George Clooney’s follow up to the critically praised and excellently crafted Good Night, and Good Luck couldn’t be farther from the serious tone of the historical journalism piece. With Leatherheads, about the rise of professional football in the 1920’s, comes the screwball humor and good natured sports action you’ve come to expect from Disney’s yearly releases in the genre.

Clooney stars as Dodge Connelly a player for the bankruptcy bound Duluth Bulldogs, a scrappy group of players who see their dreams crashing down when the professional football league is the laughing stock of the professional sports world and college football is where all the money, endorsements, and fame originates from. This is wonderfully highlighted in the film’s opening scenes. Connelly sees an opening in recruiting college star Carter Rutherford (John Krasinski) to save his floundering team, and the league itself.

As a subplot, reporter Lexie Littleton (Renee Zellweger) is looking into claims about Carter’s war record, thinking there could be a big story and a door to the editor’s desk involved she becomes the final piece in a quasi-love triangle between Carter and Dodge and the catalyst for the film’s climax.

As a throwback to the screwball comedies of the ancient days of cinema, Leatherheads works on many levels. The outlands setups for jokes and physical payoffs are wonderfully done, always with a smirk, and always to the point where everyone is okay afterwards. After a heated punching bout between Carter and Dodge concludes, both me are sporting a few bruises and a fat lip. The final act of the film directs attention away from the love story and the football action to focus on the revelations Lexie has discovered and their ramifications on all the principle players.

The film does have some slow points as it’s about 30 minutes overweight, some serious trimming of the script could have really saved this from becoming tedious towards the end. However the mesmerizing smile of Clooney and the comedic timing of Krasinski basically playing is role of Jim on The Office on the big screen, in the 1920’s, saves the film from the bowels of mediocrity.

As an underdog sports story Leatherheads doesn’t lend much to the genre filled with better films, but as a combination of comedy, screwball and otherwise, with a dose of romance, sharp wits, and colorful, big characters, the film excels.

The film won’t top the previous works by Clooney as a director, nor an actor, but as a change of pace from his normally serious work like Michael Clayton, its good to see the fun loving, funny Clooney on the big screen catching some pigskin and getting trounced in the mud.

If there ever was a film that just sort of popped out of nowhere and made a big impression on you, 21 is that film. Having never even heard about the film a few months before its release, imagine my surprise when the final product turned out to be a well crafted, albeit somewhat clichéd thriller that left everyone in the audience smiling.

The story isn’t something you see everyday, but it isn’t going to win any Juno like writing awards either. Ben Campbell (Jim Sturgess) is a certified genius. He’s working at a men’s clothing store, going to MIT, and can do amazing things with numbers in his head. After making a big splash with one of his professors, Micky Rosa (Kevin Spacey), who just happens to run a blackjack card counting operation on the weekends. Where were these college professors when I was in school?

As the story progresses Ben eventually joins the team who jets off to Vegas with a system of relaying hot and cold tables to the big players in the group who then make tons of money. Ben wants to get into Harvard Medical School and is only aiming for a few hundred grand whereas everyone else just likes expensive things. There’s a subplot featuring Laurence Fishburne and Jack McGee as two security consultants being replaced by computer software, but their role in the film becomes pinnacle as the climax unfolds and the big reveal is unfurled.

While based on the best selling book “Bringing Down the House” (which shares its name with a rather unfortunate Steve Martin vehicle), 21 is full of the basic Hollywood clichés of friends fighting, jealously, love, betrayal, and revenge. How much is true and how much is liberalism with the source material all depends, but what it adds up to is an easy to follow, great story.

The strength of the movie revolves in the acting, with special commendation going out to Kevin Spacey who never ceases to amaze in the range of roles he can play perfectly. From a serial killer in Se7en, a troubled cop in L.A. Confidential, to the arrogant Micky here, the man has certainly earned his keep in Hollywood over the years. Sturgess also shows off his chops which makes you wonder why it took so long for him to hit it big in Hollywood. His resume is filled with UK TV shows, but nothing of note before his role here. His portrayal as Ben gives an added bit of authenticity to the role with Ben morphing from the character we see him as in the beginning to the mastermind of the operation at the end.

As a faithful adaptation of the book, only those who have read it will be able to determine how 21 compares to such high level conversions like Fight Club, and such abysmal ones like Jurassic Park. Even without the book backing it up, 21 is a great film, and while it’s a bit slow at times, anyone who is moderately interested in the mystic world of Las Vegas gambling, heist films, or likes to see the geek win a few rounds, this flick is for you.

It’s nearly impossible to describe how utterly bad writer/director Neil Marshall’s Doomsday is. Words have not been crafted to solidify the magnitude of the sheer disregard for filmmaking in any coherent sense of the word, instead the art form being degraded to the image of feces splattered on celluloid. If anything Rogue/Universal’s marketing department should be given an award for duping hundreds of viewers into seeing this travesty of a film by marketing it as one thing, and delivering something completely different.

