Review: "The Happy Prince"

I sometimes imagine what Oscar Wilde would be like if he lived in our age. My guess is he would be the king of Twitter, dicing up issues of the day in devastating short poems, or host of a late-night talk show where he would bring on guests of a more intellectual bent than Stephen and the Jimmys, exchanging bon mots and some light flirting over martinis.

In the 1890s Wilde was the leading literary figure in England, dashing off popular plays, books and verse at a staggering pace. He was also a major star of what we would now call pop culture, a must-have on the upper crust social circuit.

That all came crashing down when was convicted of a crime for his more-or-less open homosexuality in 1895, especially an ongoing affair with the son of the Marquess of Queensberry. He served two years of hard labor in prison, and endured a penurious existence without the benefit of fortune or fame until his death in 1900 at age 46.

It’s this period that “The Happy Prince” chronicles. It is written, directed and stars Rupert Everett, who I did not recognize throughout the course of the movie. It’s a devilishly charming and deeply tragic performance, a look at a genius laid low for the crime of being who he was.

Self-pitying, manipulative and self-centered, it’s a portrait of Wilde that tries to show both his enormous talents and evident flaws.

He shambles about Paris and Italy, living off the generosity of his few remaining friends, such as agent Robbie Ross (Edwin Thomas) and actor Reggie Turner (Colin Firth), a meager allowance from his estranged wife, Constance (Emily Watson) and whatever he can beg or grift.

The story moves backward and forward in time, with glimpses of a vibrant Oscar at his prime, standing on stages before rapt audiences. We also see him immediately after getting out of prison, when he thought he was at his lowest, and also when he falls even lower. He does little writing, spending his time and meager funds on absinthe, cocaine and dallying with pretty boys.

Things grow tense when his former lover, Alfred “Bosie” Douglas (Colin Morgan) turns up and they rekindle their relationship. Oscar knows that he lost literally everything he cared about to Bosie’s family, but he can’t resist his pull. For his part, Bosie is a spoiled rich boy who enjoys being the most important person in the world to a great man.

The title comes from one of Wilde’s tales, which he used to tell to his young boys as a sad bedtime story. He writes letters to Constance begging her to take him back, though we suspect this has more to do with wanting to be in money again.

His affection for his estranged sons seems genuine, though, and he semi-adopts a pair of street urchin brothers as stand-ins. Ever a prisoner to his vices, though, he occasionally has sex with the teenage one.

The dialogue is beautiful and intricate, bits of actual Wilde writings intermixed with words that sound like something he would say. Everett issues much of this in a gravelly purr that is both evocative and often hard to understand.

“The Happy Prince” is the tale of the deeply unhappy last days of Oscar Wilde. He was a victim of his times, but also of his own avarice for pleasure and self-idolatry. One of our greatest talents was treated cruelly, especially by himself.

Video review: "Denial"

The British, while otherwise a fine people, have rather screwy libel laws. In the United Kingdom, when someone sues for libel, the onus is upon the accused to demonstrate the truth of their words, rather than the accuser to prove his or her claims. That’s the center of “Denial,” an Oscar-bait drama about an infamous Holocaust denier and the professor and team of lawyers who stood up to him.

In 1996 British historian sued American academic Deborah Lipstadt (Rachel Weisz) for calling him a denier of the Holocaust in her book. He in turned sued her and her publisher, Penguin Books, in British court. The story follows Lipstadt as she navigates the byzantine peculiarities of English law. The net effect of the suit is that her team will have to prove that the Nazi regime murdered millions of Jews, and that Irving has deliberately distorted evidence in order to argue against this.

Timothy Spall gives a bravura performance as Irving, a charismatic man whom we almost feel sorry for, until the hateful words spill out of him like muck from a befouled spring. The odd thing about Irving, at least in his cinematic depiction, is that he’s a self-deluded charmer who thinks he can have it both ways: claiming that the German mass incinerators did not exist, for example, while also insisting he’s not a Hitler apologist.

Tom Wilkinson is the third leg of this story as Richard Rampton, the barrister who leads the case on Lipstadt’s behalf. A diffident man who seems to take great pains not to provide his client with any kind of comfort or emotional support, he nonetheless attacks the case with a sort of quiet ferocity.

