Reeling Backward: "The Warriors" (1979)

I'd been meaning to see "The Warriors" for a long time. A modest hit with audiences but not critics in 1979, its footprint has grown as it has taken on a reputation that's somewhere beyond cult film status and less than cultural touchstone. If you're a Generation X male, this movie probably means something to you. If you're older or younger than that, or lack a Y chromosome, not so much.

"The Warriors" exists in a quavery dimension between silliness and sobriety that is largely impenetrable. Generally movies with a heightened reality take pains to let the audience see the smirk at the corner of their mouth to let the audience know that despite the brutality they're witnessing, it's not really meant to be taken seriously. Director Walter Hill, who also co-wrote the screenplay with David Shaber, does not tip his hand with any lighter moments to break the mood.

The story has both pulp and classic literary antecedents. It was based on the novel by Sol Yurick, who in turn created a modern-day version of "Anabasis," the most famous work of the soldier Xenophon. It involves an army of Greek mercenaries who find themselves trapped deep in the Persian Empire surrounded by enemies on all sides, and must fight their way out. In Yurick's vision, the soldiers are members of New York City gangs in a dystopian near-future where society is fraying around the edges.

Hill, though, approaches the material with a comic book mindset -- even separating the story into "chapters" with cut scenes that freeze-frame and transition to illustrated panels.

Then there are the various gangs, which are more like tribes mixed with theatrical troupes. All of them wear their uniforms or "colors," which range from the plain to the outlandish. There's a group who dresses like 1920s dandy boys in neon sparkles, brightly-hued clowns, thuggish skinheads and more. Each gang is not so much a military force squabbling over small sections of turf in New York's seven boroughs as an ethos that is constantly performed for an audience that consists mostly of each other.

In this we can see various cinematic ancestors. There are the Sharks and the Jets in "West Side Story," of course. What is their antagonism based on? The fact that they're in different gangs. I also think of the roving gangs of the Australian wasteland in "Mad Max," which came out the same year as "The Warriors."

But I believe the film that most heavily influences this one is "A Clockwork Orange." There the "droogs" dressed in outlandish mash-ups of fashion and eras of time, mixing 17th century codpieces with Prohibition bowler hats -- not to mention grown men wearing makeup. They are supposed to look ridiculous, but the fact that they're heartless killers makes their outlandish gear even more disturbing.

The Warriors, the gang that controls Coney Island, has an American Indian flavor, favoring buckskin vests over bare chests and even feathers and jewelry for some members. They are notable in that they appear to be the only one of 100 gangs invited to a big meeting in the Bronx who are racially mixed. Most of the others are split between white, black and Hispanic -- such as the Gramercy Riffs, a militant Black Panther-esque outfit that happens to be the most powerful gang in New York.

Cyrus, the leader of the Riffs, has called the meeting in an attempt to meld all the city gangs into one coherent force that will overwhelm the police and take over New York. He's assassinated by Luther (David Patrick Kelly), the head of the Rogues, who tool around in a 1956 Cadillac hearse and delight in causing trouble for its own sake.

The Warriors are fingered for the outrage, and so they must make their way back to the sea with every other gang howling for their blood. A largely unseen radio DJ keeps the "boppers" apprised of the progress.

Two scenes from the film have become certifiably iconic. One is Luther taunting the Warriors, clanging together beer bottles stuck on his fingers while playfully singing, "Warriors ... come out to plaaaaaaayyyyyy!!" It's emblematic of the entire movie -- a childish gesture intended as a chilling moment of deadly intimidation that plays out as a goof.

The other is a fight in a park between the Warriors and the Baseball Furies -- a gang that dresses in Yankees pinstripes with garish face paint. They carry baseball bats as weapons, and their leader whips his around like a master samurai in a Kurosawa epic. The scene is likewise a total guffaw, meant to be frightening but instead quite schlocky.

Other notable gangs that turn up to harry the Warriors include the Orphans -- low-level tramps who are infuriated at not having been deemed important enough to be invited to the conclave -- and the Lizzies (think "Lezzes"), tough girl gangsters who act as sirens to entice a trio of the warriors away from their quest, and then nearly kill them.

The Warriors themselves are more character archetypes than distinct individuals. Their leader, Cleon (Dorsey Wright), is killed by the Riffs as misdirected vengeance for Cyrus, leaving the stoic -- nearly mute, in fact -- war chief Swan (Michael Beck) in charge. He's challenged by hothead Ajax (James Remar), who quickly grows sick of all the running and simply wants to fight everyone, no matter what the odds.