What’s built up to be a film akin to Danny Boyle’s excellent 28 Days Later with shades of Mad Max and Escape from NY thrown into the mix actually turns into a collection of skits turning the post-apocalyptic Scotland into a land where Beyond Thunderdome rejects and Army of Darkness extras do battle for no apparent reason other than they don’t like each other.

The now-cliché story starts in Scotland were the Reaper Virus (Marshall saw Blade II apparently) has decimated the population and the country is being evacuated (Marshall then saw the opening scenes of Resident Evil: Apocalypse, which look nearly identical, giant wall and all). After the virus gets lose in the crowd there’s an uprising by the scared public, flash forward to the future in a society where the government is faced with the stigma of its actions. But the Reaper virus is not dead, it begins to spread in London, and the only way to stop it is to find a cure from newly discovered humans living in Scotland.

The film begins to fall apart at this point, it was actually held together with the promise of its trailer up until about 15 minutes in, where a crack team of canon-fodder begins detailing weapons and armaments that will soon provide no protection to them. For an APC capable of sustaining chemical warfare and .40mm shells, apparently all you need to take it down is a strong fist to bust through the windshield and a few Molotov cocktails.

We’re eventually introduced to the two surviving factions in the land up north with one group lead by Sol (Craig Conway) and the other lead by his father Kane (Malcolm McDowell), a former scientist tasked with finding a cure to the virus, now lives in a castle and conducts his group with medieval mania including executions and Gladiator-like battles. The dramatic entrance of a plate-clad man on a horse in a doomsday film nearly brought the audience to tears, and not in the good way.

They say a million monkey’s typing away will eventually write Shakespeare, what we got in Doomsday was one drunk monkey, with broken fingers taking breaks between masturbating to write a movie so devoid of personality and originality that its almost to the point where the films it pays homage to are worse in the eyes of movie aficionados because of their association to this mess.

The film is riddled with plot holes and inconsistencies. At one point a member of Kane’s group is taking a few survivors of the commando group through a fallout shelter stocked with supplies, they pass right by the clipboard each time they go through, however in 20 years, no one has bothered to go through this stuff? At other times a character has seen a bus, a train, and motorcycles, but upon seeing a Bentley for the first time, she asks, “What does it do?” Seriously? Giving someone a “writing” credit on this film is like giving a first-grader a doctorate for putting crayon to paper.

There are no redeeming qualities to this film at all; it’s so laughable at times I honestly thought it was a better comedy than the recently released Semi-Pro. Even star Rhona Mitra disrobing wouldn’t have saved this mess (contrary to the opinion on Editorial Intern Scott Brooks). Films don’t get much worse than this, and it’s a rare feat to have toppled masterpieces such as Rollerball and Hollowman off my list of worst films ever, but Doomsday secures a place at the near-top of the list for being a genuine demonstration of how NOT to make a movie.

What can be said about the independent short, Bookie?  Quite a bit, though some of it isn’t necessarily too kind.  When one watches a short film, usually a little leeway is due to the cast and crew because the breadth and depth of a feature film has to be captured in a relatively small time frame, and usually on a shorter budget.  Unfortunately in this case, that task seemed to be at least a bit of a challenge.

The story, a period piece, centers on Bookie (Ken Quitugua) who, as the bookie for Mr. Jackson (Lester Purry) is tasked with collecting up all the bets for the big championship bout between the reigning king and the long-shot challenger.  In the end, while trying to help secure the freedom of down on her luck waitress, and sometime plaything of Mr. Jackson, Billie (Angela Adto), Bookie makes a tragic misstep that lands him in the doghouse with his employer, and almost in the morgue at the hands of heavies “Shorty” and “Roughneck” (played by Sam Looc and Aaron Toney respectively).  Finding the strength to fight the attackers, he defends himself and gets the girl, albeit a little worse for wear.

To take it point by point, the fatal flaw of the film was the script.  It seemed to lack any depth or substance in the writing itself, seeming to resign itself to the fact that it was a short film and needed to fit in as many platitudes and stereotypes for characters as possible.  This didn’t give the actors themselves a lot to work with, and some of them tried very hard to deliver (such as the Rogers, who wins it big on the fight, played very competently by J.T. Jackson of “Bacardi and Cola” fame).  The leads, Ken and Angela, were able to play what they were given, which wasn’t much, but never really break out and do anything for the audience.  Lester Purry, who plays Mr. Jackson, has his moments, and you definitely see his extensive theatre work/training come through in his performance, and it does pay off.

