The third season finale of House falls somewhere between the brilliant re-examination of its main character in season two's "No Reason" and the anticlimax of "Honeymoon" as a finale after the spectacular "Three Stories" in season one. But I loved the confirmation of and justification for House's bastardliness, elevating this episode above most others of the season for me.

"Human Error" is part cliffhanger, part character study, answering the question: is House hiding a heart of gold? The answer, of course, is no. No, he's really, really not, and he's had enough of the people around him thinking he is.

Written by Thomas L. Moran and Lawrence Kaplow — in his final script for the show he's been with since the beginning — this episode is almost an answer to "No Reason," where House realized that his reliance on rationality over empathy has negative consequences. Yet his actions throughout this season would indicate that he hasn't changed his behaviour after that epiphany. Why? Because he is not empathetic, not caring, not interested in seeing his patients' life stories as anything other than case histories, and not prepared to change his personality while he changes guitars and employees.

"Human Error" is a rematch of sorts in another sense. It's "House vs. God" take two, as the "atheist"-who's-mad-at-God House does battle with the deity over credit as the saviour of the well-named Marina, plucked from the ocean. It's an amusing spin on the God complex that doctors — especially fictional ones — display.

We meet Marina shivering in a rescue helicopter as her husband Esteban is making rescue attempts difficult by grasping a large suitcase. The Coast Guard seems to read from the same playbook as House, doing what he must to save the dying — he dunks Esteban into the ocean until he loses consciousness and his grip on the suitcase, which contained Marina's medical records.

Esteban is a mechanic, the guy who can fix anything, except his wife. For that, he turned to House, his love for her not letting a pesky thing like geography get in his way.

It's a story that would melt even the coldest heart, right? Have you met Dr. House?

House is still struggling with Foreman's decision to quit, alternately stalking him at his going-away party (wearing his trucker hat disguise, declaring himself "Best in Show") and verbally patting him on the head at every turn.

Wilson: He thinks you're a cold-hearted bastard with no regard for anyone else. You have to show him you care. You are not good with change.

House: I didn't used to be, but I changed.

Wilson: He's not afraid to be you; he's afraid to be who he thinks you are.

House seems to perversely take that as a dare from one of the few people he does seem to have genuine regard for (very occasionally), perhaps to prove that it is Wilson, Chase, and Cuddy who have the mistaken impression of the real House, not Foreman. House is flummoxed by the Foreman issue because Foreman wants the one thing House cannot give him — an apology for or denial of who he really is.

Chase lectures House on the same topic, and even yells at his boss, but House is at a loss how to keep Foreman around. "Foreman's not as easy as Cameron. But then, who is?" Director (and executive producer) Katie Jacobs does a hilarious quick pan to a previously unseen Cameron sitting at the conference table. "I'm in the room," glowers the woman whose departure was remedied with a date from House.

Esteban is frustrated that House himself has not seen Marina. "I came 1,000 miles to see him," he complains to Chase.

"He doesn't care. I'm sorry, but that's who he is. That's who you risked your life to see," Chase says, adding: "And you made the right choice."

That bit of insight might have helped cushion the blow when House abruptly fires Chase when he approaches him to explain more calmly his frustration over House's dealings with Foreman.

"Because you've been here the longest, learned all you can," House explains. "Or you haven't learned anything at all. Either way, it's time for a change." It's safe to say House doesn't care whether it's time for a change for Chase, but rather that he's the one who wants the change. Take that, Wilson.

Chase has grown considerably in the last half of this season. He's gone from barely existing in much of the first half of season — down to the character's "remarked on but never explained" disappearance midway through "Que Sera Sera" — to asserting himself as the persistent but not stalkery wooer of Cameron and conscience of House.

Without that growth, it would be inconceivable to imagine the Chase who betrayed House in order to keep his job, who was double-dipping shifts to earn extra money, could possibly be the same Chase who's so accepting of House's snap decision to fire him because "change is good." It's still easy to think he's in shock and hasn't fully processed the change yet.

Foreman wonders if House is lashing out at Chase in lieu of himself, and Cameron puzzles over how to make sense out of this seemingly senseless act. "He always makes sense," she asserts.

Instead of giving him the results of Marina's PET scan, they confront a cane-guitar playing House over his actions before Wilson and Cuddy storm in for the same reason. "I told you to show Foreman you had a heart," Wilson protests. "How does that translate into 'fire Chase'?"

