One word: lame. Spiderman 3 was a huge disappointment. As a matter of fact, when was the last time “part 3” of any movie franchise was good? Seriously…maybe Die Hard 3, that’s the only thing that comes to mind.

Tobey Maguire returns as Peter Parker, as do James Franco (Tristan and Isolde) and Kristen Dunst (Elizabethtown) as Harry and Mary Jane. I know the franchise has a built-in fanbase, and that’s probably why it managed to rake in ridiculous opening numbers. I suspect that there has to have been a significant drop-off when you look at the second week numbers as word of mouth got around. The movie is contrived, sappy, corny, and poorly written. The action is also less entertaining this time around. Spiderman 3 was marketed as an exploration into Spidey’s darker side. We get a hint of darkness, but it’s never really anything too sinister. Peter’s idea of being a bad-ass is demanding that his neighbor bake him some chocolate chip cookies. Gimme a break! I’ll admit there’s one scene where Peter’s evil side shines through in great fashion (no spoiler), but that’s about it. Mary Jane is more annoying than ever, and the villains are not believable, especially Topher Grace (In Good Company) as some weird bizarro Spiderman-looking creature. Not since Christopher Reeve has a superhero been this corny. The only interesting performance was given by James Franco; I think he’s hot and a damn good actor. Please Sam Raimi, do not make Spiderman 4!!

*Sigh* The Invisible seemed like it would be an interesting and spooky supernatural whodunit, but it played out like a morbid soap opera instead. It tells the story of Nick Powell, a smart, well-liked high school student with a bright future. Nick has a rocky relationship with his mother, but he’s on top of the world: high school is over and he’s about to head to Europe to perfect his prose. There’s a hint that things might go awry when Nick clashes with the school outcast in the cafeteria, a social misfit named Annie. Let’s just say that little Nicky ends up at the bottom of a sewage drain in the woods, somewhere between life and death. The movie follows Nick’s “pseudo-ghost” as he tries to convince Annie to save his life. Sound weird? Yeah, it’s a little bizarre and kind of a downer. The Invisible is definitely NOT a feel-good movie. I was disappointed because there was no suspense or mystery. The conflict is established fairly early, and the remainder of the movie tediously meanders toward its conclusion. The performances are good enough, with the exception of Marcia Gay Harden (Mystic River) as Nick’s mom. His mom is supposed to be detached and out-of-it, but it just comes across as if Harden can’t act. We know that’s not true, so maybe the director should have tried to get something different out of her, I don’t know. What I do know is that The Invisible was kind of a drag, skip it.

Anthony Hopkins (The Silence of the Lambs) and Ryan Gosling (The Notebook) star in the first marginally noteworthy psychological thriller of the year, Fracture. I’m ignoring Halle Berry’s The Perfect Stranger which was released a few months ago, because it looked too contrived for me to even bother with it. Hopkins plays Ted Crawford, a wealthy businessman with a philandering young wife, while Gosling is Willie Beachum, a young, cocky district attorney faced with the task of prosecuting Crawford after he’s accused of his wife’s attempted murder.

Hopkins brings his trademark deliberate, methodical psychosis to the role, although his performance is tempered with cool and a certain suaveness that Hannibal Lecter lacked. His Ted Crawford isn’t a raving lunatic; after all, how many cheating spouses have met a similar fate, both real and imagined? Nevertheless, Beachum and Mrs. Crawford’s lover, a police detective, embark on a crusade to see that justice finds Crawford, who seems to be one step ahead of them. Gosling shines in his role as a prosecutor with one foot out the door. His Beachum has already accepted a loftier position with a big law firm when Crawford’s case is dropped on his desk. It is his lackadaisical attitude combined with Crawford’s smug assuredness that set the stage for this battle of wits, a chess match between two towering egos. Will the senior outfox the young upstart? I won’t give it away.

Fracture made for a passable day at the movies, but what I’m really looking forward to is Mr. Brooks, which opens this week. Please someone revive the psychological thriller, I’m begging you!

