Capsule reviews of films playing the week of Aug. 12 

Current Releases

ANGELS & DEMONS Angels & Demons, the follow-up to the international smash The Da Vinci Code, feels like nothing more than a cross between a Frommer's travel guide and a scavenger hunt, as Harvard symbologist Robert Langdon hits all of Rome's holy hot spots gathering up clues as if they were empty Dr. Pepper bottles or grimy 1992 pennies. The events in author Dan Brown's Angels & Demons actually take place before those in Da Vinci, but for the sake of movie audiences, the pictures follow a chronological trail, so that the new film finds the Catholic Church putting aside its dislike of Langdon (Tom Hanks) based on his Da Vinci discoveries so that he may help the organization with its latest crisis. It appears that the ancient group the Illuminati, the Catholic Church's sworn enemy from way back (the film posits the warring factions as if they were the Hatfields and the McCoys), has been resurrected, and its new kids on the block have not only taken to assassinating the candidates for the post of Pope (couldn't they have gone after Miss USA contestants while they were at it?) but also planting a time bomb deep within the bowels of the Vatican. Naturally, it's up to Langdon and his beauteous Italian sidekick (Ayelet Zurer, as bland a companion as Audrey Tautou proved to be in Da Vinci) to save the Cardinals, the Vatican and Rome all in a single bound. Ron Howard's direction is about all this film has going for it, as his need for speed distracts audiences (to a point) from the fact that the script is a shambles, relying too heavily on absurd developments and lengthy explanations to move the action from Point A to Point B (or, more accurately, from one Italian landmark to another). And watching Hanks embody such a vanilla role as Robert Langdon is akin to watching a Nobel Laureate reduced to washing diner dishes for a living. **

AWAY WE GO One of the best films of 2008, director Sam Mendes' Revolutionary Road offered a powerful and penetrating study of a bickering couple trapped by the conformity they felt defined – and controlled – their lives. Mendes' latest picture takes a different tack, examining a loving pair who forge their own path in an attempt to find their place in the world. It's a nice about-face for the director, even if the results prove to be wildly uneven. Working from a script by Dave Eggers and Vendela Vida, Mendes focuses on Burt (John Krasinski) and his pregnant girlfriend Verona (Maya Rudolph), who travel far and wide in an attempt to figure out the best place to raise their child. Initially, they're mainly forced to contend with folks who behave outrageously – Burt's parents (Catherine O'Hara and Jeff Daniels) and Maya's former boss (Allison Janney) among them – but calmer visits to old college chums (Chris Messina and Melanie Lynskey) and Burt's brother (Paul Schneider) allow them to take stock of their situation in a more clearheaded manner. Away We Go is an introspective piece about young people wrestling with the notion of what truly constitutes the cherished notions of "home" and "family," yet even indelible comic turns by Janney and Maggie Gyllenhaal (as a New Age weirdo who believes it's important for children to watch their parents having sex) can't completely subjugate the smugness and self-importance that alternately raise their heads through the first half of the film. The second part is more affecting, though it similarly suffers from an episodic structure that curtails some segments before they reach their full potential. **1/2

BRUNO To paraphrase Lloyd Bentsen's smackdown of Dan Quayle during the 1988 Vice Presidential Debate: "Bruno, I screened Borat; I knew Borat; Borat was a review of mine. Bruno, you're no Borat." Perhaps not, but there's still plenty of laughs to be found in Bruno, which finds creator Sacha Baron Cohen employing the same guerilla tactics and faux-documentary style that made Borat such an unlikely box office winner back in 2006. This time, the uncompromising comedian adopts the personage of Bruno, a gay Austrian model determined to become an A-list Hollywood celebrity. That's easier said than done, as Bruno's flamboyance repels practically everyone he meets. It's rather disingenuous the manner in which Cohen has suggested that Bruno is an attack on homophobia, since the end result strongly suggests that the filmmaker is having his cake (or cock, as Bruno would doubtless mispronounce the word) and eating it, too. The first half of the picture provides some hysterical material, but what's the target being punctured? Cohen is at his best when nailing specific people, but he's less successful when trying to shock viewers with naughty gay routines that encourage the audience to laugh at him rather than with him. Fortunately, the picture hits its stride in the second half, when Cohen exclusively sets his sights on various bigots, including monosyllabic Alabama hunters, extreme-sports-loving rednecks, and, most reprehensible of all, two vile Christian counselors who bill themselves as "gay converters." These scenes provide the film with the clarity of mission lacking in the earlier segments, as Cohen expertly alternates between subtly mocking his subjects and outright infuriating them. **1/2