Directed by Mick Jackson from a script by David Hare, “Denial” is a pretty straightforward (recent) historical drama, showing us a famous event and fleshing out the people and motivations that lay underneath it. There are few surprises, but the trio of performances by Weisz, Spall and Wilkinson are magnificent enough on their own to put this on your must-see list.

Bonus features are rather slim, limited to a theatrical trailer and a mini-documentary, “The Making of Denial.”

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Video review: "Selma"

“Selma” was a good but hardly great movie. The fact that it received an Oscar nomination for Best Picture seems more a nod to the weight of the historical subject it tackled -- the civil rights struggle that brought about the Voting Rights Act of 1965 -- rather than the actual aesthetic merits of how they depicted it.

I found David Oyelowo alternately mesmerizing and off-putting as Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Director Ava DuVernay and her star have talked in interviews about their deliberate effort not to perform an impersonation of King. But the cadence of his speeches is such an important part of his legend -- so when Oyelowo purposefully avoids replicating that timbre, it subtracts from the power of those scenes.

(The filmmakers also weren’t helped by being denied permission to use the actual text of the speeches, so screenwriter Paul Webb had to whip up facsimiles.)

By far the most memorable part of the movie is the depiction of the brutal “Bloody Sunday” encounter between peaceful protestors and Alabama state troopers. Harrowing and vividly emotional, this sequence brings the dry history out of the textbook and into our eyes and hearts.

Other scenes, though, become a flat parade of supporting characters who struggle to erect any kind of identity.

In retrospect, the hurricane of controversy over the film “only” receiving two Academy Award nominations seems ridiculous. (It did win for best song.) The reason it didn’t fare better during the awards season is because it’s just not that great a movie.

Certainly worthy of our time, but not fawning admiration.

The film is being given a sumptuous video release with a host of extra features, though you’ll need to buy the Blu-ray version to get most of them. The DVD only comes with a couple of educational featurettes.

The Blu-ray adds several making-of featurettes, a music video of “Glory,” photo gallery, deleted and extended scenes, and two separate commentary tracks: one by DuVernay and Oyelowo -- I always love it when actors join their directors for these things -- and the other with DuVernay and her cinematographer and editor.

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Review: "Little Boy"

"Little Boy" is a little film that, like its main character, seemingly has no friends. I guess I'll have to do.

This sweet and, yes, somewhat sappy movie is being released into a few theaters with very little fanfare or media. (No screenings were arranged for critics; heck, we weren't even told it was coming out. I had to backdoor it to the studio's publicity chief to beg an online screener.)

It's a faith-based production, which tend to be seen as less legitimate by the press and audiences of a certain persuasion. As if stories and characters that come from the wellspring of Christian beliefs somehow cannot be worthy as, say, the latest horror flick or mushy romance.

I was raised Catholic myself, and if "fallen" isn't quite the right descriptor that requires being added to that designation, then let's just say I'm a few floors down from flush.

Still, the religious aspects of the film are not a wall but an invitation. I found "Little Boy" to be an utterly charming picture with a terrifically engaging performance by young Jakob Salvati as Pepper Flynt Busbee.

Pepper is being raised in the idyllic California fishing town of O'Hare during World War II. Eights years old, he's still the size of a toddler. Earnest and intelligent, Pepper wonders if he really is a "midget" like he keeps getting called. The local doctor (Kevin James) isn't sure if Pepper actually has dwarfism, or if he's just a "little boy."

Alas, nicknames like that tend to stick; soon all the other kids in town bully and mistreat him. His only friend is his dad (Michael Rapaport), who plays all sorts of games of imagination with him where they pretend to be cowboys, or pirates, or masked detectives, and so on. Their adventures always conclude with dad asking Pepper, "Partner, do you believe you can do this?!?"

The lad's faith is tested when Dad goes off to war and is soon declared a prisoner of war. Worse, Pepper follows his volatile older brother London (David Henrie) in taking his frustrations out on Hashimoto (Cary-Hiroyuki Tagawa), the local Japanese-American who suffers a similar ostracism from the townsfolk.

