Reviews

Made in 1998, "Mercury Rising" showcases Bruce Willis as a compassionate champion of one against a monolithic NSA that, even 14 years ago, acted as if it knew better than the American people what we needed to know, a surreptitious shadow governmental adjunct that took Machiavelli's central idea, that "The ends justify the means" to a hideous conclusion. As in many of Willis' other films, such as "Sixth Sense," Willis projects a strong, trustworthy male role-model for a troubled, albeit gifted, autistic boy of nine.

What I enjoy best about this film, however, are the many intensely suspenseful "turns," throughout the movie, almost like a cinematic flow chart, in which the survival of the protagonists is extremely doubtful. This is a film in which truth overcomes malignant power, a work of art which illustrates what Helen Keller insisted is true: "I may be only one, but still I am one." The American people, and the people of the world, who need to continue to cherish freedom and hope, and work to instill and maintain both of those values until they're ubiquitous, need many more such movies.

Actors are professional pretenders. Movies that depict real life events, or literary works,are successful if they present persuasive indications, hoping to capture the spark of reality on stage or screen.

George Clooney is a sentimental man who conceals his sentimentalism well. He makes movies whenever he can about topics, people, and issues he cares about.

Having read the book this film was based upon, I was looking for gestures, expressions, persuasive indications of a movement most people, including me until very recently, were not aware of.

A story in today's Wall Street Journal proclaimed that the desire to save, protect, salvage and restore, and allow the present and the future to continue to enjoy art - is ongoing - even in such places as Afghanistan and Iraq. That article also dramatized General Eisenhower's efforts to ensure that American soldiers were respectful and appreciative of other countries' cultures and their artistic and other achievements.

I thought that the exposition, the part of the movie that was slowest moving, where each character had to be introduced and developed, then inserted into the rather tense and nervous camaraderie, such as it was, was the weakest part of the film; but even this part had the feel of a recapturing of the mis en scene of 1944 global Armageddon in the world.

I often forget that many of the Chicago group that made Saturday Night famous: John Belushi, Bill Murray and many others, were classically trained actors. Bill Murray listening to a record while in the shower is a great moment in theater, in acting, in verisimilitude, the art of making the gesture, the moment, seem so real that the audience forgets it is only a movie.

The entire cast behaved as if they truly were the architects, curators, sculptors, and connoisseurs they were portraying, and I felt that the movie got stronger and stronger after the going got really tough in their mission.

Kate Blanchett plays a tough French woman smoldering with an inner burning anger, and she is convincing in every scene she was in. I thought that she inspired and uplifted Matt Damon's performance.

I think the quality of the writing is uneven, but that is true not only of art, but of life. Sometimes, ordinary people utter mundane statements; sometimes, we are inspired to be eloquent, elegant. I think that "The Monuments Men" captured that reality, too.

I would love to see it again, and I urge anyone who is interested in the idea of saving precious works of art from military and other predators, to read the book by Robert M. Edsel.

This show catapults from noble to pretentious, from great speeches and lines and writing to dialog that is too rapid fire and difficult to fully comprehend without subtitles; from legitimate attacks on power mongers, true villains in our culture, and violations of our Constitution by those who purport to support it- to a problematic melange of caricature, infotainment, and zaniness. Sometimes, the show is profound; other times, it is quite disappointing. Sanctimonious one moment, scintillating the next.

I've watched all of the shows, and I have to wonder how much of it was written with an eye upon some focus groups' reactions. (?) Aaron Sorkin is a very clever writer, and I do give him credit for showcasing other writers of "The Newsroom's" screenplays, but the show continues to have a really tough time trying to decide if it is going to be (a) Horatian satire, i.e. writing that mocks and ridicules wrongs and weaknesses in society yet forgives them: gentle ridicule, or (b) Juvenalian satire: vicious, sometimes cruel, sometimes not funny at all, as if the writer hates the satirical target and would cheer its demise, or (c) romantic comedy like the chemistry between Claudette Colbert and Clark Gable, Tracy and Hepburn, and others.

I can understand a television show that attempts to be all things to all people, but it is confusing to try to accomplish this self-contradictory function in one program.

At the same time, when Will challenged one political party for making war on the poor instead of making war on poverty, I cheered. Then, moments later, Will ruined that moment by apologizing for his remark because he was taking medication that swayed his thinking.

I thought our society was way past laughing at someone who is drinking and drunk all of the time. When he is a high ranking official in a major network, it is even less amusing.

I have listened to people I admire attack "The Newsroom" for distorting and condemning the Romney campaign, a job they bungled pretty much by themselves without too much help by trying to appeal to the right politically and then trying to leapfrog back to the political center.

So much talent. Slow down. Keep a central idea. Focus on basics of writing, communication, comedy, and tragedy. Otherwise, it is a creative mess.

Let us see people doing their actual jobs more, with less political and romantic and other kinds of intrigue drawing them away from the very real problems that arise from attempting to be journalists, broadcasters, and investigative reporters. Things that really happen in the world are sad and funny, by turns. A show like "The Newsroom" could really perform a service to society by providing an accurate mirror for the plethora of absurd, terrible, hilarious, utterly mad or wonderful events that happen in our world.

Our basic networks that handle news all too often spend the majority of their news time telling what to think or how to think about events. Talented satirists like Jon Stewart project such sharp satire of the media and the news that such shows are depended upon for their accuracy in depicting the very news they lampoon.

The entire cast should be brought in on the creative process and do some serious brainstorming about the essential question: What do you want this show to be?

Each scene is a set piece. The protagonist possess an inner, raging, sense of justice. His companion is a disgraced but brilliant former surgeon. His job is to catch the trickiest, mot diabolical fiends, many of whom wear pin striped suits and carry attaché cases.

The New York City police captain knows Holmes intimately, recognizes his fragile flaws and his insuperable gifts, knew Holmes before the consulting detective crossed the Atlantic from London.

Much more than Basil Rathbone or Jeremy Brett, more than John Wood, Christopher Plummer or Benedict Cumberbatch combined, Jonny Miller's Sherlock Holmes has allowed his audience a much more intimate glimpse into the inner workings of his brilliant psyche, more close than ever before into his complex personalities, many of them a mask:

(a) His juvenile petulance (b) His narcissistic rages (c) His little vulnerability (d) His sudden, unexpected sentimentality swiftly masked (e) His use of arrogance as a hardened cynical facade slasher (f) His kooky, bizarre idiosyncrasies (g) His uncanny ability to penetrate to the pith and marrow of any case, crack it, then know all the possible ramifications.

What is fun, in the same sense as Nick and Nora in the 1940's "The Thin Man," is the fencing, the dueling, between Holmes and the very alluring very talented Lucy Liu. The whole relationship is, in one real sense, a total tease, titillation, pure foreplay. Nothing is ever going to happen romantically. If the producer or direction ever let it go that far, the show would end abruptly, because the reality would overwhelm the fantasy.

Holmes is his own good cop/bad cop. His armor is his cockiness; his side arms, wit, combined with an encyclopedic knowledge of chemistry, physics, abnormal psychology.

But as Holmes admits to Watson in "The Rat Race," his gift "has its costs":

(a) "Learning to see the puzzle in everything. It's impossible to stop. They're everywhere once you stop looking."

(b) "People and all their deceits that inform everything they do, tend to be the most fascinating puzzle of all. Of course, they don't always appreciate being seen as such."

I enjoyed listening to Brace Beemer create The Lone Ranger with his voice alone on the radio, and our entire family gathered around the television in the 1950s to relish the attributes of a masked man who was extremely humble and modest as well as very restrained, deploring any semblance of ungentlemanly behavior.

Both those artistic ventures were totally family-friendly: no off color language, nudity, sex or much more violence than a very tacit gun shot or sock in the chin.

Gore Verbinksi's new "The Lone Ranger and Tonto" is an important document, because it revives a mythical American icon that many generations are unfamiliar with, but this is not a movie one could take the wife and kiddies to see.

Verbinski was at the directorial helm in all four of the "Pirates of the Caribbean" series, and I must confess I cannot watch much of that cinematic footage, which seems to presuppose that most audiences demand incessant sensory stimulation. "The Lone Ranger and Tonto" is cut right out of the type of story called ODTAA (One darned thing after another). The film is too long and too cluttered.

It took far too long to establish the working team of Tonto and Lone Ranger, perhaps because a slew of extraneous nuances and devices, not in the original tale, had to be tucked neatly into celluloid first.

The framing device of a 1933 waxed version of Tonto repeatedly coming alive as a sort of theatrical hustle was diverting the first time, but used over and over again, it became tiresome, annoying and ineffective.

Armie Hammer has Clayton Moore's demeanor, his enunciation and cadence down pat. Lightly lampooning the classic image of The Lone Ranger was probably long overdue although Mad Magazine did it decades ago perfectly.

Like "Man of Steel," another fascinating but flawed film of summer 2012, this film deserves a sequel if only to rectify its mistakes, but that venture should not exceed, say, one hour and forty-one minutes. Tight. No loose ends. Every element contributing to a single effect.

This movie tried to be too many things: (a) both a send-up and a a parody of a great western legend (b) an over-the-top rollicking comedy (c) at times, very close to straight drama (d) farce mixed with outlandish comedy (3) tragedy (when the Native Americans are being slaughtered.

