Movie Reviews

Mugging to the animals

Dan (Brendan Fraser) gets skunked. (Summit Entertainment)

Furry Vengeance

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Running time: 91 minutes

MPAA rating: PG (extreme cartoonish violence)

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"Furry Vengeance"

If you're 6 or younger, you might enjoy the loony goons live-action cartoon "Furry Vengeance" for the first 30 minutes or so.

By that time it's likely that everyone from toddler age up with have had enough of Brendan Fraser making goofy faces, forest animals sending huge boulders down a steep hill to vent revenge on encroaching humans and a "go green" message that lands with about the same dulling thud as the rocks, or Fraser's so-called acting.

From this aisle seat, I can't fathom why all this "Furry Vengeance" is being taken out on the audience in the form of a "family comedy" that, for the most part, is excruciating to the point of falling just below water boarding on the torture scale to watch.

Some of us, including your humble scribe, actually love wild animals enough to feed squirrels and birds their breakfast before we've even had ours.

Directed by Roger Kumble, who occupied the director's chair for "College Road Trip" a couple years back, "Furry Vengeance" is a waste of everyone's time.

That includes the trained animals (raccoons, skunks, etc.) that, through the "magic" of modern technology, never had to share a scene with an embarrassingly overacting Fraser ("The Mummy" franchise) or Brooke Shields, who looks like she'd rather be shopping most of the time.

This is an animal vs. human plot that's so cartoon-like I'm shocked a road runner doesn't drop an Acme steel anvil on Fraser's head at some point.

Contractor Dan Sanders (Fraser) is paying the price for invading a peaceful Oregon forest in the name of a new "green friendly" housing community.  Wife Tammy (Shields) and rebellious teen son (Matt Prokop) never wanted to leave Chicago.  They're trying to cope, though, at least until Dad begins to come home covered in skunk spray or portable toilet, uh, toilet stuff.

Fraser has managed some real acting recently in "Extraordinary Measures" and a dozen years back opposite  Ian McKellen in the outstanding drama "Gods and Monsters."

"Furry Vengeance," on the other hand, presents Fraser at his mugging worst.  Let's put it this way.  Fraser's "George of the Jungle" (1997) was several grunts better and of higher intelligence than the Neanderthal in a business suit on display here.

A 'Nightmare' on a film screen

Freddy Krueger (Jackie Earle Haley) gives Nancy (Rooney Mara) a hand during bath time.  (New Line Cinema)

A Nightmare on Elm Street

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Running time: 95 minutes

MPAA rating: R (profanity, strong bloody horror violence, disturbing images, terror)

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"A Nightmare on Elm Street"

The scariest word associated with the new "Nightmare on Elm Street" is not fright, sleep, blood or even die.

The word that sends chills up my spine is "reinvention."

Wes Craven's 1984 original wasn't perfect, but it combined two monumental elements of cinematic fright night -- slasher gore and the notion of killer nightmares -- with grisly comic one-liners.

Samuel Bayer's do-over with the unfortunate Jackie Earle Haley under the melted-skin makeup as gleeful nightmare rider Freddy does absolutely nothing to advance the horror staple.  If anything, the new "A Nightmare on Elm Street" could condemn the franchise neighborhood itself.

Once again, a Springwood teenager named Nancy (Rooney Mara of "Youth in Revolt" in for Heather Langenkamp of the original) and a gaggle of her classmates are having disturbing nightmares.

A horribly melted-skin guy with knives for a hand, a red and green sweater and a battered fedora (Robert Englund in past installments) taunts and haunts them in their sleep.  They try to stay awake.  As they discover one by one, however, Freddy Krueger's serious about wielding revenge for an event that occurred years earlier, when the teens were Badham Preschool students in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Veteran screenwriter Wesley Strick ("Final Analysis" in 1992) and first-timer Eric Heisserer combine efforts for this flat, flimsy revision.  The biggest victim here is not the young actors who are, for the most part, stalked and slashed into bloody oblivion by the vengeful Freddy, but the actor under the scarred makeup.