Father Oliver (Tom Wilkinson), the gutsy town priest, takes Pepper under his wing and advises him to keep his faith that his father will come home. The priest gives him a list of actions he must perform in order to build his faith: clothe the naked, feed the hungry, shelter the homeless, etc. Chief on that list, which is part penance and part hope, is to befriend Hashimoto. The slow, tenuous way in which the boy opens up to the "foreign" stranger are quite stirring.

But the boy is also taken with the idea of Ben Eagle, a magician/hero of the serial movies and comic books Pepper consumes. When a live stage version of Ben Eagle comes to town, Pepper is picked out of the audience to perform a feat of telekinesis that, of course, he believes is real.

In the kid's mind, the teachings of the priest and the charlatan sort of get mashed up together. Pepper begins to think he's capable of actual super powers, pointing his hands and groaning with concentration. Every evening performs does his prestidigitations toward the setting sun, where his father is a prisoner.

It's a great-looking movie, with authentic period costumes and cars, and bright, sun-dappled cinematography. Visually and thematically, it reminded me a lot of "Forrest Gump."

Some might dismiss the story -- director Alejandro Gómez Monteverde co-wrote the script with Pepe Portillo -- as pure pap. And it surely is an earnest, sentimental picture. But I believe "Little Boy" earns its emotions, by carefully showing how the characters arrive at their feelings instead of just assuming they're there.

And Jakob Salvati holds our attention, and our emotions. With his open face and green-gray eyes, he evokes a sense of inner toughness and sensitivity in equal measures. Emily Watson also has a nice turn as his mother, dealing with challenges from several fronts.

I'm really glad I saw "Little Boy." Sometimes, you just have to exert your will -- and show a little faith -- to achieve your goals.

Review: "Selma"

"Selma" has been mislabeled as "the Martin Luther King Jr. movie," which it is not, just as the three months of demonstrations for black voting rights in 1965 Alabama was not merely his doing. (Others had been organizing and protesting for two years before King arrived.)

The drama, directed by Ava DuVernay from a screenplay by Paul Webb, is a bit stodgy at times -- characters sometimes feel like they're reciting speeches instead of talking to each other. It also takes a bunch of well-publicized liberties with the historical record, such as depicting President Lyndon Johnson (Tom Wilkinson) as MLK's chief antagonist in opposing the Voting Rights Act, when the two coordinated closely.

(And it was Robert Kennedy who unleashed the FBI to spy on King on his cohorts, not LBJ.)

Still, it depicts several moments possessing great power, such as the recreation of the "Bloody Sunday" event in which state troopers ran down defenseless non-violent protestors marching from Selma to Montgomery. DuVernay brings to life the incredible struggles during the civil rights era, especially the pervasive sense of African-American being marginalized and oppressed.

Some of the quieter moments are the best, such as when a workaday woman (Oprah Winfrey) attempts to register to vote and is given an impossible citizenship test by the court clerk. (After correctly answering how many county judges are in Alabama, 67, she is instructed, "Name them.") The reality of Jim Crow would not begin to fade until hearts and minds were changed, not just laws passed.

I'm a bit ambivalent about the performance of David Oyelowo as King. Impressions are the shallowest portion of capturing a public figure's persona, but MLK's musical cadences during his speeches are so inextricably linked to his iconography that it's distracting when Oyelowo conspicuously avoids them. (Imagine someone playing Winston Churchill without the gravelly growl.)

Undoubtedly, some of this criticism is unfair. King is such a giant in our national heritage, the closest thing we have to a secular saint, that any attempt to depict him is fraught with all sorts of challenges. We bring so much baggage into the theater with us that watching the film becomes an exercise in separating our conception of him with what we see onscreen.

The movie depicts King as a man of great conviction but also one of cold calculation, who knew he was putting others in harm's way -- counting on bloodshed, even, to capture headlines and newscasts. In one somewhat shocking moment, he cheers the presence of a backward hillbilly sheriff, since he can be counted upon to split skulls and generate sympathy.

