Come visit my new environmentally friendly abode...

How, Mr. Movie Critic Guy, can your new site be considered environmentally friendly, you ask? Well, because over at usesoapfilm.wordpress.com I use maily recycled junk that I write for this site, smart ass! That's right, I've got more time to waste, so I decided to instead of wasting time on such trivial things as "raising children" and "doing housework," I'd start duplicating everything I do here, but with even more pictures, links and other fun stuff. Also, you may want to check out another site in here titled deltechfilm.blogspot.com devoted to all things film related for students at Delaware Tech (info on screenings, student film group activities and the like). What does this mean for you? Well, there are now even more opportunites to send in your bile-filled rants, citing my ineptitude as a film critic and taking personal pot-shots (I'd rather refer to my nose as 'chisled,' not 'beak-like,' thank you very much). So head over to usesoapfilm.wordpress.com . It's like the using the really nice public restrooms, as opposed to the busy ones at the airline terminals where you are continually getting your foot bumped by those guys with 'wide stances.'

New kids on the Bloc

Not to generalize, but after watching “Eastern Promises,” you may think twice about taking your frustrations out on all those fresh-faced Eastern Bloc exchange students who populate so many of the menial jobs here at the beach in the summertime.
For that may be the last Wawa hoagie you enjoy for quite some time, Mr. Rude Guy.
“Promises” begins with two vignettes that end in baths of blood – one resulting in a death, the other in a birth. From there, the film is a sharp, twisted meditation on life, death and the value of family and friendship, all with surgeon-like precision from director David Cronenberg.
Far more successful than his wildly uneven and overhyped “History of Violence” last year, “Promises” can be enjoyed both by the casual viewer looking for a old-fashioned, lean, linear tale of Mafioso-style respect and revenge, and by those who can appreciate the subtleties and flourishes the seasoned vet let permeate every scene.
The bloodletting does not saturate the entire film; in fact, it merely punctuates scenes with such casual randomness it serves to intensify the moments in which it is used.
The mother of the child born in the opening scenes is a nameless Russian ex-pat in London, with scars that show a life lived well beyond her 14 years of age. When she dies, it's up to Anna (played by Naomi Watts), a local surgeon to hurriedly identify the girl so that the baby does not get shuffled into the foster-care system. A diary found holds the key to her life, but its Russian language initially presents a stumbling block.
When the book is translated, it reveals some very seedy ties to the local comrades housed in some of the higher-rent areas of jolly ol' England. In particular, Nickolai (played by Viggo Mortensen), a stoic, ambivalent thug who refers to himself as “just a driver.” Nickolai's immediate boss is the incendiary, puerile Kirill (played by Vincent Cassel) and his lecherous father Semyon (played by Armin Mueller-Stahl).
If the film was made by a lesser director and writer, Anna would easily take front and center of the picture, as she valiantly morphs from naïve caregiver to knife-wielding vigilante who carves a path of justice and gets to spout pithy lines like “Better dead than Red,” or something of that sort. But Cronenberg, and writer Steven Knight, wisely place Nickolai as the lead, as he is by far the most interesting character of the film. He speaks barely above a whisper, but is commanding with his words. He will throw an arm around a shoulder, but it as much a show of control and dominance as it is friendship. And the audience is never quite sure as to whether he will serve to ignite or diffuse a situation. It is truly a performance that is – figuratively and literally – naked.
OK, this must be addressed, since it has been the most-talked about aspect of the film. Yes, those who adored the hunky king Aragon from the “Lord of the Rings” trilogy and enter “Promises” looking for a glimpse of his little hobbit, and they will get what they paid for. But the scene itself – a bathhouse brawl where Nickolai is clothed only in a towel, which he sheds – is shot so matter-of-factly and features a rather violent burst of brutality that the star's nudity becomes less of an issue becomes a pertinent part of the overall themes being grappled with here.
For all its focus on “the scene” and the film's ferocity, Cronenberg is more interested in the smaller exchanges that take place between its characters. When Nickolai extends his hand to Anna to exchange information, his brush against hers is both ominous and tender. Likewise, when the elderly Semyon grins, he exudes grandfatherly warmth – that is, if your grandfather is in the rape-and-torture racket. Kirill, too, is a study in contrasts. His short fuse masks what seems to be a much deeper secret that is frustratingly kept in the closet.
A reoccurring theme of tattoos runs through the film, as the made men ink up their bodies to not only show their allegiances, but to proudly display their life's history like a map on their bodies. It is interesting that the thugs and miscreants that populate “Eastern Promises” do not use guns, but knives and needles (and sometimes pruning shears) on their victims, as a way of cutting through their pride to the most vulnerable parts of their being. Cronenberg, too, is looking for the same thing in his characters – peeling away their painted facades in an attempt to see if there is a soul inside.
And this exploration of self is where the darkest – and best – of “Promises” are kept.

