Twas the week before Christmas, eyes glued to the screen.

Not a creature was stirring, not even a teen.

The effects were crafted so neatly with care

In hopes that audiences soon would be there.

The viewers were nestled all snug in their seats

While visions of Na’Vi performed 3D feats.

And this critic, prepped for a boatload of crap

At Avatar’s end felt the impulse to clap.

When those rhinos ran over the horizon,

I felt a rush that I found quite surprisin’.

The whole final half, when the two groups clash

Made the two point five hours fly like a flash.

You see, although the plot is so-so,

The visual imagination causes minds to blow.

And, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But stellar 3D, with colors quite clear

With story so well told, that in my enamorin’,

I knew in a moment it must be James Cameron.

More classics than flops, his action flicks came

Such a great body of work, I’ll call them by name:

Abyss! Aliens! Terminators 1 and 2!

Titanic! True Lies! Now Avatar too!

Though each a bit long, his ambitions don’t fall

And I’ve been enormously thrilled by them all.

As much as T2 has been overrated,

And Titanic, post-Oscar, been unfairly hated,

He uses effects that audiences believe in

And creates the best spectacle this side of Sir Steven.

He brings the art of CGI glory

Since his visual effects affect the story

As opposed to other films, which can’t compare,

Whose effects are great, but give story no care.

The Na’Vi, convincingly real, head to foot,

And each plant on Pandora, from leaf to root,

Looked so lifeline that I was taken aback.

For mind-blowing graphics, Ol’ Jim has a knack

His eye– so terrific. Good camerawork– very!

His characters– full! His action scenes– scary!

Some people have asked me if the story does blow,

And while somewhat predictable, I have to say no,

The elementary tale stole my heart like a thief

As the visuals seemed to me beyond belief.

The action so great that my little round belly

It shook, when I laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

I liked even the cliches, in spite of myself.

I predict this will sit on my Blu-Ray shelf.

So listen to all of these words I have said–

If you don’t like this film, your heart must be dead.

This isn’t a film that you want to shirk.

It’s James Cameron’s last ten years of hard work,

And when someone like that has worked for so long,

You know that the end result’s going to be strong.

So take your loved one. I guarantee this’ll

Get you even more kisses than toes that are mistle.

Four kernels, I say, seems the only thing right.

Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night.

What a relief. After relying on Pixar for over a decade, and after years of disappointing traditionally animated output, and after the closing and re-opening of the door on the style of film Disney has been best known for, we finally have another great Disney animated musical. John Musker and Ron Clements have brought us the best Disney animated film since their own Hercules twelve years ago. The songs by Randy Newman are lively, catchy, and heartfelt, and for the first time in God knows how long, there is a deep list of supporting characters who have their own songs, and we manage to care about all of them. Think Disney’s The Bayou Book. It takes a bit to settle in to the film, since you’re immediately comparing it to the greats… but once they get to the bayou, you realize that with the greats is right where The Princess and the Frog belongs.

Tiana (voiced by Anika Noni Rose) is a hardworking waitress in New Orleans, doing her best to raise enough money to buy her own restaurant on the meager tips the white customers giver her. Her mother (Oprah Winfrey) made dresses for a client named Big Daddy (John Goodman) and his rich daughter, Charlotte (Jennifer Cody). She would tell stories about princesses, specifically one where a girl kisses a frog, which turns into a prince. This instant gratification sounds perfect for Charlotte, but Tiana was raised to work hard for what she wants. Enter Prince Naveen (Bruno Campos), a royal man from a far away place who prefers dancing and partying to stately affairs, so he has been cut off from his parents’ bank account. A witch doctor, Dr. Facilier (Keith David), offers him all the green he wants, so the prince submits… but it’s not the green he planned on, since Dr. Facilier turns him into a frog as part of an evil scheme to take over New Orleans.

Tiana finds that the white people selling her the building to turn into a restaurant have raised the price, insisting she should stick to what she does best– serving instead of owning. When Naveen finds her, mistakes her for a princess, and bribes her into kissing him… she turns into a frog herself. They then run from Dr. Facilier into the bayou, taking their odd couple routine on the road, and encountering such memorable characters as a trumpet-playing alligator named Louis (Michael-Leon Woodley), a cajun firefly named Raymond (Jim Cummings), and a kooky voodoo queen named Mama Odie (Jenifer Lewis). And if you’re like me, and you hold such a fond spot in your heart for the classic Disney characters that you’re nervous how these new ones will hold up, rest at ease. Lewis, Raymond, and Mama Odie will have your heart the second they begin to talk, Dr. Facilier is a worthy villain, and Naveen and Tiana strike a perfect balance as the bickering man and woman that you know will find themselves in love by the end.