By reinventing the Freddy Krueger back-story, first-time director Samuel Bayer (Need I say it?  A music video and TV commercial helmer) and the writers allow Haley, their leading man-slayer, to suffer the most.

Haley, the former 1970s child star ("The Bad News Bears," "Breaking Away") and San Antonio, TX resident, re-emerged as an actor to be reckoned with and drew his first Oscar nomination as Ronnie, the sex offender, in "Little Children" of 2006.

This is a step back (way back) for the gifted Haley (also behind a mask in "Watchmen").  That's primarily because this restructured plot borrows heavily from one of Haley's recent past performances to move this plot forward through the blood-and-gore sludge.

Despite Haley's effort, Freddy's "comic" lines are as stale as this entire lifeless, humorless failed "reinvention."

Note to new filmmakers looking to make a name for themselves:  If you must "reinvent," take a lousy old film and make it sparkle.

Even in the horror genre, gutting a classic for a quick buck just doesn't cut it anymore. 

'Perfect Game' pitches near-perfect on screen

 

Cesar (Clifton Collins Jr.) and Mario (Moises Arias) discuss baseball and "the  ladies."  (Prelude Pictures)

The Perfect Game

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Running time: 113 minutes

MPAA rating: PG (some thematic elements)

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"The Perfect Game"

"The Perfect Game," a little gem of a stand-up-and-cheer baseball movie, was almost shut-out before it ever made the big screen.

On the shelf, or should we say the bench, for well over a year, this is a must-see for anyone who loves baseball or just enjoys a solid tug on the heartstrings.

In a perfect world, "The Perfect Game" would be assigned enjoyment for every Little League team member, coach and parent around the globe. For those who don't enjoy the game of baseball, the family friendly entertainment scores with a mix of life lessons about tolerance and respect for all humans.

A note from this aisle seat:  I consider myself a pretty serious baseball fan.  Yet I had never heard the emotional story of a rag-tag team of Little Leaguers from Monterrey, Mexico that forms the foundation of this story.

In 1957, they walked 10 miles in 110-degree heat from the U.S.-Mexican border to McAllen, TX to play their first Little League game north of their home country .  For many -- perhaps all -- of the 10-12-year-old players, it wasn't just their first glimpse of El Norte.  It was also the first time the team that had to clear rocks to play ball on a makeshift dirt field ever got to play on grass.

The screenplay by W. William Winokur, working from his own book of 2008, while a little cheesy at times, grabs the heart early and begins a serious emotional squeeze play.

The actor most will recognize first is veteran comedian/actor Cheech Marin.  Marin sinks his acting soul into the role of Padre Esteban, the priest who loves baseball almost as much as his first calling.  San Antonio native Bruce McGill ("W.," "The Lookout") and Lou Gossett ("Jasper, Texas") add credence to small featured roles.

Of the adult actors, however, it's front-liners Clifton Collins Jr. and Emilie de Ravin ("Lost" on TV) who knock performances out of the park.  Collins ("Extract," the "Star Trek" remake), turned heads in the industry opposite Philip Seymour Hoffman as Perry Smith in "Capote" (2005).

Collins is strong here as well as Cesar Faz, the Mexican steel worker who once had hopes of coaching in the St. Louis Cardinals organization, but was tagged out by the 1950s color barrier.  Though reluctant at first, Cesar becomes the Little League coach, and pushes his players beyond expectations with fundamentals, hustle and heart.

De Ravin is all over the role of a spunky McAllen newspaper reporter who follows the team and records the story.

Several of the young cast members who make up the scrappy little Monterrey Industrials are standouts as well.  Jake T. Austin ("Hotel for Dogs") will melt your heart as Angel, the ambidextrous pitcher verbally abused at home by a stern, grieving dad.

I was also very entertained by New York native Moises Arias (Rico on "Hannah Montana") as Mario, the team's little ladies man who serves as effective comic relief.

