Reviews

More than twenty years ago, Steven Spielberg's Jurassic Park captivated audiences around the world, showcasing the most photorealistic depiction of dinosaurs ever realized on film, thanks to a combination of Stan Winston's animatronic creations and state- of-the-art CGI. Now, the park is open again for Jurassic World – but does this long- awaited sequel recapture the same magic?

Not quite, although Universal Pictures and director Colin Trevorrow certainly make a valiant attempt. Wisely ignoring the events of the second and third films in the franchise, Jurassic World takes place approximately twenty years after the original. Isla Nublar is now home to a sprawling resort that has been operating successfully for years – something like a combination of Disneyland and an animal safari park, but with the giraffes and elephants replaced by lumbering herbivores like triceratops and stegosaurus. There's even a Sea World-esque attraction where visitors can watch a mosasaurus burst out of the water to devour its dinner before splashing down and soaking the first few rows of spectators.

Jurassic World follows many of the same beats as the original film, but manages to never seem as though it's trying to replicate its predecessor. There are numerous homages to some of the most iconic scenes from Jurassic Park – some are clever winks to the die-hard fans, and some are very blatant references – but the near-constant fan service is a very welcome detail.

Regrettably, the movies falls a bit short in some places, not the least of which is the truly awful dialogue. We got a few glimpses of this in some of the film's trailers and TV spots, and viewers hoping that the most cringe-worthy moments were already revealed in the marketing will be in for some disappointment. Chris Pratt – so charismatic and charming in last year's Guardians of the Galaxy – is saddled with some of the worst bits, spending most of the film as a walking exposition machine. But co-star Bryce Dallas Howard doesn't fare much better, and most exchanges between their two characters will have eyes rolling toward the ceiling.

Another truly puzzling aspect of Jurassic World involves a bizarre subplot with an InGen employee (Vincent D'Onofrio) hoping to turn a velociraptor research study into a military training program, wherein the raptors could be conditioned to follow commands and be sent into war zones in place of ground troops. It's a completely ludicrous notion, and everything associated with this idea could easily have been excised from the film without losing anything important.

And while I understand the theme park is modeled after real-world locations with real-world business arrangements, there is an absurd amount of product placement in this film. At one point, after Claire (Howard) shows off the facility's research lab to a group of corporate representatives hoping to sponsor an upcoming attraction, she muses about having "Verizon Wireless presents" on the marquee. There's also the opulent Samsung Innovation Center, towering above the resort's hub area much like Cinderella's Castle at Disneyland, not to mention a slew of retailers and eateries that would be much more at home in a shopping mall than a theme park.

Aside from those admittedly large stumbling blocks, Jurassic World delivers pretty much everything fans could ask for. The number and variety of the dinosaurs has increased vastly over the original film, and the creatures are once again created through a combination of animatronics and CGI for a stunningly lifelike experience. And of course, there's the Indominus Rex, the park's first genetically engineered hybrid, which serves up most of Jurassic World's thrills and chills through a number of white-knuckle action scenes.

Audiences expecting Trevorrow and Universal to redefine the genre should probably temper their expectations before purchasing a ticket. The film is hampered by some major script issues that should have been addressed long before the cameras began to roll, but they're not enough to keep the experience from being enjoyable, and fans of the original film – and even its terrible sequels – should find plenty to love about Jurassic World.

Writing a review of a film for which I have no strong opinion is always something of a tedious task, but less than 48 hours after sitting through 20th Century Fox's Spy, I find myself having trouble recalling more than a handful of moments that truly resonated with me. The film marks the third team-up for director Paul Feig and funny lady Melissa McCarthy - the duo previously worked together on The Heat and Bridesmaids, which served as McCarthy's breakout role - and the formula is definitely beginning to wear out its welcome. This time around, McCarthy is Susan Cooper, a CIA agent who spends her time behind a desk as the handler for Bradley Fine (Jude Law), a dashing James Bond clone with whom Susan is smitten. When a mission goes wrong, Cooper volunteers to be sent into the field to clean things up - much to the surprise of her boss (Alison Janney) and Fine's rival, Rick Ford (Jason Statham). Cooper is tasked with keeping tabs on the daughter (Rose Byrne) of a wealthy arms dealer as she partners with an intermediary (Bobby Cannavale) to secure the sale of a nuclear weapon. If you're familiar with McCarthy's other work, then you can probably guess that she bumbles and fumbles her way through the mission, getting herself deeper entrenched in the dangerous world of espionage. The film takes a somewhat surprising twist around the halfway point, with Susan's personality undergoing a dramatic change that makes her interactions with the other characters infinitely more entertaining. This is also around the time that Spy significantly ramps up the action, including a wild chase scene through the streets of Budapest, complete with plenty of mayhem and collateral damage, and a hilarious hand-to-hand combat sequence in a restaurant's kitchen. Unfortunately, it takes entirely too long for Spy to get to this point, and sitting through the first hour is an exercise in perseverance. The action scenes and the added humor are a welcome addition, but as with most other movies about secret agents, the third act pulls out a couple of implausible surprises that strain credulity - even for an absurdly comic outing such as this one. But the biggest problem with Spy isn't the length or pacing - although both of those are big issues - it's that most of it feels bland and unimaginative. Take, for example, Susan's lecherous Italian wheelman (Peter Serafinowicz), who can't seem to keep his hands from wandering to her breasts and buttocks every few seconds. It's mildly amusing - if not a little creepy - the first time, but it quickly wears out its welcome by repeating endlessly. It just feels lazy, as if the writers couldn't be bothered with giving the character any personality traits other than this one. McCarthy is about as good as can be expected, but she's not really stretching the limits of her range here, and Law is well-cast as the mischievous and debonair secret agent archetype. But the film's funniest moments come courtesy of Byrne and Statham, the latter of which is at his absolute comedic best in a role that can only be described as a swaggering, foul-mouthed version of Inspector Clouseau. Spy is neither a great film, nor a terrible film - it merely exists, and seems to perfectly comfortable with that achievement alone. Moments of vapidity and comic brilliance are doled out in equal measure, with enough to ensure that audiences won't regret buying a ticket. But they likely won't be terribly excited about spending that ten bucks, either.

After a grueling journey from Scotland to America on a quest to reunite with his beloved, Jay Cavendish (Kodi Smit-McPhee) crosses paths with a mysterious drifter named Silas (Michael Fassbender) in the forests of Colorado. It's fortuitous timing, as Jay has gotten himself into a bit of trouble, and Silas understands that violence is necessary in order to survive in the west - a concept which the timid youth struggles to grasp.

