I was grievously disappointed with Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer. I wasn't grievously disappointed with the first Fantastic Four film, just very disappointed. But this second film definitely cut me to the quick. Deeply. I expected so much more.

In what's called, by older comic fans, the Silver Age of Marvel Comics, the arrival of Galactus and his herald, the Silver Surfer, is a high point in the very successful collaboration between Stan Lee, writer, and Jack Kirby, illustrator. In this landmark story, the turbulent sixties' philosophical struggle between the Flower Power hippies and the war machine Establishment is reflected in the relationship between the quintessential flower child, Silver Surfer, and his nasty job for the ultimate status quo Establishment man, the Devourer of Worlds and wielder of the Power Cosmic, Galactus. Aside from making for terrific illustrations used in those nifty psychedelic black light posters, the depth of the storyline — unusual for comic books up until then — was heavy, man, and downright righteous. But you'd not know any of that after watching this film.

Instead, what we get is more standard chuckles between Ben and Johnny, Susan's concern over how their celebrity is ruining her marriage and family plans, along with another one of her "Oh, damn, I'm nude again in public" scenes, and simplistic children's twaddle that completely erases the grandeur, nobility, and greater depth depicted in the comic book, for gosh sakes. Digest that last sentence again: the 1960s comic book storyline had more depth than this movie.

In this film, the Silver Surfer has more depth in his navel than in his relationship with the Fantastic Four or Galactus. More thought was devoted to introducing the toy-potential Fantasticar than the significance of dealing with a power cosmic wielding, mass destruction godlike being whose hunger for sustenance must be fed at all costs. It wasn't bad enough they changed this giant, purple-suited human-like being into a Dyson vacuum commercial, they also had to remove a key plot element — blind Alicia's relationship with the Silver Surfer.

In the original comic book storyline, it is Alicia's philosophical arguments and pleadings that open the Silver Surfer's eyes and long-dormant heart, causing him to turn against the big guy. Instead, Sue Storm just bats her eyes and the Silver Surfer is reminded of his long lost love; how convenient. Gone are the philosophical debates about life in all its forms being important. I suppose that's too sixties for today's more sophisticated audiences.

Apparently, what's more appropriate is writing down to the audience by relying on the usual funny banter and sight gags, with by-the-script Fantastic Four family squabbling. Hello, anybody notice Armageddon approaching yet? While Reed does the disco hustle at his bachelor party, and Johnny dons his Keebler-endorsed blue suit, whatever happened to a little suspense? Except for that brief planet explosion in the opening, more time is spent away from the impending doom than on it. I got it that being a celebrity is annoying, but hey, so is having your planet chewed on like rock candy while you're still standing on it.

Another critical character missing is the Watcher. Another big, toga-robed bald guy, the Watcher does just that. He's an observer and doesn't involve himself in the little problems of life and death. Until he sees the Silver Surfer heading for earth. For the first time, he takes a stand and steps in to hide the planet from Galactus' herald, but fails, leading to the drama that is sorely missing in this film, and the Silver Surfer's redemption.

At this point, you're probably saying to yourself, man, a purple-dressed and toga-robed duo of giants would have been laughable on screen. Perhaps, but you bought everything else up till now, right? You're okay with a flaming man, an invisible woman, a rubber guy, and an orange rock pile with a head, not to mention the Alcoa Reynolds Wrap riding the sky on a silver surfboard without any swim trunks. At least their appearance in the film would have made the story more — ironically — human and visually interesting.

Doctor Doom makes his obligatory sequel appearance. This time he's very interested in the Surfer's mode of transportation, the energy-empowering surf board. While this plot actually does happen in later issues of the comic book, why rush into it here? Planet-eating bad guys not enough? Interestingly, Kirby decided on the hang-ten board mainly because he was tired of drawing spaceships, but maybe his sub-conscious nudged him into this dichotomy of having a being that can cruise the universe at will like some surfer-dude riding out the eternal big one, but only just so far as his servitude to the man would allow, like some cosmic weekend warrior living free in his SUV until Monday rolls around again.

