Category: Movies

“Bottle Shock” does a lot of things right, but the most charming thing about it is how unassuming it is about the story it’s telling. They know they have good source material here, and they tell their story without being flashy or self-congratulatory. It has an underdog, but doesn’t spend the entire movie having a bully kick sand in the underdog’s face. Indeed, it is not until late in the movie that he even realizes that he’s an underdog.

The year is 1976, and Bill Pullman is Jim Barrett, the mortgaged-to-his-eyeballs owner of the California vineyard Chateau Montelena. He and his son Bo (Chris Pine) are trying to make the perfect Chardonnay, but Bo would rather surf and screw around than work, while his buddy and co-worker Gustavo (Freddy Rodriguez) has plans of starting a vineyard of his own. At the same time, British expatriate and French wine snob Stephen Spurrier (Alan Rickman) is the owner of a failing wine “academy” in Paris, who hears from the American shop owner next door (Dennis Farina) that the Californians are about to give the French a run for their money. This gives Stephen an idea to draw attention to his business: invite the best palates in France to a blind taste test, pitting the French against the Americans. Stephen travels to Napa Valley to research the competition, and is shocked at how good the then-unknown California vintners are at their craft. Jim, however, suspects that Stephen is only looking to embarrass them.

I don’t know the whole story behind the Chateau Montelena and the Judgment of Paris, but I’m guessing there wasn’t a sexy intern (Rachael Taylor, who does a spotless American accent), a sexy bartender (Eliza Dushku) that helps Bo and Gustavo hustle patrons, a boxing ring on site at Chateau Montelena for Jim and Bo to settle their differences, or the fourth quarter Hail Mary that saves the day. That would be what our sports writer John Paulsen calls manufactured conflict, and this movie has truckloads of it. As manufactured conflict goes, though, this is more tolerable than, say, the bit in “Spider-Man 3” where Mary Jane Watson refuses to tell Peter Parker she’s been fired from her acting job, even though she has a million opportunities to do so. The movie also overdoes the panoramic shots of wine country. Yes, it’s beautiful out there. Now please get back to telling your story.

Fortunately, director Randall Miller and screenwriting partner Jody Savin make up for the overuse of conventional drama devices with some simple but smart dialogue, and Rickman’s performance as the ultimate fish out of water (the French don’t like him, either) is one of his finest. Pine is a bit too up and down as the wayward son – it will be very interesting to see how he does as Kirk in J.J. Abrams’ upcoming “Star Trek” movie – and Pullman is, well, Pullman. He’s fine, but he will never steal a movie from anyone. The other actors are role players and play their parts as they should. Miguel Sandoval, though, is wasted as Gustavo’s father.

You’d be a fool to compare “Bottle Shock” to “Sideways,” Alexander Payne’s hilariously bleak 2004 dramedy, though many doubtlessly will because they’re both set in wine country. “Sideways” is a character study, while “Bottle Shock” is a sports movie set in Napa. It doesn’t take a love of wine to enjoy this movie; just a love for seeing the hard-working nice guy finish first.

“The Boss” is pitifully lacking in self-awareness. It’s a film that wants to live in Will Ferrell and Adam McKay’s universe, where there are real-life news anchor gang wars that end in people losing limbs. To be fair, it’s easy to see why they thought the audience might view the films the same way. “Anchorman” and “Talladega Nights” both feature pompous shells of a human being who are humbled on a grand scale, much like Melissa McCarthy’s character here, but that is where the similarities end. What “The Boss” gets wrong is the meanness factor. Will Ferrell’s characters in the aforementioned films are dim and shallow, but harmless, while McCarthy’s character is an unrepentant, hostile sociopath from birth. Worse, the film treats this as a virtue.

Michelle Darnelle (McCarthy) is, by the audience’s viewpoint, a thrice-abandoned orphan who grows up to become a ruthless, filthy-rich business executive. Renault (Peter Dinklage), a former lover-turned rival, gets her indicted on insider trading, whereupon she is sent to prison and loses everything. Upon her release, she arrives at the door of her former assistant Claire (Kristen Bell) because she has nowhere else to go. Claire resents the way Michelle treated her, but because she’s a decent human being, Claire allows Michelle to stay, and as Michelle ingratiates herself in Claire’s life, she sees a business opportunity when she attends a Daffodils meeting with Claire’s daughter Rachel (Ella Anderson), and they discuss cookie sales. Shortly afterward, Michelle tastes one of Claire’s family recipe brownies. Darnelle’s Darlings is born, the brownies are their cash cow, and Michelle is back in the game.