At the end, it lacks the epic stature of a film like Beauty and the Beast, The Little Mermaid, or Aladdin, so I’m not suggesting this belongs in the uppermost tier of the Disney catalog. However, the return to form is such a rush. There hasn’t been a 2D animated film with this many beautiful images in it since The Lion King– Musker and Clements successfully make the New Orleans bayou into a location as magical as Ariel’s undersea playground or Simba’s Pride Rock. There’s also a moment towards the end that forced a tear to creep out of my eye and roll down my cheek… and as a man who has seen a lot of movies and rarely cried, it’s a tough admission to say that a musical fairy tale got that out of me. I’m not sure if any of the Disney films have gotten the emotional reaction from me that this one did, and I’m certain that it wasn’t mere nostalgia. It was the development of the story and the attachment I had formed with the characters.

The colors positively pop off the screen, and the animation is crisp. The character design is quirky and fits the personalities flawlessly. The voices are warm and colorful… thank the Lord that Disney hasn’t followed Dreamworks into casting celebrities as the voice talent, choosing voices that fit the story instead of altering the story to fit the voices. It’s also nice that all of the singing voices for this film are also the speaking voices, a break from a past where the star and the singer were two different people. Finally, Randy Newman’s songs are terrific (here’s hoping he adds to his criminally low count of one Academy Award) and set the mood well. It’s the type of film that teaches its lessons to children without being patronizing– just because a movie is good for kids to see doesn’t mean it’s exclusively-for-children entertainment. Any age can feel the magic here… and as the first words of the movie state, “There’s magic in the air tonight, and anything can happen.” Anything could have happened in this foray back into hand-drawn animated musicals for Disney. Fortunately, they struck just the right chord. Special note: this Christmas break, if you have children, you will have a choice between taking your kids to see The Princess and the Frog or Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakuel. Do your children a favor and take them to this, no matter how they scream– boys will like this as much as girls.

The worst thing about Invictus is the wasted potential. You have Morgan Freeman as Nelson Mandela, one of the most fascinating characters of the last century, and you relegate him to a one-dimensional study of Mandela as a rugby fan. They cover his imprisonment and his rise to power in a montage in the first four minutes of the film, and then from there on, all we hear about is Mandela obsessing over rugby as his advisers all try to get him to discuss issues of state. Was Mandela such a one-note, rugby-hungry, border-irresponsible leader? Of course not. But unless you come into this film with a pre-existing thorough knowledge of Mandela and the sport of rugby, this film’s depictions will likely confuse and bore you. The characters have little complexity, the sports action is shot in a perplexing manner, and Eastwood has his usual lovely cinematography and hollow first draft of a script to try to carry the film along.

The story picks up with Nelson Mandela (Morgan Freeman) having just taken office in South Africa. He is jogging with his security detail in tow, when a van races towards him. Is someone going to try to kill him? No, despite the build in suspenseful music and the two-minute set-up establishing the van as a threat, it’s merely a phony threat, a trick he learned from the writer of Million Dollar Baby Paul Haggis (who is guilty of the most manipulative and phony moment in recent film history in Crash), where one can manipulate the audience into thinking something awful is happening by dwelling on it long and hard with ominous score blaring in the back. This is only the first of three “false assassination attempts” that the film devotes an inordinate amount of time to. It’s as if Eastwood doesn’t trust his audience into being able to realize that Mandela was in danger despite the opening montage explaining that South Africa is racially divided and Mandela was a figure hated by many whites.

But I digress. Since studio heads clearly thought that a mainstream Mandela movie wasn’t going to attract enough people to the box office, they made it also about a muscly attractive white man who was working with Mandela to try to free South Africa from the binds of racism. This is Francois Pienaar (Matt Damon), who comes from a family that hates Mandela. Eastwood underlines this fact by making his father a caricature who does nothing in life other than watch TV and make snide jokes about Mandela, as the black housekeeper does nothing in life but look glumly away every time this transpires (again, Eastwood repeats this three or four times in the film, in case we didn’t get it the first time).  Their rugby team is a joke. Damon repeatedly makes attempts at inspiring the team with inspiring locker room speeches, to no avail. However, Mandela calls him in for tea, and says since the black people hate the rugby team for being mostly white, and the white people hate Mandela for being black, if they work together and the team wins the Rugby World Cup being hosted in Johannesburg that year, it would be a symbol of racial solidarity that would inspire the country to come together.

We then see several training montages, along with clips of Mandela stepping out of important meetings to watch rugby and find out what’s happening. I’m supposed to be inspired by a country’s leader putting all of his chips on this one longshot table? Not to mention… did it really happen that way? Really? I have a feeling that in the interest of time, Eastwood cut out all the clips of Mandela being a responsible leader of South Africa, and left in all the clips of him cheering for the rugby team. Perhaps I’m merely ignorant of my South African history, but there appears to be at least one dimension of the Mandela character missing. Also missing are the rules of rugby, which are never explicitly explained– which I can only imagine is why the film only has so-so box office odds, since most Americans don’t know how to play rugby. Eastwood shoots the rugby in a series of close-ups and slow motion shots, as if to say, “You don’t need to know what’s going on, just know that people get hit hard!”