Point? Blank!

Those who thought a certain Rob Zombie remake in August hinted that Halloween came a tad too early this year will be even more convinced after witnessing Jodie Foster’s “The Brave One.”
For it’s wearing one hell of a good mask.

For weeks before its release, Foster and director Neil Jordan have been touting that this revenge-porn thriller was going to change the way audiences look at the genre. I suppose it accomplished this in the fact that I thought Foster had nicer legs than Charles Bronson did 30-plus years ago with the penultimate ode to self justice, “Death Wish.”

But “Death Wish” made no bones about its eye-for-an-eye retribution. It was happy to wallow in its exploitative excesses, especially as the series digressed into its latter incarnations.

With its pedigree of Foster, Jordan (“Breakfast on Pluto,” “The Butcher Boy,” “The Crying Game”) and Terrence Howard, the bar of expectations is set just a wee bit higher.

But no such luck here, as every time an ethnic stereotype emerges on screen, you can rest assured that Foster’s character is going to blow their face off with her pistol.

If there was an essay on the effects of violence, it must have been muffled by the thunderous blast of her pistol, or the even louder cheers from audience member as victims lay in pools of their own blood.

Look, I have no problem with vengeance genus of film. And I realize that the careers of Arnold Schwarzenegger, Sylvester Stallone and Steven Seagal were at times wholly dependant on having a girlfriend, wife, mother, sister, brother, partner, cousin, friend, accountant, pool boy, etc. abducted and/or killed.

But witnessing a savvy actress such as Foster spouting cheesy 80s-era one liners such as “Who’s the bitch, now?” as she pulls the trigger is rather deflating.

Foster plays Erica Bane, a public radio personality who, with her fiancee, is brutally attacked in Central Park one fateful evening. She survives. He does not. The film flirts with the notion of her dealing with the loss and the disorienting feeling of being a stranger not only in her home city, but her own skin.

We see her first wary steps of trying to crawl out of her cocoon and re-enter the life she knew. But once she’s out and about, it’s mere minutes before she’s making seedy back-alley deals for purchasing firearms and dispensing her own brand of anger-fueled justice.

Sorry, but the notion of a pistol-packing Nina Totenberg is just not one that rests easy on the brain.

As (un)luck would have it, one of Erica’s first forays back into the fray involved an ill-timed Sprite run at the local convenience store where a domestic squabble gets settled with bullets. Her first instinct is to draw her trusty sidearm, dispose of the bad guy and quickly leave the premises (with the security tape securely tucked into her knapsack).

Afterward, there is another encounter on a subway involving some bullies who steal an iPod from a commuter. But Jordan wants to make sure that you think these guys deserve what’s about to come to them by having them pick on a little boy and his dad and pull a knife on Erica. As fate would have it, Erica was fortunate enough to pick the only subway train that was vacant and that stopped at the only terminal where there was not a witness to be found.

On and on it devolves, trying to pepper itself with small symbolic gestures of how she is apparently affected by her actions (shower with her clothes on to wash away the sins? You betcha!). But that all rings false louder than the slugs from her 9 millimeter.

At least in exploitation films like “Ms. 45,” “Fight for Your Life” and “Thriller: A Cruel Picture” (aka “They Call Her One Eye”), they had the courage of their convictions and offered us no such nonsense of guilt and remorse.

Even Howard’s straight-arrow police detective who is on the heels of her spree makes a last-minute turn that is unexpected as it is preposterous.

Foster is above every scene she’s in. She attacks her role with the same ferocity she’s approached every role she’s chosen (even lighter fluff like “Flightplan” and “Nell”). But she’s reduced to an N.R.A. pinup – a Charlton Heston masturbatory fantasy.

