A visual delight hampered with a plodding narrative, this hit-or-miss superhero origin story has cocky test pilot (is there any other kind) Hal Jordan unwittingly assigned to be a Green Lantern, a sort-of intergalactic patrolman with unthinkable powers. The film starts out great, with a terrific intro scene for the primary villain, Parralax, an exciting attack scene with another Lantern, Abin Sur, and a strong introduction to Hal Jordan as he accidentally destroys his fighter plane in an attempt to thwart two state-of-the-art stealth bombers during a test run. Abin Sur crash lands on Earth and is led to Jordan by the power of his ring, the key weapon of the Lanterns, which automatically seeks out whoever is worthy of possessing it. Jordan is then whisked away by the ring to Oa, the HQ for the Green Lantern Corps, where he is taught the basics of his newfound powers by three vastly different-looking Lanterns named Tomar-Re, Kilowog, and Sinestro. Meanwhile, back on Earth, an acquaintance of Jordan, Hector Hammond, is assigned to perform an autopsy on Abin Sur for the government, but, in the process, he is exposed to an alien organism that begins to both cloud his thoughts and provide telekinetic abilities. However, it is here the quality of the film starts to get a smidgen rocky; after being overworked in his training, and being told by Sinestro that he isn’t worthy of Abin Sur’s legacy, Jordan up and quits, keeping the ring, but returning to Earth assignment- and responsibility-free. We then get an alarming number of build-up scenes, with Jordan and Hammond dealing with their increasingly powerful abilities, along with their bouts with self-esteem and self-worth, before the third-act barrels in and saves the day with a plethora of action, colorful eye candy, and exciting hero moments.

If there are two huge flaws of this movie (I’ll get to the other one later), one of them is the lack of Oa in the finished film. I do not know whether the filmmakers could not scramble the effects shots together in time, or whether the screenwriters actually didn’t think the home planet of the Lantern Corps was that interesting, but after Jordan makes it to Oa, his elongated return to Earth seems relatively safe, unoriginal, and, occasionally, rather boring. Imagine if in The Last Starfighter, Alex never contacts Centauri to get back into the fight against the Ko-Dan Armada, and he remains in the trailer park wondering if he was worthy of being a Starfighter until Xur finally hunts him down and faces him mano a mano. The plethora of Green Lanterns we are briefly introduced to ends up coming off as a massive tease; it is not enough to promise more of them in a sequel after they have been introduced and then eschewed for goofy flirty scenes with Jordan and his love interest, Carol Ferris, played by Blake Lively.

Which brings me to the second huge flaw of the film which is, surprise surprise, a forced, lackluster, uninteresting, and underplayed love interest, poorly rendered here by Lively. I place the blame squarely at Lively’s feet because a. she does not seem mature enough for neither her bureaucratic position nor her relationship with Jordan, b. her casting screams of a sort of contemporary cynicism that equates widespread fame over concentrated talent, and c. the script actually does try and give her a sense of professionalism and, later in the film, participation in the action scenes, which she deflates with her barely-trying performance. This is not necessarily an attack on Lively as an actress, for she was fairly solid in her white-trash role in The Town, but here, she is a rickety element of the film’s foundation.

Which is a shame, because the rest of the cast is fairly awesome. Reynolds is able to coast through this thing on his effortless charm and movie-star good looks, keeping even the most ludicrous of situations grounded with his constant wisecracks; while he is too feminine and goofy to cut a truly badass, Han Solo-esque figure (like, say, Nathan Fillion, the voice of Green Lantern in a recent cartoon), he is well-suited for this superhero schtick. Angela Bassett, Tim Robbins, and Jay O. Sanders are dignified and respectable as various government members related to Jordan and Hammond, and Mark Strong, as well as the voices of Geoffrey Rush and Michael Clarke Duncan, make for killer alien Green Lanterns. But my favorite element of the film had to be Peter Sarsgaard’s performance as Hector Hammond. Sporting a terrible haircut, a history professor’s mustache, and his trademark snarky mumbling, Sarsgaard plays out Hammond’s painfully tragic, well-presented arc with a surprising amount of seriousness and pathos. His character is not the casually dismissed, hot-to-cold mad scientist like Alfred Molina’s Doc Ock or, dare I say, Arnold as Mr. Freeze, but rather the relative yin to Hal Jordan’s yang; the great dilemma of his character is the question of whether, had he been chosen by the green-powered ring rather than his rotten, yellow-powered infection, he could have ended up as the hero. While his powers end up paling in comparison to those of Parallax, the film’s central antagonistic force, his story is far more compelling than either Parallax’s or Jordan’s, and his screentime proves to be the most richly rewarding in the film. I must also mention the film’s near-perfect rendering of Jordan’s limitless ring-based powers. For a superpower that is limited, solely, by the extent of human imagination, the ring’s intuition-based system is well-presented, and always stems from something we can extrapolate from Jordan’s own psyche, rather than some sort of random, FX company-conceived deus ex machina. That was my main concern going into the feature, and I must admit, after noticing the hints at Jordan’s future weaponry throughout the film, it seemed to be one of the easier hurdles for the filmmakers to conquer.

