Note: If you have any interest at all in seeing this film, I firmly advise that you go in completely cold and don’t read this until after you’ve seen it.

I don’t know if Chronicle is the first found-footage superhero film, but I’m certain it’s the best—and will remain so for a very long time. I had no idea what the film was about, and when it opened with a shot of a gloomy teenager filming the door to his bedroom while his drunk father angrily shouts to let him in, I groaned.

Goddammit, another one of those movies. When the kid said he was going to start filming everything, I groaned again. Dying mother? Ugh. Ugly kid clad in black? Blarg. By the time the kid started filming his cousin driving him to school and brought up Schopenhauer, I was about ready to check out.

Then it took a turn from the typical High-School-Sucks Movie into Horror, and I started to get interested. Then it took another turn into the Jackass realm. And just when I thought it would settle on Superhero Film, it just lingered on having a lot of fun with superpowers. But the best twists are saved until the end. Needless to say, when one character threw a baseball at another and it stopped dead in midair, I was hooked.

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Tim Heidecker and Eric Wareheim work best in sketches. If you’re reading this, I suspect you’re a fan of Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job!. If not, it’s a sketch show that’s best bits mock public-access television, from the strange and self-aggrandizing programs to those car commercials from the local dealer who insists on inserting himself into nearly every frame, regardless of appearance or vocal stylings.

All this is done with hyper editing, bizarre imagery, and hopelessly cheesy special effects. The trailer gives a pretty good idea.

Either way, it’s very creative but can’t last beyond a minute or so. And that’s the biggest failing of Tim and Eric’s Billion-Dollar Movie – the sketches are great, the main storyline is horrible.

I was in utter stitches at the opening commercial with Chef Goldblum (Jeff Goldblum, and the movie gets at least a star for capturing the only non-bad-ass image of Goldblum) and loved the actual billion-dollar movie itself, but then the lights go up and it all goes downhill.

Imagine if the sublime Jackass films actually forced the gang into an actual plot—and how traumatic an experience that would be.

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I didn’t know what to expect. From the endless trailer play The Artist received at the Landmark on Clark, I have to admit I didn’t have much hope. It looked too “artsy,” too cute, too self-important. That’s at least how it seemed. And then the reviews started coming in, and pretty much everyone was talking about it on all the movie podcasts. Still, I was holding out. Everyone could have been deceived by the gimmick of a contemporary silent, black and white film, right?

Of course, my preconceptions were wrong (I still think the trailer mis-markets the film): The Artist is a wonderfully fun and entertaining film, and that makes up for whatever high pretensions it may have. The story is basically the same as Singin’ in the Rain: A successful silent film star struggles to adapt to sound while the woman he loves becomes a huge star.

The year is 1929, the place is Hollywoodland, and the falling star is George Valentin (Jean Dujardin), a mix of Douglas Fairbanks, Harold Lloyd, and William Powell (and Valentino, too, I guess) with the ruggedly charismatic face of Sean Connery and the natural cheeriness of Gene Kelly. And that description is not lifted from Roger Ebert’s review—I’d be surprised to see a review that didn’t mention it.

Anyway, on his way out the door from his latest premiere, Valentin bumps into one of his fans, the slightly ditzy flapper Peppy Miller (Bérénice Bejo). He shrugs it off and poses for a quick photo with her.

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I think George Lucas deserves some credit where it’s due, and say what you will about the prequels, the opening to Revenge of the Sith, with the dogfight over the planet was pretty awe-inspiring. So when the trailer for Red Tails came out, I was excited to see a Lucasfilm production that focused mainly on one of the strengths he still had.

And I’m pleased to say that he’s still got it. The dogfights in Red Tails look good, give a good sense of whose plane is whose (with the exception of the opening battle), further the plot, and build on each other. You can see the Lucas touch of following one plane during its flight then latching on to another.

In one sequence, a group (squadron?) take down a train, with one pilot taking it head on. Another shows how the under-equipped planes of the heroes are able to fight with lightning-fast German jets.