There is comedic potential in the idea of someone encouraging a bunch of kids to abandon community service and go for the cheddar. For that to work, though, the lead has to play the fool, because that’s a shitty thing to do, and the lead needs to learn that. Instead, the script sees Michelle as the hero, even when she’s dropping MF bombs in a Daffodils meeting, and repeatedly referring to a taller girl as a boy. Think about that for a second: Melissa McCarthy, who for the record is wearing the ugliest clothes of anyone in the film, plays someone who repeatedly insults a child (!) for her looks (!!), and the audience is supposed to laugh with her. As I said, zero self-awareness.

Several talented, funny people are slumming here. Kristen Bell tries her best to play the straight man, but she is powerless to stop this one from going off the rails. Peter Dinklage is clearly in full paycheck mode, because he’s just made this and “Pixels” back to back. I hope he used the money to buy an island. Cecily Strong and Kristen Schaal are both very funny actresses and utterly wasted here. Tyler Labine’s character is desperate to the point of creepiness, and is apparently the best that Kristen Bell’s character can do with her love life, because even pretty single mothers are undesirable because they’re single mothers.

Even as they try (in vain) to redeem Michelle, she reveals information that proves that she remains every bit the conniving, untrustworthy weasel that she was at the beginning, and has learned nothing from her fall from grace. But she’s forgiven in the end anyway, because money. (Not a spoiler, if you’ve seen more than five movies.) “The Boss” is basically a movie about a bully, starring a bully, with a pro-bully slant, written and directed by the bully’s parents. It’s one of the most morally repugnant, mean-spirited, tone-deaf films you will ever see, but here’s the kicker: it could have gotten away with the first two, if it were funny. But it’s not. It’s spectacularly, almost historically unfunny.

Does Pixar have a spy within its ranks? In 2008, the studio announced a project titled “Newt,” which involved two amphibians that were the last of their kind on Earth. Three years later, 20th Century Fox released “Rio,” which featured two birds that are the last of their kind. (Pixar scrapped “Newt” in 2010, citing an inability to get the story right, while acknowledging that Fox was going to beat them to the market.) Shortly after Lee Unkrich won an Oscar for directing “Toy Story 3,” Pixar announced that his next project would be about the Mexican holiday Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead). Cut to the present, where Fox once again beats Pixar to the market with the similarly themed “The Book of Life.” Don’t be surprised if Pixar is more tight-lipped in the future when it comes to non-sequel projects.

Of the two ‘stolen Pixar’ movies, “The Book of Life” is hands down the better movie. The animation is spectacular (executive producer Guillermo Del Toro’s influence, for sure), the story is breezy but smart (well, smart-ish), and it teaches valuable lessons about family, honor, and being true to oneself. It also raises the stakes on pop music drop-ins (having a character sing a modern-day pop song in an out-of-context time period) by having the guts to use a Radiohead song. The movie gets a star for that moment alone.

A group of children are taken to a museum, and their tour guide Mary Beth (Christina Applegate) tells them the story of La Muerte (Kate del Castillo), ruler of the Land of the Remembered, agreeing to a wager with Xibalba (Ron Perlman), ruler of the Land of the Forgotten. The wager concerns best friends Manolo and Joaquin, and which one of them will win the heart of their friend Maria. Maria is sent to Spain to study, and when she returns years later, Manolo (Diego Luna) is a bullfighter who’d rather be a musician, and Joaquin (Channing Tatum) is a brave, powerful soldier. Xibalba, who has already interfered with the bet, senses that Manolo has the upper hand, and begins a chain of events that will send Manolo searching both netherworlds for Maria (Zoe Saldana), where he will learn a lot about his family history, and therefore himself, than he ever knew.