My only foul-ball complaint for veteran baseball movie director William Dear ("Angels in the Outfield") is that this film which takes place much of the time in Texas was shot in Los Angeles.  The dead giveaway comes when someone in the film calls a team from the Rio Grande Valley town of Weslaco "Wes-layco."

That's the only error in "The Perfect Game," a walk away winner that no baseball fan or Little Leaguer should miss.

A movie that lives up to its 'Kick-A' title

(Lionsgate)

Kick-Ass

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Running time: 118 minutes

MPAA rating: R (harsh profanity, extreme violence, adult situations, drugs)

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"Kick-Ass"

Unfortunately, some movies live down to their titles.

"Kick-Ass," a violent semi-superhero spoof, has no problem living up to the words on the marquee.

If you're looking for a teenage romance with action that really kicks it when it  comes to graphic blood-spilling violence and mayhem, this is one film that won't disappoint.

I refer to this everyboy superhero yarn as a semi-spoof because none of the actors wink at the audience to signal a tongue-in-cheek tone.  On the other hand, director Matthew Vaughn ("Stardust," "Layer Cake") fills his screen with the closest possible connection to a comic book that has suddenly sprung to life.

New York City teen Dave Lizewski (TV/movie actor Aaron Johnson) longs to be a defender of everyman rights in a cool superhero outfit.  The only superpower the self-proclaimed high school geek appears to have, though, is being invisible to girls.

Once his mail-order green (and pretty geeky) superhero arrives, however, Dave gains confidence, takes on a couple of thugs and gets his hiney severely kicked.

The plot, co-written by the director and Jane Goldman based on the comic book by Mark Millar and John Romita Jr., is serviceable enough.  Once word gets out about Kick-Ass, a much more lethal father-and-daughter (Nicolas Cage/Chloe Moretz) vigilante team serve as the kid's protector.

Parents need to know that this film is rated R for a very good reason.  It has outbursts of extreme violence.  Also, Moretz, who's 13, goes on a "Kill Bill" like slaughtering spree that might make Quentin Tarantino blush.  If that doesn't do the trick, the serious expletives that roll off her young tongue just might.

"Kick-Ass," with a running time two minutes shy of two hours, hangs around too long to maintain its comic-carnage momentum.

Cage, making his most interesting speech-cadence choice since playing Randy in "Valley Girl" in 1983, has an effective father/daughter rapport with Moretz.  Cage's choice to channel the speech pattern of Adam West, his favorite Batman, when in Big Daddy superhero regalia is unsettling at best.  Thankfully that doesn't last long.

"Kick-Ass" also gets a little lost working in the romantic subplot, although Lyndsy Fonseca (Jennie in "Hot Tub Time Machine") holds up her romantic interest end of the bargain as Katie.

There's also an added bonus for fans of raunchy comedies.  Christopher Mintz-Plasse, who made a name for himself as supernerd Fogell in "Superbad," gives it a good go as superhero wannabe Red Mist in this wild ride along the blood-splattering action comic-drama highway.

Stuck between a Rock and forced farce do-over

 

Aaron (Chris Rock) and Ryan (Martin Lawrence) attempt to restore order.  (Screen Gems)

Death at a Funeral

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Running time: 92 minutes

MPAA rating: R (profanity, adult situations, nudity, drugs, disturbing images)

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"Death at a Funeral"

Eccentricity morphs awkwardly in "Death at a Funeral," a recent British farce diluted into American madcap comedy.

I can understand why raucous American comedian Chris Rock was intrigued by the Frank Oz British version.  Emotions run deep at funerals.  Strange things are said and sometimes done when families and friends gather under extreme stress to honor the recently deceased.  

Often, unbridled emotions lead to dark comedy, at least from a distanced eye.

The first "Death at a Funeral" was only marginally successful in 2007.  Compared to the American re-do, however, the original tale of a pint-sized blackmailer who crashes  a family patriarch's funeral and creates havoc amid already erupting chaos looks like a work of genius.