I can’t blame Freeman, whose part is limited to serious looks and rugby cheers, or Damon, whose part is limited solely to serious looks. I could blame the hacky, faux-inspiring script by Anthony Peckham. However, Eastwood has now shown over the course of his last couple of films that he is content to take a weak, presumably first-draft script and shoot it as is, as if the characters and dialogue don’t matter as much the symbolism and the cinematography. Certainly the cinematography is up to the usual Eastwood standard, and the symbolism is poured on thick as maple syrup. This is better than the atrocity that was Gran Torino, although that’s setting the bar pretty low for someone who is consistently in Academy Award talks despite the level of work being not nearly up to snuff. I can’t hate Eastwood for doing what he’s doing though. If I knew that critics and Academy voters will drool over any film I do, as long as there’s some symbolism and pretty pictures involved, I’d snag the first draft of any script I find and crank it out as quickly as possible too.

Wes Anderson has made a career out of hip irony, and one can picture him completely embracing the imperfections in his quirky stop-motion animation adaptation of Roald Dahl’s The Fantastic Mr. Fox. In some ways, his style suits the film perfectly– after all, a two-dimensional character in a children’s animated film can still have warmth, wit, and heart. The film is perfectly executed within the style, and Anderson’s hand stays steady from beginning to end. However, since Anderson never aims for transcendence, it settles for being a very fun trifle of a film, and while I left the theater smiling, it had the unfortunate circumstance of coming out in the best year in animated film history, so its impact is diminished.

Mr. Fox (George Clooney) got out of the game of stealing chickens from farms long ago. He now has a column which runs in the local newspaper… but he’s tired of being a big fish in a small pond. He desires to move himself, his wife (Meryl Streep), his son Ash (Jason Schwartzman), and his visiting nephew Kristofferson (Eric Anderson) into a giant tree. The problem? That tree overlooks the heavily guarded farms of Boggis, Bunce, and Bean (Michael Gambon), the three meanest and nastiest farmers there ever were. In order to up his status in life, Mr. Fox begins thieving again. Yet in doing so, he unwittingly incurs the wrath of Bean, who will stop at nothing, including digging up the entire valley, in order to find and kill Mr. Fox. It’s a battle of wits, survival, and pride… and with Mr. Bean wearing Mr. Fox’s tail as a necktie, it’s personal.

The film’s visuals, meant to look incredibly stylized and somewhat ramshackle, take a little while to get used to. At first, you’re acutely aware of how low-budget the animation seems, and while Anderson’s love of the charm this look provides shines through from the get-go, as someone spoiled by the films of Nick Park (Chicken Run, Wallace and Gromit) and Henry Selick (The Nightmare Before Christmas, Coraline), I had difficulty buying that Anderson ever wanted us to get lost in the film, instead wanting us to merely sit back, detached in admiration. However, as the film moves forward, and the Alexandre Desplat score and soundtrack full of Wes Anderson-esque song choices sink into your system, the film hits a rhythm that is breezy and fun. Anderson knows the animation is the star and treats us to many long uncut shots of the characters executing long action sequences, further cementing the film’s charm.

At the end of the day, the way the voices deliver the lines both make the film work and limit how high it can soar. Everyone delivers their lines in a cool, clear, but unemotional way, which gives the film a hip attitude that fits its visual style, but since the characters never really seem to have any true commitment other than the savvy Ocean’s 11 ironic demeanor they convey, it’s difficult to fully commit to the story or the characters. While I wanted to see how the story would play out, I can’t say I ever cared for a single character. It’s at once a testament to Anderson’s abilities as a storyteller and his weaknesses as a character builder. I don’t think any of his characters post-Rushmore have ever earned sympathy. Regardless of the characters, it’s still a fun, swift, smooth telling of a great story, with some witty dialogue and visuals. The majority of this review has been spent trying to identify why the film never gets to A+, but trust, the film still passes with flying colors. Fantastic isn’t the first word that comes to mind, but Anderson does deliver a darn good time.

You’d think a movie like Old Dogs wouldn’t get made anymore. You’d think most stars would have an ounce more dignity than to take part in a film like this. You would think Robin Williams wouldn’t get locked in a spray tan room, and then proceed to walk around with an offensive brown face, made more offensive by the fact that, ha, ha, ha, Indians and Spanish people repeatedly mistaken him for their own minority. You would think John Travolta do multiple pee jokes, and a gag that involves him mugging wildly as an incredibly fake penguin nibbles on his ear. You would think Seth Green would have better things to do than get hit in the testicles by a golf ball and suffer implied sodomy at the hands of a gorilla, a gag which has never worked since it was done perfectly in Trading Places over 25 years ago. You would think Rita Wilson, wife of Tom Hanks, wouldn’t play a cross-eyed hand model who gets her hands slammed in a trunk as she flails “comically” (I use the term loosely) as the soundtrack blares “Big Girls Don’t Cry.” You would think all of these things. You would be wrong.

