The Giver

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Phillip Noyce/Starring: Jeff Bridges, Meryl Streep, Brenton Thwaites, Alexander Skarsgard, Katie Holmes, Taylor Swift and Odeya Rush

All one need know when seeing The Giver are the plots of The Hunger Games and Divergent and if one is familiar enough with both films, then the story from director Phillip Noyce's latest can be traced like a subway map, though it might not be as interesting.

In a future time, society overcomes many of the problems that nearly caused its demise, like war, racism and inequality and in an attempt to prevent further catastrophe, it effectively erases all differences between people. A homogenous society arises, where everyone wears identical clothes and lives in identical homes. Memory of the past and all its horrors has been essentially erased. I guess minorities suffered the same fate, for I don't remember seeing one the entire film. Did society missplace them? Turn them into Soylent Green?

As in Divergent, one is assigned to a career path following one's teen years; each according to his or her attributes. And like the aforementioned flick, one stands before a great hall of bland, almost faceless citizens, who applaud each graduate after their role is designated by the Chief Elder (played by Meryl Streep, who is burdened with a ridiculous hairstyle).

At this point my eyes were nearly rolling out of their sockets at the cornball attempt to depict one more dystopian society onscreen, which unfortunately resembles every other of its kind this year.

And wouldn't you know it, our hero Jonas (Brendon Thwaites) is the last to receive his assignment, which causes much anxiety among his two best friends and his family. And would it surprise you to learn he has all the prized attributes rather than just one? Because Jonas is so unique, his given role is that of a kind of archivist, whose duty it is retain the history of mankind, which the people are expressly forbidden to know.

Jonas reports to a mysterious, bearded man whose library lies inside a building at the periphery of what is essentially an island in the sky; where all the inhabitants of this society reside. Below the island and beneath the cloud cover, one can see the surface of the earth, which is off limits to everyone.

In said building is The Giver (Jeff Bridges); an elderly keeper of civilization's memory. In his hall of books, The Giver takes on Jonas as his eventual successor and in doing so, subjects him to memories from Earth's violent past. As the old man grasps Jonas' arms, the young man sees two soldiers in Vietnam under intense sniper fire. He also has a vision of a sled and a log cabin in the snow, which he doesn't understand--its meaning is revealed later.

Returning to his community and friends, Jonas shares what he has seen and learned (an act prohibited by the authorities) with his friends and in doing so, subjects himself to the long reach of the oppressive big brother. Can you see where this is all going? Jonas becomes a fugitive, placing family and friends at risk and imperils himself in the process. Do you think he might discover the whereabouts of his predecessor; a young woman who vanished into the surface world and was never seen again? Where will Jonas eventually end up, I wonder? (Please note my rhetorical sarcasm).

In addition to being unoriginal and lethally dull, The Giver offers not one surprise or moment of suspense, though it tries. I had to fight like a demon to overcome the drowsies all through the film. It wasn't that I was tired; it was more that I was overcome with the somnolence I tend to feel when I know precisely where the story will go and how it will arrive there. And what were Streep and Bridges doing in this tedium? Bridges has an excuse as a producer but what about Streep? Must have been a favor. It seems fitting a fluff-pixie like Taylor Swift would be in this stale silliness.

The sled, one of the film's visual motifs, is so Rosebud its another eye-roller. And what Jonas discovers at the film's end is so unbearably asinine it may as well be a Budweiser commercial. You'll know what I mean if you bother to see this tripe.

I think what is unforgivable about a film like The Giver isn't its over-familiar setting and story but its creative exhaustion. Ripping off other movies isn't necessarily a crime--especially in Hollywood--but if your story lacks its own identity, then at least offer an exciting clone. I tried to care about the characters but they mostly came across as styrofoam apparitions. If my regard for this film were any more feeble, I might be arrested for a hate crime.

While online today, my eye caught an ad for the film that read "It's like no other movie you've seen before."--People Magazine. If that's really the reviewer's conviction, he or she might think about taking up another line of work, like writing menu descriptions for Chili's. Let my Good Samaritan deed for the month be my saving you money better spent on a better movie. Like no other movie you've seen before, eh? Please.