I'm trying to think of the sort of audience the director, the producer and the cast had aimed this movie. Definitely not a kids movie. We started watching with a nine year old, a 12 year old and a 17 year old. All of them quickly lost interest. Maybe very jaded or drunken or high 18-35 year olds if they are extremely immature.

Yet, this movie was very carefully choreographed. Were I an instructor of film technique, I would use this vehicle as an illustration of what not to do. Definitely jettison the carnivorous rabbits. Shorten it to an hour and forty minutes, maximum, or a two parter, or maybe a made-for-television-two part movie.

Tom Wilkinson, one of the most talented character actors in Hollywood alive today, an artist who can enliven even a mediocre movie, was wasted in this movie.

I thought that everyone in the world agreed after watching "Temple of Doom" that eating someone's heart on screen was not enthralling theatrically. And lose the carnivorous rabbits.

I have been eager to see Robert Redford's new movie, "The Company You Keep" since I read Rex Reed's laudatory review in April of this year. It's the sort of classy flick that only comes to our Little Theatre, which displays mostly independent, foreign or art films.

I saw it today, and it is one of the best movies I have seen since 1958's "The Big Country," with Gregory Peck, Burl Ives and an equally outstanding cast. Both films question our courage when it comes down to doing the right thing.

What if you were accused of a terrible crime you were totally innocent of doing, one that occurred nearly half a century ago? What if you discovered that your closest friends were going to commit that horrid crime, and that they fervently felt that doing so was in the very best interests of democracy, freedom and justice - and you had opted firmly not to go along?

What if a loose-cannon, highly-ambitious, muckraking young journalist wrote a story that included you in a tale about revolutionaries, Weathermen, bombings, bank robberies and a killing? What if the only person who could straighten everything out was a woman your age, still just as fierce and angry about the establishment, but is still committing crimes and living in hiding? She could exonerate you, but she'd have to turn herself in to do so.

5 actors or actresses in this film have earned Academy Awards. 4 other performers have been nominated for an Oscar.

I think that if you will watch this film, you will agree with me that those awards were quite merited.

Newcomer, 13 year old singing star, Jackie Evancho, shows remarkable talent and great potential, holding her own with Robert Redford, Chris Cooper and other stars.

This is a movie that made me think not only about people who were willing to put their lives on the line to protest their government back in the 60's and 70's, but, moreover, about all of the emotional issues we struggle with currently.

How much would you risk, personally, to insure that justice and democracy work effectively and fairly for all?

John Reese, ex-Special Forces Commando in Afghanistan's clandestine missions for the CIA, returns to civilian life only to lose the love of his life suddenly in one violent instant. One year ago, Walt Longmire, Sheriff of Absaloka County, in Wyoming, suffered the murder of his loving wife. Grieving, both men struggled to resume some sort of meaningful life, each man echoing Reese's thought: "When you find that one person who connects you to the world, you become someone different, someone better. when that person is taken from you, what do you become then?" Reese, subsisting largely on hard liquor, is accosted by 5 young punks on a New York subway; and when they figure he's an easy mark, he dispatches them all with just a few blows and kicks, eyes blazing.

Computer genius Harold Finch hires Reese to be the executor of Finch's quest to help victims and stop predators who prey on them. Detective Joss Carter is at first alarmed at what seems to be illegal vigilantism but gradually comes to believe that Reese and Finch are benign forces, and they begin to coordinate efforts.

Close to the next election for Sheriff, Longmire struggles to maintain high quality law enforcement, with one deputy, Branch, who sees him as weak and wants the job of Sheriff. Victoria (Vic) is ambivalent, not sure whether Walt is still grieving and should have taken a longer compassionate leave, on the one hand, while fiercely defending Walt any time her boss comes under unfair attack.

"Trouble's always comin,'" Walt mutters grimly, stalking from one crime scene to the next. "We're all alone and no one's comin' to save us," Reese observes tersely. Both protagonists begin to heal as they begin to help those who have no one else to turn to.

Like Reese, Longmire is his own man. Both men are tough on the outside, tender on the inside. Walt, in particular, can melt into a sad moment, delivering the worst news to a distraught wife, as the camera catches a falling tear that puffs gently on Walt's boot.

Just as John Reese is sometimes trust into dubious battle with other law enforcement officials, Longmire clashes with Mathias, the police officer in charge of the nearby Cheyenne Reservation. Ultimately, both elements must work together.

Walt runs up mountains, beats up bullies bigger than he is, emerging bloody, battered and bruised, but smiling like a western sunset. Reese is almost always outnumbered, and once had to allow himself to be beaten up.

Both shows plumb the depths of violence, drugs, and killing fields, in their own neighborhoods as in Afghanistan.

Reese and Finch operate under the guidance of an immense cybernetic machine, invisible to others, but one that sees every crime no matter how miniscule. Walt Longmire must function in an elected capacity, which means he must please more registered voters than he annoys. Both men must continually convert challenges into opportunities.

Reese and Longmire realize that "Your mistakes are a part of who you are now." Each man knows that "You can't move on from that, but sometimes your mistakes can surprise you. My biggest mistake brought me here. At exactly this moment when yo might need some help." Sheriff Hank Pearson observed that "The Right way's hardest, wrong way's the easiest. Rule of nature, like water seeks the path of least resistance. So you get crooked rivers, crooked men." ("Extreme Prejudice")

I've been fascinated by Superman since I was a small child, so it's been 63 years since I first watched George Reeves portray the man of steel on television back in the 1950s. Reeves was very fatherly, a very wise, dependable superhero; even as Clark Kent, he seemed very dependable.

Christopher Reeve is still my favorite Superman, but Henry Cavill looks like a Greek god on screen. He has a faraway look in his eye as if he truly was not-of-this-earth, but he seems essentially gentle, kind and, above all, helpful. When this Superman has to face people who possess all of his powers, he acts, quite realistically, I thought, shocked and stunned. Many scenes strongly sense that this Superman could be defeated by creatures who possess his super powers.

Having seen "Watchman" and "300," I knew that Zach Snyder's interpretation of the Superman story was going to be very realistic, edgy, dark. The violence in this movie is like watching real violence, man-made or natural; since it is created by creatures who are more-than-man, it seems like a little of both.

Amy Adams just can't seem to go wrong. Even in a very uneven story like "Trouble with the Curve," she adds perky, happy, spirited feminine animation; here, too, she is more alive than any other character. Her Lois Lane comes across as a vivacious rainbow alongside the very laid-back, mellow, gentlemanly Superman that Cavill presents.

In many scenes, I caught myself wondering whether Cavill had truly studied Christopher Reeve. Under his clothing, Cavill displays much more of a massive body builder physique, layer upon layer of hard, thick, tough muscle. He looks more like Hercules with his shirt off.

I was very impressed with Russell Crowe as Jor-el, Superman's Kryptonian father; and the technical creation of Kryptonian civilization, spacecraft and so forth is fresh, at times scary. The destruction is frightening at times -connoting in my mind images of Sandyhook, and other sudden, brutal events the world has suffered or witnessed this past year.

Laurence Fishburne's Perry White did not seem special to me. He spoke his lines; he is an African American. I sensed no special or unique angle on his dramatization of the character. I still cherish my salient childhood image of the actor with the white hair and the decisive manner who performed along with George Reeves back in the 50s.

Despite the cutting back and forth across time, showing Superman as a small child, then as an adult, I was not the least bit confused.

I thought that Kevin Costner and Diane Lane held up creditably as Jonathan and Martha Kent.

Michael Shannon reveals far more of General Zod's personality, motivation, and mind set. He is on screen and speaking to us in a very direct manner in far more scenes, and we have a chance to see him as more of a multi-faceted character. In previous cinematic interpretations, actors portraying Zod came across very one-dimensionally, very flat: mean, cruel, heartless and ruthless. Shannon suggests that he had hoped that Superman would help him in his mission here on earth.

The movie cleverly leaves itself open for a possible sequel, and I sincerely hope that this crew gets that chance. I will be eager to see how they produce a sequel, knowing what worked and what could work better the second time.

Several characters need to be more finely and deeply tuned. Cavill's Superman needs to be more assertive next time. Amy Adams has set the bar perfectly for Lois Lane: sure of herself, well-grounded, very capable, dignified, proud and assertive.

"Man of Steel" is a great action thriller, an excellent epic, a could-be-great-saga with great writing. In one scene where Clark Kent is a child and saves lives, he and his adoptive father, Jonathan Kent, have a heart-to-heart discussion about Jonathan's strong suggestion that he keep his super powers strictly secret. The boy asks plaintively whether he should have simply allowed people to die, and his dad replies, "Maybe." I thought that line fell totally flat.

Not only was there no Jimmy Olson, Mike Kelly obviously portrayed some important Daily Planet employee who was never identified, and he never really did much other than look important.

There is much to build on in a sequel or prequel or both. Strengths to augment and weaknesses to renovate. I'm hopeful that Zach Snyder will receive the opportunity to create a follow up opus, and that he will use and listen to test audiences galore.

I'd like to see the characters of Superman, Lois, Perry White and others deepened, sharpened, and more clearly defined.