Robin Williams and John Travolta are Dan and Charlie, two best friends/business partners in sports management on the verge of making a big deal with a Japanese corporation. Williams once got married on a drunken binge in Miami to Vicki (Kelly Preston), and then got a quickie divorce the next morning. Seven years later, Vicki reappears in Dan’s life seven years later, since she’s going to jail, and since Vicki secretly gave birth to the twins she conceived with Dan on their one night together (an awful lot of virility for an old man drunk to the point of blackout, but I digress), she’d like Dan to take care of their love children as he’s trying to close a huge business deal. Sounds like a wacky premise for a PG rated kids movie? Of course not! But the film has cute dogs in it, so the powers that be took an obviously PG-13 script and trimmed the profanities!

When Williams and Travolta describe the side effects of all of the pills they take, I wrote a note: “In five minutes, the pills will get mixed up, and unfunny chaos will ensue.” I was incorrect. It took two minutes, as if to say, hey audience, we think you’re stupid enough that you’ll laugh at pee, fart, and ball-to-groin jokes, so you might forget this complicated set up we’re providing! Leave alone the fact that they never explain why the two of them would take pills which cause face paralysis, uncontrollable hunger, or total loss of depth perception… but if it means a stone-faced Travolta is going to put his face into a pie and Williams is going to run into things a lot, then rev up the laugh boat, boys, we’re going cruisin’!

The whole affair is simply embarrassing. You almost feel bad for the actors. Almost. Seth Green, Justin Long, and Matt Dillon attempt to save cameos to absolutely no avail. Rita Wilson wins the 2009 award for Most Humiliating Moment in a Film, along with being nearly a shoo-in for the Least Successful Comic Timing award as well. Ladies and gentlemen, being a cross-eyed character might have worked on vaudeville in the 1920s, but that time has long since passed. Even in the 1920s, this film wouldn’t have been funny. It’s bad enough that it stops being boring and starts becoming irritating. The number of bad dog related puns one could end this review with are infinite. Instead, I’ll do what the film should have done and not even try.

The Blind Side is not a great movie, but it is a smart and tasteful one. Unlike other inspiring true life stories where benevolent white people have their lives changed forever when they reach out to help an underprivileged black child with a haunted past, it dodges most of the easy manipulation pitfalls and manages to earn its engaging demeanor. Plus, it doesn’t limit itself to trying to please only one demographic. It’s about a woman, but there’s plenty of sports for the men (and Sandra Bullock has never looked better). Its heroes are conservative, charitable Christians, yet the movie doesn’t ignore the hypocrisies inherent in their lifestyle, thus placating liberal viewers. Finally, the story itself doesn’t just stop at a high school championship or a “big game”– it’s not merely a symbolic victory, it’s a rags-to-riches tale that ends with the NFL Draft, when the hero becomes a millionaire and up-and-coming star in the league.

Michael Oher (Quinton Aaron) never had a bed of his own. He was taken from his mother by child services early in life, and then never settled with another family. He was big and athletic, but his GPA was non-existent and his background was troubled to say the least. A football coach at a private Christian school pushed for his acceptance on the principle of Christian charity (though the struggling football team might have contributed). At the same school, Leigh Anne Tuohy (Sandra Bullock) notices Michael waiting until the end of volleyball games so he can pick up half-eaten bags of popcorn for his dinner. She takes him in and begins helping him by buying him new clothing, getting him a bed, and encouraging him to try out for football. When his talent becomes evident, she hires him a tutor (Kathy Bates) to help him qualify for NCAA admission.

The thing I admired most about the film is that it didn’t turn the characters one-dimensional for the sake of establishing “good guys,” “bad guys,” and the like. At a certain point in the film, an NCAA official investigates the Tuohy family, seeing if they pressured their new adopted son into going to their college alma mater for personal benefit, and quite frankly, she has a point. Leigh Anne’s friends are all skeptical of a big black man staying at the Tuohy house, because her teenage daughter might be vulnerable to the stereotypical sexually aggressive black man, and Tuohy herself the first night she takes in Oher wonders aloud if he’s going to steal things. The “Christian charity” the school exercises is an obvious front for their own athletic department’s benefit, and the movie acknowledges this. Even Oher’s mom, in a very sad scene, meant well and was simply dealt a bad hand, unable to control her addictions. It neither condemns or condones the conservative Christian lifestyle of Tennessee, instead merely showing the benefits and the close-minded thoughts that those folks have simultaneously, letting us make our own choices about the proceedings.

