Sherlock, Jr. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Things can get interesting in a love triangle but, for most of us, not as interesting as they get in our dreams.  Expect a Buster Keaton character to have a most alarming slapstick dream.

If you like the films of the silent comedians, Sherlock Jr. (1924) is one of the best.  It is, in fact, a nearly perfect cinematic farce—a farce replete with terrific sight gags and, at 44 minutes, utterly without filler.  Keaton had no hand in writing it, as he did some of his other films, but as actor and director he was an undeniable master of execution.

Cover of Kick-Ass

I happened to read the second volume of Kick-Ass (titled Prelude: Hit Girl) before reading the first volume, but it hardly mattered.  I was not at all confused by either volume, especially after seeing the movies, although I found myself surprised that the well-liked first flick wasn’t terribly faithful to Mark Millar‘s graphic novel.  (But it was faithful enough.)

The story in Kick-Ass, like the artwork, holds my attention, and even more pleasing are the sometimes funny details.  As usual, that John Romita Jr.-Tom Palmer-Dean White artwork is hideously bloody, and Millar’s dialogue, etc. is not only anti-liberal but stunningly and aggressively so.  A few feminists have probably considered the book sexist, which it isn’t; but, oh, is it ever politically incorrect!

Overwhelmingly rowdy too.  I had a good time with it.

Cover of Anything Else

Re Anything Else (2003):

Apparently Woody Allen believes in themes, but don’t let that fool you.  Thematically this caustic, frequently funny, slightly absurdist movie goes almost nowhere.

Amiable Jerry (Jason Biggs), a comedy writer, falls for the unremittingly selfish Amanda (Christina Ricci) and is mentored by an atheistic crank acted by Allen himself.  I didn’t buy an iota of it.  In addition, there is a great deal of talk and much of it irritating, from Jerry’s fawning babbling to Amanda during their first encounter to Amanda’s remark about the “nihilistic pessimism” in the plays of Sartre and O’Neill.  Allen does not do slight absurdism well.  He’s too caught up in his own solipsism.

Cover of Excalibur

A man of limited taste, director of Deliverance and Hope and Glory, John Boorman released in 1981 a King Arthur movie, Excalibur.  Much of the acting, when it isn’t indifferent (Helen Mirren as Morgana, Paul Geoffrey as Perceval), is loud and showy (Nigel Terry as Arthur).  Withal, the film is cheap and exaggerated, with second-rate music.

The scenery is ravishing, however, and there are delicious medieval-fantasy costumes and set design.  As well, Excalibur can be intriguing:  Nicol Williamson plays Merlin, an amazing magician in Christian England, a man whose day is passing along with the old gods (or simply the dark arts?)  But I wish Boorman’s film had something to say; frankly I would rather see Robert Bresson’s Lancelot du Lac, weak as it is.

I don’t know why Disney keeps remaking The Jungle Book, but at least the current version is a visual dreadnought a lot like a hard-to-forget theme park ride.  It’s fun and for the family, albeit some of the animals this time are genuine monsters.  King Louie the villainous ape is huge, Kaa is the most stupendous snake you’ve ever seen, and even Shere Khan is not your average-looking ferocious tiger.  These are CGI creations for one wickedly scary jungle.

Directed by Jon Favreau.