Cochise (David Harris) straddles the thin line of hostility between the two would-be leaders. Rembrandt (Marcelino Sanchez) is the youngest Warrior, almost angelic, who marks their passing with spray cans. Cowboy (Tom McKitterick) wears a hat and Vermin (Terry Michos) is a lothario with a hairy chest.

It's interesting how lean and un-pumped the bodies of the Warriors are compared to the overmuscled Stallones and Schwarzeneggers of the following decade. It's also notable that most of the principle cast members were about 30 when the movie was made, though the undertone of spent youth would seem to indicate teenagers.

Movies of this ilk often have a totally extraneous and unnecessary female character, and here her name is Mercy (Deborah Van Valkenburgh). Women, including the Lizzies, are treated by the gangs as fungible commodities, to be bartered and won through combat. Indeed, the Lizzies entice Vermin, Cochise and Rembrandt by essentially offering themselves as sexual prizes to the Warriors to reward their prowess.

When we first meet her, Mercy is more or less the sex mascot of the Orphans. Immediately sensing that Swan and his gang represent a trade up, she abandons her old crew and tags along. It's never explained why she's there and why the Warriors tolerate her presence, since she's got a mouth on her. Swan or somebody is perpetually grabbing Mercy's arm, pulling her this way or that, demanding she stop slowing them down -- why, exactly, don't they just dump her?

The unreality of the Warriors' situation continually undercuts our ability to get caught up in their great adventure. For example, the Warriors are completely reliant on the subway system to get around -- virtually all of their battles take place inside a station or on their way toward one. It's amusing that these all-powerful gangs are considering a move to take over the entire city, yet they are almost entirely reliant on public transportation to get from here to there.

The Rogues seem to be the only gang that possesses both a gun and a vehicle. (The skinheads are the only others with mechanized transportation, piling onto a dilapidated dump truck.) Luther's use of a pistol is depicted as a dishonorable thing, a violation of the warrior (small "w") code that implies hand-to-hand fighting is the purest expression of combat. The Lizzies also have a gun, but it's not the same since, y'know, they're just girls.

2.5 stars out of four

Review: "Skyfall"

 Of all the taunts we’ve heard a dastardly villain sneer at James Bond over the last 50 years, I don’t think there’s ever been anything like this: “Your knees must be killing you.”

The cocky newly-certified Agent 007 played so vibrantly by Daniel Craig in “Casino Royale” is gone, replaced by an aging, edgier spy who’s been written off as dead – following a typically thrilling opening action sequence, culminating in a fistfight on top of a speeding train.

When Bond does turn up again, he’s haggard, bloodshot, twitchy and graying. He’s been seriously wounded, turning to booze and pills to dull the pain. The icy bravado is still there, but the hands are shaky.
The consensus, among friend and foe alike, is universal: Bond has lost a step.

And it’s not just 007. In “Skyfall,” which arrives a half-century after the first James Bond film, the entire espionage racket as practiced by MI6 is being condemned as antiquated and clunky.

Spy chief M (Judi Dench) is being urged into retirement. Politicians such as Gareth Mallory (Ralph Fiennes) are cracking down. Field agents like Bond are increasingly seen as antediluvian throwbacks, blunt instruments to be employed only when the technological wizardry of whippersnappers like Q (Ben Whishaw) won’t suffice.

Things are brought into stark relief when a mysterious antagonist manages to hack MI6’s database of secret agents and blow up a big chunk of their building, too. Suddenly, it’s the spymasters who appear one step behind.

As much as “Casino Royale” felt like a game-changer six years ago, “Skyfall” moves the ball further down the field. It is both grander and grimmer. The storyline is stripped down and spare, excised of extraneous supporting characters, distracting subplots and an emphasis on gadgetry.

When Bond receives his new field kit from Q, it consists of a gun and a radio transmitter. “Not exactly Christmas, is it?” he quips.

Even Bond’s legendary libido is shunted to a back burner, with the usual menagerie of “Bond girls” restricted to a fellow operative (Naomie Harris) who talks the talk but teeters along the walk, and the top villain’s henchwoman (Bérénice Marlohe), whose tale evokes more pity than sexual energy.