The crowd I witnessed “The Brave One” with was obviously impressed by the sadistic stream flowing through it, and I suppose since summer has ended at the box office, there is a void left behind for mindless mayhem that this may fill.

But for those entering the film hoping for more out of the esteemed actress and director than a pile of bodies,”The Brave One’s” a dead end.

All aboard

Is it just me, or does everything sound just a bit more “Western-ish” with the suffix “-rado?”
“Desperado,” “Silverado,””El Dorado” It's like adding “-capades” after something and automatically thinking of ice skating.

Adding “-rado” somewhere in “3:10 to Yuma” may have helped the title, which does not exactly roll off the tongue, but the film certainly needs no help elsewhere, as director James Mangold's solid, scruffy take on the wild west is a throwback in the best possible ways.

Based on an Elmore Leonard's tale (and it's 1957 film), “Yuma” is steeped in all the spur-janglin', gun-totin', spittoon-dingin' elements that made this type of film into a genre all its own.

“Yuma” pits rancher Dan Evans (played by Christian Bale) against outlaw Ben Wade (played by Russel Crowe). Evans is struggling to save his property from encroaching railroad magnates and to save his dignity for his wife and two young sons.

Hobbled by battle in the Civil War and shepherding cattle on a dry dirt patch, Evans is both broke and broken.

When Wade's posse gallops into town for a local stagecoach heist, Wade is nabbed by the local law. The desperate and destitute Evans volunteers to escort the wily outlaw to a nearby town to be shipped out and face trial.

Evans sees the journey as a chance to make enough to save his farm and what little pride he has left because he's “tired of the way his boys look at him and tired of the way his wife won't.”
Wade gamely eggs Evans on, for he first sees him as just another body for target practice when his cronies come to rescue him.

But it's soon obvious that Wade takes a shine to this tattered-but-determined rancher. He sees in him the same resolve and steely drive that he possesses, and perhaps sees the man he could have been if he were on the right side of the law.

This is not to say that Wade is a softy by any means. He's quick to show men the losing side of his pistol and doesn't much care for excuses.

Director Mangold could not have found a better man to fill Wade's Tony Lamas (it's a popular cowboy boot brand, look it up). Crowe seems genetically engineered for such films – from his charcoal-burnt vocals to his swaggering tree-trunk physique. And his playful, deadly glint makes him equally hard to resist and harder to read.

And as Bale have proven in past roles (most notably his ghostly turn in “The Machinist”), he is capable of holding what seems like decades of pain in his hollow cheeks. His Evans is a pitiful man, but not once do you pity him, as he balances on the edge of a breaking point.

The casting of the two actors is essential to “Yuma,” as it is more about their psychological showdown than their ability to unholster their firearms. There are moments of Winchester-pumped action that puncture the film, but Mangold seems more interested in watching the two men watch one another – each taunting, circling and even admiring the other.

The supporting cast is as strong as its unbridled landscape, too. Gretchen Mol makes a welcome return, albeit a brief one, as Evans' long-suffering wife, and Peter Fonda, worn and leathery as a floor-length duster, does his best John Wayne impersonation as an old antagonist of Wade's.

But it is Ben Foster who reigns in the film's biggest surprise in a crucial role as Wade's vicious right-had gun Charlie Prince. In past roles, Foster has either underplayed his part (the Angel is “X-Men 3”) or acted like he forgot his daily dose of Ridalin (“Alpha Dog”). But his barnstorming performance here demonstrates he's destined for bigger things. As Charlie, he watches over his captured boss like a coyote watches over a flock of wayward sheep, and we sit one edge waiting for him to move in for the kill.

The death knell for the western genre has been sounding for years, but every so often a film rolls into theaters like a stray tumbleweed to remind us that as it may be long past the high noon of its popularity, the heart of the traditional style still beats loudly (2003's dream-like “Open Range” and 2005's gritty “The Proposition” are recent examples that come to mind).

“3:10 to Yuma” may not be remembered as a classic of the genre (the conclusion drags on a little too long and is filled with the cliches of gangs of gunmen who, when it comes down to it, can't seem to hit their target if it slapped them in the face), but it certainly is enough to jumpstart the interest of those who have grown up thinking that westerns are typified by self-important pomp like “Dances with Wolves” caricature-laden oaters like “Tombstone” or parodic romps like “Shanghai Noon,” and get them to search the shelves of the video store for when the West was (number) one.