House is unmoved, even cruelly toying with Chase to get the results of the PET scan out of the one obedient — if no longer employed — employee.

Foreman retaliates by giving the still-House-seeking Esteban House's home number. Which is something, as Cameron points out, makes Foreman not so unlike House despite his protests. And yet, when Marina's heart stops during an angiogram, House refuses to consider the only likely option: human error, Foreman's error. However, it's not another example of deference to his exiting employee, but his refusal to pick the most likely but least satisfying explanation.

Marina's heart stops but her mouth doesn't, and House is more intrigued by the fact that she continued to speak while having no pulse than the dire fact that she continues to have no pulse. Rather than put her on bypass until he can figure out this new mystery, fearing a potentially deadly blood clot, he gets his remaining team to perform CPR. This is not House's most stellar moment in labour relations. If he's not treating his team as disposable, he's treating them as machines. Very high tech machines.

In an amusing scene reminiscent of his interesting teaching methods in "Three Stories," House quizzes Cuddy's medical students for possibilities other than human error. One, very Cameron-like — smart, quick to regroup, and a pretty, long-haired brunette — suggests a tainted Botox injection, which he rejects for obvious reasons. But then he calls "send me a resume" even before knowing he might need a Cameron replacement after all.

And he's still avoided talking to Esteban about what's going on with his wife, not out of early-Cameron-like hesitance to share bad news, but perpetual-House-like indifference to the emotional impact on the patient and family. He has no facts, therefore he has nothing to tell the husband.

Esteban came 1,000 miles to see House, though, so the few extra feet to his office aren't an obstacle. "How do you fix something if you don't look at it?" he demands of the doctor who still hasn't examined his wife. Good question, and I like the metaphoric possibilities as well. Though it's hard to say if House is fixing his life by examining it.

Even examining her heart during the bypass surgery doesn't yield any clues, though, and House discovers that her heart can't be restarted. She is, in effect, dead, kept on the machine only so the husband can say goodbye.

Still, House stalls, wanting to solve the case even if it's too late to save the patient.

"How can we tell him there's no hope when we don't know why there's no hope?" he asks a doubting Foreman. "If he pulls the plug it means he's failed."

"If he pulls the plug, it means you've failed," Foreman counters.

"And you're okay with that?"

In other words, the differing perspectives are meaningless. Whether the motivation to solve the mystery, even if it's too late, is to give the husband some certainty before pulling the plug, or to give House some certainty before giving up, the outcome is the same.

"I don't care. I really don't care. My motives are pure," House explains to Cuddy after she attempts to get him to admit that he wants a storybook ending for his ocean-crossed lovers. He isn't ready to let go of the mystery because, unlike the patient they lost in "Family," thanks to the bypass machine there is a chance he doesn't have to conduct an autopsy to make the diagnosis.

His patient isn't the only one with the cold, dead heart. House really is that heartless, that the story of a young couple risking their lives to see him doesn't move him. They're just another day on the job, just another case to be solved, and, to hear him tell it, that's a good thing, letting his determination be based on rationality rather than emotion.

In some ways, the series has proven to us again and again that House possesses the perfect confluence of traits to allow him to do his specialized job so well. His lack of caring means he's not distracted by pesky emotions. His addictive personality makes him "jones" for a medical mystery, as Foreman puts it, gives him the insatiable desire to solve the case.

But his night at the office yields no further clues, and he finally approaches the husband to advise turning off the bypass machine. He finds the purported atheist in the chapel. "I promised my wife I'd do everything I can," Esteban explains. "If I don't pray, then I don't do everything." Seems rational enough.

What doesn't is the fact that Marina's heart continues to beat after the machine is turned off. "Holy crap," House says when she wakes up, giving a plaintive shrug up to the heavens. The God he doesn't believe in is making House look bad. Esteban has apparently converted from House worship to another kind of belief: "God sent her back to me. It's a miracle."

"How come God gets credit whenever something good happens?" House grumbles to the remnants of his team. "What if it wasn't human error? Maybe it was God's error — a congenital defect."

He needs his powers of persuasion and manipulation to convince the happy and highly photogenic couple that Marina's apparent good health is a temporary state, and they should submit to the same test that stopped her heart in the first place. Esteban points out that House was wrong about there being no hope for his wife when they pulled the plug.

