. . . about this week's new releases.
- Many people will see Hunger only because Michael Fassbender is hot.
- Alex Proyas probably has a career because Brandon Lee is dead. So, thank you for dying, Brandon Lee, so we can see Knowing.
- The only way Paul Rudd can regain artistic credibility at this point is to have unironic, pleasurable, dirty actual gay sex on screen with an irrefutably attractive male costar.
- Fernando Meirelles has made going to the movies so much worse than it should be. This week's evidence: Sin nombre!
- The Edge of Love is coming out, effectively hidden, with no fanfare. Factory Girl's Sienna Miller is officially a film's kiss of death.
- The Great Buck Howard needs to coast on the charms of a character actor people only pretend to like (John Malkovich), a cameoing movie star people people are told they have to like (Tom Hanks), and the unlikable son of said movie star who's the acting equivalent of a booger (Colin). Good luck, Buck.
- The thirteen-story anthology film We Pedal Uphill has twelve stories too many.
- You know that little tiny voice in the back of your head that tells you that maybe, just maybe, anyone who feels the need to see Watchmen (which, judging from the picture below, might have been called Douchebags) more than once, or discuss it with any type of reverence, is basically a humongous baby-man, but then you tell yourself, no, no, you're being really judgmental and uppity and a snob and there are all sorts of types of artistic expression and some of them are popular and it's ok to take comic books seriously, but then the little voice again says, no, this is just a culture of infantilized twits who wouldn't know culture if it hit them on the head, but then you're, like, geez stop it, this is why nobody likes you? Listen to that little voice.