(500) DAYS OF SUMMER The beauty of this utterly winning picture is that it doesn't live in a generational vacuum: Like the best films of its kind, its tale of young love (and all the accompanying trials and tribulations) will speak to all ages. Joseph Gordon-Levitt stars as Tom Hansen, a sweet kid who works for a greeting card company. Into the workplace walks new employee Summer Finn (Zooey Deschanel), and Tom is immediately smitten. Summer, however, isn't on the same page: More cynical in nature, she doesn't particularly subscribe to the notion of true love and sees Tom as a "friend with benefits." Tom does his best to keep their union afloat, but he obviously has his work cut out for him. Rather than spill the story in chronological order, this jumps back and forth to various points in the relationship, showing the pair happy one minute and gloomy the next. In the wrong hands, such a decision might have turned out unwieldly or awkward, but here the scenes flow smoothly, making sense not only narratively (on-screen markers always alert us to the day being shown) but also emotionally, allowing us to fully understand and appreciate how earlier incidents might affect the characters' mindsets during later ones. Ultimately, none of this would work without the proper actors, and Gordon-Levitt and Deschanel are adorable talents whose open faces and inviting eyes seem to allow audiences access to their very psyches. Because of them, we find ourselves completely invested in Tom and Summer, and their love story becomes our love story, warts and all. Don't miss the brilliant cameo of sorts by a Star Wars character, the result being the funniest moment in any film released thus far in 2009. ***1/2

FOOD, INC. The documentary Food, Inc. is the perfect bookend movie, adaptable to many double-feature bills. When paired with Super-Size Me, it serves as the "before" shot, showing how those hamburgers came into being (so to speak), and how they're made so tasty – and unhealthy. When paired with The Corporation (still the scariest movie I have ever seen), it functions as a particular case study of the evils detailed in that earlier picture, which was all about how these United States of America have been reconfigured to operate as nothing more than the personal (and profitable) playgrounds of a few select conglomerates and their insidious overlords. Heck, it can even be paired with Howard Hawks' classic Red River, in which Wild West cowboy Thomas Dunson (John Wayne) delivers an impassioned speech about the personal satisfaction of herding cattle and feeding the populace ("... Good beef for hungry people. Beef to make them strong; make them grow ..."). Poor Thomas would (pardon the pun) have a cow if he could see the mechanical means by which animals are slaughtered today. Yet while Food, Inc. contains its share of queasy sequences (the peek inside the chicken house is especially unsettling), its focus is primarily on the manner in which the corporations have long taken over the entire food industry, in essence deciding what we eat and calculating how best to maximize their own profits (there's a reason sugary snacks and Happy Meals cost less than broccoli and asparagus). The result is that animals are brutalized, honest farmers are ruined, and clueless consumers become ever more obese. This documentary will doubtless rank as the year's most depressing movie, as it often feels like our fates have already been sealed. Food, Inc. offers plenty of food for thought, but, as expected, there isn't much here to nourish the mind or soul. ***

FUNNY PEOPLE What distinguished writer-director Judd Apatow's previous films (Knocked Up and especially The 40-Year-Old Virgin) from most of the doltish fanboy comedies hitting theaters these days (The Hangover, for instance) is that he made sure to include genuine characters rather than stock types in his stories and made us care enough about them to allow the movies to resonate beyond their nyuk content. Funny People is even more ambitious – it wants to make us laugh and cry and ruminate and perhaps even start Oscar buzz – but it never properly merges all of its disparate elements into an organic whole, resulting in viewer whiplash as it repeatedly starts and sputters. Adam Sandler is cast as George Simmons, a Hollywood star who's just been diagnosed with a potentially fatal strain of leukemia. After the obligatory bouts of self-pity, he tries to move ahead, first by hiring rising comic Ira Wright (Seth Rogen) to write material for him and then by trying to rekindle a romance with Laura (Leslie Mann, Apatow's real-life wife), an ex-fiancee now married to an Australian businessman (Eric Bana, stealing the show). Criminally overlong, this is so overstuffed with incidental material – Ira's thorny relationship with his two more successful roommates (Jonah Hill and Jason Schwartzman), his tentative wooing of a deadpan neighbor (Aubrey Plaza), George's schmoozing with countless celebrities playing themselves (Sarah Silverman, Paul Reiser, Eminem, etc.), an endless stream of dick jokes – that the George-Laura storyline doesn't even materialize until the film's second hour. Apatow clearly meant to further his reputation with this ambitious effort, but the end result, sad to say, is no laughing matter. **