Evil has a Density

When musician/director Robert Bartleh Cummings (better known to you as Rob Zombie) announced that he was going to remake the granddaddy of slasher films, “Halloween,” the news was hardly embraced by horror enthusiasts.

Of all the films in the original director John Carpenter’s checkered filmography (from peaks such as “The Thing,” and “Escape from New York” to valleys which include “Vampires,” and “Ghosts of Mars”), “Halloween” is considered his zenith.

It was made for less than what most films spend today on getting their stars out of rehab, but on that shoestring budget, Carpenter managed to lace up a legend with Michael Myers, the child killer who grew into a masked embodiment of evil.

He would hack away at horny teens with cold indifference and lurk in the shadows of the sleepy Illinois suburbia known as Haddonfield.

But in the almost 30 years since his first appearance, the horror genre has been demystified, cannibalized, embellished, and, worst yet, mocked and parodied.

The franchise itself has been stretched further than Joan Rivers’ face, linking the Myers’ legend to everyone from the Druids to Busta Rhymes (I wish I was kidding about that sentence).
Zombie promised a fresh new take on the genre, and, to his credit, he has been developing as a filmmaker – from his hokey, hackneyed debut “Night of 1,000 Corpses” to his more nuanced, menacing “The Devil’s Rejects.”

His “re-imagining” of “Halloween” stops that filmmaking progression – pardon the pun – dead in its tracks.

Zombie’s only update to the cinematic lore is by taping on a sorry backstory so blatantly obvious and tonally shrill that it borders parody.

We meet chubby little Mikey (played by Daeg Fearch , resembling the overweight, dead-eyed brother of Dakota Fanning) as a stringy haired squalor squatter, sharing a dilapidated domicile with his stripper mom (played by Sherry Moon Zombie), his slutty big sis (played by Hannah Hall) and a vile, repugnant stepfather (overplayed by William Forsythe).

After spending just a few minutes with this crew, you almost wish Mikey would get a jumpstart on his latter-day career move so that he can rid the screen of this pestilent posse.

Zombie spends more than 40 minutes with his white-trash clan until Michael takes part in some unspeakable acts and is sent away to an asylum. The title card flashes on the screen to show us Myers 15 years later, still sequestered in the institution, where he has apparently been biding his time taking advantage of the loony bin’s arts and crafts club and its fitness facility. You see, Michael has whittled away the years plastering together paper mache masks and hitting the Bowflex, standing about 7.5 feet tall with shoulders the size of a covered bridge.

He escapes from a quartet of security guards that must have graduated from the “Police Academy” (not the actual academy, mind you, but by watching the Bubba Smith- Steve Guttenberg films) and heads to his old stalking grounds just in time for the holidays.
What follows is a near scene-for-scene do-over, with an ample amount of breasts and blood added.

In the original, even though it may have been for budgetary reasons, much of that was left to an antiquated device moviegoers brought to the theater with them called “imagination.” But, y’know, it’s like totally too hard to text your friend at the same time, so Zombie dutifully spells out every stab for us.

And even though the film, rather hypocritically, promises “No Sequel” at the end of the credits, the loud ring at the registers for the film during Labor Day weekend ($32 million – they like it, hey Mikey!) will undoubtedly bring Myers home yet again.

Up and Autumn

To quote the film “Jarhead,” “Welcome to the suck.”
This time of year is that little window between summer and fall in which studios purge their shelves. So, instead of sifting through the cinematic discount bins this week, I will try to get you amped for the coming season of more prestigious pictures.
Mind you, not all of the releases are jockeying for trophies during the seemingly endless award season, but they do carry with them the promise of cinematic escape beyond the latest crop of films that is springing up like ragweed at the multiplex.

Sept. 7

The Brothers Solomon
Starring: Will Arnett, Will Forte, Lee Majors
Two socially stunted men try to impregnate a woman to fulfill a dying father’s request.
Prognosis: The big screen has yet to provide TV funnyman Arnett (“Arrested Development”) with something suitable to his talents (“Let’s Go to Prison,” anyone?). This Farrelly Brothers-style clone does not appear to be that picture, either.