It is on its technical merits that this film comes back from the brink with a beautiful blend of music and cinematography.  The smoky jazz tunes coupled with black and white filming and wonderful scene transitions make it at the very least a beautiful thing to judge simply on aesthetics. 

All that said, an Oscar worthy masterpiece it may not be, but as a short film to showcase some potential talent, or to show musical and camera skill, this film has pieces that you can definitely appreciate and enjoy.

Cloverfield is not what you expect, well, not what you fully expect after seeing the trailers, reading the hype, and see the polarized opinions of the film pop up in the mainstream media. Yes, this is a monster movie, told from the perspective of a constantly whittled down number of party-goers who film their escape from Manhattan after an uninvited guest appears and crashes the festivities. The movie is so much more though, it’s filled to the brim with excitement, in a barrage of non-stop-thrills, seemingly coming one after another for 80 minutes.

Its like the ultimate monster movie told from the ultimate perspective, one of the fearful inhabitants of the city being rampaged, this movie just wouldn’t work any other way. If told from a third-party perspective it would just be another King Kong or Godzilla or similar monster movie with the audience clamoring for scientific explanation, resolution, logic, study, and the ultimate happy ending, you get none of these with Cloverfield, instead you’re treated to a unique film, told from an unique perspective that shines as one of the finest cinema experiences you’ve had in the young year, and possible in the last couple.

From the sheer ecstatic atmosphere seeing Transformers for the first time last July, Cloverfield presents a similar experience with a packed theater, an audience who was truly thrilled, surprised, and enveloped into the film. You don’t see this more than a few times a year in the jaded world of cinema we live in today, and when a film can embark so many different emotions from the audience, you have a true work of, dare I say it, art.

The film, again, is told from the perspective of a group of twentysomethings at a going away party for one of their friends. As the party winds down a series of earthquakes shake the city, and after a curious few journey outside do they see the beginnings of the longest night of their lives as the trailer’s money shot comes into focus and the head of the Statue of Liberty lands, conveniently, at their feet. As a member of the audience you become one of these party people, just struggling to survive as the populous borough is terrorized by this creature.

First time director Matt Reeves means business too, a sort of Joss Whedon type of business where main characters are as disposable as pieces of notepaper and it becomes nearly impossible to determine who will make it to the end of the film, if anyone. This is where a lot of the movie’s sheer thrill comes into play, each one of our main protagonists is beaten, battered, and bleeding as we approach the film’s main climax, and after a truly rocking scene at a military hospital, it becomes apparent that no one is safe.

There’s so much to like about Cloverfield it seems also pointless to find fault with the film, but the camera angle, as immersive as it is, is bound to turn off a lot of viewers because many will perceive it as a gimmick, and others will see this just as a Blair Witch meets Godzilla rip-off, too naïve to realize its so much more.

Those seeking the Hollywood ending or atypical plot devices explaining everything that’s going on will be simply disappointed. The film is about six hours of these people’s lives, that’s it, hardly ever do we get any additional information, and when you do, its in passing from military members who are simply trying to fend off the creature and get out of the city themselves. There’s a certain suspension of disbelief you need to maintain throughout the entire film, but if you do, the rewards billowing from the experience will leave you talking about the movie for days, weeks, even months until its pending DVD release.

It’s largely known that the modern music industry is manufactured to sell records. As one of the characters states in the closing line of Nemesis, “Hip-hop is no longer black or white, its green,” and no truer words are spoken in the tale of childhood friends pitted against each other to create the Miami’s equivalent of the 1990’s east vs. west Coast rap feud. The affect of gangster rap or music in general, is a debate of politicians, but this film throws it into the forefront of conversation as Nate (Sheaun Mckinney) and Rick (Marlon Taylor) become rap stars in the 305 area code of Florida and subsequently are pitted against each other by greedy record executives who know how acts like 50 Cent succeed in selling records and making money.

The independent film from director Lee Cipolla and written by Jeremy Mitchell, Nicanson Guerrier, and Cipolla creates the manifestation of Nemesis, Nate’s manufactured gangsta rap persona who’s blowing up on the underground scene and looking to be the meal ticket for Renaissance Records, but to push him to the next level he has to take on a back story forgetting his father and subverting his childhood friendship to Rick to the point of near gunplay for the sake of public image.

While it can be argued that the events portrayed in the film only seem to solidify the negative stereotypes of hip-hop with weapons, needless feuds, and an encouraging of violence against each other for the sake of street cred, the audience is fully aware of the character’s true personalities and they can see the feigned images for what they are, fake.

The film is wonderfully shot with director of photography Justin Marx relaying some truly beautiful cinematography and the use of handheld cameras really brings the audience into the picture. There are, however, some short comings with some strange, hard cuts making particular scenes awkward and seem disjointed. Also, during the rapping scenes for Nate, its very obvious that he isn’t providing the vocals himself with most of the shots from the back, or obstructed only adding to this minor distraction.