Oddly, exceptional American actor Peter Dinklage ("The Station Agent") portrays the little guy who stirs up big trouble in both versions.  This time he's Frank, the deceased's "special friend" with incriminating pictures.  In the British "Death at a Funeral," he was Peter, the dead guy's "special friend" with incriminating pictures.

It's important to change things around, I suppose.  Otherwise, film-goers might think, correctly, that director Neil LaBute and screenwriter Dean Craig (who wrote the original) are attempting to charge some movie-goers for the same thing twice.

LaBute ("In the Company of Men," "Your Friends & Neighbors"), an exceptional writer-director of serious drama that takes dark comic turns, goes slumming here for reasons that escape me.

The two "Funerals" are not entirely the same film, of course.  The first occurred on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.  This one, a step-by-step remake without the farcical British tweak, plays out in Pasadena, CA.

Two confrontational brothers serve as the story's pivot point.  Aaron (Rock), the elder brother by a mere nine months, has stayed home and gotten married despite wanting all his life to be a novelist.  Brother Ryan (Martin Lawrence) returns triumphantly from New York, where he has managed to get several novels published.  All trite trash, from what we can decipher from the dialogue.

Rock, who appeared in LaBute's "Nurse Betty", and Lawrence ("Big Momma's House") are talented comedians.  But they aren't funny in this one.  That will and should disappoint their fans.  Both should know better if they intended to get laughs.  They are not part of the madcap clown act in this forced farce.

The laughs -- and there are a few crammed down our throats -- befall Dinklage (whose talents are wasted), Danny Glover (who knows better) and Tracy Morgan ("Cop Out," "30 Rock" on TV), who may not know better, primarily involve involuntarily ingested hallucinogenic drugs and fecal matter flying through the air.

If you're looking for the only real funny business in "Death at a Funeral," don't go out for a popcorn refill with the stuff hits the fans and some of the actors.

You should keep up with 'The Joneses'

Steve (David Duchovny) and Kate (Demi Moore) let emotion seep into product placement.  (Roadside Attractions)

The Joneses

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Running time: 96 minutes

MPAA rating: R (harsh profanity, adult situations, nudity, drugs, teen drinking)

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"The Joneses"

Early, but not too early one Saturday morn you hear an unfamiliar, but very smooth dull roar outside your window.

Your neighbor next door has a shiny, sleek new lawnmower, that showoff.  You fight it, but soon you want one just like it.

Welcome to consumerism.  Or in the case of the clever dark comic-drama "The Joneses," welcome to potentially lethal stealth consumerism.

In his first stint in a feature film director's chair, writer-director-producer Derrick Borte unveils a fascinating new way to view jealously, the green-eyed monster.

There's something just a little better than everyone else about the Jones family from the moment they move into the upper-middle-class gated community.  They have the latest electronic gadgets. They seem well adjusted and happy.  Maybe too happy.  Also, their refrigerator is stocked with food and drink no one else has even heard of yet, but will soon want.

Are mom (Demi Moore) and dad (David Duchovny) and the high school-age kids (Amber Heard and Ben Hollingsworth) for real, or have the "Stepford Wives" moved in?

Oh, they're real all right.  They're just not a real family.  Steve (Duchovny), Kate (Moore), Jenn (Heard) and Mick (Hollingsworth) are a stealth sales unit put together by a sales coordinator portrayed by Lauren Hutton.  When they invite neighbors and friends over for snacks, it's a serious product placement sales event for them, and the neighbors have no idea they're being suckered in.

Borte, an artist and TV commercial director, explores his fascination with the power of advertising beautifully.  Moore, on screen recently in "Happy Tears," and Duchovny hit on all cylinders together as spousal posers with a hint of genuine feelings between them.

While this scenario may not be quite as far out there as Duchovny's "The X-Files," it's eerie enough and fresh enough to hold the audience's attention throughout.  Gary Cole and Glenne Headly are convincing as Larry and Summer Symonds, the gullible next door neighbors who pay the price for serious consumerism envy.