Again, how cool is it to hear an animated character in a major studio movie singing Radiohead instead of, say, Third Eye Blind or One Direction? The performance is brief, but it’s beautiful. Also, Ice Cube plays this wacky Candle Maker character that operates at the same level as La Muerte and Xibalba, and even though there is nothing about his character that makes sense, he steals nearly every scene he’s in.

There is a bit too much “Shrek” in the proceedings, though. While the Radiohead scene was genius, several of the subsequent song choices, aside from the new material co-written by Paul Williams (yes, that Paul Williams), are hokey. There are a couple of gross bathroom jokes (which, admittedly, my 7-year-old son thought were hilarious), and while Tatum was fine as Joaquin, it’s disheartening that the studio felt obligated to hire a Gringo in order to raise the movie’s profile, when there are a dozen Latino actors who would have knocked that role out of the park (Javier Bardem, anyone?).

The fact that “The Book of Life” boasts such a layered story structure (the tour guide talking about the gods betting on the mortals, thereby giving the audience three universes of characters) is huge in terms of distancing the movie from the Pixar Day of the Dead movie that will now likely never be. Yes, they went to places that Pixar would never go (frosted churros, ewww), but that works both ways (again, the Radiohead song). Hopeless romantics will love this movie, while everyone else will learn about the benefits of being a hopeless romantic. Sounds like a win-win to us.

If you can get past the wafer-thin premise that serves as the foundation for “Bolt,” you’ll find that it is a rather entertaining movie. An extremely predictable movie, yes, but not without its charms. At the very least, Disney gets bonus points for taking a cue from in-house partners Pixar by not stunt-casting the bejeezus out of it.

Bolt (voiced by John Travolta) is a genetically enhanced dog that helps his “person” Mindy (Miley Cyrus) fight the nefarious Dr. Calico (Malcolm McDowell), who has captured Mindy’s scientist father. Now here’s the catch: Bolt is the star of a TV show, and none of this is real, but Bolt believes that all of it is real. The show goes to great lengths to convince Bolt that he is every bit the super-fast, strong, and laser-eyed dog that his character is. The cats that work on the show, of course, tease the daylights out of Bolt with this, and when he escapes his trailer and accidentally winds up getting shipped to New York (wouldn’t the lack of oxygen on a cargo plane have killed him?), Bolt is determined to find Mindy and settle the score with Dr. Calico once and for all. He even takes an alley cat named Mittens (Susie Essman) as a hostage for leverage, since she is naturally working for the powers of evil because she’s a cat.

The movie gets off to an incredible start, beginning with an adorable meet cute between puppy Bolt and young Mindy, then cutting to the latest episode of Bolt’s show, which features action sequences straight out of “The Incredibles” and “The Matrix” (no bullet-cam shots, thankfully). What will derail the movie for many grown-ups, though, is the conversation between the show’s director (an inspired casting choice that will not be spoiled here) and the network executive, a laborious piece of exposition explaining how they have to keep Bolt in the dark about the show because the only way for the audience to believe in the show is if the dog believes in it. Ridonculous, as one of the New York pigeons later says. Speaking of which, doesn’t Disney know that Warner Brothers cornered the market on mobster pigeons 15 years ago on “Animaniacs”?

As you can see, “Bolt” is not bursting with original ideas – there is also a bit involving dogs in a shelter that’s straight from “Over the Hedge,” which itself was stolen from “Finding Nemo,” and to bring it all full circle, “Nemo” is name-checked here – but it does well with the grossly manipulative stuff, like when Mittens teaches Bolt how to use his innate cute dogness to sucker humans into giving him food. There is also a harrowing scene where Mindy’s life is in danger that is remarkably effective. What the movie lacks in creativity, it makes up for with enthusiasm (that would be the TV-obsessed, Bolt-worshiping hamster Rhino, voiced by Mark Walton) and overwrought sentimentality. Even the calculated stuff works, damn them.

You would think that having the Pixar people at their disposal would smarten Disney’s homegrown animated movies somewhat – and to their credit, Pixar BMOC John Lasseter serves as executive producer here – but their recent output is still two or three steps beneath the typical Pixar movie. Looking slick and tugging the heart strings is only half the battle; we have to care about how it looks and how it makes us feel in order for it to work. “Bolt” is a step in the right direction, but it’s all about the now, the short-term cash grab. Ten years from now, no child will declare this to be their favorite Disney movie. Millions, though, will name a Pixar movie – pick one – as their favorite. That says it all, right there.