Shoot ‘Em Up
Starring: Clive Owen, Paul GiamattiA mysterious gunman appears out of nowhere to rescue a woman and child from a hired hit.
Prognosis: Heavily styled Matrix-y gunplay is buoyed by its strong leads.
3:10 to Yuma
Starring: Christian Bale, Russell Crowe
A down-on-his-luck rancher volunteers to escort a criminal across rugged terrain to make the titular train.
Prognosis: While critics have been eulogizing the Western genre for years, Bale (as the rancher) and Crowe (as the criminal) just might prove otherwise.

Sept. 14

Mr. Woodcock
Starring: Billy Bob Thorton, Sean Williams Scott, Susan Sarandon
A bullying gym coach re-enters the life of his former tormentee as he tries to woo the young man’s mommy.
Prognosis: If you have a sense of déjà vu, it’s because this one has been threatening to be released for a couple of years now. Never a good sign.

Sept. 21


Across the Universe
Starring: Jim Sturgess, Evan Rachel Wood
The always-engaging director Julie Taymor envisions a pair of lovers in the ‘60s in a film set entirely to Beatles’ songs.
Prognosis: If it fails, you can bet it will be one beautiful disaster.

Resident Evil: Apocalypse
Starring: Milla Jovovich, Oded Fehr, Mike Epps.
In the third film based on the video game, our hero Alice is planted in the Nevada desert when trying to annihilate ferocious zombie scum.
Prognosis: The first two films were as fun as watching someone play Pac-Man for 90 minutes, but the trailers for “Apocalypse” look compelling enough to at least consider the adage “The third time’s the charm.”

Good Luck Chuck
Starring: Dane Cook, Jessica Alba
Not a sequel to the summer’s loathsome Adam Sandler “comedy,” this film stars yet another inexplicably popular comedian as Chuck, a man whose reputation as a good luck charm has women lining up to lie down with him.
Prognosis: Perhaps the neediest comic working today, Cook reeks of desperation in every role he takes.

The Assassination of Jesse James by That Coward Robert Ford
Starring: Brad Pitt, Sam Rockwell, Casey Affleck, Zooey Deschanel, Mary-Louise Parker
As fabled gunslinger Jesse James plans his next train robbery, his life may be threatened by someone close to his camp – can you guess his name?
Prognosis: Another shelf squatter, “Jesse” was supposed to be released last year, but the star power and director Andrew Dominik (who last made the intense “Chopper” with Eric Bana) cannot be denied (or maybe it can, if you consider last year’s overstuffed turkey “All the King’s Men”).

Sept. 28
Run, Fat Boy, Run
Starring: Simon Pegg, Hank Azaria, Thandie Newton
After leaving his pregnant girlfriend at the altar, a chubby schmuck vows to complete a marathon to prove he’s a changed man.
Prognosis: It’s a sitcom-worthy plot that just may work, considering it is being directed by “Friends’” David Schwimmer.

Lust, Caution
Starring: Tony Leung, Joan Chen
Director Ang Lee comes down from “Brokeback Mountain” to tell this more intimate World War II-era tale of a powerful politician and a woman who just can’t seem to quit him.
Prognosis: Not the hot-button topic of his previous, and shot in the Mandarin tongue, “Lust” will have much smaller fanfare, but may contain the same intensity for which the director is best known.

Oct. 5
The Heartbreak Kid
Starring: Ben Stiller, Michelle Monoghan
A man meets the woman of his dreams – to bad it’s while he is on his honeymoon with his loopy new wife.
Prognosis: Stiller reunites with his cinematic catapult – The Farrelly Brothers – in this remake of the Neil Simon flick.

Oct. 12
30 Days of Night
Starring: Josh Hartnett, Ben Foster, Melissa George
Alaska is known for its long stretches sans daylight, so what better place for vampires to chill their fangs?
Prognosis: Based on the popular comic (sorry, fanboys, you can call it a “graphic novel” just as you refer to your dolls as “action figures”), this film looks to keep the same creepy aesthetic that made it such a smash.

Hitman
Starring: Timothy Olyphant, Dougray Scott
A bar-coded assassin kicks some assassin ass in this big screen treatment of the violently popular (or is that popularly violent?) video game.
Prognosis: Olyphant attempts to parlay his summer hit as the heavy in the latest “Die Hard” flick into leading man turf. But it may suffer from the similar (and more stylish) “Shoot ‘Em Up” a month prior.