Webb's screenplay does a poor job of working in the other civil rights giants who organized the Selma protests, including James Bevel (Common) and Hosea Williams (Wendell Pierce). They wind up as a vague chorus of hangers-on and also-rans.

Stephan James stands out as John Lewis, then a college student beaten bloody during the march (and now a Congressman), as does Keith Stansfield as Jimmie Lee Jackson, murdered in cold blood by police.

It's rather disappointing that "Selma," directed by an African-American woman, does a rather poor job of representing black women in other than window dressing roles. Winfrey (also a producer) has little more than a cameo, and Lorraine Toussaint is a frequent, vivid screen presence who gets to say astonishing little. (Other than one contrived-sounding speech, she barely has any lines.)

Carmel Ejoga as Coretta Scott King is largely relegated to the home front, clutching and fretting over threats to her husband and children.

"Selma" is the sort of movie that earns respect but not ardor. It tackles a big subject, fleshes it out reasonably well, but labors to find the passion and beating hearts of those brave marchers in Selma.

Review: "Belle"

"Belle" is based on a true story, which is to say there exists the barest thread of historical record about Dido Elizabeth Belle, a black woman raised up in elite 18th century British society. The filmmakers then supplied their own story as to what her life would have been like, and link it to a seminal court case on slavery decided by her uncle, who happened to be the chief justice of the English supreme court.

The result is a splendidly acted, overwrought and largely predictable drama that plays out like Jane Austen with a social justice angle. It's a lot of heaving bosoms and men in tights and white wigs, and talk about maintaining one's "position" in the aristocracy while searching for a suitable marital match.

The twist is that Dido (a scintillating Gugu Mbatha-Raw), as the illegitimate daughter of a naval officer who dallied with a black slave, maintains most of the comforts of nobility while being constantly reminded that she will never be fully embraced by its members.

I admired much about the film while rarely being surprised or emotionally engaged by it. This is one of those movies where you can watch the trailer and obtain a snack-size serving of the entire meal.

Young Dido is given over to her aunt and uncle by her father (Matthew Goode), a naval officer who eventually dies. William Murray (Tom Wilkinson) raised himself up to the topmost heights of the legal profession through grit and idealism, though in his later years he's become more attuned to the rigidity of society.

His wife (Emily Watson) is none too pleased about having a "mulatto" in their house. But they pass her off as the companion of their other, legitimate niece, Elizabeth (Sarah Gadon). A few odd accommodations are made for the sake of conformity -- Dido is not allowed to share formal meals with her family or guests, for instance -- but she is shown genuine love.

Flash forward to the girls' debutante years, and a great puzzle emerges. Dido is left quite wealthy by her inheritance, but most great families reject her as a marriage match because of her skin shade and illegitimacy. Elizabeth is well-bred and vivacious, but left penniless after own father remarried and moved on with a new family.

Their salvation would appear to arrive in the form of the wealthy and powerful Ashford clan. Matriarch (Miranda Richardson) can't believe "how black" Dido is, but younger son Oliver (James Norton) is smitten -- not to mention, he needs her dowry to help launch his career. Older son James (Tom Felton) pitches woo at Elizabeth, despite his disgust at her cousin -- until, that is, he learns she has no inheritance.

Dido's true passion is for John Davinier (Sam Reid), a commoner who hopes to rise up through the law as Dido's uncle did, and becomes his pupil. But his romantic ideas about changing society crash up against her family's preference for a well-ordered life. Especially as it relates to the case of the slave ship Zong, a spectacular case before the high court in which 142 slaves were drowned at sea to form the basis for an insurance claim.

The cast acquits themselves well, with Wilkinson and Mbatha-Raw the stars of the show. But director Amma Asante and screenwriter Misan Sagay seem more interested in making a statement than really getting inside Dido's head.

"Belle" wears its sense of importance self-consciously, and turns a novel idea into a tiresome lecture.

Review: "The Lone Ranger"

So what’s up with a Lone Ranger movie where Tonto is the chief character? Who wears an expired crow on his noggin and death-head war paint? And the titular Ranger is a whiny, kvetching, annoying ball of tics who saps the film of energy every time he’s onscreen?