"My mistakes don't prove there's a God. You came a long way to see me. Are you going to put her life in God's hands or mine?" It's a similar argument to the season one "Damned If You Do," which was the first episode to suggest that House is not quite a devout atheist himself.

Well, sure, since they came all that way, why not trust the man who's admitted he's wrong a lot? But they do, because doctors trump miracles for nuns and recent converts alike.

"I better not see you praying," House jokes to Esteban during the procedure. "I don't want to have to fight for credit on this."

House's prediction turns out to be accurate, and his acute powers of deduction solved the case again. One more operation, and Marina will be fine.

"Thank God," she says.

"Don't make me slap you," he retorts, and suddenly I can see a little Jackie Gleason in the very un-Jackie-Gleason-ish Hugh Laurie.

So House fixes what God breaks. That's pretty heady stuff. No wonder everyone — including House himself — is so enamoured with the dark-humoured doctor. Everyone except Foreman.

At the last possible moment, House finally admits he wants Foreman to stay, that he needs him. But he fails at showing he cares for either Foreman or his patients, and because of that, experiences a rare failure in his attempts to persuade or manipulate.

"I don't want to solve cases, I want to save lives," declares the unmoved Foreman.

"Do you think she cares? Do you think the husband cares? Do you think the children she can now have because of me are going to care why I saved her? You're the selfish bastard, not me," oh-so-tactful but not irrational House counters.

"Nice try," Wilson the observer says after Foreman exits, supposedly never to return.

"Nice tries are worthless," is House's disgusted reply.

The scene reminded me of the first season speech he gave at Vogler's insistence. House cannot be who he is not, and there's something noble in the fact that he won't try to be, either. That's why it's been such a brick wall for him to manipulate Foreman into staying — he hit on the one thing House can't and won't change: who he is. And who he is is someone who doesn't generally give a damn and doesn't want to pretend he does.

House doesn't seem to care that Cameron went to commiserate with the fired Chase, either. "Say, 'Hi,' to Chase for me. You're wearing lipstick," he adds, presumably in explanation for how he knows who she'll be seeing. Sure enough, Cameron tries to cheer the ex-duckling up, but flees after he tells her he's okay with the firing (in a not-quite-okay kind of way) and apologizes for his "silly" plan to ask her out every Tuesday. She put lipstick on for that?

No, that's just the prelude. Later, she confronts him on his doorstep to remind him it's Tuesday. When he points out it's actually Monday — but with a tiny smile that indicates he knows, or hopes he knows, where this is going — she says she couldn't wait, and the former friends with benefits convert into actual coupledom, with a long, sweet kiss.

Cameron's change goes beyond just choosing Chase, but also choosing, like Foreman, to distance herself from House. Though nothing in the episode suggests she made the decision for purely professional reasons, she offers House her letter of resignation, saying smugly: "I've gotten all I can from this job."

He wonders what she expects him to do about it . If she wanted a date last time, I wonder what he thinks the higher stakes might be this time. But no, she and Chase both seem to have learned to accept House's flaws in a way Foreman can't. "I expect you to do what you always do," she says. "I expect you to make a joke, go on. I expect you to be just fine."

Cameron has made her choice — for now — and Chase is the lucky recipient of her affections. The "I'll miss you" and the arm touch suggest her feelings for House have been deliberately submerged rather than eliminated. But she's learned from House over the years. She's harder and less gullible, as Wilson pointed out recently. She's also learned about House, and puts her newfound non-gullibility to work. Whatever her feelings for him, House and his twisted heart will be just fine without her.

What follows is a weirdly companionable scene between House and Esteban, sharing House's "genuine American cigars." Esteban is at least a step up from original recipe coma guy — he can talk back and partake in the smoking/drinking male bonding ritual. He also has the benefit of not being judgmental Wilson, and doesn't have any reason to care that House doesn't care.

Esteban: You must be very upset.

House: Yeah, I must be.

Esteban: But you're not.

House: I don't think I am. I think I'm OK.

Esteban: What are you going to do?

House: God only knows.

He comes home to the new guitar he apparently ordered to replace the one he's had since grade nine. Change is addictive, it seems, and the cane-guitar playing must have given him a taste of something snappier, too. As Josh Ritter's "I'm a Good Man" plays ironically, I have to consider that he is a good man, as long as he's judged on a Housian curve and not by the standards of St. Wilson, for example, who doesn't have a problem with faking caring. House looks just fine playing that new guitar, when he would seem to have just made a complete mess of his professional and possibly personal life.