Oct. 19
Rendition
Starring: Reese Witehrsppon, Jake Gyllenhaal, Meryl Streep, Alan Arkin and Peter Saarsgard
Reese Witherspoon stars as the wife of an Egypt-born chemical engineer who's kidnapped by the Feds and stashed in a secret detention facility, where a compassionate CIA analyst (Jake Gyllenhaal) has doubts about the tactics of interrogation.
Prognosis: Hmmm, how do you think we can get our point across that torture is bad? I know, let's get our most wholesome-looking actress and former Oscar winner, Reese Witherspoon, and set her up for ol' fashioned Cheney-style waterboarding. While the film's stance is clear, let's hope they don't – pardon the expression – hit us over the head with it.

Oct. 26
Martian Child
Starring: John Cusak, Joan CusakJohn Cusack stars once again as a writer (after this summer's hit “1408”) who adopts an outcast child who claims he is from another planet.
Prognosis: Bumped from its original release this summer, the trailer for this one seems a tad gooey, but a flick full of Cusak's can turn that around into something much more.

Things We Lost in the Fire
Starring: Halle Berry, Benicio Del ToroTwo troubled childhood friends attempt to help one another out in order to save each other and themselves.
Prognosis: with the help of a gifted director (Susanne Bier, “After the Wedding”) and a talented co-star, Berry looks to turn her post-Oscar slump around to prove that she really did earn that statuette, despite “Catwoman”... and “Gothika” and “X-Men 3”... and “Perfect Stranger” and... you get the picture.

Saw IV
Starring: Tobin Bell
The Rube Goldberg of death, Jigsaw and his accomplice took a dirt nap in the last entry of the franchise, but when more victims start turning up under mysteriously similar circumstances, the FBI uncovers the truth to his origins.
Prognosis: Despite having the dubious distinction of helping to create the whole “torture porn” genre, “Saw” has managed to keep audiences coming back for more. And as long as the cash keeps rolling in, it seems that Jigsaw is more than willing to figure out creative ways to kill unsuspecting people.

Nov. 2
Bee Movie
Starring: (the voices of) Jerry Seinfeld, Chris Rock,
A stinging insect looks to escape the drone of the honeycomb and seek more out of life.
Prognosis: Though the animation looks pretty pathetic and the trailer's jokes have as much sting as a moth, if anyone can create something out of nothing, it's Seinfeld.

American Gangster
Starring: Denzel Washington, Russell Crowe
“Gangster” follows the true tale of a Harlem drug lord who became one of the most powerful crime figures in the country and a cop hell-bent on bringing him to justice.
Prognosis: Here’s wishing Washington is in full “Training Day” mode and Crowe and director Ridley Scott give us more “Gladiator” than “A Good Year.”

Nov. 9
No Country for Old Men
Starring: Tommy Lee Jones, Javier Bardem, Josh Brolin, Woody Harrelson
A hunter in the wilderness happens upon a stash of cash, drugs and a couple of dead bodies.
Prognosis: The Coen Brothers look poised to return to their “Blood Simple” roots in “Men,” which was nominated for top honors at this year’s Cannes Film Festival.

Nov. 16
Beowulf
Starring: (the voices of) Angelina Jolie, Anthony Hopkins, Robin Wrigth Penn, Ray Winstone.
See people, this is what we need to get our high school students to read the classics – more Angelina Jolie nudity! Actually, only a CGI version of the bombshell makes an in-the-buff appearance, but that’s better than nothing.
Prognosis: Like saying you admire “Playboy” for the articles, you can pretend to be awed by the special effects of this motion-capture movie.

Margot at the Wedding
Starring: Nicole Kidman, Jack Black, Jennifer Jason Leigh
Margot is a caustic gal who arrives on the eve of her sister’s wedding and attempts to sever the impeding ties to her Boho beau.
Prognosis: A cantankerous Kidman is an interesting choice for director Noah Baumbach (“The Squid and the Whale”), and Black looks as though he’s toned down his mania to let others actually share the screen with him.

Nov. 21
Enchanted
Starring: Amy Adams, Patrick Dempsey
A cartoon princess forced to leave her world for modern-day New York, falls in love with her Prince McDreamy.
Prognosis: Cute premise, but man does it look like one big commercial for Disney.

Nov. 30
Cassandra's Dream
Starring: Colin Farrell, Ewan McGregor, Haley Atwell
Woody Allen directs a tale of two brothers and a dangerous woman who enters their lives and threatens to sever their bond.
Prognosis: Sounds like a more meditative Woody (which usually provides more interesting results).