For a price, Silas offers to accompany Jay on his journey to locate his sweetheart - although as we learn through a series of flashbacks sprinkled throughout the film, Rose (Caren Pistorius) may not be terribly excited to see Jay again. But she'll almost certainly be less excited by an introduction to Silas, who knows that a reward has been offered for the capture of Rose and her father (Rory McCann) in relation to a crime that occurred before their journey to America.

Further complicating matters is Payne (Ben Mendelsohn) and his group of bounty hunters, with whom Silas has a prior relationship. After crossing paths with Jay in the woods, Payne and his men seem to always be lurking just out of sight, lending the latter half of the film a near-constant sense of foreboding as we keep waiting for them to strike.

Slow West gradually peels back the layers of its narrative while constantly remaining focused on the burgeoning friendship between Jay and Silas. Despite his distaste for ferocity, Jay finds himself becoming increasingly reliant on Silas and his wisdom, while Silas tries to fight a growing desire to protect the boy from the dangers of a world he isn't prepared for.

Director John MacLean (who also wrote the screenplay) gives the quieter moments just enough room to breathe before punctuating them with instances of absurdly black humor or sudden, brutal flashes of violence, both of which seem to have been influenced by the likes of Quentin Tarantino and the Coen Brothers. Of particular note is a tense, riveting shootout during the film's climax, featuring a moment so farcical that I burst out laughing in spite of the on screen carnage. It's the kind of thing only the most competent of filmmakers could get away with, and MacLean absolutely nails it.

But despite MacLean's prowess as a writer and director, Slow West ultimately succeeds on the strength of its cast, with Smit-McPhee as the wide-eyed innocent and Fassbender as the grizzled, trail-weary wanderer. Mendelsohn deserves a nod for being suitably creepy as the flick's sort-of villain, but at its heart, this is a coming-of-age story about a young man in need of a strong role model and father figure, who finds it in the most unlikely of places.

"I f**king loved it."

That was my initial reaction after walking out of the theater following the screening of Mad Max: Fury Road, and 24 hours later I feel exactly the same. Trapped in a state of perpetual forward motion and absolutely relentless in its pacing, it's a jaw-dropping, eye-popping, mind-blowing experience that sets a new standard for what audiences should expect from action filmmaking.

From the first shot of Max (Tom Hardy) surveying the wasteland, the film shifts into high gear and never looks back. It's nearly a full 30 minutes before you'll have a chance to catch your breath, and even that respite lasts mere moments before the engines are roaring, the bullets are flying, and the characters are pressing ever onward.

Along the way, we encounter the major players in this post- apocalyptic tale: there's Immortan Joe (Hugh Keays-Byrne), a dictator who controls the only source of clean water and breeds a constantly supply of his "war boys" to keep himself in power; Furiosa (Charlize Theron), one of Joe's most trusted lieutenants and driver of the massive War Rig; and Nux (Nicholas Hoult), a war boy with a surprising connection to Max, who yearns to prove himself on the battlefield.

And then there are the Breeders (Zoe Kravitz, Rosie Huntington- Whiteley, Riley Keough, Abbey Lee, and Courtney Eaton), smuggled away in the cargo hold of the War Rig, racing cross the desert in a desperate attempt to free themselves of Joe's tyranny. Furiosa's decision to defy her master and smuggle his wives away to her childhood homeland is the spark which ignites the fires of war, and it's not long before Joe and his entire army - not to mention the surrounding clans - are bearing down on Furiosa and Max.

But these women are no damsels in distress - quite the contrary, in fact. Furiosa is every bit the warrior that Max is, proving her mettle time and again throughout the never-ending chaos, and the wives are smart and strong-willed, resolute in their decision to no longer be seen as objects, but rather as people. Each character is given ample time in the spotlight, and if anything, it's Max that winds up getting a little short-changed here.

The final chase scene during the third act of The Road Warrior has stood the test of time as one of the greatest action sequences ever filmed, so it's only fitting that it should finally be dethroned by the same director. Mad Max: Fury Road feels like George Miller set out to film a two-hour version of that same sequence, only with bigger cars, bigger guns, bigger explosions and of course, a bigger budget. Everything about this film is big, and that's exactly how it should be seen: on the biggest screen, with the biggest speakers, and surrounded by the biggest audience you can find.

If that sounds exhausting, you're not wrong - but it's exhausting in the absolute best way possible. I can honestly say I've never seen anything quite like this released by a major motion picture studio, and Warner Bros. deserves all the credit in the world for allowing Miller to bring his vision to life on such an impossibly enormous scale. Mad Max: Fury Road is a brilliantly-directed, strikingly original film, extending a defiant leather-clad middle finger to a genre that is all too often flooded with mediocrity, and daring the rest of Hollywood to elevate their game.

It's been more than 20 years since the death of Kurt Cobain, and while there have been numerous documentaries, books, and television programs devoted to telling his story, it's difficult to point to any one account as being the definitive portrait of the Nirvana frontman. But Brett Morgen's fascinating film Cobain: Montage of Heck is more than worthy of that title.

Chronicling Cobain's life and career through never-before-seen home videos, sketches, audio recordings and diary entries, Montage of Heck provides an unprecedented look into the mind of one of rock music's most iconic figures. This is the first film to have the full support and cooperation of Cobain's family, and the wealth of material resulting from this partnership is staggering.

Most of the journal entries featured in the film have been animated and set to music, providing a unique and frenetic energy that seems to distract the audience from the fact that they're being forced to read in order to keep up with the narrative. Sometimes they're nothing more than a few short words, other times they're entire pages of ideas and song lyrics and scribbles, but they all showcase a mind that functioned with the same sort of reckless abandon with which Cobain played music.

But the animation isn't just limited to the words on the pages of Cobain's many journals. Indeed, there are several fully-animated sequences that are combined with recordings of Cobain recounting anecdotes from various periods in his life. These scenes, from animators Hisko Hulsing and Stefan Nadelman, have an almost dreamlike quality, and breathe an incredible amount of life into Cobain's own narration.

Montage of Heck is also peppered with interviews, with frequent quotes from Cobain's parents, his first serious girlfriend, former bandmate Krist Novoselic, and even his widow, Courtney Love (conspicuously absent is Foo Fighters frontman Dave Grohl, who served as the band's drummer for the bulk of their short career). Once again, the cooperation of these individuals provides tremendous insight into the series of events that led Cobain into his downward spiral.

But the most emotional material, and certainly the most difficult to watch, is a lengthy segment during the film's second hour devoted to home video footage of Cobain and his wife. We see them holed up in their apartment during a heroin-fueled binge, with frequent cuts to news headlines about their drug problems, and Cobain's angry handwritten retorts. We see them at home after the birth of their daughter, Frances Bean Cobain, taking baths together and cracking jokes, obviously in love despite the undeniable toxicity of their relationship.

