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Rough Night (2017)

Five main characters is too many for this comedy to handle, especially since two sets are overly similar.

Ten years have passed since college, but former roommates Jess (Scarlett Johansson), Alice (Jillian Bell), Blair (Zoe Kravitz), and Frankie (Ilana Glazer) remain close friends. Desperate to recreate the gang's wild antics of years ago, group ringleader Alice ardently plans out every minute of a weekend bachelorette party in Miami after Jess becomes engaged. Much to Alice's dismay, Jess invites Pippa (Kate McKinnon, who is always watchable despite playing a crude Australian caricature), her friend from abroad, to join in the festivities - and the two immediately butt heads. Nevertheless, Alice is determined to concoct the craziest night imaginable for her comrades, resulting in late-night cocktails that transition into cocaine, clubbing, and hiring a male stripper. But boisterous partying is the least of the girls' problems when Alice accidentally kills their guest - with understandable fear prompting them to make a series of increasingly bad decisions.

Partway through the movie, Jess' groom Peter (Paul W. Downs, who also co-wrote the script) embarks upon an epic, win-her-back, save-the-day rat-race, involving a sleepless, long-distance drive, cases of Red Bull, strange German pills, and boxes of adult diapers - so that he doesn't have to stop to use the restroom. This concept becomes a key paradigm of the many failures of "Rough Night," as the gags just don't go far enough. The setup in this particular subplot makes little sense, since Peter is still shown stopping for gas and getting pulled over by the police for speeding, which wastes the time he could have spent simply using a bathroom. But more upsetting than the nonsense is the refusal to push the jokes to their limits - or, preferably, to extremes. The Red Bull only makes Peter hyper; the foreign pills have no effect beyond what the Red Bull already believably accomplishes; and the adult diapers are utterly ignored for their potentially disgusting (but, presumably, laughably gross) purpose, save for a few seconds of passerby feeling uncomfortable around an adult in a puffy white diaper (and, of course, it's never explained why he wouldn't wear pants over the diaper, which is what is expected of people who use them).

Unlike comparable movies such as "Bridesmaids," "Bachelorette," "The Hangover," or even the humorless "Mike and Dave Need Wedding Dates," this latest foray into raunchy, teen-oriented comedy (the girls here are older, but nevertheless engage in college-age rascalities) doesn't push any boundaries. It isn't fresh or bold enough to include a single moment that can come to define the movie - specifically when it comes to describing it or reminiscing about it with others. There's urination, sex, racism, brief political jabs, drinking, drugs, vibrators, and penis jokes. Someone even utters the phrase, "Swimming in dick." But none of it is notably edgy. In fact, the introduction of kinky neighbors, the rebelliousness of hiring sex workers, mischievousness in a borrowed mansion, the overly obnoxious friends, and even the central switcheroo are trite and stale. Nothing comes out of left field; nothing is jaw-dropping. And this is to say nothing of the dead-stripper routine, which has been done so many times in film that it is, by itself, a popular cliché.

Another problem is the inclusion of five starring characters, which is too large of a number to properly define and utilize for a fast-paced, 100-minute comedy. This is made annoyingly apparent when Jess and Blair feel interchangeable, and when Alice and Pippa play extroverted rivals with similar bursts of loudness and slapstick. Both of these pairs could have been combined to make a more significant, funnier individual. So when panic sets in to aid in the escalation of conflict, the chaos is heightened, but not the humor. As a result, the predicaments become severe, with pure fantasy as the only manner of resolution. But violence and gun-waving and the breakdown of friendships (eventually, true feelings surface, to the tune of angry, angsty, acerbic arguments) are difficult items for over-the-top comedy to conquer, lending to insincerity and further far-fetched solutions. Oddly enough, the very reason for the primary antagonists to behave the way they do is never even given an outcome. Apparently, it's just too unimportant to resolve, despite being the crux of their fiasco. But most unforgivable is simply the lack of laugh-out-loud moments. Story lines are rarely works of art in these kinds of comedies; the absence of singular outrageousness is much tougher to excuse.

• The Massie Twins

Dr. Syn, Alias the Scarecrow (1963)

Batman could learn a thing or two from Dr. Syn.

Batman could learn a thing or two from Dr. Syn, alias the Scarecrow. He's a ceaselessly interesting character, an antihero who strikes fear into the hearts of the men who serve him, yet one who executes only noble acts. In his mission to save his people from the tyranny of King George III, he presents himself as a borderline villain; donning a fearsome mask, gravelly voice, and cackling laugh creates Darth Vader intimidation, as well as a perfect ruse when it's revealed that he's actually a vicar for the Dymchurch parish of Romney Village.

It's the early 1700s and Dr. Christopher Syn (Patrick McGoohan), a country priest, uses the disguise of a terrifying scarecrow mask to lead his band of rebel "gentleman" to lash out at King George's treacherous naval press gangs and his ruinous taxes. The Scarecrow menacingly insists that unjust laws can be altered. The smuggler's successes cause the frustrated ruler to dispatch the Royal Army's General Pugh (Geoffrey Keen) to clean up the village, no matter what the cost. Caught up in the mix is the lenient Sir Thomas Banks, his daughter Katharine (Jill Curzon) and her lover Lt. Brackenbury (Pugh's second-in-command), and Harry (David Buck) - a soldier recently returning from deserting service.

Originally a three-part television series chopped together into one feature-length film, the movie version doesn't lose much of the appeal of the full version, nor is it painfully obvious that scenes have been edited out. Only once is there a break that feels out of place. The story, based on the historically-set series of novels by Russell Thorndike, makes sense, is sharply paced, and is nonstop fun. With a riveting theme song and plenty of action, it's no wonder this relatively obscure production is so highly sought after on home video.

The perfectly cast McGoohan uses a blend of makeup mixed into the scarecrow mask to reveal an eerily realistic moving mouth during scenes of conversing. The vizard is a striking extension of his face, even though its nothing more than a burlap sack when removed. The design is a cleverly demonic blend of horror and awe, paired intuitively with an insane, shrill cachinnation. With an anonymous identity, an expressionless visage, and a frightening presence, the Scarecrow is one of the most gratifying cinematic crosses between protagonist and antagonist, always ready with a plan that serves as both a lesson for his men and a warning for the king. And to match such an engaging hero is the merciless Pugh, a man whose evil is bested only by his superiors, generating a pleasantly devious hierarchy of villainousness. Dramatic, exciting, suspenseful, and swashbuckling (even though only one sword is brandished), "Dr. Syn, Alias the Scarecrow" is an absorbing film whose title character takes his rightful place alongside the likes of Robin Hood, Zorro, the Scarlet Pimpernel, and every other hero who valiantly fights against injustice.

– The Massie Twins

Silence (2016)

Faith is tested again and again for nearly three hours.

It begins with a cacophonous medley of environmental sounds, such as crickets chirping, before cutting to absolute silence and the title. And then to a shot of severed heads. Perhaps this is Scorsese adding in some of his signature bits of artistic representations and violence. But what follows is an excruciating exercise in repetition, as faith is tested again and again for nearly three hours, with a relentlessness better reserved for succinct motifs, not heavy-handed, protracted lessons on religious dogmata.

"There's little peace for us now." The progress of spreading Christianity in Japan has been halted by persecution and destruction. The remaining padres have - along with their followers - been brutally murdered. Some even ask to be tortured to demonstrate their faith in God, but the end result is the same.

When a letter reaches Father Valignano (Ciaran Hinds), purporting that one of the strongest of all priests, Father Ferreira (Liam Neeson), has apostatized and taken up a Japanese wife, two young padres refuse to accept such an unequivocal falsity. Resolute in clearing his name, they determine to make the hazardous journey to Japan to find out the truth about Ferreira's whereabouts. Father Garrpe (Adam Driver) and Father Rodrigues (Andrew Garfield) were directly under his tutelage, and so procure a Japanese man, Kichijiro (Yosuke Kubozuka), living in Macao, to aid in their smuggling onto the island.

By 1640, Garrpe and Rodrigues are the last two priests to witness the aftermath of the 20 years of Jesuit persecution in Japan. They make their way to the tiny village of Tomogi before moving on to Goto, where remnants of Christian believers still secretly practice their faith. They must hide during the day and hold mass in the dead of night, always in fear of being found out by the Inquisitor (Issei Ogata), an elderly, somewhat comical man charged with seeking out and eradicating the perceived threat of Christianity.

"Silence" does exhibit stellar performances, especially when it comes to exceptional courage through unshakeable beliefs (Driver being far more convincing than Garfield, in appearance and speech). There are also opportunities for contrasts and fluctuations in adherence to such religious principles, particularly with Kichijiro, who comes to represent many of the failed ideologies mistranslated or misunderstood in proliferating a system so fundamentally alien to many of the formerly Buddhist inhabitants. Doubt also creeps in, as Garrpe grows impatient and Rodrigues questions the illusory habits of a deity that unexplainably remains absent in the most anguishing of times. The two priests, along with most of the villagers, are desperate for tangible signs of faith - signs that occasionally become more valuable than faith itself.

In this perpetual search for validation and proof of God's omniscience, there are numerous sequences of profound conviction, made more striking by the increasing pitifulness of the survivors and the escalation of tortures inflicted on those who refuse to renounce the invading religion. But, correspondingly, in this indulgent, overlong epic of potent morals, where the individualization of religious implications routinely trumps the bigger picture (along the lines of the infuriating yet purposeful justifications seen in "A Man for All Seasons"), there's fleeting entertainment value to be found. It's a historical lecture more than a moving examination of theological unity or human weakness, and surely a plodding series of reiterations on shaping spirituality through pain and fear. It's not quite the "priestsploitation" nonsense that it could have been, but it's nevertheless redundant, light on engaging drama, heavy on physical and psychological trials, and sparse on monumental ideas. Particularly with its finale, "Silence" attempts to think for the audience, so that they don't have to strain to uncover subtle genuineness; religious viewers will certainly interpret various sequences to a greater (or different) degree than those without perspectives comparable to the characters on screen.