Doom ingratiates himself to the military, and too easily snatches the board away. Speaking of depth, there's much more to Doom in the comic books than you'd ever guess from his weak portrayal here, but at least he does wear his suit of armor and cape this time around. As the Fantasticar makes it commercial appearance — kiddies, it's already available at Toys "R" Us! — Doom fights to keep on surfing, even though the planet's about to be pulverized. Go figure. Maybe he just wants to live up to his name.

Jumping to another issue in the comic book series, Johnny's ability to absorb the Fantastic Four's other powers, which amazingly comes after his run-in with the Silver Surfer, gives him powers like the Super Skrull (Fantastic Four Issue Number 18), and he goes after Doctor Doom. Before that brief showdown, his predicament provides the underpinning for most of the too easy, audience-tested chuckles as wacky antics ensue because of it.

In one of the most anti-climactic "why didn't he think of that in the first place if it were that easy" denouements, all's right with the world as the Silver Surfer realizes the error of his ways and saves mankind. Considering the title of this film is Rise of the Silver Surfer, I suspect a spin-off franchise is in the works. Just think of the marketing potential. I can see the silvery toys lining those shallow shelves now.

Like I said, I was grievously disappointed.

Considering Bridge to Terabithia comes from the same studio and production company behind The Chronicles of Narnia, I was surprised to discover that it wasn’t just some super-light fantasy fare. I never did read the book, and Disney’s marketing department tried hard to exploit the fantasy elements. It was easy to assume it would be just a kiddie fantasy film. I’m glad it wasn’t.

While this story of two kids with tender lives and wild imaginations isn’t a substantial work, it is definitely the solid, family-friendly product we can expect from Walden Media and Disney.

The film follows Jesse (Josh Hutcherson), the only boy in a large family that is having trouble making ends meet. His tough-loving father doesn’t care much for the frivolities of Jesse’s drawing hobby, especially when there are chores to be done around their rural home. Jesse, too, doesn’t see them as anything special until Leslie (AnnaSophia Robb) moves in down the road.

The two quickly form a friendship as they navigate the waters of middle school together. Leslie’s unique, creative take on life inspires Jesse to continue drawing, while the pair creates the imaginary world of Terabithia in the nearby forest. The bullies they face every day become villains, and they battle them together until tragedy abruptly tears them apart.

There is no actual bridge to Terabithia until the end of the film. Jesse builds it to get across the creek that separates the everyday world from his and Leslie's magical kingdom. In the final shot we get all the fantasy elements that are promised in the advertisement, but before that we have to go through a half-hour heavy on middle school pathos.

Because of that, I wouldn’t call Bridge to Terabithia a film the whole family can enjoy. It becomes overwrought and sappy, but not until after telling the honest and inspiring contemporary story a preteen discovering the potential of his mind. Adults may find the latter part of the film a tad immature for the themes it addresses, but for a younger audience, I can’t think of a better way to get its point across.

I’m inclined to call Bridge to Terabithia a coming-of-age tale. Most of those types of films, however, are made for an audience that has long ago transitioned into adulthood. Terabithia is different because it can be a guide for adolescence, not just a retrospective of it. Without the pandering of most children’s entertainment, Terabithia becomes an accessible but honest film for the audience it is trying to entertain.

Special Features:

• Commentary by director Gabor Csupo, writer Jeff Stockwell and producer Hal Lieberman
• Digital Imagination: Bringing Terabithia to Life
• Behind the Book: The Themes of Bridge to Terabithia
• AnnaSophia Robb music video: "Keep Your Mind Wide Open"

In general, I don't like movies that feel like plays. They smack of low-budget desperation and a lack of creativity. If I want to see a play, I'll do just that. Its the same reason I don't want there to be explosions, credits, or trailers at the local playhouse – venues should know what they are. Just look at the vast majority of music videos: the people involved should just stick to making music and leave the film out of it. Unless their names are Michel Gondry or David Fincher.

But I digress (wildly).