The Hundred-Foot Journey

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Lasse Hallstrom/Starring: Helen Mirren, Om Puri, Manish Dayal and Charlotte Le Bon

I have to admit; when I first watched the trailer for Lasse Hallstrom's film, I winced like I just tasted an excruciatingly sweet slice of cake topped by treacle, powdered sugar and mashed gummy bear gravy. I thought geez, all the sweets in Willy Wonka's factory seem postively bitter next to producers Oprah Winfrey and Steven Spielberg's joint cinematic confection.

I could the understand the duo adapting author Richard C. Morais' novel, which might appeal to their occasional taste for fluff. It even made sense for them to hire the writer to co-adapt his novel. I could even understand the two producers recruiting Hallstrom, who is no stranger to light as a whisper cinema (Chocolat) but I was downright mystified by their choice to co-adapt the novel: Steven Knight. If that name faintly rings a bell, it's because said co-screenwriter is none other than the writer-director of the darkly offbeat Locke, which briefly flickered on movie screens sometime back in the spring. Whatever inspired an unlikely choice like Knight can probably be attributed to the smarts that have made Winfrey and Spielberg colossi in the entertainment world.

Believe me when I tell you, I came to the film bearing fangs and wielding sharp objects, expecting to slice and rend flesh. I expected to slash the film as a Great White tears surfers with its lethally-sharp rows of dental death. Not only did I expect to loathe the film, I wanted to detest and abominate it too.

But to my surprise, the film slowly disarmed me; overcoming me with its seductive and irresistible (and I don't use that word casually) charm. I was lulled into what felt like a sweet stupor, as if I had toked an opium pipe in the theater.

The story of a restaurant-owning, Indian family who are forced to flee their Mumbai home and their country for the politically safe environs of Europe seems more like the overture to something provocative and tragic. But as the tight-knit family wanders the European continent, a harrowing incident involving failed brakes leads them to a beautiful French village, one almost improbably so. By avoiding death by failed brakes, the family makes the acquaintance of a stunning, young woman named Marguerite (an almost impossibly lovely Charlotte Le Bon) who just happens to work as a sous chef in an exceptional village restaurant. The Indian father (a terrific Om Puri) is immediately taken by the idyllic surroundings, while his son Hassan (Manish Dayal) is taken by Marguerite's beauty.

Marguerite offers the family a place to stay for the night, which the itinerant family eagerly accepts. While resting from their travels, Marguerite offers them a plate of bread, cheeses and vegetables, all lovingly spread and all delicious.

While wandering through the village the next day, the father sees what looks like a house sitting directly across the street from a renowned French restaurant. Undaunted by the restaurant's presence, the father envisions setting up his own in the vacant property; a place much like the one the family lost when they were forced to flee their homeland. The family is skeptical about the father's plan but knowing Hassan is a superb cook, they go along with the idea.

The father's restaurant venture doesn't go unnoticed by Madame Mallory, the snobby owner of the restaurant across the street, who watches through her curtains as the family slowly transforms their newly acquired property into an Indian restaurant called Maisson Mumbai. She regards the restaurant and the food with something akin to contempt. While crossing the street one day to turn off the loud music, Madame Mallory crosses verbal sabers with the father, which leads to expressions of mutual disdain for their respective cuisines. As a romance between Marguerite and Hassan begins to flicker, the relationship creates a conflict of interest, as the young woman is on Madame Mallory's staff.

A viewer would have to have the intellect of one of the sea anemones Hassan enjoys to not know the story's course or to not know the character vectors. But a few unexpected suprises arise in the story, like Madame Mallory recognizing Hassan's superlative cooking talent and taking him under her wing. This development seems very improbable but to quibble over realism in a movie like The Hundred Foot Journey is like demanding scientific proof for Glenda the Good Witch's magic.
One can also see the obvious conflict that will arise when Marguerite's culinary aspirations are suddenly thwarted by the appointment of Hassan to the head chef position on Madame's staff.

As the father works to establish his restaurant's viability, Madame Mallory's dream of earning stars for her restaurant in the prestigious Michelin guide dovetails with her desire to hire Hassan as her head chef--a move vigorously opposed by the father.