Recommended for fans of sci-fi/fantasy-oriented superhero flicks like Hellboy, Thor, or The Incredibles. In terms of the superhero flicks out right now, I’d say it ranks somewhere above X-Men: First Class, but not quite up to the character and world-building excellence of Thor. That being said, I’m definitely ready for Captain America to swoop in and put all three of these movies to shame.

Tawdry, one-note, and cheesetastic to the point of inducing heart congestion, this rom-com is a remake of No Strings Attached…meaning it’s yet another movie about two “emotionally unavailable” young professionals, one a prospective editor for GQ, the other a corporate headhunter, who decide to maintain a purely sexual, romance-free relationship. The two wildly successful, beautiful, and, mostly, well-behaved yuppies are played by Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis, which should already clue you in to the standards of this movie. Have you ever seen either of them in public appearances? Then you are already familiar with their characters in the film, save for some arbitrary quirks for each party (nearly dyslexic math skills and a juvenile tendency to trespass simply for a “cool view”). The real con of the film is that the two leads, contrary to the title, are NOT REALLY FRIENDS. They meet about 5 minutes into the movie, and there is not very much time passed (maybe a couple of weeks) before they start doing bedroom gymnastics, with friend-exclusive comforts like Justin’s mid-coital Semisonic renditions and Mila’s lack of body image issues, because hey, if he’s just my friend what do I care if he sees me naked (I’d say Mila’s problems are more that she sounds remarkably like Meg Griffin, but that’s just me)? They have an unproven relationship as platonic friends, so there is absolutely no tension as to whether these two young, fit studs are going to segue their immediate chemistry into a relationship. But a tentative, molasses-slow romance isn’t what you’re there to see, is it?

Too bad the laughs are barely there, the romance, corny and contrived, and the chemistry between the two leads amounts to nothing more than two hot-at-the-moment stars trying to maintain their stage personas, as well as their sex appeal. There are sex scenes, but they are over-the-top and played solely for laughs (there is nudity, but only of the rear end variety and, in Kunis’ case, probably a stand-in). The dialogue that attempts to sound like hip, contemporary young people talking could’ve very well just been written by your average 20-something professional with its complete lack of subtext, subtlety, and originality (instead of the writers giving the girl a flamboyantly gay best friend, it’s Timberlake who bonds with the homosexual who says things like “I never take the ferry…unless it’s to a dinner and a movie!”). The only sparks the film achieves is due to its supporting cast, which includes Richard Jenkins, Jenna Elfman, Patricia Clarkson, and Woody Harrelson as the aformentioned “gay buddy” (who, to be fair, scores the biggest laughs in the film). While it is painful to watch such talented people walk on and recite arbitrary, unremarkable dialogue and exposition, in tandem with the walk-ons by Jason Segal, Emma Stone, Rashida Jones, Andy Samberg, and others, they provide the only moments of humor or energy to be found in this lifeless endeavor (Segal and Jones’ hyper-romanticized film-within-a-film is clumsy and obvious, but they make it somewhat work). The other attempts at bridging the gap between broad, female-centric behavioral humor and its half-assed post-modern meta-awareness of its rom-com trappings fail miserably, and the two leads flounder around trying to cut vulnerable, identifiable figures out of flat, unrealistically perfect, and painfully stupid characters.

Skip It, save for women who want to have an estrogen-fest with a friend (please don’t drag your poor male date to this unless he asks, in which case I hope he’s trying to leverage the “casual sex” angle of the film into something a little more practical), as well as those who absolutely need to see these two cavorting in their skivvies for a good amount of screentime.