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I tend to think of Scorsese as a master of genre films—he’s done gangster films (Goodfellas, Casino), comedy (After Hours, The King of Comedy), police drama (The Departed), psychological thriller (Shutter Island), boxing (Raging Bull), biopic (Kundun, The Aviator, No Direction Home), concert (Shine a Light), historical (Gangs of New York), literary classic (The Age of Innocence), even a remake Cape Fear) and a sequel (The Color of Money)—but he tends to bring such a distinct touch to the films, they don’t quite feel like genre films.

So when I heard he was taking a stab at a kiddie flick, Hugo immediately shot to my most anticipated Scorsese film to date (outside, of course, of the fictional film he was making with Larry David as the money-hurling mob boss in Curb Your Enthusiasm)—added to that who wouldn’t be interested in Scorsese’s take on 3D?

And Hugo doesn’t disappoint. It’s not the most compelling story, but for all its two-hour-seven-minute running time, I wasn’t bored once. There’s a lot more going on, and I’ll get to that in a moment, but first the rundown.

Hugo Cabret (Asa Butterfield) is an urchin who haunts a Paris railway station in the early 1930s, repairing its clocks and stealing various cogs and sprockets to rebuild the homunculus he and his father (Jude Law) were working on right up to his death. While Hugo tends to remain out of the sight and mind of the station Inspector (Sacha Baron Cohen), he’s less successful evading the eye of the toymaker he robs (Ben Kingsley). Caught trying to thieve a wind-up mouse, he’s forced to give up his father’s notebook, which includes all the instructions on repairing the mechanical man and provokes a strange reaction from the toymaker.

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There’s a breezy charm to Jonah Hill. His nervousness is not on the level of Michael Cera, nor is he as biting a social observer as Seth Rogen. He just eases into the world, fires off some quips, and seems perfectly happy to stay where he is—good enough is good enough, and that’s just fine. Though that’s the roles he plays, I can’t speak much for the guy himself.

Nevertheless, The Sitter recognizes that and enjoys putting him in every situation possible to make him squirm. Jonah plays Noah (both biblical names, and both would be appropriate to describe the character), a 20-something jobless slacker with priors living at home with his single mother. If that weren’t enough, his something of a girlfriend Marisa (Ari Gaynor) refuses to, uh, toss him a lifejacket when he goes swimming below the equator (that’s so vague I’m not sure I even get it). And he’s dad’s a crook who ran away with Noah’s sitter, fathered another child, and runs a successful diamond business while neglecting to pay alimony. Damn.

Through a series of events (what the hell—his mom has a double date, the other couple’s sitter cancels, and Noah’s guilted into filling the role), Noah ends up as sitting for some friends three children, whose personalities range from closeted homosexual (not really a spoiler, since it’s announced in the kid’s first scene), trash-diva-in-training, and Danny Trejo’s illegitimate child—Slater (Where the Wild Things Are‘s Max Records), Blithe (Landry Bender), and the adopted Rodrigo (Kevin Hernandez), respectively.

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The Skin I Live In is an immensely bold and engaging film of perfect gray. “Gray” in the sense that it’s certainly not white, or light, and yet, not black, either. At the core is a redemptive love, but the path that leads to that love is, if one steps back, wholly repugnant. That director Pedro Almodovar (Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, Talk to Her) is able to show us the chain of events in a plausible, sympathetic, and, not the least of which, compelling way, is a height of craft and human understanding.

If that description seems vague, it should be, because the film’s greatest strength is drawing you in with unexplained details only made clear after the events have transpired. An example: Early on we see a lab, with blood samples, high-tech equipment, and then bees.

Wait, what the hell are those doing here? And then beetles. Why are they there? To provide a tinge of intrigue, of course. The shots are quick, and the explanation comes seconds later, but it’s a moment that represents the whole of Almodovar’s approach. Of course, others like it range from just as casual to much, much more elaborate.

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Upon leaving J. Edgar, neither my buddy nor I could nail down the point of what we just watched. Was it a hard look at the man? The film takes a vague stance on Hoover’s actions, and there’s not a very well-defined character arc—Hoover starts out as a stiff prima donna and ends up pretty much the same. And it’s certainly not an action flick.

The best I can surmise is that it’s a look at the relationships of someone who closed himself off from all human contact. Maybe that’s the reason the film’s titled “J. Edgar”–the first name is closed off while the second is used. There’s a lingering shot of the first time Hoover signs his name as such, so it’s obviously important, but then again the context is Hoover opening a new account in a men’s clothing shop. Anybody’s guess.