I don’t even know where to start. When describing movies I often say, “It’s not for everybody.” Well when it comes to Grindhouse truer words cannot be spoken. To their credit, directors Robert Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino don’t hide the ball. They let you know upfront what you’re in for: sex, violence and gore. Thank you sir, may I have another? The title refers to the popular cinema houses of the 70s that specialized in double features of the “B-movie” variety. The theaters also doubled as “go-go” bars, putting the “grind” in “grindhouse.”

Tarantino has a way of paying homage to the vestiges of his youth, whether it be pin-up girls (i.e. Pam Grier, that’s why he cast her in Jackie Brown), spaghetti westerns (think Kill Bill), or these dirty little grindhouses I just described. I applaud Rodriguez and Tarantino for their creativity. They previously teamed up for Sin City, and I think they work pretty well together – although each director is responsible for his own work in Grindhouse. The movie is a double feature, and Rodriguez is first up with “Planet Terror,” followed by Tarantino’s “Death Proof.” Since both movies are inspired by the B-movie genre, each director gets to eschew any plot constraints and focus on the salacious and tawdry. Bullets and blood abound, particularly in “Planet Terror.” The gore is gratuitous, the campy dialogue at an all-time high. What makes it great is that it’s supposed to be that way. Either you get it or you don’t. Complete with phony previews and “missing reels” that leave HUGE plot holes, Grindhouse aims to make your movie-going experience an authentic one. “Planet Terror” features Rose McGowan (Jawbreakers) as a one-legged go-go dancer. She and her boyfriend, played by Freddy Rodriguez (Dead Presidents) must dispatch their town of brain-eating zombies. That’s pretty much all I can say about the “plot.” Everything else that transpires can best be described as sensory assault.

Now it’s Tarantino’s turn. “Death Proof” is less gory than “Planet Terror,” and actually has a little character development, if you could call it that. It features Rosario Dawson (Sin City), Sydney Poitier (it’s his daughter, not him!), and Kurt Russell (Dark Blue), most notably. Russell is “Stuntman Mike,” a psychopath who preys on women with his car. We follow two groups of girlfriends as they are stalked and terrorized. What I liked most about “Death Proof” was its voyeuristic quality. You really feel like you’re watching a group of friends with a hidden camera. It’s very dialogue-driven and realistic, which is both good and bad. It’s good that it feels genuine, but it’s bad when the dialogue turns tedious and uninteresting. You have to care about these girls’ conversations and interaction, and I could see some people shifting in their theater seats, waiting for the “action.”

I could go on and on about Grindhouse, but I’ll stop there. This is not the kind of movie that comes along every day. It is remarkably unique – never taking itself seriously in its storytelling, but maintaining the artistic integrity of its premise. Sometimes when a movie is a parody or spoof, you’ll find that the writer/director takes the lazy road because the movie is “supposed” to be bad or silly. That wasn’t the case with Rodriguez and Tarantino. They’ve managed to create a hilarious, edgy, over-the-top spectacle that will stun anyone with the guts to see it. I thought it was great.

Save your money. Talk about false advertising. Blades of Glory looks hilarious. It’s not. It’s mildly amusing at best. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed less at a comedy. Once you get past the initial chuckle-inducing concept of a male figure-skating pair, the movie is left with nothing. It was ridiculous, but in an eye-rolling way, not in a funny way. Yes Will Ferrell (Anchorman) is funny. He’s always funny. The problem is that he wasn’t enough to carry the movie, and the script was mediocre. It was just corny and stupid. Comedy is not my favorite genre, and I choose them wisely when I go to the theater. I expected laughs on the level of The Wedding Crashers or The 40-year Old Virgin. Blades of Glory can’t even be mentioned in the same sentence as those two. You know when they suck I like to keept it short. I have nothing else to say.

Everyone’s second favorite bad-ass is back at it again. Mark Wahlberg (The Departed) stars as Bob Lee Swagger (ridiculous name), a disenchanted, reclusive marine. Devastated by the death of his fellow soldier in a botched mission and the military’s subsequent abandonment of him, Swagger begins to question his ingrained sense of patriotism. An expert sniper, he is approached by a Colonel Johnson (Danny Glover, most recently of Dreamgirls) and asked to help prevent an assassination on the president. Johnson and his men know that Swagger is an expert marksman, and they need his help in getting into the mind of the potential assassin. He reluctantly agrees, and begins gathering information on the manner in which an assassin would strike. Armed with this advice, Johnson and his cronies attempt to take out the president and frame Swagger for the hit.