A search for "based on play" returns over 10,000 matches, and it seems like about 9,000 of them are based on works of Shakespeare. Unfortunately, most movies based on Shakespearean play suck, with Much Ado About Nothing being one of the few exceptions. Watching Kenneth Branaugh act out Hamlet for four hours just doesn't sound like that good of a time to me, but maybe I'm just not cultured enough. As a "Gen X-er," I was supposed to like subUrbia (also because it was directed by Richard Linklater), but found it to be boring as well – and the thought of Eric Bogosian just bothers me. Glengarry Glen Ross features one of the all-time great monologues by Alec Baldwin, but also feels wildly claustrophobic at times.

That said, I enjoyed Bug. It is most definitely claustrophobic, but since the plot pretty much requires it, it doesn't feel like the filmmakers were forced into it. In a paranoid thriller, tight spaces and the inability to leave said spaces only enhance the tension.

In short, Bug tells the tale of two lost, lonely souls and how their shared paranoia bring them together. Ashley Judd, who has apparently finally been hit with the reality that starring in crappy thrillers does not a good career make, stars alongside Michael Shannon, who played the same role when this was a play. Both do admirable jobs in what many would call "raw, naked" portrayals of their characters, but the real sight is seeing Harry Connick, Jr. playing way against type as Judd's not-too-nice ex-con ex-husband (he even looks like an ex-con, looking some 40 pounds of muscle heavier now than when he burst onto the music scene some 15 years ago).

Judd's Agnes, still in pain from a long-ago traumatic experience, lives a blasé life in a roadside motel in rural Oklahoma, just drinking the days by and waiting in fear for her ex to show up. But when a friend brings over a stranger named Peter (Shannon), the two quietly and awkwardly hit it off, mostly out of their shared loneliness and need for companionship. After a while, Peter's past comes bubbling up to the surface – a detail here (he served in Iraq), a quirk there (he seems a bit too concerned with the thought of bedbugs), and soon enough the two are convinced of a far-fetched conspiracy plot (that I won't spoil).

And really, that's it. Five or so actors, a hotel room that undergoes an eerie makeover during the course of the film, and the creepiest bugs you've never seen before.

Fletch's Film Rating:

"Darn tootin'!"

Fletch writes (hopefully) humorous and informative movie reviews and other pop culture commentary for Blog Cabins. He is also the inventor of the highly innovative and wildly effective Fletch Film Rating Scale.

After an intriguing, but not entirely conclusive first episode, John From Cincinnati comes into its own with a mesmerizing second episode. I can think of very few series that have had me hooked as much as this one does at this point. Much like Six Feet Under, this one just feels special, it’s a unique world that I want to learn more about and I really can’t wait to see what they come up with next week. But first, let’s review what went down this week.

I’m still a bit baffled about how baffled some people are by the series. There are some mysterious elements, but also a strong central narrative that anchors us emotionally. The major issue this episode is the merits and problems with the mysterious promoters. Cass tries to lure Mitch into a starring role in her documentary film, but there’s some kind of larger agenda involving her and Linc. Thematically, we’re addressing the troubles with commercialization. Mitch still loves to surf, he’s out every morning, but he doesn’t want to be a part of the surfing machine that has grown up around the sport. He sees what it has done to Butchie and hopes to save Shaun from the same fate.

I’ve only seen a couple of episodes of Deadwood, but that show was interested in the way a society is formed out of chaos. Here, we’re looking at people in an almost apocalyptic world. Whenever they’re away from the water, the color is almost overwhelmingly yellow, an oppressive sun you can feel through the screen. This is a world slightly removed from traditional reality and authority, and the promoters are working to spoil the Edenic life Mitch has built for Shaun and his family.

Concurrent with this, we’ve got more stuff with John. It’s still unclear what his exact nature is, but it’s a lot of fun to watch him mimic the actions of those around him and play at being human. The scene in the bathroom at the hospital is particularly cool, as he makes sound effects to mimic what’s going on around him. In this episode, he seemed a bit less like a prophet and a bit more like a mentally challenged person, but there’s clearly something larger going on here.

The earthquake, which leads into Shaun’s accident, works in the same way that the earthquake in Altman’s Short Cuts does, giving us a major incident that unites all the disparate plot lines. We see the people at the hotel, the Yosts at the ocean and Bill in his apartment, all wondering what’s going on. It’s easy for a show to get splintered into a bunch of little shows, with no overall unifying direction, so this works well to give things a unity and singular sense of purpose.