As all these dramas play out to a predictable end, Hallstrom gives us something intoxicating to behold. Linus Sandgren, the director of photography on American Hustle, paints the French countryside with a colorful radiance, both blissful and edenic. I also don't know that I've seen Paris captured so rapturously since the water-skiing-on-the-Seine scene in Leo Carax's Lovers on the Bridge.

I can rhapsodize as much for the performances. No matter how often one marvels at Helen Mirren's acting, she continues to enchant and beguile. As does Om Puri, whose presence provides the perfect counterweight to Mirren. Much of the film's charms can be credited to these two fine actors. Manish Dayal and Charlotte Le Bon are the pleasing eye-candy who generate some romantic heat.

The Hundred-Foot Journey is the fourth film I've seen this year with a strong food theme. In The Lunchbox, food is a kind of a galvanizing agent; in Chef; a means to repair a relationship; in Le Chef a way out of obscurity and the commonplace and in Hallstrom's film; it is a a culinary treaty between cultures. Nothing profound but for this frothiness, it works.

I was somewhat annoyed by the film's tacit view that French cuisine is superior to that of India's. I'm sure the curries and spices in Indian food predate France's existence by more than a millenium, so why the condescension? Does it not take as much passion to make a great curry as a great sauce? Maybe most food critics and foodies would find my rhetorical questions naive.

Is The Hundred-Foot Journey a great film? Hardly. Is it an artistic success? Don't think so. Well, what is it? It's fun, it's heady and it's charming. It's all a fairy-tale, to be sure, with only a tenuous, connective thread to the real world, but I found it futile to resist. If anyone claims the film is something more, tell them they're full of cheese. And if they ask what kind, tell them the French have 629 varieties from which to choose, so take your pick. For me, the film was a good cheddar, because like the French, I too enjoy a little cheese.

My Old Lady

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Israel Horovitz/Starring: Maggie Smith, Kevin Kline and Kristin Scott Thomas

Theater scribe Israel Horovitz dresses up his play of the same name for the big screen while appointing some considerable talent to key roles.

Kevin Kline plays Mathias Gold, a newly-arrived New Yorker to Paris, who is in the city to claim an apartment his father has willed to him. Upon entering his inheritance, he finds an elderly lady named Mathilde Girard, a British ex-patriate; who has been occupying the residence for decades. To Mathias' horror, he learns the apartment is a viager; an odd, french real-estate term that refers to a life-annuity a buyer pays to the seller until the latter's death. Although one can occupy said home, he or she cannot claim ownership until the seller passes away (I think I got that right).

Mathias discovers his father (who he was estranged from in life and whom he despised), hasn't left him with clear ownership, which he finds to be a kind of posthumous jab from the grave.

Broke and without a reason to return to New York, Mathias relies on the future sale of the house--a modest-looking but very pricey piece of Parisian real-estate--to fully emancipate himself financially. Mathilde allows him to stay until he can get handle on his situation.

Learning Mathilde is ninety-years-old, he visits her doctor, hoping to ascertain the old woman's physical status. The doctor's distaste for his visit is eloquently written in a scowl. To Mathias' dismay, the doctor smugly informs him Mathilde is a robust ninety and could conceivably live beyond one-hundred. The doctor also informs him Mathilde is her english teacher, which subtly conveys her allegiance to the old woman.

While Mathias hatches a plan to sell the apartment to a shady real-estate creep, he gets to know Mathilde and she him. He divulges details of his pathetic life; failed marriages, unpublished books and a friendless middle-age, while Mathilde mentions a former marriage and having a husband (now deceased)--who loved to hunt.

While lying in bed one day, surrounded by Mathilde's former husband's hunting trophies, Mathias rises from the bed to visit the bathroom, only to encounter a middle-age woman, who turns out to be Mathilde's daughter Chloe (Kristin Scott Thomas). The two are immediate adversaries. Mathias is seen as an unlawful intruder by Chloe, while he sees the two women as an obstacle to estate liquidation.

While spying on Chloe and her lover in the street one day, he watches as a mortifying incident unfolds. As Chloe approaches her lover, she notices his wife and kids sitting in an outdoor cafe, watching her. While her lover coaxes her to leave, the wife glares, humiliating Chloe, which lays the groundwork for her imminent break-up with her lover. Mathias uses the incident as a means to a moral high-ground but also as a way to dispel the superciliousness Chloe feels toward him.