I want more humor and more heart in the next one. The many obligatory scenes, characters, conflicts and themes from previous ventures were addressed in this film. The sequel to "Man of Steel" needs to seek to accomplish what J.J. Abrams has done recently for "Star Trek," i.e. use the talented newcomers to create a great movie that can stand alone as a work of art.

"Jubal" paints character, conflict and theme with extremely broad, expressionistic strokes.

Women, as symbolized by Mae, are very one-dimensional in this 1956 Western starring Glenn Ford, Rod Steiger, Ernest Borgnine, and Charles Bronson. Men, too, seem shaped as if out of the very prairie, mesa, or arroyo, in which they work as cattle men, which apparently precludes much knowledge of how women think, act, and, especially react.

What is true about "Jubal" is that a woman in love who is not only neglected but, moreover, treated like a possession and taken for granted, will respond with sorrow, then fury and then betrayal. That sounds like a very sexist statement to make in 2013, but in the world of the mid-1950s, Hollywood has very rigid ways of depicting men, women, and minorities.

Shakespeare knew that there is a sort of invisible pecking order in the military, and on the range. Men must trust each other or what they see as order will crumble, disintegrate. A woman alone, unable to run away, unable to fight back on the same level ground as a man, must resort to what used to be called feminine wiles.

The fact that even when I graduated from high school in 1963, the top three likely professions for women consisted of (a) teaching (b) nursing and (c) secretarial. To watch "Jubal" now is a very saddening experience.

Shakespeare's Iago manufactured jealousy out of circumstantial evidence, and he does so by playing to each victim's weaknesses and their trust, appealing to their irrational fears, and their ignorance of the truth combined with the unknown, upon which Pinky is able to capitalize in this story.

There is much straight-line, point-to-point male and female thinking in this story, but Pinky is the glue that makes this ugly jigsaw puzzle materialize. The first clue of that truism is the unthinking labeling and wrath that almost erupts when the cattle men deduce, by fragrance alone, that Jubal is a sheep man, which turns out not to be true, but it demonstrates how dangerous, how deadly, how fatal misunderstanding, false belief can truly become in action.

We may never know, but history's patterns teach us, that a demagogue preys upon the gullibility of the innocent, the naive, and the too-trusting.

Without the spurs, and the saddles and the range wars over sheep versus cattle, the fact reverberates in this fable that innuendo can cripple and kill. Alfred Lord Tennyson insisted that "A half truth is the blackest of lies."

The very best professional pretenders, our actors, actresses and fiction writers, stretch themselves, take breath-taking creative risks, knowing that, especially in a very long, successful career, a dangerous smugness, or an even more problematic lassitude can set in suddenly, or so very gradually that a movie star, for example, may not even sense what is happening until she or he finds the accolades fading, the acclaim both critical and popular waning, and the personal pride playing second fiddle to material success, ticket sales, profit, market share, all creativity-killers.

Will Smith has frequently chosen very daring theatrical vehicles, ones in which he has had to re-create himself on the silver screen, often playing against the type of person he really is. In his first big role, playing a young confidence man, Smith was successful in terms of matching great actors like Donald Sutherland. In "Ali," he re-created several slices of cinematic life from the most turbulent conflicts in the life of Muhammad Ali.

In his newest self-challenge, Will and his son Jaden, team up with M. Night Shyalaman to create a neo-prehistoric future earth, one in which human beings have disappeared and terrifying monsters with a hunger for human flesh prowl and soar.

For fourteen year old Jaden, this is a prime acting challenge, because he is on camera in close-up action shots for about 80% of the footage. Will Smith is relegated to the role of a character serving as a kind of director of sorts within the confines of the science fiction plot.

Regardless of all the gee whiz cutting edge space ware, "After Earth" emphasizes archetypal verities such as fatherhood, the importance of family, the ability to find a courage deep within you never knew you actually had.

The scenery is beautiful, but often lurks as a mask or hideaway for various horrible carnivores; and that backdrop also serves as the ultimate training ground for a failed Ranger seeking an absentee father.

Sophia Okonedo and Zoe Kravitz provide the loving mother and sister for Kitai, son of a combat hardened general played by Will Smith, in a movie about having and losing love, struggling to regain it, and never forgetting what has been important from past inspiration and formative experiences. Parents are our greatest unsung heroes, our greatest resource.

Costumes, sets, and special effects though bizarre and scary, are truly believable, and the movie does a great job of depicting hairs-breath escapes, continual suspenseful struggles, and pressure on a very young man under life-and-death conditions. The juxtaposition of CGI effects with life actors is impressive.

Something at once wonderful and terrible about war, death, and violence has always attracted our best writers, actors, directors and auteurs. Conflict builds character and theme. So it is again in "After Earth." Jaden Smith who was so successful in the reboot of "The Karate Kid" with Jackie Chan and Taraji P. Henson, has matured since then, for in this film, he must carry the audience from one escalating danger to yet more mortal perils that lie ahead beyond the next chasm, the next waterfall, the next dark entrance to a cave.

In the martial arts movie, Jaden had to adapt swiftly to a bullying culture where humiliation was the order of the day if he did not wrest control of his environment, his body, mind and soul. In "After Earth," roles are reversed in which innocence must assist experience, youth must augment age, and son must not only learn and develop but grow up in one heck of a hurry because lives are at stake. Training day becomes instant do-or-die final exam.

The trailer does not do justice to this movie. It is unique. Because Will and Jaden Smith possess the courage to try something new, I'm afraid that most critics will indulge mostly in attacking, finger-pointing, blaming and criticizing; a majority seem to feel that that is their job, not to locate the good, but to accentuate the bad. What is worse, critics seem to want everyone to just stay put. They condemn a Bill Murray who hits the ball out of the park in "The Razor's Edge," simply because critics refuse to stop thinking about Murray as solely a slapstick style funny man.

I take the opposite approach, exalting what works, and gently, tenderly noting something that could and should be remedied, polished, renovated.

Life, as Churchill noted, is not purely tragic just because one person dies, nor is life purely comical just because one person laughs. Life is a smörgåsbord dramatically presenting many variables, and we all grow by attempting, by trying, by accepting life's challenges, its many dares.

I recommend this movie for people interesting in movie making and acting. I recommend it even more for parents and their children. We are living in an ever-hurrying, ever-more-technology-dependent society, and what we never want to lose is the closeness between loved ones, family members, the very core and heart of why we are alive, love itself.

This is a movie which explores choices: Authoritarian parents or military commanders issuing dictatorial orders - or giving praise or a hug? Letting go of compulsions and obsessions and just enjoying life and love while we have it?

I think "After Earth" is a deeply philosophical movie, and in the age of Newtown, Aurora, Littleton, and other horrible tragedies fomented by ignorance, alienation and estrangement, useful lessons coursing powerfully through "After Earth" may be gleaned, studied and applied here.

James Franco first impressed me in his wrathful portrayal of Harry in "Spiderman." I did not pay close attention to his running of the Hollywood gantlet until "Oz, the Great and Powerful" was released; and then, I paid far too much attention to tepid or caustic reviews. Finally, a friend persuaded me to see that movie. Like many releases in recent memory, the movie is a diamond-in-the-rough. If a student submitted that screenplay to me, I would say, "Nice rough draft - Now go back and polish it so that every syllable and image is pristine." Recently, I have been entranced by Franco's portrayal of Daniel in reruns of the 1999 television release of "Freaks and Geeks." In that role, Franco seizes upon moments to behave crudely, with great refinement and sensitivity, immaturely, and in a continuum of gestures indicating the growth of his character.

Two nights ago, I watched the 2001 television biopic, "James Dean." In one of the first scenes, I sat up straight. The partly crouching, partly crumbled thin body of Franco had transformed himself into the painful, wizened pose of James Dean, seated and squinting as though lost in his own world, his own moment.

Throughout this movie, I became convinced that Franco had really studied Dean's every facial pose, his every gesture and movement, the way the actor whispered, sighed, moaned and snarled, often without verbalizing.

Franco, certainly one of our age's Renaissance Men, bites off much, but he can chew. Taking as many as 62 college credits at once, while writing short stories, acting in a plethora of films, all at the same time, some of his performances, ergo seem more tepid, even a bit more soporific than others. His portrayal of Allen Ginsberg, though daring, did not capture or keep my interest or attention.

"James Dean" is a movie which, very much like the life of the real James Dean, I hated to see end.

Connoisseurs of "Star Trek" may fall in love again with tribbles and Khan Noonian-Singh. Those not familiar with Star Trek will still enjoy this stand-alone story which doesn't even require the audience to recall the first of J. Abrams' resurrections, with much the same acting crew, in 2009.

I first watched James Tiberius Kirk, Mr. Spock, Dr. Bones McCoy, Scotty, Lt. Uhura, Mr. Sulu and Chekhov, go where no man or woman had gone before, back in 1966. I get as much of a kick out of this movie.

The pilot of the first Star Trek series, a two-part episode entitled "The Menagerie," starred Jeffrey Hunter as Captain Christopher Pike. With his sapphire-blue eyes and charismatic personality, Hunter had been successful earlier playing Jesus Christ in "King of Kings." Bruce Greenwood fleshes out what Commander Pike was truly like before his injury depicted 47 years ago in Roddenberry's first stab at creating the Federation.