THE HANGOVER It's what's known as putting matters in perspective. Folks who bash Judd Apatow for his various endeavors need only catch The Hangover to see that it's unfair to dismiss his pictures simply because they refuse to always toe the politically correct line. What's more, the majority of his films benefit from fluid plot developments, interesting characterizations, and gags that remain funny even in retrospect – conditions not enjoyed by this slapdash effort in which soon-to-be-married Doug (Justin Bartha) heads to Las Vegas to enjoy a final blowout romp with henpecked Stu (Ed Helms), dimwitted Alan (Zach Galifianakis) and prickish Phil (Bradley Cooper). After waking up to discover that the husband-to-be is MIA, the trio stumble around Vegas trying to piece the mystery together, a taxing jaunt that puts them in contact with two sadistic cops, a sweet-natured hooker (Heather Graham), and a pissed off Mike Tyson (as himself). That a convicted rapist like Tyson would be showcased in such fawning, reverential fashion ("He's still got it!" admires Stu after the former boxer decks Alan) pretty much reveals the mindsets of the filmmakers and their target demographic. This represents the worst sort of pandering slop, the type that appeases impressionable audiences who don't even realize they're being insulted. It insinuates that practically every man is a shallow asshole who revels in his Neanderthal habits, and that every woman falls into the category of shrew or whore. Unlike Apatow's characters, recognizably flawed people who nevertheless remain likable and interesting enough to earn our sympathies, these dipshits are neither funny enough nor engaging enough to command our attention as they wander through a series of set-pieces that reek of comic desperation rather then genuine inspiration. *1/2

HARRY POTTER AND THE HALF-BLOOD PRINCE In terms of sustained quality, I daresay that the Harry Potter franchise trumps all other series featuring more than three entries – and now here's the sixth installment to add more fuel to the fiery debate. Chris Columbus was unfairly lambasted in some quarters for the first two Potter pics, but I think his comparatively lighthearted approach worked since the early chapters were as much about the Disneyland appeal of the Hogwarts school as anything else. But as J.K. Rowling's books progressed, the child actors matured, and the directors changed, the franchise began to take on a decidedly darker tone, with a likable character killed off in each of the three most recent works and teen protagonists Harry (Daniel Radcliffe), Ron Weasley (Rupert Grint) and Hermione Granger (Emma Watson) continually having to contend with raging hormones that prove to be as challenging to conquer as any Dementor. Here, there's the feeling that the bad guys are winning, and Hogwarts headmaster Albus Dumbledore (Michael Gambon) needs to quickly come up with some sort of game plan. He enlists the unwitting aid of a former professor, the jovial if distracted Horace Slughorn (Jim Broadbent), and instructs Harry to discreetly probe him for information that might help them defeat Voldemort and his minions. Harry takes on the task, albeit not at the complete expense of a social life. He finds himself becoming increasingly attracted to Ron's younger sister Ginny (Bonnie Wright, the weak link in the cast), even as Ron and Hermione continue to be drawn to each other. Director David Yates mixes personal scenes involving the students with more weighty material that furthers the blackest aspects of the saga. These latter-named segments are suitably moody – and often allow the FX team to show off their handiwork – yet the heart of the piece remains the interactions between the characters, both teen and adult. ***