The conflict between Chloe and Mathias becomes incendiary; concealing sparks of romance as both learn their present lives were shaped by identical, tragic pasts involving his father.

Though I feel I've seen Paris more than any other city in movies this year, its visual charms never falter. It also seems to be a place where those seeking to repair their lives or relationships find illumination or closure, such as Le Weekend. The same can be said for Horovitz's film, where the City of Lights acts as a sort of agent of reconciliation and rapprochement.

I thought the characterization offered surprises. Mathias, Mathilde and Chloe show their nuanced colors in the form of emotional frailties and unsympathetic behaviour.

But I had problems with the film. While Smith and Thomas always nail their character's jumble of pain and anxiety, which reach like tentacles from the past, Kline has never convinced me he can manage drama effectively. He can be hammy and unnatural and his transitions from the antic to the solemn are never seamless.

Like most films adapted from stage plays, My Old Lady is hobbled by theatrical conventions of narrative: plot exposition followed by dark revelations, then crisis then neat resolution. Another problem with play adaptations is that they feel like theater rather than cinema. Some directors can erase the barrier but more often than not, such films tend to be un-cinematic. One might come away from Horovitz's film entertained and appreciative of--if not enchanted by--the performances. But a weary indifference might also trail after one on the way to one's vehicle. One might be surprised by the film's lack of resonance, given the setting, the cast and the director's writing credentials but one may not care that one is surprised, which is another problem.

Harlem Street Singer

Directors: Simeon Hutner and Trevor Laurence

If you're like me, you might not have ever heard of the blues guitarist Reverend Gary Davis, who most likely would have remained unknown to the world if not for the efforts of legendary folkie Pete Seeger. But after seeing Harlem Street Singer, which is only now making its way to select theaters across the country, you may feel ashamed you haven't.

Scouring the world for footage, photographs and any history of the relatively unknown musician, directors Simeon Hutner and Trevor Laurence's exhaustive efforts pay handsome dividends; for their film falls into that relatively new documentary category of artistic genius unearthed. Films like Searching for Sugarman and the recent Finding Vivian Maier are powerful, fascinating portraits of artists rescued from near-obscurity by the indefatigable efforts of documentary filmmakers who recognized their uncelebrated genius. The Reverend Gary Davis joins those ranks though, unlike Rodriguez and Maier, he did experience limited success and acclaim in his lifetime.

Born in South Carolina in 1896, Davis' early life was shackled by the adamantine chains of poverty. Making an already difficult life more so, Davis' congenital blindness was a challenge but not an obstacle to his inchoate musical skills. Seeking any audience for his music, Davis would often play to the animals roaming the yard of his home.

Given to his grandmother by his parents to raise, Davis sometimes aroused her ire by turning her pots and pans into instruments. Demonstrating resourcefulness and a firm resolve to play an instrument, we see a guitar he fashioned from a pan, a makeshift fretboard and tuning pegs--pretty impressive for someone without sight--and monetary means to secure the real thing.

As Davis matured, he played where he could, mostly busking in the street, developing his talent and an expansive repertoire that allowed him to play for audiences with diverse tastes.

Later Davis moved to Durham, North Carolina, where he would often play in the tobacco warehouses for the buyers and sellers who would congregate after every harvest. His musical diversity proved an asset, for Davis could play tunes with a country flavor for the white crowds and blues for black listeners in his neighborhood.

Davis also became an ordained minister, hence his title. It is stated that he could be an effective congregation-leader, as his sermons and music could often be moving.

As one might expect from a blues-man, Davis' women troubles could sometimes be a source of emotional bitterness and in one case--quite bizarre as we learn his first wife left him him for another blind man.

Davis' relocation to New York had a tremendous impact on his life and music. The thriving New York folk scene of the late 50s' and early 60s' allowed Davis to play in clubs and audiences, which drew the interest of folk musicians--particularly Pete Seeger. Seeger's efforts to bring attention to the blues guitarist's music proved beneficial to Davis' career, as street performances gave way to cafe gigs and festival dates.