Director Antoine Fuqua (Training Day) maintains a high level of action throughout, and Mark Wahlberg is completely convincing in his role. He’s good at shit like this. Of course the whole I’ve-been-framed-and-now-I-have-to-clear-my-name-before-I-get-killed-or-arrested thing has been done plenty of times before, but Shooter is good enough. Wahlberg’s screen presence alone makes it worth seeing – he’s rarely disappointing. Check it out.

This is Chris Rock’s latest directorial effort, a take-off of his popular stand-up routine where he laments married life. To quote Rock, you can either be “single and lonely or married and bored.”

The movie follows Rock’s character Richard Cooper, a successful investment banker with a lovely wife and two adorable kids. Richard’s wife is a good one, but he finds himself bored with the mundane aspects of married life. His wife wears “granny panties,” and the sex is virtually nonexistent. Enter Nikki Tru, played by Kerry Washinton (Ray, She Hate Me), the ex-girlfriend of one of Richard’s old friends. It seems Nikki needs an employment reference and decides to pay Richard an unannounced visit for a letter of recommendation. It’s obvious from the start that Nikki is nothing but trouble. She’s everything that Richard’s wife Brenda (Gina Torres of Alias) is not: sexy and adventurous. She has him p-whipped without even giving him the “p.” The movie follows Richard’s efforts to remain on the straight and narrow in the face of temptation. In his heart Richard is a good man; he just needs to spice up his marriage. He ultimately realizes what’s most important in life and manages to get his priorities in order. This is only after Nikki gets him completely discombobulated. Is that a word? I’ve always wondered if that was really a word. What’s the opposite. Is it combobulated? What does that mean?

I Think I love My Wife is humourous at best and mildly entertaining at worst. It has an indie feel, which is kind of a good thing. It falters at points, and certain parts of the story don’t make sense. One scene in particular seems like it should have been part of a dream sequence, but Richard reacts as if it takes place in reality. And another thing, are we supposed to believe that Kerry Washington is hot for Chris Rock??? I mean, come on. I love Chris Rock as much as the next person — the man is a comedic genius; but he’s one step from Pookie in New Jack City. His lips looked so cracked at one point I was like “damn!” But hey, that’s why they call it the movies, right? Because you get to see some shit that would never happen in real life.

I wish I would’ve had a premonition that this movie would suck donkey balls. Then maybe I would not have wasted my time with it.

Premonition stars Sandra Bullock (Crash) and Julian McMahon (Fantastic Four, Nip/Tuck) as Jim and Linda Hanson, a married couple with two daughters. Soon after we meet the family, Linda is informed that Jim has been killed in an auto accident. The rest of the movie plays like a morbid version of Groundhog Day. One day Linda wakes up and Jim’s dead, the next day he’s alive. She tries to glean clues about what happend, and each day that passes reveals a new little wrinkle. Sound provocative? It’s not; it’s bullshit. Linda pays a visit to a priest, and he gives her some cryptic spiel about premonitions, reciting a history lesson of other quackpots who’ve seen the future. The problem is that it’s never revealed why Linda had the premonition. It’s not to change the future or to right some wrong…the whole thing is just pointless. I do think that the basic premise of the movie is interesting, and I like movies that deal with fate, spirituality, and destiny – but this was just LOUSY. I would suggest Frequency in lieu of Premonition. Even last year’s Deja Vu was better than this.

Wow…300 was a feast for the eyes and the most visually decadent movie I’ve seen in a long time. Based on the graphic novels of Frank Miller (Sin City), the movie tells the story of 300 undermanned, outmatched Spartans who valiantly sacrificed their lives in The Battle of Thermopylae.