THE HURT LOCKER Who knew that director Kathryn Bigelow was anything other than a Hollywood hack? Sure, sure, she's had her supporters, but practically all of her past projects have favored cold style over warm substance. The justly forgotten Blue Steel was one of the worst films of the 1990s, Point Break was merely daft masturbation fodder for fans of Patrick Swayze and/or Keanu Reeves, and the Harrison Ford dud K-19: The Widowmaker was so dull that just writing about it makes me... zzzzzz. Where was I? Oh, yes, getting ready to praise Bigelow for a tightly wound film whose few flaws can be found in Mark Boal's screenplay rather than in her own potent direction. Boal, who co-wrote the only other worthy Iraq War film to date (In the Valley of Elah), has elected this time to focus all his attention on the soldiers who are placed in the line of fire. The Hurt Locker follows the three members of a bomb squad plying their trade during the last six weeks of their tour of duty in 2004. Staff Sergeant William James (Jeremy Renner) is the leader of the outfit, a man as reckless as he is efficient when it comes to defusing bombs. Sergeant J.T. Sanborn (Anthony Mackie) is the most professional – that is to say, most stable – member of the team, anxious to get away from a job he despises. And Specialist Owen Eldridge (Brian Geraghty) is the young pup of the outfit, a clean-cut kid terrified that his life will soon get snuffed out. The movie works best when its storytelling remains shaggy; it gets into real trouble when it introduces a forced subplot in which James sets out to avenge the death of a friend. But never does Bigelow falter in her direction, which, by adroitly alternating between muscular and sensitive, reapplies a recognizable face to a conflict that is already slipping from the American public conscious with all the wispiness of a bad dream. ***

THE MERRY GENTLEMAN If there's one fault to be found with the Coen Brothers' superb Oscar winner No Country for Old Men, it's that there simply aren't enough scenes featuring Kelly Macdonald, the wee Scottish lass who's previously appeared in such diverse works as Trainspotting, Gosford Park and Finding Neverland. Her No Country role as Josh Brolin's sympathetic wife is small but pivotal; to catch her in a part that's both large and pivotal, check out this low-simmer drama that marks Michael Keaton's directorial debut. In addition to directing, the former Batman stars as Frank Logan, a despondent hit man. Yet the film belongs to Macdonald, who wields the largest role; she plays Kate Frazier, who escapes an abusive relationship and starts again in a place where nobody knows her. But the fragile, soft-spoken Kate is the sort of vulnerable woman who draws the attention of all sorts of men, both good and bad. Among those she attracts are an alcoholic cop (Tom Bastounes) and the bullying ex (Bobby Cannavale) who's determined to bring her home. Yet her most unusual relationship is the one she shares with Logan, a stone-cold killer who nevertheless softens whenever he's in her presence. Working from a script by Ron Lazzeretti, Keaton has fashioned a nicely modulated film that overcomes any hesitancy one might have about yet another movie centering on low-life assassins. Crucially, the picture isn't really about Logan, whose screen time is even less than that of Bastounes' well-meaning cop; instead, its primary focus is on Kate and how she works hard to make her life an acceptable one. Macdonald's performance is one of understated beauty, and the film's lucky to have her on board. ***

MOON With Ziggy Stardust for a father, Major Tom for an uncle and, presumably, the spiders from Mars for assorted in-laws, is it any wonder that Duncan Jones chose a science fiction project to mark his feature film debut? Jones, of course, is the son of rock legend David Bowie, but after Moon, it's guaranteed that he'll be recognized as a talented artist in his own right. Serving as director and coming up with the original story (Nathan Parker wrote the actual screenplay), Jones has crafted a unique sci-fi yarn that pays tribute to such works as 2001: A Space Odyssey and Silent Running while also heading off in its own giddy direction. Sam Rockwell tones down the quirks to deliver an excellent performance as Sam Bell, an employee for the futuristic corporation Lunar Enterprises. It's long been discovered that the moon can provide Earth with its energy; Sam is the man on the moon, tasked with overseeing this operation. But he's mighty lonely up there, talking to himself as much as he talks to the base's mobile computer GERTY (voiced by Kevin Spacey). Fortunately, his three years in space are nearly up, but with only weeks left before his departure back to Earth, he begins to feel poorly, a condition that in turn leads him to have an accident. Upon awakening, he senses that something's not quite right, and GERTY, for one, isn't talking. The resultant twist is an intriguing one, and it solidifies the film's initial promise as a heady piece of sci-fi cinema. The prevalent theme is one of identity, and this extends beyond the character of Sam Bell to also involve GERTY, who proves to be one of the most fascinating robots in many a, uh, moon. The tech credits are impeccable, yet Moon chiefly succeeds because of Jones' ability to take an idea that could have remained as sterile as the moonbase decor and inject it with all sorts of messy emotions. "I'm only human" may be an excuse when uttered in real life, but in Moon, it becomes a declaration of defiance. ***1/2