William Shatner was an up-and-coming young actor who had achieved considerable fame in Stratford Ontario, acting in quite an array of the Bard's histories, comedies, tragedies and romances. Shatner had been impressive in such films as "Judgment at Nuremburg," "The Brothers Karamazov" and "The World of Suzi Wong." Christopher Pike in the current reboot has to be Kirk, believably, without being Shatner.

Even to attempt to recapture the imagery, the cadence and the poignancy of those early shows would be very daunting. For director Abrams to meld numerous fan-favorite characters, themes and scenes, producing one of the best Star Trek films I have seen, is truly admirable.

Karl Urban's tone, pace, his Southern accent, even his body language and timing, channel DeForrest Kelly's Dr. McCoy, right down to the doctor's paranoia about technology, especially the idea of his molecules being discorporated, then recorporated, when he is asked to "beam down." The Chief Engineer doing most of the beaming down, Commander Montgomery Scott, is re-imagined by Simon Pegg, who takes Scott where James Doohan, the original Scotty, had not gone before, making Scott just as important in several scenes as any of the principal characters. Both Scott and Uhura figure prominently into the resolution of the many tangled webs in the plot in ways that Doohan and Nichelle Nichols, the original Uhura, would be proud, and maybe even more than a little envious, of.

Zachary Quinto's interpretation of the young Mr. Spock is breathtakingly like the Spock that Trekkies know and love, yet Quinto makes that character his own, as well, newly-minted. The brief impressive cameo by Leonard Nimoy, himself, is tantamount to a Vulcan mind-meld between the older and younger actor. Quinto's acting skills somehow both recapitulate and reinvent those of his predecessor.

Chris Pine is not William Shatner. Somehow, however, Pine manages to act more headstrong, more impulsive, and even more of an outrageous maverick who seems to think that rules are like candy canes to be crunched and swallowed or spat out, before reinventing new procedures that defy the Prime Directive to solve thorny galactic conundrums.

This movie cranks. With a running time of about two hours, there is no lull, no dead space, no time for your adrenalin to abate even a little. At several points, the suspense was almost unbearable, when I could not imagine how the entire crew might escape certain death.

Abrams, who has also produced "Lost" and "Super 8," is at the top of his form.

The cinematography is extraordinary, accentuating, amplifying and delineating scenes and moments like a Greek chorus.

Generally speaking, the Academy Award Committee turns a blind eye toward science fiction films, but it is just possible that they may make an exception in terms of the way this movie was filmed.

The great scientist, Sir Arthur C. Clark, warned 53 years ago in "Profiles in the Future," that "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic." That's how I felt watching this movie. These professional pretenders produced one believable illusion after another. Cognizant of brilliant benchmarks that went before, movies like "Alien," Abrams has created a movie that can stand up to the great ones.

Most amazingly, Abrams has created a Star Trek movie that does not require its audience to remember Ricardo Montalban in "Space Seed," or Roddenberry's "Star Trek III," both of which this movie powerfully alludes to.

The suspense and excitement actually accelerate as the movie flows along. That is rare. Abrams and crew are to be praised as artists who care about their craft and their legacy. In Hollywood, that is extremely rare. To attempt to enrapture Trekkies, Trekkers, and the uninitiated -takes guts.

My friend and I watched this movie, a favorite of hers, which I had never viewed, and we both liked it. I always like Brian Keith in every movie he was in whether that was action, rough-and-tumble, as well as fatherly roles like "Family Affairs", maybe especially "Hard Castle and McCormick," which I loved even though it didn't last long as a series. I realize, now, how critical the Nielson Ratings and the deep pockets of one's sponsor truly are.

Keith is so in character, I worried at one point where he broke his leg in the story, whether he was still doing his own stunt work at age 44. I certainly hope not.

Vera Miles sans makeup, hair in a bun, acted like a woman used to roughing it as a wife, mom and woman - not always liking that reality, but continually re-accepting it as part and parcel of her love for Cam. The movie does a good job of demonstrating that both life and love come at a price, but that the risk of seeking what you really want in life is worth the cost.

Even the dog, the blackbird and the bear had their own wranglers in this local-color flick.

I liked the idea of being totally invested in a dream, in idealism, in fervent values, to point where you would stake everything, life itself, to make that dream actually happen - even against overwhelming odds, formidable, moneyed interests, calloused and remorseless antagonists.

The Canadian geese stole every scene they were in. Pythagoras would revere their straight lines of flight, each new group parallel to the flight above them.

The movie made me think of a saying on the back of a T shirt I observed today at the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure for Cancel in Kalamazoo, something Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote: "What lies behind us and what lies before us are not as important as what lies within us."

Tremendous cast: Brandon De Wilde, Vera Miles, Ed Wynn, and Brian Keith as well as Tom Skerritt at age 31. He looks like a young kid.

The movie looks and sounds exactly like what it truly is - a Disney film from 1965, where music telegraphs every upcoming dramatic moment, and violence, blood and gore and so forth are not shown.

At the same time, in our age of IRS corruption and interminable political partisanship, it is heart-warming to see two people renew their love for and commitment to each other, again and again, knowing that, as Langston Hughes wrote, "Life ain't been no crystal staircase."

Such a total lack of pretense in this movie! That sort of pure, ingenuous sincerity, is rare in the world of film and in life where deep concerns for profit, market share, pragmatism, and the every-man-and-woman-for-himself-and-herself world many adopt, crushes out the little important things in life like tenderness, patience, and honesty.

Many of the scenes in this movie have the look of a filmed stage play, and I say that in a complimentary way.

If our local Civic Theatre cast and acted out this dramatic vehicle, it would be tantamount to furnishing audiences with a far more innocent age, a more pure one where people say exactly what they mean and where people mean exactly what they say, even the villains.

I yearn for such unaffected directness.

Imagine that you and I could live our lives over again - or even a portion of them - and use the life lessons we have garnered, the hard way, to help ourselves and others. Police Chief Jesse Stone, portrayed by Tom Selleck, in the small Massachusetts town of Paradise, seizes such an opportunity. Divorce, alcoholism, murder, loyalty and betrayal, stupidity, false trust and false pride, dist integrating integrity, Stone has deposited lessons in some bank inside himself; and in these made-for-television modern morality plays, ironically, he is the right man in just the right place to help both himself and the small town.

Stone is no Ebenezer Scrooge. The ghosts that terrified him back in Los Angeles where he took to binge drinking and lost a high profile law enforcement job, are within his soul still, permanently goading and guiding him.

From 2005 through 2012, I watched, with increasing curiosity, involvement, and enthusiasm, as Tom Selleck and his cast maneuvered through five movies about Jesse Stone. Now, I have the distinct feeling that Selleck has assembled his favorite fellow actors to join in producing art and serious fun.

Thirty years ago, after "Magnum P.I.," Selleck is still refining and perfecting his acting skills. The actor who lost the Indiana Jones franchise to Harrison Ford, is selecting his vehicles carefully, systematically.

The dialog in the Stone movies is unusual, like the repartee one might overhear, by accident, between aged, battle-scarred warriors, or experienced EMT workers, in private, or out of ear shot, making ironic comments about life and love, death and destruction treating very serious subjects in a manner that sounds like light banter.

The Jesse Stone movies will not be for everyone's tastes. Its humor evolves out of people continually reminding themselves of how easily they could become corrupted or dead, the kind of humor that keeps characters and audiences on edge. Serious drama tipped just enough on edge to allow the audience to glimpse just a bit of Abbott and Costello or "Waiting for Gogot," reflecting on what well-intentioned but often self-deceiving creatures we human beings are.

Stone's drinking and womanizing somehow make him a sympathetic character where another actor might come across as a cad or pervert, a creep or monster. That is acting skill. This is Horation satire. It mocks and ridicules wrongs and weaknesses, but it is forgiving, unlike Juvenalian satire which is serious, grim, caustic and unforgiving, going straight for the jugular.

Selleck and cast treat even gruesome death with the dark humor MASH surgeons use to keep their sanity as they continually patch up wounded soldiers sending them back again and again to try to kill other human beings.

Some of the wittiest repartee since the 1980's "Equalizer" starred Edward Woodward and Robert Lansing, shows the verbal counter punching skills of Selleck and McHattie.

This movie may appeal to students of successful failures. It may even appeal to people who believe in atonement and forgiveness, reformation and redemption.

The movie manages to evoke an almost Vaudevillian humor out of events which in reality might feel like distilled sorrow or overwhelming grief.

Devane, shrink, ex-cop and almost ex-drinker, is a reflector for Stone's struggles and misadventures with both women and the bottle, and their interludes are played both for serious intent and droll comedy, as men, as lovers, as drinkers, and as human beings struggling to help themselves and others.

Aristotle said that a memorable character is (a) true to life (b) true to type and (c) true to self. The Stone movies turn the first two definitions on their heads a bit, but we know that it takes all kinds to make a world. Being true to oneself entails continual contemplation and application of the Serenity Prayer.

Anyone who treasures the 1939 hit, "The Wizard of Oz," knows that Frank Morgan played the Wizard as a lovable albeit rather bumbling con man with a very good heart. James Franco plays the role as redemptive therapy, and Sam Raimi's dove-tailing movie makes a strong point that all of us are better than we think; in a crisis, many people do rise to their true potential. Raimi's film could have done more with that motif.