What it is really is “Pirates of the Caribbean 5,” with Johnny Depp morphing his doofy Jack Sparrow character into a loopy, reimagined Tonto impression.

“Pirates” director Gore Verbinski returns with screenwriters Ted Elliott and Terry Rossio (plus Justin Haythe) for a redo of the same formula: big action set pieces, cackling villains, a bevy of bizarre secondary characters and plot twists, a tone that veers between slapstick and ominous, and Depp pulling out another one of his precious, strange-for-strange’s-sake performances.

The result is a swollen mess, alternately inane and dull. There are a few crumbs of entertaining bits, like the birdseed Tonto keeps trying to feed to his bird-helmet. But they get buried under an avalanche of ill-conceived story concepts.

Here the Lone Ranger isn’t even a ranger; rather, he’s freshly-minted district attorney John Reid (Armie Hammer) returning to his Texas hometown in 1869. His train is hijacked by confederates of notorious outlaw Butch Cavendish, who’s being transported to his hanging.

(William Fichtner terrifically embodies the sun-creased blackheart, who has a silver tooth, wicked lip scar and a tendency to eat portions of his dead enemies. Cavendish is so good, in fact, the character feels wasted in the movie around him.)

John’s brother Dan (James Badge Dale) is the local Texas Ranger captain, and puts together a posse to go after Cavendish. He reluctantly includes John, whom everyone dismisses as a city dandy.

You know what happens next: the posse is trapped and cut to pieces, with only John surviving. He’s revived from death’s door by Tonto, who dubs him a “spirit walker” who can’t be killed in battle.

The running joke of the movie is how unfit John is to don the Lone Ranger’s domino mask. He can’t shoot, hates guns even, and is indifferent at the standard cowboy skill set. In fact, Tonto would have much preferred his brother Dan be the one brought back to life. He calls John “kemosabe,” which here means “wrong brother.”

Depp is clearly having a ball with the Tonto character, who speaks in the familiar broken English from the TV show and has an imperturbable mien. He is constantly stealing from dead bodies, replacing valuables with odd bits of junk, a practice he refers to as trading.

Tonto’s worst trade was one he made as a boy, which has an elaborate backstory involving two conniving white men, a river full of silver, a heavy-chained pocket watch and that crow.

All this might seem enough plot for a decent Western action/comedy. But then Verbinski & Co. pile on layer after layer of material, junking up the works.

There’s a paltry romantic triangle between Dan and John, with Dan’s wife (Ruth Wilson) and young son (Bryan Prince) caught in the crossfire. Tom Wilkinson shows up as the enterprising head of the railroad company connecting East to West. Barry Pepper is a preening, Custer-esque cavalryman.

Then things really get out there. Helena Bonham Carter plays a brothel madam with a past, plus an ivory leg with a shotgun hidden inside. And there are border wars with the Comanche – ostensibly Tonto’s people, though they are quick to disavow him as a loon.

And a mystical quest in search of an evil “wendingo” spirit. And a pale horse with seemingly supernatural powers. And corporate power struggles. And cannibal rabbits.

Oh, and the whole thing’s wrapped in a mournful framing device set in 1933, when a century-old Tonto, now relegated to circus sideshow, recounts his tale to a curious lad.

The absolute low point is when John and Tonto walk into a dangerous den and pull the old "we're the health inspectors" shtick, something used in every buddy cop movie, ever. Except it's 1869, when there were no such thing as health inspectors. When they complain the pickles in the bar are not refrigerated, I waited for someone to respond, "What's refrigeration?"

At a tick under 2½ hours, “The Lone Ranger” goes all in on “more is more,” until the audience wishes there was just less.

Or as Tonto might say, “Ten dollar for ticket to movie … not good trade.”

Review: "The Debt"

"The Debt" is one of those "problem" movies about which you hear ill tidings. It was supposed to be released in 2010, and purportedly was one of the serious, somber-toned films that was expected to vie for Oscar nominations. But then its release was delayed. And then, it was delayed again.