Far from the sort of talking head style that is so common with other music documentaries, Montage of Heck instead offers the most intimate look at Cobain that we've ever seen. From the casual listener to the hardcore fan, every viewer can expect to learn something about Cobain that they didn't know before, leaving with even more appreciation for his art, and more sorrow over his tragic self-destruction.

The Fast and Furious franchise has been a box office juggernaut, with the last three installments taking in a collective total of $1.7 billion at the worldwide box office. The latest volume, Furious 7, would likely have eclipsed the success of its predecessors to begin with, but the tragic death of series star Paul Walker in the midst of filming has cast an even bigger spotlight on the film.

Production on Furious 7 was halted for several months after Walker's death in November 2013, and when filming finally resumed, it was with an altered script that promised to pay tribute to the late actor - his brothers even served as body doubles in order to allow his scenes to be completed. The result is a touching and poignant memorial that closes the door on Walker's character and his story without feeling like the subject is being forced.

But before we get to those tearful goodbyes, Dom Toretto (Vin Diesel) and his crew must contend with Deckard Shaw (Jason Statham), who happens to be an even bigger and more menacing threat than his younger brother Owen Shaw (Luke Evans), the villain from the previous film. Big brother Deckard doesn't take too kindly to his sibling's fate, and after murdering Han in Tokyo and breaking into the DSS office to take down Luke Hobbs (Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson), he sets his sights on Dom.

What follows is essentially an extended game of cat and mouse, with Dom and his crew trying (and often failing) to remain one step ahead of Shaw. There's also a convoluted plot that involves the gang working for a shadowy government agent (Kurt Russell) in order to get information on Shaw's whereabouts - which is really just an excuse the filmmakers needed to have team to hop from one exotic location to another.

Most of the cast returns here, including Tyrese Gibson, Chris "Ludacris" Bridges, and Michelle Rodriguez - all of whom are given an opportunity to shine during the film's many action sequences. If you've seen any of the marketing materials for Furious 7, then you've already gotten a glimpse of the biggest moments, but there are definitely some surprises left, including an insane chase during the third act that's almost as crazy as the bank vault heist from Fast Five.

The needlessly complicated plot - which also introduces a hacker who creates a program to tap into the global communications network and a militant leader (Djimon Hounsou) trying to steal the program for himself - is definitely the film's biggest weakness. We're constantly left to question why Dom and his team would ever find themselves involved in this mess, and there are so many threads to tie up that the running time feels about 15 minutes too long.

But let's be fair: the Fast and Furious franchise has always been about exotic cars, insane stunts, and gorgeous women, and it delivers those things in heaping doses. But closing the chapter on Walker's character also lends a bit of extra weight to the proceedings, and longtime fans of the series may find themselves reaching for a Kleenex during the film's final moments. There's little doubt that audiences will be pouring into theaters this weekend to say goodbye to Walker, and they should find themselves coming away from the experience with a sense of closure and satisfaction.

While I generally enjoy most music biopics, it's hard to argue with the fact that most of them tend to subscribe to a very familiar pattern. Every once in awhile, a film comes along that break the mold - Todd Haynes did it in 2007 with I'm Not There, which featured six different actors portraying Bob Dylan at various points in his career. That film's writer, Oren Moverman, offers a similarly unconventional approach to Love & Mercy, which hones in on two critical periods during the life of Beach Boys songwriter Brian Wilson.

We first encounter Brian (Paul Dano) during the 1960s, shortly before the band is scheduled to head out for a tour of Japan. Reluctant to return to the road, Brian convinces his brothers that he belongs at home in the studio, where he'll be more effective at creating the band's next album. The boys finally acquiesce, and Brian hires a collection of studio musicians to begin crafting what would ultimately become Pet Sounds.

Our next encounter with Brian comes during the 1980s, where he's portrayed by John Cusack. Brian meets, and attempts to court, Cadillac saleswoman Melinda Ledbetter (Elizabeth Banks), but she quickly discovers that Brian's life is not his own when she meets Dr. Eugene Landy (Paul Giamatti), his therapist and legal guardian. Landy controls every aspect of Brian's existence, from his diet to his personal relationships, all the while insisting that he has Brian's best interests at heart.

The film frequently cuts between these two periods in Brian's life. We see the depths of his imagination and creativity as he employs a range of nontraditional elements to record Pet Sounds, desperately trying to bring to life the music he hears in his head, and all the while sliding further and further into the grip of severe mental illness. And we see the results of that illness, as Brian becomes a timid, broken man, cut off from his friends and family, allowing himself to be controlled and manipulated, and never able to find peace.

Director Bill Pohlad does a marvelous job of illustrating the parallels between each on screen version of Brian Wilson, and both actors give brilliant, emotional performances. Dano in particular turns in what can arguably be called the best work of his career, perfectly embodying Brian's childlike glee as he excitedly flits around the studio, and capturing the anguish and desperation as his mind continues to deteriorate.

Unorthodox in its approach and admirable in its complexity, Love & Mercy wisely chooses not to paint a definitive portrait of a man whose life couldn't possibly be summed up in a two-hour film. By confining the narrative to these two specific chapters, we're able to go far beyond the surface and reveal the inner workings of a tortured genius, and shed light on a story that few people are familiar with. Love & Mercy is a truly exceptional film about the internal and external struggles of a truly exceptional person, and is one of the most emotionally resonant experiences I've had with a film this year.

The combination of horror and comedy is always a volatile recipe, and the failure to mix those ingredients just right can often result in disaster. But every once in awhile, a film comes along that manages to stumble upon the secret formula for success, with Cabin in the Woods being the most recent example. Now, three years after that film blew the roof off the Paramount Theater at the SXSW Film Festival, we have another SXSW debut that premiered to a cacophonous ovation: director Todd Strauss-Schulson's The Final Girls.

Max Cartwright (Taissa Farmiga) is struggling with loss after the tragic death of her mother, 80s slasher flick icon Amanda Cartwright (Malin Akerman). When she attends an anniversary screening of her mom's landmark film, Camp Bloodbath, a freak accident transports Max and her friends (Alia Shawkat, Alexander Ludwig, Thomas Middleditch and Nina Dobrev) into the film itself, where they're forced to abide by the rules of the movie's narrative in an attempt to survive.

Of course, everyone knows that anyone who has sex in an 80s horror film is bound to be butchered shortly after, so Max finds herself in the awkward position of trying to convince her mother's character not to sleep with the cocky, swaggering Kurt (Adam Devine), whose dialogue is almost entirely made up of sexual innuendo. Meanwhile, the attractive but vapid Tina (Angela Trimbur) is constantly trying to disrobe, which is a big no-no in this film, since a pair of bare breasts will bring the masked killer and his machete running.