I thought the movie was strong in the beginning and excellent in the latter part. In between, there were very slow-moving and slow-developing scenes that should have been either (a) truncated (b) sped up considerably or (c) edited to tighten them up. At two hours and eleven minutes, the film is about 30 minutes too long, I think.

If I looked at the script, I could point out four or five lines that simply fell flat, just did not work.

You cannot blame actresses and actors if the lines they have to deliver lack panache, style, impact, or memorability. Franco has to rely on his trademark toothy grin far too much to cover the absence of a good line, remark, rejoinder or speech.

At the same time, I think that Sam Raimi put many good ingredients into this cinematic mix. The ingenious plan leading up to the final battle with the evil witches is indicative of what should have been the consistent quality throughout the movie.Some scenes such as the discovery and repair of the porcelin doll were too elaborate and slow moving.

I thought that Mila Kunis did a very good job contrasting her good/bad personas; after biting the green apple, she was truly terrifying, and continued to be scary through to the end of the movie.

Rachel Weisz was excellent, the most consistently high quality performer in the movie, channeling more depth than is usually exhibited in evil witches.

I have to wonder why talented actors and actresses of the calibre of James Franco and Michelle Williams would agree to appear in a movie like this. A chance to work with Raimi would be enough. The challenge of playing a character type they have not tackled before, would provide great incentive for someone who is primarily interested in sharpening his or her craft; Williams and Franco are of that calibre. Weisz is one of the most self-motivating, high quality actresses working steadily today in Hollywood; she is driven from within, and she's good in every story on screen.

I like the way Rami's film is not really a supplement to the 1939 classic; but, moreover, more of a dove-tailing piece, laying more detailed groundwork for the character development of Biggs, in the beginning, and hinting that the story has only begun to unfold at the conclusion of this movie.

I liked the organization of Glenda's people into farmers, munchkins and tinsmiths. That approach was very refreshing and their ensuing teamwork with the Wizard provided a prolonged rather ingenious series of memorable scenes. The entire movie should have been of that quality.

I have been watching, studying and reviewing movies for a long time, and I am concerned about movies that are rushed to theatres before they are ready. I'd be curious to know what test audiences liked and did not like, and how Raimi responded.

Great films begin with a great story line. Then, excellent writing can make the most difference, not instead of a great story, but along with one. Finally, good acting cannot supplant a weak screenplay, nor can it buttress mediocre writing. Both the story and the writing in Raimi's movie exhibit slow spots and weak spots, and these should have been remedied before the film was sent to theatres.

At the same time, I enjoyed the film, and I would recommend it to others. I'd give it two and a half stars using the conventional and most common rating system, by which I mean that it shows much promise. It is not a bad movie. It's just not consistently a good movie. The parts of it that are excellent indicate to me that the entire work of art could have been excellent. The trouble is that if a movie makes an overall profit over costs, that is often deemed acceptable. In my estimation, Hollywood cranks out two or three great movies a year. The rest are simply "OK." The suits, the money people seem quite content with that. I could not help but remember the absolute commitment to the role that Judy Garland, Ray Bolger, Frank Morgan, Jack Haley,and Bert Lahr injected into the 1939 vehicle. Those artists fully inhabited their roles.

Many such memorable moments occurred in this movie, and it could have been a great film with a little more patience and painstaking care.

What Hollywood just doesn't get is that people will go to see the movies that are adequate, but they crave great stories with great writing and great acting. Is that difficult to do? Of course. If it were easy, anyone could do it.

Any film directed by Peter Weir would draw my immediate attention. Co-Writer, director and producer of "The Way Back," Weir is responsible for other great films: "Dead Poets Society," "The Year of Living Dangerously," "Gallipoli," and "The Truman Show."

A masterpiece, this film is a powerful testament to the power of human bonding, the drive to survive no matter what, and the power of love to overcome terror and hatred, which Hitler boasted would always overcome reason. This is a move about why Hitler's thesis did not work.

It is interesting to turn from my viewing of The History Channel's new series, "The Bible," which like the Bible, like our world now, is extremely violent. The men who escape from a Siberian nightmare turn hatred inside out, creating their own ethos. Like a palimpsest, which can never fully be erased, allows these survivors to write over its surfade a new image, a new version, a new vision,the next chapter of their lives free from the tyranny that threatened to snuff out everything that mattered. As Martin Luther King, Jr., warned, "Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter."

Ed Harris, who has always impressed me, whether he is portraying a haunted gunslinger or Senator John McCain, is at the very top of his form in this film. The furrows of his brow tell a tale, even the way he is dressed, the sapphire diamonds in his gaze, symbolize physical, mental and moral toughness. His repeated refrain, that "Kindness can get you killed," continues to take on new and more gentle import as the story unfolds, almost like shifting waves of sand in the endless, scorching Gobi Desert.

Mark Strong who, in my opinion, along with James Gandalfini, saved "Dark Night Thirty," from mediocrity, giving it the believability it lacked until they entered the story, is intense, laconic, commanding instant respect every time he speaks. That is a challenge to accomplish in this cast, in this story, where each man becomes a sort of resurrected piston in a rebuilt engine comprised of cast-offs, rejects, the detritus of the maniacal fury of Hitler and Stalin.

The story begins when Hitler and Stalin, like ravenous wolves, each tear their half out of Poland, and many who do not immediately perish, are cruelly thrust into a Gulag in Siberia. A small cluster of canny would-be-survivors escapes. That's the easy part. One of them knows how to survive in the wilds, using pine cones and other surprising tricks that work. Together, they find enough food and water, survive disease and infection, traverse one of the world's most formidable deserts, and scale several Himilayan mountains to reach freedom.

The government official in India who greets them asks for their passports. They smile. "How did you get here?" "We walked," the men respond.

Our world has endured financial collapse, avaricious, high tech, democracy-wrecking criminals who did not go to jail, zealots who place fanaticism before the brotherhood of man, woman and child. This is a movie to reflect upon. We are alive. Now what?

Shakespeare's Edgar, a noble survivor in "King Lear," mutters, "This is not the worst as long as we can say, 'This is the worst.'" We are alive. So what? The men and the woman in this story did not knuckle under to Hitler or Stalin. They did not die suffering unmitigated horrors in the Gulag. They blazed a new way, new lives.

A Russian thug, a comic accountant, a pastry chef who is an accomplished artist, a priest, a pole with night blindness, and another condemned pole who knows how to live in the wilds and leads them all.

Hitler killed 6,000,000 Jews. Stalin made 50,000,000 people "disappear." We must never forget. Demagogues beware: As John Steinbeck warned, "Repression tends to knit the repressed."

Years ago, I blundered into Stieg Larsson's "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo." I think I was guided there by one of the wonderful book gurus at our local Kazoo Book store.

I was stunned and fascinated by Larsson's ability to weave a thriller, a mystery, a complicated series of romantic relationships, each separate yet all connected to a maverick discredited journalist who is given a second chance to bring down a shyster, avaricious financial predator.

I read all three books in the trilogy, then listened to each them on CD audio book as I drove long distance and around town. Accomplished actors read Larsson's words with clever use of dialect, accent, interpretation and use of silence, pauses and emotion. I began to wonder just how influential the translator was in the production of Larsson's books; he passed away before the books' phenomenal success.

Looking at Larsson's literary prowess prior to the publication of this series, I felt as though I were looking at the life of Peter Jackson, who produced The Lord of the Rings Trilogy. Both auteurs had enjoyed a strong modicum of success before their respective hits, but it would be like comparing The Beatles or the Eagles teenage fledgling attempts at composing and singing and instrumentation, with their grandiose later successes.

Enter Daniel Craig, and Rooney Mara, and Robin Wright, with a great writer and director propelling this reboot. Craig tries mightily to be a puppy dog kind of guy, the sort of men women are irresistibly drawn to. Women may be drawn to Craig, but not for those reasons. He is still very much in his James Bond mode with his body builder physique and 8% body fat,in this American rendition of the Swedish novel/movie. The Swedish movie grabbed me immediately because characters like Eric Berger played totally convincingly by Lena Endre, instantly become the character. No doubts. No qualms. The Swedish movie evinces the aura of believability, verisimilitude by feeling like a documentary of the original novel; however, the Swedish movie, unlike the American version, can be readily comprehended by an American audience, by any audience that has not read the book.

I like Christopher Plummer's portrayal of Harriet's grandfather; he's at the top of his form. But the actor portraying that same role in the Swedish version is dead spot on. It's in the eyes; the forty year pain of running a high-powered corporation coupled with 40 years of personal loss show up in the crumbling, but brave, demeanor of the Swedish actor. Plummer is a skilled thespian playing another role.

Robin Wright is a gorgeous woman, but she walks through this role, probably trying for a minimalist effect. I believe instantly that the dark intense fire in the eyes of Lena Ender every time she looks Michael Nyqvist in the eyes is real, smoldering, to die for.