In the ancient times of Greek battle, the soldiers of Sparta were the bravest, most fearless warriors in the world. They were bred for combat, preparing for war soon after taking their first steps. It is this innate heroism that fuels 300 Spartans and their King Leonidas in war against mighty Persia. When Xerxes, the king of Persia, demands that Sparta submit to him, Sparta refuses. The gauntlet has been laid, and the only alternative is war. Despite the odds, the Spartans manage to slay many Persian soldiers. Unfortunately their victory is merely a moral one, as valor ultimately succumbs to manpower.

300 is straightforward in its storytelling, and a welcomed departure from other period movies that have had more convoluted historical underpinnings. The movie focuses on one battle. We know who’s fighting and we know their motivation. We can also surmise the result, but the treat lies in getting there. The battle scenes are choreographed wonderfully, and the cinematography is something to behold. 300 will appeal mostly to men due to its violence, but women are in for a pleasant surprise with the myriad of scantily clad Spartans, particularly King Leonidas, played by actor Gerard Butler. I watched a television program about the making of 300, and each one of the male actors was whipped into impeccable physical condition. They looked like warriors in every sense of the word, literally dropping to the floor to perform push-ups between takes. It pays off, as they all look like they could tear a person to shreds with their bare hands. So on that note, 300 is a movie that will oddly appeal to men and women equally, if the girls can get past the violence (it’s not too bad). It’s been said that 300 is as revoulutionary and groundbreaking as The Matrix. I wouldn’t dare go that far, but its unique sensuality makes it a movie worth seeing.

Zodiac is the dramatization of the true events surrounding one of America’s most infamous serial murderers, The Zodiac Killer. It stars Jake Gyllenhaal (Jarhead, Donnie Darko) as Robert Graysmith, the San Francisco Chronicle cartoonist who remains obsessed with the case long after the police have resigned themselves to defeat. Graysmith becomes involved in the case when the killer begins to send taunting letters to police through the local newspapers.

The movie begins on July 4, 1969(?), on lover’s lane in the city of Vallejo, California. A young couple has parked in a secluded area, talking quietly. A set of headlights temporarily blinds their vehicle from the rear. Pausing nervously, they wonder aloud about their visitor. The boy is apprehensive. Just as their tension begins to mount, the car leaves as quickly as it arrived. Their conversation resumes. Now the car returns and blocks their escape. The driver exits and approaches their vehicle, aiming a bright flashlight. The boy thinks it’s a police offer, and begins to explain. Before he can complete his sentence, POP! The stranger is firing shots into the vehicle, the girl is screaming. When the stranger leaves, the girl is dead and the boy will be the one of the few witnesses to see the Zodiac and live to tell about it. It is this chilling opening sequence that introduces us to the Zodiac Killer, a man who wantonly terrorized the Bay area from approximately 1969-1975.

Directed by David Fincher (Se7en, Fight Club), Zodiac is one part police procedural and one part murder mystery. At a lenghthy 2 1/2 hours, the movie is not without its slow moments, but for the most part it manages to hold your attention. This is due in large part to the aforementioned opening scene, as well as different murder scenes interspersed throughout the first half. The movie stalls when it lingers too much on the minutiae of the policework. Which brings me to Mark Ruffalo (Collateral), a highly regarded actor who has yet to impress me. He is adequate as Detective David Toschi, and certainly attractive, but his delivery was a bit too understated, in my opinion. He and Gyllenhaal were both so soft-spoken in Zodiac that it started to annoy me. Anyway, Zodiac is not without its listless moments, but it picks up once Gyllenhaal’s character gets more involved in uncovering the killer’s identity. I also enjoyed the introduction of different suspects, each of them plausible in their own way. Robert Downey Jr. is also featured as Paul Avery, a Chronicle reporter who becomes consumed with the case, only to succumb to that obsession, ending up a washed-up alcoholic.

Fincher captures the time period in dark fashion, using the same muted, orange-tinged hue found in Se7en. Zodiac doesn’t compare to his previous gems, but it is a solid addition to his body of work. Gyllenhaal isn’t exactly a revelation, but he’s an amazing actor and I bet if I saw the real Robert Graysmith I would see that he nailed the performance. I think fans of Fincher and/or Gyllenhaal should check out Zodiac off GP. It was interesting, if nothing else — even though my eyelids got heavy once or twice.