Hoover is played by Leonardo DiCaprio, using a slightly affected accent that’s not quite convincing but isn’t distracting. He goes through a number of emotions, and I suppose plays that part well, but I think the weakness is in the writing: He’s just not a very compelling character. Of course he’s underplayed and quiet—that’s the point, right? But even a dull character well played is still a dull character.

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The best performance in Tower Heist comes not from its most bankable stars Ben Stiller and Eddie Murphy, rather it’s the nervously underplayed schlub Mr. Fitzhugh, an out-of-work stockbroker played by Matthew Broderick, who’s channeling parts of Bob Newhart and parts of Bert Lahr’s Cowardly Lion. Director Brett Ratner (Rush Hour) tends toward broad comedy, but the funniest bits by far are Broderick’s subtle squeaks of concern.

There’s a scene early on when he’s being evicted from his apartment. The living room is completely empty save for two tents. Broderick explains to the building manager that he’s sold all the furniture. “I told the kids we’re going green,” he gives a resigned shrug, “my kids aren’t very smart.”

The manager is Josh Kovacs (Ben Stiller), who’s been working at the building for years and is the golden boy of its owner Arthur Shaw (Alan Alda), a Madoff-inspired Wall Streeter who, we learn, has taken the employees’ pensions and either stolen them or made some really bad investments (the movie never really makes it clear, but since he’s rich, he’s automatically bad, I guess). The Feds, led by the sexy Claire Denham (Tea Leoni) naturally swoop in to cart off Shaw for some SEC violations, leaving little hope for the tower employees to recover their life savings.

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Like director Andrew Niccol’s previous film Gattaca, In Time is devoted more to its concept than showing car chases, fist-fights, shoot-outs, and your basic action staples. All those things are in the movie, but mostly they provide breaks from exploring the film’s dystopian world.

It’s a few hundred years in the future, and the worldwide currency is time. Human beings have been genetically altered to stop aging at 25, and from there, they get one year; if they don’t start working, or if they’re lucky enough to be born into a timely family, they’ll die once their clock winds down.

Everyone’s time is tracked by a digital counter in their arm, and they can exchange time by shaking arms or putting them in metal containers that store time. If you want to rob someone, it takes only a forceful arm-shake, and then plop they’re dead, and you have a few extra weeks, months, or years to live.

The wealthiest individuals can live forever, but the poor literally live day to day, and it’s nearly impossible to move up in society because the classes are physically confined to time zones. Travel between them is allowed but costly.

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Is it a sequel? A prequel? A remake? A premake? Yes.

Director Matthijs van Heijningen, Jr. (yes, that is a real name) takes a lot of inspiration and most of the story from John Carpenter’s 1982 classic, the only ostensible difference being that this film takes place in the Norwegian camp immediately before the events of Carpenter’s.

The Norwegians unearth the titular Thing and call in some American paleontologists, among them the comely Kate Lloyd (Mary Elizabeth Winstead), a young graduate student whose major qualification is that she provides a reason for the movie to be in English.

And from there, it plays out as you’d expect.

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Sorry for missing last week. My sister was getting married, and it put the kibosh on reviewing the Parks and Rec opener, which I wasn’t even aware had premiered until it came up during the reception, between one of my friends and cousin Jane, both of whom raved about it while I bit my tongue, cheek, lip, and anything with gnawing range for having missed it.

They also mentioned that next week’s episode would feature a drinking contest between Tammy I, Ron’s mom, and Leslie. Add to that the fact that the episode is titled “Ron & Tammys,” the Ron-and-Tammy episodes being among the series’ best, I was very excited for tonight.

But to back up a bit, we’re finally introduced to what we can only believe is the demon whose evil outdoes even Satan (Tammy II): Tammy I (Patricia Clarkson, looking sexy in an appropriately red dress). The cliffhanger that Season 3 ended on, where Leslie told Ron that Tammy I was waiting in his office (and scaring away Tammy II with a mere shot of I’s shoes) certainly lived up to the hype, and, just to reinforce it, there was a great scene last week when Tammy I put April in her place (and further magnified the threat by having her work for the IRS and auditing Ron).

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