Now that's the kind of cliffhanger I like. I have no predictions for how this is all going to play out next season, except that I'm highly skeptical Omar Epps, Jennifer Morrison, and Jesse Spencer are off the show. Is the mass exodus another engineered lesson for House courtesy of Wilson and Cuddy? Is it a ploy by the team, or at least Cameron, to win Chase his job back? Or is all as it appears, and the ducklings have decided they're ready to swim on their own and House has decided that he's ready for change?

Okay, I have one prediction, but I'm not making any bets on this one: I think they'll all be back, but in different capacities. At the very least, this regrouping could put to rest the never-ending fellowships without getting into tedious administrative detail. By the end of the episode, all three have decided they're ready to move on from House's tutelage, but I'm skeptical that means we've seen the last of them.

Whatever the answer, I'm ready for some change, and am hopeful we're in for a readjustment of a show that's hit the reset button a few times too many. But I'd hate to see an overhaul of the undeniably successful dynamics between the characters, so I'm hoping for a tweaking that will prevent the show from growing stale without tampering too much with its winning formula.

FOX bumped the finale by a week, putting it in the path of my holiday but also, perhaps more importantly to anyone but me, out of the May sweeps and into the doldrums of summer reruns. I take some spiteful comfort in the fact that On the Lot, the show FOX wanted to launch with an American Idol-fueled boost, is tanking already. Take that, scheduling gods who dare to mess with House. He wins again.

Diane is a writer, editor, and web communications consultant with an unreasonable affection for the entertainment industry, which she tends to write about in her blog. She writes a lot about House, and also runs a site to promote Canadian television, called TV, Eh? What’s Up in Canadian TV.

Riddled with plot holes, dumb logic, drastically generic action, and a cast of characters that could come from about any other movie, Meltdown fits right into the definition of B-movie. It’s concept has been lifted from other films, most notably 1961’s Day the Earth Caught Fire, and the performances range from sub par to abysmal. There’s barely any disaster to consider this a disaster movie too. It’s an illogical mess.

An experiment goes wrong as scientists attempt to blow up an asteroid heading full speed at our planet. When this fails miserably, the asteroid scrapes the Earth, and no one seems to notice the continent-crossing fireball it leaves behind. This near collision shifts the Earth’s orbit, pushing it closer to the sun.

When the temperature hits 140 degrees Fahrenheit, it’s logical that the human body will need some cover. As Casper Van Dien and his family (with loads of emotional baggage being drug behind) make their way across, well, wherever they’re from, they load themselves up with clothes. This is logical in direct sunlight. Once into a sewer system in which no light is coming through and people begin passing out while wearing multiple layers of clothing, it’s hard to feel bad for them. That’s simply sloppy, uncaring filmmaking.

Much of the chaos is handled through stock footage. Power outages seem to be affecting all but the main characters, looting only plays a small role, and the massive fires somehow avoid Van Dien’s crew. Some long distance computer generated shots of a city burning are the closest things to destruction in Meltdown. Amazingly, even with dead bodies everywhere and a climbing temperature, the characters barely even break a sweat.

Their quest to arrive at a small airport and escape to the Arctic seems pointless in the sense of the disaster. Their struggle to survive feels small as the entire planet begins to cook. A few small gunfights fail to add to the drama. You feel as if someone else out there is doing something far more exciting or important.

The family drama, riddled with cheesy, predictable dialogue, stops the film cold. Van Dien has a daughter, and her boyfriend is an ex-con. Even after her boyfriend saves her life multiple times, they still can’t seem to see eye to eye. A broken relationship goes nowhere in the end.

With a final resolution even more implausible than the initial problem, Meltdown doesn’t end well either. It’s generic, though sadly it can’t even live up to the typical, predictable disaster movie formula that can still be enjoyable. Stay out of the heat.

Matt Paprocki is the reviews editor for Digital Press, a classic video game website which he called home after his fanzine (Gaming Source) published its final issue. The deep game collection which spans nearly 30 systems and 2,000 games line his walls for reasearch purposes. Really. He has also begun writing freelance for the Toledo Free Press.

