I’m not sure I can recall a Colin Farrell performance outside his on-target Bullseye in the Daredevil abomination that was even remotely close to the total entertainment package of the original and Wiseman’s really only good for framing the backside of his wife Kate Beckinsale.   

I had hope that time would allow cooler heads to prevail in the discussion of the Aurora, Colo., tragedy. By now, more than a week has passed, but something feels different this time. Maybe it is more personal because the attack took place at a movie theater and, being a film critic, it struck too near to home for me.  

Film, as a medium, provides writers and directors the opportunity to tell great stories. But sometimes, as is the case with Jonathan Demme's latest effort, Neil Young Journeys, film simply goes along for the ride with an even greater storyteller as he does his thing.  

Terence Davies (screenwriter and director of The House of Mirth) once again takes on dual roles with this adaptation of Terence Rattigan’s play about the self-destructive love affair between the wife of a British judge and a pilot in the Royal Air Force.  

This time out, with director Scott Speer, another crew of anonymous dancers “step up” and out into the streets, flash mob-style, not just for the sake of wild abandon but also to protest the buyout of a low-income neighborhood for massive redevelopment.   

The simple premise of this suburban comedy — about a group of dads who form a neighborhood watch group to patrol their block, but soon discover an extraterrestrial menace threat far beyond their control — feels like a lazy opportunity for Ben Stiller, Vince Vaughn and Jonah Hill to hang out and crack wise on the studio dime.   

There are moments when the stars and planets are in near-perfect alignment as a comet crosses the night sky and the movie gods cast their smiles on the screen, and a film dares to come close to living up to the undeniable hype that has been heaped upon its frames. It would appear that Christopher Nolan has produced just such an occurrence with the finale to his Batman trilogy.  

Beasts of the Southern Wild, the savage visual poem from debut director Benh Zeitlin (which he co-wrote with playwright Lucy Alibar), takes us on an adventure from its opening frame, yet what makes it so special and downright impossible to imagine in any other form, is Hushpuppy’s voice.  

Games aren’t always won by the most talented, the high-flying slam-dunking, ankle-breaking, one-on-one sensations with all the speed, power and hops of the greatest phenoms with the multi-million dollar free agent deals. No, sometimes, more often than you might think, the difference maker is one of the old-heads coming off a perfectly timed screen heading along the baseline just as the pass arrives to meet him at the three-point line as he steps back and fires quickly, instinctively, because he just knows every beat in this measure.
  

Manny (Ray Romano), Diego (Denis Leary) and Sid (John Leguizamo) are on the road again — well, this is the Ice Age, so it’s really a pre-road time, but these three seem to be laying the pathway out with each new adventure — which means that they are edging closer and closer to drifting into the modern age.