The Amazing Spider-Man (Marc Webb, 2012)

Marc Webb's The Amazing Spider-Man would be a decent movie if it had nothing to do with comic books. When left to his own devices, Andrew Garfield gives Peter Parker an agreeably sardonic side, at once cocky and anxious as he spits out the quips sorely missing from Sam Raimi's post-9/11-tinged idealism. Garfield even enjoys ample chemistry with his leading lady, Emma Stone, which is a nice change of pace, not merely from Raimi's films but the superhero genre as a whole. Were the film nothing more than a slightly surreal abstraction of pimply and emotional hormone changes, it would make a fine romantic comedy powered by believable actors doing above-average work.


But this is a Spider-Man film, and the hormonal abstract in question concerns Parker's superpowers, which themselves entail a narrative arc of responsibility that generates the greatest tension of Parker's life. A good Spider-Man story is less about the fight between Spidey and the chosen villain than how his constant quest for a normal, happy life must be sacrificed for the greater civic good. That tension is wholly lacking in Webb's version, which recalls Green Lantern in its cynical rewrite of a noble character into a self-absorbed narcissist who always makes sure to hedge his bets on even the most tentative of mature actions so he ultimately emerges the same erratic jackass at the end of the film he was at the top.

The Help (Tate Taylor, 2011)

The Help takes the obliviousness of Kathryn Stockett's 2009 hit novel and magnifies it to the level of the dangerously ignorant. The novel at least had the decency to include a modicum of ambiguity and the suggestion that Stockett could vaguely remember some of her 3rd-grade social studies lessons on the Civil Rights Era. The film, on the other hand, is erected out of pure fantasy, set in a plastic, pastel Jackson, Miss. that has all the authenticity of Lars von Trier's Dogville set. Stockett's novel dropped whiffs of the true reality of 1960s Jackson among her dialect-ridden, charmed view of social prejudice like talismans to ward off criticism, but childhood friend Tate Taylor has to condense 500 pages into two-and-a-half hours. Given the paper-thin characterization of the novel's figures, this means that the obliterated subplots and truncated, blunt dialogue serve to make the material even more farcical.

In fairness, Taylor does try to refashion Stockett's book around the African-American characters instead of a white guilt cipher. But this idea goes no farther than letting Aibileen Clark (Viola Davis), a maid who becomes the first to tell her stories of life serving whites, narrate the movie. Soon enough, focus is back on Eugenia "Skeeter" Phelan (Emma Stone), a recent college grad and sort-of feminist who, despite no clear identity before leaving for school and a blindness to current events (at least in the book), decides to get the black perspective of Jackson life. In the novel, Skeeter is almost jaw-droppingly entitled and never criticized for it. Here, Taylor dispenses with nearly all of her story, which would be a significant improvement if he also cut down her screen time to match. But no, regardless of who had to go in to record ADR, this is still Skeeter's story.

Zombieland

Budget issues clearly affected Ruben Fleischer's Zombieland: for all the talk of a worldwide plague of infected, the streets and cities that characters move through look surprisingly vacant, with only a small portion of zombies in each location, if at all. It's a noticeable flaw, but a slew of gory gags and absurd one-liners make Zombieland a terrific piece of popcorn entertainment, one with more "turn off your brain" fun than almost every blockbuster that came out this summer.

Jesse Eisenberg plays the unnamed protagonist, a virginal college student who survived the mass panic and death by virtue of having no strong ties with anyone, thus preventing him from being tied down. Now that the infection has consumed seemingly everyone else, though, he decides to head to his hometown of Columbus, Ohio to see if his parents survived. Eisenberg dryly narrates the film, ticking off his list of do's-and-don'ts for living in Zombieland like a DIY version of Max Brooks' The Zombie Survival Guide.

Before long he meets "Tallahassee" (Woody Harrelson), a loopy, shotgun-totin' madman scouring the country in search of a Twinkie. Columbus and Tallahassee band together out of an unspoken euphoria at meeting another uninfected human being, though each thoroughly irritates the other. Harrelson is a terrific character actor who excels in off-center roles, and without him Zombieland would be half as fun, if that. He drives his modified SUV on wrecked highways, taking out zombies with relish and finding only the lesser Hostess treats in cleaned-out grocery stores and food trucks.

Eventually, the lads stumble upon a duo of con artist sisters (Emma Stone and Abigail Breslin) who trick them out of their guns and ride. Through a series of predictable events, the quartet winds up together headed to California so Wichita can take her little sister to the amusement park they used to love. Is it a stupid plan? Well, yeah, but there's something delightful about some of the last remaining humans on the planet getting away from their daily struggle for survival in order to ride roller coasters that give the sensation of cheating death.

As with most zombie movies, Zombieland focuses more on the survivors than the undead, but here it works to the film's detriment. Paul Wernick and Rhett Reese's script generally avoids any sense of peril and displays only a scant few moments of reflection and coping; combined with the overall lack of zombie extras, there's a distinct lack of danger in most scenes. In fact, a good portion of the film takes place in a lush Hollywood mansion totally free of a zombie threat.