MY SISTER'S KEEPER Making a weepie for mass audiences can't be that hard: Just place a person in a tragic situation and steer clear of the resultant flood. But making a weepie that doesn't feel manipulative, exploitive or sloppily sentimental is another matter altogether. With this adaptation of Jodi Picoult's novel, director-cowriter Nick Cassavetes largely succeeds in respecting both his subject matter and his audience. As with previous films (including The Notebook), he shows that he has trouble properly pacing a mainstream effort – a direct result, perhaps, of being the son of indie icon John Cassavetes, who always marched to his own idiosyncratic beat. But this submergence of Hollywood know-how also allows this latest work to speak plainly, relating the story of a young girl, Anna Fitzgerald (Abigail Breslin), whose parents (Cameron Diaz and Jason Patric) created her specifically so they would have "spare parts" (bone marrow, kidney, etc.) to help prolong the life of their cancer-stricken daughter Kate (Sofia Vassilieva). Anna finally objects to second-class status and employs a lawyer (Alec Baldwin) to sue her parents for "medical emancipation." Much time is spent on the moral implications of the issue at hand (nobody, not even Diaz's myopic mom, is painted as a villain), and the picture never shies away from showing the physical deterioration of Kate (Vassilieva is excellent in the role). My Sister's Keeper isn't quite a keeper – beyond Cassavetes' erratic direction, the shortchanging of some key characters hinders the product – but it's a sturdy melodrama that earns those copious tears. ***

THE PROPOSAL After the stereotypical rom-com inanities of 27 Dresses, director Anne Fletcher partially redeems herself – as both an able filmmaker and a progressive woman – with her latest effort. Working with screenwriter Pete Chiarelli, she's managed to put out a picture that paints its heroine in one-dimensional strokes only part of the time. True, The Proposal depicts Margaret Tate (Sandra Bullock) in the same manner as most Hollywood flicks (see New in Town for another recent example): Because she's a career woman, she has no time for friends, lovers, hobbies or, apparently, even a rascally Rabbit (the battery-powered kind, that is). She's a ruthless, soulless workaholic, and the only reason Andrew (Ryan Reynolds) works as her assistant at a New York publishing house is because he figures it's a good career move. But when it looks as if Margaret will get shipped back to her Canadian homeland because of an expired visa, it appears as if his future will similarly get derailed. Margaret, though, has a plan: Force Andrew to marry her so that she can remain in the country. That these two will eventually fall for each other will come as a surprise to absolutely no one, yet the predictability of the plot isn't a detriment, since the film fits as comfortably around our expectations as a favorite old robe hugs our frame. And while the picture occasionally goes out of its way to make Bullock's character a ninny, the actress refuses to let the role manhandle her, and she and the ever-charming Reynolds work well together. Unfortunately, Fletcher and Chiarelli can't help but go for the easy, imbecilic laugh at several key junctures, and the film even includes one of those cringe-worthy moments in which a person declares his devotion to his beloved in front of a crowd of people. Still, this Proposal has enough merit to warrant some consideration. **1/2

PUBLIC ENEMIES A classy motion picture whose individual moments are greater than the whole, this period gangster saga may be filled with exciting gun battles yet can't deliver the firepower in ways that matter the most: empathy, originality, and a willingness to burrow beneath the legend. Writer-director Michael Mann captures what's most important about bank robber John Dillinger (Johnny Depp): his folk-hero appeal, and the way many Depression-era citizens would have found it possible to cheer an outlaw who spent his time sticking it to the banks. Depp possesses the right demeanor for the role, and if he doesn't register as powerfully as we would expect, that's the fault of Mann and his co-scripters, who make Dillinger more of an enigma than necessary. Still, the actor fares better than his two co-stars. FBI agent Melvin Purvis is supposed to be the dynamic point-counterpoint to Dillinger, but the role is so thinly written – and Christian Bale tackles it with so little interest – that it's hardly a fair fight. Then there's the case of La Vie en Rose Oscar winner Marion Cotillard, who, as Dillinger's girlfriend, has little to do but fret and fuss over her man's line of work. Yet what Public Enemies lacks in complexity, it makes up for in artfulness. Elliot Goldenthal's soaring score, Dante Spinotti's camera angles, and the sound team's snap-crackle-and-pop approach (gun shots are frequently delivered with stunning clarity, a far cry from the sonic overkill of that infernal Transformers sequel) support the costume and set departments to fully immerse us in an era in which a man's best friend is his weapon, and the manner in which he tips his fedora is as important as what's in his heart or on his mind. That's a remarkably shallow outlook, but with Public Enemies, that's usually about as deep as it gets. **1/2

