For reasons too boring to go into, I've spent a lot of time lately scouring the Web for interesting stories. In the process, I tend to find some fascinating headlines. Tonight's discovery comes from the Anchorage Daily News:

“You shot a porcupine? Now what?”

BTW, here's today's movie recommendation: “Get Low,” which is playing at the AMC River Park Square Theatres, features Robert Duvall playing one of his best roles. As the recluse Felix Bush, Duvall pulls off a performance that he could perform in his sleep. But even in his sleep, Duvall is better than 95 percent of the rest of Hollywood.

Below: The trailer for “Get Low.”

Years from now, when some editor is looking for an image to place with the dictionary definition of the term “action blockbuster,” he (or she) is going to search for a poster from Sylvester Stallone's new flick “The Expendables.”

Yeah, the testosterone in this things-blowed-up-real-good movie flows thicker than blood at a Yakuza picnic.

But unlike a number of other Stallone movies, from the “Rambo” series to “Demolition Man,” this one actually is a bit more than mere gore-flinging and exploding cars. Maybe not a lot more, but enough.

First there's the gimmick casting, which includes nearly every major action star from the last two decades. We start with director-coscreenwriter Stallone and British hard guy Jason Statham and proceed with Jet Li and Dolph Lundgren. We augment things with real-life bad-asses Steve Austin, Randy Couture and Gary Daniels. Then we toss in cameo appearances by Arnold Schwarzenegger and Bruce Willis.

Oh, and let's not forget Mickey Rourke, just for a bit of mood.

The plot is simple. Stallone is the leader of a group of mercenaries, former military types who now live in a motorcycle-scented warehouse that acts as a kind of Boys Club for pre-geriatric lovers of all things male (choppers, guns, fistfights and hot chicks). We are introduced to the group just as it foils a kidnapping/ransom scheme hatched by a band of modern-day pirates.

A few dismemberments later, and justice again reigns in the world.

Then another deal comes their way. They are approached by a mysterious stranger (Willis), who plays them off against the representative of another group (Schwarzenegger). The job: Eliminate the leader of an island nation who is becoming troublesome.

Stallone (Barney Ross) and Statham (Lee Christmas) travel to the island, ostensibly under cover - as much as a couple of muscle-bound freaks can disguise themselves - and discover that things on the island are worse than they imagine. Led around by the attractive guide Sandra (Mexican beauty Giselle Itie),  they barely escape with their lives, having attracted the attention not only of the tyrranical leader but of his cruel backer as well.

Oh, yeah, did I forget to say thagt Eric Roberts stars as the cruel backer? He does. And he is so bad that his beeotch-boy is “Stone Cold” Austin.

Back home, Barney can't get Sandra out of his mind. So even though it's a suicide mission (what else?), he decides to return to see what he can do for her. Maybe even save her. And kill everyone else on the island in the process.

That pretty much is what happens. People (mostly the island's army) die in every way imaginable: stabbing, strangling, bludgeoning, exploding into a series of pink mists, being shot by everything from medium-caliber pistols to fully-automatic shotguns. Oh, and we get to see Sandra waterboarded, too (though, darn, no wet T-shirt scene).

It all has some sort of point, though I can't think of one now. Maybe it has to do with helping women be who they need to be. Or maybe it has to do with eliminating human detritis from the world. Or maybe it has to do with finding a way to resalvage your seemingly unsalvagable soul.

That last one would seem to be the most authentic reason, considering the one moment of real emotion comes during a digressive scene that features Rourke telling a war story from Bosnia. In that one scene, a total cliche that features some of the worst dialogue ever written, Rourke proves just how good an actor he really is. Making that scene work, which it does expertly, wasn't easy. Yet Rourke, against all odds, pulls it off.

Considering just how old these guys mostly are, you'd expect them to be starring in something called “The Expandables.” But “The Expendables” is what they end up in. And while not everything fits together smoothly, and it's about 10 minutes (and 173 deaths) too long, there's enough intentional humor in Stallone's film to make it the perfect example of today's action blockbuster.

Look for that poster. The dictionary can't be very far away.

Below: The trailer for “The Expendables.”

If his life had been written as a novel, Pat Tillman would have been too good to be real. As it happened, his Army superiors and others did everything they could to make Tillman's story far better than it really was.

You may recall that Tillman was the NFL player who turned his back on a multimillon-dollar contract to enlist in the Army. Moved by the events of 9/11, Tillman wanted to do more than talk America's enemies to death. He wanted to get his hands dirty by fighting in person.

You may also recall that Tillman, after getting his wish, was killed on April 22, 2004, during action in Afghanistan. And that, almost immediately, Tillman was labeled a hero. Eventually, he would be awarded a posthumous Silver Star and become a symbol of American heroism … and so on.

Only trouble was, it was all a lie. Tillman was a hero, just as any soldier, sailor, airman or Marine who serves in a combat zone is a hero. But his death wasn't heroic. It was a dirty, meaningless, empty gesture, the result of mixup that turned a firefight into a massive cluster-screwup. Tillman and an Afghan soldier were killed by their own troops.

That didn't stop the Army, though. Nor Bush's White House. The powers that were lied from the get-go, portraying Tillman as a real-life version of Captain America, doing what they could to save face and to provide public support for a war that had been progressively becoming a losing proposition.