• The Massie Twins

Hands of Stone (2016)

A history lesson disguised as a boxing movie.

In 1971, Roberto Duran (Edgar Ramirez) fights at Madison Square Garden - an incredible accomplishment at a notable venue, considering Duran's humble origins. The eventual lightweight champion's story is narrated by his legendary trainer, Ray Arcel (Robert De Niro), a man who helped thousands of boxers master the sport, and who now must teach the kid strategy and discipline to become a true winner. And taking into account De Niro's own expertise with boxing movies, it's difficult not to trust everything he says about the up-and-comer. But despite star power, a respectable budget, and suitable performances, the film is an utter failure when it comes to visual style, technical execution, and storytelling.

The first problem is the narrative, which alternates between the past and the present, hoping to shed some light on the traumatic events that shaped each player. But it goes too far, wasting time on Arcel's personal drama (including estrangement from a daughter) while also focusing pointlessly on the supporting characters that interact with him. This should be Duran's story, but quite routinely, it pays unnecessary attention to Arcel, promoter Carlos Eleta (Ruben Blades), wiseguy Frankie Carbo (John Turturro), childhood pal Chaflan (Oscar Jaenada), and even the primary opponent, Sugar Ray Leonard (Usher Raymond). This is especially detrimental when Duran inevitably falls from grace; it allows the audience to lose interest in - and concern for - the antihero at the heart of it all, since there are so many other characters to follow. Even Roberto's wife Felicidad (Ana de Armas) is more sympathetic and believable (she's also featured in the only amusing scene, involving pleasurable intercourse that shifts into torturous childbirth).

All of the cutting back and forth in the timeline is dreadfully commonplace - as well as irritating - lending to the feeling that this biographical yarn is so familiar and clichéd that twisting up its chronology must surely confuse audiences into thinking that it's modern and fresh. This leads into the second problem: "Hands of Stone" quickly becomes a history lesson disguised as a boxing movie.The 1964 Panama Canal Zone rioting was a significant, potent piece of a longstanding territorial conflict, but it just doesn't fit seamlessly into a film about Duran's rise and fall in the ring. The idea of fighting his whole life becomes comically downplayed when he's shown to literally begin streetfighting as a preteen on the poverty-ridden streets of El Chorrillo, before receiving more formal training by a coach at a local gym. And then there's time for a love story, which follows the typical course of recklessness with wealth and eventually drunken abuse.

It's not enough to be an inspirational sports drama anymore - and definitely not when it comes to boxing, which has seen a tremendous quantity of theatrical efforts in the last few years alone. Just like Duran's immoral choices when it comes to psychological warfare and his motives for controversially (and famously) stopping his rematch against Leonard (depicted here to involve unscrupulous actions by a greedy agent and a mental defeat rather than overconfident slacking), "Hands of Stone" seems to have been made for all the wrong reasons. At times it's a bit of patriotic propaganda for Panama (it regularly resembles advertising or promotion instead of entertainment); at others it's an account of a detestable athlete, incapable of handling riches and celebrity - and certainly written poorly enough that he's irredeemable as a hero (a penultimate redemption bout is portrayed to be painfully trivial). Audiences are also supposed to believe (inconceivably) that this hotheaded brute used superior intelligence to distract his nemesis, rather than merely spitting out insults in the heat of the moment.

In its hastiness to chronicle the singular Panamanian star, the film also can't be bothered with acceptable editing and structuring techniques; fades, cuts, fight choreography, and transitions betray severely amateurish efforts. Sequences are included out of expectation, not creativity; training montages, the segueing of rounds, and even sex/nudity appear because the filmmakers think these moments are anticipated - or required. For viewers unaware of the 1980 "Brawl in Montreal" and the rematch that followed later in the same year, "Hands of Stone" at least presents an unexpected (though not entirely satisfying) third option to that age-old dilemma of any pugilist showdown: the protagonist can only win or lose, and both choices have been previously, repeatedly committed to celluloid.

• The Massie Twins (GoneWithTheTwins.com)

Kubo and the Two Strings (2016)

By the time the talking monkey shows up, it never once feels out of place.

Young Kubo (Art Parkinson) lives a simple life on a small island village. At night, he cares for his frail mother, who suffers from bouts of amnesia. But during the day, Kubo fervently entertains the townsfolk with music, magical origami, and fantastical tales of heroic samurai on treacherous crusades. One evening, while Kubo participates in a customary ritual to receive guidance from his departed father's spirit, he inadvertently ignores his mother's warnings not to stay out past nightfall and is accosted by two powerful witches (both voiced by Rooney Mara). His mother comes to his aid, but must sacrifice herself to allow him to escape. Awakening in a snowstorm with a strange monkey (Charlize Theron) as his only friend, Kubo must embark on a quest of discovery just as mystical and perilous as those he once told.

"Pay careful attention to everything you may see or hear." There's something striking about the choice repetitions of significant lines, and something reservedly powerful about the opening moments, featuring a mother who bares physical scars to match those of her son. And the use of a diminutive storyteller to narrate and shape his own skein of adventure and tragedy is particularly inspiring, especially as he bravely confronts the heartbreak of tending to the gaps in memory and the spells of stupor that overtake his mother's normalcy. It's all part of the groundwork for a mesmerizing odyssey.

Masterfully blending together Oriental high fantasy (or a romanticization of Japanese feudal military aristocracy), Greek mythology, and an Americanized viewpoint on action and heroism, "Kubo and the Two Strings" is seemingly anachronistic in its cultural suggestions and verbiage (though nevertheless sharply scripted) as it sets about constructing an epic expedition through an orphic land. Despite resorting to formulaic processes for its protagonists, for the great evils that target them, and for the supernatural heraldry that protects them, few moments can be directly compared to any other animated picture. The witches are perfectly diabolical - and entirely uncommon for a family-friendly venture - while a bone golem, a paper samurai, and a boat of leaves are each wholly original manifestations. The artistry on display is of the extremely imaginative, highly visual kind, creating a notable style for its world that Laika Entertainment appears to have cornered (predominantly in its use of stop-motion animation and massive armatures, previously employed for "Coraline" and "Corpse Bride," among others).

The plot tends to wander in the middle of the film as the basic components of a grand adventure weigh on the uniqueness of the individual missions, which occasionally fail to transition or relate to the overarching concepts as smoothly as the should. Similarly, the editing together of a few scenes is abrupt, as if segues was cut out for time. But it does succeed handsomely at the start. Setting a tone and introducing characters are efficiently handled tasks, but steadily incorporating the magical elements is done superbly. By the time the talking monkey shows up, it never once feels out of place. The possessed folded paper, the phantasmal music, and the winning expressions on strangely palpable faces are all natural, amusing pieces of this vivid trek of continual wonderment and excitement.

• The Massie Twins

Pete's Dragon (2016)

Somehow, this version is just as long, slow, and devoid of movie magic as before.

After a sudden accident separates young Pete (Oakes Fegley) from his parents, the boy is stranded alone in the woods - but only momentarily, as he soon encounters a giant, friendly green dragon, whom he names Elliot. Years pass without incident, until loggers begin encroaching further into the forest, threatening Pete and Elliot's simple, isolated lifestyle. When lumberjack manager Jack (Wes Bentley), his daughter Natalie (Oona Laurence), and his girlfriend Grace (Bryce Dallas Howard) discover Pete near a harvesting site, they take him back to their house for the night and promise to help Pete look for Elliot in the morning. But while the well-intentioned family attempts to reunite the boy with his magical companion, fearful townspeople - led by Jack's brother Gavin (Karl Urban) - hunt the creature for their own avaricious purposes.

It begins with a somewhat terrifying opening scene, which demonstrates both the best and the worst aspects of this redux of a much-loved '70s venture. A lost, scared, tiny child is rescued by a benevolent creature, as gentle as it is enormous. But getting the boy to that point is an aggravatingly overused gimmick of camera viewpoints and predictable tragedies that works to nullify the poignancy of a mighty guardian and a helpless orphan. This mixed approach to storytelling tactics resurfaces frequently later on, as adults become villains, humans immediately confront unknowns with fear and hatred, and an anti-deforestation message is infused into the already tiresome family-friendly morals.

It may not be difficult to best the success of the 1977 picture, but this 2016 re-imagining certainly attempts to fall into the same traps. This version is equally overlong, slow, and inundated with music; no less than three car-ride sequences showcase songs presiding over wide eyes staring out windows. It's as if the filmmakers couldn't come up with any other way to segue from one location to the next. And though the computer-animated Elliot is crisper, sharper, and far furrier (the whole dragon is covered in bristling hair to replace the purplish mop perched on the traditionally-drawn predecessor), he's also not as cute or endearing. And his actions and behaviors are virtually equivalent to a standard dog.

Perhaps this film's genericness is its biggest detractor. Every human character acts and reacts exactly as they've done before in everything from "E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial" to "King Kong." The government wants to control the situation; hunters want the fame for catching a monster; and children just want to return the beast to its home and freedoms. The plot also borrows from "Tarzan" and "The Jungle Book" (particularly with the addition of a love interest - or a romantic curiosity for the boy), while following the exhausting, commonplace paths for conflict, the stopping of villains, and the exhibition of Elliot's propriety in helping even those who would hurt him.