“Blood Diamond” is 110 minutes of intense, heart-wrenching, political and emotional turmoil about the blood shed by all concerned in the diamond-rich Sierra Leone region of western Africa. The only problem is that the movie is 140 minutes long, which means that for all of its good qualities, the movie will challenge your attention span, early and often. It’s as if the movie wants to be “Hey Jude,” when “Yesterday” would have been just fine.

The movie begins with Solomon (Djimon Hounsou), a fisherman in a small African village that is ransacked by rebel forces. Solomon is able to save his family from being killed, but he is captured in the process and sent to a local diamond mine. There he finds a gigantic rock, which he hides from his captors. The government raids the mine and throws the workers in jail. Also in jail is Danny Archer (Leonardo DiCaprio), an African soldier and diamond smuggler whose latest stash was intercepted en route to Liberia. Danny hears talk about the diamond, and after he’s released he springs Solomon in an attempt to broker a deal that will benefit both men (but mostly Danny). Meanwhile, at Danny’s favorite watering hole, he meets American journalist Maddie (Jennifer Connelly), who’s exploring the illegal diamond-smuggling trade but can’t get any solid proof. Danny brokers yet another deal: her access for his intel and know-how.

My exposure to Afrikaaners is limited (Duncan Torrance and Cindy Davies, if you’re out there, drop me a line), but memory tells me that DiCaprio got the accent mostly right but nailed the mannerisms. Hounsou has the flamboyant role of the three, and he definitely makes the most of it – he screams, a lot – and while that may earn him another Oscar nomination, it’s not exactly acting. His character is very much a pacifist, and when he loses his mind on his own wife in one scene, it doesn’t hit any true notes, just “actors acting” notes. And then there’s Connelly, who gets better and better with each role. Working with Darren Aronofsky (“Requiem for a Dream”) and Russell Crowe (“A Beautiful Mind”) seems to have toughened her up, and the beauty of her scenes with DiCaprio is that you can tell she isn’t at all intimidated by the onetime King of the World. The drag is that her character is pushed aside earlier than I would have liked; though it actually makes sense for the sake of story, her presence was sorely missed.

It’s almost ten years to the day that industry mags started commenting on how directors were demanding final cut on their movies and, therefore, much longer movies were becoming, and how that isn’t always a good idea. “Blood Diamond” would definitely serve as a witness for the prosecution. There’s a fantastic movie in here somewhere, but in the interest of fleshing everything out, they diluted the final product. Whenever I see one of these movies, I think of “The Truman Show,” which had tons of angles they could have explored in an attempt to flesh out the parts of Truman’s fake wife and friends. But Peter Weir knew better: instead, he delivered a 102-minute movie that made its point and resisted the urge to play the Big Drama Card.

“Blood Diamond” is mostly good, and occasionally brilliant, but too frequently dull, not to mention grossly convenient towards the end. There is much to admire, but you can’t shake the feeling that it could have been so much more, if only they had done so much less. If I could pass one mantra on to moviemakers these days, it would be: what would the Beatles do? More often than not, they made their mark in three minutes or less. Filmmakers should do the same, in two hours or less.

As we were walking out of the ‘Romeo Human and Juliet Werewolf’ movie “Blood and Chocolate,” my fellow critic friends and I were debating what kind of movie it was. It has a horror element, but isn’t scary. It has a forbidden-love subplot, but is rather sexless. Then our resident bookworm told us that the source material on which the movie is based is a teen lit book by Annette Curtis Klause, and suddenly it all made sense. Of course it’s based on a teen lit story. That explains why the violence and language are toned down, and why the sexuality is downplayed. At the same time, the movie fails as teen lit as well, since it doesn’t have an ounce of passion, angst, or hormones run amuck. In other words, it lacks the very things that define every teen romance in the history of teen romance. They’re like Stepford werewolves, a concept that is actually far scarier than anything you’ll find here.