As Davis songs and distinctive picking technique attracted admirers and adherents, he also began teaching guitar. Many of his students not only became musicians in their own right but also a surrogate family to a man who sired no children.

Davis' new-found exposure allowed him to perform before larger audiences, like the 1965 Newport Folk Festival and shows in the UK. Unfortunately his death in the early 70s' cut short a career that had only begun to blossom.

Many talking heads, featuring former students such as renowned guitarist Woody Mann (also the producer of the film), folk legends like Ramblin' Jack Elliot and rock notables like Jorma Kaukonen of Jefferson Airplane and Bob Weir of the Grateful Dead, all weigh in on Davis' unique and considerable musicianship as well as his powerful songwriting. Kaukonen recalls seeing Davis' distinct playing style reinterpreted in Weir's playing.

Peter Yarrow of Peter, Paul and Mary also contributes to the story, as we see and hear the group cover a Davis' classic "If I Had My Way." In an extraordinary display of integrity, generosity and respect, the legendary folk group insisted the blues guitarist be payed royalties for their cover of Davis' song. The subsequent windfall, as someone is keen to point out, may have been the first time Davis earned any substantial pay for his songwriting. The money allowed Davis the means to buy his first home in Queens.

We learn from Davis's students just how profound his influence was on their respective careers. They speak of his generosity and tireless efforts to share what he knew. As guitarist Woody Mann points out, Davis' impact on his career was considerable but it was the father and son relationship the two shared that transcended the music. Referring to other young musicians under his instruction, Davis was reported to have said, "I didn't have children but I had many sons."

Davis' musical legacy is considerable. It gives us the opportunity to explore and to feel awe and wonder. We're lucky we have recordings of his music for posterity and we're just as lucky to have Hutner and Laurence's film; a revelation if there ever was one.

Get on Up

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Tate Taylor/Starring: Chadwick Boseman, Nelsan Ellis, Dan Ackroyd, Viola Davis, and Octavia Spencer

It's hard to imagine that James Brown, The Godfather of Soul, has never really been the subject of a noteworthy feature film--until now. Tate Taylor, director of The Help and producer Mick Jagger bring the legendary performer's life to the big screen and in doing so, they enlist the considerable talents of Chadwick Boseman (James Brown) and a fine supporting cast. Taylor manages to tell a compelling story while avoiding the cliches that often ensnare biopic narratives.

Eschewing chronology, Taylor's film begins with an incident from Brown's later life then leaps backward in time then forward, then back again without narrative entanglements.

We learn something of Brown's boyhood in the deep south of the 1940s', where the future performer and his mother (the exceptional Viola Davis) desperately cling to straws to survive in a decrepit shack that lacks even the luxury of windows. Though we see his mother playing with James in the woods, she also introduces him to the visceral realities that accompany deprivation. She persuades him that his physical hunger is just a spiritual one, as a basic necessity like nourishment is hardly a given in their world.

Unable to sustain a home with the frequent absence of her husband, James' mother leaves when her husband returns one day. As she recedes into the woods, the boy watches her walk away with tears in his eyes. If that isn't disturbing enough for the young boy, his father joins the military, forcing him to leave his son in the care of James' Aunt Honey (the always terrific Octavia Spencer), a Madame who runs a local brothel.

While James learns to procure for his Aunt Honey, he earns a dollar or two for every GI or john he directs to the brothel. In doing so he learns some self-reliance and earns the respect from the tough but compassionate Madame.

In scenes of his earlier life, not only do we see the brutal lash of poverty in the deep south but also, as we might expect, the racism that often blossoms violently. As we move forward and backward in time, we see how poverty and racism shape James' personality. In one scene, the young James removes the shoes from a lynching victim hanging from a tree and in another, we see black boys James' age forced to box one another blind-folded for the amusement of rich, white people at a party. And later, as an older James is arrested for stealing a suit; his wildly unjust 5 to 13 year sentence serves as a stark example of the capricious and draconian justice often meted out to blacks by the southern, white judicial system.