Bullock does strong work in what might be her best “serious” work to date. She’s a strong mule-headed woman, who is always seen looking gorgeous in heels and tight dresses (and Bullock wears them well). Aaron gains sympathy without playing Oher as too dumb or too desperate. A few of the supporting roles do become one-note, such as Tim McGraw as the supportive husband who does what his wife tells him to do, and Jae Head as the youngest Tuohy son. He is portrayed as the archetypal cute little white kid with freckles and bad teeth, who always has something clever to say. The element of the film which rang most false is everything between the young boy and Oher, especially when the son helps coach Oher during football training. It’s a cheap ploy for laughs, and to gain cheap sympathy points for the big scary black man by painting him as a gentle giant who befriends cute quippy kids.

Still, I’m reminded of Radio, the Ed Harris/Cuba Gooding Jr. film also based on a true story about a struggling homeless black man with no education who is taken in by a football team in a racist Southern town. I felt it was one of the worst films of the year, with its depiction of the two types of white people– “true Christians” vs. “one-note malicious bigots.” Without complexity, the film can no longer claim to be based on a true story. Also, Radio’s lack of intelligence was played for laughs. Tell me, does watching a mentally handicapped man dance like a happy fool tickle your funnybone? In The Blind Side, there is a moment or two where the film comes dangerously close to toeing that line, but for the most part, Aaron plays him as having a quiet intelligence and dignity. Finally, when the heroic moment of a football drama is merely the state championship, then the level of inspiration can only soar so high… but here is Michael Oher, who went from homeless, wandering, a GPA of below 1, and nothing to his name other than one or two ratty polos. He not only led his team to the state championship, but he brought his grades up, got offers from several universities, did well in college, graduated, and was a first round draft pick in the NFL Draft. That’s far more touching to me than one shining moment– this is taking a human life where nothing went right, setting it on the right track, and now nothing goes wrong. The execution is a tad pedestrian, and it suffers from some of the same cliches that other inspirational dramas based on true stories suffer from. Yet it’s hard to turn a blind eye to this one being much better than others.

Every time I go to the MoMA in New York City, there are many exhibits that I’m enormously impressed with. There are also an equal amount of exhibits that I think are absolute thoughtless garbage. Examples: a canvas painted black… and that’s all. Or a pink light in a corner, entitled “Pink Light in the Corner.” It’s supposed to make you think about what art means, or what colors mean in corners… or something else that to me, in my quasi-professional opinion, seems stupid and one-note. Jonathan Parker’s satire on contemporary art, called “(untitled),” tackles the issue of the fine line between art and crap.

Adrian Jacobs (Adam Goldberg) is a classically trained pianist. He has legitimate musical talent. He has aspirations of becoming a professional musician, one that will stand the test of time and inspire others to make meaningful and important art. There’s only one difference between him and the rest of the wannabe musicians in the world– he believes in expressing himself through exclusively non-melodic music. As he puts it, “Harmony was a capitalist plot to sell pianos!” This film, by Jonathan Parker, examines the world of contemporary art and all of its non-conformity, interpretations, and the fine, fine line between art and crap. The characters are more complex and the relationships more interesting than the subject of modern art satire would have you believe– the dialogue is crisp and funny, and the art seems totally legitimate. Vinnie Jones plays a modern artist who takes taxidermy and gives them human features like having them in clothes looking in mirrors. It’s bizarre, it’s totally meaningless, and yet I thoroughly believe it took craft and precision to make this image look that way. Parker doesn’t let the art become a stereotype, letting it be strange and potentially pointless without disrespecting the concept of contemporary self-aware art.

The performances keep the satire blissfully from becoming too mean-spirited or too stereotypical. Adam Goldberg keeps Adrian self-centered and pretentious enough that we get the joke, but we sympathize with his plight. He is utterly convinced that the way his art will survive is by doing something different, something bold, something revolutionary… but no one agrees with him. When his time in the spotlight arrives, he sees the modern art he’s paired with as crap, and enters a time of clarity, which doesn’t change his mind about the type of art he makes, but gives him perspective. Eion Bailey makes modern art that clearly takes talent to produce (canvases of color with geometric circles painted in, but the combination of colors is aesthetically pleasing), but the fact that his work is pleasing keeps him out of galleries– after all, pleasing art is out of fashion. Marley Shelton does a good job toeing the line between sincere fanatic and egoist, and no matter how bizarre her clothes are (before a bout of lovemaking, one character spends several minutes trying to unstrap a particularly complex piece of fashion), she wears them proudly.