Find this hard to believe? So did I. But then I began looking at the evidence, and the results are inescapable. That much and more will become clear when filmmaker Amir Bar-Lev's documentary “The Tillman Story” opens across the country (it premiered Jan. 23 at Sundance and opened on Friday in major markets).

It may take awhile to reach Spokane. But when it does come, “The Tillman Story” is a must-see. After “Restrepo,” it might be the most important war documentary of the year.

Below: The trailer for “The Pat Tillman Story.”

I've sat through any number of horror movies that try to shock. Especially with chainsaws. Whether it's Leatherface, doing his dance in the setting sun, or a vengeful father hunting down the last of the gang that murdered his daughter, the chainsaw announces its presence with a whine that is more diabolical than my former mother-in-law.

The harridan who was my first mother-in-law, I mean.

Still, never have I seen a chainsaw wielded with more purpose, with less exploitation and yet with better effect that in the scene that takes place just about 20 minutes from the end of the Ozark family drama “Winter's Bone.”

The film tells the story of Ree Dolly (Jennifer Lawrence), just 17 and the oldest of three children who are in trouble. Their mother is so emotionally troubled that she's nearly catatonic, and their father - wanted by the police for meth production and sales - is missing. Since good old dad had signed his home and property away to pay for his bail, his family could become homeless if he doesn't make his court date.

Which is why Ree, when she has a free moment from doing the laundry, splitting the wood, fixing dinner for her younger siblings and, in general, running the house, goes in search of dad. Only this is the Ozark Mountains, that back-country place of log-cabin poverty and
Deliverance” lifestyle, where people don't talk to the cops. Any talk, you see, leads to witnesses - and witnesses are dangerous to people who like to keep secrets.

But Ree is tough. So tough that she stands up to everyone, including her relatives - actually, this being the back woods, pretty much everyone is her relative, is you catch my drift - in her effort to save the old homestead. Her toughness, though, leads to her getting abused by a number of her inbred inlaws - with the threat always present of something worse.

“Winter's Bone,” which is adapted from the novel by Daniel Woodrell, doesn't actually go anywhere unexpected. Ree doesn't win the lottery or find a fairly godmother or develop super powers or any of the kind of fantasy that television specializes in. It stays close to its own sense of what's real, which means pathos (ceramic sprites set in the yard of the area's hardest man), brutality (skinning of meat in the neighbor's front yard) and desperation (Ree considers enlisting in the Army just so she can use the ostensible $40,000 signing bonus to save her family).

What the film, directed and co-written by Debra Granik, does do differently is offer up a scene that might be the most terrifying single scene of 2010. It may not compare with anything directed by, say, Eli Roth, but then that's just a matter of perspective. In a horror movie, you expect to see shocking imagery. In a family drama, even an Ozark family drama, you don't expect to have to cover your eyes.

But when that chainsaw starts whining, that's exactly what I wanted to do. And it's exactly what my wife did. And I bet Ree wanted to as well.

That's “Winter's Bone.” I'm not gonna forget that imagery anytime soon.

Below: The trailer for “Winter's Bone.”

Let's be frank. Stieg Larsson, who wrote obsessively readable novels, was no Tolstoy. Hell, he wasn't even Steven King. The three books in his “Millennium” series are overwritten, filled with too many subplots/digressions and are filled with main plot points that depend too much on coincidence.

And that's not even mentioning the fact that the main male characters, the investigative journalist Blomkvist, is apparently irresistible to women — a kind of wish-fulfillment-fantasy that may work for readers of both genders but isn't particularly believable.

OK, so what? I still enjoyed reading all three novels. Yet after seeing the Swedish version of the second novel, directed by Daniel Alfredson, I can see that the writer who adapted Larsson's novel — the screenwriter Jonas Frykberg — did a pretty good job of cutting out all the dross and sticking to just the essentials that make the story flow.

And no matter what David Fincher is able to do with the U.S. version of the novels, no actress he casts as Salander can be half as good as Noomi Rapace (Rah-PAHS).

Just saying.

It used to be that when a director put out his (and most were male) film, that was it. The film opened, it played through maybe a couple of runs, perhaps even later showed up in an abbreviated version on television. But other than cutting for mainstream tastes and for time, the networks didn't change much of substance.

And, for the most part, the director wasn't involved.

These days, of course, the first release is merely the first step in a long process that includes the obligatory director's cut DVDs, etc. But it's always a valid question to ask: Is there a point at which the filmmaker should just stop making changes and let the work lie?

That's the argument that Salon.com makes in reference to a new version of Michael Mann's 1992 movie “The Last of the Mohicans.”

It poses some interesting questions … none of which, I might add, pertain the slightest bit to Michael Bay. Just saying.

So, it appears that the one film that I decided NOT to see this weekend, “The Expendables,” made the weekend's most money. What a surprise.

Actually … not really. As one box-office expert said, the success of “The Expendables” was about as easy to predict as increased condom sales following a Lady Gaga concert.

“If you have macho men, guns, and things blowing up, then you're going to find an audience,” said Gitesh Pandya, editor of Box Office Guru LLC.”

Below: The trailer for “The Expendables.”

So many emotions/thoughts flooded over me during “Restrepo” that it's hard to process them. In fact, I couldn't do it during the screening that I just got out of. So I'm still doing it.

“Restrepo” is the title of the documentary about the war in Afghanistan, which was produced and directed by the author Sebastian Junger and author/photographer/filmmaker Tim Hetherington. Part of a larger project, which included Junger's nonfiction book “War,” “Restrepo” follows a platoon of soldiers over a number of months in 2007 during their 15-month deployment in Afghanistan's Korengal Valley.