An uncondescending, but remarkably unoriginal throwback to the Amblin Entertainment family films of the ’80s, this children-centric sci-fi piece has a group of pre-teens accidentally capturing a mysterious train crash while filming a Super 8 zombie film. The whole film has that small-town vibe where everyone knows not only everyone’s name, but their familial situation and behavioral tendencies. The main characters are well-rounded in that Stand By Me way where they swear and talk tough, while revealing their childhood naivete when on the subject of girls. There are two parallel central plots, one involving the Super 8 film’s makeup man and his romance with the leading lady (played by Elle Fanning), and the other revolving around his father, the deputy, and his begrudging leadership of the town once the mayor mysteriously goes missing. Without giving too much away (although the secrets of this film don’t really live up to their buildup), the film starts maintaining a sort of Jaws-meets-E.T.-meets-Close Encounters of the Third Kind vibe, cribbing imagery and moments wholesale from those movies, and keeping the kids at the forefront of the action in a very Stephen King’s It sort of way.

J.J. Abrams greatest flaw is also his greatest attribute; he is a terrific showman. He is aware enough of pop culture to understand how to make something seem mysterious, interesting, and potentially, deep and engaging. In this age of “bigger is better,” Alias, Lost, Cloverfield, and now Super 8 have all had the benefit of Abrams genius ability to leave just enough to the imagination to make something seem infinitely more interesting than it could have declared itself to be. However, all of those projects (save for Super have another thing in common; they are all known as remarkable letdowns. From the last episode of Lost to the dismal box office numbers of Cloverfield, there is already plenty of evidence out there to show that J.J. Abrams is much better at setting things up than he is at actually following through on his grandiose promises. Super 8 is no exception. Remember that first trailer, showing nothing but the train crash, the camera, and the implication that something monstrous and alien escaped the train? Well, there’s very little in the movie that expands on what is implied in the trailer, and the tricks they play with your preconceived notions of the films plot are embarrassing, hokey failures.

That being said, there is much of the film to commend. J.J. Abrams has a tendency to linger on quiet, schmaltzy moments, but usually casts well enough to pull those moments off; this film is no exception, and the greatest element of the film is its child cast. From the mousy, fireworks-obsessed scamp, to the overweight, tyrrannical director, to the flaky, consistently-vomiting leading man, the youthful characters are endearing, human, and consistently watchable. The central romance between the young, shy makeup man and the brave, caring leading lady is, surprisingly, cute and inoffensive (until the silly plot contrivances catch up with it). Unfortunately, the adult cast does not survive Abrams and producer Steven Spielberg’s nostalgia-tinged vision; they all come off as hokey, Peanuts-style “wonk-wonk-wonk” caricatures who are inexcusably moody and prickish one second then inexplicably heroic and stalwart the next. Noah Emmerich, an actor who, since the Truman Show, has repeatedly impressed me with his sincere, naturalistic performances, is saddled with the worst role in the show, a merciless mad scientist/power-hungry Army type who is a mustache-twirl away from Snidey Whiplash. Ron Eldard also suffers a similar fate as Fanning’s town-drunk father. The adult-centric stuff takes up a good %40-45 of the running time, so the gaping faults of that section cannot be overlooked; a shame, because, until the effects-driven, cliched cheesefest of a last act, the character work and nostalgic style actually render the film a rather endearing, family-friendly piece of cinema.

Slightly Recommended to families with tough kids (there are blood splatters in this film) and fans of Cloverfield which, in the end, the film shares remarkable similarities with (down to some of the SAME EXACT FX…God, what a disappointment). I definitely prefer this to E.T., but not necessarily Close Encounters. Honestly, I’d just rewatch Jaws.

P.S. There are definitely some killer jump scares in the film, but none better than the initial train-crash itself; even though the kids would definitely be killed by all the flaming debris that juuuuuuust misses them, the juxtaposition of the devastating carnage and the frightened kids in peril is terribly effective. Unfortunately, the rest doesn’t really ever live up to that moment.