THE TAKING OF PELHAM 1 2 3 Placing this new version of The Taking of Pelham 1 2 3 – in which four men hijack a subway car and hold its passengers for ransom – next to its 1974 predecessor makes the current model seem about as interesting as a tarnished doorknob, but rather than belabor the point, just rent the original (both were adapted from John Godey's best-selling novel) and thank me later. As for those venturing forth to catch this update, be prepared for a moderately agreeable thriller that unfortunately flames out with at least a full half-hour to go. Here, the criminals are led by the tattooed, mustachioed Ryder (John Travolta, looking ridiculous but still exuding a small modicum of menace), who promises to start blowing away hostages unless $10 million is delivered into his hands in exactly one hour. Trapped in his sinister scenario is Walter Garber (Denzel Washington, typically dependable but not half as much fun as the original's Walter Matthau), the dispatcher who reluctantly serves as the intermediary between Ryder and the city (repped by James Gandolfini's surly mayor). Few directors are as impersonal as Tony Scott (Domino, Days of Thunder), and he exhibits this detachment once again with a picture that's more interested in style than substance – even the city of New York, the true principal player in this tale, fails to come to life, meaning this film might as well have been set in Chicago or London or any other metropolis with a sprawling subway system. For a while, Scott and scripter Brian Helgeland make this Pelham a watchable affair before piling on all manner of ludicrous developments. By the time we get to a groaner of a showdown between the two stars, it's obvious that this vehicle jumped the tracks a while back. **

TRANSFORMERS: REVENGE OF THE FALLEN To my surprise, I somewhat dug 2007's Transformers, crediting the input of executive producer Steven Spielberg, who was described in the press notes as a "hands-on producer." Well, Spielberg must have been on an extended vacation during the making of this perfectly dreadful sequel that's the filmic equivalent of a 150-minute waterboarding session. As before, two warring factions of intergalactic robots – the noble Autobots and the evil Decepticons – are waging their battle on our planet, with youngsters Sam (Shia LaBeouf) and Mikaela (Megan Fox) offering their support to the good 'bots. Yet while the running time is almost identical to that of its predecessor, the priorities have been shifted. The slugfests between the Autobots and the Decepticons – the dullest portions of the first flick – have been elongated, and by including more fights and more explosions and more military hardware (Bay must fantasize about fondling missiles the way teenage boys fantasize about fondling Fox), that leaves less room for any meaningful human interaction. Then again, given that most of the characters are rather insufferable this time around, maybe the less seen of them, the better. Unfortunately, the Transformers themselves are no more interesting, with the most offensive being two "black" Transformers who sport buck teeth (one gold), admit to not being able to read, and cuss a lot. Forget Jar Jar Binks, who comes across like Paul Robeson when compared to these stooges: You'd have to go back to the days of Stepin Fetchit and Sleep 'n' Eat (nee Willie Best) to find such a jolting comparison. Bay doesn't believe in stooping too low, so he also treats us to not one but two shots of dogs screwing, as well as a mini-Transformer humping Mikaela's leg, a Transformer with flatulence problems and a close-up of John Turturro's thong-clad buttocks. And did I mention the swinging metallic testicles on one of the Decepticons? That last-named bit of idiocy thus allows me to segue into my own phallic quip: This movie sucks. *