Dec. 7
The Golden Compass
Starring: Nicole Kidman, Daniel Craig, Dakota Blue Richards
Based on the “His Dark Materials” series of books, “Compass” follows 12-year-old Lyra as she sets out for adventure across the globe in an effort to save it.
Prognosis: It’s cast is top notch with Kidman and Craig, until you consider the last time they teamed up was this summer’s biggest flop “The Invasion.” Plus, can the movie world handle more than one precocious pre-teen named Dakota?

Dec. 14
I am Legend
Starring: Will Smith, a dog
A brilliant scientist somehow escapes a plague that he believes wipes out the entire human race – or does it?
Prognosis: This screenplay has been tossed around more than a soccer ball, the director has little impressive history (videos for Britney, Janet Jackson and the overheated Keanu Reeves flick “Constantine”), and star Smith may be out of his element from saving the world during the summer months (“Independence Day,” “Men in Black,” “I Robot”). But it may provide the perfect antidote for some of the season’s stuffier releases.

Alvin and the Chipmunks
Starring: Jason Lee, David Cross, animated rodentia
A combination of CGI and live action is mixed for this update on the novelty cartoon.
Prognosis: One word – “Garfield.” This is not going to end well.

Dec. 21
National Treasure: Book of Secrets
Starring: Nicolas Cage, Helen Mirren, John Voight, Ed Harris
Cage returns as modern-day Indiana Jones Ben Gates as he searches for stolen pages from John Wilkes Booth diary.
Prognosis: Taking a page from “Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade,” “Treasure” casts Mirren as Cage's mommy who joins the hunt.

Sweeney Todd
Starring: Johnny Depp, Helen Bonham Carter, Alan Rickman, Sacha Baron Cohen
Depp once again teams with director Tim Burton in this musical tale of a demented barber.
Prognosis: Jack Sparrow, Borat and two Harry Potter heavies? Directed by the guy from “Edward Scissorhands?” Are your tickets purchased now, or are you waiting another five minutes?

Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story
Starring: John C. Reilly, Jenna Fischer, Kristen Wiig, Tim Meadows
Spoofing on musical bio-pics (are you listening, “Walk the Line?”), the film follows this drugged-up musical sex machine through his various incarnations in a the musical landscape.
Prognosis: Could this be the trifecta for Judd Apatow, who scored with this summer's “Knocked Up” and “Superbad?” This can't-miss cast of clowns is almost a guarantee to run rings of fire around the competition.


Dec. 25
Aliens vs. Predator: Requiem
Starring: John Ortiz, Steven Pasquale, Johnny Lewis
Two warring intergalactic tribes of monsters pick a small town to lay the smackdown on one another.Prognosis: Sure, the first one was excruciating, but the directorial responsibilities have been handed over from a hack to a pair who have been responsible for some of the coolest special effects in recent cinema.

Charlie Wilson’s War
Starring: Tom Hanks, Julia Roberts, Philip Seymour Hoffman
Texas Republican congressman Charlie Wilson is a bad man. His shady dealings with Afghan rebels took a heavy toll on human lives.
Prognosis: Director Mike Nichols gave Roberts her best part in ages is 2005's “Closer,” and may perhaps do the same for Hanks, who could use a boost after flops such as “The Ladykillers,” “The Terminal” and “DaVinci Code.”

The Bucket List
Starring: Jack Nicholson, Morgan Freeman, Sean Hayes
Two terminally-ill cancer patients set out to check off a to-do list before they die.
Prognosis: How come nobody thought to cast Freeman with Nicholson before this? Unfortunately director Rob Reiner (“Rumor Has It...,” “Alex and Emma,” “The Story of Us” ) may ultimately decide their fate.

Dec. 26
There Will Be Blood
Starring: Daniel Day-Lewis, Paul Dano
Family, greed, religion and oil are all stirred together in this tale following a Texas prospector and the turn of the century.
Prognosis: In perhaps the best trailer since last year's “Little Children,” P.T. Anderson's complex tale looks as though it may strike more than black gold come Oscar time.

'Super-OK'

It’s a little-known literary fact that Robert Burns’ poem, ‘Ode to a Mouse’ originally read:

“The best plans of men to get laid do often go awry.”