An absolute delight for romantics, the latest Woody Allen picture concerns a hack screenwriter who, while on vacation in Paris, begins to take nightly walks through the streets in search of inspiration. What happens on these walks, an element graciously ignored by the majority of the promotional materials, I would not dare to spoil; what I can reveal is that the film is a meditation on the nature of art and art worship, in relation to the writer’s deep, age-old reverence of the city of lights and the plethora of early 20th-century thinkers who made it their nesting ground. Owen Wilson plays the lead with a delicate balance between the typical Allen doppelganger and his usual shlubby, take-it-as-it-comes demeanor; it is nothing we have ever seen from Wilson or an Allen lead, and it is his career-best lead performance. Needless to say, considering this is a Woody Allen film, the cast is exemplary; aside from Wilson, Rachel McAdams, Tom Hiddleston, Michael Sheen, Kurt Fuller, Adrien Brody, Kathy Bates, and Marion Cotillard all show up with terrific results, especially McAdams, Cotillard, and Brody’s sly, winning cameo. There is the usual romantic difficulties, revolving around differences in intellectual values and careless infidelity, sure, but the greater concern of the film is something more elusive and unconventional, and that is the ideal state for the creative mind. This sort of subject matter is rather exclusive and, dare I say, intellectual for most audiences, but for those who can appreciate the literary and artistic references, the dry, dense dialogue, and the devoutly romantic portrayal of Paris, the film creates a distinct mood and sense of joy that, I suspect, will not be found in any other American film this Summer.

Highly Recommended for fans of Allen, romantics, and junkies for early-20th century art and literature such as Picasso, Hemingway, or Cole Porter (whose “Let’s Do It” plays a prominent role). I was fairly certain Whatever Works was going to be the last great film from Mr. Allen; upon leaving the theater, I could not remember the last time I was so happy to be so wrong.

Lightweight, moderately entertaining Capra-esque comedy about a shlubby presidential impersonator who, when the actual Commander in Chief has a mid-coital stroke, gleefully takes his place. The impersonator, Dave, is actually a full-time council worker who, predictably, is on the opposite end of the moral spectrum from the president’s education-cutting, duplicitous administration. After the president is incapacitated, his power-hungry Secretary of State and a formerly idealistic advisor, played by Frank Langella and Kevin Dunn, respectively, immediately send the VP on a tour of Africa, while educating Dave in the ways and traditions of the Oval Office. While Dave initially goes along with them, making the rounds and giving their speeches, a meeting with his local friend and accountant (played by Charles Grodin), where he figures out how to “fix the books,” inspires him to repackage the government or, at least, his administration. This catches the attention of his estranged, Hilary-Clinton-esque First Lady, played by Sigourney Weaver, and the purity and goodwill of the nation begin to take a backseat to White House balcony flirting and blind idealism.

When I say the film is Capra-esque, I do not just mean its “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington”-lite plotline; the dialogue, the performances, even the portrayal of the White House are all bathed in an anachronistic, hopeful light. While it differentiates the film from similar, more realistic portrayals of the White House, such as Aaron Sorkin’s The American President and The West Wing, it also renders the film rather aimless and rudimentary; rather than deal with any contemporary political issues, Dave talks a lot about “returning” to “a good, strong America” without ever proposing how that is, practically, possible. The Capra-esqueness also extends to its cast; Weaver, Langella, Dunn, Grodin, a late appearance by Ben Kingsley, and, especially, Kevin Kline as Dave, all being pros, let the cornier aspects of the film dictate their performance, and find an ideal kismit with the material that overshadows its glaringly obvious plot holes (which I don’t need to mention; this film’s about a normal guy SUCCESSFULLY pretending to be the president). Ivan Reitman, amidst a run of family-friendly studio comedies that included Twins, Kindergarten Cop, and Junior (guess what: he’s in this one too *hint, hint*), actually achieves a delicate balence between our realistic associations with contemporary Washington D.C. and the uber-hopeful tone of the script, and creates a political environment we can comfortably observe, if not truly believe in. In the end, while the forced love story and the hilariously broad portrait of the political system take their tolls, the film remains a cute, charmingly optimistic comedy with some great, professional performances (particularly from Kline, the delightfully and expectedly dry Grodin, and Dunn).

Recommended to fans of Frank Capra’s political comedies and mid-90′s studio-comedy optimism. I was pleasantly surprised at the cohesion and consistency of this film; a braver, less family-friendly draft of the script might have made for a marvelous update of pre-WWII cinematic idealism, but what is there is sufficient for a successful Kevin Kline comedy of errors.