Fans of the Friday the 13th or Sleepaway Camp series will find plenty to love here as the film gleefully pokes fun at genre tropes, and much of the fun comes from the fact that Max and her friends aren't just living in the world of the film - they're living in the actual film, complete with voiceovers, on screen credits, and flashbacks. There are so many hilarious moments that the film practically begs for repeated viewings, as audiences are bound to be laughing so hard that they'll miss some of the rapid-fire humor.

There are a few times when The Final Girls gets a little too stylish, such as poorly rendered early scene that involves a bottle of vodka rolling across the floor of a crowded theater, and there are a few moments where the film seems to forsake its own rules in favor of an extra laugh. But these are minor complaints, and the audience at the Paramount Theater certainly didn't allow these nitpicks to detract from the overall experience. The Final Girls is an immensely fun experience that finds a great balance between being a spoof of the genre, and a love letter to its absurdity.

It was only a matter of time before screenwriter Alex Garland (28 Days Later, Sunshine) found himself stepping behind the camera, and he takes a fresh new approach to artificial intelligence with his directorial debut, the riveting sci-fi thriller Ex Machina. Unfolding almost entirely in a single location, the film finds intelligent young programmer Caleb (Domhnall Gleeson) arriving at the picturesque mountain estate of his employer, Nathan (Oscar Isaac) for a week- long stay, a reward for winning an interoffice lottery.

Nathan tells Caleb that he's been working on something extraordinary - a new kind of artificial intelligence - and would like his assistance in testing the creation. Caleb is then introduced to Ava (Alicia Vikander), a beautiful and precocious humanoid robot with a shapely figure made of metal, wire, and circuitry. As Caleb and Ava interact, Nathan monitors everything from the home's closed-circuit TV system, reconvening in the evenings to discuss the results of the day's tests with his houseguest.

It would be a crime to say more about the plot of Ex Machina, and the film will be far more enjoyable with little to no foreknowledge of the events to come. Suffice to say that not everything that transpires within the house is as it seems, and that each of the three central characters may have ulterior motives for allowing events to unfold as they do. The film's growing tension and ever- increasing sense of dread owe a lot to the work of Stanley Kubrick, David Fincher and Alfred Hitchcock, and Garland combines each of these influences into his own recipe for suspense.

I can't think of a negative thing to say about any of the cast members, but it's Isaac's performance that is truly captivating. He plays Nathan as a frighteningly brilliant genius whose moods range from genial to hostile - one minute he's cracking jokes and offering Caleb a beer, the next minute he's getting blackout drunk or screaming at his mute housekeeper (Sonoyo Mizuno) for spilling a glass of wine. Isaac cuts a sinister and terrifying figure, and audiences should be even more excited for some of the villainous future roles he's attached to.

Ex Machina is arguably Garland's best work yet as a writer, simultaneously existing as a character-driven piece about the nature of consciousness and humanity, and a tightly wound thriller about manipulation and deception. It's also beautifully shot, superbly acted and expertly paced, and may very well be the best film that 2015 has offered so far.

To call Russell Brand a polarizing figure in the realm pop culture would be something of an understatement. Over the years, the comedian, actor and author has concocted a public persona that is equal parts amusing and annoying, and there doesn't seem to be much middle ground when it comes to opinions of his particular - well, "brand" of humor. The documentary Brand: A Second Coming, which opened the 2015 SXSW Film Festival, seeks to explore the many facets of Brand's personality. Not a stone is left unturned here, from Brand's early days as a comedian and talk show host, to his headline-making romance with pop singer Katy Perry, to his current mission to spark change in the political and social climate.

While much of the material is undeniably funny, director Ondi Timoner certainly isn't afraid to let things get a bit darker. Home video footage of Brand in his younger days, slumped against the wall of his apartment and smoking methamphetamine, offers a very candid representation of his well-documented battle with drug addiction. Timoner also examines Brand's recovery, which ultimately led to another addiction that was arguably just as harmful: sex. And of course, his highly publicized marriage to (and divorce from) Katy Perry doesn't escape the scrutiny of Timoner's camera.

But for every melancholy moment, there are just as many entertaining and engaging scenes, much of it culled from talk show interviews and some of Brand's stand-up comedy performances. The documentary was actually being produced during the time Brand was creating his Messiah Complex special, and footage from this performance is weaved throughout the film as Brand discusses many of the figures which would inspire the finished product, and ultimately help to inform the belief system he has developed.

Brand: A Second Coming also spends a hefty amount of time on Brand's desire to enact social and political change, and his belief that a revolution is not only a necessity, but an inevitability. His beliefs may be a bit too radical for some, but it's nearly impossible not to admire him for his conviction and dedication to those beliefs - even if he sometimes has trouble balancing his activism with his desire to remain in the public consciousness.

With Brand: A Second Coming, Timoner has constructed an interesting and enlightening portrait of one of pop culture's most fascinating figures. It's doubtful that anyone viewing the documentary will have their opinion of Brand swayed in one direction or another, but it does shed some light on the influences and experiences that have shaped him into the person we see today.

Sometimes, watching a bad film - and in my case, subsequently writing a review of a bad film - can be an enjoyable experience. There are some films that are so painfully bad that they actually become somewhat fascinating, and there's a part of you that wants tell others about them, mostly so you can sit around afterward saying things like "do you remember that part when..." and sharing a laugh.

And then there are films like Blackhat, which is so appallingly atrocious that it borders on being offensive. While it probably isn't fair to believe that every film from Michael Mann to be as engaging as Heat or as exciting as Collateral, audiences should still be able to expect a certain level of competence from the veteran director. In this case, those competencies aren't just missing - it's almost as if they never existed. If it weren't for a handful of signature shots, I would never have believed that Mann had anything to with this mess of a film.

Chris Hemsworth, best known for his role as Thor in the Marvel films, is laughably miscast as Nicholas Hathaway, an MIT graduate currently serving a 15-year sentence for hacking into a series of banks. After a disaster in a Chinese power plant is traced back to a malicious piece of code, Hathaway gets furloughed in order to help a no-nonsense FBI agent (Viola Davis) and his former roommate, now a Chinese government official (Wang Leehom), track down the culprit - because of course, Hathaway just happens to have a special connection to the code.

And speaking of special connections, there's also his old pal's sister (Tang Wei), who gets a few looks at Hathaway and his constantly unbuttoned shirt and falls right into bed with him. There's a throwaway line about her being some sort of network engineer, but she exists solely as a plot device, an effort to shoehorn a preposterous romance into a film that is already full of things that make absolutely no sense. For starters, if Hathaway has been in prison for most of his adult life, when did he find time to become an expert marksman with a handgun, or a master of hand-to- hand combat?