Shaun’s accident also serves this purpose, and it was a pretty shocking development. The scene with Mitch, Cissy, and the Doctor is the first moment when the characters felt emotionally real. On the best shows, the characters take on a life of their own and begin to write themselves. Joss Whedon talked a lot about this, how in a long form narrative, the characters determine their own destiny. On shows that don’t quite work, you always feel the writer’s hand, manipulating characters to fulfill specific plot points. On great shows, you don’t even think about the writer — everything that happens feels like an inevitability. Last episode, there was a lot of quirkiness in the characters, and that always makes you feel the writer’s hand. It can still be cool, but it’s not going to feel emotionally real.

Shaun’s accident is an artificially imposed incident, but it puts the characters in a very real emotional moment, and through their reactions, we can understand a lot about them. It’s notable that a lot of successful shows begin with a traumatic event. When we see Nate Fisher on Six Feet Under reacting to his father’s death, we see him stripped raw, and then can better recognize the layers of personality that he puts on to deal with others. Ultimately, the best shows are ones where you can tell when characters lie because you know them so well that you can understand why they lie and what they’re hiding. I’m not saying this show is there yet, but the hospital scenes do give us great insight into the characters and bring them closer to that point of taking on their own life.

The episode ends with Bill bringing the bird into the operating room, drawing Shaun back to life. It’s an incredible moment full of a deep, mystical power. The show has a weird vibe and there was real magic in that moment, the sense of something much larger than the characters falling into place. The cut to TV on the Radio’s “Staring at the Sun” for the closing credits did a great job of sustaining that mood.

That scene combined with John’s odd muttering all built up a lot of mystery and possibility for next week. I really loved this episode, it took the potential of the first episode and transformed it into a legitimately great hour of TV. And next week looks even better. One line from the preview had me particularly interested, John saying “Kai, see God.” This show has that same unique feel that Twin Peaks did, and I don’t think I’ve seen on TV since. It’s not forced quirk, it’s an askew worldview that creates a world of mystery and wonder to journey to each week. This show is fantastic, and I hope it gets a chance to build the fan base it deserves.

Rarely does an object come along that so sublimely exemplifies the cultural zeitgeist. A spectacle of such extravagant profundity and disregard for modesty that you’d be willing to cart out to the bonfire every Dostoevsky ever published, every Miles Davis ever captured on tape, every Botticelli ever framed, all the while suffering a heavy dose of acute embarrassment at the substandard antecedents that besmirch the object by their mere presence. Devoid of precedent, Actiongirls: Soldiers of the Dead – Part 1 cannot be classified as anything less than the zeitgeist incarnate, a supreme microcosm of all the multifarious aspects of the human condition that make one stop mid-sentence to breathe the air in solemn remembrance of the transitoriness of life.

The cruel fate of temporality mocks those figures, long-deceased, who may have had reason to gaze and meditate upon the charms of the object: what path would his ruminations on the cogito have taken had Descartes experienced the pleasures of Actiongirls: Soldiers of the Dead – Part 1? How might the Crimean War have concluded had some or all of the participants been privy to a viewing of the film cited heretofore? In what ways would the most gruesome atrocities of the Stalinist purges have been averted had Joey been sat down to an exclusive screening of Actiongirls: Soldiers of the Dead – Part 1?

As with all these speculative matters, it’s impossible to answer with any level of accuracy. However, my supposition would be that the kernels of history that could have been feasibly ameliorated by the interpolation of said flick into the situation are immense in number. Its multifaceted quintessence can simultaneously function as sweet anodyne syrup to hostility and sagacious riposte to warbles of stupidity. In short, those spectres of the past missed out, we don’t have to.

Actiongirls: Soldiers of the Dead – Part 1’s narrative, like Martin Heidegger’s phenomenological terminology, is dense and intricate, encompassing a panoply of shades that, looked at from the wrong angle, can plunge the beholder into a deep chasm of endless philosophical wrangling. With this in mind, let’s address each strain of synoptic fruit with fastidious intensity.