In all of this ordinariness, a few repeated lines hold significance, a couple of decent laughs find their way into the script, and many of Pete and Elliot's interactions prove genuinely emotional. But with the updates in special effects, environments, and the general sincerity of acting, it's more difficult than before to accept the existence of a chameleonic dragon and his tranquil touch (and his extreme intelligence and understanding of English). This, of course, also makes it more inconvenient to merely dismiss Pete's increasing proficiency with the language, despite his not communicating with anyone else for such an extended period of time. It's all meant to appeal to the very young, but it's the kind of subject matter - and production - that could inspire a decent theme park ride more than one's imagination or sense of wonderment.

• The Massie Twins

Suicide Squad (2016)

Despite the film's numerous faults, Margot Robbie is spot-on as Harley Quinn.

In a "black site" buried amidst the swamps of Louisiana, the worst of the worst of criminals and evildoers are locked away. This collection of psychopaths are so murderous and irredeemable that - of course - they must surely possess the moral righteousness to work together as a team to stop extraterrestrial terrorists and save the day. Song after song (everything from Grace to Eminem) plays out to introduce each role, though the statistics that dance on screen aren't enough to build a worthwhile backstory. The audience is later subjected to numerous flashbacks to fill in more details (all of which only makes the personas less believable and relatable), as well as that cardinal sin of editing: the flashback to a scene witnessed earlier in the movie. The group of uncontrollable killers consists of Harley Quinn (Margot Robbie), Deadshot (Will Smith), Boomerang (Jai Courtney), Diablo (Jay Hernandez), and Killer Croc (Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje), each possessing a special skill or a super power - or just martial arts training or great strength.

The editing - something along the lines of a music video - is part of what makes this whole adventure so dull. Countless scenes drop off as if excised not for time constraints but for disagreeable content; poses are struck and slow-motion is abused; and sequences build up to punchlines that fizzle out completely or escalate into a chaos of lights and sounds and CG frill. Writer/director David Ayer seems to have crafted a hard R-rated picture, only to have all of the edgier seconds ripped away, leaving unintelligible segues and a sense of goofiness to replace sincerity. "Suicide Squad" isn't nearly as serious as it needed to be, especially if viewers are meant to witness the acts of these crazies in awe; it's mostly clichéd dialogue, meager insults, and action that is too obscured by computer-animated monstrosities.

"The world changed when Superman flew across the sky," insists Amanda Waller (Viola Davis), the human ringleader of the covert assignment - and a reminder that in any superhero movie, the U.S. government is usually the first to pose a threat. Perhaps the worst part of it all is the design of the antagonists, which defies description - and certainly defies definition from the film itself. Meta-human witches and otherworldly entities just don't fit into the universe of Batman; if there was anything even remotely realistic about a caped crimefighter and his maniacal archenemy, this take on the Dark Knight turns everything into over-the-top superpowers duking it out with supernatural gods. The threat of death and the struggle to accomplish a mission hold no weight when magic can be used to do anything - and when characters can die and reappear without any explanations.

It's baffling that this movie struggled with its storyline to such a distressing degree. It should have been the simple formula of "Con Air" or "The Dirty Dozen" with Batman's villains. But it wasn't enough just to build an A-Team (or an Expendables battery) of baddies (dubbed Task Force X); the film also had to include a love story with the Joker (Jared Leto), a love story between the Enchantress (Cara Delevingne) and military man Rick Flag (Joel Kinnaman), a blackmail scheme, a motivational explosive device implanted in the unwilling draftees' necks (stolen from "Escape from New York"), and a subplot to summon the soul of the Enchantress' dead brother. There are so many unnecessary asides and utterly pointless characters that some are debuted to fulfill a single idea - such as Adam Beach's Slipknot, who doesn't even get to demonstrate his forte, and Karen Fukuhara's Katana, who arrives just as the squad is deployed, dispensing with having to appear previously in a sensible introduction. Plus, it's never explained why the government can't simply recruit dependable meta-humans like Superman; there can't be solely evil superheroes running about.

Even though the structuring of the film is obnoxious, the character designs and origins are ridiculous, and the finale is so nonsensical that it proves that everything transpiring beforehand is of zero consequence, Margot Robbie is spot-on as Harley Quinn. It's impossible to imagine a better live-action representation for the role; she looks the part, acts the part, and speaks in one-liners with that catty, cavalier, coquettish demonstration of bipolarity and derangement so authentic to the source material. She's good enough to have received her own movie. Sadly, everything else about "Suicide Squad" is so pitiful that her stunning embodiment is likely to be dragged down by the rest of the inferiority.

• The Massie Twins

The Secret Life of Pets (2016)

A very human viewpoint - told through the story of lost pets.

What happens to the pets of New York City when their owners leave their houses for the day? For most, their loyal companions engage in all manner of rambunctious misbehavior and boisterous antics, but for Katie's (Ellie Kemper) terrier Max (Louis C.K.), each day is met with patient waiting for his beloved owner's return. One fateful evening, Katie brings home a new dog, Duke (Eric Stonestreet), which turns Max's world upside down. The large, shaggy brown newcomer quickly butts heads with Max, forcing the smaller pooch to devise a way to remain the alpha. His plan backfires after a disastrous trip to the park, in which Max and Duke firstly find themselves accosted by a band of mangy alley cats, secondly nabbed by animal control, and finally forced into joining an underground brotherhood of abandoned pets - led by maniacal cottontail Snowball (Kevin Hart). As their situation grows grimmer, Max's friend Gidget (Jenny Slate) gathers together a motley gang of animals - including dachshund Buddy (Hannibal Buress), pug Mel (Bobby Moynihan), tabby cat Chloe (Lake Bell), and red-tailed hawk Tiberius (Albert Brooks) - to mount a daring rescue.

Like "101 Dalmatians," "The Secret Life of Pets" is told from the perspective of anthropomorphized animals as they embark on an incredible journey. Oddly, though, the film doesn't play by its own rules when it comes to how these creatures perceive humankind. At the start, the main gimmick is that the pets all manage to misbehave or rebel while their masters are away, yet Max is oblivious as to anything going on in his owner's life - such as the unexplainable, unfathomable reason why she would leave every day during most of the daylight hours. Later, he states: "I don't know any numbers," when asked on which floor his apartment is situated. But that doesn't stop nearly all of the other four-legged peers from fully comprehending the English language, reading signs or recognizing city borders, operating vehicles (including taxis and buses), and carving a key out of a carrot.

To counter this very human viewpoint - told through the story of lost pets - are a number of spot-on jokes about dog behaviors. With sequences demonstrating infatuations with balls, being motivated by food, chasing a laser toy, craving attention, and discovering easy distractions, all of the animals adopt classic, recognizable traits. Several laughs are even derived from anxiety urination, sniffing, scooting, territorial habits, and performing tricks. But, of course, the creatures are also fully aware of their own identities and egos, with an understanding for other species, cat vs. dog turf wars, soap opera themes, self control when it comes to carnivorism, mastery of the martial arts, and even romance. This leads to a rather sophisticated, highly unusual, tightlipped, underground assemblage of anti-human, anti-pet-status revolutionaries, like some sort of organized guerrilla warrior society that plans complex schemes for prison breaks and recruitment.

And, though that faction is governed by an unlikely yet shockingly villainous rabbit (one of the few characters modeled after a stuffed toy rather than a real animal, and one of the few roles whose cuddly design can't overcome the conspicuous voicing, here by Kevin Hart), there's still plenty of humor to combat the severity of a toothy viper; a traumatized, tattooed test-pig; an injuriously lonely bird of prey; or hushed reminiscences of past owners who may or may not care that their pet has disappeared. The film is rated PG for rude humor, but there's also something notably dour about the cast of abused sewer-dwellers and their thirst for vengeance. A sausage-heaven daydream, uncanny dexterity, and creative maneuvering through the city are highlights, presented with a level of hilarity that hopes to match the attention to action sequences (and exceptional fur/texturing effects). Though it ought to be primarily a comedy, "The Secret Life of Pets" is certainly more thrillingly adventurous than laugh-out-loud funny.

• The Massie Twins

Mike and Dave Need Wedding Dates (2016)

It's not their sex-crazed ambitions that lead to ruination, but simply their outrageous unintelligence.

Perhaps going further than any other film to pointlessly emphasize its grounding in reality, "Mike and Dave Need Wedding Dates" claims to be "based on real events." The problem here is that nothing about the end result seems to exist in any sort of reality - not a raunchy comedy realm, an exaggerated boy-meets-girl romance, or even a misfits-gaining-popularity environment, much less real life. It's almost like a cartoon in the way that slapstick occurrences turn from deadly to irrelevant in a matter of minutes (one of the characters has half her face practically torn off by an ATV tire, only to be nearly healed about a day later), or in the way people become disgusted by extreme recklessness and then immediately celebratory; serious predicaments are devised for familial conflict, only to be laughed away by some random, crude gag. And the premise is less convincing than those seen in "Mrs. Doubtfire" or "Big Momma's House," even though no one actually dresses up.

The introduction is one big college party montage, which segues into the plot with remarkable speed. Two liquor salesmen brothers (Zac Efron as Dave, and Adam Devine as Mike) have a knack for destroying every family gathering - not to be blamed on their inexcusable mindlessness or daredevilry, but on the fact that they show up stag, which somehow forces them to chase girls and cause destruction (usually of the property kind). As if somehow more believable in its modernity, their parents (Stephen Root and Stephanie Faracy) provide them with proof: a cut together, fully edited video of their detonative shenanigans and the ensuing havoc - one instance of which leads to the death of their grandfather. A quick joke later and the setup is complete: sister Jeanie's (Sugar Lyn Beard) upcoming destination wedding in Hawaii will require that the two boys bring dates.