The soldiers, to be specific, are members of Second Platoon, B Company, 2nd Battalion, 503rd Infantry Reginemt (airborne) of the 173rd Airborne Brigade Combat Team. The film's title comes from the name of one of the soldiers, a popular medic, PFC Juan S. Restrepo, who was killed early in the platoon's deployment. On assignment for Vanity Fair magazine, Junger and Hetherington were embedded with Second Platoon for weeks at a time, capturing the soldiers in every imaginable situation, from being under fire to doing an impromptu dance to the song “Touch Me” (by Gunther and the Sunshine Girls).

You can approach “Restrepo” from a number of perspectives.

1, You can look at it through the prism of war critic. If you are no fan of America's role in Afghanistan, you're bound to be horrified. “Restrepo,” though it pointedly avoids commenting on why the troops are in Afghanistan — not to mention the dangerous Korengal Valley — shows how difficult the troops' job is, how frustrating it is to achieve anything resembling satisfactory results and how, in the process of fighting the Taliban, what the troops do so often alienates the very Afghan citizens they want to befriend. And, of course, what the film tells you is that, after all the pain and effort, the Army ultimately deserted the Korengal Valley, leaving open the question of what, if anything, was accomplished.

2. You can see it as a portrayal of mere boys, many of whom are barely in their 20, facing great danger and forced into adopting roles that would cow men far more mature. For many viewers, this, too, is likely to be horrifying. Are young soldiers really this brutal, taunting a dead enemy who has just been torn apart by automatic-weapons fire? And the answer is, yes, they are. Always have been. And if you don't emerge from “Restrepo” with a better understanding of why this is, you just aren't capable of getting war and those who fight it.

3. You can also see “Restrepo” as an example of war journalism, a film that follows in the long line of war documentaries, many of the most recent  — “Gunner Palace,” for example — which explore the war in Iraq. Viewers who take this route are bound to be impressed with what Junger and Hetherington have put on the screen, and how unselfconsciously they film it. Except for a few fragmentary moments, they are not a part of the action. Unlike most of today's life-as-we-live-it reality TV shows, “Restrepo” really does, for the most part, adopt the fly-on-the-wall technique.

4. You can even see the film as the latest development in our cultural obsession with so-called “reality.” The soldiers do stand-up interviews, and are appropriately serious as they explain, long after the fact, the emotions they felt during their various missions. They mug for the camera, though they never feel as falsely “real” as, say, the “Jersey Shore” cast does. Whether they're dancing, eating, smoking, dodging incoming rounds or mourning their dead comrades, the troops come across as fully comfortable living in the glow of a videocamera — which may be the biggest difference between these soldiers and those of previous generations.

In the end, I choose to see “Restrepo” in the middle two categories. I've never seen a film that better captures the experience that I remember as a young 21-year-old soldier in Vietnam. I'm going to be long haunted by the bravado, mixed with crippling senses of grief, portrayed by solders who talk of not being able to sleep or of wanting to hold on to their war memories “because that's all I have.”

I'm not sure when, or if, I'll ever be able to forget the faces … young, pained, proud, troubled, struggling to explain the unexplainable. I've never met a veteran yet who's been comfortable trying to accurately portray his (or, these days, her) war experiences to anyone who wasn't there. It always sounds so melodramatic or self-important or not important enough.

Above all else, “Restrepo” makes that struggle unnecessary. It is what it is, a war documenary that, perhaps as well as any documentary ever has, puts you in the heart of the action. From that point, your reaction is entirely up to you.

Below: The trailer for “Restrepo.”

Forget what I said immediately below. I ended up going first to see “Eat, Pray, Love.” So, yeah, you now know who oversees the social calendar in my house.

And what did I think?

Well, let's just say that this is about as good as Hollywood can do with such a story, though that's not as big a compliment as it might seem. “Eat, Pray, Love” is far better than a similarly themed film, “Under the Tuscan Sun,” which could have been titled “Cry, Eat, Love.” Of course, even as I type this, I can hear the voices of those complaining about my not recognizing the subtle differences between the two films.

“Under the Tuscan Sun” is nowhere near as serious as “Eat, Pray, Love,” they cry. It, you see, has nothing to do with prayer.

OK. But tlet's count the ways the two films are similar.

1. Both are about middle-class white women who, fed up with their lives, head to exotic places as a way of reinventing themselves (both start out in Italy, but only one stays there).

2. Both star beautiful big-name actresses, subbing for our far less glamorous real-life heroines (Diane Lane for Frances Mayes in “Tuscan Sun,” Julia Roberts for Elizabeth Gilbert in the other).

3. Both are based on best-selling books.

4. Both have protagonists who end up cultivating friends who, almost to a fault, have the kind of physical qualities found only in a Hollywood casting office. Oh, and the range of characters, from a Swedish expatriate to a Balinese “holy man” emerge directly from the text titled Hollywood Stereotyping 101.

5. Both have protagonists who end up falling into affairs with men who are so, well, beautiful that … see No. 4.

6. Both have protagonist whom seem NOT to have to depend on a daily job for buying basic needs (that's particularly so for Roberts' character, whose hovel of an apartment in Rome would still run a couple thousand euro a month).

7. Both have protagonists who endure love affairs (in Roberts' case a rebound affair) with gorgeous hunks (some Italian actor in “Tuscan Sun,” James Franco in “Love”). Again, see No. 4.