This is just one of many, many questions that Blackhat raises, without offering a single satisfactory answer. Michael Mann goes to great lengths to extend the film's already overbearing running time by subscribing to the "style over substance" theory. Take, for example, the film's opening sequence, which finds the camera doing a microscopic zoom into phone lines and over motherboards, showing us what it believes are the inner workings of technology as data is being transmitted. It's an arrogant, ham-fisted attempt to create excitement where none exists, and the truth is, we don't care about seeing the data travel from Point A to Point B - we just want to know what happens when it gets there.

Rarely have I found myself so overwhelmingly frustrated with a film, and I honestly can't remember the last time I sat in a theater checking my watch as often as I did during Blackhat. This is the first theatrical release I've seen since before the start of the new year, and I almost feel ashamed by the fact that I wasted the title of "first movie of 2015" on this garbage. Unlike the aforementioned so-bad-they're-good films, there is nothing redeemable, interesting, or enjoyable about Blackhat. Don't make the same mistake I did.

-- Brent Hankins, www.nerdrep.com

In 2010, a series of church fires plagued a 40-mile section of East Texas, beginning with the Little Hope Baptist Church outside of Canton. Originally suspected as an electrical fire, it was only connected to the subsequent incidents when a message was found etched into the restroom wall of a local business: "Little Hope Was Arson."

Sharing the same name as the message itself, Theo Love's documentary about the crimes and their impact on the residents of the small Texas locales in which they occurred is an engrossing piece of work. Charting the story from the inaugural incident to the arrest of two suspects, Jason Bourque and Daniel McAllister, Little Hope Was Arson covers plenty of ground, doling out new information in carefully measured doses.

But the film is most effective when it pauses to allow its subjects a bit of breathing room. Take, for example, a series of anecdotes from McAllister's father, who recalls his attempted suicide in the same plain-spoken manner in which he discusses courting his would-be wife. Both stories are delivered with an easygoing southern drawl and a certain matter-of-factness, and it's these sort of moments that truly humanize the residents of these small Texas towns.

With law enforcement interviews, archived news footage and a haunting soundtrack, Love paints a vivid picture of life in the Bible Belt, where blue-collar folks value their religion and their community. It would have been easy to portray some of his subjects as hillbilly redneck stereotypes, but Love refuses to cast anyone in an unfavorable light – even the arsonists themselves, who are interviewed toward the end of the film. Instead, he remains completely objective throughout the proceedings, opting instead to the let the audience form their own opinions. At a scant 71 minutes, Little Hope Was Arson is barely longer than an episode of Forensic Files, yet stands tall as one of the year's most captivating documentaries.

Ever since the Disney acquisition of Marvel in 2009, fans of both entities have been awaiting the first true collaborative effort between the companies, and that effort finally arrives in the form of Big Hero 6. Loosely based on a limited series of Marvel comic books, the film is the story of 14-year-old genius Hiro Hamada (Ryan Potter), whose considerable intellect is mostly being used to fleece other inventors in an underground robot fighting ring. This is a point of frustration for older brother Tadashi, whose own gifted mind is laser-focused on helping others thanks to his latest invention, a "personal healthcare companion" robot named Baymax (Scott Adsit).

After accompanying his brother on a college visit, Hiro is blown away by the talent and resources available at San Fransokyo Tech, and hurls himself into a new project that he hopes will gain him admission into the school's prestigious robotics program. His demonstration is a hit, garnering him attention from a sleazy corporate businessman and praise from the legendary Professor Callaghan (James Cromwell), but the celebration is cut short when a catastrophe leads to the destruction of Hiro's work and the loss of Tadashi, who perishes while trying to rescue others.

Months pass, and the disconsolate Hiro spends his days alone in his bedroom, until he stumbles upon Baymax, the gentle, inflatable robot that Tadashi hoped would change the world. Programmed to provide care, Baymax senses the boy's trouble and makes it his personal mission to assist Hiro in moving past the tragedy - but that assistance also involves helping Hiro investigate the sudden re- emergence of the tech he invented, which should have been destroyed in the accident but is now being used by a mysterious masked criminal to wreak havoc and destruction on the city.

Co-directed by Don Hall and Chris Williams, Disney's Big Hero 6 is a refreshingly fun approach to the superhero origin story. There are no radioactive spiders or genetic mutations here - the "superpowers" wielded by each of the wildly diverse characters are derived solely from technology. The film is stuffed full of original and innovative action sequences, and the thrilling climax is an amazing display of colors, smoke, explosions and special effects that make up some of the most striking on screen visuals of the year.

But at its heart, beneath the excitement and the humor, Big Hero 6 is the story of a boy and his best friend, and the relationship that develops between Hiro and Baymax is genuine and heartfelt. Disney fans should be accustomed to having their heartstrings tugged on, and Big Hero 6 continues the tradition of weaving an emotionally affecting tale inside a bright, colorful adventure. It's another feather in the cap for the animation studio, and hopefully the beginning of a long and fruitful partnership as they continue to work alongside Marvel.

Despite starring in some undeniably iconic roles early in his career, Keanu Reeves has struggled to maintain any sort of momentum, with every critically acclaimed performance or box office success followed by a string of disappointing and underwhelming projects. But thanks to his former stunt double Chad Stahelski, Reeves once again finds himself headlining a solid action flick that has plenty of buzz around it.

Despondent over the death of his wife, retired assassin John Wick (Reeves) spends his days moping around his house, with a beagle puppy as his only companion. The dog arrived on his doorstep shortly after his wife's funeral, a final gift so that John wouldn't have to carry on alone. But an untimely run-in with Iosef Tarasov (Alfie Allen), the son of a local Russian mobster, results in the theft of John's 1969 Ford Mustang and the death of his puppy, leaving John with nothing to love - and nothing to lose.

Yes, that's a ridiculous segue, but it also perfectly conveys the tone of John Wick. The premise is unapologetically silly, but Reeves approaches the material with such fervor that we quickly forget about his motivations. It doesn't matter that Wick is singlehandedly disassembling the infrastructure of the Russian crime syndicate because of a dog - what matters is how much fun the film is having while he does it. Wick stalks from scene to scene with the precision of The Terminator, scarcely wasting a single movement as he dispatches bad guys in impressive numbers, with equally impressive methods.

Surrounding the nearly non-stop action is an interesting mix of supporting characters, including Ian McShane as the owner of a hotel for assassins, whose roles dictate that no business be conducted on the premises, and Willem Dafoe as Wick's mentor, Marcus, himself an expert sharpshooter. And we can't forget Adrianne Palicki, a fellow contract killer out to collect the $2 million bounty placed on Wick's head by Tarasov's father, Viggo (Michael Nyqvist), who also happens to be Wick's former employer.