Agnes Brucker stars as Vivian, an American teenager living with her aunt in Bucharest after her family was viciously slaughtered when she was a child. Vivian’s meets cute with American Aiden (Hugh Dancy), a graphic novelist who’s studying up on the legend of the loup garoux, a group of shape-shifting werewolf people. What Aiden doesn’t realize is that Vivian is one of those shape-shifters, and she is putting his life in danger by even speaking to him, never mind dating him. The leader of the pack, as it were, Gabriel (Olivier Martinez), distrusts the humans, ever fearful that they will learn that the loup garoux still exist and will want to extinguish them for good. Aiden is viewed as a threat, and Vivian must choose between protecting her family and the man she loves.

Perhaps the most maddening thing about “Blood and Chocolate” is that it wasn’t a bad movie in the way that most movies are bad. The acting was decent enough, if a tad underplayed. The dialogue didn’t trip over itself, though someone will have to explain the logic behind Aiden’s declaration that if Vivian cared about him at all, “you would have ended it before we met.” It even looks decent, with the high-jumping wire work you would expect from people who can morph into werewolves at a moment’s notice (though the werewolves’ tendency to bounce off the sides of buildings was perplexing). The whole thing just…passes by, and leaves you feeling neither fearful nor anxious or brimming with anticipation. And we haven’t even discussed Gabriel’s rule that he take a bride every seven years in order to maintain the bloodline. One of his previous brides was Vivian’s aunt, and now he claims that Vivian’s turn is next, which means, yep, Vivian is betrothed to marry her uncle. Yuck.

Lastly, as an aside, I must discuss one rather curious soundtrack decision. During a scene where Vivian takes Aiden to see the best view of the city, one which involves ducking out of the way of security cameras, they cue up…”Cash Machine,” by Hard-Fi. Now, I like Hard-Fi as much as the next guy, but that song just doesn’t make any sense in that context, and I soon realized that I wasn’t the only one questioning their choice of song. A few seconds later, Jason Zingale, sitting to my right, leaned over and said, “What does this song have to do with anything?” I said, “I have no idea.” Seconds after that, Kristin Dreyer Kramer of Nights and Weekends, sitting to my left, leaned over and said, “What does this song have to do with anything?” Again, I said, “I have no idea.” Use common sense, soundtrack supervisors. A song about being broke has no place in a movie about werewolves, unless the werewolves are dealing with the fact that they’re broke.

“Blood and Chocolate” is competently made but emotionally hollow, and while I have not read Klause’s book, I can only imagine that there is nothing emotionally hollow about it. Given a second chance, I would have spun the Elvis Costello album of the same name instead, and called it a night. There’s a song on that album called “I Want You.” Now, that has some emotional resonance to it. Certainly more than anything you’ll find here.

By the time that “The Black Dahlia” finished, I couldn’t tell if Brian De Palma was paying tribute to the film noirs of the ‘40s or making fun of them. (That last line may or may not have been written by my boy Kevin Carr. It’s late, and I’m trying to forget everything associated with this movie as quickly as I can, but I’ll acknowledge that he said something along those lines as he – disgusted, like me – was leaving the theater.) Either way, the movie was filled with all of the trappings that have cluttered and undone any De Palma movie of recent memory. Yes, he’s done good work in his time on this rock (“Carrie,” “Blow Out,” and even “Scarface” looks better and better with each passing year), but have you seen “Snake Eyes”? No? Good, I just saved you two hours of your life. Spend them wisely. And with any hope, this review will save you two more hours of your life.

So here’s the deal, see: Officer Dwight “Bucky” Bleichert (Josh Hartnett) is partners on the LAPD force with Lee Blanchard (Aaron Eckhart), and they are the most high-profile cops in town, thanks to a well-publicized boxing match between the two. Lee’s got a sweet girl named Kay (Scarlett Johansson), and things get a little hairy when an old ghost of Lee’s is about to get paroled around the same time that a starlet named Betty Short (Mia Kirshner) is found brutally murdered. At first, Bucky wants nothing to do with the Short murder, instead intent on collaring rapist/thug that just beat an old woman to death, but Lee, with the help of the big-shot DA, coaxes Bucky into following the big prize. For Bucky, that big prize leads to extra time with Kay as Lee gets obsessed with the case, along with playtime for Bucky with rich, spoiled slut Madeleine Linscott (Hilary Swank). None of which, of course, leads him any closer to solving any of the crimes he’s investigating, though it does implicate him of withholding evidence and, accidentally or not, make him privy to things that he probably shouldn’t know about the people he trusts.