"The Joneses" falters just a bit in its casting.  Heard, the Texas native who appeared in "Pineapple Express," and Hollingsworth ("The Beautiful Life" on cable TV), a Canadian, are capable actors.  They're just too old to pass as high schoolers.

I understand why Borte took this approach.  They both take on adult situations younger actors might shy away from.

Other than that, however, this is a darkly comic drama that entertains and has plenty to say about keeping up with, you know who.  

The saga of the reluctant corpse

 

Anna (Christina Ricci) is dead serious that she's alive as the funeral director (Liam Neeson) hovers.  (Anchor Bay Films)

After.Life

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Running time: 103 minutes

MPAA rating: R (profanity, disturbing images, adult situations, blatant nudity)

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"After.Life"

Although creepy enough, the stylized psychological thriller "After.Life" plays like a student film with A-list lead actors.

First-time writer-director Agnieszka Wojtowicz-Vosloo successfully takes her audience to perhaps the scariest moment of human existence; that blurred line between life and death.  Sadly, she doesn't play fair in the cinematic arena she's created.

If you think Christina Ricci was in a tough spot when she was chained up in her shorty-shorts by Samuel Jackson in "Black Snake Moan" in 2007, wait until you see what her character is up against here.

Anna (Ricci) teaches middle school in a small Midwest town (although "After.Life" was lensed in New York).  She's got a boyfriend named Paul (Justin Long) she may or may not be about ready to marry and a nasty habit of driving off from an argument in a huff and a pelting rainstorm.

You've heard the expression "waking up dead"?  That's exactly what happens to the groggy accident victim.  When Anna stirs, she's about to be given last "wrongs" by creepy funeral director Eliot, portrayed with just the right amount of deranged sleaze by Liam Neeson.

According to the script that Wojtowicz-Vosloo wrote herself, Anna is quite deceased.  Or is she?  Maybe she's just stirring on the prep room slab because Eliot is a corpse whisperer of sorts.

I say "After-Life" doesn't play fair with its audience because the filmmaker could provide some clues as to whether her leading lady in a red slip is still among the living, but chooses not to.  If she's alive, then why isn't she cold in the chilled room with nothing on most of the time other than a slip or, uh, nothing at all.

Frankly, I'm not sure "After.Life" could have been brought to the screen by a male filmmaker.  Ricci's nudity isn't just blatant, it's flaunted to the camera more like a celebrity peep show than drama.

Ricci, a skilled actress, deserves better.  She should choose roles more wisely next time unless she's really got some bills that must be paid.

Neeson, appearing as Zeus and releasing the Kraken in "Clash of the Titans" a few doors down in the multiplex, will likely not include this failed creep-out show on his list of credits either.

Some movies demand to be seen.  This one, a blurred cross between psychological thriller and cheesy horror, makes it easy to disregard and move on down the movie house hall to something else.

Almost anything else.

Believable as a couple, so-so as action-comedy

Claire (Tina Fey) and Phil (Steve Carell) in a little trouble at the police station.
(20th Century Fox)

Date Night

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Running time: 88 minutes

MPAA rating: PG-13 (profanity, sexual and crude content throughout, violence, a drug reference)

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"Date Night"

A weird, preposterous little action-comedy frolic, "Date Night" would be totally forgettable nonsense without its two leads, Tina Fey and Steve Carell.

Movie-goers with long memories will see the connection to "The Out-of-Towners" (circa 1970 featuring Jack Lemmon and Sandy Dennis, especially) in this tale of a married couple having one wild night of danger and mishaps in New York City.

If you don't count the 1999 remake (Steve Martin and Goldie Hawn), "The Out-of-Towners" is probably the out-of-minder for most at this point.  That allows a bit of freshness to first-time feature screenwriter Josh Klausner's variation of the theme.

New Jersey couple Phil (Carell) and Claire (Fey) Foster still love each other despite the insanity of raising to rambunctious young kids, juggling two careers (he's a tax consultant; she's in real estate) and feigning interest in a neighborhood book club.