Stahelski, who first doubled for Reeves on The Matrix before moving on to several other films with the actor, including Constantine, Man of Tai Chi and both Matrix sequels, has teamed up with longtime collaborator David Leitch for John Wick, a stylish revenge thriller that heralds the arrival of a bold new voice. While Stahelski is credited as the director due to DGA regulations, this is very much a team effort, as Stahelski and Leitch have channeled their decades of experience as stunt coordinators and second unit directors into a remarkably original film that boasts some of the best action sequences in recent memory.

While John Wick certainly isn't a perfect film - the script is paper-thin in more than a few places, and Reeves has a handful of laughably poor dialogue deliveries - it never stops having fun. This is a film that refuses to take itself seriously, opting instead to just strap in, buckle up and enjoy the ride. And as long as audiences can follow suit, rather than searching for some deeper meaning, they should find themselves pleased with the results.

-- Brent Hankins, www.nerdrep.com

Within the hallowed halls of Winchester University, the fictional Ivy League school created for Justin Simien's Dear White People, black students are frequently disenfranchised by their white counterparts. This trend doesn't sit well with Sam (Tessa Thompson), the host of an inflammatory talk radio show that shares the same title as the film, and provides her a forum in which she's free to admonish her fellow students for their behavior.

Sam's ex-boyfriend Troy (Brandon Bell) exists at the opposite end of the spectrum, a charismatic and well-spoken politician whose father (Dennis Haysbert) is the dean of students, and whose persona has been built on the perfect combination of popularity and social connections. But when Sam unexpectedly usurps Troy as the president of Armstrong Parker House, a traditionally all-black dormitory, her militant approach to race relations creates conflict for just about everyone, prompting the leader of a white residence hall (Kyle Gallner) to retaliate by sponsoring a tasteless "black themed" party.

Also involved in the turmoil are Lionel (Tyler James Williams), an awkward geek struggling both with his sexuality and his assignment to a house full of arrogant, ultra-privileged white guys who view him as their personal instrument of amusement; Coco (Teyona Parris), a reality TV wannabe who spends most of the film chasing after fame and trying to disassociate herself from her fellow black students; and Reggie (Marque Richardson), leader of the Black Student Union and described by the star as a cross between Malcolm X and Do the Right Thing's Buggin' Out.

Nearly everyone in Dear White People is harboring a secret - some much more than others - and one of the most frustrating things about the film is that many of these secrets seem to be in direct conflict with the makeup of the characters that are keeping them. It becomes increasingly difficult to identify with any of the protagonists when their actions seem to lack all logic and rationality, essentially defying the things we've come to know about them over the course of the film.

That's not to say that Dear White People is a bad film, because it certainly is not. It's intelligent and funny, and features top-notch performances from its four leads. All of the correct elements are in place, but much like its characters, writer/director Justin Simien's film seems to struggle with its identity, and therefore never really finds a cohesive voice. Then again, maybe that was the point?

Sam (Billy Crudup) is a fast-talking, fast-living advertising exec, whose busy schedule and constant wheeling-and-dealing resulted in the dissolution of his marriage. He still has a good relationship with his college-age son, Josh, but when a campus shooting incident claims the boy's life, Sam copes with the tragedy by drinking away his job, his car, and his condo.

Fast forward a couple of years, and Sam is living on a houseboat docked a few hours away from his hometown, painting houses and drinking away his days on a seemingly infinite bender. The cycle is interrupted by the sudden appearance of his ex-wife (Felicity Huffman), who unloads Josh's old guitar and a box of demo recordings - music was always "Josh and Sam's thing," and she needs the reminders out of the house before she's able to move on.

Listening to Josh's songs and thumbing through journals full of lyrics, Sam finds himself with an understanding of his late son that he never had when the boy was alive. He begins learning to play each of the tunes, and feels compelled to pop in for an open mic night at the local watering hole and try one of Josh's songs in front of an audience. This catches the attention of Quentin (Anton Yelchin), a fidgety, socially awkward musician who connects with the haunted quality of the songwriting and convinces Sam to form a band.

Sam reluctantly agrees, never admitting that he didn't actually write any of the material, and what begins as a duo quickly transforms into a four-piece that includes a pair of Yelchin's fellow collaborators (played by real-life indie musicians Ben Kweller and Ryan Dean). Christened "Rudderless," the band begins to garner a strong local following he finds himself swept up in the joy of playing music, with no regard for the consequences that may come when his secret is inevitably found out.

Crudup gives his best performance since Almost Famous, even channeling Russell Hammond in a few of the music sequences, but it's his chemistry with Yelchin that drives the film. The growing bond between Sam and Quentin is a thinly-disguised parallel for Sam's lost relationship with Josh, but truth be told, Quentin needs Sam's guidance and friendship even more than Sam needs him. As Laurence Fishburne's ultra-hip music store owner says at one point, "It's great, what you're doing for that boy."

Marking the directorial debut of William H. Macy, who also appears in a minor role as a bar owner, Rudderless spends its first two acts as a rousing, feel-good affair about discovering (or in Sam's case, rediscovering) passion and purpose. The original songs from Simon Steadman, Charlton Pettus, and Ben Limpic are incredibly catchy, and Macy does a superb job of filming the live performances, imparting several clever techniques that showcase the band's increasing popularity.

But he also handles the weightier, more emotional moments just as deftly, including a startling revelation at the beginning of the third act that forces the audience to completely re-evaluate their feelings about Sam's decisions. The jarring shift in tone may lose some audience members who feel that Macy is stretching the script's credibility, but most will likely understand the intent behind such a choice. But even with the abrupt left turn, Rudderless remains an uplifting and emotional first outing from Macy, and one of my favorite films of the year.

"Ideals are peaceful. History is violent."

These words, delivered by Brad Pitt's scarred and battle-weary Sgt. Don Collier, are meant to bring some level of comfort to Norman Ellison (Logan Lerman), the young man who found himself snatched unceremoniously out of the clerk's office and placed under Collier's command in the final days of WWII. Despite having no combat training to speak of, Ellison has been assigned as the new assistant driver of Fury, the Sherman tank that Collier and his men call home. Ellison has spent most of the war behind a desk, hammering out correspondence at 60 words per minute, but over the last few hours he's been gunning down Nazis in spectacularly gory fashion, and he's struggling to make sense of the carnage.

Collier offers no other thoughts on the subject, having already forgotten about the previous battle and instead thinking about the skirmishes yet to come. He's a fierce figure who inspires confidence and loyalty among his men, who affectionately refer to him as "Wardaddy." But he's also terrifying to someone like Ellison, who finds himself woefully unprepared for the demands of his new vocation. During one of the film's early battle sequences, Ellison hesitates just long enough for tragedy to occur, and his subsequent brow-beating by Collier is followed by one of the most frightening and gut-wrenching scenes ever depicted in a war film. Ellison is quite literally forced to shun his own moral code and forsake any shred of humanity he still clings to, because Collier knows that if he doesn't, everyone in the unit will be dead.