There is also an artist, played beautifully by Ptolemy Slocum, whose idea of art is to put a push pin into the wall, and put a label by it that says “Push Pin.” Seems easy, you might say… but not when Slocum does it, desperately hunting for the slot on the wall that makes the push pin more than just a push pin. Is the effort what makes it art? Is it all just an elaborate act? Thankfully, Parker leaves the judgment to the audience… though the precision of his comic timing with cuts and long gazes at bizarre art certainly makes one think he’s siding with us. Zak Orth plays a young rich man whose hobby is to collect art. When he invites a friend over, there is all sorts of peculair art adorning his flat walls. However, she goes into the back and sees a virtual warehouse of art that used to be hanging in his room. He’s saving it because he likes it… but also acknowledges that he hopes it collects value someday. There’s a truth that (untitled) captures regarding staying with the times, and how swiftly the tides can shift and warehouse art can be put back on the main wall, not because the art is better, just because it’s time for something different. (untitled)’s short-lived existence in the cineplex provided something different for audiences: a smart, relevant satire with something real to say about the subjectivity of art. Audiences ignored it, preferring New Moon and other brainless Hollywood fare. But is something like New Moon really that far beneath (untitled), or is it a type of art that makes you aware that it isn’t art? Perhaps teeny-bopper moviegoers and modern art fanatics aren’t so different after all.

When Michael Jackson passed away earlier this year, the media left us with a vivid impression of his final days as a hollowed-out husk of a man, a drug-addled paranoid freak drowning in bankruptcy and depression. As someone who grew up loving his music and admiring the dance skills that I would certainly never have, it pained me to see an icon and unparalleled talent like Jackson having wasted away. Thank goodness for This Is It, a touching, heartfelt, and exciting concert documentary that shows the side of Jackson the media never liked to portray—the hard-working perfectionist superstar who even at the age of 50 could sing beautifully and hold his own in a dance routine.

The documentary begins with a series of interviews with several dancers moved to tears at the opportunity they’ve been presented with—a chance to dance backup for Michael Jackson in his upcoming London comeback concerts. While this seems like a cloying way to garner sympathy for the controversial icon at the heart of the film, it’s a comforting reminder that outside of all of the scandal and strange behavior, there were still people in this world who saw and were inspired by the talent. At first, I felt pity for the missed opportunity to live out their dream and perform with Jackson on stage in front of the screaming crowds, but as the film progressed, I realized the rehearsal process and the interaction with the man was more than enough to make this the high point of all of their careers.

In the rehearsal process, Jackson is shown to be a perfectionist, often stopping numbers if they are not done to his satisfaction, and running songs again and again until the tempo, pitch, and instrumentation sound just right. This starkly contrasted with what I remember watching on CNN, where folks said he was so thin and drugged out that he could barely do anything. Not only was he not nearly as thin as folks claimed, but he was working hard throughout all of this rehearsal footage. If someone was slowly dying and wasting away, would they want to do grueling song and dance routines multiple times, more than necessary, just to make a great number even greater? The only perceived weakness he displays in the film—the occasional comment or two about saving his voice, including one after he does some spectacular vocal trills to end the duet I Just Can’t Stop Loving You—is a common concern amongst stars preparing for big concerts.

Despite the perfectionism, Jackson never comes off as a diva either. Without question, he pushes his musicians and dancers to the limit, stopping them when they’re wrong and dispensing constructive criticism freely. None of the musicians ever openly gripe about the issues Jackson takes with their work—on the contrary, they seem grateful, saying that Jackson is the most hands-on star they’ve ever worked with, and usually the bigger the star gets, the less they display that same detail-oriented state of mind. An interesting supporting character throughout the film is concert director (and film director) Kenny Ortega, who at first appears to be somewhat of a sycophant, coming just short of kissing up to Jackson… yet upon further thought, how else is one supposed to direct the show of a perfectionist superstar? He tells you what he wants and you are there to make that vision a reality, so why wouldn’t you ask him what he wants and whether everything is good enough for him after every number? Besides, Jackson is clearly his own toughest critic judging from the film, so Ortega piling on his ideas and trying to shape the show would be counterintuitive. It’s Michael’s show, and you’re the figurehead, so make everything happen the way Michael wants it, and Ortega seems to handle that situation perfectly, both placating to the icon while making sure the icon looks his best.

Finally, there’s the music. While Jackson’s trademark has always been his dancing, he shows off the vocals in a big way here. There’s a sweetness to the quality of his voice on songs like Human Nature and the slowed down version of The Way You Make Me Feel that he performs on stage here that brought tears to my eyes. The opening number, Wanna Be Startin Somethin, also made me misty, since that’s long been perhaps my favorite MJ number, and Jackson doesn’t skimp on performing the hits that everyone wants to hear. The usual bombast that one would expect in a Michael Jackson concert is all present as well, and while a couple of the numbers verge on over-the-top schmaltz (a background video about saving the rainforest during Earth Song, for example), and the format may bore those who aren’t enraptured by Jackson’s music, I found myself captivated at the concert that could have been. It’s not the most insightful film, and it’s not the most expertly filmed, but then again, it was never meant to be an expertly filmed and insightful documentary– it was meant to be DVD extras and private video library archival footage. Instead, it becomes something of comfort food for Jackson fans: after hearing about Jackson being a freak for what seems like forever, here is a fun, soothing, and energetic reminder of the hardworking perfectionist of a legend that we all loved. It’s sad to say this is it, but at least it’s a good one to go out on.