8. Both have protagonists who, after a bit of a struggle, show an amazing facility for language acquisition (particularly Roberts, who not only learns Italian well enough to order for the table in Rome but also picks up some dialects in India and, finally, Bali).

9. Both have protagonists whose lives end up looking so glamorous that it's difficult to empathize with their emotional stuggles. (Lane's character may live in a ramshackle villa, but that villa is in the Tuscan hills outside Cortona. Have you ever been there? It's heavenly. And Roberts' character? Even walking the poverty-stricken streets of whatever Indian city she's living in looks like she's posing for a Travelsmith catalog advertisement.)

10. Both end up happy. Sure, they struggle to get there. But once they get over themselves, no easy feat, they decide that they have it pretty good.

Hell. I knew that five minutes in …

Below: The trailer for “Eat, Pray, Love.”

Like most people whose taste I respect, I love challenging film. I loved to be pushed and prodded and dared and shocked. All too much of what Hollywood offers me falls way short of doing any of this. So I was happy to find a Web site that listed what it describes as “15 of the most disturbing films ever made.”

Turns out I've seen most of them, with the notable exception of “Human Centipede,” “Salo,” “It Is Fine! Everything Is Fine.” Oh, and I guess also have to list “Hostel” since I couldn't watch all of it.

How many of the films have you seen? And what ones would you add? I might add David Lynch's “Lost Highway.” Or “Man Bite Dog.” Or Wes Craven's original “The Last House on the Left.”

There are probably a few more, too. But I thank Buddha that I've forgotten which ones they are.

Below: The trailer for “Lost Highway.”

I can't remember the last time two movies opened in Spokane that symbolized such a range of gender-specific tastes. I've heard several women talk about nothing but “Eat, Pray, Love,” the Julia Roberts vehicle that was adapted from Elizabeth Gilbert's best-selling book.

On the other hand, we have “The Expendables,” another one of those ensemble-cast blockbuster boys' movies that stars a bunch of tough guys (everyone from Sylvester Stallone to Bruce Willis and Jason Statham) on a mission impossible.

My choice, though, is “Restrepo,” the documentary about the war in Afghanistan by Tim Hetherington and best-selling author Sebastian Junger (“The Perfect Storm,” “War”).

Below: The trailer for “Restrepo.”

Still at a loss when HBO canceled “The Sopranos”? Many television fans are. That's why the news that the cable channel's new series, “Boardwalk Empire,” feels like a hit is such good news. What with “Mad Men” already beginning its news season, this new era of powerful television shows just keeps humming right along.

Meanwhile, last night my wife sat through the latest version of “Jersey Shore.” I'm not sure what one has to do with the other, but … if you figure it out, let me know.

You're kidding, right? Arnold Schwarzenegger turns 63 today? Is such a thing even possible?

Apparently so. The clock stands still for no one, not even one of the toughest action stars in cinema history. As such, and in the man's honor, I list the top 10 films of the California governor's career.

1. “Hercules in New York” (1969): It passed by without much notice at the time. And, to be honest, it makes you question whether Schwarzenegger should have been given another movie role. Seen now, though, this bit of muscle-mass exploitation is one campy view.

2. “Pumping Iron” (1977): This so-called documentary first showed the inherent, irreverent charm that Mr. Universe (and five-time Mr. Olympia winner) Schwarzenegger could bring to the big screen.

3. “Conan the Barbarian” (1982): He swings the sword well, our anti-hero does. Great quote. Conan is asked what is the best in life? “To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentation of their women.” Yeah.

4. “The Terminator” (1984): It may not be the best of the series, but it established not just the idea but the careers of both Schwarzenegger and writer-director James Cameron.

5. “Predator” (1987): The first of another series, though this one went downhill pretty quickly, John McTiernan's sci-fi thriller cast Schwarzenegger in the role that came to define him - that of the tough but fair leader of men.

6. “The Running Man” (1987): Though what's most memorable is Richard Dawson doing a satiric take on his “Family Feud” success, this is actually a thinking-man's action flick (with lots of asplosions!).

7. “Total Recall” (1990): He's never been much of an actor (hell, he can barely speak English), but Schwarzenegger fit perfectly into Paul Verhoeven's adaptation of Philip K. Dick's short story as a man who steps into a “real” life of virtual reality.

8. “Kindergarten Cop” (1990): Schwarzenegger had shown a touch for comedy in Ivan Reitman's 1988 farce “Twins” (in which his “twin wasDanny DeVito). But this film is arguably better, especially when he delivers the line, “It's not a toomah!”

9. “Terminator 2: Judgment Day” (1991): Cameron's followup to his 1984 film was important in a number of ways. Top two? It was a CG marvel, and it changed Schwarzenegger's cyborg character from the ultimate villain to the ultimately trustworthy good guy.

10. That's … about it. Schwarzenegger made films throughout the 1990s, including a third “Terminator” (“Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines”). But none of them had the fresh qualities of his earlier work. So here let's put his first election as California's governor in Oct. 7, 2003.

In so many ways, playing a poltician has been Schwarzenegger's biggest, and most memorable, role of all.

Below: The great Arnold Schwarzenegger, in action.

As some brainy scientists are discovering, there is some truth behind the notions explored by Christopher Nolan's new movie “Inception.” According to Forbes.com, research in the field of dreams (heh-heh) has shown the possibility that dreams can be manipulated.