When I first read an American DVD company was working on bringing the original Godzilla and its sequels to disc in both their original Japanese and American versions, I began to wonder how much the later Godzilla flicks' fondly remembered goofiness would translate back in their original language. We all know that the original 1954 Gojira was a fairly grim nuclear age monster rampage film in both its Japanese and American form – but as the series "progressed" into the sixties and seventies, the Americanized Godzillas turned into Saturday afternoon kid's TV fodder.

Having seen a slew of these ill-synced flicks in my wasted youth, I was curious as to how they'd work without dubbing or the rough handling so many of them received when they first arrived in the U.S. (case in point: first sequel Godzilla Raids Again, which was even re-titled Gigantis the Fire Monster on its first American release because new distributor Warner Bros. didn't want to pay for the Godzilla brand name). With the upcoming release of two new entries in Classic Media's "Toho Master Collection," Ghidorah, the Three-Headed Monster (1964) and Invasion of Astro-Monster (1965), I had the chance to see just how wacky these rascals are in their original un-Americanized versions.

Let's take a look at Ghidorah today (and save Astro-Monster, which was originally released in the U.S.A. as Monster Zero, for another time). Ghidorah contains the first instance of what would quickly become a familiar Toho plot: wherein Godzilla and two of the studio's other heavy-duty rampagers – Rodan and Mothra – team up to best an invading monster. The alien menace, Ghidorah (full name, "King Ghidorah"), is like an amalgamation of his opponents: a three-headed dragon with two tails, he has wings to blow the roofs off pagodas a lá Rodan or Mothra, but can also indulge in Godzilla-styled stompitude. Where the Big G. breathes radioactive fire whenever he's really being pissy, Ghidorah shoots out electric whatsit beams from his three mouths. No wonder it takes all three of our home-grown creatures to whup his two tails.

The title beastie doesn't really show for two-thirds of the movie, so to pass the time, we're given a plot around a visiting Princess (Akiko Wakabayashi, a Bond Girl in You Only Live Twice) whose body is taken over by a survivor of Ghidorah's invasion of the planet Venus 5,000 years earlier. (Why'd the monster wait so long between invasions? A long hibernation, perhaps?) Said Princess is the survivor of an airborne plane explosion plotted by nefarious spies from her homeland of Segina, so when she unexpectedly appears unharmed on Japanese soil, spouting prophecies and chirpily telling folks, "I'm from Venus," the sunglass-wearing bad guys try to hunt her down. On the side of the angels are a brother cop and sister reporter, the usual obligatory nerdy professor, plus the twin fairy sisters (Eimi and Yûmi Ito, a.k.a. musical duo the Peanuts) from Mothra's home island, who get to do full renditions of the big bug's summoning tune, "Call Happiness," twice in the movie.

As Ghidorah opens, our gal reporter Naoko (Yuriko Hoshi) is interviewing a crew of scientists observing a sudden rash of shooting stars that are dropping onto the planet during an unusually warm winter (we know what season it is because two of the exposition-happy characters tell us this fact); elsewhere, her police detective brother (Yosuke Natsuki) has been given the assignment to bodyguard the visiting Princess Salno, but before he begins said assignment, he receives word that the princess' plane was destroyed mid-flight. When a mysterious prophetess appears at Mt. Aso, the site where the flying monster Rodan was reportedly killed in his first movie appearance, sharp-eyed Detective Shindo recognizes her royal corporeal form.

Our Venusian-controlled princess has shown up at the volcano just in time to warn scoffing tourists of Rodan's imminent resurrection, then later does the same at Yokohama to be equally unheeded by the passengers and crew of a ship that'll get demolished by Godzilla. (As a kid watching the earliest Godzillas on television, I thought the scenes where Gojira rises from the sea, water cascading from all sides of him, were the scariest moments in these pictures.) Godzilla and Rodan meet and commence fighting – a preliminary match before the title antagonist makes his appearance – until one of the mysterious shooting stars "hatches" and out pops King Ghidorah.