As wonderful as the script is, there are a few moments of cheesy dialog and some of the lines that feel very forced. The banter between the record executives (one even played by Mitchell) are usually the source of these problems, luckily they are far and between, and for the most part the story is written in an easy to follow manner, employing great use of flashbacks as it builds up the story of a younger Nate and his dad and the hardship they faced together. This makes his shunning of his father all the more poignant and emotional when it looks like things are coming to a dramatic head.

Nemesis strives to touch on something different and greatly excels as a wonderfully acted, smartly written, and entertaining look behind the scenes of the fakeness of the music industry and the overall greed that corrupts the true artists just trying to make it.

I Am Legend is a movie that seemingly everyone and their mom wants to see. This is evident by the couple hundred people lined up outside the theater, in the cold and rain for the free screening I attended, hoping to get a precious seat inside. Typically, these types of come one, come all movie fests, based mostly on commercial hype, usually end up being enjoyable (i.e. Transformers). They typically don’t end up like the “I should know from the trailer this is going to be boring and artsy” films (i.e. No Country for Old Men).

The story of what exactly happened to humanity is told in flashbacks, and various paper and magazine articles in the background. This made for a fun exercise of trying to read everything (note: look for a billboard for a certain superhero movie in “development hell” in time square). Different people may get more or less of the back story this way, although some might find it frustrating, because everything isn’t explained up front. There is somewhat of a left turn at the end that shows up at Neville’s lowest point, that some might consider a cheesy plot turn that includes the line “I like Shrek.” That is up to the viewer though. The ending is very heroic, without saying too much, following the trend of horror movies lately.

Maybe artful pictures such as No Country for Old Men aren’t for everyone except old men and crotchety old film critics, those in the younger critical circles can certainly see the merit, and artistry in films such as this one, and the pedigree of the directors, Joel and Ethan Coen, is nearly unmatched, but No Country for Old Men ends up becoming lost in itself and its stride to buck the trends of Hollywood in such a way that it is nearly unwatchable at times for the fear you may fall asleep.

The film isn’t particularly long; although it feels as though you’ve just sat down to enjoy the entire 12-hour epic Lord of the Rings trilogy when it begins without a word spoken and long panning shots of desert landscapes and the far horizon. After a few minutes the scratchy voice of Tommy Lee Jones serves as our introduction into this world, but his bookends (both here and at the end of the film describing a recent dream) just leave the audience with a sense of “what the hell just happened here” rather than some conclusion on the story.

There’s no doubt that the film is expertly shot and from what one can tell by not having read the novel in which its based, No Country for Old Men is one of the most faithful adaptations to the source material on the big screen today, but even with all the talent and promise, it never approaches anything above average as it tries to be unique and attempts to lure the user into a rich world of a man on the run from a ruthless killer. We assume this is a rich world because the motivations and exposition of why these characters do what they do is left for you, the viewer, to determine, which further adds to the confusion.

The film’s protagonist, Llewelyn Moss (Josh Brolin), discovers a drug deal gone wrong in the desert. Further examination shows a lot of dead bodies, one dead dog, a lone survivor, and two million dollars in a case just ripe for the taking. Moss takes the money, and leaves the survivor, but when his conscious gets the best of him, and he goes back to help the man, the rightful owners of the drugs and money begin searching for him.

From there a game of cat and mouse between Moss and the laughably insane Anton Chigurh (Javier Bardem) begins and the movie seems as though it’s going to pick up into something akin to The Fugitive, but, instead, it settles down into a morality piece looking at both men, on opposite ends of the spectrum. Through this all Moss’s wife (Kelly Macdonald) seeks the help of Sherriff Ed Tom Bell (Jones) who’s close to retirement but knows that Moss might be caught up in something bigger than he can handle and sets out to help the marked man.

There’s just no one to like in the film besides Jones and his deputy side kick who get the films only few laughs during a very serious 121 minutes. The protagonist and antagonist are unlikable as Moss is realistically a thief and strives to take revenge on Chigurh. Bardem’s killer is similarly unlikable and comical in unintended ways as he eats up twenty minutes of screen time posing inane questions and hypothetical situations to potential victims. During these parts the only thing I could think of was Quentin Tarantino’s similarly disappointing bore-a-thon Death Proof and how ending my misery in any way possible could be achieved.

In the end the movie closes with a whisper as Bell recites a dream he had the night before to his wife after retiring from the force and having a long, long conversation with a relative in the middle of the desert. As the screen cuts to black the audience is left dumbfounded and only questioning. It may be a wonderfully written book, and an artfully crafted movie, but that’s keep it from being one of the most boring, overrated films of the year.