Zombieland, which will almost certainly fill the last slot of my alphabetically organized DVD shelf, delivers laughs with more pinpoint accuracy than nearly any comedy this year. It’s not particularly deep, and it’s not particularly outlandish, but it is satisfying as can be, with a funny premise, terrific banter, convincing gore, and a swinging attitude that keeps things breezy even as the outlook for the main characters appears grim. It also boasts the funniest cameo appearance of the year by a country mile.

Unlike most zombie film protagonists, Columbus (Jesse Eisenberg) is a massive neurotic who has managed to survive the post-apocalyptic zombie-infested America by strictly following his list of rules. Rule #1: Cardio– if you’re going to be able to outrun zombies, you have to be in shape. Ruke #2: Double Tap– don’t just shoot a zombie once and believe it’s dead… your saved ammo won’t help when that sucker pops back up and gnaws at your leg. Rule #4: Beware of Bathrooms– see, zombies are smart in this future, and they know that humans will have to vulnerably stand at a urinal or sit in a stall at some point, so they wait for food there. As our narrator, Columbus continually shares bon mots from his survival list as the film progresses.

Eventually, he meets Tallahassee (Woody Harrelson), a badass in an SUV with the number 3 painted on the side who has a craving for Twinkies. They also meet Wichita (Emma Stone) and Little Rock (Abigail Breslin)– they all agree to not use real names, instead choosing their destinations as their nicknames so that no true attachments are formed (Columbus’ Rule #5). Wichita and Little Rock are headed to Pacific Playland, a theme park where they had some great moments together when they were younger, and they hold out hope that it’s zombie-free, a place where innocence survives. I’m sure I won’t surprise you when I say the trip is more difficult than they imagine, and the park itself is the location of a giant showdown with an army of zombies.

This film was originally conceived by its director, Ruben Fleischer, as the pilot episode for a TV series. If there is a God in heaven, and he considers (as I do) zombie films one of his greatest creations, he will let HBO pick this up for at bare minimum a six-episode miniseries. The visuals are gorgeous, as Fleischer has turned highways and cities into believable wastelands. The action is fast-paced and witty– Harrelson making noise to alert the zombies of his presence, effectively beckoning them into battle, is a particularly welcome touch to the genre. The film might lack some of the dramatic oomph that several other zomcoms have, but its breezy delivery is part of its charm. Eisenberg doesn’t push the neuroses– he’s also an athletic enough hero that despite his Michael Cera-esque mannerisms, I buy him as someone who can outrun zombies and beat some down if push came to shove. Woody Harrelson is simply priceless in roles like these; when he can let his ham flag fly, he’s one of their best there is that does it (between this and 2012, Thanksgiving came early for Woody fans). Finally, Emma Stone shows that she has effectively captured all roles for the foreseeable future for the smart teenager with girl-next-door good looks. She has this way about her that makes her seem like she’s hiding something, so when she starts emoting, it always seems like a special private moment… that’s not really something an acting coach can teach you, you either have it or you don’t. She has it. And as for the cameo… skip the final paragraph if you don’t want it spoiled.

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Here goes…

Bill Murray absolutely delivers the funniest scene so far this year, rivaling the end credits in The Hangover for hardest sustained laughter over the course of several minutes. The gang finds a Hollywood map, and decides to sleep in style, finding Bill Murray’s mansion. His walls are covered with portraits of himself, from Renaissance-style to Andy Warhol homages. Of course, Murray appears as a zombie… but when Wichita whacks him with a golf club, he screams. He reveals that he had a makeup artist turn him into a zombie, and he’s been living his regular life, unbothered by other zombies, since they don’t eat their own kind. “I just shot 18 at Riverdale,” he utters, in that style that is so distinctive that it borders on national treasure. Funny without trying too hard, gory without being excessively so, Zombieland strikes the happiest of mediums, never delving into drama or politics or satire, instead content being exactly what it is. I was equally content.

New Moon, the meandering new entry in the Twilight series directed by Chris Weitz, continues the same theme of melodramatic teen passion/symbolism for abstinence. This time, however, we get more than two hours of it, and the basic “plot” of lonely Bella meets a hot guy who it turns out is secretly a monster while other dangerous vampires put her in danger just seems like a re-hash this time around. The budget is bigger and the effects far more lavish, but the dialogue is also more laughable and the logic behind events harder to understand. While trying to place emphasis on a Twilight sequel is ignoring the fact that the overwhelming majority of the audience is only going to fantasize about rubbing Taylor Lautner’s abs, I couldn’t help but notice the lion’s share of folks sitting with me laughing at every attempt at earnest passionate dialogue. Could this be the first hit film that people know going in is going to be bad?