It's unimaginable to think that the brothers' last-minute acquisition of female partners from Craigslist (they place an ad that goes viral, giving them some 6000 responses and a guest appearance on The Wendy Williams Show) would prevent them from making a catastrophe of the wedding. It's not their sex-crazed ambitions that lead to ruination, but simply their outrageous unintelligence. Like the duo from "Dumb and Dumber," Mike and Dave can't really function in normal society. So, of course, they meet their female counterparts, Alice (Anna Kendrick) and Tatiana (Aubrey Plaza), who similarly have a difficult time of blending in with other human beings (until the end, when, after instigating much upheaval, they fix everything and fall in love). Self-absorbed and oblivious to the outside world, as if permanently inebriated (surprisingly, they're not continually drunk, despite nonstop drinking), these personas move through each scene with a single purpose: to prattle nonstop about graphic sexual items.

The dialogue is clearly meant to be the selling point, with the primary foursome exchanging plenty of insults and commentary laced with cursing and sex-related riffs. But it's part of the problem. Never do their conversations sound funny or even creative; it's just a lot of innuendo, double entendres, and impromptu dancing - as if making faces and spontaneously shimmying in place can effectively take the place of solid jokes. The end product is quite a bit like "Couples Retreat" but for teens, with its tropical setting and opportunities for oneupmanship, misadventures, and revelations. But there's no consistency anywhere in the picture - whether its with physics, behaviors, comedy styles, or even nudity - which makes the the poignancy of realizations completely phony and the exposing of enormous lies entirely inconsequential. At least the outtakes are amusing.

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Finding Dory (2016)

For a film set in the ocean, it somehow even manages to throw in a car chase sequence.

One year after helping clownfish Marlin (Albert Brooks) find his missing son Nemo (Hayden Rolence), blue tang Dory (Ellen DeGeneres) embarks on her own adventure to search for her family. During a school field trip with Nemo to watch the stingray migration, Dory is cautioned about the strong "undertow" - and the word triggers memories about a similar warning from her parents, Jenny (Diane Keaton) and Charlie (Eugene Levy). Determined to remember more and locate her mother and father, Dory heads to California, with Marlin and Nemo in tow. Once there, the trio discovers the Marine Life Institute, a massive rehabilitation center and aquarium. With the aid of new friends Hank (Ed O'Neill), Fluke (Idris Elba), Rudder (Dominic West), and more, Dory begins piecing together snippets of her past to discover the fate of her parents.

Everyone's favorite short-term-memory-loss-suffering fish is back, this time starring in her own show and getting to relive and redeliver many of her hysterical routines. Although her disability here is even more severe, generating significant, almost stressful amounts of affliction, it's all part of the theme of overcoming setbacks. She may be disastrously forgetful, but a major part of her voyage is to figure out ways to transform her misfortunes into boons.

And in doing so, her tale becomes a very human, very emotional one of enlightenment, identifying inner strengths, never giving up, and establishing new friendships with indispensable allies. It also leads to one of Pixar's most mesmerizingly poignant sequences, rivaling even the opening scene from "Up," which is now renowned for its exceptional beauty and stunning heartbreak. There's an emotional wallop here that goes beyond any single moment in "Finding Nemo," which gives this new picture an undeniable edge and consequence rarely seen in sequels (or animated features, or cinema in general).

But Pixar sequels are no ordinary follow-ups. Even though many returning bit parts make an appearance (including a bucktoothed, bug-eyed, nerdy classmate fish, the surfer-guy turtle, and the singing manta ray teacher); the plot retreads familiar terrain to repeat the basic concept of an epic, cross-sea expedition; or a menacing squid replaces an out-of-control shark, a detrimental, loss-of-creativity sense of repetition never seeps into the proceedings. Instead, the dialogue gets cleverer, the quirky jokes about specific species become more creatively bizarre, and the character designs grow ever more caricaturized and comical. Hank the octopus is one of the most impressive CG creations so far in the industry, utilizing photorealistic textures, spot-on movements, and a camouflage gimmick that is so sensational, the filmmakers chose to showcase it again in the closing credits.

Where the first film was a harrowing odyssey across the vast unknown, this continuation shifts into a monumental mystery, retaining the themes of friendship, trust, negative reinforcement, and confidence, while also adding the notion of manipulating adversity into resolve. In its mix of superior visuals, a recognizable and endearing voice cast, laugh-out-loud gags, and a level of pathos not witnessed since "Toy Story 3," "Finding Dory" becomes a technical and artistic masterpiece. For a film set in the ocean, it somehow even manages to throw in a car chase sequence.

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Now You See Me 2 (2016)

The plot holes are so large that the entirety of the Thames could be poured into them.

After successfully executing their heist of millions from corrupt businessman Arthur Tressler (Michael Caine), the "Four Horsemen" magicians go into hiding to evade capture. But laying low for a year doesn't sit well with headstrong Daniel Atlas (Jesse Eisenberg), who ignores leader Dylan Rhodes' (Mark Ruffalo) assertions to remain patient. Instead, he secretly contacts the Eye, the mythical organization that cryptically controls the band of thieves.

Shortly thereafter, Rhodes gathers the Horsemen together for their next assignment and to introduce them to new recruit Lula May (Lizzy Kaplan). When their plot to expose unethical communications company Octa goes awry, resulting in the Horsemen's identities being revealed to the world, they become ensnared in a trap devised by ruthless tech genius Walter Mabry (Daniel Radcliffe). Forced to steal a computer chip from Mabry's longtime rival, Atlas, May, Merritt McKinney (Woody Harrelson), and Jack Wilder (Dave Franco) must outwit both hunter and prey, all while staying one step ahead of the FBI agent (Sanaa Lathan) hot on their trail and the scheming magic-debunker, Thaddeus Bradley (Morgan Freeman), hellbent on revenge.

Revisiting the perilous underworld of magicians sounds like an antonymous event - and it most certainly is. Still teetering on the ludicrous brink of a 007 adventure filled with the sarcastic jokers of "Ocean's Eleven," this crew of heisters more closely resembles special forces soldiers or secretive government agents than amateur stage magicians, even if they call themselves "Elite Magic Society" members. With a plot of "Mission: Impossible"-styled infiltration and theft, there's really no room for magicians at all. And, once again, it seems that all aspiring illusionists want to be like Robin Hood. What ever happened to doing magic tricks for the sake of entertainment? A vengeful, villainous discreditor takes the place of a James Bond supervillain, while the FBI - and any other form of law enforcement - is so meaningless that it's easy to forget their purpose every quarter-hour when they briefly rear their heads. At the same time, there isn't enough written into the story to require one-to-two Horsemen, let alone the four-to-five that actually frequent the picture, or the bevy of whiny evildoers who attempt to manipulate the protagonists like puppets. And this doesn't even take into account the actual culprit behind the figurehead villain, or the ringleader prestidigitator behind all the human pawns ushered about on a global chessboard - or Woody Harrelson's dual role as a twin, which has to be one of the most unnecessary gimmicks ever employed.

Once again, the biggest problem with this film is the depiction of magic. Every trick is not simple sleight-of-hand or misdirection, but rather outrageously over-complicated feats of absurdity - so extreme that only computer-generated imagery can be used to represent them. Since movie-making itself is something of a deception, this dependence on utterly unbelievable cheats of matter and energy - which could have been possible through editing techniques alone - only dulls the sense of wonderment. None of the illusions performed are even remotely engaging, especially considering that after each one is demonstrated, a flashback has to rudely interrupt the action to explain how it was orchestrated. Certainly, none of it is inspirational. Like "The Game" (1997), a constant dubiousness presides over every endeavor, introducing perpetual doubt as to the truthfulness of the storytelling. By the end, viewers will wish it was all just a big dream sequence.

If it weren't bad enough that all of the phantasms were designed specifically to make the audience feel stupid, the characters appear to be scripted to be deliberately annoying, as if to provoke further agitation. Everyone is overly confident - or they sit in the background, silently being smarter than everyone else. Repartee and flirtation hope to distract the audience from the unoriginality of the various missions, each involving time, training, and resources that couldn't possibly be available.

And, most distressing of all, are the plot holes (or elements of laziness), which are so large and numerous that the entirety of the Thames could be poured into them. Language barriers and deadly weapons never present problems; the Horsemen are acknowledged and welcomed in every country as if universal celebrities, despite the fact that they're wanted criminals who have been in hiding for a year (even in specialized product launch events they're applauded as if superheroes crashing a party); geographical inconsistencies and the passing of time are completely ignored; the planning and coordination of various ruses are conducted mostly off-screen, as if in an alternate universe where nothing can interfere with them; hypnotization is conjured up continuously with total effectiveness, as if Jedi Masters were commanding the weak-minded; and characters survive daring ordeals that would normally require diving equipment or Olympic training or animal wranglers or, at the very least, plenty of implanted assistants ready to feign shock or surprise (at one point, a random street-crowd onlooker has a pigeon fly out of his pants). For a movie all about precise plotting and skillful swindles, it sure is sloppy.

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Alice Through the Looking Glass (2016)

For a film so greatly invested in the concept of time, it ends up being such a staggering waste of it.

After spending a year sailing around the world, Alice Kingsleigh (Mia Wasikowska) returns home to London to find that her mother (Lindsay Duncan) has sold off their shares in the trading company that had been backing her journeys - to scorned suitor Hamish (Leo Bill). Facing the end of her career as a sea captain, Alice escapes her distressing surroundings by jumping through a magical mirror that transports her to Underland. Once there, she discovers that her good friend Hatter Tarrant Hightopp (Johnny Depp) has grown deathly ill at the thought of never seeing his family again. Determined to help, Alice discovers she must travel back into the past using Time's (Sacha Baron Cohen) "chronosphere" to undo the events that would lead to the demise of Hightopp's troupe. Disregarding the clock-keeper's warnings, Alice steals the device, unwittingly setting into motion a chain of events that will threaten the very existence of her beloved alternate world and all of its inhabitants.