Rooney Mara does an excellent job of portraying Lisbeth Salander, but Noomi Rapace's interpretation is not-of-this-earth. She put so much authentic preparation in that role that her subsequent acting roles have severely paled in contrast. She even seems out of place in the second Robert Downey, Jr. Sherlock Holmes sequel because she's still in her Salander role to some extent. I'm not sure she'll ever break out of it - unless she's prepared to inject the same gestalt effort into each every character the way she did with Lisbeth. Some child actors never do adapt to the metamorphosis to adult actor. Some can. Mickey Rooney managed it, but a pale shadow of "Boys' Town" with Spencer Tracy.

Nyqvist's portrayal of Bloomqvist is also spot on. More than a bit out of shape, he has the eyes, the demeanor, the tender vulnerability that women like Erica and Lisbeth and even the ultra-secret Swedish operative Monica, would-be Olympic gymnast, who works out two hours a day, finds absolutely entrancing, that effortless come-hither quality that Nyqvist projects. Craig's appeal is much more alpha-atop-the-macho-food-chain. Craig was excellent in "Layer Cake," and for audiences who have not read the books and seen the Swedish movies, he will help make millions for this version; however, the American translation is so convoluted at several points, it occurred to me that had the plot, characters and the very ambiance of Larsson's trilogy not been coursing around inside of me, I'd have been lost, or, at best, very confused.

The American picture is doing well. I wonder how it will play in Sweden? I hope that screenwriter, Steven Zaillian, director, David Finscher, and the cast learn something fundamental, i.e. If it ain't broke, don/t fix it.

The Swedish adaptation of the second book in the trilogy,"The Girl Who Played with Fire," was merely acceptable compared to the first film. The third Swedish film, based on the last book in Larsson's trilogy was so very chopped to pieces and badly edited, I was crushed. That book is the very best mystery, thriller, murder-romance-suspense novel I have ever read. I was an English teacher for 43 years and have been attracted to stories like this since I was 12.

You can't make a silk purse out of sow's ear. No, it isn't that bad. My father who did not read much but was an avid movie fan and I often argued about movie-to-book adaptations. It was impossible to convince him that the movie lacked something, that a two hour rendition of a novel that was hundreds of pages of events and powerful nuances, could possibly be better. Movies are like outlines, or lie-detector tapes, of the books they purport to represent. Books fill in lavishly, profusely, what movies may merely indicate or suggest.

I could be totally mistaken. I am, after all, a human being, and I have my biases. But, if you're curious, just for fun, watch the Swedish version of "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo," and see what you think. I'm glad that both versions exist.

The last time I read a story to my son was probably 37 years ago, and I miss that experience. "Jack, the Giant Killer" is a movie that families will love although the giants are probably too scary for very young children. I will leave that decision up to parents for themselves.

I was delighted by the interplay between heroes and would-be heroes who step forward to challenge the gargantuan fury and Behemothian, misanthropic voracity of a tribe of giants who dwell at the top of the beanstalk. Jack is a hero who restores my faith in a Hollywood that can make a great movie without treating me like someone who is suffering from attention-deficit-syndrome.

Nicholas Hoult, who portrays Jack, displays the handsome eyes of a medieval falconer, an open ingenuous face, without the slightest trace of guile or trickery, a face that women and buddies and kings can trust.

Since he is a commoner, Jack must earn the right to be worthy of the fair damsel in distress by facing one terrifying personal fear and seemingly unbeatable monsters. Eleanor Tomlinson, who plays Princess Isabelle, is a beautiful young woman with a healthy girl-next-door quality and a self-reliant core that feminists might applaud. No haughty, insouciant member of royalty, she quickly teams up with Jack as his partner in the giant-stalking business, something new and terrifying for both of them.

Magic beans are the device which, in the very beginning, caused all the trouble. In ancient Greek mythology, Prometheus was punished for eternity for bringing fire to man; and, traditionally, that tale has been resurrected repeatedly any time mankind invents something like atomic energy, and, instead of powering the world to help people, emphasizes its destructive potential. Prometheus was punished for his prise, his "hubris," that little Miss or Mr. can't-be-wrong impulse that historically has caused so much havoc whereby one believes s(he) can defy God or, worse, that one is God. This subtle but durable motif courses through the movie: Just because we are capable of doing something does not necessarily mean that we should impetuously and indiscriminately practice that behavior. "Jack,the Giant-Killer," echoes James Hurst's "The Scarlet Ibis":

Pride is a wonderful, terrible thing, a seed that bears two

vines: life and death.

Erik, an ancient, wise, resourceful, scientific human king, had resolved that issue, long ago, but all it takes to create a new beanstalk, thick as a sequoia, as elongated as a trip to the stratosphere, is one single drop of water.

Bryan Singer, the director, is a master at cutting from one shot where a fairy tale where a beautiful mother is tucking in her young daughter to bed for the night and gently and happily continuing the reading of a favorite fairy tale - to a parallel shot where a father is reading much the same tale to his son and admitting, a bit reluctantly, that, No, he is not actually certain that giants do not truly exist.

CGI makes the giants very scary and truly formidable. The camera never actually shows anybody being devoured, but you know what has happened. Thus, no blood and gore, but a lot of implied violence. In this movie, the blink of terror is swiftly followed by the gentle breath of silliness or wry satirical humor.

Ewan Macgregor, who plays Elmont, the king's most trustworthy noble guardian of Isabelle, the princess, does triple duty as a the witness of a budding romance, partner of Jack in the quest to rescue the princess from giant-land in the clouds, and his job as hero and knight of the realm.

Danger lurks at every turn in many a scene in a story in which betrayal wrestles with loyalty, and the courage to face one's fears leads steadily from one close scrape to another, culminating in a final confrontation between a kingdom of David's and an equal number of scary Goliaths. The slingshot substitute is clever and devastating.

This is a movie I will watch again. I will probably watch the 3-D version just for fun. I always appreciate subtitles because I see and realize and learn much more that way.

Actors of the caliber of Ian McShane, Ewan Macgregor and Stanley Tucci, do much of their physical acting with just a squint, a sly and knowing grin, a warm smile, lift of chin or angle of a sword thrust. They scarcely need a script to tell the story.

Clifton Fadiman, who was my first movie critic, sixty or more years ago, would call "Jack, the Giant Killer," ODTAA (One darn thing after another), but this is one well-made film. The quality of the story-telling makes me yearn for the movies that families used to view together, sans nudity, sans profanity, with stylized violence for sure, but in the vehicle of a swashbuckling, exciting, heroic tale, with interesting character development and a happy ending with an implied caveat: Be very careful where you plant your beans, your love and your trust.

I loved The Eagles back in the 70's, especially after I finished my military service. Now, watching this special, "The History of the Eagles," and downloading lyrics, I can see that, even without the music, the words are pure poetry. Having taught poetry for nearly 5 decades, that is my ultimate test of whether the lyrics are real, authentic, if you can divest them of the music and they're still poetry. Only the best artists can maintain that precious risk; take away the musical safety net, which might even support a simple three chord progression, and if what you have is still addressing key tenets of the Human Condition, then you aren't merely experiencing entertainers, money makers, or businessmen, you and dovetailing delightfully with poets.

Joe Walsh utters one of the most honest speeches I've ever heard a public figure deliver, and he struggles manfully, painfully, as if ripping heartfelt wisdom from deep within his being, about how in the final analysis, our lives are like fine-spun, intricately-woven novels; however, along the way, what we sense and experience is like running into a sudden comet or meteor, delectable or horrifying.

Don Henley, who always seems to know just what to say in the moment or afterwards, described his immediate ambiguous feelings directly following the cessation in 1980 of the band's efforts: "Horrible relief." I have to wonder how much of a gifted artist's time, effort, soul, life and genius they must invest. Henley comments that he often wondered why he was successful when equally-talented artists did not reach the apex of Henley's success. Glen Frey sends out a desperate, impassioned plea to his wife and children to support him and hope that their "second act" did not change him too drastically.

I admired the coloratura guitar riffs of Don Felder, and I was deeply saddened, when I learned that he had been replaced in one furious collision of egos and cat fights, some borderline, behind the scenes; others, embarrassedly right on stage in front of cheering but partly bewildered audiences. Frey conjures up the perfect analogy between a good band and a baseball team. You are all aligned in teamwork, energy, synergy; however, you don't have the ball in your own hand all of the time. Felder craved more opportunities to sing. Frey himself admitted that the longer The Eagles were together, the less and less he sang lead. Why? Because they had Don Henley. Henley himself mused that Felder's insistence he sing lead on one song was tantamount to Henley's demanding to play lead guitar on "Hotel California." I've watched this special now three times. It is so completely honest that no one individual emerges unscathed, yet most of them proceeded, like "Hotel California" not only from innocence to experience; but, moreover from some degree of benightedness toward a larger sense of awareness, maturity, good judgment and enlightenment as human beings, as artists, entertainers, writers, and people who realized how their creations behind the scenes and before jubilant audiences, mattered far more than they ever dreamed or feared or ever imagined could be realized.

The deep lessons I derived focused upon Henley's efforts to save Henry David Thoreau's "Walden" from commercial vandalism and decimation; Joe Walsh's gratitude at being driven to rehab so that he, too, could experience "A Second Act" with his band mates.