Speaking of the bad guy, he’s a distinct twist on the familiar, too. Played by Javier Bardem, Silva possesses some very reasonable reasons for wanting vengeance on M and MI6. Bedecked in flowing blond hair and an eerily languid manner, Silva is chilling despite seeming passive and off-kilter. He’s both synthetic and sympathetic.

In their first faceoff, which comes with Bond at a distinctive disadvantage, Craig feels like he’s been pumped to overflowing with testosterone, while Bardem has been drained of all his precious bodily fluids. The contrast is a startle.

Director Sam Mendes, known for cerebral irony like “American Beauty” and “Away We Go,” brings a divergent methodology to the Bond franchise. He seems to have approached the material with the idea of making a hefty dramatic spy story that just happens to feature James Bond, rather than trying to replicate what other guns-for-hire have done over 007’s long cinematic lifespan.

The action scenes are crisp but not overwhelming, adding spice to the narrative throughline without trying to supplant it. Chase scenes build tension rather than merely acting as connective tissue between exchanges of dialogue. We even get to learn something of Bond’s tragic familial history.

The screenwriting trio consists of Robert Wade and Neal Purvis, two veterans of other Bond missions, and chameleon John Logan, who’s done everything from sci-fi to sports to animation and historical drama … and done it all very, very well.

The final product is something old and something new, but with a burning blood-red heart. “Skyfall” is a steely marriage between old school and brave new world. It’s one of Bond’s best outings.

3.5 stars out of four

Review: "The Sessions"

Helen Hunt stands there naked – gloriously, completely and unconcernedly nude. She does not make any attempt to cover herself up or turn away, seeking the shadows. She’s just … there. All there.

This brazen, lingering show of flesh is notable because it is so different from our experiences with major stars like Hunt, who has won an Oscar and will surely be nominated for another for “The Sessions.” It’s a movie about sex that shows a whole lot of sex, but isn’t sex-obsessed.

This film grabs you in the heart rather than the loins.

Hunt behaves like this because her character, Cheryl, is a sex therapist hired to help a severely disabled man lose his virginity. Her body is her tool in trade, and she employs it without reservation or obfuscation. And the fact that she is so matter-of-fact about being naked soon renders it as no big deal for the audience, too.

Her client, Mark O’Brien, suffered from polio as a child and has lost all movement below the neck. He spends most of his time encased in an iron lung, and even when free of it must be wheeled around on a gurney by a helper.

This setup may sound like a crazy Hollywood concoction, but Mark and Cheryl and their story are real. A poet and journalist, O’Brien wrote about his experiences seeing a sex surrogate, and was the subject of a 1997 documentary short that won an Academy Award.

John Hawkes gives the performance of his career as Mark. Hawkes spends the entire movie horizontal, his chest heaved upwards in a rictus curve and his face tilted three-quarters upside down. But it’s the rich emotional center of this personification, not the physical tics and contortions, that make it certain he will join Hunt in being honored by the Academy.

Playing a man 15 years younger than himself, Hawkes employs a high voice that’s somewhere between impish and sprightly. Though he’s in his late 30s, Mark is troubled by his virginity and the way his sexual urges have gone unmet. “I need intercourse to prove I’m an adult,” he says.

Here’s another twist: Mark’s confidante is literally his father-confessor. Father Brendan (William H. Macy) is the parish priest at Mark’s church, who befriends him and offers advice – and tacit blessing – on his sexual adventure. The film approaches Mark’s Catholic faith with respect, but takes note of how it may have contributed to his inhibitions.

Soon enough Cheryl and Mark meet, and she begins tutoring him in the ways of physical intimacy. His first experiences are … rather abrupt, shall we say. Thus Mark proves that he is, in fact, quite normal when it comes to initial experiences at sex.

Things move on from there. Cheryl, who likes to keep a professional relationship with her clients, tells Mark up front that their time together will be limited to six sessions. The idea is to give her clients the tools and instruction they need to enjoy healthy sexual lives without them transferring an emotional attachment onto her.

But this time, Cheryl finds it is her who is developing feelings for this awkward, intelligent and funny man. We see a little glimpse of her home life (Adam Arkin plays the husband) and see why she would crave emotional intimacy in the same way Mark yearns for the physical side.

Writer/director Ben Lewin, who adapted the screenplay from O’Brien’s own article, has delivered a masterwork. "The Sessions" has a quirky but deep authenticity.