Yeah, that sounds like a James Ellroy story, doesn’t it? (It is, for the record.) The thugs are dirty, and the cops are even dirtier, right? The only problem is that this doesn’t carry a tenth of the heft that “L.A. Confidential” did, because that was made by a competent director and performed by exceptional actors. “Dahlia,” meanwhile, is all surface and no substance in the most literal way imaginable. Two of the three leads (Hartnett and Johansson) are, well, not good actors – superb eye candy, sure, but not actors – and the remaining thespians of any repute, like Eckhart and Swank, are left twisting in the wind like every other noteworthy actor has been in De Palma’s hands. Hell, even Michael freaking Bay directed Johansson better in “The Island” than De Palma does here. And don’t even get me started on what he does to Fiona Shaw, whom you all know as Aunt Petunia in the “Harry Potter” movies. She dies a small death with every line she utters. It’s tragic.

But we haven’t even gotten to the most infuriating part of the movie, which is De Palma’s senseless reliance on camera tricks in order to convince the moviegoer that he is an auteur, dammit. There’s a painful tracking shot that will make moviephiles squirm in their seats, along with a depth-perception trickery shot (again, props to Kevin Carr for putting my thoughts into words) that looks so forced that I’m surprised Eckhart didn’t beat the cameraman senseless after every take. But perhaps the most incongruous part of the movie was that they tried to convince the world that Hilary Swank and Mia Kirshner look alike for plot purposes. Guess what, kids, they don’t. At all. Pretty girls, both of them. Look-a-likes, not in a million years. I did like the cameo from kd lang as the singer of the Cole Porter torch songs in the gay bar, though. That’s probably the best piece of casting the agent did on the entire movie.

Oh, GAWD, I just remembered the bit where Hartnett takes his girl and pulls the tablecloth off of the dinner table (which is filled with food, by the way), preparing to mount her right then and there on the table. Are you kidding me? Tell me anyone who does that, ever, anywhere in the world. So now you know why we thought they were taking the piss out of film noirs, not paying tribute to them. There are too many talented people involved with “The Black Dahlia” for it to end up this bad. And yet, here we are.

There is a clear sea change in the quality of Disney’s animated movies once they acquired Pixar in 2006. “Bolt” was the first film produced after the merger, and it marries the sensibilities of both companies reasonably well, though still has too much of the old Disney stodginess. Over time, though, the Pixar Way shone brighter with each release, and with the 1-2-3 punch of “Tangled,” “Wreck-It Ralph,” and “Frozen,” Disney is succeeding both critically and commercially at a level that they haven’t enjoyed in a while. With “Big Hero 6,” the Marvelization of Disney films has begun (Disney purchased Marvel Entertainment in 2009, and “Big Hero 6” made its Marvel comic debut in 1998). It is a superhero movie about science nerds, a film where no one escapes a bad situation using anything other than their brains. In fact, brute strength does not factor once in the proceedings. Peter Parker and Tony Stark would be proud. So would Walt Disney, because the movie has a ton of heart. Also, the lead character’s parents were killed 11 years before the opening scene. That’s the Disney way.

Hiro Hamada (Ryan Potter) is a bored boy genius living with his aunt and his brother Tadashi (Daniel Henney) in the city of San Fransokyo (you read that right). Hiro graduated high school at age 14, and spends his time taking part in illegal ‘bot fights. Tadashi, hoping to inspire Hiro to apply himself, brings Hiro to the San Fransokyo Institute of Technology, where Tadashi and his friends are working with cutting-edge tools to make the world a better place. Hiro wants in, and he earns his acceptance after dazzling Professor Robert Callaghan (James Cromwell) with his newest invention, mind-controlled microbots. The microbots are almost immediately lost in a fire, which takes the lives of Callaghan and Tadashi. Shortly afterward, Hiro discovers that his microbots are being manufactured in a seemingly abandoned factory, and he is nearly killed by a masked man who’s controlling them in ways that they were never intended to be used. Hiro convinces Tadashi’s fellow colleagues to team up and use their super smarts to unmask the man who stole Hiro’s tech.