While in jail, the inmates are entertained by a group of visiting gospel singers, whom James finds moving, but an altercation with a fellow inmate lands him in the infirmary, where he makes the acquaintance of a singer named Bobby Byrd (Nelsan Ellis). The chance meeting will form the foundation of a lifelong friendship and musical collaboration; one with conflict and acrimony.

The two men form a gospel-inspired R&B group known as The Famous Flames. Their funky rhythms and crowd-rousing music draws the attention of an aspiring performer named Little Richard (Brandon Smith) at a small dance club. As Little Richard himself stands at the threshold of fame and stardom, the meeting is educational and inspirational for James. Little Richard encourages James to make a record which he can solicit to local DJs' and industry people. The advice proves invaluable.

While on the road, James and Bobby stop in a diner to have coffee and a donut--a luxury that taxes their meager resources. Unable to convince the waitress The Famous Flames are of any importance, James and Bobby sink into the booth when a white man they believe to be law enforcement enters the diner, inquiring about their whereabouts. When they hear the man mention recording, they eagerly approach him, learning he represents the prestigious label King Records.

Though success seems assured, it doesn't come without its costs, for the record company management tells James it is his voice and music in demand. As the management renders his band expendable, the news is naturally met with disappointment by the group. While some quit, a few remain--including Bobby--as they retain a strange but understandable allegiance to James.

As the embrace of fame and fortune welcomes James, we get a glimpse of his shrewd business acumen. Sitting with his manager Ben Bart (Dan Ackroyd) at a southern roadside food place, he boldly proposes they circumvent steep promoter fees by promoting themselves, utilizing DJ's in every city and by hiring locals to paste posters, thereby allowing the band and Bart to retain the earnings.

We also get a sense of James' natural ear for rhythm and songcraft during a hotel rehearsal in New Orleans. As the saxophonist Maceo Parker (Craig Robinson) struggles with the arrangement of a song, James suggests that every instrument in the band is a drum and if the song seems to be off in rhythm and beat, how it feels is of paramount importance. We can understand how he became The Godfather of Soul.

I came to Get on Up with few expectations but was impressed with the performances. That Boseman could duplicate Brown's moves and mannerisms as well as his sometimes unintelligible raspy voice is amazing enough but he also gives the audience a sense of his ferocious self-reliance and self-respect, both earned at considerable costs. It shouldn't have come as a surprise that Boseman could deliver a tour-de-force performance; he had already distinguished himself playing Jackie Robinson in 42.

Though it sometimes seems comically over-the-top when Brown refers to himself in the third person, much about Brown was over-the-top--like his extravagant brushes with the law and the violent episodes in his domestic life. The film manages to avoid the tabloidy aspects of his life without conferring sainthood on him. Instead, we get historical context; Brown insisting on playing to U.S. troops in Vietnam and being a voice of calm in the riotous aftermath of Martin Luther King's assassination.

But Boseman doesn't go it alone. Nelsan Ellis also gives an affecting performance as Bobby Byrd, a man blessed and cursed by his friendship and collaboration with Brown. Ellis captures the resentment and regret Byrd must have felt, sometimes being blanketed in Brown's shadow. It is particularly painful to watch Brown venting his rage on the band and Byrd, knowing how much the two men overcame to achieve success.

Viola Davis and Octavia Spencer make big impressions with little screentime. Davis shines in a scene where Brown's mother shows up unexpectedly backstage at the Apollo after years of absence, while Spencer's moment, where Aunt Honey first encounters the abandoned Brown, poignantly shows the woman's pragmatic compassion.

I would have liked to know more about how Brown's most famous songs were conceived and written but at least we get a semblance of his electrifying showmanship. We also get a sense of his political concerns in a scene where young blacks join Brown for the song Say it Loud, I'm Black and I'm Proud .

No biopic can ever really be a complete portrait but Get on Up satisfies our curiosity to know something of the man who seems well-known. Nothing we learn seems all that surprising--even the racism he encounters seems a given, considering his origins. But what emerges are his contributions to pop music; the trademark funk, the grooves, and his incomparable dance moves, and that's enough.