Burns’ stuffy publisher told him to ‘tone it down’ to make the now-famous little ditty more marketable.

But whatever the translation, either would apply to the plot of “Superbad,” the new comedy from the Judd Apatow camp, which looks to tighten its grip on Hollywood comedies, between this film, the summer’s earlier hit “Knocked Up,” and 2005’s “40-Year-Old Virgin.”

While Apatow did not direct this one as he did the previous two (he passed the responsibility to longtime collaborator Greg Mattola), his fingerprints are all over it.

The film once again follows misfit man-boys on a quest to make sense of the opposite sex. This time, the quest takes place over the course of one high school evening and the leads are two horny teens, Seth (played by the beefy Jonah Hill) and Evan (played by the gangly Michael Cera).

Many have praised this film for carefully balancing its smut with its heart. And, frankly, I don’t buy into the latter, at least in terms of compassion for the females. The treacle tossed in at the film’s finale of both boys respecting the objects of their desires – after everyone thoroughly objectifies women throughout the film’s running time – just doesn’t wash.”I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry” got raked over the coals this summer for similar treatment toward gays, but somehow “Superbad” has been given a pass.

This is not to say that the film is not funny. For it is – both feverishly and frequently. But why even try to give a boys hearts when there’s nothing to hang their heart on?

(Speaking of “heart on,” be prepared for one of the most obsessive predilection of male genitalia this side of a porno.)

After all this ribaldry, why do the producers feel that our heroes must Learn Something or Grow and allow them to Get the Girl? Did John Belushi’s Bluto take away a life lesson after his years in Delta House? Did Jeff Spicoli learn to “just say no” by the end of his “Fast Times?”
No dammit. They were hedonistic jackasses. And they felt more real because of it.

Apatow has a very sharp ear for male-male friendships throughout awkward times in their lives (in “Virgin” it’s middle age, in “Knocked Up,” it’s pregnancy and here it’s high school). But what he has yet to find is what draws women to these clueless dolts. Really, only Carell's virgin was deserving of a female companion.

If you thought Seth Rogan (who wrote the screenplay and co-stars as a crazy cop) was an unlikely bed partner for the sexy Katherine Heigl in “Knocked Up,” you’ll have a helluva time trying to figure out what Emma Stone’s hot, hip Jules sees in Hill’s slovenly profane Seth.
In the words of the immortal Dean Wormer (rest in peace), “Fat, drunk and stupid is no way to go through life.”

There are two true finds in “Superbad,” and one has already been found by a select few who adored the brilliant, short-lived TV show “Arrested Development” (rest in peace). Michael Cera, who some remember as the stammering straight-arrow George Michael (he who harbored the unholy crush on his cousin), plays basically the same character with awkward Evan. Except here, you get to hear him swear up a storm. Cera’s stock is sure to rise in the months following this film, as his unique dry approach is a throwback to early Bob Newhart, and is sorely lacking in comedy today.

The other standout is Christopher Mintz-Plasse as Fogell. In the pantheon of teen sex comedies, many a one-named co-star has earned immortal status – Booger, Bluto, Meat, Stifler, Spicoli. Be prepared to add another to its hallowed halls – McLovin. For that is the name Fogell arbitrarily decides to rechristen himself upon receiving a fake ID that lists him as a 25-year-old Hawaiian organ donor.

Plucked from obscurity, you can see role of geeky outsider Mintz-Plasse fits very snugly on the actor, making his performance all the more authentic. You wish the same care had been given to the ladies that populate the film, or that they were ditched altogether.

McLovin spends the majority of the time riding in the back of a cop car commandeered by two wildly inappropriate arms of the law (Rogan and “SNL’s” Bill Hader). And as outlandish as the cops’ behavior may seem, the film called to mind similar high school shenanigans a buddy and I had with a sad, lonely night security guard at a port in Virginia Beach. He had no problems volunteering to get videotaped joyfully putting a billy-clubbing, handcuffing smackdown on yours truly.

So I invite the makers to bring on the zaniness – the carefree, empty-headed escapades that accompany adolescence and show us that you care as much for the women as you do for the lads and the, um, equipment. Otherwise, don’t feel obligated to employ tacked-on morals as a result of their ribaldry.

For it only waters down the drinks at what could be one heck of a fun party.