3.5 stars out of four

Video review: "The Amazing Spider-Man"

For an absolutely unnecessary reboot of the web-slinging superhero franchise, "The Amazing Spider-Man" is terrifically well-done. It attacks the character of Pete Parker, a nerdy kid who gets bitten by a radioactive arachnid, from a darker perspective than the previous trilogy.

Andrew Garfield, taking over the lead role from Tobey Maguire, draws a portrait of a socially ostracized kid who was probably headed to a lonely life of despair if he hadn't been turned into a non-caped crusader.

Becoming Spider-Man teaches him harsh lessons about responsibility -- particularly after his believed Uncle Ben (Martin Sheen) is slain because of his inaction -- but it also helps him come out of his shell, especially with regard to lady love Gwen Stacy (Emma Stone).

The heavy here is Dr. Curt Connors (Rhys Ifans), a scientist who becomes Peter's mentor as they try to unlock the secret of transferring the regenerative power of reptiles to humans. It does help Connors regrow his missing arm -- but also turns him into the fearsome, toothsome Lizard.

Director Marc Webb was an unlikely choice for a big-budget action film, his only other credit being the indie romance, "(500) Days of Summer." But Webb and the trio of screenwriters have made something genuinely new out of something old.

Please note, "The Amazing Spider-Man" will be released on video Friday, Nov. 9.

The film comes with a heaping helping if extras, even with the base DVD version. It boasts a feature-length commentary track by the filmmakers, deleted scenes, product art gallery and footage from stunt rehearsals.

Upgrade to the Blu-ray/DVD combo, and you add more than 90 minutes of behind-the-scenes documentaries, focusing on casting, story development, costumes, locations and special effects. There's also a Second Screen App for mobile devices with storyboards, interviews and more.

Opt for the 3-D Blu-ray combo and you add some featurettes on 3D imaging processes.

Go all in for the 4-disc Limited Edition Gift Set and you also get special packaging and collectible figurines of Spider-Man and the Lizard.

Movie: 3.5 stars out of four
Extras: 3.5 stars

Reeling Backward: "The Man Who Never Was" (1956)

"The Man Who Never Was" is a crime caper built inside a war film. It's the (mostly) true story of the one of the biggest hoaxes ever played, with the winner earning not stacks of money but sums of lives -- 30,000 Allied soldiers spared, by some reckoning.

Operation Mincemeat was one of the those things that sounds elegantly simple in abstract: British Intelligence would dump a body with secret documents detailing an Allied invasion of Greece -- not Sicily, where everyone (including their Axis enemies) was sure the blow would fall. The Germans would find the documents, route their forces elsewhere, and a victory secured with greatly reduced bloodshed.

And that's exactly what did happen.

In execution, though, the scheme was frighteningly convoluted and could have come apart at the seams in any number of ways. Ewen Montagu, the real-life intelligence officer who cooked up the idea -- adapted from one suggested by RAF Lieutenant Charles Cholmondeley -- wrote a 1953 best-selling book after his team's exploits were declassified. It, and the movie adaptation three years later, lays out all the details of the operation with some engaging storytelling.

It was such a fiendishly good idea, in fact, that the Allied forces tried replicating it several more ties during the course of World War II. German intelligence forces, of course, were none too keen on repeating their mistake. This actually translated into other instances captured cinematically in which the Germans ignored crucial intelligence that fell into their lap. For instance, there's a scene in "A Bridge Too Far" where a German soldier captures a map of Allied bridge objectives, but when he turns it in his commanders dismiss it as a ruse. That really did happen.

The chief challenge facing Montagu, played by Clifton Webb, was finding a body and preserving it in such a way that the Germans would think the man had died in an airplane crash at sea and his body floated ashore several days later. After consulting with medical experts, he convinces the father of a young fellow who died of pneumonia to donate the body, no questions asked. They would store the body in a special container filled with dry ice, and a submarine launch it a mile off the shore of Spain -- where the supposedly neutral government would cooperate with a German investigation.

The steps Montagu and his team (Robert Flemyng plays his sidekick) took to convince the Germans the body belonged to a real British Royal Marine were truly astounding. Dubbing the man William Martin, they concocted all sorts of fake papers and records. His death was published in the regular newspaper rolls of war dead. They even stuffed theater tickets, a clothing store receipt, keys and other personal articles into his pockets.