They insist on a "date night" once a week, even if it's to the same old restaurant and leads to excuses for no romantic funny business once they're back home.

The dissolving marriage of friends (Kristen Wiig and Mark Ruffalo) convinces them to spice things up a little.  So one particular date night leads to Claw, one of the snootiest seafood restaurants in Manhattan.  They have arrived without reservations, so Phil jumps at the chance to steal a no-show couple's table.

Very often, filmmakers stick little warning signs along the cinematic highway to alert the audience to approaching danger or drastic change in tone.  When Phil counters to his wife, "What can it hurt?" (or something along that order), the signpost reads "Danger ahead."

Of course Phil and Claire are mistaken for the no-show Tripplehorns.  Not by restaurant staff, mind you, but by thugs out for some serious revenge.  "Date Night" is not a film of great depth in any area, except for the solid talent pool, so I won't give away too much of the plot here.

Let's just say our little somewhat stale New Jersey couple is bored no more when the night involves gunshots aimed their way.  There's no safe refuge and their plight involves one of the more spirited car chase scenes since the 18-wheeler popped a wheelie in "The Dark Knight" on Batman's watch two years ago.

Director Shawn Levy (the "Pink Panther" remake) means well.  He has also pushed the "Night at the Museum" franchise past its creative welcome.  So it's no real surprise that he lets this adventure wobble so far out of control that, frankly, I lost interest for a while.

He's smart enough, though, to fill smaller roles with name or really interesting actors.  Case in point:  A constantly shirtless Mark Wahlberg shows up in silk genie pants as a security expert on his own date night.  Ray Liotta and William Fichtner ham it up as a mobster and the sex frolicking D.A., respectively.

And if you've ever seen deadpan comic Jimmi Simpson as Lyle the Intern on "The Late Show with David Letterman," you'll get a kick out of Simpson here as one of the trigger-happy thugs.

Carell and Fey, back-to-back NBC Thursday night stars with "The Office" and "30 Rock," don't quite click as the exciting comic team you might imagine.  They are, however, funny sort of separately together and exceptionally believable as a married couple whose passion hasn't just been placed on a back burner, but one with the faintest flicker of a pilot light still burning.

They're fun to watch in a roller coaster ride across Buffoonery Land that otherwise wouldn't be worth boarding.

Where there's a will, but not a way

(Courtesy:  IFC Films)

The Art of the Steal

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Running time: 101 minutes

No MPAA rating: (profanity)

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"The Art of the Steal"

The best documentaries aim the sunlight of public exposure into the shadows of dirty dealings and deceit.

Say what you will about Michael Moore.  But by infusing humor and, yes, himself, into serious issues such as General Motors pulling out of his hometown, shady politics and health insurance, Moore has at least primed the pump of public thinking.

"The Art of the Steal," directed by Don Argott (who also serves as cinematographer), takes a straightforward, somber approach.  The rock overturned is a huge one, though; the long and vocal struggle for control of the Barnes Foundation art collection valued somewhere between $25-$30 billion.

Hardly posturing Philadelphia as the City of Brotherly Love, "The Art of the Steal" states a strong case in the other direction.  Dr. Albert Barnes made his fortune in pharmaceutical research after the turn of the 20th century.  By the 1920s he had turned his attention and considerable zeal to art collecting.

He also, according to the long list of the documentary interviewees, got crossways with Philadelphia politicians,  When he set up The Barnes Foundation, a world-class collection of Post-Impressionist and early modern art, it was five miles outside the Philadelphia city limits in Lower Merion.

It doesn't take long to grasp the idea that Barnes, who was married but had no children, also held the notion of art collections as tourist attractions in utter contempt.  His collection, arranged by theme in wall ensembles in intimate rooms, was intended -- and for decades sternly operated -- as an educational facility rather than a museum.

After his sudden death in 1951, "The Art of the Steal" contends, politicians and wealthy Philadelphia citizens began to conspire to get their hands on Barnes' collection of Cézannes, Matisses, Picassos, Van Goghs and other valuable pieces and set them up as a for-profit tourist attraction.    