Sometimes these sorts of films are never heard from again, until finally being pushed out onto video without fanfare. In the case of "The Debt," it's being dumped into theaters at the end of the summer, which is only a slightly kinder fate.

Usually when a movie is handled this way, it's a clear indication the studio thinks the movie has serious problems. Perhaps reshoots or ordered, or a massive re-editing. In any case, a pushed-back release is never a good sign.

So I was pleasantly surprised to encounter a gripping, well-told drama with splendid acting by some seasoned performers as well as younger thespians playing the same characters 30 years earlier.

It's the tale of a trio of Israeli Mossad agents sent  in 1965 to track down and arrest a Nazi doctor who committed unspeakable atrocities during the war. Complications arise, the mission is compromised, and decades later they're still dealing with the consequences of their actions.

No, "The Debt" is not worthy of any Oscar talk, and the last third or so wades into a tar pit of melodrama which bogs down the narrative somewhat. But the film never failed to engage me, and I am the better for having seen it.
The story opens with young Rachel (Jessica Chastain), an untried interpreter-turned-agent. She is guarding a man tied up and gagged in a dingy apartment. From the kitchen, she hears a noise, and returns to find the prisoner gone. He attacks her from the shadows, tearing her cheek open with a sharp object, and after a struggle escapes and flees into the night.

Despite her wounds, Rachel staggers to the window and manages to shoot the man dead with her pistol.
But is this really the whole story? Director John Madden ("Shakespeare in Love") and a trio of screenwriters -- Matthew Vaughn, Jane Goldman and Peter Straughan -- are just winding up. The tale grows deeper, and more twisted in a labyrinth of emotions and morality conflicts.

We soon meet Rachel's older self in the 1990s, played by Helen Mirren. With the twisted scar on her face and disqueting mien, she's become a hardened woman not to be trifled with.

We also learn that Rachel eventually married, and then divorced, the leader of her team, Stefan, played by Marton Csokas in 1965 and Tom Wilkinson later in life. Stefan was a supremely ambitious young agent, who purused Rachel more out of arrogance than affection, and has become a powerful figure in Israeli government.

The coupling of Rachel and Stefan is perplexing, because from their first meeting it's apparent that Rachel is powerfully drawn to David (Sam Worthington), the third member of their team. Whereas Stefan is boastful and domineering, David is quiet and reticent in displaying his feelings.

Stefan wants to capture Vogel, the so-called Surgeon of Birkinauw, because it was be a major feather in his cap career-wise. David, though, is motivated by a burning desire to capture those who persecuted Jews and see them punished.

Cirian Hinds plays the older David, long missing from the scene and suddenly reapparing with an request that could turn all their lives upside down.

Vogel is played by Jesper Christensen in a mesmerizing performance that's a mix of loathsomeness and charm. Rachel first seems him by posing as a patient with a fertility problem, and the doctor seems genuinely kind and concerned for her (fake) dilemma. But then when things go awry with the plant to smuggle him out of East Berlin, he slowly reveals the blackest of hearts to the trio holding him. With his taunts and his needling questions, in many ways Vogel becomes the captor of the agents, rather than the other way around.

The romantic entanglements of the three main characters detracts rather than adds to the story, in my opinion. The scenes where Stefan makes his moves on Rachel, as David quietly seethes, have an obligatory feel to them.

Still, "The Debt" is a well-made film, featuring two trios of fine actors and a seventh memorably playing their quarry. This is a worthy movie, despite how it's being treated.

3 stars

Video review: "The Green Hornet"

"The Green Hornet" is what happens when smart people set out to make a dumb movie.

This hipper-than-thou would-be comedy can't decide if it wants to be a spoof of a super hero movie, or on homage to one. Director Michel Gondry and star Seth Rogen, who co-wrote the screenplay with Evan Goldberg, mock the conventions of the genre while indulging in them.

Interestingly, the Green Hornet -- who's best known to younger generations for a 1960s TV show co-starring Bruce Lee -- is one of the few costumed crusaders who didn't originate in a comic book. He started out as the star of a serial radio show in the '30s, followed by some cheapie movies, and only then did he show up in comics form.