The film starts off like a "Pirates of the Caribbean" yarn, sporting a young skipper engaging in high seas battles, spouting orders to disapproving minions, and succeeding in impossible feats of seafaring luck. Impossible for anyone unfamiliar with the realm of Underland, that is. For Alice, anything is possible; for the audience, this belief in spontaneous, inexplicable happenings becomes extremely annoying, very quickly. Every predicament is hopelessly insincere, since solutions can be invented on a whim. No real peril - and therefore no sense of genuine adventure - can exist in a world where nothing is clearly defined.

It seems contradictory to criticize a picture based on the works of Lewis Carroll for being too unrealistic. More specifically, it's not as much an issue of realism as it is reasoning (or explanation), which again might sound contrary to the obviously absurdist concepts that populate Carroll's visions. But when everything is nonsensical, the plot and the characters generate little purpose or drive. Motives and emotions become pointless and hollow. It's a bit like watching a program for toddlers; it's full of colors and sounds and commotion, but it serves merely as a distraction, instead of as thought-provoking entertainment. To anyone not enthralled by the manifestation of key elements from the original stories, this lack of engagement is insulting to the intelligence.

As for the look, even though Tim Burton is no longer directing, the sets and environments are still dark and morbid. With its classic sentiment of an escape from oppression or conflict - or simply retreating into the imagination - the film seems to scrape the edges of significantly heavier material, like "Sucker Punch" or "Pan's Labyrinth" or, visually, "Crimson Peak." But Depp always seems to pop up at random moments to force the mood back into utter lunacy, with his exaggerated, cartoonish movements, grotesquely thick and vivid makeup (which ought to be added to Wasikowska's incredibly pale features), and lisping deliveries. Cohen, too, adopts a strong accent, similar to that of Christoph Waltz, but for no apparent reason. With all the attention to caricaturing these roles, they might as well have been completely computer generated personas.

While some of the dialogue retains a touch of Carroll's rhyming whimsy, most of it is negligible. The jokes aren't funny and the various interactions are either too generic to be poignant or too asinine to be significant ("That cannot be," insists Alice, to which Mirana the White Queen replies, "Unless it could"). Quite ironically, for a film so greatly invested in the concept of time and its value, "Alice Through the Looking Glass" ends up being such a staggering waste of it.

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Neighbors 2: Sorority Rising (2016)

It's more like torture porn than comedy.

Not long after resolving their issues with the Delta Psi Beta fraternity and its devious leader Teddy (Zac Efron), Mac (Seth Rogen) and Kelly Radner (Rose Byrne) agree to move to a bigger house in anticipation of their new baby girl. But after they enter into a thirty-day escrow on the sale of their old house, the Kappa Nu sorority takes up residence next door. Afraid that the rowdy group will scare off their buyers, the couple initially tries to reason with leaders Shelby (Chloe Grace Moretz), Beth (Kiersey Clemons), and Nora (Beanie Feldstein), before soon realizing that their problems explicitly echo the previous conflict. As Mac and Kelly attempt to get the girls evicted, and Kappa Nu fights back to stay put, both sides engage in a free-for-all of lying, cheating, and stealing that quickly forces everyone involved to decide just how far they're willing to go to win.

It all begins with awkward intercourse and queasy stomachs, wielding the exact same bodily-fluid humor found in the previous picture. It's even more extreme, however, as sex toys, marijuana paraphernalia, colorful cursing, and the exclamation "black cock!" is paraded about in front of the Radner's toddler. Since "Neighbors 2: Sorority Rising" is aiming for laughs through shock value alone, it's not surprising that nearly every scene is cringe-inducing, like a moment from a torture-porn horror movie. This feature dares audiences not to look away from the repulsiveness on screen, hoping that they'll find the gross-out gags to be enough of a bombshell to distract from the utter lack of genuine humor.

And if the graphic male nudity, tampon prank, and bedbug caper aren't enough to provoke people into covering their eyes in fear, the depiction of friendless, uncool college girls might just do the trick. Essentially blending preteen, juvenile, sleepover party frolicking (showcasing the sincerity of a Barbie movie) with the hard R-rating of a raunchy adult comedy, this movie never really knows in what age group its target audience ought to reside. With a major sexism motif circulating around all the race jokes (the role reversal of prejudicial black cops violently apprehending white crooks before taking it easy on black drug dealers is the funniest routine in the entire project), the religion jabs, and the Holocaust riffs, it's difficult to peg whether or not the movie is even aware of the messages being delivered. Young versus old and the naive versus the experienced seem like worthwhile contrasts, but the script never focuses on one idea long enough to land a memorable line. It does, however, repeat the same slapstick gimmicks over and over again, completely uninterested in their effectiveness the first time around.

It may have been a novel idea to switch from a fraternity to a sorority for this sequel, enabling the filmmakers to repeat nearly everything witnessed in the original but from a slightly different perspective; but the basic concept is never fleshed out to the point that it develops into a significant plot. In fact, the funniest moments are the unrelated, extraneous conversations that fill up space between physical actions. Just like the previous endeavor, returning director Nicholas Stoller is more concerned with making viewers momentarily uncomfortable than in crafting a movie that can be remembered beyond the start of the closing credits.

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High-Rise (2015)

"Like all poor people, she is obsessed with money."

Feeling a need for a new start, physiologist Dr. Robert Laing (Tom Hiddleston) moves into the 25th floor of a modern high-rise building. Shortly after his arrival, he's introduced to several residents, including coquettish upstairs neighbor Charlotte Melville (Sienna Miller), knavish lower level denizen Richard Wilder (Luke Evans), and 40th floor penthouse occupant and architect of the tower, Anthony Royal (Jeremy Irons). When intermittent power failures and other petty annoyances begin plaguing the building, the inhabitants' behavior becomes more erratic, resulting in wild parties and random bouts of violence. What begins as a strata struggle marked by displays of defiance quickly devolves into a chaotic orgy of violence, where reason and civility succumb to primal urges of destructive nihilism.

Cheerful classical music and blood-soaked imagery combine for a most unusual commencement. Hitchcockian violins further add to the introduction of the building and Laing's individual, clinical apartment, wherein notes of barbarism and cruelty foreshadow the degradation to come. But can director Ben Wheatley and writer Amy Jump (working from the novel by J.G. Ballard) manage to separate the abstract artistry from the allegorical storytelling enough to impart their vision of a futuristic microcosm of capitalism and class warfare?

Unfortunately, the answer is an unequivocal no. The hints at devolution, loss of identity, and self-destruction early on are something of a spoiler for the otherwise tame, domestic dramas unfolding amongst unhappy people struggling to come to terms with inattentive spouses and faltering establishment amenities. The flashes of dream sequences or hallucinatory slow-motion visuals should have been enough to ease audiences into the grotesqueries soon to come, but the pacing is unbearably slow (overstuffed with nonrepresentational details) and the meanings so cryptic that it seems like hours before a point is made. And, despite surely paralleling various elements of societal evils and hierarchical ruinations, "High-Rise" never actually gets to its point with the clarity necessary to connect with its audiences. If the filmmakers were hoping to confuse, they've wholly achieved it.

"Like all poor people, she is obsessed with money," exclaims the affluent woman at the top, who hasn't been able to pay her bills. Metaphorical moments and perversely poetic dialogue are the high points for this abstruse (or obtuse) experiment in mental deterioration and nearly unintelligible interpretations of financial rifts. The disparity between the floors isn't great enough (save for the penthouse, with its white stallion and impossible garden), the analogies aren't obvious enough, and the motivations are shrouded in obscurity. When Laing's guilt over a false diagnosis begins to weigh on his conscience, it's difficult to follow precisely. And the commentary on voyeurism (most prominent through documentarian Wilder) never really reaches its stinging revelations. At its best, "High-Rise" channels the grand humor of "Delicatessen" or the irony of "Man Bites Dog." But at its worst, it's reminiscent of John Cheever's hopelessly perplexing "The Swimmer" or the uncomfortable violence of "Dredd" (also set in a destabilizing tower). Here, reality - and purpose - are frustratingly elusive concepts.

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Domácí péce (2015)

An emotional and entirely human picture.

The opening shot of a deer grazing in a field is unintentionally symbolic; in an accidental, contrarily negative way, it foreshadows the quietness of the plot and the slowness of the pacing. It isn't just that the subject matter clings to the excruciating blandness and despondency of small town minutia, it's that it chooses such a tiny slice of life to investigate - one more embroiled in morose realism than cinematic verve. Nevertheless, the basis in stark reality, regardless of how depressing, possesses a certain gravity - perhaps quite powerful to anyone who can relate to the scenarios and endure the details of slight, commonplace relationships and discourse.

Voicing her concern over her rebellious daughter's ovaries and proneness to bladder infections - right in front of the young woman's boyfriend - home care nurse Vlasta (Alena Mihulova) seems perpetually distracted with other people's happiness. When she's not worrying over her own family, she's dealing with the eternal stubbornness of her disabled clients, who either ignore her advice or refuse to acknowledge why she's even present in their homes. Mr. Hlavica, for example, physically fights with her when she tries to retrieve him from a drunken slumber in a bathtub - resulting in the poor woman getting locked in the bathroom to wait for the police.

To make matters worse, Vlasta spends more money on driving and gas than she recoups with her patients, forcing her to occasionally walk home in downpours. On one day in particular, after scoffing at the notion of the city's $2 million project to build a road underpass for frogs, she finds that she's missed the last bus back to her house. Trudging through the dark and the rain, she finally catches a ride on a motorcycle, only to end up in the hospital when a stray amphibian jumps out in front of the bike. After dislodging a piece of the taillight from her stomach, the doctor informs Vlasta that she has metastases, with pancreatic cancer being the prime culprit. And the prognosis is a mere 5-7 months to live.

