bizarre world-under-a-world, and must find a way back out past strange plants, creatures, and a dinosaur or two.

Welp, that’s the plot. All of it. It moves the characters through with very little fluff or development required (or even attempted). The film is an exercise in mediocrity, and never even attempts to aspire to much more. It’s runtime of 92 minutes is just right, as is everything else in the film – merely “just right.”

I see films like Journey to be a plum line between the good and the bad; their existence is to provide an example of how packaged a film can be to make it work; alas, it remains as an uninspired work that gives its audience little to do other than much their popcorn.

As such, it is a film that entertains, rarely distracts, and is perfect for a Saturday matinee, and fills the space in multiplexes as moviegoers await the movies we really want to see. In short, it’s great 3D, but flaws really show when the glasses come off.

Director Rob Cohen takes over the reins from Stephen Sommers, who helmed the first two films. Cohen’s style of storytelling clearly wanted to capture some of the apparent nostalgia of the first two Mummy films. Only there’s one big problem – it’s only been seven years since the last one, and the first two films really weren’t all that great to begin with.

SPOILER WARNING: I’ve long had a personal policy of spoiler-free reviews, but I’ll have to make an exception in this case because it’s just THAT bad.

Try to imagine, if you can, a scene where massive, overly-animated Yeti pounce on the villains only to kick one of the poor heavies over a roof in an impromptu football field goal, with the obligatory referee’s hand sign. If you think such a scene is an exercise of brilliant humor, then there’s not really much hope for you—you’ll probably love this movie. The rest of us will roll our eyes nearly out of their sockets.

Back to the faux nostalgia: The film opens a full twelve years after the events told of in The Mummy Returns with Rick O’Connel (Fraser) and his wife Evelyn (Maria Bello) in the full lap of luxury and retirement. They’re both clearly bored with life (as is the audience of the movie at this point) as they go through the ho-hum motions of reminiscing of their earlier adventures. Evelyn’s way to deal with the boredom was to write two books which “coincidentally” have the titles of both of the earlier films. Wait, that was supposed to be funny. Their one big moment of drama was an argument over how their now-twenty-year-old son Alex (Luke Ford) had just dropped out of college.

Alex, as it turns out, was actually following in Dad’s footsteps by digging up the statues of some old dead Chinese king in a quest for his own fortune and glory. In interviews, Fraser has repeatedly said that he was a fan of the Indiana Jones series, and always wanted to be Indiana Jones. Surely there’s a better way to reach for your dreams than to appear in this travesty; but I digress.

The last Indiana Jones film, as mediocre as it was, actually had a genuine (yet overblown) sense of nostalgia; after all, it had nearly twenty years to reflect on. Mummy 3, tried to capture that same sense of reflection, but ended up with little more than a cracked mirror.

One major element that the story lacks is a villain with any humanity. The first Mummy film introduced the tragic story of Imhotep as a lovestruck warlock who just wanted to resurrect his beloved. It was a fresh exploration on the age-old story of the Mummy. On the flip side, the heavy in this film is Emperor Han (Jet Li) who just wants to rule the world. Just Because. Yawn.

Mummy 3 does try to have at least one love triangle in this film, where Han wanted the witch Zi Iuan (Michelle Yeoh) for himself, and killed her beloved so that he would give him the gift of immortality. The beauty of cardboard characters is that they don’t have to have any real motivation to be “good” or “bad,” so there’s no time wasted on anything really tedious (read: important) — like characterization, plot, or plausibility.

Well, surprise, surprise, Zi Iuan doesn’t give him immortality at all, but rather curses Emperor Han and his entire army. Surprise, surprise, the whole army eventually gets resurrected (yeah, it’s a real spoiler, isn’t it?) and threatens the entire world. Of course, our “retired” O’Connell family has to save the day and the planet.

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, the lovely (and immortal) Zi used her astronomical powers to resurrect her former lover who was the lone general who dared oppose Han in ancient times. Of course, the (un)dead general is surprisingly well-preserved for being buried underneath the Great Wall of China.

The script is bereft of any competence, and does little more than pander to the lowest common denominator in our society by offering nothing more than spoon-fed dialogue served to an audience that should feel more insulted with each passing frame. It’s a clear example of just how low a film can go before it gets regurgitated into a hash of half-chewed concepts that were bad to start with. This isn’t a movie to be avoided; it’s a movie to be shunned and discarded into the nearest incinerator.

The climactic battle is an explosive mess of CGI pandemonium that involves strafing airplanes, beheading zombies, and fiery explosions as only a Mummy can bring. Every bullet is a waste of space, as there’s only so much exploding sand that an audience will take before it becomes punishment. Even that doesn’t take long.

In an earlier scene where a crash landing is imminent, the pilot announces that the wheels are stuck. O’Connell laughs nervously in response and then asks “Why am I laughing?” The audience doesn’t know either, but the question invoked another in me: “Why am I watching this?”

Believe me, you’ll be asking yourself the same question.