Rogen plays Britt Reid, a petulant playboy and heir to a Los Angeles newspaper fortune. When his father dies mysteriously, he learns that the family mechanic Kato (Jay Chou) secretly built daddy an arsenal of weapons and gadgets, including a tricked-out 1965 Chrysler Imperial dubbed Black Beauty.

They decide to fight crime, but pose as criminals in order to infiltrate the underworld led by kingpin Chudnofsky (Christoph Waltz), who frets about his drab image.

Gondry ladles on the slo-mo fight scenes and cool stuff like the Green Hornet's sleeping-gas gun -- which makes up for Britt's decided lack of combat prowess. The running joke of the movie is that despite being the sidekick, Kato is the real muscle, and brains, of the outfit.

There's one or two really good laughs, but mostly "The Green Hornet" fails to sting, either as a super-hero flick or a send-up of one.

Video extras are pretty good, especially if you upgrade to the Blu-ray version.

The DVD edition is still decently stocked, with a feature-length commentary track by the filmmakers, gag reel and two featurettes on the writing of the screenplay and rebirth of Black Beauty.

The Blu-ray adds deleted scenes, several more featurettes and a couple of Easter Eggs, including Chou's addition tape.

Go for the 3-D Blu-ray/DVD combo pack, and you'll also get animated storyboard comparisons.

Movie: 1.5 stars out of four
Extras:3 stars

Review: "The Green Hornet"

"The Green Hornet" is what happens when smart people set out to make a dumb movie.

Screenwriter William Goldman famously wrote that there are only three kinds of films: Those that are meant to be good and are, those that are meant to be good and aren't, and those that were never meant to be any good. Depressingly, this last category is the largest, and where "Hornet" belongs.

It's less of a super-hero movie than a spoof of one. I'm all for making fun of a genre ripe for ridicule, but "Hornet" is loaded with action scenes and nervous energy and cool gadgets ... and not much you would really call funny.

I laughed out loud exactly once, and it was the very last scene in the movie where young newspaper tycoon Britt Reid (Seth Rogen) and partner Kato (Jay Chou) take extraordinary steps to preserve the fiction that the Green Hornet is a villain, instead of a hero. It's a genuinely clever bit, and I don't mind saying I got the joke a few seconds before everyone else did, and enjoyed a moment of solitary guffawing before everyone else joined in.

Interestingly, Green Hornet is one of the few super-heroes who didn't debut in a comic book. He started as a popular radio show in the 1930s, followed by some cheapie film serials starting in the early 1940s, and only then did he arrive in comic form. He's probably best known to recent generations for a '60s TV show.

Britt is a lazy, rich party boy living off the fruits of his father's newspaper empire, The Daily Sentinel in Los Angeles. But when dad dies suddenly and mysteriously, he discovers that his father had been ordering up all sorts of advanced weapons from Kato, his mechanic-slash-confidant. Britt, wallowing in booze and anonymous hook-ups, knows Kato only as the guy who makes him a really awesome cup of coffee every morning.

Rogen, who's made a career out of playing schlubby, chubby (though noticeably less so here) man-boys, is less charming when he's not playing a loser. Britt is supremely arrogant, not in a nasty way but with a presumption of superiority that drowns any affection the audience might develop for him.

After a late night hijinx to behead his father's statue monument turns into a dust-up with some thugs, Britt realizes he's found his calling: To become the city's masked protector. Soon he and Kato are cruising around in a highly modified 1965 Chrysler Imperial decked out with machine guns and missiles they dub Black Beauty.

The big pun of the movie is that Kato is the real muscle and brains of the outfit, but the Green Hornet gets all the attention. Kato is a genius with cars and weapons, and even invents a gas gun for the Hornet that knocks out his opponents. Kato can even take on six bad guys at once with his martial arts prowess, which allows him to see things in slow time.

Britt, of course, still thinks he's the top gun, and takes to dismissing Kato as his henchman or sidekick, leading to inevitable fisticuffs between them.

Neither has much of a notion how to act like a villain, though, so they recruit help from Britt's hot new secretary Lenore (Cameron Diaz), who works at a temp agency but somehow knows more about journalism than the people working there. Britt and Kato take turns hitting on her, even though she's, like, really old and stuff. (She's 36.)