Many of the complementary interactions evoke pity or sadness, which helps to heighten the tragedy of Vlasta's situation. Curiously, though her financial position is discussed more than once, it doesn't actually play a significant part in her predicament. Instead, overcoming her own mental defeat - and certainly the medical professionals who have abandoned hope - becomes the greatest challenge. Some scenes are almost comical in their extreme woefulness, but there's an undeniable heart lurking under the melodramatic misfortunes.

Following a plan of pragmatic details and imagery, though riddled with nudges toward thought-provoking introspections, the characters examine spirituality, holistic medicine, homemade remedies, a rekindling of romance, preoccupations, thoughts of betrayal/blame, and numerous other forms of denial to fight the looming calamity. Mihulova's acting is the winner here, as she authentically embodies the role of a woman with a terminal illness, never once failing to appear genuine in her determination, compassion, anger, and finally, embracement of mortality. She's about as real as it gets, rotating through the stages of coping and combating with plenty of believable emotions. If it weren't for the fact that "Home Care" unfolds like a play, or a work for a medium other than film, it would be a much more potent piece. Though it's small and calm and just a bit too long for its restrained, somber content, it's very touching and entirely human. And the ending is a monumentally artistic achievement - and strikingly brave for its satisfying ambiguity.

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Hardcore Henry (2015)

A nonstop action movie intent on redefining the use of the adjective "nonstop" to describe action movies.

"Hardcore Henry" may function fundamentally on an outright gimmick, but, as with most gimmicks, the first time around it's still a novelty. Therefore, it exudes a freshness and a level of amusement that other projects have not yet had the opportunity to destroy by dragging the technique into exhaustion. Fortunately, the filmmakers here (led by writer/director Ilya Naishuller) were also wise enough to include far more material and creativity than could have been expected from the very first movie shot entirely in the first-person perspective.

Henry awakens in a robotics workshop with no memory of who he is or how he got there. A young scientist appears and identifies herself as Estelle (Haley Bennett), explaining that she is Henry's wife. After outfitting the groggy man with a cybernetic hand and foot, Estelle informs Henry that she loves him and will assist in his recovery. When the lab is attacked by maniacal competitor Akan (Danila Kozlovsky), Henry and Estelle narrowly escape, only to be apprehended shortly after by an arsenal of the madman's mercenaries. Henry manages to flee with the aid of a churlish hooligan calling himself "Uncle Jimmy" (Sharlto Copley), paving the way for the two to devise a plot to recharge Henry's faltering cyborg implants and rescue Estelle from Akan's diabolical clutches.

From the opening credits sequence, featuring a slow-motion brick to the head, knife to the throat, and bullet to the eye (a 21st century take, perhaps, on the eyeball-slicing affront of "Un chien andalou"), it's clear that "Hardcore Henry" will honor its title ardently. What is not as apparent is the effect of the camera-work, which tries to ease the audience into the dizzying frenzy of the unique viewpoint soon to be experienced. Once it takes hold, however, the look crisscrosses from nauseating to disorienting to downright confusing - and altogether singular.

There are essentially no slow points; this is a nonstop action movie intent on redefining the use of the adjective "nonstop" to describe action movies. But instead of embracing the breakneck pacing and the relentless violence alone, the film recognizes another powerful additive: humor. Transcending the mere innovation of the main photographing method, "Hardcore Henry" generates plenty of laugh-out-loud moments. Many are due to the extremeness of the bloodshed, but a large amount can be attributed to Copley, who provides comic relief in his dialogue as well as in his character's actions, which are far more inspired than anyone might have guessed. There's a twisted genius at work in the screenplay, shaping the boilerplate elements of shoot-'em-up video games into wholly cinematic hilariousness.

It's impossible not to make a comparison to first-person stealth/shooter video games and the story lines and components that frequent them - especially with the sexy scientist in a short skirt and lab coat, the heavy sci-fi themes that aren't usually found anywhere but in "Metal Gear Solid"-type actioners, the behind-the-scenes agent always ready to govern (through voice-over) the next mission, the shift in music to initiate a fight sequence, or the continual upgrading of weapons to fend off waves of enemy troops. The irony here is that, while video games attempt more and more to emulate movies (through music, scripts, voice actors, opening and closing credits, graphics, and general realism, to name a few), this movie can't help but look and feel like someone else is playing a video game while viewers sit back and watch. But the entertainment level is extraordinarily high, injecting a bit of everything from both the video game world and the action movie world, with outrageous stunts (and/or computer graphics, considering the approximately eight stunt people credited for "Hardcore Henry," versus the 150 for "Mad Max: Fury Road," to which a likening can be drawn based on unexpected inventiveness) and camera-work, for which the choreography and logistics are utterly mind-boggling. "Hardcore Henry" possesses a distinct, alternately facetious and clever attitude (reminiscent at times of the "Crank" movies) that hasn't been seen in quite a while. The shame is that, if it's successful at the box office, the first-person device might be repeated until the brilliance of this initial use is all but forgotten.

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Demolition (2015)

"Demolition" feels like it was written with Gyllenhaal in mind.

After his wife Julia (Heather Lind) is killed in a car accident, Davis C. Mitchell (Jake Gyllenhaal) decides to reexamine his life. But rather than ruminating on the happy times in his marriage and grieving his loss as his family expects, he fixates on minor inconveniences scattered throughout his daily existence. This leads him to start volunteering in demolition work and writing letters to Karen Moreno (Naomi Watts), a vending machine customer service representative who shares some unlikely quirks with the widower. As their friendship develops, and his connection with his boss and father-in-law Phil Eastwood (Chris Cooper) sours, Davis attempts to dissect his career, his emotions, and his relationships to find out what is truly important.

A mere 10 minutes after his wife is pronounced dead, Davis' bagged snack refuses to drop from the coin-operated dispenser. This is the kind of dark, sardonic humor at work, which permeates the highly visual stages of grief experienced by the protagonist. As the picture moves quickly through the immediate aftermath, it's apparent that a commentary on routines, regrets, and reflections will play a prominent part. Although the writing is exceptional, and the exploration of adjusting to tragedy (especially with a classically damaged psyche) is poignant, there's something missing from Gyllenhaal's character - it's not quite enough of a stretch for the actor, who has churned out extremely distinguishable performances of late.

While his last few films forced Gyllenhaal to dispense with familiarity or a comfort zone, "Demolition" seems like it was written with him in mind, requiring little more than a slightly normalized version of his sensationally twisted Louis Bloom from "Nightcrawler." The initial emotionlessness betrays a quirky weirdness that isn't as much of a coping mechanism as it is a contrived personality for the sake of cinematic humor (a "Tootsie"-esque moment in a crowded New York street as Mitchell strolls toward the camera is a prime example, though it's also a grandly amusing shot). But the many philosophical observations contain a haunting profoundness, rife with verbally artistic contemplations and abundant metaphors as Mitchell goes about "repairing the human heart," as his father-in-law suggests. As his social and professional life spirals downward, the audience is treated to the uplifting notion that this deconstruction is actually more along the lines of finding clarity or purpose. Watts adds a comparably troubled soul to complicate Davis' viewpoint on loss, though her likemindedness is also a touch too convenient when the plot regularly arrives at formulaic revelations.

The literal demolition of a house provides symbolism far more obvious than the genuinely heartfelt moments toward the conclusion, which are conversely so subdued that many of the details fail to hit hard enough or exude their significance. But the poetic dialogue, the dreamlike flashbacks, and the unfocused randomness (director Jean-Marc Vallee seems to be aiming for a modernized Godard) are always compelling, even when the meandering carries on longer than it should. In finding buried importance in little actions, or displaying pronounced battles with bereavement, or simply surveying the complexities of human interactions, "Demolition" is a worthwhile, thought-provoking piece that, though it may tidy up pessimistic realism, knows when to offer satisfaction to complement affliction.

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The Boss (2016)

The comic timing is disastrously unpolished.

After consistently being rejected by potential adoptive families during her childhood at the Blessed Sisters of Merry orphanage, Michelle Darnell (Melissa McCarthy) grows up to become a highly successful, but hardened and cynical, businesswoman. Placing profits above notions of friends and family, Darnell betrays her mentor Ida (Kathy Bates), her lover Renault (Peter Dinklage), and her loyal assistant Claire (Kristen Bell). When the industry titan is arrested for insider trading, her company is usurped by Renault and all of her possessions are sold off, leaving her destitute when she's released from prison four months later. Arriving on Claire's doorstep, Michelle convinces her former employee to let her stay until she's able to bounce back. With Claire and her daughter Rachel's (Ella Anderson) help, Michelle must attempt to reclaim her empire – and overcome her own contentious nature.

Starting off as a celebrity motivational speaker, complete with rap stars, dancers, and pyrotechnics, Michelle is anything but the typical Wall Street hotshot. So it's particularly baffling that the movie would retain the name "The Boss," a moniker never actually applied to McCarthy's character in any manner fittingly representative of the filthy-rich, mobster-type persona depicted on the theatrical poster art. Whatever the title was intended to mean, it gets utterly lost amidst a series of incoherent, spontaneous modifications for the leading role, which shifts around so much it's as if she's depicting multiple personalities. When the story diverges into a Girl Scouts cookie/brownie-selling rivalry and showdown, Michelle's former multimillions CEO status becomes virtually blotted out.

The very first verbal gag, which is a derivation of the "Who's on First" routine first popularized by Abbott and Costello, descends into blathering babble, as if half a joke was written and then dropped. This gives way to a series of conversations that all fall comparably flat - perhaps setting some sort of record for the most number of completely unfunny blabbers spouted out in a row, gruelingly unable to land a genuine punchline. The exchanges are painfully spewed, as if the actors were laboring through their dialogue while fending off boos from a live improv crowd. Even the slapstick, which generally capitalizes on the easy target of McCarthy's weight, struggles to find its footing.