The cast of this movie is a Benetton ad of racial diversity, with two Asian-Americans, one Latin-American, one African-American, and one Caucasian. It’s a genius move from a marketing perspective (nearly every country will have someone to cheer for!), and a cynical move for the same reason (they’re just checking off demographic boxes! We could take this further, but…spoilers). While it’s tempting to lean in the latter direction, they actually did a great job of taking these characters and acclimating them to the Disney universe, starting with the “Iron Man 3”-esque decision to strip the characters of any paranormal abilities or magical objects. There are references here and there to the characters’ comic book origins – the magical purse of Honey Lemon (Genesis Rodriguez), for example – but in this world, the objects aren’t magical: they’re just tech-enhanced. Think of the “Big Hero 6” film as the “Terminator: Genysis” of the “Big Hero 6” comic. It should be treated like a parallel universe, rather than a straight interpretation.

And then there’s Baymax, the inflatable health care assistant robot designed by Tadashi, brilliantly voiced by Scott Adsit (“30 Rock”), and a complete reimagining of the character. (Comic book Baymax is a monster designed to protect Hiro.) The inevitable comparison will be to WALL·E, and in terms of their likability, that is completely fair, as Baymax is one of the most likable characters Disney has created in a long time. His personality is nothing like WALL·E, though; WALL·E was more human than most humans, but Baymax is pure robot in how he processes information, even as he’s helping Hiro save his own humanity when the need for revenge threatens to consume him.

It is staggering to think that the two biggest hits this year could be adaptations of “Guardians of the Galaxy” and “Big Hero 6,” two of the most obscure titles in Marvel’s catalog. In an industry that seems convinced that there are no new ideas or unfamiliar properties worth exploring (see: the reboot of “National Lampoon’s Vacation”), it’s nice to see Disney, of all studios, stick their necks out and go with the unknown for their holiday tentpole movie. And just like that, Disney has a new franchise in waiting for their animated department, which could (and most certainly will) lead to their first animated sequel since “The Rescuers Down Under” was released in 1990. Phase 1 of the Marvel Toons era, as it were, is off to a very promising start.

Note: Since this is a Marvel property, make sure to stay through the credits.

The good news about “The Benchwarmers” is that it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. The bad news is that it is still not a good movie. But then again, what good can possibly come from the combination of Rob Schneider, David Spade and director Dennis Dugan, never mind Jon Heder? The ads will tell you that Dugan directed “Happy Gilmore” and “Big Daddy.” What they won’t tell you is that he also directed “Saving Silverman” and “Beverly Hills Ninja.” There is no point in even dissecting the filmographies of the other actors. It will only end in tears. The bottom line is that this is a movie made for people with the sense of humor of a 10-year-old, but anyone who takes their 10-year-old to this movie will have to answer questions about ovulation cycles, blow-up dolls, peeing in the shower, guys with friends in nothing but a Speedo, and God knows what else. Get the picture? It’s made for kids, but it’s not appropriate for kids, much like a lot of the other junk out there. Can’t anyone make a movie like “Back to the Future” anymore?

The movie begins with professional lawn mower Gus (Schneider) and paperboy Clark (Heder) witnessing a group of smaller kids getting bullied on a baseball diamond. Nelson (Max Prado), one of the smaller kids, is humiliated big time, and the bullies run away before Gus and Clark can discipline them in any way. Nonetheless, the event itself inspires Gus and Clark to go out and play ball with their buddy Richie (David Spade, wearing the worst wig and moustache in movie history), which brings another confrontation with the same kids, who curiously are not afraid of the adults this time. The three adults – two of whom have never played baseball in their lives – challenge the kids to a game, where the winner gets to keep playing on the field. Despite being outnumbered, the grownups win solely on the talents of Gus, who is both a wicked pitcher and big time slugger. This, despite the fact that he’s played by Rob Schneider.

The story of the older kids’ attempt to defend the honor of the geeks gets back to Mel (Jon Lovitz), who happens to be both Nelson’s father and a former geek-turned billionaire. He comes up with a plan to finance a tournament between the three “adults,” now dubbed the Benchwarmers, and the other little league bullies. The winner claims a brand new stadium as their home turf. Along the way, Richie meets cute with a girl at the salad bar that would never, ever be working at a salad bar (we won’t even get into the product placement of Yum! Brands properties like Pepsi and Pizza Hut), while Gus has to come to terms with his own bullying past. The drama, the drama!