The most intriguing trickery was inventing a fiance for young Willy Martin. They enclosed a love letter from a fictional sweetheart in his pocket, and a receipt for an engagement ring. In the movie the sweetheart is played by Gloria Grahame as Lucy Sherwood, a buxom American gal who is the roommate of Pam (Josephine Griffin), Montagu's assistant. Spurned in her own romantic misadventures, Lucy dictates a convincing letter of yearning and regret that the intelligence officers find positively enthralling.

The last third or so of the movie is pure flimflam. It involves a German spy posing as an Irishman (Stephen Boyd) who is sent to London to inquire after Willy's activities to see if they're legit. This eventually leads him to the doorstep of Pam and Lucy, where the latter, having actually just been told of the death of her flyboy beau, convinces the interloper that she's genuinely devastated.

The culmination is Montagu and his men rushing over to the spy's whereabouts to arrest him, and suddenly pulling up and realizing they have to let him go. Otherwise, Montagu reasons, the Germans will have been tipped off to their ruse.

None of this occurred, but its makes for a satisfying conclusion to the movie. The real Montagu spoke approvingly of the changes -- he surely could not have minded being portrayed as a brilliant gumshoe in addition to a military intelligence strategist. The movie's final coda has Montagu placing the Order of the British Empire medal he received for his exploits on the fictional Willy Martin's grave in Spain.

In movie-making if not in war, myth always trumps history.

3 stars out of four

Review: "Flight"

In his long career Denzel Washington has played a lot of good guys, and a few notable bad ones, but I'm not sure if he's ever played a guy like the one in "Flight."

The story is about a pilot who saves a jet full of passengers when his plane suffers a major malfunction. But in the days that come after the crash, questions arise that throw his heroism, and even his entire self-conception, into chaos.

William "Whip" Whitaker is a puzzle, a mystery wrapped in a cocoon of bravado and patter. He's been fooling everyone else for so long that he's even convinced himself that he fits his role to a T: that of the savvy, calm, cool and collected airline pilot. The image he projects is of a former Navy fighter pilot hot dog turned safe and seasoned commercial captain of the airwaves.

But Whip's got a secret. He drinks. A lot. Does a little coke, too, to bring himself up after the buckets of booze have worn him down. But once he's in the pilot's seat, he reasons, he's all business.

Except that one fateful day something on the plane breaks, and Whip and his green co-pilot (Brian Geraghty) are forced to undertake a risky crash-landing maneuver. The upshot: a lot of people are hurt, but only six out of 102 are killed. People are calling it a miracle. The media is buzzing. In simulated recreations, no other pilot is able to replicate Whip's daring deed.

And yet, the blood tests say he was legally drunk when he did this.

From there, the story takes on an unsteady rhythm, as the narrative meanders here and pools there. The original script by John Gatins goes in directions we don't expect; some of them pay off, and others don't.

Whip is confronted by federal investigators, as well as the friendly head of the pilot's union (Bruce Greenwood) and the slick lawyer they've retained (Don Cheadle). Their job, they say, is to protect Whip. But the odds are dire -- he could end up lauded as a hero, another Sully Sullenberger, or put in jail forever.

His first reaction is like the rest of his life up to now: bluster. No one else could have landed that plan and saved those lives like I did, he proclaims. To him it makes no difference if he was legally impaired at the time, since obviously the booze and drugs didn't affect him enough to prevent him from amazing actions.

But slowly Whip descends into a torpor, hiding out at his grandfather's abandoned farm, swilling astonishing amounts of liquor. We get the sense we're seeing the real man Whip hides from the world, one who's self-pitying, arrogant and not a little pathetic.

In the hospital he meets Nicole (Kelly Reilly), a woman who overdosed on heroin. Her life is falling apart in much the same way as Whip's. Seeing a kindred soul in need, he gives her a place to stay when her money runs out. It's an unspoken but mutually understood arrangement that she will give herself physically to him as a reward.

Things build, slowly, to the big hearing before the National Transportation Safety Board. Will Whip straighten himself up in time to put on a convincing show? Can his lawyer get the toxicology report thrown out?
As it turns out, the movie is not really about these things. Rather, it's an exploration of a man's fragile psyche, and if he can recognize the failings underneath his brave veneer of competence.