As for actually planting a thought that could actually take root, well, that's probably not possible. Not for the moment.

But, really, if the government, say, could actually do something like that, would the men who fly black helicopters be likely to reveal it?

Talk about a nightmare …

I was just running some errands, and I just happened to tune into an editon of NPR's “Fresh Air.” The segment featured film director Jay Roach and actor Steve Carell, both of whom were shilling for their new film, “Dinner for Schmucks.”

Here's what's amazing: I listened for nearly 15 minutes, the time it took me to drive from my house to the Spokane Valley Lowe's. And during that time, while being interviewed by Dave Davies, not once did Davies, Roach or Carell mention the fact that “Dinner for Schmucks” is an adaptation of French filmmaker Francis Veber's 1998 comedy “The Dinner Game” - which I happened to see during that year's Seattle International Film Festival.

It was too hot to sit in the sun and continue with the program. But I'm fairly confident that, ultimately, someone did mention Veber's film. I say that because the original source is mentioned on the NPR site. And, in fact, on the site Roach addresses how he changed Carell's character “to express who he is a bit more.”

Whatever. If you're like me, who turned off the show without listening to everything, you missed any mention of the original movie. And you got the impression that “Dinner for Schmucks” - hardly an improvement over how the 1998 title was translated - was entirely the creation of the Hollywood journeyman Roach.

That's Hollywood, though, right? It's all a game of credits, and how much you can pad your filmography, no matter what the truth might be.

Below: A sequence from Francis Veber's original “The Dinner Game.”

One of my former Spokesman-Review colleagues is a sick little puppy. Which is the main thing that I like about the guy. He's a big fan of David Lynch and boasts a particular fondness for “Lost Highway.” He likes David Cronenberg, too.

So when he sent me a copy of a little film titled “Deadgirl,” I was of two minds. On one hand, I like anything that smacks of sickness. On the other, reading the IMDB description - “Two high school boys discover an imprisoned woman in an abandoned mental asylum who cannot die” - I wasn't sure this was something I was, uh, dying to see.

So I held off. For months, actually. Until last night, in fact.

Big mistake.

Look, I've seen some sick films. You don't have to search very far on the Internet to find some of the sickest stuff imaginable. Stuff that makes film series such as “Saw” and “Hostel” seem almost tame by comparison.

But there is something particularly nasty about “Deadgirl.” It combines a bit of teen angst (one of the boys is an alienated stoner who carries a troubled torch for the girl he knew in the 9th grade) with some standard horror conceits (the mental asylum is filled with dark corridors and at least one toothy Doberman). Even so, the result is more exploitation than full-fledged storytelling.

Oh, and the girl? Lots of nudity. Lots of graphic rape. Even a bit of cannibalism, which gives a whole new meaning to the term “knob gobbler” (if you catch my drift).

So, I'd like to say that I enjoyed “Deadgirl” (not to be confused with “The Dead Girl” or “Dead Girl”). That I saw what the filmmakers were trying to do in terms of social commentary and irony and everything that takes film beyond what shows up on the screen. But … no. I didn't.

Think I'll go back and watch something far more tame. “Blue Velvet” should do the trick.

Pabst Blue Ribbon!

Below: The trailer for “Deadgirl.”

Those interested in David Fincher’s forthcoming American adaptation of Stieg Larsson’s “The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo” should find this news item interesting. Turns out Fincher has offered the role of Mikael Blomkvist to Daniel Craig (and James Bond has reportedly accepted), while narrowing the search for title character Lisbeth Salander to four different actresses.

In case you forgot, the Swedish version of Larsson’s novel came out last year (and played recently at the Magic Lantern). Look for the sequel to play some time in the next few weeks.

Below: The trailer for the Swedish version of “The Girl Who Played With Fire.”

People can commit crimes for the best of reasons. It all depends on your perspective.

For example, how do you define “crime”? Or, for that matter, how do you define “best of reasons”? The documentary “The Art of the Steal,” which plays for one more day at the Magic Lantern, explores those questions as they apply to one of the most valued art collections in the world.

The film tells the story of the Barnes Foundation, a privately owned collection of Post-Impressionist and early-Modern art situated just outside Philadelphia, and how it was appropriated - now there's a neutral term, some would say stolen - by the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

Seems the collection was amassed by a Philadelphia-born physician, Dr. Albert Barnes, in the second decade of the past century. To house his collection, which included dozens of works by Cezanne, Matisse, Van Gogh and others, he established a school in Merion, Pa., barely five miles from downtown Philadelphia. Being born out of humble origins, Barnes was no fan of that city's gentry, So he did everything to alienate the powers that were, including the owner of the city's newspaper, the Philadelphia Inquirer, Walter Annenberg.

He also was determined to keep his collection out of their hands. So he drew up a will that stipulated his collection would never be sold, loaned or moved from its Merion estate.

So what is the movie about? It's about how the whole collection came under the control of organizations, including the Pew Charitable Trust, that decided to move the whole thing to Philadelphia. To the very museum that its founder, Dr. Barnes, hated.

Irony, eh? The film, which was directed by Don Argott, makes somewhat of a case that Barnes wasn't the most likeable or easiest guy to work with. And, ultimately, the art may end up in a better place - by moving in 2012 to Philadelphia.

But it also stresses that the folks who forced the move, many of whom were movers and shakers in Pennsylvania politics, were less interested in art than in this particular art collection, which is worth an estimated $25 billion - billion! And they were interested because of what the collection could do for them.