Guardians of the Galaxy

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: James Gunn/Starring: Chris Pratt, Zoe Saldana, Dave Bautista, Vin Diesel (voice), Bradley Cooper (voice), Glenn Close, John C. Reilly, Benicio Del Toro, Djimon Hounsou and Michael Rooker

It's not often summer blockbuster films meet the promise of preview-hype but with the Guardians of the Galaxy, we have one that delivers. One part action, one part comedy to two parts smart-ass make for a pretty heady concoction. And why shouldn't it? Mixing comic book science fiction with comedy isn't your typical summer fare. The odd genre-alloy offers a departure from the dreary, self-serious sci-fi operas we've become accustomed to choking on.

Director James Gunn assembles an oddball cast that in many ways isn't unlike the misfit mercenaries portrayed onscreen. Peter Quill/Starlord (Chris Pratt), Gamora (Zoe Saldana), Drax (wrestler Dave Bautista), Rocket (voiced by Bradley Cooper) and Groot (voiced by Vin Diesel) are a ragtag group who all are brought together from different parts of the galaxy to search for an orb that contains uspeakable power.

Peter, group leader by default, was abducted by a blue-skinned alien named Yondu Odanta (Michael Rooker) when he was 6 years old. Yondu leads a fortune-hunting organization that operates outside (and sometimes within) the reach of the law. Peter becomes an operative of said organization, maturing into a Han Solo-like outlaw with a contempt for the law and authority. Gamora, an alien beauty whose parents were killed by a merciless creep named Ronan, seeks revenge though her blue-skinned sister allies herself with him to seek and obtain the orb for an even bigger creep named Kraglin. Gamora hopes to find the orb before Ronan and her sister can appropriate it for evil ends, which brings her into Peter's orbit.

Joining Peter and Gamora is a genetically-engineered raccoon named Rocket, whose outsize attitude is inversely proportional to his bodily proportions. His travelling companion and partner is Groot; a tall, tree-like being whose limited vocabulary solely consists of I am Groot though his subtle inflections allow Rocket to translate the alien's one phrase. Rounding out this motley crew is Drax, a bald, strong-man with a strange array of patterns on his skin. While Rocket and Groot's interest in the orb is strictly monetary, Drax joins the search because it is a means to confronting Ronan, who murdered his family. Together, the group hopes to stop Ronan from using the orb's power to menace the galaxy, hence the group's appellation as Guardians of the Galaxy. Their roles as unlikely saviors is kind of a running gag.

Though the orb is directly or indirectly the reason for their assemblage, the loss of family, the betrayal of family and the search for something like a family are what partially unifies the group.

The banter that passes between the group members is often funny as are the hapless situations they can't seem to avoid. Rocket barely endures teasing about being a Raccoon, while Drax's literal interpretations of expressions like "it will pass over your head" can be pretty amusing. Peter always carries a music cassette; a prized keepsake his mother made for him which creates a kind of soundtrack to his life. It's also makes up most of the soundtrack to the film, as 70s' pop tunes like Hooked on a Feeling and The Runaways' Cherry Bomb serve as light, comic counterpoint to the interstellar mayhem playing out onscreen.

Chris Pratt establishes his leading man bona fides in his career-making role; showcasing his comedic aptitude while Zoe Saldana's sex appeal and bad-ass martial arts are sometimes checked by the weary exasperation she often feels for the group. Bradley Cooper gives Rocket a tough but funny personality while the unrecognizable voice of Vin Diesel lends some sensitivity to the character of Groot.

The film always works best when its tongue is pressed firmly in cheek. Action scenes are wisely leavened with the humor, which is really the source of the film's appeal. The comedic moments always seem to make an appearance when we need them, keeping the film from degenerating into mere space battle racket and dreary, overly serious gun-play.

The titles before the closing credits herald the beginning of a franchise, which renders the film's explosive weekend box office returns almost irrelevent. How many will follow is always the question but as we all know, corporate Hollywood never troubles itself with such concerns; it just sends the blueprint to the assembly line. If the film's offspring can match Guardians of the Galaxy's irreverence and light-hearted charm, then I won't mind a bit.