This is the first live-action movie Robert Zemeckis has directed since 2000's "Cast Away," after an often regrettable decade exploring motion-capture animation. In many ways "Flight" is a return to familiar ground. Instead of being physically isolated, Whip is marooned emotionally. The trick to getting out of his trap is peering deep into his own self-reflection.

It's an engaging picture, and not for a moment was I ever bored. But I never quite got viscerally hooked into Whip's dilemma, or felt like we ever get to really know him. As hard as it is for him to reach out for help, we never quite get a grip on him.

3 stars out of four

Review: "Wreck-It Ralph"

A bouncy, boingy ball of candy-colored fun, "Wreck-It Ralph" is intended as pure entertainment for wee boys and girls. It's one of those animated movies that only really works on a single level, lacking the layers and cleverness of more ambitious flicks. But it's bound to keep the kids from squirming in their seats, and I bet most adults will find it a hoot to boot.

I took my 2-year-old along to the preview screening -- a first for both of us -- and he clapped and cheered, and made the sign for "more" after the end credits rolled. That's as good an endorsement as you'll get anywhere.

The script, by Jennifer Lee and Phil Johnson, manages to take something that's very familiar, video games, and put an original-ish spin on it. The idea is that the characters we see inside the arcade games are actually self-aware beings who perform for the person who's put a coin in their slot, but after closing time they have their own thoughts and lives.

It's the same basic premise as "Toy Story" -- what our playthings do when we're not around.

It's often been said that there's never been a decent movie based on a video game. "Ralph" trashes that notion ... though I should note that it creates a new fictional game as the centerpiece rather than using an existing game as its jumping-off point. But, then again, via the inevitable Disney merchandising tie-ins, an actual video game based on the movie is also coming out. So I'm not sure if this movie represents a sellout or a sell-in.

Wreck-It Ralph is a 9-foot-tall ox with a shock of red hair and torso and arms thick as redwoods. He sort of resembles a steroid monster version of John C. Reilly, which is appropriate since he provides the voice. It's a subtle vocal performance, letting Ralph seem both tough and tender.

Ralph has been the villain of a video game called "Fix-It Felix Jr." for the past 30 years. It's sort of a combination of Donkey Kong and Rampage, in which Ralph smashes up an apartment high-rise and sprightly Felix (Jack McBrayer) repairs the damage with his magic hammer. In the end the residents of the building pitch Ralph off the roof.

He doesn't get treated much better when they're off duty. Ralph lives in the junk pile next door, while his diminutive neighbors party it up in the penthouse. He's sick of being the bad guy -- even attending "Bad-anon," a support group for fellow video game heavies.

How do they get together? It turns out the characters can travel to and from each others' games via the Central Station -- aka the massive surge protector they're all plugged into. This way avatars from newer games can interact with older icons like Pac-Man and Qbert.

It raises some metaphysical questions, like if the characters in home game consoles are also sentient. Somehow I get the impression, though, that this state of bliss exists only in this one particular arcade.

Fed up with his squalid existence, Ralph determines to travel into another game and become a hero, hoping that winning a medal will earn him more respect. He chooses Hero's Duty, a generic militaristic first-person shooter in which armored soldiers battle alien bugs that can quickly replicate themselves.

Hot in pursuit is Felix, who hopes to set things right, and Sergeant Calhoun (Jane Lynch), the crusty star of Hero's Duty. The chase ends up in another game called Sugar Rush, a cutesy racing game in which everything is made out of cookies and candy -- even the go karts the little clique of snotty girl racers drive.

Here Ralph meets Vanellope von Schweetz (Sarah Silverman), who's an outcast in her own game because of her "pixlexia" -- a tendency to glitch out at inopportune times. The ruler of this land, the goofy but slightly despotic King Candy (Alan Tudyk), refuses to let Vanellope race because the human player might think the game is broken. This would lead to being slapped with a dreaded "Out of Order" sign, the equivalent of a death sentence in this world.

Director Rich Moore, a first-time feature filmmaker, has a good grasp of how to stage action scenes and balance them with quieter moments about friendship and doing the right thing even when you won't get credit for it. It never gets too deep or ooey-gooey emotional, which is a smart move for this material.

"Wreck-It Ralph" may not go down as one of the all-time great animated movies, but it's worth your quarters -- you'll need about 40 at today's ticket prices.

The film is preceded by "Paperman," a 6-minute animated short that's a gorgeous black-and-white, wordless depiction of love and happenstance in the big city.

3 stars out of four