The film is set in a barren future where women are held as slaves, forced to battle one another to the death in front of baying hordes of male savagery. Helman Himmler (any relation?) is the bloated orchestrator of much of these girl-on-girl fisticuffs. He’s a successful entrepreneur in the slave trade, perpetually on the receiving end of exaltations irradiated by the cuddly death squad he keeps around him.

Life is good for our Helman: the steady flow of captured women ensures continuous fodder for barbarous pursuits in his makeshift Parthenon and his girlfriend, who seems to be some kind of dominatrix Nazi, never fails to be by his side. But headaches are afoot when his most prolific combatant escapes. This rebel takes her hardened sensibility out to the dilapidated remains of the urban jungle, wherein she teams up with another renegade female – who may or may not be the cop from the first Silent Hill game – and together they evade the clutches of the fiery men folk, kicking whatever ass comes their way.

Their veritable Sex and the City lifestyle (what a glorious apartment they keep) is disrupted when Helman’s leather-clad missus stumbles upon a formula that will transmogrify the dead into a rampaging legion of unstoppable, flesh-hungry maniacs. Our heroine and her buddy become the target of these gurning soldiers of the dead (lest we forget) and are forced into long, drawn-out sessions of cross-country running as one eponymous coterie goes up against another.

Ignoring the specific filmic precursors for a second, one almighty coalescence offers itself for dissection with Actiongirls: Soldiers of the Dead – Part 1. Unlike such piffle as Girls Gone Wild, Actiongirls is not simply a smorgasbord of vulgar objectification and misogynistic perversion, for it attempts a twofold process of dialectical thinking and paying tribute to vast swaths of cinematic wonder. By the amalgamation of mindless action with the verdant serums and aggressive groans associated with the undead, Actiongirls: Soldiers of the Dead – Part 1 is a pristine homage to both the most startling brilliance observed in US action cinema (cf. the filmography of Jean Claude Van Damme) and the fabulous wealth of underrated gems found in the region of the zombie film. Just imagine if Steven Seagal had to battle congregations of scabrous zombies, then imagine he were a buxom babe with a wardrobe restricted exclusively to scant bikinis and you have an picture of how Actiongirls: Soldiers of the Dead – Part 1 plays out.

Scotty JX, the director, keeps his cinematic ancestors close to his heart. The milieu harkens back to the Mad Max trilogy, while Helman’s malicious bondage ladyfriend brings to mind the many adventures of Ilsa. The mortality-shattering fluid, a fluorescent green in colour, would put a smile on the stoic countenance of Herbert West, while the bronzed figure of the heroine would make Lara Croft jealous. And, of course, there’s a long lineage that features the likes of Romero, Hooper, H.G. Lewis, Zombie, etc. Less illustrious comparisons abound concerning the WWE’s pantomimes (alongside their recent cinematic offshoots) and a host of pseudo-pornographic nonsense that can’t be given away at the best of times.

However, a few dodgy influences do not detract from the colossal attention to detail found in Actiongirls: Soldiers of the Dead – Part 1. The throng of men – clearly pleased at the triumph of patriarchy, as inferable from their constant drinking and mutual antagonism – have their screen presence augmented with a choice selection of subtitles. Hence we do not miss out on such vital pieces of dialogue as: “give me that chicken.”

Othello? Bah!

How about: “communist pigs, I’ll rip your heart out!” spoken by a man seemingly more interested in social democracy than the revolutionary fervour espoused by Marx and Engels. The performativity insight opened up by the inclusion of the subtitles is an invaluable element in Actiongirls: Soldiers of the Dead – Part 1.

As the astute reader will have noticed by now, there is an addendum to this film’s title: the fine slab of Part 1. The film has been crafted as the first instalment in what could be a protracted franchise in the guise of Police Academy – if we are lucky. Personally, I cannot wait for Part 2 so as to see in what masterful and complex ways those countless intertwined narrative threads find themselves resolved. Just what will become of our heroine as we leave her running away from the zombie drudges? Is packing in more sequences of running than an endless replaying of The Island achievable? Will the army of rats ever get their moment in the spotlight? Who will be the first man to sober up long enough to exploit the dearth of womenswear afflicting the planet? And, finally, will the sequel be able to redefine the speed of time passing in quite the way that its prequel has succeeded in doing?