Which brings us back to my beginning paragraph. These people can say that they were acting in the best interests of both the collection and of the art patrons who long to see it. But not only did they act in defiance of Barnes' wishes as outlined specifically in his will, but they all - in one way or another - stood to gain personally from the move.

But then that is the history of America, if not the world. People doing what they want, for their own self-interest, and hiding behind an excuse of working for the public good.

In the film, no less a person than Julian Bond calls these people “vandals.” And he, based by the evidence presented by “The Art of the Steal,” has a great point.

Below: The trailer for “The Art of the Steal.”

A few years ago, a friend of mine used a feature story that I'd written to work up a concept for a feature film. We both ended up going to the family of the boy I had written about and asked them if we could design a development deal. Since we had no money, dollars didn't change hands, though there was a contingency for remuneration just in case something did get made.

Problem was, my friend was a lot more attuned to what Hollywood wants than I was. He immediately began pitching a story line that had little to do with reality. And I freaked. Ultimately, nothing happened. Such stories are a legion unless you have a really interesting twist, and that wasn't the case. Unless, of course, we made stuff up. Which I really didn't want to do.

All of which is my way of introducing this story about the making of the forthcoming film “The Social Network.” Apparently, the screenwriter, Aaron Sorkin, had no compunction whatsoever about inventing stuff about Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg.

I guess that's what it takes to be a Hollywood success.

I like to make fun of French films. That's mostly because the people who love French films absolutely loooooooovvvvvve French films. As in the woman I overheard a few years ago at the Seattle International Film Festival who was telling her friends, “If it's not in French, I don't want to see it.

Quelle horreur.

Anyway, I recognize the greatness of some French cinema. And I admit to liking a number of French films that I've seen over the past several years. One of the most recent is a little film carrying the English title of “Let it Rain,” or in French “Parlez-moi de la pluie” - which translates more as “Let's Talke About the Rain.”

This is a charming little film that follows a group of people, all of whom are in a difficult place in their respective lives. Karim (Jamel Debbouze) is working as a hotel clerk, though he entertains hopes of becoming a filmmaker. His mentor, Michel (Jean-Pierre Bacri), is a former TV journalist who is now making a living filming baptisms, etc.

The two get the idea of interviewing the politician-hopeful Agathe (Agnes Jaoui), a best-selling feminist writer who is running for political office. Karim knows Agathe because he grew up in the same rural village with Agathe and her sister Florence Pascale Arbillot); in fact, Karim's mother still lives with Florence and her family, working as a nanny/maid. Agathe has her own problems, revolving mainly around trying to maintain a career and relationship with her partner Antoine (Frederic Pierrot). Florence, who is married, is a woman still marked by the fact that her mother seemed to prefer Agathe over her.

And so on. Nothing much happens in “Let It Rain,” except that is for the normal circumstances of life. Agathe and Florence tapdance around each other. Karim, also married, becomes infatuated with the young woman who works at his hotel. At the same time, he starts to become disenchanted with the self-absorbed Michel, who is carrying on his own affair with, of course, Florence.

What I most like about “Let It Rain,” which I saw on Comcast's IFC On Demand service, is that it just ambles along, letting each character work out his or her situation. As written by Jaoui and Bacri, and directed by Jaoui, the film doesn't end happily so much as leave open the possibility of happiness. These may be flawed characters, but they do show growth.

And while Jaoui's film isn't a laugh-out-loud comedy, it does have its share of funny moments. That adds to the overall effect, and it makes the characters and their world well worth spending time with.

Even if they are French.

Below: The trailer for “Let It Rain.”

You may have seen the extremely cool trailer for Aaron Sorkin's forthcoming movie “The Social Network,” due out Oct. 1, which tells the story of the founding of Facebook. If not, check the embed below.

But if you're like many of us who still like to read, you might want to check out this review of the book that inspired the movie. The book, “The Accidental Billionaires,” was written by the same guy who wrote the book that became the movie “21.” And we know just how much similarity that film had with reality (in a phrase, not much).

Anyway, in related news, the Los Angeles Times is reporting that the guy who invented Facebook is going to star as himself in an episode of “The Simpsons.” Wow. Think he'll post something on Facebook about it?

Below: The trailer for “The Social Network.”

OK, it’s taken me a while to get my sumer movie-going legs underneath me. Several reasons for that, not the least of which is I haven’t been turned on by much. Except, of course, for “Inception” (see below).

But though you probably have seen it already, if not in theaters then on other Web sites, the trailer for the forthcoming Disney production of “Tron: Legacy,” which is due in theaters Dec. 17, just might excite you. It certainly has me humming with anticipation, even if I wasn’t all that big a fan of the 1982 original - even given the then-state-of-the-art EFX.

Can’t wait to see this new one in IMAX 3-D.

Below: The trailer for “Tron: Legacy.”

Over the weekend I was in Ketcham, Idaho, walking the aisles of Iconoclast Books, and I picked up a copy of Philip K. Dick short stories. Titled after one of the stories, “Minority Report,” the book shows Dick at his best: strange, offbeat, uncomfortable, yet always accessible.

My favorite Dick book, “Ubik,” was one of the first books I’d ever read that involves characters interacting through their dreams — though Dick takes his time letting you know what is happening.

“Ubik” comes to mind because of “Inception,” Christopher Nolan‘s blockbuster and followup to his 2008 hit “The Dark Knight.” Let me see if I can give a short synopsis (but watch out for spolers).