But the film works, and it works well, because the writers manage to make a post-apocalyptic hellscape into an absurd road movie. When infected do show up, the living dispatch them in creative, over-the-top ways that make for some of the best gory physical comedy this side of Sam Raimi. The fourth wall-breaking narration adds a wry commentary on these grisly dispatches and numerous on-screen cues remind us of Columbus' survival rules as they are put into practice. Furthermore, that extended time in the mansion doesn't kill the momentum like it should as it's predicated on a cameo appearance so unexpected and wild that the scene actually bolsters the movie's energy rather than sap it. And that's nothing compared to the final sequence involving a massive battle at the Californian amusement park, when an appropriate amount of zombies finally show up and the wheels come of the logic train for a bloodbath that plays like a mix of Dawn of the Dead and Looney Tunes.

Zombieland is not a film that will stay with you and make you ask questions. It's as brainless as a zombie victim, and you can see just about every plot point coming a mile away (the people in my audience all joined in loudly whispering what they thought would happen next, and I confess I didn't mind since we were all batted about a .800). But it's buoyed by its sense of peevishness and its fantastic cast, all of whom know what notes to hit and where to alleviate any moment of seriousness with a quick one-liner. An odd entry into the modern slacker canon, Zombieland ultimately posits that, in the event of an apocalypse, the meek shall inherit the earth not because of patience and humility but because the loners, outsiders and slackers won't have to deal with "normal" people anymore.

The Rocker

If you like to see people get hit in the head with various objects, boy, do I have a movie for you. A companion piece to School of Rock riding on the coattails of that film a mere 5 years too late, The Rocker presents another story of an aged wannabe who finds renewed vigor with the help of rockin' kids. That is not to say the two are clones, however; no, School of Rock had a point, while The Rocker comes off as a lowbrow, borderline creepy piece of slapstick. Over the course of 102 minutes (seriously?), Rainn Wilson hits people in the head with things and even gets hit himself a few times, and if that isn't wisdom I don't know what is.

Wilson plays Robert "Fish" Fishman, a pasty layabout who dwells upon the golden days. In the 80s, he rocked out in Vesuvius, the next big glam band. They even landed a record deal, but it came with a caveat: the other members have to ditch Fish because the label head wants to get his nephew famous. Even by the standards of studio involvement, this kind of stretches believability, but whatever. The band relents, and goes on to superstardom that survives even into the present. Yes, a generic glam band became so popular that even grunge and nü-metal and simply getting too old to play dress-up didn't hurt their sales.

Fish now lives with his sister and her husband (Jane Lynch and Jeff Garlin), and learns that their son Matt (Josh Gad), a fat nerd who has a band of his own, A.D.D. Gad is latest in a string of Jonah Hill wannabes, and even kind of looks and sounds like him too, which creeped me out more than fooled me. His band includes Amelia (Emma Stone), the shy punky bassist and Curtis (Teddy Geiger) who seems to be trying to outbrood David Boreanaz's Angel. A.D.D. is set to play the prom but hits a snag when their drummer gets suspended for distributing pot brownies at school. Matt suggests they let Fish play and, for reasons that escape me, his bandmates reluctantly agree.

Fish amazingly fits in the band perfectly, at least musically, and eventually he finds a permanent place within the band. He calls around all the old venues he used to play and secures A.D.D.'s first gig and encourages Curtis not to feel down about himself; things are looking up. Then, through a mishap, a video of Fish practicing nude hits Youtube and the band lands a record deal. Look, I know I must seem unreasonable pointing out all the contrivances, but read them aloud and see if you'd buy them. Oh, never mind. Suddenly the band is on tour and Fish tastes fame once more.

Tour life plays out rather muted considering how quickly A.D.D. rises to the top of the charts (you know what? I'm just letting these go from now on); Fish parties it up, but then Curtis' mother (Christina Applegate) decides to travel with the kids so they don't get corrupted by their drummer. A will-they-won't-they-who-cares? subplot develops between Amelia and Curtis, which is pointless because they both clearly love each other, neither is in a relationship, and neither is too strong-willed to admit their feelings.

Just when it all can't get any better, the A&R rep (Jason Sudeikis) informs the group that they'll open for, you guessed it, Vesuvius. Fish flies off in a rage, only for Curtis to agree to the gig out of spite that Fish has gotten close to his mother, and then all is forgiven within the span of 6 minutes. Six. Of course, the night can only end in triumph for our heroes at the expense of Vesuvius, who have turned into faux-British, self-absorbed rock stars, and we've learned...what, exactly? Let your dream die for 20 years, then get back on the horse like nothing changed and win?

The cast is too good for this movie. Jane Lynch and Jeff Garlin are far too talented to take the roles they do, as is Christina Applegate. I understand character actors can't be as picky, but how much could this have possibly paid? And Rainn Wilson, God bless him, he just doesn't strike me as a leading actor. I think he's just great on The Office, but he lacks the charisma for a lead role, and I couldn't help but think he spent more time trying (and often failing) to stop himself mugging than actually acting.

The Rocker isn't an atrocious film, but it has nothing to say and takes up nearly 2 hours doing so. No one sticks out as being especially good or bad, to the point that Demetri Martin steals the entire film in a brief cameo as a music video producer. For me, the best way to judge this film, which concerns itself with the power of rock, is to look at the soundtrack; School of Rock scored artists like The Who and even the rights-guarding Led Zeppelin, while The Rocker relies on Teddy Geiger's own derivative compositions and the occasional musical rearrangement of a classic rocker. That's about as metaphorical as the film ever gets.