I think that "The History of the Eagles" should be required viewing of any budding producers, agents, or artists. It is one slice of life, one sobering view of fame, celebrity, success and failure, of Phoenixes emerging from their own self-induced immolation, of a group of young men growing up as their country and citizens in it also evolved painfully, sometimes jubilantly, with a lot of luck and some daunting disappointments.

Watching the movie is almost like watching and listening to a magician explain patiently how the trick worked as well as disclosing those times when it didn't work.

I taught Poe's poetry and short stories for over 40 years, and I think that "The Raven" strikes a useful compromise between Poe purists who expect the feature-length film to satisfy devotees of Poe - and those who either have never read Poe or have scarce knowledge of his works, his style or his life.

John Cusack continues to select very challenging roles and to command my attention with his voice, his body, his use of stillness, space and time. I have seen John Astin's one man Edgar Allan Poe live performance, and I am amazed at Cusack's ability to create a sympathetic character considering Poe's struggles at West Point, with his stepfather, with substance abuse, poverty, and great discouragement considering his immense talent. I'd be curious to see the reaction, in general, of European audiences to this movie, spectators who, for the most part appreciate Poe far more than most Americans.

Alice Eve could just smile or read the phone book, and she'd make an impression; but she plays a courageous young woman; and in so doing, Eve must, herself, have been a more courageous person than I in enacting one of the most harrowing scenes in a Poe story; I could not have done it for love or money. She did it so well, it not only seemed to be really happening, I had to make myself breathe deeply, slowly and deliberately so that I would not panic; and I was just watching a movie.

Wickedness is delightfully horrible as depicted in this film, a grim reminder that great intelligence is not always utilized for benign purposes; and that flesh-and-blood chess games can be as deadly as a razor-sharp pendulum.

I have been a movie fan all of my life, and I must say I thought this film was a far better artistic accomplishment than any of the professional reviews I have scanned were willling to admit. I suppose that many critics feel they are paid to find fault with all but one or two movies every year because their critical acumen is always being weighed against the most successful reviewers.

There is violence, blood and gore and considerable disturbing mayhem in this film; but it's not overdone; it doesn't glorify any of the gruesome details, but audiences need to know that this is going to be a fictional (as far as plot) story involving Edgar Allan Poe, but also one which will weave actual details from many of his most famous works into the fabric of this movie. The gruesome is presented honestly.

Several readings of Poe's poetry are done in exemplary fashion. The European set is fitting in an exciting and dangerous-looking way, dark, dank, and tensely-expectant. Seemingly, candle light rules the interior shots. Surprises are not telegraphed, which makes their impact sudden and jolting.

I especially enjoyed watching the film a second time listening to the commentary by those who produced the film. I learned then, how a multitude of artistic and cinematic choices were actually made.

I would recommend the movie strongly for those who are familiar with Edgar Allan Poe and who have read and like his literary works. It is primarily a dramatic work, however, not a scholarly treatise, and I noticed three or four inaccuracies pertinent to Poe's life and works. The movie is good enough to inspire me to go back and read "The Telltale Heart," "The Cask of the Amontillado," and "The Pit and the Pendulum" as well as "The Premature Burial."

"Person of Interest" began two years ago as the television show to watch. Then, it became too predictable. John Reese got his gluteus maximus kicked almost as often as he prevailed. That was not good for the show. "Covert Affairs" experienced that same phenomenon: When a character is supposed to be a highly-trained, expert martial artist, she or he must be resourceful, adaptable, tough, determined, and creative enough to defeat all but the very best. "Booked Solid" reverted to some of the best of the previous shows.

The pace is brisk, no lags, no lulls, no slack. Harold Finch, the genius software, cybernetic mastermind, is on top of all contingencies and exigencies. He looks like a doofus, which is a great mask, especially the long dagger sideburns, but he's as sharp as Sherlock Holmes with his digital clockwork encyclopedic knowledge and ability to think forwards or backwards. Finch is somehow always one step ahead of the thugs, the creeps, the smarmy scam artists; he and Reese work together like a hand in a silk glove. The fact that not infrequently, he, too, is seriously challenged by especially nefarious, highly-skilled miscreants, plumbs the depths of his character nicely.

Detective Joss Carter projects just enough world-weariness to portray a convincing real detective who is juggling desperately too many cases for any human being to handle. Despite that, she displays a professional demeanor, and she's always able to dig down deep in her reserves and prove valuable at crucial junctures in the plot. Her role is a plus for single women, single mothers, wordly-wise women not only surviving in a deadly world, and not only prevailing, but possessing a very good heart. She can be tough or tender, as protective as a mother badger or very generous and giving. She is what E.M. Forster called a round character, multi-faceted and resisting stereotyping.

Detective Lionel Fusco is kind of an old shoe, but he reminds me of many professionals who, when called upon, rise to any challenge, perhaps someone who had been typecast and dismissed as overweight, over-the-hill and other clichés. As Shakespeare might have said, he's much more than his out-wall.

"Booked Solid" orchestrates all of the essential elements: glamor, assassination, assassination prevention, justice, vigilantism, effective tilting at windmills that do turn out to be ugly ogres, and charm.

Guest characters in the show add zest, sparkle, and an electric tingle of danger, seduction, sadistic glee, or unexpected good Samaritanism.

I've been an avid television show watcher for nearly 70 years, and I know how difficult it is to maintain vibrant, on-the-edge-of-your-seat thrills, high quality writing, week after week. Even "Have Gun Will Travel," "Bonanza," and "Gunsmoke," had great shows, very good ones, good ones, worth-a-lot shows and some that were just tired or even forgettable. Television burns through an incredible amount of writing and writers. Directors, producers and writers; actors, too, get burned out. Amanda Blake retired one year prior to the final year of "Gunsmoke." She never found another role with the memorability of Miss Kitty. The fact that she and the show succeeded in portraying a madame in the old west, on television from the mid-1950's through the mid-70's never fails to amaze me. It was tantamount to the controversial (for the time) material Rod Serling got away with; Gene Roddenberry also manipulated the suits in implementing serious social issues into his "wagon train to the stars," "Star Trek."

"Booked Solid," like the very best of Person of Interest has given itself a histrionic shot of vitamin B complex again. Good performances must continually re-evaluate themselves, see the truth in the mirrored gaze of the audience, and then continually re-invent themselves.

The challenge of good acting, good art, is to see ourselves as others see us, which the Scottish poet Robert Burns opined was the gift the gods give us.

At a subtle but deep level, Person of Interest is an existential examination of how people create themselves every moment: by what they say or do not say, by what they do or do not. As Yoda insisted, "Is no 'try.'" Economists talk about opportunity cost. For police officers, detectives and ex-officio problem fixers like Finch and Reese, this is an important concept, because they could be relaxing and enjoying a placid non-treacherous existence. They've chosen to thrust their entire beings into the jackal's mouth. Television audiences are also subject to opportunity cost as well as substitutes and alternatives for consumption. Only top notch storytelling, stellar writing, and exemplary acting and special effects will do the job. They must flow in that order. Good acting won't make up for ho-hum stories or shoddy writing. "Booked Solid" met all three of my demands.

"Meet Joe Black" is very much like many of my favorite books. I can read them often and they lose no flavor; in fact, their characters and the stories woven about them seep deeper and deeper into my own life to the extent that fiction and non-fiction intermingle.

Anthony Hopkins, one of my favorite actors, again becomes the character, Magnate Bill Parrish. Hopkins again makes it seem as if every word emanating from his lips is newly-minted as if the struggles he is undergoing well up out of threat, terror, and Ozymandias-like success.

Claire Forlani truly seems to be the real daughter of this business titan; I believe it is her most convincing role to date.

Despite the fact that much of the movie's plot takes place in the rarefied atmosphere of the biggest business on the planet, in pressurized board rooms where the fate of lives and corporations are decided like a knife fight in an alley, I continue to find more and more to relate to in this movie over the years.

Thomas Newman's intriguing, ethereal musical motifs are like shadows of the characters and their tentative actions in a movie about people who illustrate, in a fresh manner, the cliché that money does not necessarily buy happiness; in fact, opulence makes life trickier.

This is especially a movie about fathers and daughters, about two very different kinds of beings who ingratiate themselves into the good graces of a father, with mixed results, because, ultimately, this movie is about various kinds of love and various kinds of life lessons.

Brad Pitt demonstrates that his earlier work in "Interview with a Vampire" was no fluke; Pitt earns my respect in a dual role, alternating from sympathetic and lovable to the obverse and then back again.

I think that "Meet Joe Black" is a film that acts as a mirror for my own life, forcing me to do quite a bit of personal self-reflection. The film also behaves very much like a razor: the dialog is sharp, cutting, peeling away layers of every character as powerful emotions buffet their lives, paring away all sorts of fronts, romantic, mercenary and societal.

Like some novels that I regard as old friends, stories I can savor and truly delve deeper into as I read them every year, I am a different person each time I watch "Meet Joe Black." The dialog, plot and all other elements never deviate, but I change as life buffets me, paring away my many fronts as I grow, learn and take risks.

This is an entertaining movie, but it is a very pensive film. The humor is very lightly ironical, but quite cerebral in the sense of discovering anew just what each of us truly wants in our lives, in our relationships, in our business deals and careers. The movie strongly investigates personal and professional legacies, ethics and morality.