Cobb (Leonardo DiCaprio) washes up on a remote beach. He is taken to the lair of an elderly man. We discover that Cobb is capable of entering the dreams of others, the purpose of which is usually “extraction” of some secret. Cobb works for whomever will pay him for that secret information. On a mission to extract information from a Japanese businessman, Saito (Ken Watanabe), Cobb and his team — which includes Arthur (Joseph Gorden-Levitt) — end up being hired by Saito to help foil a rival’s attempts to corner the energy market.

When one of his team proves unreliable, Cobb looks for a new “architect,” a person talented and imaginative enough to create dream worlds for the extraction targets to navigate. With the help of his former teacher (Michael Caine), he recruits Ariadne (EllenPage). Only this time the task is more difficult: Instead of extracting information, the team’s charge is to do an “inception” — that is, to put a suggestion in the subject’s mind in such a way that he believes the idea is his own.

Which is how the new team comes to kidnap Robert Fischer (Cillian Murphy), the son of Saito’s dying rival. What they want to do is convince the younger Fischer to break up his father’s empire, giving Saito and others a chance to break the energy monopoly.

To do this, however, involves an intricate plan whereby the team has not only to go inside Fischer’s dream, but to go down two more levels. In other words, they have to go in a dream within a dream within yet a third dream. Each stem becomes more perilous, with the result being  psychologically dangerous: In ordinary circumstances, dying in a dream causes the dreamer to awake. But inserted more deeply, the dying dreamer falls into a deep psychological fugue, where he (or she) can linger for what may be only minutes in real life but can feel like decades in dreamland.

The complicating factor — which, of course, has to exist — is that Cobb is a haunted man. His former wife, Mal (Marion Cotillard), haunts him, showing up during his jobs in a way that proves problematic to everyone. In the Fischer job, only Ariadne knows what is troubling Cobb. But for various reasons, she says nothing.

Overall, “Inception” owes a deep debt to Dick. In the sense that no idea is unique, Nolan doesn’t exactly steal from the author, who died in 1982. But the difference between reading one’s mind (and, in the process, altering reality, which is the basis for “Ubik”), and doing so in that person’s dreams is relatively slight.

Still, Nolan is a singular talent. He proved as much with his 2000 film “Memento,” in his two Batman films (2005’s “Batman Begins” and “Dark Knight”) and, now, with “Inception.” Dream stories are easy because you can cover a gaggle of plot problems by just resorting to the whole “dreams don’t make sense” argument. But Nolan keeps things moving so quickly, powered by Hans Zimmer‘s pulsating musical score, that you don’t have time to ask nagging questions.

It’s unfortunate that “Inception” so closely follows Martin Scosese’s “Shutter Island,” in which DiCaprio stars as a federal agent who falls into a similar kind of psychological purgatory. But Nolan’s story, while more fantastic, is nevertheless more successful at creating a world that feels authentic — instead of pop-psychology hamhanded, the way “Shutter Island” came across.

Spokane Public Radio film critic Bob Glatzer loves to call the films he loves “delicious.” Well, “Inception,” as a film is pure bubble gum. But it’s really delicious bubble gum.

You need to bite off a chunk.

Below: The trailer for “Inception.”

Film festival movies are different from mainstream films in a number of ways. Whether we’re talking about plot, characterization, style or what have you, festival films are usually the opposite of what Hollywood has trained us to expect.

They may have little or no noticeable plot. Characters may be more anti than hero, as opposed to antihero. Style could be slo-mo, out of focus, framed so that we can see only the corners of characters’ chins … and so on.

But even the most offbeat of festival films must have at least one of several things. They must have characters about whom we care. OR those characters must live in worlds we find intriguing. OR those characters and those worlds must be portrayed in WAYS we find intriguing. And so on.

A week ago I went to see a little festival film at the Magic Lantern. It’s titled “The Exploding Girl.” And while I ended up liking the movie, I had a difficult time getting there.

The film stars Zoe Kazan (yes, of those Kazans) as Ivy, a young woman home for the summer from university. With her is Al (Mark Rendall), her best friend - “Oh, from maybe eighth grade” - who ends up crashing on a couch at Ivy’s mother’s house. Here is the story that writer-director Bradley Rust Gray follows: Ivy comes home, she mopes around a lot, she tries to call her boyfriend, she and Al go to a party, he gets stoned but she gets bored, she tries to call her boyfriend, she teaches kids how to act, she eats lunch in the park with Al, she finally hears from her boyfriend, she has a seizure, Al tells her that he likes her, her boyfriend breaks up with her on the phone, she can’t take a bath because her mom is working late, she tells her boyfriend that they can’t be “friends,” she mopes a bit, she heads back to university, and she holds hands with Al.

For much of its running time, “The Exploding Girl” bored me. I didn’t like the characters (who seemed to take themselves waaaay too seriously). I didn’t like their world. And I didn’t like Gray’s style, which seemed to be in serious need of some caffeine. I ended up liking the film, mostly because I liked Kazan, but I never got the title. Still don’t.

I’ve read the work of critics who love the film, who wax on and on about Ivy’s explosion of emotions. Uh … what? Yeah, she has a seizure. One seizure. Which even while it hovers over the entire film like a dark cloud is hardly a major scene (even if it is a major plot point). But if a slightly tart tone on the phone or a slow groping of two thumbs are signs of emotional explosions, then a cherry bomb (ch-ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb) is a small nuclear weapon. So are we meant to be stuck by irony?