"You've got no capital and nobody likes you!" The plot comes together discordantly, with flashbacks and transitions so ineffective they appear as if pilfered from different films. The basic ideas are hastily and sloppily sewn together from a smattering of varying works - undoubtedly pulling from rejected subplots from other Ben Falcone/Melissa McCarthy scripts. Is Darnell trying to regain her business acumen? Is she trying to display an emotional or maternal side? Is she trying to save her employee-turned-partner from the monotony of life as a single mom in a dead-end job? Is she trying to redeem herself from a career of backstabbing and deceit? Is she trying to find a suitable man for Claire?

As each wholly incompatible predicament arises, the calculations and the resolutions either carry on too long or cut off too soon. The comic timing is disastrously unpolished. And the villain is another strong example of how incautiously the storyline is concocted - he's a bitter ex-lover, a rival businessperson, an extreme eccentric, and a samurai enthusiast all rolled into one, proving to be more of a cartoon character than a believable human being. When deadly conflict (something that should have never appeared in this kind of project) transforms into reconciliation with a couple of quick jokes, it's clear that nothing about "The Boss" was well thought out or approached with common sensibility (especially when the money to buy bags, stickers, ribbons, berets, and all the brownie ingredients is totally ignored). But, more unforgivable than the lack of substance, is the fact that so many of Michelle's misadventures are just plain humorless.

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Allegiant (2016)

Once the gang of survivors crosses the desert, they essentially enter into another franchise altogether.

History repeats itself. It's not a new idea, and it's certainly not an original thought for a cinematic, dystopian future. But this franchise insists upon reusing it, not just in the arc of the multi-part story but also within each individual chapter. Here, the rise and fall of one oppressive dictator is simply replaced by another, almost as if the band of rebellious heroes must continue to participate in a coup d'etat routine, not unlike the repetitious adventures of "The Hunger Games' star Katniss. History - and teen science-fiction - clearly opt for do-overs at every turn.

Previously, the city of Chicago stood as the last remaining civilization after an apocalyptic nuclear war. But its very existence has been revealed to be nothing more than a master plan of peace for its test subjects, implanted in the rigid social structuring of physical and psychological factions, in an attempt to keep humanity alive. It's a massive experiment, and its success is dependent on keeping people in the dark.

But divergent insurgent Tris (Shailene Woodley) and her boyfriend Four (Theo James) don't intend to sit around as usurper Evelyn (Naomi Watts) and rival Johanna (Octavia Spencer) scrap over the spoils of a divided society. Instead, they're determined to discover what lies outside the great wall constructed around Chicago, supposedly erected to protect them from the irradiated wastelands beyond. Could it be an anarchic civilization of warring cannibals? Or a welcome party of technologically advanced alien beings?

The way this film works, it could be anything. Once the gang of survivors crosses the desert, they essentially enter into another franchise altogether. Refusing to play by any of the rules it sets up, "Allegiant" invents new things spontaneously, each more incongruous than the last. If it's not blatantly stealing from properties like "Mad Max: Fury Road," it's reworking concepts seen in numerous other postapocalyptic teen thrillers. It certainly doesn't help that this series' release dates are alternated with other ongoing young adult book adaptations - hoping to capitalize on the trend but also confusing viewers in the process. And splitting this last novel into two parts, as is the expected thing to do of late, further endorses hackneyed derivations and the possibility of duplicating its own story lines. In many ways, it's as if novelist Veronica Roth enjoyed such success with her first book that she felt forced into writing further tales, even if the inspiration and substance were woefully absent.

With armed conflict comes the need for tense escapes and confrontations; action and adventure are right around every corner. But every scene seems to highlight the carelessness, the recklessness, and the stupidity of trained soldiers letting their guard down to fall for the same tricks over and over again. The film builds little mysteries and oodles of unanswered questions to the point of aggravation rather than suspense, specifically as it engages in the echoing of betrayals, motives, and viewpoints. The inconsistencies in all of this are staggering, from the injuries that come and go, to the technology that can be powerful or ineffective in the exact methods necessary to advance protagonist movements, to the trustingness of characters who would never exhibit such good faith. But perhaps the most unforgivable element is the dialogue, which grows worse with each passing line. Some of the conversations are so ridiculous (and anachronistic, regardless of whatever universe or time period this is supposed to take place) that they're laugh-out-loud funny - entirely unintentionally. "Gadzooks!"

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10 Cloverfield Lane (2016)

"I'm sorry, but no one is looking for you."

After a bitter fight with her fiancé, Michelle (Mary Elizabeth Winstead) packs a bag and rushes off in her car. When her vehicle is suddenly hit and veers off the road, she loses consciousness only to awake a short time later chained to a wall in a desolate concrete room. Her captor introduces himself as Howard (John Goodman) and informs the petrified young girl that he has not kidnapped her, but actually saved her life from a devastating attack by foreign forces that has made the outside world no longer habitable. As Michelle is slowly allowed to explore the fallout bunker that is now her home, she begins to suspect that Howard has not been truthful about their situation or his intentions.

The music really sets the tone for this peculiar little thriller. Seemingly innocuous events are immediately ominous when Bear McCreary's sensationally skin-crawling notes begin plucking at nerves. And it leads to a forceful, shocking title sequence, unmasking the "Cloverfield" name as well as a subtle reference to "10 Rillington Place," an obscure British crime drama based on an actual serial killer.

But therein lies the problem with "10 Cloverfield Lane." It's quite obviously two separate pictures: an unnerving cat-and-mouse game in a claustrophobic, perpetually suspicious, downright scary environment - and producer J.J. Abrams' independent influence on what was clearly a straightforward (but not without twisty moments of surprise), reality-based mystery. Had the two concepts been integrated proportionally, or perhaps if the traumatic revelations appeared in a different order, the fusion of incompatible elements could have been acceptable - or even uncommonly creative. Instead, audiences will be left with a feeling of incongruous projects getting warped together, solely to capitalize on the name recognition of the title to boost the viewership of what was, all by itself, a completely competent thriller.

"I'm sorry, but no one is looking for you." It may look like a simple premise, but this three-person show is a nicely deceitful, wily character study and chilling adventure. Goodman is perfectly creepy as the abductor, who induces unwavering apprehension while harboring just a hint of neighborly concern (or perverse familial preservation). When his deceptively good intentions lean toward something along the lines of Stockholm syndrome-grooming, Winstead (and John Gallagher Jr. in a convincing turn) takes the spotlight as a proactive fighter resourcefully scrounging for clues or defense. Peppered with small bouts of comedy to calm audiences just long enough to rattle them with the next affright, the pacing is keen and the abundance of unknowns keeps things entertainingly agitating. The cinematography is also well used to cheat the visibility of dangers just offscreen. But by the end, despite successfully jangling nerves and generating roller-coaster horrors, "10 Cloverfield Lane" can't escape the sense that an enormously unrelated story has been repurposed for the sake of marketability.

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London Has Fallen (2016)

The amplification in quality and amusement is so significant, it makes this product appear unusually superior to its predecessor.

Before he can submit his resignation from the Presidential Protection Division, Secret Serviceman Mike Banning (Gerard Butler) is called back into action to escort President Benjamin Asher (Aaron Eckhart) to London, after the British Prime Minister passes away. The funeral brings the leaders of dozens of countries together in one place, allowing international arms dealer Aamir Barkawi (Alon Aboutboul) to initiate a scheme of mass terror. Destroying and occupying key landmarks across the British capital, Kamran Barkawi (Waleed Zuaiter) carries out his father's orders to execute the gathered officials. With hundreds of enemy militants closing in around them, Banning and Asher must evade their pursuers and coordinate with Vice President Alan Trumbull (Morgan Freeman) in the U.S. to devise a plan to defeat the terrorists.

It's nearly impossible for a sequel to outdo the original, primarily because the very nature of a follow-up is not to improve upon faults, but rather to capitalize on past successes. "London Has Fallen" doesn't subscribe to that theory, however, as it has unexpectedly located and addressed every shortcoming presented in 2013's "Olympus Has Fallen." It's as if the filmmakers picked up on all the critiques and areas that underwhelmed, and targeted those points specifically for an overhaul in this proceeding chapter. The result is not a perfect picture - but the amplification in quality and amusement is so significant, it makes this product appear unusually superior to its predecessor.

Korean unification fighters have been replaced by Pakistan-based extremists, and the arena for warfare is now London instead of the White House. But, ironically, the subject is still very much about a U.S. president (the unluckiest one of them all) and his top Secret Service agent, attempting to survive a hostile situation while government personnel and military advisers watch idly from massive monitors. Radha Mitchell is still the inconsiderable wife (now inhabiting a more tolerable bit part as the humanizer for the herculean bodyguard), Angela Bassett is still the leader of the protection detail, and Melissa Leo, Robert Forster, and Morgan Freeman all return as various cabinet members or interchangeable politicians. And, despite a venue shift to the Westminster Cathedral, the inevitable storming of a heavily guarded landmark still features shots of machinegun fire dancing across white pillars, stone steps, and human bodies.

What has changed, spectacularly for the better, is the amount and caliber of the humor. Now that the very serious-minded Antoine Fuqua has been replaced by director Babak Najafi (and a couple of extra writers were brought on board), an appreciable wit is introduced, allowing for snappier one-liners (save for the subtle yet silly "Get to the chopper!"), better threats/insults, and far more gratifying enemy kills. Engaging in Bond or Bourne-like car chases, "Cloverfield" levels of destruction, shootouts in abandoned city streets and subways (like something out of a zombie movie), and video game-styled infiltrations, "London Has Fallen" also excels in pure action. The choreography is snazzier, the cinematography is more suspenseful, and the bloodshed is better integrated into the mayhem. It's no masterpiece, but the improvements are so surprisingly noticeable that it's difficult not to be impressed. Surely, few audiences will expect such attention to gung-ho satisfaction and explosive thrills from a sequel to an underperforming actioner originally debuting in the slow month of March.