The heavy is played by Christoph Waltz, fresh of his Oscar win for "Inglourious Basterds." He plays Chudnofsky, head of L.A.'s gangland. Rogen, who co-wrote the screenplay with Evan Goldberg, tries to make a joke out of the fact that Chudnofsky is so dull and un-flashy a villain. (James Franco, in a cameo as another gangster, dubs his fashion sense "disco Santa Claus.").

Later he renames himself Bloodnofsky and takes to wearing red in a lame attempt to dovetail on Green Hornet's sizzle. But it turns out the gag of a bad guy fretting about his lack of charisma quickly turns into a whiny bore.

Also hanging around is Scanlon (David Harbour), the smarmy district attorney who seems overly interested in how the Sentinel is portraying all the violence left in the Hornet's wake. We don't quite know what to make of him, but with his beady eyes and a name like Scanlon, we know it's just a matter of time before something nefarious turns up.

"The Green Hornet" is directed by French filmmaker Michel Gondry, whose work has not impressed me. (He's universally beloved by critics for "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind," but not by me.) Perhaps he, Rogen and Goldberg think they've made a really smart, hip film that mocks the conventions of the super-hero movie while indulging in them.

But somewhere along the way of trying so hard to be cool, they made the movie they wanted to watch, rather than the one anyone else might want to.

1.5 stars out of four

Review: "The Ghost Writer"

"The Ghost Writer" starts off at a slow boil, and for a long time the plot simmers without gaining momentum. It bubbles away and doesn't seem to be in a hurry to get anywhere. But then the last 30 minutes or so kick into high gear, with big reveals and satisfying twists.

It's based on the novel "The Ghost" by Robert Harris, who adapted it for the screen along with director Roman Polanski.

(Polanski was still working on the film when he was incarcerated as a fugitive from justice after raping a 13-year-old girl back in the 1970s. I won't linger on the debate about whether the Polish director is a great artist or a sexual deviant, other than to say I've never understood why people insist the two are mutually exclusive.)

"The Ghost Writer" isn't among Polanski's finest works ("The Pianist," "Chinatown") but it's certainly a worthy mystery/thriller.

Ewan McGregor plays the (unnamed) ghost, or ghost writer, for former British Prime Minister Adam Lang (Pierce Brosnan, clearly enjoying himself.) Lang -- who bears a not-at-all accidental similarity to Tony Blair -- was popular but drew criticism near the end of his term for playing poodle to American interests.

Just as the ghost arrives at Lang's secluded beach mansion to fix up the dry memoirs, one of his former ministers (Jon Bernthal) steps forward with allegations that his boss aided in the kidnapping of British citizens to be waterboarded by the CIA.

After Lang decamps to deal with the charges, the ghost starts digging into the mystery. His predecessor, a longtime Lang aide, drowned mysteriously on the same island, and the ghost finds photographs and documents among the deceased's effects that don't jibe with the autobiographical history Lang provided.

Lang's wife Ruth (Olivia Williams) gave up her own political ambitions to foster her husband's, and resents how his life overshadows and restricts hers. She certainly has charismatic skills of manipulation, which she's soon exercising on the writer.

The ghost's investigation eventually leads to the secluded house of a Harvard professor (a great Tom Wilkinson) whose connections to Lang may be more than meets the eye.

Mysterious men start following the writer around, as the cat-and-mouse game gains intensity and energy.

Nowadays most movies of this sort start out strong and peter out with an illogical or unnecessary ending. "The Ghost Writer" moves in the opposite direction, dithering early on and growing stronger and more purposeful as it goes.

The biggest weakness of the film is the ghost, who never gains any substance as a character. We don't know anything about who he is, so it's peculiar that a professed political agnostic would become so obsessed in ferreting out the truth.

I won't reveal anything about the big twist at the end, other than to say it will probably bolster the mood of those contemptuous of the Bush/Blair anti-terror strategy. For Polanski, the horrors of history are an ample springboard for his distinctive, neurotic style of filmmaking.

3 stars