Well, I liked the movie. Didn’t love it. In fact, “The Exploding Girl” is exactly the kind of film that make people mistrust critics. When they drool all over such a small little feature, people think … what the hell? And, at least in this case, they’re right.

I’d have changed things, beginning with the title. I’d have titled it “The Imploding Girl.” That, at least would have been factual.

Voice mail is still a novelty for those of us who grew up before there was any kind of phone-messaging technology at all. Which may be why I laughed out loud at a voice mail that I received this morning.

It came from my friend Speedy Rice, an attorney whose work with on international projects takes him to the farthest corners of the Earth. Here is what I heard:

“Hi, Dan, this is Speedy. I’m waitin’ for you here at the Zanzibar Film Festival. Call me and tell me where we can meet up.”

I had to look up to see if there actually is a Zanzibar Film Festival. And, of course, there is.

Now where’s my passport?

There’s an aspect about “Predators” that’s reminiscent of “Lost.” It involves a group of people who find themselves, suddenly, mysteriously, stuck in the wilds of an unknown jungle. They have no idea why they got there, not even memories of plane crashes - which the characters in J.J. Abrams’ television creation lived through again and again.

No, the characters in “Predators” know only that, as we see through the eyes of the one played by Adrien Brody, they are falling from a great height.  Brody’s character is lucky enough to, one, wake up in time and, two, to get his parachute open before he hits the tall jungle trees. He still hits hard, but this being the movies he bruises only his ego.

Pretty soon he begins running into others: a Mexican killer (Danny Trejo), a Russian soldier (Oleg Tartakov), a couple of Americans (Topher Grace, Walton Goggins) and various others, from an AK-47-carrying African soldier to a samurai-sword-waving Japanese Yakuza and a shapely Latina sniper (Alice Braga). And once they unite, they find that they are being hunted.

This, finally, is something we understand better than they do. At least those of us who have seen the other “Predator” films understand it. Beginning with John McTeirnan’s 1987 original, and proceeding with at least four sequels now, the “Predator” films run on a simple conceit: an inordinately ugly breed of extraterrestrials loves to hunt down residents of other worlds just for the sport of it.

In the original, of course, the bad-ass alien runs into a mud-and-blood-spattered commando played by Arnold Schwarzenegger. This time Arnold lives in the California governor’s mansion, so we’re left with Brody and co. And while Brody’s acting abilities may be far superior to Schwarzenegger’s, his physique can’t compare. And director Nimrod (yes, that’s his name) Antal is no McTeirnan.

The script is no “Lost” either. Despite the fact that Laurence Fishburne shows up for a brief time, the mystery of “Predators” pretty quickly devolves into a one-by-one kill-fest, with the only question involving how much of each character’s story we will learn before they exit, stage right. Grace’s story is strung out the longest, though the payoff is hardly surprising.

Not much about “Predators” is surprising, in fact. Except that at the screening I went to a guy brought with him three young boys. No, the movie doesn’t offer any sex nor any real profanity. But the violence was pretty graphic.

Hope those boys won’t have nightmares tonight. I’m likely to. But I doubt my dreams will do much more than bore me witless.

Below: The trailer for “Predators.:

While visiting my friends Holly Hope and Ken Sands in Washington, D.C., I sat down with them to watch the romantic comedy “Leap Year.” I'd passed on the chance to see the film in the theater, or even on a recent plane trip, but I thought I'd give the movie a chance.

And why not? It was the perfect opportunity, in the comfort of my friends' home, on an evening that required nothing of me but to sit back and enjoy.

And there had to be something to enjoy, right? I mean, the movie stars Amy Adams, the perky star of such films as “Enchanted” and “Junebug” and “Doubt” and “Sunshine Cleaning.” Her costar is Matthew Goode, the costar of such films as Woody Allen's “Match Point,” the “Brideshead Revisited” remake and “A Single Man.”

The director, too, seemed to be a good indicator. Anand Tucker is the director of, among other films, “Hilary and Jackie,” “Shopgirl” and the final installment of the powerful “Red Riding” series, “In the Year of Our Lord, 1983.” So, I told myself, how bad can this film be?

Pretty dammed bad, it turns out. Written by the team of Deborah Kaplan and Harry Elfont (“A Very Brady Sequel,” “Josie and the Pussycats” and “Made of Honor”), “Leap Year” is one of those predictable romances in which two polar opposite characters suffer hate at first sight, stumble into a ridiculous situation that throws them together (in this case a storm and financial necessity) and end up falling in love.

It's the kind of film where, in the process of pulling a bed away from the wall, the stuck-up American (Adams) doesn't just wreck the room or throw the circuit breaker of the tavern in which she is staying or even fry her Blackberry, but she causes the whole village to lose power. It's the kind of movie where every cliched Irish reference (except maybe for leprechauns) is drummed up. And it's the kind of film where, when both characters jump out of a car, you just know that they're going to forget to set the break, which likely will lead to disaster.

I say “likely” because I don't really know. It was at that point that I made my apologies and went upstairs to bed.

You might say that I, uh, leaped at the chance to escape the horror called “Leap Year.”

Below: The trailer for “Leap Year.”

Regarding my review of “The Last Airbender” below, a good question might be, “Why didn’t you see the film in 3-D, Dan?” Hey, I’m glad you asked.

This Salon.com story has the answer.