And what a unit it is, a motley crew of the highest order, comprised of a deeply religious gunner (Shia LeBeouf), a pugnacious redneck with a severe mean streak (Jon Bernthal), and a driver (Michael Pena) who drowns the filth and death in bottle after bottle of whatever booze he can find. But these soldiers are bound together by the sort of brotherhood that can only exist between men who have seen combat together: each is more than willing to die for the other, and the introduction of Ellison into their group is met with a hefty amount of resistance. The kid is an unknown, a variable they hadn't anticipated, and viewed as little more than a liability.

But after proving his mettle during a nail-biting engagement with a superior German tank, Ellison gets the seal of approval from the rest of the boys. Collier even takes Ellison with him to explore an American-occupied village, and the two stumble upon a small apartment and its two female tenants. The film takes an interesting turn at this point, allowing the audience a glimpse into the exhaustion and sadness behind Collier's rugged exterior. A bath, a shave, and a nice dinner are a welcome respite from the day's butchery, but it's the second half of this sequence that truly shows how even the best of men can be transformed by the horror of war.

Every member of the cast is at the top of their game here, even LeBeouf, whose well-documented public meltdowns feel like a distant memory. Despite being hampered by a script that regulates everyone but Collier and Ellison to skin-deep characterizations, the actors make the absolute most of it, bringing depth to characters that could very easily have been one-note portrayals. Pitt and Lerman, on the other hand, are given plenty to work with, and their dialogue exchange during the final moments of the film is one of the most emotionally gripping cinematic moments of the year.

Director David Ayer does a superb job with some of the more human moments in Fury, but his skills are best showcased in the thrilling battle sequences, the majority of which were filmed using actual working tanks from the era. Interior shots are skin-crawlingly claustrophobic, especially when surrounded by the shouts, explosions and machine-gun fire that signify the chaos of battle. Exteriors are also handled well, although the film's frequent use of tracer ammunition makes some of the combat resemble the major clashes in the Star Wars films. Yes, it's historically accurate, but sometimes it's more distracting than engrossing.

While Fury never quite ascends to the level of excellence offered by other WWII epics such as Saving Private Ryan or Cross of Iron, it remains a relentless, unflinching account of the unspeakable nature of war. To quote LeBeouf's character, "Wait til you see what a man can do to another man." When we see it, it's certainly not pleasant, and yet we can't look away.

Jason Reitman's Men, Women and Children takes aim at communication in the digital age, offering a sobering and uncomfortably accurate portrait of the way we connect - or rather, fail to connect - with each other when there's a wealth of technology at our fingertips. Take Don (Adam Sandler) for example: a quiet schlub whose sexless marriage to Helen (Rosemarie DeWitt) finds him sneaking into his son's room to feed his internet porn addiction, while his wife struggles with the temptation of using a cheating website to start an extramarital affair. This is the kind of issue that an open dialogue and honest communication could likely overcome - but that would require both of them to put down their iPads or look away from the television.

There's also Hannah (Olivia Crocicchia), a fame-obsessed cheerleader who force-feeds her sexuality to everyone around her in hopes of blazing a path to stardom, Kardashian style. It doesn't help that she's enabled by her mom, Donna (Judy Greer), a failed actress who constantly snaps photos of her daughter for a "modeling" website that happens to include a private section reserved for paying members. Hannah has a thing for Chris (Travis Tope), Don's football player son whose own internet porn habits would not only put his dad's to shame, but have also left him unable to become aroused by anything but the images on his monitor.

Most tragic and heartbreaking of all is Allison (Elena Kampouris), so desperate to catch the eye of her crush that she developed an eating disorder after overhearing him make a disparaging comment about her weight. Now pale and waifish, she maintains her figure by seeking "support" from an online forum dedicated to staying thin at any cost, offering such helpful hunger-battling hints as "drink water and wait five minutes." Their slogan? "Pretty bitches never eat."

At the opposite end of the spectrum is Patricia (Jennifer Garner), a suburban parent who redefines the term "overprotecrive" as she demands that daughter Brandy (Kaitlyn Dever) surrender her cell phone on a regular basis so that she can read her emails and text messages, in addition to poring over pages of chat logs and using a GPS locator app to monitor her daughter's movements whenever she leaves the house. Patricia is convinced that she's keeping Brandy safely out of harm's way, yet remains oblivious to the fact that she's stifling any chance of her having a normal teenage existence.

And then there's Tim (Ansel Elgort), a star running back who elected to quit the football team in favor of investing his time in online role-playing games. Tim's interpretation of Carl Sagan's Pale Blue Dot (a recurring theme throughout the film) is that nothing matters in the grand scheme of things, so why bother investing in a "pointless" activity like football? He's much more content to form connections with other like-minded individuals in a virtual world, while growing increasingly distant from his father (Dean Norris), who continues to cope with the sudden departure of Tim's mother the previous year.

If that sounds like a lot to keep track of, you're correct. As the film progresses, each character is faced with their own individual conflicts, while simultaneously crossing paths with other characters and creating new conflicts along the way. It's not only gut- wrenching to see how commonplace cruelty has become in today's digital world, but terrifying to see how broadly we can all be affected by it. Seemingly innocuous decisions turn out to have major, far-reaching consequences, with actions affecting other characters in surprising ways. It's unapologetically reminiscent of Crash, which admittedly pulled off the same trick in a much more organic fashion that was far more believable.

But that's not to say that Men, Women and Children doesn't feel authentic. Having been acquainted with people that have struggled with eating disorders, depression, or poor self esteem, every performance in the film is pitch perfect, and it's almost frightening how expertly Reitman nails some of these issues. If you're looking for a film that will send you home with a smile on your face, this one isn't it. But if you want a thoughtful, genuine depiction of the how far our communication skills and regard for our fellow humans have fallen, look no further.

Since his first appearance as Tony Stark in 2008's Iron Man, Robert Downey Jr. has enjoyed a seemingly never-ending parade of roles that have allowed him to basically portray an exaggerated version of himself. Whether it's headlining the Sherlock Holmes franchise or popping in for a cameo in John Favreau's Chef, we always get the sense that Downey isn't so much acting as he is just channeling his innate charisma and energy into a different direction, and it becomes easy to forget that he's an acclaimed performer with a couple of Oscar nominations under his belt.

If you're looking to be reminded of Downey's dramatic capabilities, then David Dobkin's The Judge should do the trick nicely. Downey stars as Hank Palmer, a big shot defense attorney who measures success by the price of his car and the size of his house (and his paycheck, as he quips to a colleague "innocent people can't afford me"). In denial about his crumbling marriage and barely able to connect with his daughter, Hank's life is further complicated by a phone call from the small Indiana town where he grew up: his mom has just passed away.