Please. You can already tell that the story is held together by strings, if not spider webs. The movie’s agenda is clear from the get-go, which is that all good athletes are arrogant bullies and all bad athletes are optimistic, supportive enablers. Nonsense. There are both in each camp, and while it’s easy to admire the message that the movie is trying to convey, does it need to also send the additional message that anyone who bullied you in your childhood is probably secretly gay? Again, this is a movie aimed at little kids, and you couldn’t possibly be sending them worse mixed messages than this, not with all the titty twisting that goes on. God, how did I not mention the titty twisting? Okay, are you with me now? There are more questions than answers in this movie, period. To Schneider’s credit, though, they make him look like he’s got a hell of a baseball swing.

There are scores of other fatal flaws with this movie, from the stuck-in-second-gear acting of Heder to former NFL demon Bill Romanowski once again playing the fruitcake (again, “The Longest Yard”; gayest, movie, ever). Apparently, this movie had been floating around in Hollywood for years, going back to the days when Chris Farley still lived, breathed, and binged. And while the concept of “The Benchwarmers” may have had the underdog potential that made “Happy Gilmore” such a success, the execution of it has Rob Schneider instead of Adam Sandler, and Craig Kilborn instead of the great Christopher McDonald. Check, please.

Death to the gimmick movie. “Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead” has a compelling story at its core, but instead of simply telling the story, director Sidney Lumet decides to get cute by repeatedly rewinding the story to show the action from another character’s perspective. That’s a nifty idea on paper, but the problem is that the new angles reveal nothing the viewer didn’t already know, which renders the exercise both redundant and pointless.

Philip Seymour Hoffman stars as Andy, a debt-ridden payroll supervisor who pitches a get-rich-quick scheme to his equally destitute younger brother Hank (Ethan Hawke): knock off their parents’ jewelry store. Hank, unsure if he has the guts to follow through with the job, brings in Dex (Michael Shannon) to be the muscle, but the job goes horribly wrong when Andy and Hank’s mother Nanette (Rosemary Harris), who was not supposed to be working that day, engages Dex in gunfire and both end up dead. The boys’ father Charles (Albert Finney) is devastated and, when the police prove to be of no use, vows revenge, unaware that he is hunting down his own sons. Further complicating the issue is Gina (Marisa Tomei), who is married to Andy but is sleeping with Hank.

You can see the potential in everything. On one end, you have a loveless marriage; on the other, you have a couple very much in love but torn apart by tragedy. There is a heist gone wrong. There is a resentful older brother who bullies his weak younger brother into doing his bidding, unaware that by doing so, he has just undone his foolproof plan. And in the middle of all of this are Marisa Tomei’s bare breasts, which get almost as much screen time as Albert Finney. And fine though they may be, there is no need to see so much of them, except to see them. (Here’s hoping she got a Halle Berry-style payday for her troubles.) The sound was out during the opening sex scene between Hoffman and Tomei, which led me to believe, once I saw Tomei with Hawke in a later scene, that Tomei was not Hoffman’s wife but a hooker.

Had the story been told in linear fashion, you had the makings of a taut 85-minute thriller, but instead we get a drawn-out melodrama hogtied by a “hook.” However, even if the movie had been told in a more direct manner, it still would have fallen apart in the end; Hoffman’s character inexplicably transforms from a hopeless fuck-up to a cold-blooded sociopath, and the police are unable to solve the crime despite the fact that Hank practically left a trail of bread crumbs for them to follow. Indeed, there isn’t a single good decision made by anyone in the entire movie. It’s difficult to feel anything but frustration or pity after a while.

“Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead” brims with possibility, but very little of it actually works, from the casting – Hoffman as Finney’s son, yes; Hawke, not a chance in hell – to the script, to the acting, to the confounded decision to keep hitting rewind on the plot. If we had our way, we’d reconvene the cast (replacing Hawke with Ewan McGregor) and put David Mamet in charge. Now that would be a “Devil” worth knowing.