Magic in the Moonlight

**Spoiler Alert**

Director: Woody Allen/Starring: Colin Firth, Emma Stone, Marcia Gay Harden, Jackie Weaver, Eileen Atkins and Simon McBurney

A world famous magician with the stage name Wing Ling Soo also uses the persona of a Chinese mystic in his act. Offstage, he is an arrogant, peevish British man named Stanley (Colin Firth) who disdains anything and everything metaphysical. His friend, a fellow magician Howard Burken (Simon McBurney), has made the acquaintance of an American woman who claims to be a medium with psychic powers. While Stanley scoffs at the notion of a spirit world, he agrees to meet the woman and sit in on a seance. Howard claims the woman has abilities he can't readily dismiss though his career as a magician has inured him to every kind of spiritualist's trick.

Of course Stanley scoffs at the medium's professed powers; asserting his superiority as a debunker of spiritualists. When he meets the medium/psychic; an attractive, young woman named Sophie Baker (a lovely Emma Stone), he is treated to feats of her psychic powers. She is able to almost guess his vocation though he insists he is in the import/export business. An American woman named Grace (Jackie Weaver) and her son Brice (Hamish Linklater) play hostess and host to Stanley, Sophie and her mother (Marcia Gay Harden) in their vacation home in the south of France.

Before the seance, Stanley and Sophie cross swords over the supposed phoniness of the supernatural and the spirit world. He is determined to prove that Sophie is a charlatan, even it means alienating her and all who are gathered. The mutual attraction between magician and medium is undeniable, which is complicated by Stanley's engagement to another woman and Brice's feeble courtship of Sophie.

When the seance commences, Stanley sits apart from the proceedings, watching for anything fraudulent. When a candle begins to float, Howard excitedly claims he is unable to account for the phenomenon or the attendant thumping sounds. Days after the seance, Stanley begins to believe her abilities are genuine, which has a profound effect on him and his disagreeable personality. The possibility of a spirit world; a world even skeptics wish was real, impacts Stanley's emotional life. His demeanor changes, leaving him more optimistic about life. He also falls in love with Sophie.

While one watches Stanley fall hopelessly under Sophie's spell, one wonders if Woody's rational mind has accepted the possibility of the metaphysical. Later in the film, when Stanley's aunt lies in a hospital bed, on the verge of death, his vigorous prayers in the chapel are a startling contrast to his once unassailable bastion of reason. He abruptly stops praying, realizing that what he is doing is absurd, which leads to his suspicion of Sophie's alleged powers.

The issue of reason confronting the supernatural world should be fertile ground for a compelling drama/comedy but somehow the story and action can't reach escape velocity, leaving us with an occasionally charming romance but nothing more. It's not that Colin Firth and Emma Stone can't sell their characters. Their exceptional acting skills are more than a match for Woody's story. What went wrong? One wonders if Woody hurried the production without fully exploring the philosophical issues at play. Some scenes seem partially lifted from his earlier films, particularly one where Stanley and Sophie happen upon an observatory Stanley has known from the past. It recalls the scene in Manhattan, where Woody and Diane Keaton seek refuge in a planetarium. It's glaringly obvious how and why the observatory fits into the film's theme. Much less obvious is Stanley's reaction to the star and moon-filled sky after the observatory ceiling is opened. It's Sophie who gazes in wonder while Stanley sees the beautiful spectacle more matter-of-factly.

Cinematographer Darius Khondji brings some vivid color to the Provencal landscape as well as Emma Stone's lustrous, blue eyes and her hair's coppery allure. At times her face is bathed beautifully in lambent light. We can see why Stanley would fall prey to Sophie's passive charms.

The dialogue, as one might expect of Woody, is smart and occasionally witty but it gets a little clunky at times when some scenes play a little long.

My immediate assessment wasn't that of some critics who have savaged the film. Maybe I was expecting very little after reading the review in the New York Times, but after the tight, beautifully acted Blue Jasmine, it seems like a letdown. It's probably unfair to dismiss his film so, given the fact that Woody fans hold him to a higher standard. It may also be unfair to expect a Crimes and Misdemeanors from him with every new release.
Magic in the Moonlight isn't a failure but it's far from an artistic success. Save for some magical moments between Firth and Stone, it leaves one shrugging one's shoulders. Maybe the film would have worked better as a farce? Maybe not, but it might have been more fun than what unfolded onscreen. Or maybe not.