That might be expected if someone with world-class riches on canvass died without a will.  Barnes, however, sought out the best attorneys he could find to include in his will the specific wishes that his collection never be moved, sold or loaned out.

Every city has its unique disputes.  So why should movie-goers concern themselves with a battle of wills literally and figuratively that played out (and continues) out of our region?

"The Art of the Steal" is superbly structured, for one thing.  Argott ("Rock School") pulls off an impressing list of interviews, although some key figures declined comment.   From former Barnes students, to outspoken art critics and politicians (including Pennsylvania Governor Edward Rendell), the clearly identified players state their views about what one of them calls "the greatest theft of art since the second world war."

If you appreciate good documentaries and especially if you love art, "The Art of the Steal" is a must-see.

Time to get Kraken, but in 2-D

Perseus (Sam Worthington) readies to dance the monster-mash.
(Warner Bros. Pictures)

Clash of the Titans 

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Running time: 106 minutes

MPAA rating: PG-13 (extreme action violence, frightening images, brief sensuality)

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"Clash of the Titans"

Release the Kraken again?

Yeah, why not?  Just know there's no real need to spring for the extra three or four bucks for the 3-D glasses.

"Clash of the Titans," you see, was not shot in eye-popping 3-D, as was "Avatar."  Like Tim Burton's recent retooling of "Alice in Wonderland," it was shot in traditional 2-D and converted to 3-D to cash in on the swelling trend of three-dimensional viewing.

No matter which route you go, there's plenty of enormous scorpion battle action, visits by Hades himself (Ralph Fiennes) and, of course, the Kraken, ancient Greece's version of a shock-and-awe weapon of mass destruction.

Here's a phrase I never thought I'd be writing:  "Clash of the Titans" is based on an old Harry Hamlin fantasy action flick.

It's true, though.  There's no source material for the remake that fills the screen with silly dialogue, decent acting and adequate special effects except the original "Clash of the Titans" of 1981.  That one featured Hamlin as demigod Perseus and the late Sir Laurence Olivier as Zeus, Perseus' god daddy.

In the revamp, Sam Worthington, the Aussie actor who romped with the Pandorians as Jake Sully in "Avatar," takes on Perseus, while Liam Neeson holds court on Mount Olympus as Zeus.  

Perseus, like the god-rejecting seaside citizens of Argos, would rather fight the gods than join his father.  He's especially ticked at Hades, who drowned Perseus' Earthly family in retaliation when the riled-up citizens chunk  a huge statue of Zeus into the sea.

"Collateral damage," Hades tells Perseus.

I don't know about you, but that doesn't exactly sound like 200 BC dialogue to me.  Also, Worthington (perhaps with "Avatar" on his mind) doesn't appear fully invested emotionally in this performance.  Gemma Arterton injects some spirit as Io, Perseus' magical mystical guide, though.  That helps.

"Clash of the Titans" hits all the hot plot points.  Perseus and a small band of determined soldiers battle the giant scorpions, hop the ferry to Hades to take on snake-like Medusa (Natalia Vodianova) and, encounter the winged black stallion Pegasus.  Of course all of this is just a prelude to the finale, which is launched when Neeson's Zeus bellows, "Release the Kraken!"

At the screening I attended, several fanboys down front felt it was necessary to scream the line along with Neeson.  (No one told me this was a sing-along screening.)

From this aisle seat, "Clash of the Titans" draws a split vote.  It ranks high enough on the monster-mash entertainment meter to be worth a look, especially if you like creature features.

The drawback, however, is that director Louis Leterrier ("The Incredible Hulk") and visual effects supervisor Nick Davis (an Oscar nominee for "The Dark Knight") use modern advancements in technology to squeeze the cheesy wink-at-the-audience fun from the production.

That was the beauty of the original.  It was stilted and imperfect, but a hoot.

For lack of a worse description, let's call the original "Hamlin on wry with cheese."