We pick up where we left off… in Forks, Washington, with Bella (Kristen Stewart) and Edward (Robert Pattinson) deeply in love and talking about it often. Bella wants Edward to bite her and make her a vampire, so she can be close to him forever. However, Edward thinks to do that would be to take away her precious soul. (Soul is the symbolic word for virginity in these films.) When an accident causes one of the Cullen clan to attack Bella, Edward decides in order to protect her, he must leave her forever. Enter Jacob (Taylor Lautner), who is the prototype of the “best male friend,” except that he’s a total hunk– and he’s a werewolf. It takes Bella way longer to figure this out than it takes us in the audience. She’s let in on the secret surprisingly easily, and then the natural conflict is clear. Will Edward come back for Bella? Will Bella ever give Jacob a chance? Who will win in the epic werewolf-vampire fight? And will Jacob ever wear a shirt again?

Please don’t leave me hateful comments for my snide remarks regarding the quality of this sequel– as I stated in my Twilight essay, I thought that the first film was decent enough, and that it gets a rawl deal in terms of the thrashing it receives at the hands of those who hate the series, or Pattinson, or Stewart, or all of the above. This film does have some noteworthy improvements over the first. The effects are vastly superior… not even in the same ballpark, really. When Jacob jumps into the air and phases into a werewolf in mid-jump, it immediately destroys even the best effects in the last film. The film is also shot with more confidence; while it loses the right-in-the-thick-of-it indie feel that Catherine Hardwicke gave the first film, Chris Weitz shoots this film like an epic action romance, the way it wants to be shot. The score is dramatic, the music indie and emo, and the color palette far more fleshed out.

Also, this film gives opportunities for a few actors to shine. Taylor Lautner is a charming young actor who gives a usually gloomy series some much-needed warmth. He is also in possession of ten to twelve abdominal muscles that would merit a Best Supporting Actor nomination if anyone from this film would. Michael Welch provides humor as Mike, the goofball average joe friend at school who crushes on Bella and clearly stands zero chance (forget Team Edward and Team Jacob– I’m firmly on Team Mike). Billy Burke gets several warm moments as Charlie, Bella’s father, who doesn’t understand Bella but at least tries hard. Ashley Greene is peppy as Edward’s psychic sister Alice, and she provides necessary eye candy for any guy dragged by his girlfriend to see these films. Dakota Fanning appears in a “what is she doing here?” cameo as a powerful vampire who has the ability to torture people… or something– her intensity seems far less forced than many of the other vampiric actors. Finally, there’s Michael Sheen, who chews scenery (and necks) with great gusto as Aro, the leader of the Volturi, a group of ancient vampires in Italy who… well, who they are isn’t really important, just know that they put Edward and Bella in danger. His hammy performance showed me what kind of film this might have been with more capable actors, one where the intensity is fun to watch and the actors seem to be enjoying themselves and the great powerful passion they throw themselves headfirst into.

Unfortunately, many of the problems from the first film linger into the second. Pattinson’s intensity as Edward seems put on and bordering on self-indulgent. He takes his part so seriously that it forces teen girls to stifle giggles at the wooden dialogue he is forced to deliver. Stewart shows a little more life this time around, but she is now stuck with a great dilemma– the audience will clearly find Jacob the more reasonable choice of mate, yet she doesn’t give him the time of the day. In fact, she refuses to even give him one shot. Why? I know, I know, Team Edward followers will tell me how deep their love is, and that’s the reason why she can never be with anyone else. The problem is that the clunky script doesn’t give them any real connection of love, other than moany angsty one-liners. Jacob makes her smile, makes her laugh, and gets her out of the house. Edward never does those things and threatens to take her eternal soul. If Edward was portrayed by a more charming, less moody actor, perhaps this duel would seem more even-handed. Also, the plot mopes along like a raincloud. Aside from Bella experiencing adrenalin rushes to see Edward (in a misty cloud effect that also provokes chuckles nearly every time), there’s very little true action to speak of for a very long stretch of film. When the format is essentially the same as the first, repetition of the first film’s structure is not a good thing at all.

Of course, the set up for the sequel is a doozy. *SLIGHT SPOILER AHEAD* Edward says he’ll only bite her if she agrees to marry him. (Still think the pro-abstinence, bloodlust-as-real-lust metaphor is hokum?) And Edward and Jacob have the beginnings of what I pray will be an epic showdown. Yet cruel tease that the film is (and the one before it), it saves the most fascinating moments for the last five minutes. Naturally, with this movie making serious bank, it comes as no surprise that this film should be seen if only to keep your fingers on the pulse of popular culture. However, and forgive me since I haven’t read the books, if the plot doesn’t pick up for the third film, it will be increasingly difficult for me to motivate myself to donate another two plus hours of my life solely for the purpose of keeping up with the times. On the plus side, it won’t take very much for it to eclipse this entry.