THE UGLY TRUTH Look, it's only fair. If impressionable frat boys can enjoy The Hangover this summer and impressionable teenagers can enjoy Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen, then why not give impressionable women their own imbecillic film? An abhorrent romantic comedy, The Ugly Truth is so inept and ill-conceived on so many levels that mandatory sterilization seems to be the only punishment suitable for everyone involved in this mess. We wouldn't want these folks breeding like rabbits. In a typically bad performance consisting primarily of exaggerated reaction shots, Katherine Heigl (also serving as executive producer) plays Abby, a TV news producer who's also a frigid control freak loved only by her cat. Into her world enters Mike (Gerard Butler), a chauvinist whose cable access show (The Ugly Truth) gets absorbed into Abby's news program in an effort to boost ratings. Mike's segment, in which he claims that men can't be taught anything once they pass toilet training and that there's no such thing as a romantic male, offends Abby, but eventually she finds herself turning to Mike for help on how to land her hottie neighbor, Colin (Eric Winter). He's only too happy to assist her, until he begins to fall for this pill himself. It's inconceivable that a movie with such an unsympathetic female lead was written by three women. The male characters don't come off much better, but they do come off better. While Abby is painted as a repugnant caricature to her very core, Mike is revealed to only be a misogynist when the script calls for it; the rest of the time, he's nursing a broken heart caused by past relationships or lovingly hanging out with his sister and his nephew. Ignore this in favor of (500) Days of Summer, a romantic comedy that's as smart, perceptive and charming as this one is stupid, clueless and, well, ugly. *

UP Pixar's Up proves to be merely one more winner for an outfit that refuses to compromise its high level of quality, to say nothing of its artistic integrity. It tells the story of Carl Fredricksen (voiced by Ed Asner), a 78-year-old balloon salesman who, after the passing of his beloved wife, decides to hook his house to thousands of helium-filled balloons and drift off to an uninhabited part of South America. The launch goes smoothly enough, until he discovers that he has an unwanted passenger in the form of 8-year-old Wilderness Explorer member Russell (Jordan Nagai), whose boundless energy wears out the curmudgeonly Carl. Nevertheless, the senior citizen pushes upward and onward, only to encounter a plethora of unexpected developments once they reach their destination. In addition to providing the requisite thrills (those afraid of heights will tense up during the exhilarating climax), Up is as emotionally involving as we've come to expect from our Pixar pics, with themes of longing, loneliness and self-sacrifice coursing through its running time. In fact, its PG rating alone hints that this is one of those toon tales that will resonate more powerfully with adults than with kids, and never more so than in the early sequences between Carl and his wife Ellie (did we really just witness a miscarriage in an animated film?). Of course, this wouldn't be a family film without some colorful sidekicks to provide added entertainment value, and the picture provides one keeper in Dug, a happy-go-lucky dog who, along with several other (fiercer) canines, has been equipped with a device that allows him to speak (he's voiced by co-director Bob Peterson). Thus, here's a movie that ultimately goes to the dogs – literally – and it still deserves enthusiastic thumbs up. ***1/2

X-MEN ORIGINS: WOLVERINE Hardly a lazy sequel, X-Men Origins: Wolverine contains a couple of nifty narrative surprises as well as some memorable tensions between its mutant players. Overall, though, it's hard to view this as an integral entry in the X-Men franchise. That's not to say it's as irrelevant as, say, Superman IV: The Quest for Peace, but part of Wolverine's appeal has always been his aura of mystery, and an origin piece only works to strip him of that secrecy. Besides, the movie's occasional clumsiness in laying out the expository groundwork ends up batting against its own intentions, which makes the picture seem even more trifling. Having said that, it's apparent that this isn't the disaster many speculated it would be, especially on the heels of bad Internet buzz and that infamous download that left FOX executives outfoxed. As expected, the picture's chief selling point is Hugh Jackman as Logan/Wolverine, even if the storyline largely harnesses his considerable talents: He's an excellent brooder, but brooding's about all that the film requires him to do. As Victor Creed (later Sabretooth), Liev Schreiber is believable as both Logan's brother and his tormentor, while Danny Huston, as Stryker, proves to be as fascistic a villain as Brian Cox when he tackled the role in X2. Ryan Reynolds adds some necessary sparkle as the wisecracking Deadpool, and I just wish he had been handed the more sizable role of Gambit instead (as the latter, mediocre Taylor Kitsch lives up to his surname). Other actors express what's required of them – it's often rage or regret, although mostly it's just frozen stares at the blue-screen areas where the special effects were inserted at a later time. **1/2