Despite the high society backdrop, I found the story very much down-to-earth. The Seven Deadly Sins and the Seven Heavenly Virtues do not budge simply because the personages who grapple with and adopt these values are rich, spoiled, guileless, unaffected, or effete. This is a good people movie, especially in terms of very deep questions such as "Who am I?" "Who do I truly wish to be?" "What do I really want from love and life?" "Meet Joe Black" is a movie that touched me at first viewing; and each time I watch it, it gets to me, down deep.

Each of us has his or her own definition of entertainment. This will not be everyone's cup of tea. Hopkins, Pitt and Forlani fans may enjoy the manner in which the script opens each actor. I can imagine each of them reading the script for the first time. I can imagine Hopkins reading it and deciding that the script would provoke from him a different set of subtle emotions, gestures and interactions in a different set of unique relationships.

Like a razor, the movie shaves life very close. Tomorrow and next year, I will need another shave, but the feel of the blade strikes me as quite different at 67 than it did 15 years ago when the movie came out. The film is also like a mirror, in that I find much in my own existence to think about and weigh in terms of happiness, success, expedience versus making truly authentic choices in life.

Jessica Chastain is an excellent actress, but she is not a True Believer, which is what Maya must be, in reality. In "Zero Dark Thirty," Chastain gives the role her best shot. During the course of the movie, she does manage to work herself up to an obsessive-compulsive fury for the cause of pursuing and killing Osama bin Laden, but it is almost like watching Tiger Woods miss a putt.

The willingness to die for her cause, blind faith and total allegiance, held together by the glue of hatred - these qualities propel the woman of words, the woman of action and the fanatic together. That combination is probably not very entertaining. It is probably very ugly, very off-putting to the judges at Cannes, the Golden Globe, the Academy Awards. To portray the real Maya, Chastain would have had to capture and project the sort of maniacal fury that her acting counterpart in "Coriolanus," Ralphe Finnes, projected. That wasn't pretty because it was raw ruthlessness, pure savagery, what the CIA calls termination with extreme prejudice.

I thought the first two hours of this film did a good job of depicting in almost mind-numbing detail, the realities of the bureaucratic labyrinth: the carping and the back-biting, the colliding egos and the rampant ambition, the governmental anti-terror organization operatives continually bumping into each other in an effort to reconcile political correctness with justice or retribution. I almost walked out of the theater several times, but I made myself stay put and watch, because I had to know how the entire movie unfolded.

Mark Savage and James Gandalfini projected far more knowing weariness, stamina, cynicism, real-world wariness and Machiavellian caginess than the other actors; and the movie began to interest me about the last 45 minutes of the film. That is where it began for me.

The rest of this movie was not taut, not gripping, not shocking, not convincing. There was way too much slack in the movie. I would have edited it so that it held the audience's interest like a Wallenda high over Niagara Falls on a slender wire.

Maybe it's just me, but I didn't learn anything new either about the pursuit, capture and assassination of bin Laden. Feelings are not facts, but the latter are important especially on the stage and screen. Actors are professional pretenders, and Gandolfini and Strong do more acting, grabbing my attention more than the other performers, with their eyes, their facial expressions, with gestures, commanding the very space about them, and the silence and the stillness. Such gifted performers do not even require language in order to act. I saw some of that power in Chastain when she began using her erasable marker on the window of her boss's office, but I never saw the person who would give up 12 years of her life to pursue, doggedly, irrationally, like some sort of female Inspector Javert, that illusive target.

Maybe it's just me, but I expected more tension, more suspense, more intense character development. I was disappointed.

I had read four reviews of "Django Unchained," and all of them contained very unflattering or harsh assessments of the film. After watching it today, I wonder if all of us watched the same movie.

The first reaction I had was and continues to be this: Tarantino has made a serious movie. The attention to detail is stunning. I wouldn't be surprised if the costumer earned an Oscar.

Leonardio DiCaprio is at his very best. And he's playing an elegant creep - or rather, he is someone flourishing in a creepy culture much of which is economically and emotionally accepted - the way the global drug culture is accepted by many today.

Christoph Waltz has the toughest role: trying to outdo the part he played in "Inglorious Basterds." In "Django Unchained," however, he serves his dramatic function ably.

Jamie Foxx is nearly perfect in his role as Django in a movie that runs on a bit too long, but Tarantino is so good as this sort of speculative revisionist history cum film, that it must be tough to turn the camera off. Foxx's performance is emblematic of much of the cast and the spirit of the film - authentic.

I was shocked to see how many capable actors like Bruce Dern have important brief cameos in the movie. Tarantino has assembled quite an effective aesthetic coalition, and, for the most part, this movie works. It makes the culture of slavery come alive in all of its horror, a culture based upon racial hubris.

Samuel L. Jackson is also at the very top of his form, exceeding my expectations as a sort of African American slave, Calvin Candie "Yes man," and majordomo of Candie's mansion. DiCaprio's visceral demonstration of phrenology at the dinner table is entirely chilling.

At the very least, this film will provoke intense discussion, argument, debate about slavery, segregation, the history of the American South and other cognate topics.

I read Tarantino's recent interview in "Playboy" Magazine, and I know he is quite concerned about his reputation, his legacy, and, chiefly, about not only keeping the quality of his films up, but, moreover, knowing when to quit. He cites the examples of many other seminal directors who continued to make movies and faded in promise, impact, or aesthetic greatness. Tarantino is only 49 years old. I hope he is not ready to quit, but if he did, this movie would not be a bad way to go out.

There is violence in the movie, but I don't feel that it is glamorized. The actual history of violence in 1858 as compared to the violence in this movie is tantamount to comparing a snowstorm to a snowflake. The idea of an African American avenger/savior/fast gun is believably handled, especially when the most powerful themes seem to be liberty, freedom, and love. As a revivionistic view of history, "Djano Unchained" is more believable than "Dances with Wolves."

I know that some, like Spike Lee, detest this movie. Just as many readers have seen Mark Twain's "Adventures of Huckleberry Finn" as a satire of racism, there are others who see it as promulgating racism if only because of the prevalence of the use of the N word. That will probably be the case in "Django Unchained" also. Had I grown up the victim of vicious racism, I might very well feel exactly that way.

I think "Django Unchained" is a well-made movie that takes its themes seriously. The fact that it has commanded so many fine actors and actresses to participate, and the fact that these artists are performing at the top of their form, represents a powerful testimony to the scope, the range and the achievement this movie signifies.

Many scenes in "Inglorious Basterds" seemed to be throw-away interludes, rather juvenile creations inserted in the form of a gag, a joke. This is not the case with "Django Unchained." I think this movie will serve as the launching pad for discussions about a period of American history that few if any are proud of, but as I think we saw clearly in the recent November elections, the battle for the freedom of women and minorities is far from over. Such battles apparently need to be continually fought and re-fought.

John Wayne always played characters from the persona of himself. Whether he was "Big Jake" or an African big game guide, Wayne was himself. Tom Cruise has been bruised for 30+ years for doing just that. One magnificent scene in "Cocktail," another short scene in "Valhalla," and his role in "Tropic Storm" demonstrate that the man can act. Not to mention his acting in "Magnolia." I think Cruise embodies the spirit of Jack Reacher in this movie. Translating print to celluloid is going to disappoint purists. I based my career as a language arts teacher, in large measure, upon using film clips to bounce my students' perceptions and critical opinions off the text. That strategy overcame immaturity, ADD, ADHD, chronic fatigue and other forms of resistance to pedagogy at the time. So, yes, I expect that a producer, director, screen writer and actors and actresses to interpret the literary work; in fact, I like to see different renditions of the same essential story. Isn't that what we continually have done with Shakespeare, Tolstoy, Chekhov and other master writers? There is certainly more to life and art than mere cloning.

I thought that Cruise brought a pensive intelligence to the character of Reacher. Richard Jenkins, Robert Duval and Rosamund Pike know how to let a moment simmer, not overplay it.

The fight scenes were realistic. Even though I expected them, saw them coming, they were creative, believable, explosive, emotionally- intriguing.

This is a movie I'd like to watch again after I've had time to assimilate it, process it, reflect upon it, but next time with the subtitles on, so I'll garner more that I missed when I was mostly privy to the ocular proof and not catching the auricular reassurance of nuances I missed or minimized.

I'd like to see Cruise do more of this series. I could not help wondering how much different the movie might have been with a Dolph Lundgren commandeering the title role. I'd love to see that interpretation, too. Different is often intriguing.

Tom Cruise is now 10 years younger than Paul Newman was when the two of them made "The Color of Money." There was a chemistry, a magic between the actor born in 1962 and the one born in 1925 then. They both loved racing cars. I couldn't help but notice some slippage in the driving sequences this time. Apparently, Reacher was a little rusty not only at the shooting but, moreover, at the driving.

I look forward to the manner in which Tom Cruise and every other actor and actress continues to challenge and stretch their talents and abilities in the future.

I got the strong sense from all of the artists on screen that they really meant every word, every gesture. They became the personages they were portraying on screen.

There is also a strong part of me that enjoys seeing miscreants, jerks, perverts, punks, and sadists get what they have coming to them.

This movie did a good job of achieving that goal.