The two dueling beasties don't immediately take after the invading alien, however. For that to occur, Mothra has to be summoned from her island to recruit both Godzilla and Rodan to take on the fight. The scene where young Mothra, still in giant caterpillar form, interrupts the duo's fight by spraying cocoon strands on 'em is pretty funny, but the follow-up where the good bug tries to persuade the two to take on Ghidorah and save humanity is a comic high point. As the fairy sisters obligingly translate for us ("Godzilla is saying he has no reason to protect the humans. 'They're always bullying me …'"), the two monsters are initially unresponsive to Mothra's entreaties. "Men are not the only stubborn creatures," one of our hapless human protagonists notes. But, happily, the big three-on-one battle finally takes place. Like any good reluctant movie hero – from Rick Blaine to Snake Plissken – you can count on Godzilla and Rodan to ultimately do the right thing.

The movie's special effects, courtesy of Toho main man Eiji Tsuburaya (also responsible for Godzilla, Rodan, and Mothra's first appearances), are exactly what you'd expect: men in bulky monster suits tromping around a landscape of easily demolished warehouses and electric power lines. (At one point, the berserk beasts accidentally save the Princess from being electrocuted when Rodan drops Godzilla belly first onto a big electric tower.) On their own endearingly clunky terms, the effects largely work – though a couple of times when Mothra chomps down on one of Ghidorah's tails, you can see the strings, while a shot showing two puppets of the monsters off in the distance looks jerkier than it should. Classic Media, on the packaging for Astro-Monster, calls the effects "retro-riffic," which is basically adspeak for "cheesy."

As for the question of whether subtitles add to or detract from the movie's quintessential ridiculousness, I'm happy to report that the original movie's Silliness Quotient still remains enjoyably high. In one of my favorite moments, the movie attempts to explain how Princess Salno escaped that exploding airplane by bringing on a "UFO Expert" to nonsensically babble about the existence of other dimensions alongside ours. The way the scene is shot and lit, it looks like one of Charles Gray's earnestly pontificating moments from Rocky Horror Picture Show. Whether in its native tongue or dubbed into Yankee Blather, a movie moment like this remains eternal.

When I saw the first advertisements for Knocked Up, I could not have been less intrigued. After all, the "unprepared couple bumbles their way through pregnancy" plot is as old as the hills, and I doubted very much that director/writer Judd Apatow would be able to bring a fresh perspective to the table.

Apatow, for those not familiar with him, has produced some of the biggest hit comedies of the last five years, including Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy and The 40 Year-Old Virgin. But while those movies were essentially really long sketches that relied on star power (Will Ferrell and Steve Carell) and liberal amounts of raunch for their success, Knocked Up is a much more assured and satisfying film.

For those who have seen Nine Months or any movie like it, Knocked Up will feel familiar – Ben Stone (Seth Rogen) and Alison Scott (Katherine Heigl) hook up for a rather implausible one-night stand, which leads to a bun in the oven for Alison. There's fear at first, followed by some ham-handed attempts to make things work. Inevitably, Ben is confronted by his inadequacies as a father-to-be, and is pushed away by Alison so he can get his act together. He returns a changed man, and there is much rejoicing.

While the story is hardly groundbreaking, Apatow maximizes Knocked Up's potential by minimizing the amount of clichés normally found with movies like this. There's no fainting men in the delivery room, no awkward attempt to build a crib, and no lame jokes about how weird Lamaze class is.

Knocked Up also features some very genuine explorations of relationships and happiness. The two main couples in the movie are more characters than caricatures, although Ben's pot-smoking buddies are nothing more than comedic cannon fodder (albeit good ones). There are also a ton of pop culture references, which to me are better than most sex scenes. Any movie that contains a discussion about the merits of Steely Dan wins instant points with me.

But what elevated Knocked Up above most recent comedies are some fine comedic performances by Rogen and Heigl, as well as by Paul Rudd, Leslie Mann, and Jason Segel. Saturday Night Live's Kristen Wiig gets very little screen time as Alison Scott's rival at the E! Network, but makes the most of it with a brilliantly subtle performance.

To be certain, this movie most definitely earns its ‘R’ rating with healthy doses of profanity and drug humor. But for the most part, the language feels a lot more organic than, say, The 40 Year-Old Virgin. The only scene that stood out as gratuitous took place in the delivery room, and transported me right back to high school health class. I'll just leave it at that.

In a movie landscape dominated by mega-blockbusters like Shrek 3, Spider-Man 3, and Pirates of the Caribbean 3 (hey, notice a trend?), Knocked Up is a welcome respite. It hopefully also is a sign of things to come from Apatow, who has now proven that he can turn a pedestrian story into an entertaining movie. I look forward to seeing what he can do with more original material.