Returning home for the funeral brings back plenty of memories, both good and bad, and reignites Hank's conflicted relationship with his father (Robert Duvall), a well-respected judge with over 40 years of service on the bench. Judge Palmer has little respect for his son's choice of career, and the two can barely manage to make eye contact when they're in the same room together, let alone carry on a civil conversation.

That changes when Judge Palmer is arrested for his suspected involvement in a fatal hit-and-run accident, the victim of which has a past intricately linked to the entire Palmer clan. Hank immediately jumps to his father's defense, a move that Judge Palmer reluctantly accepts when it becomes clear that his young, inexperienced defense attorney will get eaten alive by special prosecutor Dwight Dickham (Billy Bob Thornton), who intends to make an example out of the judge.

The sequences of events sets the stage for a riveting courtroom spectacle, and while The Judge delivers on that promise, it actually takes a backseat to the family drama that plays out in the foreground. Hank's attempts to make peace with his father are merely a single piece of the puzzle, as he also struggles to connect with his brothers (Vincent D'Onofrio and Jeremy Strong) and finds himself drawn to the high school sweetheart (Vera Farmiga) that he left behind. While some of this material works very well, much of it feels extraneous and does little more than slow the pacing of the film.

The Judge also suffers from many of the tried and true clichés that plague films about disconnected families, but we're willing to forgive those shortcomings thanks to the strength of the performances, particularly Downey and Duvall. While the script is surprisingly humorous and allows Downey to showcase some of the quick-witted cynicism that has become his trademark, the best moments come when he and Duvall are allowed to truly go at it. Years of anger and resentment manifest in every confrontation, bubbling up to the surface until the two actors are exchanging the the equivalent of verbal haymakers, each delivered with more force than the last.

At 141 minutes, The Judge overstays its welcome by about 20 minutes, made even more perplexing by the fact that the filmmakers chose to prattle onward well after a poignant moment that would have served as a much better ending than we were ultimately given. But truthfully, we don't care that much, just like we don't care about the confused, tangled mess of story lines that muddy the waters of the narrative. Those things aren't nearly as important as watching Downey give his best dramatic performance in nearly a decade, or being reminded precisely why Duvall is one of the most enduring screen performers of all time.

Kevin Smith's Tusk is about as far removed from the director's early body of work as one could possibly get, yet still carries that personal touch that made Clerks resonate with so many audiences. While Smith's debut was influenced by his years working at a convenience store, it's no coincidence that Tusk's protagonist, Wallace Bryton (Justin Long), is a successful podcaster whose long- running weekly show features himself and his closest friend laughing themselves into a stupor.

The film opens with one of these conversations, where Wallace and Teddy (Haley Joel Osment) are taking mean-spirited jabs at a YouTube celebrity, whose fame comes from the fact that he accidentally managed to slice his own leg off while wielding a samurai sword. Wallace has booked a flight to Canada to interview the young man, much to the chagrin of his live-in girlfriend Allie (Genesis Rodriguez), who disapproves of Wallace's cruel brand of comedy.

An unfortunate turn of events finds Wallace north of the border without a guest for the next episode, until he stumbles across an advertisement on the bulletin board of a local tavern, where an elderly man offers to trade room and board in exchange for someone willing to listen to his tales of a life spent at sea. Two hours later, Wallace finds himself at Pippy Hill, a sprawling estate full of eccentricities and inhabited by the wheelchair-bound Howard Howe (Michael Parks), whose musings about meeting a young Ernest Hemingway fascinate Wallace. But Howe's story of being shipwrecked and rescued by a walrus is the most bizarre of all, and his strange devotion to the creature that saved his life masks a sinister plan.

Peppered with Smith's signature vulgarity, Tusk spends the first 40 minutes or so establishing a genuinely creepy vibe, before taking an abrupt detour into a realm that few filmmakers would have been brave enough - or stoned enough - to explore. There are images in this film that can't be unseen, and Long deserves a tremendous amount of praise for stepping into a role that's so far out of his comfort zone it might as well exist in another universe.

But Tusk is not without its problems. A bizarre cameo from an A-list star during the second half of the film is amusing at first, but quickly overstays its welcome and becomes far too indulgent. Likewise, the decision to reveal the darker side of Wallace's personality makes it difficult to sympathize with his predicament, which is further complicated upon discovering that his two friends aren't exactly saints, either.

While Tusk doesn't quite measure up to the bar Smith set with Red State (my personal favorite), it's another positive step in his ongoing evolution as a filmmaker. Smith took a ridiculously silly idea for a film that most people never would have dared to attempt, and somehow made it work - for the most part, anyway. It's definitely Smith's least mainstream-friendly offering, but that's okay, because his passion and vision is alive in every frame, and it makes me excited to see what he does next.

Director Adam Wingard and writer Simon Barrett have made quite a name for themselves over the past few years, responsible for such genre offerings as V/H/S and last year's stellar You're Next. Their latest film, The Guest, serves as a nice change of pace, scrapping the straight-up horror elements of their past few flicks in favor of a slow-burn thriller that hearkens back to '80s action fare.

David (Dan Stevens) is a recently discharged Army veteran who appears on the doorstep of the Peterson family, fulfilling the promise of a fallen comrade to check up on his parents and siblings. Still mourning the loss of their son, the Petersons welcome David into their home, where he quickly assimilates himself into their daily routine. Shy, awkward Luke (Brendan Meyer) takes an immediate liking to David, but eldest daughter Anna (Maika Monroe) sense that something is amiss.

As Anna begins digging into his background, she finds plenty of problems with David's story about his past. Indeed, the polite, mild-mannered soldier who addresses everyone as "sir" and "ma'am" definitely seems to be hiding something, and a phone call to the military base from which David was discharged results in a startling discovery that may put the entire Peterson clan in danger.

The entire experience works so well thanks to Stevens, who portrays David as a better-looking, more sincere version of Ryan Gosling's character in Drive. Stevens has a genuine warmth to him, which finds us willing to forgive the frequent, savage outbursts of violence. He's so incredibly likable that no matter how bad he may seem, we still don't really want to hate him.

With its electro-synth score and ever-increasing tension, The Guest has a distinct John Carpenter vibe. Indeed, in a recent interview Wingard admitted that he wanted to follow a structure similar to Carpenter's Halloween - which he mostly adheres to, before the third act finds the film wandering out of action thriller territory and striding confidently, purposefully into the "WTF" zone. Once again, the creative duo deftly handles the dramatic shift in tone, making sure their narrative always stays a step or two ahead of the audience.