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Gods of Egypt (2016)

Derivative of far too many projects to mention, the plot still somehow possesses enough potential to be watchable.

As legend tells, gods once lived amongst mortals in Egypt, the paradisiacal birthplace of life. Noble god Osiris (Bryan Brown), who has ruled over the land with compassion and generosity, chooses his son Horus (Nikolaj Coaster-Waldau) as successor to the throne. But this decision displeases Osiris' banished sibling Set (Gerard Butler), who returns on his nephew's coronation day to murder his father and usurp the kingdom. A year passes and the people of Egypt find themselves wholly enslaved by the despot. While they toil away building massive obelisks in tribute to the evil monarch's conquests, their cries for help remain unanswered as Horus lies in exile at his father's tomb. When rebellious young thief Bek (Brenton Thwaites) is coaxed by his true love Zaya (Courtney Eaton) into stealing a valuable artifact from Set's treasury, he sets in motion a monumental quest that will partner him with a god to save his beloved from the land of the dead, and thwart a tyrant's diabolical plan to destroy the world.

Although the narrator states that the gods have gold running through their veins, and that they can transform into beasts to do battle, it's not enough to prepare audiences for just how outrageous those concepts will appear. The Roland Emmerich-styled excesses of digital extras populating epic landscapes quickly subside for the utter nonsense of mid-air, Transformer-like (or Iron Man-like) combat, full of metallic wings, fireballs of light, and shimmering blades that dart about as if lightning bolts perpetually unable to strike a target. And the gods themselves, designed to be slightly oversized humans (like something out of "300" or "Jack the Giant Slayer"), fit in quite poorly with the mortals, who frequently exhibit superhuman capabilities themselves.

In fact, Bek is so agile and fast that he's able to swipe magical objects and penetrate impenetrable fortresses with both ease and skills that surpass the very gods he accompanies. It would have been more manageable if all the characters were simply the same size. This becomes especially frustrating when the various villains go out of their ways to avoid killing the puny human, since he's supposedly no match for their boundless divinity. Strangely, Bek's pursuit of love seems to be the invincible shield of armor necessary to duke it out with the titans that arm themselves with celestial weaponry so powerful that they're left unexplained.

When even the human characters are impervious to peril, there's never really any suspense. Several of the monsters are amusing, with their designs matching the might of the "Clash of the Titans" movies from the 2000s, but they fail to present formidable danger for the dwarfed heroes who sprint around on the ground, always millimeters out of reach of enormous fangs or breaths of fire. It also doesn't help that new rules and ideas are continually devised on the spot to prolong the story. The loss of an all-seeing eye, or the momentary inability to sprout wings, or the portal-jumping transitions between the land of the living and dead are never given much thought; they just happen, spontaneously lending to a premise already too unnecessarily complex for the straightforward fantasy picture this should have been.

When wirework, frenetic camera movements, and extreme murkiness cloud the lack of riveting choreography or inventiveness, it's evident that "Gods of Egypt" is trying to hide its muddled mix of borrowed designs. Derivative of far too many projects to mention, the plot still somehow possesses enough potential to be watchable. But the alternating of video game concepts, high-quality creature animation, and astonishingly pathetic, green-screen chariot riding makes the entire venture feel as if ten different directors alternated the tackling of every scene. At its best, its reminiscent of "Baron Munchausen" (or the Grimms' fairy tale "The Six Servants"), but at it's worst, it's barely fit for a made-for-TV movie from the '90s.

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How to Be Single (2016)

It feels unmistakably like imitation adventures for derivations of Carrie Bradshaw and crew.

Before the film really gets going, it's apparent that "How to Be Single" has modeled itself almost entirely from "Sex and the City." The New York setting, the music, the characters, the momentary male nudity, and the dreaded voice-over designate this feature project as a smaller, episodic production along the lines of the aforementioned television series. And, indeed, with the cast of four primary women and their array of farcical sexual situations, this simple comedy looks and feels unmistakably like imitation adventures for derivations of Carrie Bradshaw and crew. And that's not a good thing.

"This story isn't about relationships," insists Alice Kepley (Dakota Johnson), even though the picture proceeds to be entirely about the pursuit of significant others. She goes on to suggest that women's lives should not be defined by relationships, and that what happens in between such unions is real life. Women are supposed to be cheerful about being single, or at least hide any display of embarrassment about solitariness, but all they truly yearn for is meaningful connections. Throughout the course of the film, her character, along with her costars, can do nothing but show open dismay or discomposure over breakups and separations.

When Alice decides to broaden her experiences with the opposite sex, she leaves longtime boyfriend Josh (Nicholas Braun) for a paralegal position with Brown, Light, and Finkelstein in the Big Apple - where she immediately meets nonstop party girl Robin (Rebel Wilson). Taking the unpracticed youth under her wing, Robin shows Alice how to have a good time - and having a good time is defined by heavy imbibing, spontaneous sex, and memory loss. An early montage demonstrates that the essential routine for serious partygoers involves drinking at a bar, drunken intercourse, waking up next to a stranger, nursing a hangover, and stumbling into work to prepare to do it all over again. The problem with this setup is that, despite its modernized representation as adolescent convention, the characters appear despicable for succumbing to such progressive yet fleeting existences. Love looks so much better in cinema when it's not marred by empty, casual sex.

Additionally, in this hopelessly fictional world, women are unable to possess both a good career and a good man. Though the story was molded by numerous writers (based on the book by Liz Tuccillo), it betrays an incredibly sexist attitude with this message. Furthermore, it proposes that young people are inherently prone to partying and promiscuity, while older people must be responsible and boring; this is the standard categorization of maturity and anyone who falls outside of this compass is abnormal. "Reading is for ugly losers!" instructs Robin, as Alice is forced to choose between loneliness or sleeping with convenient acquaintances. Meanwhile, dating-website mathematician Lucy (Alison Brie) is convinced that the odds are against her for finding a worthwhile companion, and Alice's sister Meg (Leslie Mann) decides she wants a child, but can't depend on a relationship with a man to have one - resorting to a sperm donor whom she never has to meet.

Rebel Wilson plays Rebel Wilson, spewing penis jokes and booze quips every time the mood becomes too dour from all of the collapsing relationships. And the rest of the cast adopts generic personas of romanticists perpetually disappointed by the cold reality of loveless hookups and shifting desires. It's a group of characters that commands little sympathy and less purpose, exhibited as juveniles merely waiting to develop away from the childish fantasies of love and happiness. What a depressing assemblage of contemptible yet physically attractive spirits.

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Deadpool (2016)

The film wisely takes a cue from "Guardians of the Galaxy" with its soundtrack...

"Deadpool" is the story of two like-minded individuals who fall in love amidst calamitous hardships – and physiology-altering mutant abilities with disfiguring side effects. Former Special Forces soldier Wade Wilson (Ryan Reynolds) works as a mercenary-for-hire out of Sister Margaret's School for Wayward Children. Running his mouth while running odious lowlifes out of business nets him a satisfying career that also inadvertently introduces him to Vanessa (Morena Baccarin), a prostitute who shares his penchant for dark humor and funereal banter. The two quickly fall in love and become engaged, only to discover shortly thereafter that Wade is afflicted with terminal cancer. Unwilling to subject Vanessa to further torment and misery, Wilson spontaneously leaves her. When a mysterious broker offers the desperate man a possible remedy, he agrees to undergo an experimental procedure that will change his life forever.

Posing itself as the ultimate anti-superhero movie (with a theatrical release timed for Valentine's Day), "Deadpool" goes to great lengths to distance itself from the pack of recent Marvel entities, which have become more or less interchangeable. The problem is that it accomplishes this mission with such unyielding purposefulness that it regularly ceases to be a about a character in a film; at times, the world of Deadpool exists somewhere in between the Marvel Cinematic Universe, self-aware satire, and an alternate reality, where superheroes are recognized as products of movie studios. Fortunately, the humor tends to make up for the noncanonical bits and the occasionally unwelcome attention towards the fictionality of cinema.

Crazy credits, pop culture references, animation mid-scene, nods to movie tropes ("It might further the plot," suggests T.J. Miller's Weasel, when motioning Wade to meet a black-clad man in a shadowy corner booth), and routine breaking of the fourth wall are all gimmicks to highlight the flaws of superhero pictures, as well as to mock them mercilessly. It's funny to see this skewering in action, but it becomes contrary as the film progresses, particularly as it begins to employ the very techniques and devices previously laid bare for roasting. Had "Deadpool" chosen to use only super-soldiers and human sidekicks, it would have been forgivable to see the star prancing about like an R-Rated version of "The Mask," filled with the dirty dialogue of Kevin Smith. But once Colossus (voiced by Stefan Kapicic) and Negasonic Teenage Warhead (Brianna Hildebrand) show up (and Angel Dust - played by Gina Carano - reveals her abilities), the cliché superhero customs turn exhausting rather than facetiously self-deprecating.

The film wisely takes a cue from "Guardians of the Galaxy" with its soundtrack, utilizing fitting or contrasting music at all the right times, which helps to enhance the action and romance or make fun of various activities. Like "Kick-Ass," the main amusement comes from the comedic insight on the fallible, potentially laughable construct of superheroes, though hyperactive violence and expletive-filled wordplay strive to overshadow the cleverer humor of exposé. Sex, nudity, strip clubs, and sadistic torture also aim to darken up the typical PG-13 vibe of Marvel's better known projects. Ironically, the element that stands out the most is the love story, accentuated by sarcastic, damaged-goods morbidity, which demonstrates a quirky compatibility for two modern, sexually progressive personas stuck in a superhero movie - a superhero movie disguised as one too quick-witted to fall into that category.

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